one time they had a big ram to drive, and that, of course, was great sport. When they got back to the house a pleasant hour awaited them. A log fire crackled in the living room and on the folded card table stood a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of unfermented beer. To sit or lie before the fire while munching their sandwiches—that was something the youngsters enjoyed hugely. They chattered and planned all sorts of things. It was the only hour of the day they had to themselves.
When the fire burned low, the lamp on the round table over by the sofa was lit. Fru Lagerlöf now took her little daughters in hand, and taught them to sew, crochet, and knit. She had a volume of Hans Andersen's fairy tales, and when she thought the work had gone well she would reward the children by reading or narrating "The Travelling Companion," or "The Tinder-box," or "The Wild Swans." Besides, there were pretty and amusing illustrations in that book, and to look at those was almost as much fun as to hear the stories.
At eight o'clock supper was served, and then the Lieutenant appeared. Up to that hour he had been at the farm-office poring over his ledgers.
And now, after the long work-filled day, one could at last relax. The children put away their needlework, and the Lieutenant, sitting back in his rocking-chair, began to tell schoolboy yarns like the one about Mamselle Brorström, or else he related his memories of the
