“The two next were twins, and they were called Jacob and Esau. They were as like as two coffee beans. I couldn’t tell one from t’other. I never saw such boys for running and jumping and skating. But they became priests, they, too.”
“I thought they were going to be rope-dancers,” the Lieutenant cut in.
“They became priests, they, too,” the jungfru reiterated, not in the least put out. “Esau went up to Jämtland, where he had to clamber ’mong the fells, and Jacob, he went down to Bohuslän, where he scrambled in and out of boats and ships. They found their right places and turned to use the talents God had given ’em—they, like their brothers and sisters.”
“But what happened to Joseph?” asked the Lieutenant quickly.
“There were two girls before him, Lieutenant, called Rachel and Leah. They were handy in the garden; the one planted and the other weeded. When the bishop paid a visit he declared he’d never tasted such peas and such strawberries. They married, too; each of them got a foundry owner. And now I’m coming to Joseph.”
“He became a squire, I suppose?” said the Lieutenant.
“He became a tenant of his father’s,” the jungfru corrected him. “He looked after the fields and tended the cows and provided food for his parents and his brethren.”
“H’m—that was just what I thought.” So saying, the Lieutenant arose and sidled toward the door, where his hat and cane were hanging, and sneaked out.
“The thirteenth was David,” pursued the jungfru. “He married three times, and had three children by each wife. If it please you, I can tell you the names of all the wives and children.... But maybe ’twould be better to keep to the twenty brethren?”
They all thought that quite the wisest plan. But with these prospects before her, Fru Lagerlöf felt a bit uneasy.