he was not going to leave us.

On arriving at the door of the rector's house, which was not
different from the others, I saw a man shoeing a horse, hammer in
hand, and with a leathern apron on.

"SAELIVERTU," said the hunter.

"GOD DAG," said the blacksmith in good Danish.

"KYRKOHERDE," said Hans, turning round to my uncle.

"The rector," repeated the Professor. "It seems, Axel, that this good
man is the rector."

Our guide in the meanwhile was making the 'kyrkoherde' aware of the
position of things; when the latter, suspending his labours for a
moment, uttered a sound no doubt understood between horses and
farriers, and immediately a tall and ugly hag appeared from the hut.
She must have been six feet at the least. I was in great alarm lest
she should treat me to the Icelandic kiss; but there was no occasion
to fear, nor did she do the honours at all too gracefully.

The visitors' room seemed to me the worst in the whole cabin. It was
close, dirty, and evil smelling. But we had to be content. The rector
did not to go in for antique hospitality. Very far from it. Before
the day was over I saw that we had to do with a blacksmith, a
fisherman, a hunter, a joiner, but not at all with a minister of the
Gospel. To be sure, it was a week-day; perhaps on a Sunday he made
amends.