When the fire burned low, the lamp on the round table over by the sofa was lit. Fru Lagerlöf now took her little daughters in hand, and taught them to sew, crochet, and knit. She had a volume of Hans Andersen’s fairy tales, and when she thought the work had gone well she would reward the children by reading or narrating “The Travelling Companion,” or “The Tinder-box,” or “The Wild Swans.” Besides, there were pretty and amusing illustrations in that book, and to look at those was almost as much fun as to hear the stories.
At eight o’clock supper was served, and then the Lieutenant appeared. Up to that hour he had been at the farm-office poring over his ledgers.
And now, after the long work-filled day, one could at last relax. The children put away their needlework, and the Lieutenant, sitting back in his rocking-chair, began to tell schoolboy yarns like the one about Mamselle Brorström, or else he related his memories of the glorious Jenny Lind as Norma or the Daughter of the Regiment, or of Emily Högquist as the Maid of Orleans. When at times he did not feel like talking, he would ask Fru Lagerlöf or Mamselle Lovisa to read aloud from Tegnér. Anything more beautiful than “Fritiof’s Saga” he thought had never been written. He would rather have been the Lund professor who sang of Fritiof’s and Ingeborg’s love, than Emperor of France or Tsar of Russia. He was also an admirer of Runeberg, whose tales of “Surgeon Stål” and epic poems he enjoyed hearing. But he did not like it if any one said the Finnish poet was greater than Tegnér.
Sometimes (and that was the best fun of all) he would sit down at the old piano and strike a few chords, then call out:
“Come, children, let’s sing Bellman!”
The girls needed no coaxing, they were over by the piano in a jiffy. Then, with high glee, they let loose on Bellman! They always began with “Old Man Noah” and “Joachim of Babylon,” then followed “Father Movitz” and “Mother at Tuppen,” and they sang of “Dancing Master Mollberg, and His Misadventures in Rostock Tavern.”
The Lieutenant pounded out the accompaniments, and hummed the air, to mark the time and carry the tune. But the children sang at the top of their voices, and could be heard all over the house. Here were indeed life and merriment for them after the day’s work! They understood very little of what they sang, but the melodies put them in a glow and livened their spirits. Ah, how sweet it sounded when Ulla danced in spangles, veil and fringe! or when Fredman sang: “’Tis as far to Monday as from north to south.” And what could be funnier than when the ever-hapless Mollberg jumped into the vat where Grogshop-Mother soaked her stockfish, or when at the great boating-picnic the party-cake came on garnished with sugar, cinnamon, and anchovies!
But what delighted the children above everything was that they might sing as loud as ever they wished. The Lieutenant never corrected them or interrupted to remind them that there were such things as voice modulation and singing in unison. They thought they sang Bellman just as he should be sung.
On the wall above the piano sat Karl Mikael (Bellman) himself, with his lute. Now and then, the Lieutenant looked up at him, as if expecting a smile of approval from that incomparable lyrist and singer.
But once when Lieutenant Lagerlöf and the children were having a Bellman-sing, it happened that Colour-Sergeant von Wachenfeldt was there, sitting in his usual corner, chatting with Mamselle Lovisa.