The boy sat up and began to rub his eyes, to Kalle’s great delight. At last he discovered that there were strangers present, and drew on his clothes, which had been doing duty as his pillow. Pelle and he became good friends at once, and began to play; and then Kalle hit upon the idea of letting the other children share in the merry-making, and he and the two boys went round and tickled them awake, all the six. His wife protested, but only faintly; she was laughing all the time, and herself helped them to dress, while she kept on saying: “Oh, what foolishness! Upon my word, I never knew the like of it! Then this one shan’t be left out either!” she added suddenly, drawing the youngest out of the alcove.
“Then that’s the eight,” said Kalle, pointing to the flock. “They fill the room well, don’t they? Alma and Alvilda are twins, as you can see. And so are Alfred and Albinus, who are away now for Christmas. They’re going to be confirmed next summer, so they’ll be off my hands.”
“Then where are the two eldest?” asked Lasse.
“Anna’s in service in the north, and Albert’s at sea, out with a whaler just now. He’s a fine fellow. He sent us his portrait in the autumn. Won’t you show it us, Maria?”
His wife began slowly to look for it, but could not find it.
“I think I know where it is, mother,” said one of the little girls over and over again; but as no one heard what she said, she climbed up on to the bench, and took down an old Bible from the shelf. The photograph was in it.
“He is a fine fellow, and no mistake!” said Lasse. “There’s a pair of shoulders! He’s not like our family; it must be from yours, Maria, that he’s got that carriage.”
“He’s a Kongstrup,” said Kalle, in a low tone.
“Oh, indeed, is he?” said Lasse hesitatingly, recollecting Johanna Pihl’s story.
“Maria was housemaid at the farm, and he talked her over as he has done with so many. It was before my time, and he did what he ought.”