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"Yes, we all know that ballad," said the Pastor; "it is known to all Scandinavians. We have, however, in Jutland, a tradition founded upon it. Two poor people who lived near Aarhus had an only daughter, called Grethe. His beard was greener than the salt sea, but otherwise his form was fair, and he enticed the girl to follow him into the sea, by the promise of as much silver as she could wish for.
"I believe I love it properly!" returned he: "and because it really possesses so much that is excellent do I desire that only what is genuine should be esteemed, only what is genuine be prized." "I agree in the main with Mr. Thostrup," said Miss Grethe, who was busied in unpicking and turning her cloak, in order, as she herself said, to spoil it on the other side. "I think he is right!
One day she sat rocking the cradle of her youngest child, when she heard the church bells ring ashore. She had almost forgotten what she had learnt of Christian faith, but the longing was so great to go to church that she wept bitterly. The merman at length allowed her to go, and she went to church. She had not been there long before the merman came to the church and called 'Grethe!
Alvilde had always a little attack of the tooth-ache; Julle went shopping, and Miss Grethe was the bride. She was also musical, and was considered witty. "Such good ideas as this I have every hour of the day!" We ought really to accuse these excellent girls of nothing foolish; they were very good and wise. The lover, Mr. Svane, was also a zealous wit; he was so lively, they said.
This servant was just as much alarmed, and he got out. The third did not fare better, for the peasant again said, "Grethe, that is the third." The fourth had to carry in a dish that was covered, and the lord told the doctor that he was to show his skill, and guess what was beneath the cover. The doctor looked at the dish, had no idea what to say, and cried, "Ah, poor Crabb."
"Yes," said the lover, "I have not thought about that; but see, there is the idea! I am no poet, and have too much to do at the counting-house, otherwise one might write a little piece." "Heavens! Heiberg ought to have the idea!" said Grethe. "No, then it would be a vaudeville," said the lover, "and I cannot bear them." "O, it might be made charming!" cried Grethe.
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