This formula had a crushing effect. Once when Herman had been reproved because he did not know his history lesson he had stood up and said: “Please sir, I was so hoarse yesterday that I could not learn my lesson.” Since then he was always asked the unfortunate question: “Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” And each time Laura laughed heartily. It was a cause of inexpressible suffering to his proud, chivalrous nature. Herman tried to keep up an appearance of gay indifference and to join in the laugh of these cruel companions. But his was a poor, weak mockery of a laugh.
They were already thoroughly tired of fishing and began to jump about on the stones and the roots of the alder trees along the shore. This year’s reeds were just beginning to come up between the yellow stalks of last year’s, the dragon flies flew past like blue, silken threads in a current of air, and dark, green beetles hovered up and down like little balls supported by an invisible force. The day was almost too warm and fine. They could not make up their minds to do anything—they only teased each other and had their little quarrels. Now they are amongst the cows in the Hökar meadow, and Herman catches sight of a starling hopping between the hind legs of the bell-cow and incessantly flying up to catch a fly on its udders.
“Look at that starling, Laura!” he cried, proud of the interesting observation he had made. “Look at that starling, he is friendly with the cow.”
“That’s nothing compared with Egypt,” snapped Stellan. “There the birds come and pick the teeth of the crocodiles. And they keep their mouths quite still. But of course, you haven’t heard of that.”
No, Herman had not heard of that, so probably he had been hoarse again.
Then Laura had an idea. She drew her brother aside.
“I say, Stellan, shall we get Herman to climb the oak?”
It was an enormous oak growing on a green hillock by the roadside, just where the avenue ended.
“All right!”
They sat down on a stone in the shade. Stellan looked up at the tree with the eyes of an expert.