It never seemed quite sure whom it was
she was looking for when she was sitting alone and among others, nor
what she really had in mind when she turned to speak to any one, for
she took back immediately, as it were, what she gave. "Under all this
Jon Hatlen is hidden, I suppose," thought Oyvind, but still stared
constantly at her.
Now came the school-master. All left their places and stormed about
him.
"What number am I?"--"And I?"--"And I--I?"
"Hush! you overgrown young ones! No uproar here! Be quiet and you
shall hear about it, children." He looked slowly around. "You are
number two," said he to a boy with blue eyes, who was gazing up at him
most beseechingly; and the boy danced out of the circle. "You are
number three," he tapped a red-haired, active little fellow who stood
tugging at his jacket. "You are number five; you number eight," and so
on. Here he caught sight of Marit. "You are number one of the
girls,"--she blushed crimson over face and neck, but tried to smile.
"You are number twelve; you have been lazy, you rogue, and full of
mischief; you number eleven, nothing better to be expected, my boy;
you, number thirteen, must study hard and come to the next examination,
or it will go badly with you!"
Oyvind could bear it no longer; number one, to be sure, had not been
mentioned, but he had been standing all the time so that the
school-master could see him.
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