noticed that the narrow back gate of the wall stood slightly ajar. The Robber Mother simply pushed it wide open and walked into the garden, she and her little ones, without asking anyone's leave, as her way was.

The custodian of Övid Cloister was a priest named Hans. He had a passion for planting flowers; it was ever his habit to gather them and care for them. The Robber Mother stood in the middle of this exquisite little garden that the priest had made within the wall. At first she stood dumbfounded, gazing, without a word. It was summer, and the garden billowed with flowers of every kind, red and blue and yellow — lovely flowers, sweet of fragrance. Then a smile of contentment settled on her features as she advanced with steady steps along the narrow path between the many flower beds.

It so happened that there was in the garden a monk busy pulling up the wild weeds that sprouted here and there. It was he who had left the gate in the wall partly open, so that he might throw the weeds outside it. Hardly a moment passed before his eye fell on the Robber Mother and her little ones in the middle of the garden, and he hurried toward them and ordered them out, back the way they had come. But the woman paid no heed to the monk's words. She went on her way, turning now to the white lilies spread before her, now to the green ivy that had climbed the cloister wall and clothed it. The woman kept gazing, and gazing long, without showing the slightest concern for the monk. He supposed she had not understood what he said, and was about to take her by the arm to show her the gate; but she wheeled on him and fixed him with a look that nailed him to the spot. Her figure straightened up from where it had been bent under the weight of the sack she carried, and she said to the monk: "I am the Robber Mother from the forest of Göinge. Reach out your hand to me, if you dare."

(1) The ishqa is a plant with a tender stem that climbs walls.

It was plain that this woman was certain no one would touch her — as though she had proclaimed herself Queen of Denmark. Yet the monk took heart and ventured to trouble and confront her; even so, once he knew who she was, he tried to get her out by the gentler way. He said to her:

"You know very well, Robber Mother, that this building is a cloister, and that entry into the cloister is forbidden to women. If you do not go out, you will bring down on my head the anger and displeasure of the monks, because I left the gate open; and my pun-ishment may well be to be driven from the cloister and the garden."

These words made no impres-sion on the Robber Mother. She went on advancing among the flower beds, running her eyes over the hyssop with its small, deep-red flowers, and over the Frankish jasmine with its orange-colored clusters. So the monk saw nothing for it but to hurry to the cloister courtyard for help. Before long he was back with two stout monks in his com-pany. Then the Robber Mother understood that the matter was in earnest. She planted her feet in the dust of the path and began raining a torrent of curses on the cloister and its inmates, threat-ening and menacing them unless she was allowed to remain in the garden as long as she pleased. But the monks were not frightened by her threats; they insisted on driv-ing her out of the cloister grounds.

Suddenly the Robber Mother let out a savage shriek and flung herself upon the three monks, tearing and biting them freely. The five children followed their mother's example, and the monks saw nothing for it but to withdraw into the cloister to call for help, once it was clear to them that the trouble was too hard for them to finish by themselves.

They were in the walk that leads to the cloister court when they met the priest Hans, who

had come out into the garden to see the reason for the uproar rising from it. He questioned them, and they answered that the Robber Mother of Göinge forest had entered the garden and they had been unable to drive her out, and so they were on their way to call the rest of the cloister to their aid. He rebuked them for using violence and harshness with this woman, and forbade them to seek help. Then he sent two of the monks away, taking with him only the first monk, the one who had been pulling up the weeds growing among the flowers.

The two of them went down into the garden and found the Robber Mother pacing back and forth among the colored flower beds, and Father Hans could not help admiring her at first sight. He was certain she had never seen a garden before; and yet she strolled unhurried among the beds — each of which held one particular kind of rare flower — looking at them as though she had known them of old. Over this cluster of flowers she would linger, breathing in their scent; toward that one she would nod her head.

The priest loved his garden as much as he could love anything earthly, doomed to pass away and perish. And despite the woman's wild, fearsome look, the priest did not hold back from admiring her and her courage, since she had taken on the three monks for the sake of her right to enjoy, at leisure and in peace, the sight of the garden. He came up to her and asked her gently whether the garden had pleased her.

The Robber Mother turned toward the monk with defiance in her glance. It had flashed into her mind that he meant to trap her; but she was quickly struck by the whiteness of his locks, his gauntness, and the frailty of his frame. She answered in a low, gentle voice:

"At first I thought my eyes had never fallen on anything more beautiful than this garden; but now I see there is no likeness at all between it and the garden