I had never met King Frederik--the Crown Prince he was then--until the summer of 1904, which we spent at Copenhagen. As a boy I had seen him often and pulled off my cap to him, and always in return had received a bow and a friendly smile. But at home, and to speak to, I had not met him till that summer. We were at luncheon at our hotel one day, nothing further from our thoughts than princes and courts, when the _portier_ came in hot haste to announce a royal lackey who wished speech with me. Right behind him up loomed the messenger, in his gold lace and with his silver-headed cane ever so much more imposing a figure than the King himself. “Their Royal Highnesses, the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess,” so ran his message, “desired our attendance at dinner at Charlottenlund the next day but one.” “The dickens they do,” I blurted out, fortunately in English, with a vision of silk hats and regalia of which I had none. But my wife pulled my sleeve and saved the day. “Would he thank their royal highnesses very much; we should be glad to come,” was the way it went into Danish. Whereupon he bowed and went, leaving us staring helplessly at one another. I think we were both disposed to back out; but the children decided it otherwise. Of course we must go. Such an honor! So we went. After all, it was simple enough. I just borrowed a top hat (that did not fit; I was glad to carry it in my hand in the presence of royalty, for it simply would not come down over my head; it was three sizes too small). The rest was easy. We drove out with the American Minister and his wife, who were invited too. It was for a long time after a disputed question in our family whether it was the cross of Dannebrog I wore on my breast, and therefore me, the sentinels saluted; or the American Minister. But he wore no cross. My wife insisted mischievously that it must be his carriage. Could she have seen herself, charming princes and princesses alike with her sweet and gracious ways, there would have been no mystery. Where she passed, everybody was made glad. They saluted from sheer desire to do it. And then, we were guests of royalty. Charlottenlund lies in the forest just outside Copenhagen, on the beautiful Shore Road. It blew in from the water, and the ladies, on account of their hats, preferred to ride backwards. And so, chatting and laughing, we wheeled into the palace grounds before we knew we were halfway, and found ourselves heading a procession of royal carriages bent for the palace. They were easily known by their scarlet-coated drivers. We had barely time to change around, to get our wives properly seated, when the door of the carriage was yanked open and lackeys swarmed to help the ladies. In we went. Almost before we could draw breath a door was thrown wide, our names were announced, and the Crown Princess came forward with outstretched hand. “It was very good of you to come out to us,” she said.