a hint, except in the way of business, as a reporter. I kept the
run of her all the time she was in the city. She did not always
see me, but I saw her, and that was enough. I watched her home from
school in the evening, and was content, though she was escorted
by a cadet with a pig-sticker at his side. He was her cousin, and
had given me his word that he cared nothing about her. He is a
commodore and King Christian's Secretary of Navy now. When she was
sick, I pledged my Sunday trousers for a dollar and bought her a
bouquet of flowers which they teased her about until she cried and
threw it away. And all the time she was getting more beautiful and
more lovable. She was certainly the handsomest girl in Copenhagen,
which is full of charming women.

[Illustration: Down by her Garden, on the River Nibs.]

There were long spells when she was away, and when I dreamt on
undisturbed. It was during one of these that I went to the theatre
with my brother to see a famous play in which an assassin tried
to murder the heroine, who was asleep in an armchair. Now, this
heroine was a well-known actress who looked singularly like Elizabeth.
As she sat there with the long curls sweeping her graceful neck,
in imminent danger of being killed, I forgot where I was, what it
was, all and everything except that danger threatened Elizabeth,
and sprang to my feet with a loud cry of murder, trying to make
for the stage. My brother struggled to hold me back. There was a
sensation in the theatre, and the play was held up while they put
me out. I remember King George of Greece eying me from his box as
I was being transported to the door, and the rascal murderer on
the stage looking as if he had done something deserving of praise.
Outside, in the cold, my brother shook me up and took me home,