How we wandered,—round and round, up and down, hither and thither.—Page 208.How we wandered,—round and round, up and down, hither and thither.—Page 208.
O me! How we wandered,—round and round, up and down, hither and thither! We would go ten steps in one direction, then five steps in another—I didn't know where we had been or where we hadn't. All at once everything seemed to be rough and horrid; great trees, uprooted, lay topsy-turvy in our way, rotten branches were under foot everywhere, and the ground was boggy and swampy. The whole place was dreadful.
I remember perfectly that it was right there that I began to be afraid—so terrified that I felt as if down inside of me I was shivering with fear, for I happened to think that we might meet a bull in the forest,—Kaspar's bull that is horribly fierce; and of all things in the world I am most afraid of a bull.
"Oh, Karlie boy, Karlie boy! We are lost!"
He gave one glance at me and burst out crying. Louder and louder he cried, and heavier and heavier he was to drag along, as if he were a big log that would not budge from its place. It was weird and uncanny somehow,—that he should scream so loud in the silent forest. And if there were a bull anywhere in the forest, even far away, it could hear his crying; and then itwould come leaping—it would come leaping——
I listened and listened, I seemed to hear with a thousand ears—and I looked and searched to see if I could not recognize even one tree or one blueberry clump. But no; never in the world had I been in this place before. Then we turned and went in exactly the opposite direction. Ugh! No, no—the forest was just as thick and dark there. Hark! Did something crash then?
"Oh, do be still, Karlie boy!" I listened, holding my breath; perhaps it was only a bird flying.
Well, now we would go straight on this way. And there was nothing to be afraid of; the bright sun was shining, and I had lots and lots of blueberries, and going this way we would surely get out of the forest. Thus I comforted myself.
"Pooh! We'll soon find the way out, you and I."
"If we had a cannon, we could fire it off,and then they would hear it at Goodfields," said Karl.
For once I was glad of Karl's cannon. I talked and talked about cannon simply to fix my thoughts on something else than the forest, and Karl dried his tears and asked whether there were any great big cannon, as big as—as the whole earth, and didn't I think that the Pope had more cannon than any one else in the world?
"Hush, Karlie boy! keep still. Do you hear something?"
Yes, it was cow-bells. Oh, perhaps Kaspar's bull was coming, that awful bull. "Oh, hurry, hurry, Karlie boy!" We dashed ahead, over branches and mounds; we ran and ran; I stopped and listened, scarcely breathing.
"Do you hear it, Karlie boy?"
Yes, the cow-bells sounded loud and clear through the silence. Well, anyway, we should soon be out of the forest—I thought I knew where we were now.
"Run, Karlie boy! Run, run." There now! There was an opening in the forest! We rushed forward; but just imagine! We were in that little open place again,—there where everything was so horrid, where the great split tree-trunks lay in the swampy moss,—just where I had begun to have that shivery fear deep down inside of me. We had walked round and round in a circle.
And there were the cows! Beyond where the trees were close together, I saw a black cow that lifted its head and sniffed at us; and other cows, many cows,—and oh! there was Kaspar's bull!
I was wild with fright; probably it was then that I threw away my basket, for I saw it no more. Over hillocks and moss, through bushes and thickets, I dragged Karl—who was now pale as death, with big wide open staring eyes, and utterly silent.
The whole herd was after us, now at a slow trot, now leaping; the bull was ahead and gave a short, low roar from time to time.Oh! oh! What should we do! Oh! Karl, Karl!——
We had nowhere to turn and no one to help us. What should we do? Then I prayed—not aloud, but oh, how earnestly! And suddenly I saw that there was a rock just beyond us—an enormous moss-grown rock. Thither we rushed. I tore myself on the bushes till I bled. I fell, but rushed on again till we reached the rock; then I climbed up, gripped tight with hand and feet, hauled Karl up after me, higher and higher up, as far as we could get. The rock was perhaps two or three yards high. We were saved from the bull. And it was God who had saved us, I was sure of that. I had never seen that rock before anywhere in the forest.
The bull had made a great leap and stood just below us pawing the ground, tail in the air. Oh, how he bellowed!
I held Karl in my arms. The bull could not reach us. He pawed the earth so that moss and dirt rose in a whirl; he ran around therock and bellowed horribly, making as much noise as ten ordinary bulls would make. And all the cows followed him round and round the rock, lowing and acting crazy like him.
Never, never in my life have I been so frightened. Karl grew paler and paler. Oh, what if he should die of terror?
"There's nothing to be afraid of now, Karlie boy," I said in a shaky voice. "The bull could never get up here. No indeed—he can be mighty sure of that, horrid old beast!"
"He can be mighty sure of that, horrid old beast!" repeated Karlie boy with white lips.
How long did we sit there? I'm sure I don't know. It must have been a long time, for the sunshine disappeared from among the trees, the cows laid themselves down in a circle around the rock, the bull went to and fro. If he went a little way off, he would come rushing back again and begin to behave worse than ever. The ground about the rock was torn up as if there had been a great battle there.
I have often tried to remember what Ithought of, all those long hours on the rock, with that fierce bull below us. I really believe I didn't think of anything but keeping tight hold of Karl; nor did we talk very much either. Karl didn't even mention cannon a single time.
A gentle breeze stirred the tree-tops and the shadows had grown darker under the close branches when the cows finally began to stir themselves. Slowly, very slowly, they trailed off between the trees, the bull being the last to go. As if for a farewell, he dug his horns into the earth and sent bits of moss flying up to us. At last, at last, he, too, had gone.
When the cows started homeward it must have been five or six o'clock, and we had been in the forest the whole day long. Oh, how hungry, how awfully hungry I was! And Karl was as pale as a little white flower. Never—even if I live to be ninety years old—never shall I forget that summer day on the big moss-grown rock with Kaspar's bull down below.
Well, then I did something unspeakably stupid. Instead of going the way the cows had taken (which of course led right to Kaspar's farm), Karl and I went exactly the opposite way, farther into the forest. Ugh! how could any one be such a stupid donkey! I'm disgusted whenever I think of it.
Karl and I walked on and on for an eternity it seemed. It grew darker and darker and the air was full of mysterious sounds, low murmurs and rustlings; my heart thumped frightfully. Just think, if we had to stay in the forest all night when it was pitch dark! Suppose we never found our way out to people again——
Oh, that big, big forest!
I did not cry once, I didn't dare to, you see, for Karl's sake. I just stared and listened, and the forest murmured softly—softly, the whole time.
Once in a while we sat down and then Karl would weep bitterly with his head in my lap, poor little fellow!
"Now we'll soon get to Goodfields, Karlie boy, and Mother will be so glad to see us—oh, so glad! Won't it be jolly?"
"Yes—and then I'm going to have a hundred pieces of bread and butter."
Suddenly we stumbled against a fence! And as suddenly my weariness vanished. Where there was a fence, there must be people. We jumped over the fence. Beyond it was a little cleared space where stood—yes—really—a tiny hut. Then—wasn't it queer? I was so glad that I began to cry violently as I dashed towards the house.
It was so very dark that I could not distinguish anything clearly, but I could see that there was some one sitting on the door-stone. And just imagine! When we drew nearer, I saw that it was Crazy Helen, an old half-witted woman who went about among the farms begging. Many a time through the summer had she been at Goodfields, and she had told us that she lived all alone in the forest, high, high up on the mountain.
I can't possibly tell how I felt when I saw her; not that I was really afraid of poor Helen, but it was all so strange—so queer.
"Are you coming here?" asked she, looking up at us and laughing. She had on the same old brown coat, a man's coat, that she always wore, and was smoking a clay pipe.
"Can you tell us the way to Goodfields?" I asked.
"Goodfields—nice folks at Goodfields; nice mistress there. I know her very well," said Crazy Helen.
"Yes—but how shall we go to get there?" I asked again as I sat down beside her on the door-step.
"Why, just over that way," said Crazy Helen, pointing back where we had come from. "Just go that way and you'll get to Goodfields."
What in the world should I do? How frightened Mother must be about us! And there was Karl asleep at my side on the bare ground. All kinds of thoughts were whirlinground in my head. Perhaps it was best to let Karl sleep here in Crazy Helen's hut, and in the morning people might find us; or Helen could go with us and show us the way to Goodfields.
"May I lay him on your bed?" I asked, pointing to Karl.
"Nice little boy is asleep," said Helen. So I put Karl on Crazy Helen's bed. The floor of the hut was just bare earth, and there was no furniture but one old stool, I think; but Karl was in a sound sleep and safe, perfectly safe.
Then I seated myself again on the door-step beside poor Helen. They had always said at Goodfields that she had never in the world been known to do any harm, so I was not really afraid of her. The twinkling stars shone down upon us, and the forest trees waved noisily.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Crazy Helen, slapping her knees.
Ugh! it wasn't exactly pleasant here; but sleep I would not; no, no, I would not. Iwould just sit up and take care of Karl, but oh, how unspeakably tired I was!
"Shall I dance a little for you?" asked Crazy Helen.
"Oh, no!" I answered.
Ugh! That would be horrible. On the lawn at Goodfields where, laughing and joking, we all sat around together and watched Helen dance, it was very jolly, but it wouldn't be so in the least here in the dark forest, and alone with her. But if you'll believe it, she began to dance, notwithstanding—such a queer dance!
She whirled herself about, hopped off slant-wise, then whirled again like a spinning top, while the trees sighed in the wind, and the bright, clear stars looked down on the little space before the hut and on Crazy Helen dancing.
Never in my life had I seen anything so queer, so weird.
"Ho! Heigho!" she sang, as she spun round and round.
"Hi! Halloa!" some one answered from the forest.
I sprang up. "Halloa!" I shouted. It must be some one from Goodfields, some one who was trying to find us, oh, thank God!
"Halloa!" "Hey there!"
The shouting was nearer; there were lights among the trees and now the people came nearer still—now over the fence—oh! oh—it was Trond and Lisbeth from Goodfields. Oh, oh! how glad I was! I flew in and began to shake Karl.
"Karlie boy, wake up—get up—we're going to Mother." But Karl's eyes would not open, he was so sound asleep. Trond, the farm man, came in and took him in his arms. Oh, oh! it is impossible to say how glad I was!
They had been searching for us since four o'clock and now it was ten. They had called and shouted, and not a sound had we heard.
Mother had been unspeakably anxious and terrified and wanted to go to the forest herself, to search, but Mother Goodfields had said no tothat, "because Trond and Lisbeth know the forest better," she had told Mother.
Crazy Helen sat herself down on the door-step again, and slapped her knees and laughed, as before, out into the night.
Just think of all I lived through in that one day! And still I haven't told half how strange and uncanny it all was,—the long, long day in the forest and Crazy Helen dancing under the stars.
When I got to Goodfields, I ate three eggs and eight slices of bread and butter, and drank four cups of chocolate. I truly did.
Would you believe it? Karsten got a live billy-goat as a present from Mother Goodfields, and I got a live wild forest-cat from Jens Kverum's mother. Of course I wanted something alive since Karsten had the goat, so I begged and teased Agnete Kverum until she finally said I might have the yellow-brown cat I wanted. Not that I would not rather have had the goat, you may be sure, though naturally I wouldn't let Karsten know that. He was puffed up enough over it, as it was.
Well, anyway, we took both the goat and the cat with us when we went home; but anything so difficult to travel with you can't possibly imagine. Now you shall hear the whole story from first to last; for if anybody else has a desire to take a real live goat or cat with them on the train or into the ladies' cabin of thesteamboat, they had better know all the bother and row-de-dow it will make. I advise every one against doing it. All the people who are traveling with you get angry, although it is scarcely to be expected that a billy-goat or a wild cat will behave nicely in a ladies' cabin. At any rate, ours didn't. Listen now.
Mother Goodfields had any number of goats. They were all up at the saeter except two, and these roamed in the forest with the cows, because each of them had an injured leg. But one day one goat was missing and nobody in the world could find it.
Old Kari mourned for it constantly and talked of nothing else. Every day she pictured to herself a new horrible way it had met its death. Either it had got caught in a mountain crevice and starved to death, or a wolf had taken it, or Beata Oppistuen had butchered it without any right to. "That Beata! You could expect any kind of doings from her." Old Kari went to and fro in the forest seeking the goat till far into the night.
But one fine day there on the forest side of the farm fence stood the lost goat with a tiny little baby-goat at her side. And that kid was the prettiest and cunningest you ever set eyes on. It had a soft silky little beard, and it stood on its hind legs and hopped and skipped as if it would jump over into the field.
The cows came and sniffed at it; the other goat, that had stayed at home with them, examined it very particularly; and the little kid danced, zigzag and every which way; and so it was introduced to society, you might say.
How we children ran after that little billy-goat! But Karsten was the worst, for he went to the forest every single day to tend it and brought it home every single night.
"I rather think I shall have to give you that kid," said Mother Goodfields to Karsten one night as he came along carrying it.
From that time Karsten was a changed boy altogether, for he didn't give a thought to the big lake that he had cared so much about all summer. In his brain there was absolutelynothing but that billy-goat. It ate bread and butter and drank out of a teacup; and one night when Mother went up to bed she caught a glimpse of Billy-goat's beard above the blanket beside Karsten's head. Just imagine! Karsten was going to let the kid sleep with him. But Mother put a stop to that and Karsten had to hurry down-stairs and out to the barn with the goat.
Karsten never allowed me to touch Billy-goat and so I wanted to have a pet animal of my own. I considered seriously for a day or two as to whether I should not ask Mother Goodfields for a brown calf that was kept out in the pasture; but one fine morning it was slaughtered, so there was an end to that plan. Then I brought my desire down to Agnete Kverum's cat. It was golden-brown and had long hair and was exactly like a big cosy muff; and in the muff were two great yellow eyes. Whenever I went up to the Kverum place it sat curled together on the door-sill and purred and was perfectly charming. I didn't giveAgnete a minute's rest or peace, and so, as you know, I got the cat.
Strangely enough, Mother was not in the least overjoyed when I came back carrying the forest-cat.
"I don't like these presents," said Mother. "There will only be tears and heartbreak when you have to leave them."
"Leave them!" exclaimed Karsten and I in one breath. "Oh, but you know they must go back home with us!"
"The goat is so smart about going up and down stairs," said Karsten. "And it likes to drink out of a teacup and it can perfectly well stay in the hotel garden over night in the city."
"Are you crazy, you two?" said Mother. "It would never do in the world."
But we teased and begged so, that Mother finally said yes—we might take them. For the potato-cellar was full of rats, she said, that the cat might take care of; and you could always get rid of a goat in our town. And I promised that I would hold on to the catthrough the whole journey, and Karsten would hold on to the kid, and Mother needn't think they would be any worry or nuisance to her at all. No indeed—far from it.
Well, off we went. When Mother talks of our journey home from the country that time, she both laughs and cries. First we had to drive nearly twenty-five miles. Mother and Karl and Olaug, and the kid and Karsten, and the forest-cat and I, and the hold-all and lunch-basket and bundle of shawls—all were in one carriage. Nobody kept quiet an instant, for Karlie boy wanted to know who lived in every single house along the road, and Olaug whimpered and wanted to eat all the time, and the forest-cat could not by hook or crook be made to stay in any basket, but would sit on the driver's seat and look around; so you see, I had to stand and hold it so it should not fall out of the carriage. And the goat kicked into the air with all its four legs and would not lie in Karsten's lap a minute. You had better believe there was a rumpus!
Mother said afterwards that she just sat and wished that both the cat and the goat would fall out of the carriage; she would then whip up the horse and drive away from them, she was so sick of the whole business.
At last we came to the first place where we were to stay over night. Karsten and I took our pets with us to our rooms. They should not be put into a strange barn and be frightened, poor things! But oh, how those rooms looked in the morning! I can't possibly describe it.
Mother was desperate.
"Do let us get away from this place," she said. "There's no knowing how much I shall have to pay; it will be a costly reckoning, I'll warrant you."
It was.
Well, we all hurried, and flew down to the little steamer. It was cram-jam full of passengers,—ladies who sat with their opera-glasses and were very elegant and looked sideways at you; and sun-burnt gentlemen withtiny little traveling caps. They all looked hard at Karsten and me with our animals in our arms.
The billy-goat bleated and was determined to get down on to the deck, and the cat miaowed and the ladies drew their skirts close and looked indignant.
"Go into the cabin!" said Mother.
Karsten and I scrambled down below with the goat and the cat. There wasn't a living soul there, nothing but bad air and red velvet sofas. We let go of both the goat and the cat. It would be good for them to stir their legs a little, poor creatures!
Pit-pat! pit-pat! Away went the goat to a sofa, and snatched a big bite out of a bouquet of stock that lay there. One long lavender spray hung dangling from Billy-goat's mouth.
"Oh, are you crazy? Catch your goat! Catch your goat!"
But the flowers were gone and the goat was dancing sideways over the cabin floor.
From the sideboard sounded a thud and ahorrible rattle te-bang of glass and silver. The cat had sprung right up into a big bowl of cream and all the cream was running down on the sofa.
It is a horrible sight to see two quarts of cream flowing over a red velvet sofa! Oh, how frightened I was!
"Hold the door shut, Karsten!" I said. "I'll try to dry it up."
With shaking hands I tried to mop up the cream with my pocket-handkerchief, while the cat and the kid lapped and drank the cream that trickled down to the floor; and Karsten held the door shut with all his might.
But it was like an ocean of cream. It was impossible—impossible for me to dry it up.
"Oh, Karsten! what shall we do?"
"It was your cat that did it."
"Yes, but your goat ate the stock."
"Let's run away," said Karsten; and carrying the goat and the cat we rushed up the narrow cabin stairs. But, O horrors! There wasn't any sort of a place where we couldhide.—And how it did look down in the cabin! And Mother didn't know the least thing about it. O dear! O dear!
"If they only don't throw Billy-goat and the cat overboard!" said Karsten thoughtfully.
"Are you up here again?" called Mother.
"Ye-es."
We ran away out forward, away to the bow of the boat. Usually I think there is nothing so jolly as to sit far, far out in the bow, seeing nothing of the boat back of me, just as if I were gliding forward high up in the air. But to-day it wasn't the least bit jolly, for all that cream down on the sofa was frightful to think of. Karsten and I couldn't talk of anything else. He was angry, however, because I hadn't mopped it up.
"Well, but I couldn't wipe it up with nothing."
"Oh, you could have taken your waterproof or something out of our trunk."
I was really struck by that thought. Perhaps—perhapsI could get hold of something to wipe up all that disgusting cream with. We both got up from the box where we had been sitting. O horrors! There stood the dining-room stewardess facing us. No sight could have been more terrible to me.
"Oh, here you are, are you? Of course it was you who have got things in such a condition in the dining-saloon."
I looked at Karsten and Karsten looked at me.
"Yes, the cat upset the bowl," I said faintly.
"Well, it's a pretty business," said the stewardess. "And we are in a fine fix and no mistake. Dinner spoiled, no more cream for the multerberries, and they're nothing without it, the whole cabin running over with cream, the sofa absolutely ruined, glasses broken,—oh, you'll have a handsome sum to pay! Well, you've got to go to the Captain," and she swaggered across the deck.
But now Mother had heard about it, and she came towards us with a face I can't describe,—andthe Captain came; and there Karsten and I stood holding the goat and the cat in our arms.
Oh, it was an awful interview! The Captain wasn't gentle, not he, and Mother had to pay heaps of money.
"There is no sense in traveling with such a menagerie," said the Captain.
The passengers who had nothing but dry multerberries for dessert were certainly angry with us, and Mother was most unhappy. But the cat lay in my lap and blinked with its yellow eyes and purred like far-away thunder,—it was so happy; and Billy-goat rubbed its head with that silky beard against Karsten's jacket and looked up at him with its trustful black eyes; so neither Karsten nor I had the heart to scold. And it wouldn't have done any good, anyway.
At the train, trouble began again, for just imagine! No one knew what the freight charges should be for a kid. The ticket-agent stuck his head out of his window to stare atthe innocent little creature, and the station-master pulled at his mustache and stared too; and they turned over page after page in their books and whispered together. At last they made out that the cost would be the same as for a cow. Mother shook her head but paid. (I was glad I had my cat in a basket where no one noticed it, and it slept like a log.)
Since the kid was so very tiny, Karsten was allowed to take it into the compartment with us, for it was absolutely impossible to let that baby go alone into the cattle-car.
"Thank goodness!" said Mother when she finally got us all settled. "Now there are only five hours more of this part of the journey."
Two ladies were in the compartment—one very severe-looking who had a lorgnette, the other fat and jolly, with awfully pretty red cherries on her hat. Little Billy-goat stood on the seat and ate crackers, making a great crunching. The fat lady laughed at it till she shook all over, but the severe lady drew thecorners of her mouth down, looking crosser than ever.
Karsten was so glad to have some one admire the kid that he made it do all the tricks it could. However, that was soon over, for it could not do anything except stand on two legs.
Just as it stood there on two legs, with the most innocent face you can imagine, it gave a little leap—oh, oh! up towards the hat of the fat lady; and that very instant the beautiful red cherries crackled in Billy-goat's mouth.
"Oh, my new hat!" screamed the fat lady.
"It is outrageous that one should be liable to such treatment," said the cross lady.
"That's the time you got fooled, Billy-goat!" said Karl, "for you got glass cherries instead of real cherries."
Mother had lost all patience now and no mistake; and the kid had to go under the seat and lie there the whole time. And Mother offered the fat lady some chocolates and some of Mother Goodfields' home-made cakes that we had brought for luncheon, and begged her pardon again and again for Billy-goat's behavior; so that finally the fat lady was a little appeased. The goat had eaten four of the glass cherries and there were eight still left on the hat, so it wasn't wholly spoiled.
The beautiful red cherries crackled in Billy-goat's mouth.—Page 236.The beautiful red cherries crackled in Billy-goat's mouth.—Page 236.
"Well, all I know is I would never have stood it," said the lady with the lorgnette.
The forest-cat behaved beautifully, sleeping the whole time on the train; and we all grew tired, oh! so tired. I couldn't look out of the window at last, I was so utterly tired out. And I did not bother myself about either the cat or the billy-goat.
Finally we rumbled into the city and to the station platform.
But Mother was altogether right in saying that it would never do in the world to have a billy-goat in the city. When we got to the hotel where we were to spend that night, there stood the host at the door. He is a very cross man. When he saw Billy-goat in Karsten's arms he was furious at once. He had notfitted up his rooms for animals, he said, and the goat would please be so good as to keep itself entirely outside of them. So Billy-goat was put into the pitch-dark coal-cellar—and had to stay there the whole night.
When we went down the next morning it stood on two legs and danced sideways from pure joy. But when Karsten took it out into the court, pop! away went the goat over the low fence into the hotel-keeper's garden, then out by an unlatched gate into the wide, wide world.
"No," said Mother firmly, "you may not go to look for it, nor will I ask the police to find it. If I haven't suffered and paid enough for that creature——"
Poor little Billy-goat! It was a sin and a shame that we ever took you away from the forest at Goodfields!
Oh, such fun as we had in school that time when Mr. Gorrisen was our teacher! It was a regular comedy. He was a tiny little man. Antoinette and I were taller than he, so you can judge for yourself. And I never in my life saw any one with such round eyes as he had.
You should just have seen those eyes when we were having a little fun at our desks. With a hard, fixed stare, not letting his gaze wander for an instant, his eyes bored themselves right into the culprit.
Down from the platform he came, with slow, measured step across the floor,—his eyes not moving for a second,—came nearer and nearer and nearer; ugh! then his finger tips grabbed the very tip-end of your ear and there they held tight like a vise. No one can have thefaintest idea how painful it was. And all without one word; not a syllable came over Mr. Gorrisen's lips.
I wonder, I really do, that there is anything left of the tips of my ears since then, considering the many times Mr. Gorrisen took hold of them!
And he was mighty quick about giving us poor marks! If I didn't know every single thing in the lesson by heart, so that I could rattle it off, I got a "4" immediately.
It was at that time, however, that I hit upon the plan of cutting out the bad marks from my report book, for a "4" or "5" looks perfectly disgusting in a report. But an innocent little square hole,—that's no harm, as it were.
"But, Inger Johanne," said Father, "what is that?"
"Oh, well, Father, there was a bad mark there," I answered. "And I didn't dare come home with such a mark, so I just cut it out."
The first time I did it, Father wasn't so veryangry; but when I did it again and again, he was furious. So I had to give it up. Then when I really came to think about it, I saw it was wrong, so I would not do it any more, anyway.
Once we had Mr. Gorrisen on Examination Day. Mrs. White, with her light kid gloves on, sat in a chair on the platform and listened, holding Karen's dirty German reading-book by the tip edge. She looked continually at the book but she didn't understand a word,—I'll wager anything you like she didn't,—for she never turned over the page when she should have. I saw that plainly. On a seat near the door sat Madam Tellefsen, who had come to listen to Mina; she did not put on any airs, though. She never once pretended to understand German, but laid the book down beside her on the seat and sat there sweltering in her French shawl and looking rather helpless.
Enough of that. I was just carving my name on my desk-lid—very deep and nice it was to be—when all at once I noticed that Mr.Gorrisen was looking at me. He stared as if he were staring right through me, stared steadily as he came across the room.
Oh, my unlucky ear-tip! His fingers held it as tight as a vise. Up I must get from my seat and across the floor was I led by the ear to the corner of the room. There he let go of me.
Well! Imagine that! A pretty sight I made standing in the corner on Examination Day! If only Mrs. White and Madam Tellefsen had not been sitting there! They would surely go and tattle about it all over town.
Truly I would not stand there any longer. Mr. Gorrisen was reading a piece aloud just then, so all at once I lay flat down on the floor and crept over to the desks. Once I had got under the desks, it was easy enough. Kima Pirk gave me a horrid kick in the back, and Karen whacked my head when I was directly under her desk, but that was only because I pinched them as I passed. I could hear them all whispering and whispering above me—it was great fun—and I crept farther and farther.I thought I would go to the last desk, you see. There, now I had reached it. I got up and settled myself in the seat, wearing a most innocent expression.
I looked at Mrs. White. Her face seemed to get sharper and narrower just from severity; but Madam Tellefsen laughed so that she had to hold the end of her French shawl over her face. I had got very warm and my hair was very dusty from that expedition under the desks, but I didn't mind that.
Fully five minutes passed before Mr. Gorrisen saw me. But all at once when I had begun to feel pretty safe, came:
"Why, Inger Johanne! Have you walked out of the corner without permission?"
"No, I have not walked, Mr. Gorrisen," said I.
"She crept," the others murmured faintly.
"She crept," said Kima aloud from her desk in the front row.
"What is this, Inger Johanne?" asked Mr. Gorrisen severely.
"It was so tedious to stand there, Mr. Gorrisen," I said.
"Yes, that was exactly why you were put there."
"And so I crept over here when you didn't see me."
Without another word, down across the floor he came. I turned my right ear towards him, for the left ear burned horribly even yet from the other time. But he evidently thought that an ear-pinch was too gentle a punishment for creeping through the whole class-room. I was taken by the arm and led along out of the door. Outside in the hall he shook me by the arm. Oh, well! it was just a little shake anyway,—but then I had to hang around in that hall until the lesson was all over.
I can't understand now how I ever dared to creep that way in Mr. Gorrisen's class. O dear! I have been awfully foolish many times—unbelievably foolish!
Then there was that day Mr. Gorrisen fell off his chair. I was put out in the hall thatday, too. But all the others ought to have been sent out as well, for we all laughed together. It was just because I couldn't stop laughing that I had to go. I surely have spasms in my cheeks, for long after all the others have stopped I keep on—I can't help it.
We were having our geography lesson. Mr. Gorrisen sat in an armchair by the table and stared at us, for he was not the kind of teacher that sharpens pencils or polishes his finger nails or does anything like that. He just sits and sways back and forth in his chair and stares incessantly. Well, never mind that. The lesson was on the peninsula of Korea. I remember distinctly.
"Now, Minka, Korea lies——" He swayed and swayed in his chair.
"Korea lies—ahem! Ko-re-a lies——"
Minka glanced anxiously around to see whether any one would whisper to her—"Korea lies between——"
There came a frightful explosive bang; the chair had gone over backward, making a horriblenoise, and Mr. Gorrisen's small legs were up in the air above the corner of the table.
Oh, what shrieks of laughter pealed out through the class-room! But quick as a flash Mr. Gorrisen was up again. He sat himself in the armchair as if nothing had happened, only his face was flaming red up to his hair. It was exactly as if there had been no interruption whatever, to say nothing of such a noisy comical topsy-turvy.
"Korea lies where, Minka?"
But that was more than I could bear. I burst out laughing again—he, he! ha, ha!—and all the others joined in. If he had only laughed himself, I don't believe it would have seemed so funny—but he was as solemn as an owl.
"Stop laughing instantly." He struck the table with his ruler so that the room rang. We quieted down at once except for a hiccough here and there, but the worst of it was that Mr. Gorrisen stared only at me. I fixed my eyes on an old map on the wall and thoughtof all the saddest things I could, but it was of no use. My laughter burst out again; I was so full of it that it just bubbled over.
Mr. Gorrisen swayed back and forth in his chair as usual as if to show how perfectly unembarrassed he was. But suddenly—true as Gospel—if he didn't almost tip over again! He clutched frantically at the table, gave a guilty glance at me. "Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" I could hear my own laughter above all the rest.
Mr. Gorrisen was up in a trice, and I was hurried out of the door so quickly that, almost before I knew it, I stood out in the cold hall. I nearly froze, it was so bitterly cold there; for it was nearly Christmas time, you see.
I opened the door a tiny bit just far enough to put my nose through the crack.
"Mr. Gorrisen."
"Well?"
"It's so cold out here. I won't laugh any more."
"Very well. Come in."
And so I went in again. At recess they all said they wondered how I ever dared ask Mr. Gorrisen to let me come in from the hall.
"Pooh!" said I. "I dare do anything with Mr. Gorrisen."
"Oh-h! you don't either! Far from it!"
"Well, I'd really dare pretty nearly anything. I'm not afraid of him."
"Would you dare sing right out loud in his class?" asked Karen.
"Pooh! that wouldn't be anything much to do," said Minka. Then they all began to tease me.
"Fie, for shame! She is so brave and yet she does not dare to do such a little thing as that!"
"You shall see whether I dare or not," I said. And, would you believe it? I did sing aloud one time in Mr. Gorrisen's geography class.
It was several days after he had tipped over. I had been watching my chance in all his classes, but somehow it didn't seem to come.One day, however, I was just in the humor, and in the midst of the silence, while Mr. Gorrisen sat and wrote down marks in the record book, I sang out at the top of my voice:
"'Sons of Norway, that ancient kingdom'"—
"'Sons of Norway, that ancient kingdom'"—
I did not once glance at Mr. Gorrisen but looked around at all the others who lay over their desks and laughed till they choked. And I sang on:
"'Manly and solemn, let the sound rise!'"
"'Manly and solemn, let the sound rise!'"
Not a sound had come from the platform till that instant. Then I heard behind me the click, click, click of Mr. Gorrisen's heels across the floor and out of the door.
"You'll catch it! oh, you'll catch it, Inger Johanne."
"Oh, I wouldn't be in your shoes for a good deal!"
"Well, it was you who teased me to do it," I said.
"Yes, but to think that you should be so stupid as to do such a thing."
I did really get a little scared, especially because it was so long before Mr. Gorrisen came back.
"Run away!" said one.
"Hide under your desk," said another.
But there he was in the doorway and the Principal with him.
"What is all this, Inger Johanne?" said the Principal. "You are too big to be so wild now. You are not such a bad girl, but you are altogether too thoughtless and use no judgment."
"Yes," I said. I was so glad the Principal didn't scold any harder.
"Of course you will be marked for this in your report-book; and remember this," the Principal shook his finger at me threateningly, "it won't do for you to behave like this many times, Inger Johanne. You won't get off so easily again." But as he went out of the door I saw that he smiled. Yes, he did, really.
But Mother didn't smile when she saw the marks.
"Are you going to bring sorrow to your father and mother?" she said. And those beautiful brown eyes of hers looked sad and troubled.
Just think! It had never occurred to me that it would be a sorrow to Father and Mother for me to sing out loud in class. Oh, I was awfully, awfully disgusted with myself. I hung around Mother all the afternoon.
First and foremost I must beg Mr. Gorrisen's pardon, Mother said. It seemed to me I could ask the whole world's pardon if only Mother's eyes wouldn't look so sorrowful. I wanted very much to go right down to Mr. Gorrisen's lodgings; but Mother said she thought it was only right that I should beg his pardon at school, so that all the class should hear. It was embarrassing, frightfully embarrassing, to ask Mr. Gorrisen's pardon—but I did it notwithstanding. I said, "Please excuse me for singing out in class."
"H'm, h'm," said Mr. Gorrisen. "Well, go back now and take your seat."
Since then I have sat like a lamp-post in his classes—yes, I really have. Many a time I should have liked to have some fun—but then I would think of Mother's sorrowful eyes and so I have held myself in and kept from any more skylarking.
I was going to school one day, but was pretty late in getting started. The trouble was that our yellow hen, Valpurga, had been sick, and since, of course, I couldn't trust any one else to attend to her, I had made myself late.
When hens begin to mope, keeping still under a bush, drawing their heads way down into their feathers, and just rolling their eyes about, that's enough;—it is anything but pleasant when it is a hen you are fond of. That's the way Valpurga was behaving. I gave her butter and pepper, for that is good for hens.
But it wasn't about Valpurga I wanted to tell. It was about the circus-riders being here.
The clock in the dining-room said five minutes of nine, and I hadn't eaten my breakfast,hadn't studied any of my German grammar lesson, and had to get to school besides. Things went with a rush, I can tell you; with a piece of bread and butter in one hand, the German grammar open in the other, I dashed down the hill.
"Prepositions which govern the dative:aus,ausser,bei,binnen—aus,ausser,bei,"—pshaw, the ragged old book! There went a leaf over the fence, down into Madam Land's yard. It was best to be careful in going after it, for Madam Land's windows looked out to this side, and she was furious when any one trod down her grass. I expected every moment to hear her knock sharply on the window-pane with her thimble. She didn't see me though, and I climbed back over the fence with the missing leaf.
—"aus,ausser——"
Round the corner swung Policeman Weiby with a stranger, a queer-looking man. The stranger was absolutely deep yellow in the face, with black-as-midnight hair, and black piercingeyes. On his head he wore a little green cap, very foreign-looking, and on his feet patent leather riding-boots that reached above his knees.
Weiby puffed, threw his chest out even more than usual and looked very much worried. It must be something really important, for day in and day out Weiby has seldom anything else to do than to poke his stick among the children who are playing hop-scotch in the street.
Though I was so terribly late, of course I had to stand still and look after Weiby and the strange man until they disappeared around the corner up by the office. Something interesting had come to town, that was plain. Either a panorama, or a man who swallowed swords, or one who had no arms and sewed with his toes. Hurrah, there was surely to be some entertainment!
I got to school eleven minutes late. A normal-school pupil, Mr. Holmesland, had the arithmetic class that morning. He sat on the platform with his hand under his cheek supportinghis big heavy head, and looked at me reproachfully as I came in. I slipped in behind the rack where all the outside things hung, to take off my things, and to finish the last mouthful of my bread and butter.
Pooh, I never bother myself a bit about Mr. Holmesland. I walked boldly out and took my seat. Another long reproachful look from the platform.
"Do you know what time it is, Inger Johanne?"
"Yes, but I couldn't possibly come before, Mr. Holmesland, because I had to attend to some one who was sick."
"Indeed,—is your mother sick?"
"Oh, no"—he didn't ask anything more, and I was glad of it.
"What example are you doing?" I asked Netta, who sat beside me.
"This," she showed me her slate, but above the example was written in big letters: "The circus has come!"
The arithmetic hour was frightfully long.At recess we talked of nothing but the circus. Netta had seen an awfully fat, black-haired lady, in a fiery red dress, and a fat pug dog on her arm; they certainly belonged to the circus troupe, for there was no such dark lady and no such dog in the whole town. Mina had seen a little slender boy, with rough black hair and gold earrings—and hadn't I myself seen the director of the whole concern? It was queer that I was the one who had most to tell, though, as you know, all I had seen of the circus troupe was the strange man with Policeman Weiby as I passed them on the hill.
We had sat down to dinner at home; Karsten hadn't come; we didn't know whether it was the circus or our having "lu-de-fisk" for dinner that kept him away.
Suddenly the dining-room door was thrown open, and there he stood in the doorway, very red in the face and so excited he could hardly speak.
"Can the circus-riders keep their horses in our barn?" he asked, all out of breath. Youknow we had a big, old barn that was never used. Karsten had to repeat what he had said; we always have to speak awfully clearly to Father; he won't stand any slovenly talk.
Father and Mother looked at each other across the table.
"Well, I don't see any objection," said Father.
"But is it worth while to have all that hub-bub in our barn?" said Mother. I was burning with eagerness as I listened.
"It is probably not very easy for them to find a place for all their horses here in town," said Father, "and I shall make the condition that they behave themselves there."
"Well, as you like," said Mother.
Outside in the hall stood the same man I had seen in the morning, and another fellow of just the same sort, but smaller and rougher-looking. Father went out and talked with them; the one in the green cap mixed in a lot of German. "Danke schön—danke schön," they said as they went away.
Hurrah!—the circus-riders were to keep their horses in our barn, right here on our place—hurrah!—hurrah! what fun!
The horses were to come by land from the nearest town, nobody knew just when. I took my geography up on the barn steps that afternoon to study my lesson. I didn't want to miss seeing them come, you may be sure.
Little by little, a whole lot of children collected up there. Away out on the Point they had heard that the circus-riders were to have our barn. Some of the boys began to try to run things, and to push us girls away, but they learned better soon enough.
"No, sir," I gave one a thump—"be off with you; get away, and be quick about it, or you'll catch it."
Most of the boys in the town are afraid of me, I can tell you, because I have strong hands and a quick tongue, and behind me, like an invisible support, is always Father, and all the police, who are under him—so it's not often any one makes a fuss. Besides, I should liketo know when you should have the say about things if not on your own barn steps.
More and more children gathered; they swarmed up the hill. I stood on the barn steps with a long whip. If any one came too near—swish!
At last—here came the horses! First a big white horse that a groom was leading by the bridle, then two small shaggy ponies, then a big red horse that carried his head high, and then the whole troop following. Some were loose and jumped in among us children; the grooms scolded and shouted both in German and in Polish; a few small, rough-coated dogs rushed around catching hold of the skirts of some of the girls, who ran and screamed.
Suddenly a little swarthy groom got furious at all of us children who were standing around and drove us down the hill. It made me angry to have him chase me away too, especially because all the others saw it. At first I thought of making a speech to him in German and telling him who I was and that the barn was mine; but I didn't know at all what barn was in German, so I had to give it up.