places of olden days.

The teacher didn't hurry himself; but then he did not know, of course,
that a poor little creature lay shut up in a botanist's box, and only
waited for him to get through. When they came to a room with gilded
leather hangings, he talked to them about how the people had dressed
their walls and ceilings ever since the beginning of time. And when he
came to an old family portrait, he told them all about the different
changes in dress. And in the banquet halls he described ancient customs
of celebrating weddings and funerals.

Thereupon, the teacher talked a little about the excellent men and women
who had lived in the castle; about the old Brahes, and the old
Barnekows; of Christian Barnekow, who had given his horse to the king to
help him escape; of Margareta Ascheberg who had been married to Kjell
Barnekow and who, when a widow, had managed the estates and the whole
district for fifty-three years; of banker Hageman, a farmer's son from
Vittskoevle, who had grown so rich that he had bought the entire estate;
about the Stjernsvaerds, who had given the people of Skane better
ploughs, which enabled them to discard the ridiculous old wooden ploughs
that three oxen were hardly able to drag. During all this, the boy lay
still. If he had ever been mischievous and shut the cellar door on his
father or mother, he understood now how they had felt; for it was hours
and hours before that teacher got through.

At last the teacher went out into the courtyard again. And there he
discoursed upon the tireless labour of mankind to procure for themselves
tools and weapons, clothes and houses and ornaments. He said that such
an old castle as Vittskoevle was a mile-post on time's highway. Here one
could see how far the people had advanced three hundred and fifty years
ago; and one could judge for oneself whether things had gone forward or
backward since their time.

But this dissertation the boy escaped hearing; for the student who
carried him was thirsty again, and stole into the kitchen to ask for a
drink of water. When the boy was carried into the kitchen, he should
have tried to look around for the goosey-gander. He had begun to move;
and as he did this, he happened to press too hard against the lid--and
it flew open. As botanists' box-lids are always flying open, the student
thought no more about the matter but pressed it down again. Then the
cook asked him if he had a snake in the box.

"No, I have only a fe