doctrine and what the
false?"

The schoolmaster was as well liked by the clergyman as by every one
else. He and the parson were frequently seen strolling together
along the road between the schoolhouse and the parsonage, back and
forth, back and forth, as if they had no end of things to say to
each other. The parson would often drop in at the schoolmaster's of
an evening to sit in the cozy kitchen by an open fire and chat with
the schoolmaster's wife, Mother Stina. At times he came night after
night. He had a dreary time of it at home; his wife was always
ailing, and there was neither order nor comfort in his house.

One winter's evening the schoolmaster and his wife were sitting by
the kitchen fire, talking in earnest whispers, while a little girl
of twelve played by herself in a corner of the room. The little
girl was their daughter, and her name was Gertrude. She was a fair
little lass, with flaxen hair and plump, rosy cheeks, but she did
not have that wise and prematurely old look which one so often sees
in the children of schoolmasters.

The corner in which she sat was her playground. There she had
gathered together a variety of things: bits of coloured glass,
broken teacups and saucers, pebbles from the banks of the river,
little square blocks of wood, and more rubbish of the same sort.

She had been let play in peace all the evening; neither her father
nor her mother had disturbed her. Busy as she was she did not want
to be reminded of lessons and chores. It didn't look as if there
were going to be any extra sums to do for father that night, she
thought.

She had a big work in hand, the little girl back there in her
corner. Nothing less than making a whole parish! She was going to
build up the entire district with both church and schoolhouse; the
river and the bridge were also to be included. Everything had to be
quite complete, of course.

She had already got a good part of it done. The whole wreath of
hills that went round the parish was made up of smaller and larger
stones. In all the crevices she had planted forests of little
spruce twigs, and with two jagged stones she had erected Klack
Mountain and Olaf's Peak on either side of the Dal River. The long
valley in between the mountains had been covered with mould taken
from one of her mother's flowerpots. So far everything was all
right, only she had not been able to make the galley blossom. But
she comforted herself by pretending it was early springt