Save the occasional tones of a piano, floating through some open window, scarcely a sound broke in upon the conversation; the last rays of the setting sun, as they lingered on the sea, increased the sense of perfect peace.
Then suddenly there arose as great a tumult in the heart of the town, as if a battery had been opened there. Boys shouted, girls screamed, other boys hurrahed, old women scolded and commanded, the policeman’s big dog barked, and every cur in town bayed in return. People inside were forced to come pouring out in the street. So tremendous became the noise that even the amtmand[1] had to turn on his porch and drop the words, “Something must be the matter.”
“What is it?” was asked in excited tones of those on the steps by people rushing in from the avenues. “Ay, what is it?” replied those on the steps. “Dear me! what can be the matter?” all now inquired when any one appeared from the centre of the town. But as this town lies like a half-moon about a gently winding bay, it was quite a long time before the reply could reach both ends of the street. “It is only the fisher maiden.”
This adventurous spirit, screened by a for-
- ↑ The magistrate.
