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in figure
between Madame Folette and this coffee-pot; and so ever since it has
borne her name. The children are very fond of her, because she gives
them every Sunday morning their coffee."
"What business have children with coffee?" asked the Assessor.

"Cannot they be thin enough without it; and are they to be burnt up
before their time? There's Petrea, is she not lanky enough? I never was
very fond of her; and now, if she is to grow up into a coffee wife,
why--"
"But, dear Munter," said Mrs. Frank, "you are not in a good humour
to-day."
"Good humour!" replied he: "no, Mrs. Elise, I am not in a good humour;
I don't know what there is in the world to make people good-humoured.
There now, your chair has torn a hole in my coat-lap! Is that pleasant?
That's home-made too! But now I'll go; that is, if your doors--are they
home-made too?--will let me pass."
"But will you not come back, and dine with us?" asked she.
"No, I thank you," replied he; "I am invited elsewhere; and that in this
house, too."
"To Mrs. Chamberlain W----?" asked Mrs. Frank.
"No, indeed!" answered the Assessor: "I cannot bear that woman. She
lectures me incessantly. Lectures me! I have a great wish to lecture her,
I have! And then, her blessed dog--Pyrrhus or Pirre; I had a great mind
to kill it. And then, she is so thin. I cannot bear thin people; least of all,
thin old women."
"No?" said Mrs. Frank. "Don't you know, then, what rumour says of
you and poor old Miss Rask?"
"That common person!" exclaimed Jeremias. "Well, and what says
malice of me and poor old Miss Rask?"
"That, not many days since," said Mrs. Frank, "you met this old lady on
your stairs as she was going up to her own room; and that she was
sighing, because of the long flight of stairs and her weak chest. Now
malice says, that, with the utmost politeness, you offered her your arm,
and conducted her up the stairs with the greatest possible care; nor left

her, till she had reached her own door; and further, after all, that you
sent her a pound of cough lozenges; and----"
"And do you believe," interrupted the Assessor, "that I did that for her
own sake? No, I thank you! I did it that the poor old skeleton might not
fall down dead upon my steps, and I be obliged to climb over her ugly
corpse. From no other cause in this world did I drag her up the stairs.
Yes, yes, that was it! I dine to-day with Miss Berndes. She is always a
very sensible person; and her little Miss Laura is very pretty. See, here
have we now all the herd of children! Your most devoted servant, Sister
Louise! So, indeed, little Miss Eva! she is not afraid of the ugly old
fellow, she--God bless her! there's some sugar-candy for her! And the
little one! it looks just like a little angel. Do I make her cry? Then I
must away; for I cannot endure children's crying. Oh, for heaven's sake!
It may make a part of the charm of home: that I can believe;--perhaps it
is home-music! Home-baked, home-made, home-music----hu!"
The Assessor sprang through the door; the Judge laughed; and the little
one became silent at the sight of a kringla,[1] through which the
beautiful eye of her brother Henrik spied at her as through an eye-glass;
whilst the other children came bounding to the breakfast-table.
"Nay, nay, nay, my little angels, keep yourselves a little quiet," said the
mother. "Wait a moment, dear Petrea; patience is a virtue. Eva dear,
don't behave in that way; you don't see me do so."
Thus gently moralised the mother; whilst, with the help of her eldest
daughter, the little prudent Louise, she cared for the other children. The
father went from one to another full of delight, patted their little heads,
and pulled them gently by the hair.
"I ought, yesterday, to have cut all your hair," said he. "Eva has quite a
wig; one can hardly see her face for it. Give your papa a kiss, my little
girl! I'll take your wig from you early to-morrow morning."
"And mine too, and mine too, papa!" exclaimed the others.
"Yes, yes," answered the father, "I'll shear every one of you."

All laughed but the little one; which, half frightened, hid its
sunny-haired little head on the mother's bosom: the father raised it
gently, and kissed, first it, and then the mother.
"Now put sugar in papa's cup," said she to the little one; "look! he holds
it to you."
The little one smiled, put sugar in the cup, and Madame Folette began
her joyful circuit.
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