Little Girl. When will father come home?
Little Boy. When will he come, mother? when? To-day? to-morrow?
Cath. No, not to-day, nor to-morrow, but soon, I hope, very soon; for they say the wars are over.
Little Girl. I am glad of that, and when father comes home, I’ll give him some of my flowers.
Little Boy (who is still eating). And I’ll give him some of my bread and cheese, which he’ll like better than flowers, if he is as hungry as I am, and that to be sure he will be, after coming such a long, long journey.
Little Girl. Long, long journey! how long?—how far is father off, mother?—where is he?
Little Boy. I know, he is in—in—in—in—in Finland? how far off, mother?
Cath. A great many miles, my dear; I don’t know how many.
Little Boy. Is it not two miles to the great house, mother, where we go to sell our faggots?
Cath. Yes, about two miles—and now you had best set out towards the great house, and ask Mrs. Ulrica, the housekeeper, to pay you the little bill she owes you for faggots—there’s good children; and when you have been paid for your faggots, you can call at the baker’s, in the village, and bring home some bread for to-morrow (patting the little boy’s head)—you that love bread and cheese so much must work hard to get it.