It was toward spring, and the fishing began. Jurgen helped, for he had grown during the last year; he was quick and alert at his work, and there was no lack of spirit in him. He could swim and tread water, turn over and tumble in the the water.

This is a story of the sand dunes of Jutland, but it doesn't begin there; no, it begins far away to the south, in Spain. The ocean is the highway between the two countries. So now let your thoughts journey to Spain!

Alfred the sculptor -- yes, you know him, don't you? We all know him; he was awarded the gold medal, traveled to Italy, and came home again.

Once there were two cocks, one on a dunghill and one on the roof, both of them conceited; but which of the two did the most? Tell us what you think -- we'll keep our opinion, anyway.

In a poet's study, somebody made a remark as he looked at the inkstand that was standing on the table: "It's strange what can come out of the inkstand! I wonder what the next thing will be. Yes, it's strange!"

On one of the Danish islands, where old thingsteads, the judgment seats of our forefathers, loom up in the cornfields and mighty trees raise their heads above the beech forests, there lies a little town of low houses with red roofs.

There was sorrow in the house; there was sorrow in every heart, for the youngest child, a four-year-old boy, the joy and future hope of his parents, was dead.

Anne Lisbeth's complexion was like peaches and cream; her eyes were bright, her teeth shiny white; she was young, gay, and beautiful to look upon; her steps were light and her mind was even lighter.

When the wind sweeps over the grass, the blades of grass ripple like the water of a lake; and when it sweeps over the cornfield the ears of corn curl into waves like those on a lake; this is the dance of the Wind.

"In this world things go up and down and down and up!" said Ole, the tower keeper.