《安徒生童话英文版》第383章

　　The crows flew past him by hundreds across the old trees, andscreamed, "Krah! da!- Krah! da!"

　　And he went out of the garden and over the grass-plot of the yard,into the alder grove; there stood a little six-sided house, with apoultry-yard and a duck-yard. In the middle of the room sat the oldwoman who had the management of the whole, and who knew accuratelyabout every egg that was laid, and about every chicken that couldcreep out of an egg. But she was not the Story of which the man was insearch; that she could attest with a Christian certificate ofbaptism and of vaccination that lay in her drawer.

　　Without, not far from the house, is a hill covered withred-thorn and broom. Here lies an old grave-stone, which was broughthere many years ago from the churchyard of the provincial town, aremembrance of one of the most honored councillors of the place; hiswife and his five daughters, all with folded hands and stiff ruffs,stand round him. One could look at them so long, that it had an effectupon the thoughts, and these reacted upon the stones, as if theywere telling of old times; at least it had been so with the man whowas in search of the Story.

　　As he came nearer, he noticed a living butterfly sitting on theforehead of the sculptured councillor. The butterfly flapped itswings, and flew a little bit farther, and then returned fatigued tosit upon the grave-stone, as if to point out what grew there.Four-leaved shamrocks grew there; there were seven specimens closeto each other. When fortune comes, it comes in a heap. He pluckedthe shamrocks and put them in his pocket.

　　"Fortune is as good as red gold, but a new charming story would bebetter still," thought the man; but he could not find it here.

　　And the sun went down, round and large; the meadow was coveredwith vapor. The moor-woman was at her brewing.

　　It was evening. He stood alone in his room, and looked out uponthe sea, over the meadow, over moor and coast. The moon shonebright, a mist was over the meadow, making it look like a greatlake; and, indeed, it was once so, as the legend tells- and in themoonlight the eye realizes these myths.

　　Then the man thought of what he had been reading in the town, thatWilliam Tell and Holger Danske never really lived, but yet live inpopular story, like the lake yonder, a living evidence for such myths.Yes, Holger Danske will return again!

　　As he stood thus and thought, something beat quite stronglyagainst the window. Was it a bird, a bat or an owl? Those are notlet in, even when they knock. The window flew open of itself, and anold woman looked in at the man.

　　"What's your pleasure?" said he. "Who are you? You're looking inat the first floor window. Are you standing on a ladder?"

　　"You have a four-leaved shamrock in your pocket," she replied."Indeed, you have seven, and one of them is a six-leaved one."

　　"Who are you?" asked the man again.

　　"The Moor-woman," she replied. "The Moor-woman who brews. I was atit. The bung was in the cask, but one of the little moor-imps pulledit out in his mischief, and flung it up into the yard, where it beatagainst the window; and now the beer's running out of the cask, andthat won't do good to anybody."

　　"Pray tell me some more!" said the man.

　　"Yes, wait a little," answered the Moor-woman. "I've somethingelse to do just now." And she was gone.

　　The man was going to shut the window, when the woman already stoodbefore him again.

　　"Now it's done," she said; "but I shall have half the beer to brewover again to-morrow, if the weather is suitable. Well, what haveyou to ask me?