"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. You know 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.