XIII.

The world was widening out. It was not only home and the houses of my
different grandparents, and the clan of my uncles, aunts, and cousins;
it grew larger.

I realized this at the homecoming of the troops. They came home twice.
The impression they produced the first time was certainly a great,
though not a deep one. It was purely external, and indistinctly merged
together: garlands on the houses and across the streets, the dense
throng of people, the flower-decked soldiers, marching in step to the
music under a constant shower of flowers from every window, and looking
up smiling. The second time, long afterwards, I took things in in much
greater detail. The wounded, who went in front and were greeted with a
sort of tenderness; the officers on horseback, saluting with their
swords, on which were piled wreath over wreath; the bearded soldiers,
with tiny wreaths round their bayonets, while big boys carried their
rifles for them. And all the time the music of _Den tapre
Landsoldat_, when not the turn of _Danmark dejligst_ or _Vift
stolt!_ [Footnote: Three favourite Danish tunes: "The Brave Soldier,"
"Fairest Denmark," and "Proudly Wave." ]

But the second time I was not wholly absorbed by the sight, for I was
tormented by remorse. My aunt had presented me the day before with three
little wreaths to throw at the soldiers; the one I was to keep myself,
and I was to give each of my two small brothers one of the others; I had
promised faithfully to do so. And I had kept them all three, intending
to throw them all myself. I knew it was wrong and deceitful; I was