[1]Tine (pronounced tee´ne) a covered wooden box with handle on top.
[1]Tine (pronounced tee´ne) a covered wooden box with handle on top.
Soon that skin-and-bone Andersen, the storekeeper, got on the boat, and then came little Magnus, the telegraph messenger, jogging along. Magnus is really a dwarf. He is forty years old and doesn't reach any higher than my shoulder; but he has an exceedingly large old face. He clambered up on a bench. He has such short legs that when he sits down his legs stick straight out into the air, just as tiny little children's do when they sit down. Then came Mrs. Tellefsen, in a French shawl, and dreadfully warm and worried. "When the whistle blew the first time, I was still in my night-clothes," she confided to me.
The whistle blew the third time. I smiled condescendingly down to Ingeborg, our maid, who stood upon the wharf. I wouldn't for a good deal be in her shoes and have to turn back and go home again now. Far up the street appeared a man and woman shouting and callingfor us to wait for them. "Hurry up! Hurry up!" shouted the captain. That was easier said than done; for when they came nearer I saw that it was that queer Mr. Singdahlsen and his mother. Mr. Singdahlsen is not right in his mind and he thinks that his legs are grown together as far down as his knees. So he doesn't move any part of his legs in walking except the part below his knees. Of course he couldn't go very fast. His mother pushed and pulled him along, the captain shouted, and at last they came over the gangway and the steamboat started.
The water was as smooth and shining as a mirror, and it seemed almost a sin to have the steamboat go through it and break the mirror. Over at the Point the tiny red and yellow houses shone brightly in the morning light and the smoke from their chimneys rose high in the quiet air.
Then my troubles with Karsten began. Yes, I entirely agree that children are a nuisance to travel with. In the first place, Karstenwanted to stand forever and look down into the machinery room. I held on to him by the jacket, and threatened him and told him to come away. Far from it! He was as stubborn as a mule. Humph! a great thing it would have been if he had fallen down between the shining steel arms of the machinery and been crushed! O dear me! At last he had had enough of that. Then he began to open and shut the door which led into the deck cabin; back and forth, back and forth, bang it went!
"Let that be, little boy," said Mr. Singdahlsen. Karsten flushed very red and sat still for five whole minutes. Then it came into his head that he absolutely must see the propeller under the back of the boat. That was worse than ever, for he hung the whole upper part of his body over the railing. I held fast to him till my fingers ached. For a minute I was so provoked with him that I had a good mind to let go of him and let him take care of himself;—but I thought of Mother, and so kept tight hold of him.
We went past the lighthouse out on Green Island. The watchman came out on his tiny yellow balcony and hailed us. I swung my umbrella. "Hurrah, my boys," shouted Mr. Singdahlsen in English. "Hurrah, my boys," imitated Karsten after him. Little Magnus dumped himself down from the seat and waved his hat; but he stood behind me and nobody saw him. It was really a pretty queer lot of travelers.
Just then the mate came around to sell the tickets. Father had given me a five-crown note for our traveling expenses. As Karsten and I were children and went for half-price, I didn't need any more, he said. So there I stood ready to pay.
"How old are you?" asked the mate.
Now I have always heard that it is impolite to question a lady about her age; I must say I hadn't a speck of a notion of telling that sharp-nosed mate that I lacked seven months of being twelve years old.
"How old are you?" he asked again.
"Twelve years," said I hastily.
"Well, then you must pay full fare."
I don't know how I looked outside at that minute. I know that inside of me I was utterly aghast. Suppose I didn't have money enough! And I had told a lie!
Now my purse is a little bit of a thing, hardly big enough for you to get three fingers in. I took it out rather hurriedly—everything that I undertake always goes with a rush, Mother says. How it happened I don't know, but my five-crown note whisked out of my hand, over the railing and out to sea.
"Catch it! Catch it!" I shouted.
"That is impossible," said the mate.
"Yes, yes! Put out a boat!" I cried. All the passengers crowded together around us.
"Did the five crowns blow away?" piped Karsten.
"Was it, perhaps, the only one you had?" asked the mate. Ugh! how horrid he was. Storekeeper Andersen and Mrs. Tellefsen andthe mate laughed as hard as they could. Karsten pulled at my waterproof.
"You're a good one! Now they will put us ashore because we haven't any money. You always do something like that!"
"Are you going to put us ashore?" I asked.
"Oh, no," said the mate. "I will go up to your father's office and get the money some time. That's all right."
Pshaw! that would be worse than anything else. Father would be raving. He always says I lose everything.
"You'll catch it from Father," whispered Karsten.
Oh, what should I do! What should I do! Karsten and Mr. Singdahlsen clambered up on some rigging away aft to get sight of the five-crown note. Mr. Singdahlsen peered through the hollow of his hand and both he and Karsten insisted that they saw it. But that couldn't help us any.
Oh! how disgusting everything had become all at once. The visit at Uncle's and Aunt'swould be horrid, too. To go there alone in this way, and have to talk alone with Uncle, a minister, and all the other grown-up people at the rectory—it would be disgustingly tiresome. There was nothing that was any fun in the whole world. It would be disgusting to go home again; for Father would be so dreadfully angry—and it was most disgusting of all to be here on the steamboat where everybody laughed at me.
And all on account of an old rag of a five-crown bill which had blown away. Besides, I had told a lie and said I was twelve years old. Oh-oh-oh! how sad everything was!
I sat with my hand under my cheek, leaning against the railing and staring into the sea. All at once a plan occurred to me which I thought a remarkably good one then. Now I think it was frightfully stupid. I would ask the mate if he wouldn't take something of mine as payment for our passage.
I had a little silver ring—one of those with a tiny heart hanging to it;—I thought of thatfirst. I took it off of my finger and looked at it. It was really a tiny little bit of a thing—it couldn't be worth so very much. At home I had a pair of skates, sure enough. I would willingly sell them. But I couldn't possibly ask the mate to go up into our attic and get them and sell them for me. What in the world should I give him? Suddenly a brilliant idea struck me. My new umbrella—he should have my new umbrella. And I would tell the mate at the same time that I had made a mistake, that I wasn't twelve years old, only eleven years and five months. I took the umbrella and went quickly across the deck to find the mate. To be on the safe side I took the ring off of my finger and held it in my hand. It might be he would want both ring and umbrella. But it was impossible to find him. I wandered fore and aft and peeked into all the hatchways—but I couldn't get a glimpse of that sharp nose of his anywhere. Finally I discovered him sitting in a little cabin, writing.
I established myself in the doorway andswung my umbrella. To save my life I couldn't get out a single word of what I had planned to say. Think of having to say "I told you a lie!"
"Do you want anything?" asked the mate at last.
"Oh, no!" I said hastily. "Well, yes. How far is it to Sand Island now?"
"An hour's sail, about;"—at the very minute that he was speaking these words a terrible shriek was heard from aft, a loud shriek from several people all screaming as hard as they could. I never was so scared in my whole life. The mate almost pushed me over, he sprang so quickly out of the door. All the people aft were crowded at one side. In the midst of the shrieks and cries I heard some one say, "Man overboard!"
O horrors! It must be Karsten! I was sure of it. I hadn't thought of him or taken any care of him for the last ten minutes. I hardly know how I got aft, my knees were shaking so. The steamboat stopped and two sailors were alreadyup on the railing loosing the life-boat.
"Karsten! Karsten! Karsten!" I cried. All at once I saw Karsten's light hair and big ears over on a bench. He was throwing his arms about in the air and was frightfully excited. "This is the way he did," shouted he; "he hung over the railing this way, looking for the five crowns."—It was Mr. Singdahlsen who had fallen overboard. Oh, poor Mrs. Singdahlsen! She cried and called out unceasingly.
"He is weak in the understanding!" she cried, "and therefore the Lord gave me sense enough for two—so that I could look after him;—catch him—catch him. He will drown before my very eyes."
I held Karsten by the jacket as in a vise. I was going to look after him now. The boat was by this time close to Mr. Singdahlsen. They drew his long figure out of the water and laid him in the bottom of the boat. The next minute they had reached the side of the steameragain, clambered up with Singdahlsen, and laid him on the deck. He looked exactly as if he were dead. They stripped him to his waist, and then they began to work over him according to the directions in the almanac for restoring drowned people. If I live to be a million years old I shall never forget that scene.
There lay the long, thin, half-naked Singdahlsen on the deck, with two sailors lifting his arms up and down, Mrs. Singdahlsen on her knees by his side drying his face with a red pocket-handkerchief, the sun shining baking hot on the deck, and the smoke of the steamer floating out far behind us in a big thick streak. At length he showed signs of life and they carried him into the cabin. Then, what do you suppose happened? Mrs. Singdahlsen was angry atme! Wasn't that outrageous? The whole thing was my fault, she said, for if I hadn't lost the five crowns, her son wouldn't have fallen overboard.
"Now you can pay for the doctor and the apothecary, and for my anxiety and fright besides,"said Mrs. Singdahlsen. But everybody laughed and said I needn't worry myself about that.
"You said yourself that you had sense enough for two, Mrs. Singdahlsen," said Storekeeper Andersen.
"I haven't met any one here who has any more sense," said Mrs. Singdahlsen stuffily.
"Humph!" thought I to myself, "if I had to pay for Mrs. Singdahlsen's fright the damages would be pretty heavy."
Just then we swung round the point by the rectory, where Karsten and I were going to land. Uncle's hired boy was waiting for us with a boat. I recognized him from the year before. He is a regular landlubber, brought up away back in a mountain valley, and is mortally afraid when he has to row out to the steamboat. His face was deep red, and he made such hard work of rowing and backing water, and came up to the steamboat so awkwardly, that the captain scolded and blustered from the bridge. At last we got down intothe rowboat and were left rocking and rocking in the steamer's wake.
John, the farm boy, mopped his face and neck. He was all used up just from getting a rowboat alongside the steamer!
"Whew, whew! but it's dreadful work," said he.
The rectory harbor lay like a mirror. The island and trees and the bath-house stood on their heads in the clear, glassy water; and between the thick foliage of the trees there was a wide space through which we could see the upper story of the rectory and the top of the flagstaff. It is worth while to go traveling after all. I won't give another thought to that old rag of a five-crown bill.
Well; what I am going to tell about now hasn't the least thing to do with St. John's Day itself,—you mustn't think it has; not the least connection with fresh young birch leaves and strong sunshine and Whitsuntide lilies and all that. Far from it. It is only that a certain St. John's Day stands out in my memory because of what happened to me then.
Yes, now you shall hear about it. First I must tell you of the weather. It was just exactly what it should be on St. John's Day. The sky looked high and deep, with tiniest white clouds sprinkled over the whole circle of the heavens, and the sunshine was glorious on the hills and mountains and on the blue, blue sea.
Since it was Sunday as well as St. John'sDay, I was all dressed up. To be sure my dress was an old one of Mother's made over, but the insertion was spandy new and there was a lot of it. I'd love to draw a picture of that dress for you, if you wanted to have one made like it.
Perhaps I had best begin at the very beginning, which was really Karsten's stamp collection. He does nothing but collect stamps, and talk and jabber about stamps the whole day long. He swaps and bargains, and has a whole heap of "dubelkits," as he calls them. These duplicates he keeps in a tiny little box. He means to be very orderly, you see.
To tell the truth, Karsten is perfectly stupid about swapping. The other boys can fool him like everything. He doesn't understand a bit how to do business, and so I always feel like taking charge of these stamp bargainings myself. If I see a boy I don't know very well, peeping around the corner or sneaking up the hill, I am right on hand, for boys that want to trade never come running; they act as if theywere spying round and lying in wait for some one.
The instant Karsten sees them he comes out with his stamp album. He stands there and expounds and explains about his stamps, with such a trustful look on his round pink face, while the other boys watch their chance to fool him; and before he knows it, some of his very best specimens are gone. That's the reason why I have taken hold.
As soon as I see a suspicious-looking boy on the horizon—that is to say on the hill—I go out and stand at the corner in all my dignity and won't budge, and I always put in my word you may be sure. Karsten doesn't like it, but anyway, he had me to thank for a rare Chili stamp.
But it was that very same rare stamp that brought about all my trouble on St. John's Day, because Nils Peter cheated that stupid donkey of a Karsten out of it the next time he saw him. And that was on St. John's Day, the very day after I had got it for him.
"I believe you would give them your nose, ifthey asked for it," I said to Karsten. "You'd stand perfectly still and let them cut your nose nicely off, if they wished."
"You think you are smart, don't you?" said Karsten fiercely.
As Olaug came out just then (she is my little sister, you remember), I shouted to her:
"Run as fast as you can to Nils Peter and tell him Inger Johanne says for him to give up that Chili stamp instantly. I'll hold Karsten while you run."
He would have run after Olaug to catch her before she should have time to ask Nils Peter for the stamp, for he thought that would be too embarrassing.
Just as I got a good grip on Karsten, Olaug started. Oh, how she ran!—just like a race-horse, with her head high. Her hat fell off and hung by its elastic round her neck. She ran down the hill and up over Kranheia at top speed.
But you may believe I had a job of it standing there and holding fast to Karsten. Hepushed and he struck and he scolded. My! how he did behave!
But I held on and watched Olaug to see how far she had got. I was high on the hill, you know, and could see a long way.
"O dear! Olaug will burst a blood-vessel running like that," I thought. My! now she is there—now away off there. Karsten squirmed and struggled; now Olaug is on the path up Kranheia,—she's slowing down a little.
Impossible for me to hold Karsten any longer. I had to let go. He was off like an arrow, his hair standing up straight and his feet pounding the ground like a young elephant's.
O pshaw! Running like that he would soon catch Olaug. It was frightfully exciting, like a horse-race or a hunt after wild animals.
Well, that isn't a very good comparison, for nothing could be less like a wild animal than Olaug; but it was awfully exciting to see whether she would keep ahead and get the Chili stamp from Nils Peter.
So that I might see better how the race ended I sprang up to our chicken-yard, or rather beyond it, on our own hill. You could see the whole path up over Kranheia better from there than from any other place. But just where I must be to see best was that awfully high board fence, too high for me to see over, that went from the chicken-yard quite a long way beyond on the hill.
Pooh! What of it? I just wiggled a board that was already loose, pulled it away and stuck my head in the opening. It was a little narrow but I got my head through. Oh—oh! Karsten had caught up to Olaug and run past her like an ostrich at full speed—I've always heard that an ostrich runs faster than anything else in the world—yes, there he was swinging in towards Nils Peter's house.
O pshaw! Now that Chili stamp was lost for ever and ever.
Olaug had plumped herself right down; she had to sit still and get her breath, poor thing!
Now that there was nothing more for me towatch, I started to draw my head back out of the narrow opening between the thick boards. But, O horrors! It stuck fast! I couldn't possibly get it back. I turned and twisted my head this way and that, and up and down; I tried to pull and squeeze it back, but no, that was utterly impossible. How in the world I had ever got my head through the opening in the first place I can't understand to this day, but that I had got it through was only too sure.
New struggles to get loose—I thought I should tear my ears off—Goodness gracious, what should I do!
At first I wasn't a speck afraid. I just wriggled and pulled as hard as I could. But when I realized that I simply could not free myself, a sort of terror came over me.
Just think—if I never got my head out? Or suppose there came a cross dog and bit me while my head was as if nailed fast in the fence! And suppose nobody found me—(for of course nobody would know that I had run up here beyond the chicken-yard)—and perhaps I should have to stay caught in the fence the whole night, when it was dark.
I cried and sobbed, then I called; at last I screamed and roared. I heard the hens in the yard flap their wings and run about wildly, evidently frightened by the noise I made.
Down on the road, people stood still and gazed upward; then of course I shrieked the louder. But no one looked up to the chicken-yard; and even if they had, they couldn't very well see, from so far down, a round brown head sticking through a brown fence. I roared incessantly, and at last I saw a woman start to run up the hill—and then a man started—but they did not see me and soon disappeared among the trees, although I kept on bawling, "Help! I am right here! I am caught in the fence!"
Just then I saw Karsten and Nils Peter come out of Nils Peter's house. They stood a moment as if listening, and naturally they recognized my voice.
Then they started running. If Karsten hadraced over there, he certainly raced back again, too.
I kept bawling the whole time: "Here! here! in the fence! I am stuck fast in the fence!" It wasn't many minutes before both Karsten and Nils Peter stood behind me.
"Have you gone altogether crazy?" said Karsten in the greatest astonishment.
I felt a little offended, but there's no use in being offended when you haven't command over your own head, so I said very meekly:
"Ugh! such a nuisance! My head is stuck fast in here. Can't you help me?"
Would you believe it? They didn't laugh a bit—awfully kind, I call that—they just hauled and pulled me as hard as they could; it fairly scraped the skin off behind my ears and I thought I should be scalped if they kept on.
"No, it's no use," I said, crying again. "Run after Father, run after Mother, get everybody to come—uh, hu, hu!"
Well, they came. I couldn't see them, but I could hear the whole lot of them behind me.
Now therewasa scene! The same story began again; they pulled and twisted my head, Father gave directions, I cried and Olaug cried and everybody talked at once.
"No," said Father at last, "it can't be done. Hurry down to Carpenter Wenzel and ask him to come and to bring his saw with him."
"Uh, huh! He'll saw my head off!" I wailed.
But Mother patted me on the back and comforted me, and all the others standing behind kept saying it would be all right soon, while I stood there like a mouse in a trap and cried and cried.
But it was Sunday and the carpenter was not at home.
"Run after my little kitchen saw then," said Mother. "Bring the meat-axe, too," called Father.
Oh, how would they manage? It seemed to me my head would surely be sawed or chopped to pieces.
They just hauled and pulled me as hard as they could.—Page 67.They just hauled and pulled me as hard as they could.—Page 67.
Well, now began a sawing and hammering around me. When Mother sawed I was not afraid, but when Father began I was in terror, for Father, who is so awfully clever with his head, is so unpractical with his hands that he can't even drive a nail straight. So you can imagine how clumsy he would be about getting a head out of a board fence.
The others all had to laugh finally, but I truly had no desire to laugh until my head was well out. In fact, I didn't feel much like laughing then either, for really it had been horrid.
Ever since that time Karsten and Nils Peter have teased me about that Chili stamp. They say that getting my head stuck fast was a punishment for putting my oar in everywhere. Think of it—as if Ididtry to manage other people's affairs so very much!
But it certainly is horrid when you can't control your own head. You just try it and see.
Never in my life have I traveled so far as when Mother, Karsten and I visited Aunt Ottilia and Uncle Karl. And so unexpected as that journey was! I hardly had time to rejoice over it, even. It was all I could do to get time to write a post-card to Mina, who was visiting her grandmother at Horten, to ask her to come down on the wharf and see me, when the steamer stopped there on its way.
When we are to start on a journey, Father is always terribly afraid that we shall be too late for the steamboat.
"Hurry—hurry," he keeps saying, as he goes in and out. Mother gets tired of it, but that makes no difference. Besides, all husbands are like that, Mother says; unreasonable when other people go away, and still worse to travel with.
An hour and a half before the steamboatcould be expected, we had to trudge down to the wharf; for Father wouldn't give in. Mother had to sit on a bench down there, with meal-sacks all around her; but Karsten and I and Ola Bugta and the other longshoremen on the wharf went up on Little Beacon to look for the steamboat.
People usually wish for good weather when they are going to travel; but I wish for a storm; for to plunge through the waves, up and down, must be awfully jolly. And besides, it is so stupid that I have never been seasick, and don't know what it's like.
"What kind of weather do you think we'll have, Ola Bugta?" I asked him, up on Little Beacon.
Ola Bugta took the quid out of his mouth. "Oh, it is fine weather outside there." O dear, then we should have good weather to-day, too!
Well, at last we saw a faint streak of smoke far off in the mist. Karsten and I almost tumbled head over heels down the hill to tell Mother that now we saw the smoke. Karstenhad a new light spring coat for the journey. He looked queer in it, for it was altogether too long for him. I took the liberty of saying that he looked like a lay preacher in it; not that I ever saw a lay preacher in a light spring coat; but Karsten looked so tall and proper all at once.
Hurrah! now the steamer was in Quit-island Gap. How much more interesting a steamer looks when you are going to travel on it yourself! It made a wide sweep when it came from behind the island, and glided in a big graceful curve up to the wharf. There were a great many passengers on the boat. As soon as the gangway touched the wharf, I wanted to go on board, but the mail-agent pushed me aside. "The mail first," said he. But I ran on right after the mail.
Oh, how awfully jolly it was! The deck crowded with passengers, and trunks, andtines, and traveling-bags; the delightful steamboat smell; all my friends standing on the wharf; and I tremendously busy carryingMother's portmanteau and hold-all on board. I certainly went six times back and forth across the gangway. O dear! so many boxes had to be put on board, I thought we should never get off. I nodded and nodded to every one on the wharf. At last I nodded to Ola Bugta; but he didn't nod back; he just turned his quid in his mouth.
Finally we started.
Whenever I go down on the wharf to watch the steamboat, it seems to me almost as if it were always the same people traveling. But to-day there were a whole lot of different kinds of people.
The first person I noticed was a tall old lady who had a footstool with her. Think of traveling with a yellow wooden footstool! If she had only sat still,—but she and the footstool were constantly on the go. At last she must have thought that I looked exactly cut out to carry the stool for her.
"Little girl," she said, "you're a good girl, aren't you, and will help me a little?" Afterthat I couldn't go anywhere near her without there being something I must do for her. The worst was hunting for a parasol that she couldn't find.
"There is lace over the weak place in it, my dear," said she. After this instruction I did find it. Then she offered me some candy, but it looked so gummy that I gave it to Karsten. I saw that he had to chew it well.
Mother had met a childhood friend and they sat talking together incessantly. Just think, it was twenty-two years since they had seen each other. How queer it would be to see my best friend Mina again in twenty-two years, with some of her teeth gone and a double-chin.
For a wonder Karsten sat perfectly still by Mother's side with his hands deep in the pockets of his new coat; and he didn't open his mouth; but I ran about the whole time. I wasn't still an instant.
Off by herself on a bench sat a fat woman wrapped in a shawl, with a big covered basket which she dipped down into every other minute.Both sausage and fancy cakes came up out of the basket. She looked at me as if she would like to offer me something, and munched and munched.
Before long I went down below. When you were in the saloon the boat shook delightfully; the big white lamps that hung from the ceiling rattled and jingled, and there was such a charming steamboat smell. Everywhere on the reddish-brown plush sofas, ladies and gentlemen with steamer-rugs over them lay drowsing. I took a newspaper, for it looked grown-up to sit reading; but I didn't want to read the paper, after all, so I went straight up on deck again.
But the weather had changed! It was not anything like so bright as when we started. There were already little white-capped waves, and the wind whistled across the deck; and now the ship began to plunge enough to suit me.
Oh—up—and—down—up—and—down!
I crept to the very stern and sat down beside the flag; for I thought it looked as if the boatrocked most there. You know, I wanted to rock as much as possible.
The steamer laid its course more out to sea. Each time we went down into the waves the water stood foaming white around the bow. The wind took a fierce grip on the awning as if it would tear it to pieces, and my hair blew about my face; this was just what I liked! Hurrah!
But little by little all the other passengers disappeared from the deck. Mother and her friend were the first; Karsten tagged after them. Mother called out something to me at the moment she was disappearing down the cabin stairs, but I didn't know what it was.
Oh, everything was so glorious! This was fun; if only they would go farther out to sea, farther yet—farther yet.
The lady with the footstool had disappeared long ago. The yellow footstool was taking care of itself and tumbled from one side to the other. Then a stewardess came up with a message from Mother that I should comedown-stairs at once. That must have been what she said when she was disappearing down the cabin stairs.
In the cabin Mother and Karsten lay pale as death, each on a sofa. I must lie down, too, Mother said. Really, I hadn't any wish to lie down on a sofa now that the fun on deck was just beginning; but as long as Mother said so——
Hurrah! Cups and plates and trays crashed over each other in the serving-room, people fell over each other on the stairs. The traveling-wraps hanging out in the corridor, and the green curtains before the staterooms swung violently back and forth, the ship tossed so.
"Isn't there any one that will help me?" begged a complaining but familiar voice behind one of the curtains. That was certainly the lady with the footstool. I jumped behind the curtain; yes, so it was. She was sitting on the edge of her berth; she said she didn't believe she could get out again if she squeezed herself in, she was so fat.
You may be sure she set me to work. She had lost all her things, one wrister here and one wrister there; I had to find everything, a bouquet in the saloon, and overshoes under the sofa. Finally it was the footstool up on deck.
It was only fun to run up on deck again. Of course I tumbled from one side to the other and laughed and laughed, enjoying it hugely.
When I was down-stairs again, the stewardess must have thought that I flew around too much and was in the way, for she pushed me suddenly into a stateroom. There sat the woman with the covered basket.
"Isn't there any one that will help me?" the complaining voice kept on in the stateroom opposite us.
"Can you imagine why such folks travel?" said the woman, jerking her head in the direction the voice came from, "when they have their good home, and their good bed and everything to suit them—why should they rove around from pillar to post?"
"What are you traveling for?"
"Oh, I have been on a little trip off to Grimstad, to my sister's, for three weeks; I didn't think I should stay longer than a week at the most, so I didn't take more than one change with me, and you must excuse me if I look rather untidy."
No, I assured her, she didn't look in the least untidy. But she was awfully funny, I can tell you. She told me the whole story of her life. Her husband was a skipper; twice she had been with him to the Black Sea, "and once across the equator as far as a place they call Buenos Ayres, and it was so elegant, my dear, with riding policemen in the streets."
And the whole time we were talking she chewed and munched. For there had been some one in Grimstad named Gonnersen, who was so polite that he had bought a whole basket of cakes for her on the journey. "Will you condescend to help yourself to a cake?" she said suddenly.
"Gonnersen was so polite"—was the last I heard as she crossed the gangway at Fredriksvern.That was where she lived. Then she stood on the wharf and waved to me, still eating.
Now there was only Larvik and Vallö before we got to Horten; there I was to meet Mina;—hurrah, hurrah, how glad I was!
But it is certainly a good thing that you don't know what is going to happen; for it was at Horten I got left behind, all because the steamer rang only once at the Horten wharf; and that, I must say, is a shame, when people have bought their tickets to go on farther.
Yes, it was disgusting;—but now you shall hear exactly how it happened. When we got to Horten, Mina stood on the wharf with a new red parasol. Mother and Karsten were still in the cabin lying down. I ran ashore at once, you may be sure. Mina and I thought it was great fun to talk together; for we had not seen each other for more than two weeks.
She told me the whole story of her life.She told me the whole story of her life.—Page 79.
"Grandmother lives up there," said Mina, "up there, see—come here, only two or three steps farther, and you'll see better; see, there is the garden, and the doll-house with red curtains. Do you see the doll-house?—only a few steps more,—and there is the bowling-alley in Grandmother's garden——"
We ran up and up; then the steamer bell rang. "It will be sure to ring three times," I said.
"Oh, surely," said Mina, and went on explaining: "Do you see that white boat with a flag——"
I heard a suspicious sound from the steamer, and turned round as quick as lightning. Yes, really, it was putting off from the wharf; first it backed a little, and then started forward full speed. I dashed with great leaps down the road and across the wharf.
"Stop—stop—stop, I am going with you——"
But if you think there was any one who cared whether I called or not, you are mistaken. Not a person on board even turned his head, and the longshoremen on the wharf laughed ashard as they could. There went the steamer with Mother and Karsten!
I wonder if you can imagine my feelings; I was in such despair that I plumped myself down on the wharf and cried. What would Mother think? She would certainly be afraid that I had fallen overboard when I disappeared all at once without leaving a trace;—and what would Father say?—and how in the world could I get to Uncle Karl's now?
Oh, how I cried that time on the wharf at Horten! At last I had to go home with Mina. And Mina's grandmother was very sweet, she really was; and Horten was really a pretty town, and I can well believe there were many nice people in it; but as for me, I thought it was horrid to be there. I didn't care about the doll-house with red curtains, or anything, though it was the prettiest doll-house I ever saw in my life, with two little rocking-chairs with little embroidered cushions, in the parlor, and little pudding-forms and colanders on the kitchen walls.
But Mina's grandmother telegraphed to Mother at Dröbak that I was safe and sound at Horten; and late in the evening a telegram came from Mother at Uncle Karl's, saying that I was to borrow some money from Mina's grandmother and that I was to take a little steamer up the fjord early the next morning.
Such queer things are always happening to me! I never heard of any girl who was left behind as I was on the wharf at Horten. Mina's grandmother wanted me to stay there a few days, and would have telegraphed to Mother to ask if I might; but I didn't want to stay, for I longed so unspeakably for Mother. That night I lay awake for hours and hours, and began to feel that I should never see Mother again.
Well, in the gray light of the next morning I sat on the damp deck of a little steamer, with two big bags of cakes. Mina stood on the wharf waving and yawning too, for she wasn't used to getting up at five o'clock.
I was very cold, and ate one cake after another, and dreaded what Mother would say when I got to my journey's end. It would be a very different arrival from what I had expected.
There were no other passengers on board, but a big dog who stood tied, with his address on his back. And I didn't have much pleasure with him either, for he growled at me when I patted him.
Later the captain came and talked with me. When I told him that I had been left behind on the Horten wharf the afternoon before, he laughed so that he got purple in the face. Now can you see anything to laugh at? For all that, the captain was very kind, for he let me go up on the bridge with him, and there I stayed all the time until we arrived.
On the wharf stood Uncle Karl, Mother, and Karsten waiting. Mother shook her head and looked much displeased; but Uncle Karl, with his big white mustache, laughed and nodded.
"I'm thankful to see you again," saidMother. "You must know I was worried about you."
"Beautiful eyes, the puss has," said Uncle Karl suddenly.
I looked around astonished, for there didn't seem to be any puss anywhere. But only think! he meant me. I have looked carefully at my eyes since, but I don't think they are beautiful at all, for they are too round and look so surprised.
Oh, what fun we had at Uncle Karl's! I do not know that I should ever come to an end if I tried to tell about it, so I won't begin, for I have a tremendous gift of gab when I once get started;—at least that is what everybody says.
We have an awfully cosy cellar, you must know. Of course the whole house is old and rather tumbledown, so the cellar is nothing very fine; but it is awfully cosy and exactly right for playing in, in bad weather. I don't know a cellar in the whole town that is cosier; and I am fairly well acquainted with all of them, you may be sure.
Our cellar isn't underground. It is a high basement and in it is a big brewery and laundry, a big servant's room, and a big wine cellar where there is never any wine; on the other side of the basement is the storeroom for food and the potato cellar. The walls are brown and dark just from age; and the floor rocks so that I often wonder that the big casks and barrels, and fat Christine and Maren the washerwomen, who are forever washing there, donot fall through, perhaps into some deep abyss underground. But it must be tough, that floor, for it still holds.
One day there was disgusting weather. Withered leaves flew around your ears and the streets were soaking wet and muddy. Nils, Peter, Karen and Antoinette had come up to our hill in order to have fun of some kind in the drizzling weather; and we hit upon playing hide-and-seek in our cellar. We divided into sides; Peter, Karsten and I on one side and the other three on the other. Nils, Antoinette and Karen hid themselves first; but they just ran up into the kitchen and Ingeborg, the cook, drove them down again; so nobody had a chance to search for them. Then Peter, Karsten and I were to hide. Peter and Karsten placed themselves in the big box-part of the mangle, and I put some sacks over them and there they were, beautifully hidden.
For myself, I thought of creeping into a cupboard in the brewery. But when it came to the point, I found that my legs had grownso long since I last hid there that there wasn't room enough for them. I was at my wits' end. Any instant I expected Nils to whirl like a tempest into that room. I sprang into the wine cellar and looked about with a frantic glance. Only bare shelves, not a thing to hide one's self in. Oh, yes! There stood a meal chest. I lifted the lid—the chest was empty. Quick as a flash I jumped in and slammed the lid down.
There I lay. It was pretty close quarters but not so bad after all. Hurrah! What a first-rate hiding place! No one had ever before thought of hiding here.
I lay still, rejoicing over being so wonderfully well hidden. The minutes began to drag. At last I heard Karen and Antoinette running about and searching. Twice they were in the wine cellar.
"No—there is nobody here," they said. I kept still as a mouse, of course. Now they had found Peter and Karsten in the mangle box, for there was a great uproar out there.
"But Inger Johanne! Where is Inger Johanne?"
"You'll be pretty smart if you find me!" I thought.
They ran about a while and rummaged in the brewery and then I heard them go out into the court. I lay still as a stone a little longer but it began to be somewhat warm in the meal chest, so I thought I would lift the lid a little. I pushed my back against it—but what in the world! It would not go up!
Once more I tried—and once more——Exactly what had happened I don't know, but there was a hook on the lid and when I hastily slammed the lid down, the hook probably dropped and caught on a nail in the meal chest itself.
In the first instant I can't say that I was terribly afraid. I kept on trying to get the lid up and all the time I thought, "They will soon come in here again to look for me and then I'll shout!"
But far from it. No one came. It was perfectlysilent. I heard nobody either in the brewery or out in the court or up in the kitchen. And all at once terror overwhelmed me,—terror at being shut up in that small place. It was as if I were in a grave. So I screamed, and banged on the lid, and kicked. Then I listened again. Not a sound was to be heard.
It was hot as fire in the meal chest. My face burned. How I screamed!
"Help me! I'm in the meal chest! help! oh, help!"
No, not a sound. What in the world would happen to me? I could scarcely get my breath—no—I knew I couldn't breathe any more. Yet again I shrieked. I cannot understand why nobody heard me. My breathing was short and difficult. No, I could not hold out—I surely could not breathe any more.
"Oh, Mother! Mother! Help me!"
Then I heard some one in the court and then footsteps in the brewery. I screamed again. Some one opened the door to the wine cellar and I heard Maren's voice.
"What's that? What's that?"
"Maren, oh, Maren!" I called from the meal chest. Like a flash the door was shut again and I heard Maren running as fast as her legs could carry her up the kitchen stairs.
To think that she should run away without helping me! That seemed too sad and dreadful, when I was in such distress, and I cried and sobbed as hard as I could. And now I could scarcely get my breath again.
"Oh! oh! help, help!"
I could not scream any more, I was so strangely weak. Then I heard many feet in the kitchen above my head. They came nearer, and down the stairs, and then the door was opened. All I could do now was to call very faintly.
"Oh! Mother, Mother!"
At the same instant the lid of the meal chest was quickly thrown open. There stood Mother and Maren and Ingeborg, the cook. Mother lifted me out; I was crying so hard I could not say a word, nor explain at all howit happened. However, a little while after I was as lively as ever.
"Oh, you ugly Maren—who wouldn't help me!"
"I thought it was a shriek from the underworld!" said Maren. "And I was so frightened! It clutched my heart. Oh! I shall never get over it." Maren sat on the corner of the potato bin and wept aloud.
Mother didn't know whether to scold Maren or to laugh at her. She behaved exactly as if it were she and not I who had been shut up in the meal chest.
Maren took surely a hundred Hofmann's drops and still she was poorly, and for many days she whimpered and whined about her fright at the meal chest. And even yet she cannot hear any mention of meal, or of a chest or of screaming, without her invariably saying:
"Yes, it's a wonder that I didn't get my death that time you were shut up in the meal chest—but I've had a swollen heart ever since then—and that I can thank you for."
But Mother says that's all nonsense.
One day a man from Vegassheien came into our kitchen with four live chickens that he wanted to sell. All hens, he said. We had never had any pets at our house except Bouncer, our big black cat; and Karsten and I were seized at once with an overwhelming desire to own these four half-grown, golden-brown chickens, who lay so patiently in the bottom of the peasant's basket, put their heads on one side and looked up at us with their little round black eyes. Oh, if Mother only would buy these darling chickens for us! It is such fun to have pets.
Speaking of pets makes me think of Uncle Ferdinand, and the pet monkey he had.
You know Uncle Ferdinand? The elegantold gentleman dressed in gray, who bows so politely, and has such a friendly smile for everybody. Yes, all the world knows him. He is not really my uncle—or any one's uncle, that I know of; every one just calls him Uncle, because it seems as if it exactly suited him. He is certainly the kindest person in the world. All poor people love him; and he likes all people and all animals.
His wife is Aunt Octavia, and they are very rich and live in a charming house, with lots of rooms, where there are a great many beautiful things, works of art and such things. Off in her little boudoir, Aunt Octavia lies on a sofa all day. She is not really ill, Mother says; she just lies there because she is so rich. My! if I had as much money as Aunt Octavia, I should do something besides lie on a sofa with my eyes shut!
Uncle Ferdinand and Aunt Octavia have no children. That is why they are both so terribly fond of pets. Aunt Octavia likes best little white silky poodles that are bathed in lukewarm soap-suds, wrapped in a bathing sheet and combed with a fine comb, and that roll across the floor like little white balls. I really believe she likes such silky poodles better than anything else in the world.
But Uncle Ferdinand likes monkeys best. The pet monkey he had was brought home on one of his ships. The sailors on board had named it "Stomach," because it was such a great eater, and it was called that all the rest of its life.
Uncle Ferdinand certainly was in a scrape that time. At first he didn't dare to tell Aunt Octavia that he thought of bringing a monkey into the house; but the ship that Stomach had come on was to leave, you see, and then Uncle Ferdinand had to tell. I can imagine just how it went for I know how they talk together.
"Wouldn't you like to have a nice new plaything, Octavia? really a charming plaything, my dear?"
"A plaything? What do you mean?"
"A very amusing plaything that jumps about and plays tricks, and could climb up the curtains, for instance, or sit on your shoulder and eat cakes."
"Sit on my shoulder! The man has gone crazy! Don't come any nearer, Ferdinand, I beg of you. You are ill!"
"Oh no, Octavia my dear, my mind is all right. I mean—I mean—just a monkey, my darling."
"Good heavens! Is he calling me a monkey? What do you mean?"
"My love, I only mean that there is a monkey on board the ship, that I would so much like to have here at home."
"And that is what you were beating about the bush so for! Well, well, that is just like you. However, I agree to anything you like, of course; let the creature come—let it come. It will strangle me some fine day, but I am used to that—I mean, I am used to saying yes and yielding to others."
And that is how Stomach came into the house.
It was the liveliest, most mischievous monkey you can imagine. It stayed most of the time in Uncle Ferdinand's office. Up and down the book-shelves it climbed, just like a squirrel; now and then it threw itself across the room from one bookcase to another. One time it sprang straight onto the big lamp that hung from the ceiling, and made the chimney and shade come down in jingling fragments. Stomach hung from one of the chains, miserable and screaming with fright. This performance it never repeated.
Stomach loved nothing in the world so much as matches. Whenever it got hold of a box of matches it was overjoyed, and immediately climbed up on the highest bookcase. Here it sat and tossed the matches one by one down on the carpet. When it grew tired of this it flung the whole box, aiming with amazing success right at the top of Uncle Ferdinand's head. Uncle Ferdinand always sat patiently waitingfor this last shot; then he got down on his knees, and picked up every single match!
But what caused Uncle Ferdinand the most trouble and care was that Aunt Octavia had strictly forbidden that the monkey should ever come anywhere near her. Uncle Ferdinand was on pins and needles for fear this should happen, and scarcely did anything all day but go around shutting doors to keep Stomach away from her.
All the servants had been instructed to do the same. Sometimes they were furious with Stomach, but when it had the toothache and sat with its hand under its little swollen cheek, and rocked sorrowfully back and forth like a little sick child, their hearts softened towards it and they forgave all its pranks. But to keep Stomach within bounds grew more and more difficult. It unfastened the window-catches, promenaded along the house walls and on the window-sills. Now and then it whisked through an open window of another house, returning with the most unbelievable things,water-jugs and pillows, and cologne-bottles which it emptied out very thoughtfully and slowly over the dahlia bed.
No one must even mention Stomach's name before Aunt Octavia. "The mere name of that disgusting creature nauseates me," she said. Uncle went about as if on eggs and grew even more careful about shutting the doors. But one day, in spite of all the caution, the terrible thing happened; the monkey got into Aunt Octavia's room. Some one had forgotten to shut a door; like a flash Stomach darted through, ran noiselessly over the soft carpet even into the sacred boudoir, gave a spring up onto Aunt Octavia, who lay with closed eyes on her sofa, and burrowed its whole little body in under her arm.
Then there was a hullabaloo! Aunt Octavia shrieked at the top of her lungs, and people rushed in.
"I lie here helpless," said Aunt Octavia; "it could have strangled me. Ferdinand, what was its object? I ask you, Ferdinand, whatwas it thinking of, when it burrowed in under my arm?"
"Perhaps it wanted to warm itself," said Uncle Ferdinand meekly.
"Warm itself!" said Aunt Octavia scornfully. "To bite me in the heart was what it wanted."
Nothing would satisfy her but that Uncle must take Stomach to the doctor to be chloroformed, though he would rather have done anything else in the world!
But Uncle Ferdinand's monkey really hasn't the least thing to do with the chickens from Vegassheien that Karsten and I wanted, and that I began to tell about.
Hurrah! Mother would buy the four chickens, but only on condition that Karsten and I should take care of them. Would we do this?
Why, of course; it would be only fun. I never imagined then all the bother and rumpus that would come of it.
Up in our old barn, that has stood for manyyears unused, there is a room partitioned off that we call the salt stall, I don't know why. Here we established our four chickens. I immediately gave them names: Lova, Diksy, Valpurga, and Carola. Karsten and I stuffed them with food, and all day they went about scratching in our kitchen garden, where, however, nothing ever grows. With shallow, sandy soil, and a frightful lot of sun, you might know it couldn't amount to anything.
The first thing I did in the morning was to let out the chickens. They flapped and fluttered around me in the fresh, cool morning stillness under the maples. It always takes some time for the sunshine to get down to our place, because of the hill.
Lova, Diksy, and Valpurga were quite ordinary long-legged chickens that scratched and picked all day long, but Carola began little by little to behave with more dignity. She stepped out vigorously, and scratched sideways, stood still for minutes at a time, just as if she were listening for something, and alwayslet the others help themselves first. And one fine day she stood on the barn steps, flapped her wings, and crowed—a regular hoarse, cracked chicken's crow—but crow she did. Of course she had to be christened over again, and so I called her Carolus.
And it is Carolus' doings that I want to tell about. Not the first year he lived; he was well enough behaved then. All summer the chickens were up in the salt stall, but when winter came they were moved down into our cellar because of the cold. Br-r-r-r! Hens have a wretched time in winter. The snow lay thick against the cellar window and shut out what little gray daylight there was, and down there on the stone floor in the dampness sat all four chickens and moped, their heads drawn down into their feathers. At such times one can be very glad not to have been born a hen. However, I went down there every day and comforted them.
"Think of the summer," I said, "think of the rich ground under the dewberry hedges,and of the whole kitchen garden in the long sunny days."
Carolus flapped his wings a little, but the others didn't even do that—they were utterly discouraged.
But at last came the summer.
Lova, Diksy, and Valpurga each laid a pretty little egg every day up in the salt stall. What fun it is to go and hunt for eggs! You go and poke around and hunt and hunt, but they are clever and sly, these hens, and hide themselves well under pieces of board and rubbish. By and by, off in some corner you see a gleam of white and there are the eggs, round and smooth and warm.
Carolus had become a fine noble-looking cock with long curved tail-feathers which shone with metallic colors in the sun; but oh, the trouble he gave me!
Right at the foot of our hill lives Madam Land in a little old gray house. Madam Land keeps hens, too. Well! nothing would do but that Carolus must go down to herchicken-yard. It wasn't half as nice as our kitchen-garden but he couldn't keep away from it a single day.
The instant the hens were let out in the morning Carolus made a dash down the hill, flying and running straight to Madam Land's gate. If the gate were not open, Carolus flew over the board fence and down into the midst of Madam Land's flock of hens. I called and I coaxed; I scolded him and chased him. No, thank you! Carolus crowed and squawked, and flew up on the board fence; he put his head on one side and looked down at me, and no sooner was I well out of the way than he was in the yard again and there he stayed all day.
Every single night I had to go down to get him after he had gone to roost with Madam Land's hens. Then there was a racket, I can tell you! The hens cackled and squawked and flew down from the roost, even hitting against my face as they flew. You couldn't hear yourself think in Madam Land's hen-house.
But I took firm hold of my good Carolus. He kicked and struggled, but I held his shining warm body close to me and could feel his heart beating and hammering as I ran home with him.
Every single night this performance had to be gone through, and every single night Madam Land stood in her kitchen door and scolded when I went past with Carolus in my arms.
"Oh, yes! he's the pampered one—oh, yes, he's the one that's getting fat—he eats enough for four hens—there's surely law and justice to be had in such cases—yes, indeed, he's the pampered one." I could hear Madam Land's voice following me all the way up our hill.
Madam Land herself doesn't look as if she were pampered. Her husband is a boatman. She is frightfully saving. They say in the town that Madam Land boils only three potatoes for dinner every day, "two potatoes for Land, one for the maid, and I don't need any," says Madam Land. And only think,day after day she had to see that big Carolus of ours eating out of the dish she had filled for her own hens. Any one could understand Madam Land's being angry.
One day Madam Land came up to our house to complain to Mother about Carolus.
Now I hadn't said a word to Mother about the way Carolus had been behaving lately. I had a dark misgiving that it would work against my gallant Carolus in some way. Mother was very much annoyed, and said that I was to be so good as to keep Carolus shut up hereafter. For two days I kept him in the salt stall. He hopped up on the window-sill and pecked at the small green panes. But the third day I was so terribly sorry for him that I let him out.
"You'll see he has forgotten all about it," said Karsten. Forgotten!—no, thank you! Carolus was already off. He screeched for joy and flew straight into Madam Land's yard.
"Well, then, we'll tie him," said Karsten suddenly. That was an excellent idea, Ithought. First we found a long string, and then we went down after the sinner. Naturally he didn't want to come home again; Madam Land's whole yard was just one uproar of frightened hens, we ran about so, driving them here and there, before we got hold of Carolus. We tied the string around his leg and tethered him beside the barn steps.
After we had done this, I went in to study my lessons, but I hadn't been studying five minutes before I had a queer feeling of uneasiness, and had to go out to see how Carolus was getting on. There he lay on the ground; he had twisted and wound the string around himself countless times,—he just lay on his side and gasped. I freed him in no time; for a moment he lay still, then he got up suddenly, flapped his wings hard and—away he went, with outspread wings that fairly swept the ground, and disappeared in Madam Land's yard. That night I didn't go to get him. The fact is I didn't dare to, because of Madam Land.
As I came home from school the next day I went round by Madam Land's. Carolus stood in the yard eating Madam Land's chicken-feed and sour milk with excellent appetite. His big red comb hung down over one eye. The other eye, that was free, he turned towards me as if he would say, "I know you well enough, Mistress Inger Johanne, but go your way—I intend to stay here for good and all."
"Well," I thought, "let them scold as they please about you, Carolus; you are surely the most beautiful cock in all the world—but you are mine, you must remember."
When evening came I had studied out a plan for catching Carolus without Madam Land's seeing me. She kept her hens in a part of the wood-shed that was boarded off. Behind this was an open field, and high up in the back wall, right under the roof, there was a little window that always stood open. Through that window I meant to go to get Carolus. There was an old ladder in our barn; I got Peter and Karsten to carry it down the hill and set it upunder the window. Both Peter and Karsten wanted to climb up, but I said no; such a difficult undertaking no one but myself could manage.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening and growing dark. I climbed the ladder and got to the top round all right. But whether it was that the ladder was rotten or that Peter and Karsten let go of it,—I had no sooner got hold of the window-sill and dragged myself in than down fell the ladder, breaking all to pieces as it fell.
So there I was in a pretty fix! And how Karsten and Peter laughed down below! I was furiously angry with them, especially at the way Peter laughed. When Peter laughs it is just as if some one had suddenly tickled him in the stomach; he doubles himself together, twists like a worm, and laughs without making a sound. But Karsten roared at the top of his voice.
"Will you stop your laughing, Karsten? You will betray me making such a noise."
"How will you get down again?"
"Oh, I'll jump down." It was certainly ten or twelve feet to the ground. "Now I am going in after Carolus; I'll drop him down from here, and you must be sure to catch him."
I groped my way down the half-dark stairway from the loft, stumbled along, in the pitch-black darkness of the shed, over a chopping-block and a heap of shavings, and at last got to the part of the wood-shed where the hens were. I opened the door softly and fumbled with my hand along the roost they were sitting on. But, O dear! O dear! such a squawking and screeching! You haven't the least idea how Madam Land's hens could squawk. It was exactly as if I were murdering them all at once. Outside of the wall I could hear Karsten fairly howling with laughter. I kept fumbling around in the dark, for I wanted to find Carolus. I think I got hold of every single hen; all their beaks were stretched wide, letting out one and the same piercing squawk.