Every eye was fixed on the new-comers; the mother saluted the
school-master, who returned her greeting.
"I have come here to bring a little boy who wants to learn to read,"
said the mother.
"What is the fellow's name?" inquired the school-master, fumbling down
in his leathern pouch after tobacco.
"Oyvind," replied the mother, "he knows his letters and he can spell."
"You do not say so!" exclaimed the school-master. "Come here, you
white-head!"
"Oyvind walked up to him, the school-master took him up on his knee and
removed his cap.
"What a nice little boy!" said he, stroking the child's hair. Oyvind
looked up into his eyes and laughed.
"Are you laughing at me!" The old man knit his brow, as he spoke.
"Yes, I am," replied Oyvind, with a merry peal of laughter.
Then the school-master laughed, too; the mother laughed; the children
knew now that they had permission to laugh, and so they all laughed
together.
With this Oyvind was initiated into school.
When he was to take his seat, all the scholars wished to make room for
him; he on his part looked about for a long time; while the other
children whispered and pointed, he turned in every direction, his cap
in his hand, his book under his arm.
"Well, what now?" asked the school-master, who was again busied with
his pipe.
Just as the boy was about turning toward the school-master, he espied,
near the hearthstone close beside him, sitting on a little red-painted
box, Marit with the many names; she had hidden her face behind both
hands and sat peeping out at him.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25