I myself was more afraid than he was, but old Jens couldn't know that.
And what do you think of my having to pay for the pane of glass I broke in the vestry? Well—that was exactly what I had to do, if you please.
CHAPTER XII
AT GOODFIELDS
Now you shall hear about my summer vacation and all sorts of things.
We stayed at a farm in the country in a high valley. The farm was called Goodfields, and they certainly were good fields, for such fat horses, and such round cows, and such rich milk I never saw before in all my life. For the horses could hardly get between the shafts of the wagons—that is really true—and the cows were like trolls' cows; the trolls' cows (in the fairy stories) are so well taken care of that they shine so you can almost see your face in them, you know. The Goodfields cows could thank old Kari, the milkmaid, for their plumpness.
Kari is seventy and looks very, very old.
All through the week she never sat down, but went puttering about the whole day long; on Sunday evenings she sat out on the hill and smoked her clay pipe. I used to lie beside her on the grass.