So they wentto live in the mud hut in the open field, and I wandered away, overmoor and meadow, through bare bushes and leafless forests, to the opensea, to the broad shores in other lands, 'Whir-r-r, whir-r-r! Away,away!' year after year."
  And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; theWind will tell us:
  "The last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth, Anna Dorothea. Shewas old and bent then; for fifty years had passed and she had outlivedthem all. She could relate the history. Yonder, on the heath, near thetown of Wiborg, in Jutland, stood the fine new house of the canon. Itwas built of red brick, with projecting gables. It was inhabited, forthe smoke curled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle ladyand her beautiful daughters sat in the bay-window, and looked over thehawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brown heath. What were theylooking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest, which was builtupon an old tumbledown hut. The roof, as far as one existed at all,was covered with moss and lichen. The stork's nest covered the greaterpart of it, and that alone was in a good condition; for it was kept inorder by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at, and notto be touched," said the Wind. "For the sake of the stork's nest ithad been allowed to remain, although it is a blot on the landscape.They did not like to drive the stork away; therefore the old shed wasleft standing, and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay. Shehad the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance herreward for having once interceded for the preservation of the nest ofits black brother in the forest of Borreby? At that time she, thepoor woman, was a young child, a white hyacinth in a rich garden. Sheremembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.
  "'O-h, o-h,' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning ofthe wind among the reeds and rushes. 'O-h, o-h,' she would say, 'nobell sounded at thy burial, Waldemar Daa. The poor school-boys did noteven sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laid in theearth to rest. O-h, everything has an end, even misery. Sister Idabecame the wife of a peasant; that was the hardest trial whichbefell our father, that the husband of his own daughter should be amiserable serf, whom his owner could place for punishment on thewooden horse. I suppose he is under the ground now; and Ida- alas!alas! it is not ended yet; miserable that I am! Kind Heaven, grantme that I may die.'
  "That was Anna Dorothea's prayer in the wretched hut that was leftstanding for the sake of the stork. I took pity on the proudest of thesisters," said the Wind. "Her courage was like that of a man; and inman's clothes she served as a sailor on board ship. She was of fewwords, and of a dark countenance; but she did not know how to climb,so I blew her overboard before any one found out that she was a woman;and, in my opinion, that was well done," said the Wind.
  On such another Easter morning as that on which Waldemar Daaimagined he had discovered the art of making gold, I heard the tonesof a psalm under the stork's nest, and within the crumbling walls.It was Anna Dorothea's last song. There was no window in the hut, onlya hole in the wall; and the sun rose like a globe of burnished gold,and looked through. With what splendor he filled that dismal dwelling!Her eyes were glazing, and her heart breaking; but so it would havebeen, even had the sun not shone that morning on Anna Dorothea. Thestork's nest had secured her a home till her death. I sung over hergrave; I sung at her father's grave. I know where it lies, and whereher grave is too, but nobody else knows it.
  "New times now; all is changed. The old high-road is lost amidcultivated fields; the new one now winds along over covered graves;and soon the railway will come, with its train of carriages, andrush over graves where lie those whose very names are forgoten. Allpassed away, passed away!