They told him he wasfortunate in being proved innocent, and that he might go. Theburgomaster gave him two dollars for travelling expenses, and manycitizens offered him provisions and beer- there were still goodpeople; they were not all hard and pitiless. But the best thing of allwas that the merchant Bronne, of Skjagen, into whose service Jurgenhad proposed entering the year before, was just at that time onbusiness in the town of Ringkjobing. Bronne heard the whole story;he was kind-hearted, and understood what Jurgen must have felt andsuffered. Therefore he made up his mind to make it up to the poor lad,and convince him that there were still kind folks in the world.
  So Jurgen went forth from prison as if to paradise, to findfreedom, affection, and trust. He was to travel this path now, forno goblet of life is all bitterness; no good man would pour out such adraught for his fellow-man, and how should He do it, Who is lovepersonified?
  "Let everything be buried and forgotten," said Bronne, themerchant. "Let us draw a thick line through last year: we will evenburn the almanack. In two days we will start for dear, friendly,peaceful Skjagen. People call it an out-of-the-way corner; but it is agood warm chimney-corner, and its windows open toward every part ofthe world."
  What a journey that was: It was like taking fresh breath out ofthe cold dungeon air into the warm sunshine. The heather bloomed inpride and beauty, and the shepherd-boy sat on a barrow and blew hispipe, which he had carved for himself out of a sheep bone. FataMorgana, the beautiful aerial phenomenon of the wilderness, appearedwith hanging gardens and waving forests, and the wonderful cloudcalled "Lokeman driving his sheep" also was seen.
  Up towards Skjagen they went, through the land of the Wendels,whence the men with long beards (the Longobardi or Lombards) hademigrated in the reign of King Snio, when all the children and oldpeople were to have been killed, till the noble Dame Gambaruk proposedthat the young people should emigrate. Jurgen knew all this, he hadsome little knowledge; and although he did not know the land of theLombards beyond the lofty Alps, he had an idea that it must bethere, for in his boyhood he had been in the south, in Spain. Hethought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the redpomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the greatbeehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all,and Jurgen's home was Denmark.
  At last they arrived at "Vendilskaga," as Skjagen is called in oldNorwegian and Icelandic writings. At that time Old Skjagen, with theeastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills andarable land as far as the lighthouse near "Grenen." Then, as now,the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills- awilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voiceof the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.
  In the south-west, a mile from "Grenen," lies Old Skjagen;merchant Bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be Jurgen's homefor the future. The dwelling-house was tarred, and all the smallout-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. There was nofence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rowsof fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry inthe wind. The entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for therewere so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the seabefore it was filled. They were caught by carloads, and many of themwere either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.
  The old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meethim with great rejoicing. There was a great squeezing of hands, andtalking and questioning. And the daughter, what a sweet face andbright eyes she had!