winter set in, and the waters froze over; it was as if everything were preparing itself for burial. but when spring returned, and the first steamer was to start, an intense longing seized him to go away, far into the world, anywhere but not too close to france. so he packed his knapsack and wandered deep into germany, from town to town, finding rest and peace nowhere. it was not until he came to the glorious old city of nuremberg that he could quiet his restless spirit, and there he decided to stay.
nuremberg is a strange old city, looking as if it had been cut out of an old fashioned picture book. the streets seem to wander along just as they please. the houses did not like to stand in regular rows. gables with little towers, arabesques, and pillars lean out over the walks, and from the queer peaked roofs water spouts, shaped like dragons or long, slim dogs, push out far over the streets.
there in the nuremberg market place stood knud, his knapsack, on his back. he was beside one of the old fountains, where splendid bronze figures, scriptural and historical, rose up between the gushing jets of water. a pretty little servant girl was just filling her pails, and she gave knud a refreshing drink; and as her hand was full of roses she gave him one of them, too, and he accepted that as a good sign.
from the church near by came the strains of an organ; they rang as familiar to him as the tones of the organ at home in kj??ge church, and he entered the great cathedral. the sunlight streamed in through the high stained glass windows and down between the lofty, slender pillars. his spirit found rest.
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