“Well, I suppose we ought to go into the wood and look at the view,” he said.
They turned it over as they wandered aimlessly round the cart, looking furtively at the provisions.
“If only it’ll keep!” said Anders, lifting a basket.
“I don’t know how it is, but I feel so strange in my inside to-day,” Mons began. “It can’t be consumption, can it?”
“Perhaps we ought to taste the good things first, then?” said Karl Johan.
Yes—oh, yes—it came at last!
Last year they had eaten their dinner on the grass. It was Bodil who had thought of that; she was always a little fantastic. This year nobody would be the one to make such a suggestion. They looked at one another a little expectant; and they then climbed up into the cart and settled themselves there just like other decent people. After all, the food was the same.
The pancakes were as large and thick as a saucepan-lid. It reminded them of Erik, who last year had eaten ten of them.
“It’s a pity he’s not here this year!” said Karl Johan. “He was a merry devil.”
“He’s not badly off,” said Mons. “Gets his food and clothes given him, and does nothing but follow at the bailiff’s heels and copy him. And he’s always contented now. I wouldn’t a bit mind changing with him.”