“the goat is mine,” she said,
and threw her arms around its neck
“Here I bring a little boy who wants to learn to read,” said his mother.
“What is the fellow’s name?” said the schoolmaster, diving down into his pouch after tobacco.
“Oeyvind,” said his mother, “he knows his letters, and can put them together.”
“Is it possible!” said the schoolmaster, “come here, you Whitehead!”
Oeyvind went over to him: the schoolmaster took him on his lap, and raised his cap.
“What a nice little boy!” said he, and stroked his hair. Oeyvind looked up into his eyes, and laughed.
“Is it at me you are laughing?” asked he, with a frown.