“My name is Merle Uthoug,” said the dark one, with a curtsy.
“Oh, then, it’s your father who has the place on the island in the lake?”
“My name’s only Mork—Thea Mork. My father is a lawyer, and we have a little cottage farther up the lake,” said the blonde.
Peer was about to introduce himself, when the dark girl interrupted: “Oh, we know you already,” she said. “We’ve seen you out rowing on the lake so often. And we had to find out who you were. We have a good pair of glasses . . .”
“Merle!” broke in her companion warningly.
“. . . and then, yesterday, we sent one of the maids over reconnoitring, to make inquiries and bring us a full report.”
“Merle! How can you say such things?”
It was a cheery little feast. Ah! how young they were, these two girls, and how they laughed at a joke, and what quantities of bread and butter and coffee they all three disposed of! Merle now and again would give their companion a sidelong glance, while Thea laughed at all the wild things her friend said, and scolded her, and looked anxiously at Peer.
And now the sun was nearing the shoulder of a hill far in the west, and evening was falling. They packed up their things, and Peer was loaded up with a big bag of cloud-berries on his back, and a tin pail to carry in his hand. “Give him some more,” said Merle. “It’ll do him good to work for a change.”
“Merle, you really are too bad!”