flag-staff, where the flag of Dannebrog was displayed; and near by stood
another pole, where the hop-tendril in summer or harvest-time wound its
fragrant flowers; but in winter-time, after ancient custom, oat-sheaves were
fastened to it, that the birds of the air might find here a good meal in the
happy Christmas-time.
“Our good Larsen is growing sentimental as he grows old,” said the
family; “but he is faithful, and quite attached to us.”
In one of the illustrated papers there was a picture at New Year’s of the
old manor, with the flag-staff and the oat-sheaves for the birds of the air,
and the paper said that the old manor had preserved that beautiful old
custom, and deserved great credit for it.
“They beat the drum for all Larsen’s doings,” said the family. “He is a
lucky fellow, and we may almost be proud of having such a man in our
service.”
But they were not a bit proud of it. They were very well aware that they
were the lords of the manor; they could give Larsen warning, in fact, but
they did not. They were good people, and fortunate it is for every Mr.
Larsen that there are so many good people like them.
Yes, that is the story of the gardener and the manor. Now you may think a
little about it.
