One day all our furniture was moved and put on a furniture-van. When
everything had gone, my mother took my brother and myself to another
house, where we recognized our furniture at once. As it had grown late,
my mother gave us our supper and put us to bed. Next morning we were
both frightfully busy. We examined the little courtyard, and found a
brooklet flowing right through it. Then we discovered a narrow wooden
plank leading over to the other side. For a few moments we dared not
speak, but looked at each other with grave yet beaming eyes. At last my
brother broke the silence, and spoke in a soft, awe-struck voice:
"Shall we?"
"I don't know."
"Why shouldn't we?"
"I am afraid."
"Coward!"
After these last words my brother looked round cautiously and, nobody
being in sight, prepared to go over. Seeing his determination I
summoned my vanishing courage and held on to his coat, a thing of
which he graciously approved. The other side of the yard was certainly
much prettier than the one we had just quitted. It is true that it was
paved like the other side, but in a corner I discovered some flowers
which I thought were the most wonderful flowers that I had ever seen.
They grew on stalks, much taller than I was, and were of a colour that
reminded me of cinnamon, as I had seen it in my father's shop. But the
most wonderful part about them, and that I only found out afterwards,
was that they closed themselves up in the evening, and opened again
in the morning. That corner with the flowers now began to play a very
important part in my life. Whilst my brother was busy over catching
flies, or launching a paper boat into eternity, I sat amongst my
flowers and never for a moment grew tired of looking at them. They did
not, however, belong to us, but were the property of some other people
who lived in the same house as we did. And that was the reason why my
brother did not pluck them, as he would have done without doubt had
they belonged to us.
One day, when we played in the yard as usual, my father appeared all
of a sudden and called us to him. It was not often that he left his
shop in the daytime, and therefore we felt much surprised to see him.
He told us that we had got a little sister. The news electrified us,
and we ran into the house. But as soon as we beheld the scrap of a
being that my mother handled so carefully, we calmed down considerably
and regarded her with critical looks. She was much too small to take
part in any of our games, and to bring her over the plank was utterly
impossible. So we did not for a long time care much about her, and
everything remained as it had always been. My brother and I were
together constantly, and I believe indispensable to each other.
When I was six years old my mother sent me to school. I think I liked
it very much because of the school-bag, and the things it contained.
A book--a single mysterious book--a slate, a slate-pencil. The
slate-pencil had a beautiful red paper wrapped round it, and mother
told me not to drop it, as it might break. On the day appointed, she
took me there herself. My brother also wanted to come, but he was
told that he was far too small. He had to stay at home, and I left
exceedingly proud. Confronted with the schoolhouse, however, I grew
very still. It was a large, beautiful building, with walls so calm and
dignified that I was struck with awe. My mother brought me into my
classroom, and told me to be a very good girl. Then she left me, and
I was alone with the other children. My place was right in front, and
next to me sat a little girl with very long, fair plaits, the daughter
of one of the teachers. The fact of having so aristocratic a neighbour
made me more silent still. I hardly dared to look up; but that
embarrassment soon passed away. She herself broke the spell by telling
me that she, too, was going to be a schoolmistress some day. Then I
told her about our yard, the brooklet, and the plank. She listened very
attentively to all I had to tell her, and soon we became great friends.
Her name was Hilda. Next to Hilda sat the daughter of a baker, who was
called Leopoldine. She also became my friend.
My life had now changed completely. At school we arranged where to
meet in the afternoon, and every day grew to be a great event. It
happened sometimes that my new friends paid me a visit. Then we played
in the yard, and I felt proud of my flowers. But I don't think my
little friends really cared for them as much as I did. Both Hilda
and Leopoldine were fond of fishing out all sorts of rubbish from
the brooklet, and climbing up the wall that separated the houses.
Leopoldine came to see me more often than Hilda, who, as I knew and
perfectly understood, was not allowed to have many friends. It was for
that reason that I hardly ever saw her anywhere but at school. She was
the one I loved best. Our meetings, however, were usually held round
the church. The church was placed in the centre of a large square,
and possessing many a nook and corner, made an ideal spot for all our
games. My brother was as a matter of course a very constant member.
Another little boy joined us now and again, and then my brother was
most happy. He liked boys decidedly better than girls; "girls," he used
to say, "are silly."
By-and-by I got to know different people who lived in the village.
Leopoldine took me one day to friends of hers, whose little house was
situated close to the grave-yard. The man was a dyer by trade, and
I thought him very interesting. He had a long beard that was raven
black, and hands not a shade lighter. His hands were so black because
of his trade. His wife was stout of figure and red and round of face.
In one of the rooms there stood a cupboard with glass doors. It
contained glasses that were never used, and cups that had flowers and
names painted on them. The cupboard soon claimed my whole attention.
Whenever we went there again after that first visit, the dyer's wife
gave us an apple or perhaps a piece of white bread. She was very kind
to both of us, but did not often speak to me. It was chiefly my friend
to whom she addressed her remarks. But that I did not mind in the
least. I was so happy to sit in front of that cupboard and look at the
things. At first I thought everything equally perfect, but by-and-by
my attention was concentrated upon one particular piece. This was a
small statue of the Holy Mother, dressed all in white except the veil,
which was edged light blue. One evening a wonderful thing happened.
The dyer's wife talked with Leopoldine, who, by-the-by, fidgeted about
on her chair in the fashion that children do, and I stared at the Holy
Mother. She seemed to be even more beautiful than ever, and just when
I was wonderingly thinking whether or not I, too, might look as pretty
with a white frock and the very same veil on, our hostess stepped up
to the cupboard, singled out the object of my admiration, and placed
herself in front of me. I trembled with delight. Never had I been so
close to it. The glass doors had, though kept spotlessly clean, always
hidden parts of its dainty beauty from my longing eyes. And now, there
stood the woman holding it in her large, red hands, so that the Holy
Mother looked whiter than it had done before.
"Do you know anything about the Holy Mother?"
Thinking that she noticed how much I loved the little figure, I grew
hot with shame. At last I nodded and said that she was the Mother of
Jesus. And then the most wonderful thing happened to me. Pressing the
Holy Mother into my hands, the woman said: "There, you may have it." I
cannot tell how I got home that day. All I know is that I came home too
late, and that my father whipped me with one of those much regretted
Christmas birches.