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THIS story is from the sand-dunes or sand-hills of Jutland， but it does not begin there in the North， but far away in the South， in Spain. The wide sea is the highroad from nation to nation； journey in thought； then， to sunny Spain. It is warm and beautiful there； the fiery pomegranate flowers peep from among dark laurels； a cool refreshing breeze from the mountains blows over the orange gardens， over the Moorish halls with their golden cupolas and coloured walls. Children go through the streets in procession with candles and waving banners， and the sky， lofty and clear with its glittering stars， rises above them. Sounds of singing and castanets can be heard， and youths and maidens dance upon the flowering acacia trees， while even the beggar sits upon a block of marble， refreshing himself with a juicy melon， and dreamily enjoying life. It all seems like a beautiful dream. Here dwelt a newly married couple who completely gave themselves up to the charm of life； indeed they possessed every good thing they could desirehealth and happiness， riches and honour. We are as happy as human beings can be， said the young couple from the depths of their hearts. They had indeed only one step higher to mount on the ladder of happinessthey hoped that God would give them a child， a son like them in form and spirit. The happy little one was to be welcomed with rejoicing， to be cared for with love and tenderness， and enjoy every advantage of wealth and luxury that a rich and influential family can give. So the days went by like a joyous festival. | 
