bedecked tent. Long tables were spread with steaming dishes of rice porridge, big jugs of ale, and, here and there, glasses of claret. A tower-shaped tart, a yard in height, graced the middle of the table, and at the upper end, in front of the bride and bridegroom, a whole flower-bed was spread out round a large flat cake, iced, with their initials on it in raspberry jam.
Villing welcomed them from the bottom of the table and said grace, and then the spoons came into play, and before long they all agreed that Maren Smeds had outdone herself. Even those who took omens from the bridal porridge had nothing to complain of to-day. The ten labourers wives to whom the waiting was entrusted, rushed about indefatigably, bearing heaped-up bowls, so that the shame of any of the guests having to tap an empty bowl with his spoon should not be theirs.
When the joints were put on the table the speeches began. First the High School director made a highly poetical oration, during which the people looked devoutly into their laps. Emanuel, who had taken off his gown, spoke next. He thanked the "Friends" for the kindness with which they had received him—a stranger—into their community, especially thanking his parents-in-law, in whose house he had found a new home. Then Anders Jörgen rose, and with a bewildered expression, stammered out some words in an inaudible voice, and sat down
