wondered how it would seem when they also
began to talk. Now the letters turned into animals, birds, and
everything else; but soon they began to walk together, two and two; _a_
stood and rested under a tree, which was called _b_, then came _c_, and
did the same; but when three or four came together, it seemed as if they
were angry with each other, for it would not go right. And the farther
along he came, the more he forgot what they were: he remembered longest
_a_, which he liked best; it was a little black lamb, and was friends
with everybody; but soon he forgot _a_ also: the book had no more
stories, nothing but lessons.

One day his mother came in, and said to him,--

"To-morrow school begins, and then you are going up to the farm with
me."

Oeyvind had heard that school was a place where many boys played
together; and he had no objection. Indeed, he was much pleased. He had
often been at the farm, but never when there was school there; and now
he was so anxious to get there, he walked faster than his mother up over
the hills. As they came up to the neighboring house, a tremendous
buzzing, like that from the water-mill at home, met their ears; and he
asked his mother what it was.

"That is the children reading," she answered, and he was much pleased,
for that was the way he used to read, before he knew the letters. When
he came in, there sat as many children round a table as he had ever
seen at church; others were sitting on their luncheon boxes which were
ranged round the walls; some stood in small groups round a large printed
card; the schoolmaster, an old gray-haired man, was sitting on a stool
by the chimney-corner, filling his pipe. They all looked up as Oeyvind
and his mother entered, and the mill-hum ceased as if the water had
suddenly been turned off. All looked at the new-comers; the mother bowed
to the schoolmaster, who returned her greeting.

[Illustration: "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 look