CHAPTER XIX

I stood on the barn steps with a long whip.—Page 260.I stood on the barn steps with a long whip.—Page 260.

In the moonlight that evening the fat lady in the red dress, and two little girls came to see to the horses. Afterwards they sat for a long time out on the barn steps watching the moon. The two little girls had long light hair down their backs and short dresses above their knees.

I leaned against the dining-room window with my nose pressed flat, and stared at them. Oh, what a delightful time those little girls had! Think! to travel that way—just travel—travel—travel, to ride on those lovely horses, and wear such short fancy skirts, and have your hair flowing loose over your back.

I never was allowed to go with my hair loose,—and I suppose I shall have to stay in this poky town all my days; and never in the world shall I get a chance to ride on a horse, I thought.

At night I lay awake and heard the horses stamping and thumping up in the barn. Afterall, even this was good fun, almost like being in the midst of a fairy tale.

The next day I was again late to school. There was not a single one of the swarthy fellows to be seen around the barn, so I climbed up on the wall and stuck grass through a broken window-pane to the big white horse. I patted him on his smooth pinky nose: "Oh, you sweet, lovely horse!"—I must go down for more grass, the very best grass to be found he should have.

"Inger Johanne, will you be so good as to go to school? It's very late"—it was Father calling from the office window; so there was an end to that pleasure.

Down by the steamboat-landing, in the big open square, the circus tent had been set up. Karsten and I were down there two hours before the performance was to begin. I was the first of all the spectators to go inside. It was a tremendously big, high tent, three rows of seats around it, and a staging of rough boards for the orchestra. Anything so magnificentyou never saw. At last the performance began.

But to describe what goes on at a circus, that I won't do. About ordinary things, such as are happening every day at home, I can write very well, as you know, but anything so magnificent as that circus I can't describe.

I was nearly out of my wits, people said afterwards. I stood up on the seat—those behind me were angry, but that didn't bother me at all—clapped my hands and shouted "Bravo!" and "Hurrah!" Towards the last the riders, when they came in, gave me a special salute in that elegant way, you know, holding up their whips before one eye. I liked that awfully well. I was fairly beside myself with joy.

Well, now I knew what I wanted to be: I wanted to be a circus-rider! For that was the grandest and jolliest thing in the whole world. Did you ever feel about yourself that you were going to be something great, something more than every one else, as if you stood on a highmountain with all the other people far below you? Well, I had felt like that, and now I knew what it was that I should be.

I lay awake far into the night and thought and thought. Yes, it was plain, I should have to run away with the circus-riders. I could not have a better opportunity. Certainly Father and Mother would never let me go. It would be horrid to run away, but that was nothing; a circus-rider I must be, I saw that plainly. The worst was, all the oil I had heard that circus-riders must drink to keep themselves limber and light. Ugh! no, I would not drink oil; I would be light all the same, and awfully quick about hopping and dancing on the horses.

And after many years I would come back to the town. No one would know me at first, and every one would be so terribly surprised to learn that the graceful rider in blue velvet was the judge's Inger Johanne.

I forgot to say that we were to have two free tickets every evening because Father was townjudge. The first evening Karsten and I went, but the second evening Mother said that the maids should go.

"You were there last night," said Mother. "We can't spend money on such foolishness; to-morrow evening you may go again."

Oh, how broken-hearted I was because I couldn't go to the circus that evening! and Mother called it foolishness! If she only knew I was going to be a circus-rider! I wouldn't dare tell her for all the world.

In the evening, when it was time for the performance to begin, I went down to the steamboat-landing just the same. The fat lady with the shining black eyes sat there selling tickets; the people crowded about the entrance, some had already begun to stream in; the big flag which served as a door was constantly being drawn aside to let people in, and at every chance I peeked behind the flag. To think that I wasn't going to get in to-night! Suppose I ran home and asked Father very nicely for a ticket; perhaps there was still time.

"Won't you have a ticket?" asked the black-eyed lady. She said she remembered me from the evening before when I had been so delighted.

"No, I have no money," said I, and my whole face grew red. It really was embarrassing, but since she asked me I had to tell the truth.

"If you will stand there by the door and take the tickets, you may come in and look on," she said.

Wouldn't I! Just the thing for me! Not even a cat should slip in without a ticket. I was very strict at the door and pushed away the sailors who wanted to force themselves in. I was terribly clever, the lady said.

And so I went in again, and enjoyed it just as much as I had the evening before. I was tremendously proud of having earned my ticket, for in that way it was as if I were taken at once right into the circus troupe. Every single night they performed I would take the tickets—yet no one in the whole town wouldknow that Inger Johanne meant to go away with the circus. I would wait till the very last day it was in town before I asked the fat dark lady, who was the director's wife, if I might go. Of course I knew her now.

And I must say good-bye to Father and Mother and my brothers and sister, or I couldn't bear it. I wouldn't stay away forever, no, far from it, only a little while, until I was a perfectly splendid performer.

All at once it occurred to me that I ought to practise a little on horseback before I offered myself to the circus troupe. I ought at least to know what it was like to sit on a horse.

There certainly couldn't be any better opportunity than there was now, when our whole barn was full of horses. But I must take Karsten into my confidence; he would have to help me to climb through a hole in the back of the barn, for the grooms always fastened the barn door when they went away. At noon there was never any one up there, so I planned to crawl in then and practice getting on and offof a horse. Yes, I would stand up on him too,—on one leg—stretch out my arms, and throw kisses as they do at the circus.

"Karsten," said I the next day, "what should you say if I became a circus-rider?"

"You—when you're knock-kneed!—you would look nice, Inger Johanne, you would."

"You look after your own knees, Karsten, I'm going to be a circus-rider, all the same, I really am."

"Oh, what bosh!"

"Well, you'll see; when the circus-riders go I'm going with them. You mustn't tell a soul, Karsten, but a circus-rider is what I'm going to be."

Karsten looked at me rather doubtfully.

"But you must help me to get into the barn through that hole at the back, for I shall have to practice, you understand."

"Well, will you give me that red-and-blue pencil of yours then?"

"Oh, yes, only come along."

We stole behind the barn. Karsten kepthold of me while I climbed up—there, now I was in the barn. How it looked! When twelve horses must stand in five stalls, there isn't much room left, you know, and they had been put every which way,—one pony stood in the calf-pen.

All the horses except two were lying down resting. The white horse over by the window was standing up; he turned around and looked at me with big sorrowful eyes. It had really been my plan to get on him, for he was the handsomest of them all, but I didn't dare to venture among the big shining bodies of the horses lying all over the floor. No, I should have to be satisfied with the little black one that stood in the calf-pen. Karsten had thrust the upper part of his body in through the hole. I went up to the black horse.

"He is angry; he is putting his ears back; look out, Inger Johanne!" called Karsten.

"Pooh—do you think I mind that?" I climbed up on the calf-pen. For a moment Iwondered whether I should try to stand on the horse at once. I put out my foot and touched him—no, he was so smooth and slippery, it would certainly be best to sit the first time I got on a horse. I gave a little jump, and there I sat.

O dear! What in the world was happening? I didn't know, but I thought the horse had gone crazy. First he stood on his fore legs with his hind legs in the air, and then on his hind legs, and threw me off as if I were nothing at all. I fell across the edge of the calf-pen—oh, what a whack my arm got! I literally couldn't move it for a whole minute; and there was a grand rumpus in the barn; some of the horses got up and whinnied, and the black one that I had sat on kicked and kicked with his hind legs every instant.

I could just see the top of Karsten's head at the hole now.

"Oh, Karsten—Karsten."

"Are you dead, Inger Johanne?"

I don't really know how I got out throughthe hole with my injured arm. But outside of the barn I sat down right among all the nettles and cried.

When I went into the house there was a great commotion. Everybody was scared and the doctor was sent for. My sleeve was cut up to the shoulder, and the doctor said I had broken a small bone in my wrist, and besides had sprained and bruised my arm about as much as I could.

"You do everything so thoroughly, Inger Johanne," said the doctor.

When I was in bed with my arm in splints and bandages, I began to cry violently. Not so much because of my arm—though I cried a little about that, too—but most that I should have thought I could run away from Father and Mother, who were so good. I told Mother the whole thing.

"But now I'll never—never—never think of running away again, Mother."

The day the circus-riders left with thehorses, I stood at the window with my arm in a sling and watched them.

But only think! Karsten wouldn't give up, and I had to hand over my red-and-blue pencil to him even though I didn't run away with the circus-riders!

Twice, that I can remember, Father had tried to get a position off in the country, and each time I had been so sure we were going to move that I had imagined exactly how everything would be in our new home. A big old farmhouse, yes, for I like old, old houses; an immense garden, with empress pears and every possible kind of berry; big red barns and out-houses; big pastures all around; cows and calves, and horses to go driving with wherever I wished. I should like best a red horse with a white mane, a horse that looked wild; and a little light basket-phaeton. And I would drive, and crack my whip—oh, how I would snap it! And there would be a lot of hensthat I would take care of myself, for I am dreadfully interested in hens.

Once, I told all around town that we were to move to Telemarken. I really believed it myself. Everybody in town heard of it and at last it got into the paper, and, O dear! it wasn't true at all, and it was I who had told it. That time Father was furious with me.

After that I never heard a word about Father's looking for a position; I suppose they were afraid I should tell of it again. And so it was like lightning from a clear sky and I was completely astounded when Mother told me one morning at breakfast that Father had got a position in Christiania, and that we were to move away.

"Well, may I tell about it now?" I asked. "Yes, now you may say all you like," said Mother.

I couldn't get another mouthful down after hearing the news, but hurried off to school. Not a soul had come when I got there, so I had to wait, alone with my great news, for five longminutes. The first to come was Antoinette Wium; she had hardly opened the door when I called out:

"I am going to move away from town."

Then I planted myself firmly at the door, and told every single one that came in. Before the first recess was over, the whole school and all the teachers knew that we were to move to Christiania.

I was so glad, I didn't know what to do. The first few days I just went around telling it down on the wharves and everywhere.

All at once everything seemed so tedious in town. I didn't care any longer about what my friends were talking of; all I wanted was to talk about Christiania. When I was alone I sang to myself: "We shall travel, travel, travel," mostly to the tune of

"Ja, vi elsker dette landet,"

for that has such a swing to it.

I must say that now, for the first time, I understood how Lawyer Cold felt. He is a fat young man from Christiania who has settledin our town, but is in despair because he has to live here. He comes up to Father's office and sits and talks by the hour, complaining, until he puts Father in a bad humor, too. It is Karl Johan Street that he misses so frightfully, he says. And to think that now I was going to Karl Johan Street and should see all the cadets and all the fun! I could understand Lawyer Cold's feelings perfectly now. Oh, oh, how delightful it will be!

I began at once to go around to say good-bye, although we were not to leave for three or four months. I went to all the cottages and huts round about. One day I went by Ellef Kulaas' house up on the hill. He was standing outside of his door. He is tall, and his whole body seems to be warped, and he never looks at people, but off anywhere else.

"Good-bye, Ellef, I am going away," said I.

Ellef didn't answer; he only turned his quid in his mouth.

"We are going to Christiania," I went on.

"Yes, I was there once," said Ellef. "It's a dangerous Sodom."

"But aren't there plenty of splendid things to see, Ellef?"

"Oh, yes—I wanted most to see that big mountain Gausta. They told me I'd have to take a horse and wagon to get there; but I went to see the old dean that used to be here,—he lived high up—and when I looked out of his skylight I saw everything, Gausta and the churches and the whole kit and boodle. I saved a lot of money that way. I went up there twice and looked through the skylight, and so I saw the whole show,—for nothing too. I suppose hardly anybody sees it any better."

Humph! As if I'd be satisfied like Ellef Kulaas with seeing things through the dean's skylight!

There were many places where I said good-bye several times. At last they laughed at me, and I had to laugh too. One day I went by Madam Guldahl's house. Madam Guldahlalways stands at her garden gate and talks with people who are passing.

"Good-bye, Madam Guldahl, we are going to Christiania," said I.

"You may if you want to. I am thankful to live here rather than there."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, I was there six weeks on account of my bad leg—such hurrying and running in the streets you never saw. I didn't know a soul in the streets; what pleasure could there be in that, I'd like to know! One day I saw Ellef Kulaas on the street there, and I was so glad I wanted to throw my arms around his neck. People went by each other without once looking at each other—not at all as though it was immortal souls they were passing."

I wondered a little whether I should want to throw my arms round Ellef Kulaas' neck if I met him on Karl Johan Street; but I hardly thought I should.

There were three farewell parties for me in the town, with tables loaded with good thingsat all the places, and at table they always "toasted" me, singing:

"Og dette skal vaere Inger Johanne's skaal!Hurrah!"

I sang with them myself, and it was quite ceremonious. It's awfully good fun to be made so much of. The girls all wanted to walk arm in arm with me and be awfully good friends, and I promised to write to them all.

At home all the floors were covered with straw and big packing-cases; chairs and sofas were wrapped in matting; a policeman went around sorting and packing for several days, and Mother wore her morning dress all day long. It was all horribly uncomfortable and awfully pleasant at the same time.

I packed a box of crockery, and it was really very well done, but the policeman packed it all over again. After that I wasn't allowed to do anything except run errands.

At school I gave away my scholar's-companion and my eraser and my pencils and pen-holders, and an old torn map, as keepsakes.

On Saturday, after prayers, the Principal said:

"There is a little girl here who is soon to leave us. It is Inger Johanne, as we all know. We shall miss you, Inger Johanne. You are a good girl in spite of all your pranks. May everything go well with you. God bless you."

This was terribly unexpected. Oh, what a beautiful speech—I began to cry—oh, how I cried! The very moment the Principal said: "There is a little girl here who is soon to leave us," everything seemed perfectly horrid all at once.

Just think, to leave the school and my friends, and the town, and everything, and never, never come back!

I laid my head down on the desk and cried, and cried, and couldn't stop. I had thought only of all the new things I was going to, and not that I should never in the world live here again,—here where I had been so happy.

O dear! if we were only not going, if we were just to stay here all our lives. At lastthe Principal came down and patted me on the head, and then I cried all the more.

When I got home they could hardly see my eyes, I had cried so.

"Now you see, Inger Johanne, it's not all pleasure, either," said Mother.

The last day, I ran up on the hill, and said good-bye to all the places where we used to play, to Rome and Japan, to Kongsberg and the North Cape,—for we had given names to some of them.

"Good-bye!" I shouted across the rocks and the heather and the juniper, "Good-bye!" I ran and ran, for I wanted to see all the places where we had played, before I went away forever. At home, on the outside wall of our old house, I wrote in pencil, "Good-bye, my beloved home!"

But I didn't cry, except that time at school.

At the steamboat-wharf, when we were leaving, it was only fun. The wharf was packed full of people, and they all wanted to talk to us and shake hands, and they gave Motherbouquets and gave me bouquets; and there was such a crowd and bustle and talk and noise before all our things were finally on board! Only one thing was horrid, and that was that Ingeborg the maid cried so sorrowfully. She was not going with us; she stood on the wharf by herself and cried and cried.

"Don't cry, Ingeborg; you must come and visit us—yes, you must, you must; don't cry!"

"I can't do anything else," said Ingeborg, sobbing aloud.

Now I had to go on board and the steamboat started.

"Good-bye, good-bye"—I ran to the very stern right by the flag, and waved and waved. I could see Massa and Mina on the wharf all the way to where we swung around the islands.

I stood staring back at the town.

Now Peckell's big yellow house vanished, and now the custom-house; now I could see nothing but the little red house high up on the hill; and at last that vanished too.

But I still stood there, looking back andlooking back at the gray hills. Among them I had lived my whole life long!

Other hills and islands came into view, and the sea splashed up over them, but not one of them did I know.

How strange that was!

Nevertheless, I suddenly felt awfully glad, and I began to sing at the top of my voice to the old tune (no one heard me, the sea roared so mightily):

"Oh! I love to travel, travel!"

Translated from the Scandinavian LanguagesBy EMILIE POULSSON and LAURA POULSSONIllustrated in two colors by Florence Liley Young

These stories of magic and adventure come from the countries at the "top of the world," and will transport thither in fancy the children who read this unusual book. They tell of Lapps and reindeer (even a golden-horned reindeer!), of prince and herd-boy, of knights and wolves and trolls, of a boy who could be hungry and merry at the same time—of all these and more besides! Miss Poulsson's numerous and long visits to Norway, her father's land, and the fact that she is an experienced writer for children are doubtless the reasons why her translations are sympathetic and skilful, and yet entirely adapted to give wholesome pleasure to the young public that she knows so well.

"In these stories are the elements of wonder and magic and adventure that furnish the thrill so much appreciated by boys and girls ten or twelve years of age. An aristocratic book—one that every young person will be perpetually proud of."—Lookout, Cincinnati, O."In this book the children are transported to the land they love best, the land of magic, of the fairies and all kinds of wonderful happenings. It is one of the best fairy story books ever published."—Argus-Leader, Sioux Falls, S. D.

"In this book the children are transported to the land they love best, the land of magic, of the fairies and all kinds of wonderful happenings. It is one of the best fairy story books ever published."—Argus-Leader, Sioux Falls, S. D.

Fully illustrated and decorated12mo Cloth Price, $1.50

The varying forms of Christmas observance at different times and in different lands are entertainingly shown by one trained in choosing and presenting the best to younger readers. The symbolism, good cheer, and sentiment of the grandest of holidays are shown as they appeal in similar fashion to those whose lives seem so widely diverse. The first chapter tells of the Yule-Tide of the Ancients, and the eight succeeding chapters deal respectively with the observance of Christmas and New Year's, making up the time of "Yule," or the turning of the sun, in England, Germany, Scandinavia, Russia, France, Italy, Spain, and America. The space devoted to each country has at least one good illustration.

"The descriptions as presented in this well-prepared volume make interesting reading for all who love to come in loving contact with others in their high and pure enjoyments."—Herald-Presbyter, Cincinnati."The way Yule-Tide was and is celebrated is told in a simple and instructive way, and the narrative is enriched by appropriate poems and excellent illustrations."—Cleveland Plain Dealer."It is written for young people and is bound to interest them for the subject is a universal one."—American Church Sunday School Magazine.

"The way Yule-Tide was and is celebrated is told in a simple and instructive way, and the narrative is enriched by appropriate poems and excellent illustrations."—Cleveland Plain Dealer.

"It is written for young people and is bound to interest them for the subject is a universal one."—American Church Sunday School Magazine.

We have here a most valuable book, telling not of the childhood of those who have afterwards become famous, but those who as children are famous in history, song, and story. For convenience the subjects are grouped as "Royal Children," "Child Artists," "Learned Children," "Devoted Children," "Child Martyrs," and "Heroic Children," and the names of the "two little princes," Louis XVII., Mozart, St. Genevieve, David, and Joan of Arc are here, as well as those of many more.

Mr. Wilson, a well-known writer and reviewer, has prepared from Southey's translation, which was far too cumbrous to entertain the young, a book that will kindle the imagination of youth and entertain and inform those of advanced years.

Nothing can be better to arouse the imagination of boys and girls, and at the same time store in their minds knowledge indispensable to any one who would be known as cultured, or happier than Professor Lowell's way of telling a story, and the many excellent drawings have lent great spirit to the narrative.

The romantic interest in the days of chivalry, so fully exemplified by the "Heroes of the Crusades," is permanent and properly so. This book is fitted to keep it alive without descending to improbability or cheap sensationalism.

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers.

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

Compiled by ELVA S. SMITHCataloguer of Children's Books, Carnegie Library, Pittsburgh,and ALICE I. HAZELTINESupervisor of Children's Work, St. Louis Public LibraryIllustrated from Famous Paintings

In their experience in providing reading for children, these trained and efficient librarians saw the need of a book that should group thebestof real literature regarding Christmas. With wide research and great pains they have gathered the noblest, grandest, sweetest, and most reverent of all that eminent writers in varying lands and in different times have told us in prose and verse of the origin and sentiment of this "gracious time." The style and decoration of the book are in keeping with its contents.

"Clad in green, red and gold, the Christmas colors, comes this collection of all the sweetest and noblest stories and legends that have gathered round the birthday of the Son of Man. This is an interesting volume, full of the spirit of Christmas."—The Churchman."It is a superb book, beautifully printed, illustrated from famous paintings and splendidly bound. It is as well adapted to the adult as to the children, and will be read with interest, enjoyment and delight by many an older one."—The Brooklyn Citizen."The literary standard of all these tales is exceptionally high, and the two editors of the volume are to be congratulated on their choice of selections for it."—The Christian Register."It is redolent of Christmas cheer and reverence. The Yuletide spirit breathes from every page. The illustrations, taken for the most part from old paintings, are an invaluable embellishment of the attractive text."—Columbus Dispatch."Perhaps the best and most comprehensive collection of good literature published regarding the birth of Christ and the celebration of His birthday is this well illustrated, clearly-written and plainly-printed book by two experts in children's reading. It will help to keep the spirit of Christmas alive throughout the year."—The Continent.

"It is a superb book, beautifully printed, illustrated from famous paintings and splendidly bound. It is as well adapted to the adult as to the children, and will be read with interest, enjoyment and delight by many an older one."—The Brooklyn Citizen.

"The literary standard of all these tales is exceptionally high, and the two editors of the volume are to be congratulated on their choice of selections for it."—The Christian Register.

"It is redolent of Christmas cheer and reverence. The Yuletide spirit breathes from every page. The illustrations, taken for the most part from old paintings, are an invaluable embellishment of the attractive text."—Columbus Dispatch.

"Perhaps the best and most comprehensive collection of good literature published regarding the birth of Christ and the celebration of His birthday is this well illustrated, clearly-written and plainly-printed book by two experts in children's reading. It will help to keep the spirit of Christmas alive throughout the year."—The Continent.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Sherpard Co. Boston

Kanana, a Bedouin youth, though excelling in athletic prowess, is branded, even by his father, as a coward because he prefers the humble lot of a shepherd to the warrior's career that he, the son of a sheik known as the "Terror of the Desert," was expected to follow. "Only for Allah and Arabia will I lift a lance and take a life," he maintained. Opportunity to prove his worth soon comes, and the supposed coward, understood too late, becomes in memory a national hero.

"The stirring story of the loyalty and self-sacrifice of a Bedouin boy is well worth the attractive new edition in which it now presents its rare picture of fervid patriotism."—Continent, Chicago.

Here is a child classic reissued in a finer and handsomer form, in response to the persistent demand of those who know the mirth-provoking quality of the exploits of the ingenious small boy named Miltiades Peterkin Paul and spoken of as "a great traveler, although he was small." Whoever has once enjoyed the story of the restless little lad who imitated Don Quixote, and did many other things, is permanently charmed by it.

"This youthful Don Quixote, with his travels and exploits, drives 'dull care' away from the elders and delights the juniors."—Watchman, N.Y.

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers.

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston

This is intended to be the fundamental book in the library of boys and girls between twelve and eighteen, and it deserves its place in interest, fullness, and worth. The great educator, G. Stanley Hall, has demanded "a secular Bible," and it is not too much to say that this meets the demand. One may go farther, and say that no other modern writer has so wisely, so safely, and at the same time so entertainingly provided what young people long to be told if only it be done capably and pleasingly. Dr. Forbush is a sincere man, and in both writing and speaking combines keen wit and great learning with a rich store of personal experience in a way that entitles him to rank as the leading authority on making the best of youthful life. The book is produced in a style worthy of its really great contents.

"A book of general culture for young people which deserves a fundamental place in the library of boys and girls between twelve and eighteen, because of its interest, fullness and worth. The invaluable knowledge for young people imparted, is presented in a style so pleasing and entertaining that young readers will find it not only convincing, but intensely interesting. It is an ideal book to place in the hands of young people."—Zion's Herald."It is a book of unusual inspiration. It will help teachers and parents and will prove a stable balance for the young mind in forming its habits of thought and living."—Buffalo News."There is a combination of keen wit and great learning with a rich store of personal experience that entitles the author to rank among the leading writers of youthful life."—Atlanta Constitution.

"It is a book of unusual inspiration. It will help teachers and parents and will prove a stable balance for the young mind in forming its habits of thought and living."—Buffalo News.

"There is a combination of keen wit and great learning with a rich store of personal experience that entitles the author to rank among the leading writers of youthful life."—Atlanta Constitution.

For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston

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