the forest of West Jutland, but the forest is the sea itself, and

the inhabitants find beams, and planks, and fragments which the

waves have cast upon the beach. One of these blocks had been placed by

loving hands on a child's grave, and one of the women who had come out

of the church walked up to it; she stood there, her eyes resting on

the weather-beaten memorial, and a few moments afterwards her

husband joined her. They were both silent, but he took her hand, and

they walked together across the purple heath, over moor and meadow