"To-morrow school begins, and then you are going up to the farm with
me."
Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many boys played
together; and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much pleased. He had
often been at the farm, but never when there was school there; and now
he was so anxious to get there, he walked faster than his mother up over
the hills. As they came up to the neighboring house, a tremendous
buzzing, like that from the water-mill at home, met their ears; and he
asked his mother what it was.
"That is the children reading," she answered, and he was much pleased,
for that was the way he used to read, before he knew the letters. When
he came in, there sat as many children round a table as he had ever
seen at church; others were sitting on their luncheon boxes which were
ranged round the walls; some stood in small groups round a large printed
card; the schoolmaster, an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool
by the chimney-corner, filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind
and his mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had
suddenly been turned off. All looked at the new-comers; the mother bowed
to the schoolmaster, who returned her greeting.
[Illustration: "THE GOAT IS MINE," SHE SAID, AND THREW HER ARMS AROUND
ITS NECK]
"Here I bring a little boy who wants to learn to read," said his mother.
"What is the fellow's name?" said the schoolmaster, diving down into his
pouch after tobacco.
"Oeyvind," said his mother, "he knows his letters, and can put them
together."
"Is it possible!" said the schoolmaster, "come here, you Whitehead!"
Oeyvind went over to him: the schoolmaster took him on his lap, and
raised his cap.
"What a nice little boy!" said he, and stroked his hair. Oeyvind looked
up into his eyes, and laughed.
"Is it at me you are laughing?" asked he, with a frown.
"Yes, it is," answered Oeyvind, and roared with laughter. At that the
schoolmaster laughed, Oeyvind's mother laughed; the children understood
that they also were allowed to laugh, and so they all laughed together.
So Oeyvind became one of the scholars.
As he was going to find his seat, they all wanted to make room for him.
"Now, what are you going to do?" asked the schoolmaster, who was busy
with his pipe again. Just as the boy is going to turn round to the
schoolmaster, he sees close beside him, sitting down by the hearthstone
on a little red painted tub, Marit, of the many names; she had covered
her face with both hands, and sat peeping at him through her fingers.
"I shall sit here," said Oeyvind, quickly, taking a tub and seating
himself at her side. Then she raised a little the arm nearest him, and
looked at him from under her elbow; immediately he also hid his face
with both hands, and looked at her from under his elbow. So they sat,
keeping up the sport, until she laughed, then he laughed too; the
children had seen it, and laughed with them; at that, there rung out in
a fearfully strong voice, which, however, grew milder at every pause,--
"Silence! you young scoundrels, you rascals, you little
good-for-nothings! Keep still, and be good to me, you sugar-pigs."
That was the schoolmaster, whose custom it was to boil up, but calm down
again before he had finished. It grew quiet immediately in the school,
until the water-wheels again began to go: every one read aloud from his
book, the sharpest louder and louder to get the preponderance, here
trebles piped up, the rougher voices drummed and there one shouted in
above the others, and Oeyvind had never had such fun in all his life.
"Is it always like this here?" whispered he to Marit.
"Yes, just like this," she said.
Afterwards, they had to go up to the schoolmaster, and read; and then a
little boy was called to read, so that they were allowed to go and sit
down quietly again.
"I have got a goat now, too," said she.
"Have you?"
"Yes; but it is not so pretty as yours."
"Why don't you come oftener up on the cliff?"
"Grandpapa is afraid I shall fall over."
"Mother knows so many songs," said he.
"Grandpapa does, too, you can believe."
"Yes; but he does not know what mother does."
"Grandpapa knows one about a dance. Would you like to hear it?"
"Yes, very much."
"Well, then, you must come farther over here, so that the schoolmaster
may not hear."
He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a song
three or four times over, so that the boy learned it.
"Up with you, youngsters!" called out the schoolmaster. "This is the
first day, so you shall be dismissed early; but first we must say a
prayer, and sing."
Instantly, all was life in the school; they jumped down from the
benches, sprung over the floor, and talked into each other's mouths.
"Silence! you young torments, you little beggars, you noisy boys! be
quiet, and walk softly across the floor, little children," said the
schoolmaster; and now they walked quietly, and took their places, after
which the schoolmaster went in front of them, and made a short prayer.
Then they sung. The schoolmaster began in a deep bass, all the children
stood with folded hands, and joined in. Oeyvind stood farthest down by
the door with Marit, and looked on; they also folded their hands, but
they could not sing.
That was the first day at school.
#Happy Days#