Your
Elsie Lindtner.
I have begun to darn Kelly’s stockings. Why did I never think of it before?
He was whitewashing the attic with Magna, and I saw that one of his stockings was without a heel. I actually blushed, I felt so ashamed. The boy, of course, doesn’t trouble about such trifles, and Magna, splendid creature, has enough to do. I don’t believe she would mind a bit going about with holes in her own stockings.
In the country it doesn’t matter so much, but still—
She simply laughed at me when I asked to be allowed to look after his clothes, and I didn’t quite know how to explain why I wanted to do it. But Magna is so clever, and when I was seated comfortably she brought me out a whole bundle. She has done the same for her own children. I am convinced that she would not let any one else darn Oluf’s stockings.
I don’t find it easy. I have quite forgotten the proper way of doing it, which I learnt at school. And I haven’t thought anything about darning stockings since.
But I take no end of trouble, and it is a wonderful feeling to sit out here on the balcony with a whole pile of big, big stockings in front of me—Kelly has positively a gigantic foot. My dear little balcony. It’s to me what an airship is for young, impatient folks. I sit so serenely in my charming, soft seat, between sweet-peas and nasturtiums, and beneath me streams by the current of life with its men and beasts.
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