"At Phanefjord, I expect," replied the Pastor. "They could be ordered to be ready at the ferry at six in the morning, and in three hours we could reach Liselumd, from whence Moen's Klint can be explored on foot." "Is it too much for you, mother?" said Hardy. "It will be a long day; but the next day, weather permitting, we should be under weigh for Copenhagen, and you would have rest." "It will be a long day, John," replied his mother, "but not too long. I like Pastor Lindal's plan." "What is the meaning of the name Phanefjord?" asked Hardy. "Is it derived from the Greek?" "There was a giant called Gronjette, or the Green Giant; he gave his name to the fjord, which is called Gronsund. He was married to a giantess called Phane; hence Phanefjord. They are said to be buried at Harbolle, and their graves are one hundred yards (English) long. He was accustomed to ride through the woods with his head under his left arm, with a spear, and surrounded by hounds. The Bonder always left a sheaf of oats for his horse, so that he should not ride over their freshly sown fields, when the Jette or giant went on his hunting excursions. There is even an epitaph on Gron and Phane:-- 'Nu hviler Gron med Phane sin; Som traettede rasken Hjort og Hind. Tak, Bonde, god! den dyre Gud, Nu gaar du tryg af Sundet ud.' Literally-- 'Now rests Gron and his Phane; They followed the quick buck and hind. Thank, peasant, the good God, That now you can safely go through the fjord.' There is a story of Gron. He halted one night and knocked at a Bonde's door, and told him to hold his hounds by a leash. Gron rode away, and was absent two hours. At length he returned, but across his horse was a mermaid, which he had shot. This was before the time of powder. Gron said to the Bonde, 'I have hunted that mermaid for seven years, and now I have got her.' He then asked for something to drink, and when he was served with it he gave the Bonde some gold money; but it was so hot it burnt through his hand, and the money sunk in the earth. Gron laughed, and said, 'As you have drank with me, you shall have something, so take the leash you have held my hounds with.' Gron rode away, and the Bonde kept the leash, and as long as he did so all things prospered; but at last he thought it was of little value, and threw it away. He then gradually grew poorer and poorer, and died in great poverty." "A very good legend, and thank you, Herr Pastor," said Mrs. Hardy.