“Just come here, my boy,” the man called out merrily and snapped his fingers.
“Come—here, on the other knee; there is room enough for you,” called out the child; and when, with a questioning glance at his mother, he crept timidly nearer, the strange man seized him, put him on his other knee, and then they had a merry race.
He had lost all fear, and when freshly-baked cakes were put on the table, he fell to bravely. His mother stroked his hair and warned him not to eat too much. She spoke very softly, and kept looking down upon the ground before her. And then the children were allowed to go to the bushes and pick gooseberries for themselves.
“Are you really called Elsbeth?” he asked his friend, and as she said “Yes,” he expressed his astonishment that she had the same name as his mother.
“But I have been christened after her,” said the child; “she is my godmother.”
“Why didn’t she kiss you, then?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Elsbeth, sadly, “perhaps she does not like me.”
But that she had not had the courage to do it never occurred to either of them.
It already began to grow dark when the children were called back.
“We must go home,” said his mother.