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the third was a little black thing. “You may keep that one，” said Christina； “it is quite as pretty.”
“What is in it？” asked Ib.
“the best of all things for you，” replied the gypsy. So Ib held the nut very tight.
then the woman promised to lead the children to the right path， that they might find their way home： and they went forward certainly in quite another direction to the one they meant to take； therefore no one ought to speak against the woman， and say that she wanted to steal the children. In the wild wood-path they met a forester who knew Ib， and， by his help， Ib and Christina reached home， where they found every one had been very anxious about them. They were pardoned and forgiven， although they really had both done wrong， and deserved to get into trouble； first， because they had let the sucking-pig fall into the water； and， secondly， because they had run away. Christina was taken back to her father's house on the heath， and Ib remained in the farm-house on the borders of the wood， near the GREat land ridge.
the first thing Ib did that evening was to take out of his pocket the little black nut， in which the best thing of all was said to be enclosed. He laid it carefully between the door and the door-post， and then shut the door so that the nut cracked directly. But there was not much kernel to be seen； it was what we should call hollow or worm-eaten， and looked as if it had been filled with tobacco or rich black earth. “It is just what I expected！” exclaimed Ib. “How should there be room in a little nut like this for the best thing of all？ Christina will find her two nuts just the same； there will be neither fine clothes or a golden carriage in them.”
Winter came； and the new year， and indeed many years passed away； until Ib was old enough to be confirmed， and， therefore， he went during a whole winter to the clergyman of the nearest village to be prepared.
One day， about this time， the boatman paid a visit to Ib's parents， and told them that Christina was going to service， and that she had been remarkably fortunate in obtaining a good place， with most respectable people. “Only think，” he said， “She is going to the rich innkeeper's， at the hotel in Herning， many miles west from here. She is to assist the landlady in the housekeeping； and， if afterwards she behaves well and remains to be confirmed， the people will treat her as their own daughter.”
So Ib and Christina took leave of each other. People already called them “the betrothed，” and at parting the girl showed Ib the two nuts， which she had taken care of ever since the time that they lost themselves in the wood； and she told him also that the little wooden shoes he once carved for her when he was a boy， and gave her as a present， had been carefully kept in a drawer ever since. And so they parted.
After Ib's confirmation， he remained at home with his mother， for he had become a clever shoemaker， and in summer managed the farm for her quite alone. His father had been dead some time， and his mother kept no farm servants. Sometimes， but very seldom， he heard of Christina， through a postillion or eel-seller who was passing. But she was well off with the rich innkeeper； and after being confirmed she wrote a letter to her father， in which was a kind message to Ib and his mother. In this letter， she mentioned that her master and mistress had made her a present of a beautiful new dress， and some nice under-clothes. This was， of course， pleasant news.
One day， in the following spring， there came a knock at the door of the house where Ib's old mother lived； and when they opened it， lo and behold， in stepped the boatman and Christina. She had come to pay them a visit， and to spend the day. A carriage had to come from the Herning hotel to the next village， and she had taken the opportunity to see her friends once more. She looked as elegant as a real lady， and wore a pretty dress， beautifully made on purpose for her. There she stood， in full dress， while Ib wore only his working clothes. He could not utter a word； he could only seize her hand and hold it fast in his own， but he felt too happy and glad to open his lips. Christina， however， was quite at her ease； she talked and talked， and kissed him in the most friendly manner. Even afterwards， when they were left alone， and she asked， “Did you know me again， Ib？” he still stood holding her hand， and said at last， “You are become quite a grand lady， Christina， and I am only a rough working man； but I have often thought of you and of old times.” Then they wandered up the GREat ridge， and looked across the stream to the heath， where the little hills were covered with the flowering broom. Ib said nothing； but before the time came for them to part， it became quite clear to him that Christina must be his wife： had they not even in childhood been called the betrothed？ To him it seemed as if they were really engaged to each other， although not a word had been spoken on the subject. They had only a few more hours to remain together， for Christina was obliged to return that evening to the neighboring village， to be ready for the carriage which was to start the next morning early for Herning. Ib and her father accompanied her to the village. It was a fine moonlight evening； and when they arrived， Ib stood holding Christina's hand in his， as if he could not let her go. His eyes brightened， and the words he uttered came with hesitation from his lips， but from the deepest recesses of his heart： “Christina， if you have not become too grand， and if you can be contented to live in my mother's house as my wife， we will be married some day. But we can wait for a while.”
“Oh yes，” she replied； “Let us wait a little longer， Ib. I can trust you， for I believe that I do love you. But let me think it over.” then he kissed her lips； and so they parted.
On the way home， Ib told the boatman that he and Christina were as good as engaged to each other； and the boatman found out that he had always expected it would be so， and went home with Ib that evening， and remained the night in the farmhouse； but nothing further was said of the engagement. During the next year， two letters passed between Ib and Christina. They were signed， “Faithful till death；” but at the end of that time， one day the boatman came over to see Ib， with a kind GREeting from Christina. He had something else to say， which made him hesitate in a strange manner. At last it came out that Christina， who had grown a very pretty girl， was more lucky than ever. She was courted and admired by every one； but her master's son， who had been home on a visit， was so much pleased with Christina that he wished to marry her. He had a very good situation in an office at Copenhagen， and as she had also taken a liking for him， his parents were not unwilling to consent. But Christina， in her heart， often thought of Ib， and knew how much he thought of her； so she felt inclined to refuse this good fortune， added the boatman. At first Ib said not a word， but he became as white as the wall， and shook his head gently， and then he spoke，—“Christina must not refuse this good fortune.”
“then will you write a few words to her？” said the boatman.
Ib sat down to write， but he could not get on at all. the words were not what he wished to say， so he tore up the page. The following morning， however， a letter lay ready to be sent to Christina， and the following is what he wrote：—
“the letter written by you to your father I have read， and see from it that you are prosperous in everything， and that still better fortune is in store for you. Ask your own heart， Christina， and think over carefully what awaits you if you take me for your husband， for I possess very little in the world. Do not think of me or of my position； think only of your own welfare. You are bound to me by no promises； and if in your heart you have given me one， I release you from it. May every blessing and happiness be poured out upon you， Christina. Heaven will give me the heart's consolation.
