Nor was it necessary. It was positively amazing the amount of reading and studying that went on just then in the two schools!
The contest was held the evening of the day after Christmas. The schoolroom had been decorated for the occasion with spruce trees, on which shone all the church candles left over from the Christmas Matins, and there were apples enough to give every child two apiece. It was whispered about that the parents and guardians who had come to listen to the children would be served with coffee and cakes. The chief attraction, however, was the big contest.
On one side of the room sat the soldier's pupils, on the other the sexton's. And now it was for the children to defend their teachers' reputations. Schoolmaster Tyberg had to examine the sexton's pupils, and the sexton the Tyberg pupils. Any questions that could not be answered by the one school were to be taken up by the other. Each question had to be duly recorded so that the judges would be able to decide which school was the better.
The sexton opened the contest. He proceeded rather cautiously at first, but when he found that he had a lot of clever children to deal with he went at them harder and harder. The Tyberg pupils were so well grounded they did not let a single quizz get by them.
Then came old man Tyberg's turn at questioning the sexton's pupils.
The soldier was no longer angry with the sexton. Now that his children had shown that they knew their bits, the demon of mischief flew into him. At the start he put a few straight questions to the sexton's pupils, but being unable to remain serious for long at a time he soon became as waggish as he usually was at his own school.
"Of course I know that you have read a deal more than have we who come from the backwoods," said he. "You have studied natural science and much else, still I wonder if any of you can tell me what the stones in Motala Stream are?"
Not one of the sexton's pupils raised a hand, but on the other side hand after hand shot up.
Yet, in the sexton's division sat Olof Oleson—he who knew he had the best head in the parish, and Där Nol, of good old peasant stock. But they could not answer. There was Karin Svens, the sprightly lass of a soldier's daughter, who had not missed a day at school. She, with the others, wondered why the sexton had not told them what there was remarkable about the stones in Motala Stream.
Schoolmaster Tyberg stood looking very grave while Schoolmaster
Blackie sat gazing at the floor, much perturbed.