One day all our furniture was moved and put on a furniture-van. When everything had gone, my mother took my brother and myself to another house, where we recognized our furniture at once. As it had grown late, my mother gave us our supper and put us to bed. Next morning we were both frightfully busy. We examined the little courtyard, and found a flowing right through it. Then we discovered a narrow wooden leading over to the other side. For a few moments we dared not speak, but looked at each other with grave yet beaming eyes. At last my brother broke the silence, and in a soft, -struck voice:  
"Shall we?"
 
 
 
"I don't know."
 
"Why shouldn't we?"
 
"I am afraid."
 
"Coward!"
 
After these last words my brother looked round cautiously and, nobody being in sight, prepared to go over. Seeing his determination I summoned my vanishing courage and held on to his coat, a thing of which he graciously approved. The other side of the yard was certainly much prettier than the one we had just quitted. It is true that it was paved like the other side, but in a corner I discovered some flowers which I thought were the most wonderful flowers that I had ever seen. They grew on stalks, much taller than I was, and were of a colour that reminded me of cinnamon, as I had seen it in my father's shop. But the most wonderful part about them, and that I only found out afterwards, was that they closed themselves up in the evening, and opened again in the morning. That corner with the flowers now began to play a very important part in my life. Whilst my brother was busy over flies,or launching a paper boat into , I sat amongst my flowers and never for a moment grew tired of looking at them. They did not, however, belong to us, but were the property of some other people who lived in the same house as we did. And that was the reason why my brother did not pluck them, as he would have done without doubt had they belonged to us.
 
One day, when we played in the yard as usual, my father appeared all of a sudden and called us to him. It was not often that he left his shop in the daytime, and therefore we felt much surprised to see him. He told us that we had got a little sister. The news us, and we ran into the house. But as soon as we the of a being that my mother handled so carefully, we calmed down and regarded her with critical looks. She was much too small to take part in any of our games, and to bring her over the plank was impossible. So we did not for a long time care much about her, and everything remained as it had always been. My brother and I were together constantly, and I believe indispensable to each other.
 
When I was six years old my mother sent me to school. I think I liked it very much because of the school-bag, and the things it contained. A book—a single mysterious book—a , a slate-pencil. The slate-pencil had a beautiful red paper wrapped round it, and mother told me not to drop it, as it might break. On the day appointed, she took me there herself. My brother also wanted to come, but he was told that he was far too small. He had to stay at home, and I left exceedingly proud. Confronted with the schoolhouse, however, I grew very still. It was a large, beautiful building, with walls so calm and that I was struck with awe. My mother brought me into my classroom, and told me to be a very good girl. Then she left me, and I was alone with the other children. My place was right in front, and next to me sat a little girl with very long, fair plaits, the daughter of one of the teachers. The fact of having so aristocratic a neighbour made me more silent still. I hardly dared to look up; but that soon passed away. She herself broke the spell by telling me that she, too, was going to be a schoolmistress some day. Then I told her about our yard, the brooklet, and the plank. She listened very to all I had to tell her, and soon we became great friends. Her name was Hilda. Next to Hilda sat the daughter of a , who was called Leopoldine. She also became my friend.
 
My life had now changed completely. At school we arranged where to meet in the afternoon, and every day grew to be a great event. It happened sometimes that my new friends paid me a visit. Then we played in the yard, and I felt proud of my flowers. But I don't think my little friends really cared for them as much as I did. Both Hilda and Leopoldine were fond of fishing out all sorts of rubbish from the brooklet, and climbing up the wall that separated the houses. Leopoldine came to see me more often than Hilda, who, as I knew and understood, was not allowed to have many friends. It was for that reason that I hardly ever saw her anywhere but at school. She was the one I loved best. Our meetings, however, were usually held round the church. The church was placed in the centre of a large square, and possessing many a nook and corner, made an ideal spot for all our games. My brother was as a matter of course a very constant member. Another little boy joined us now and again, and then my brother was most happy. He liked boys decidedly better than girls; "girls," he used to say, "are silly."
 
By-and-by I got to know different people who lived in the village. Leopoldine took me one day to friends of hers, whose little house was close to the grave-yard. The man was a dyer by trade, and I thought him very interesting. He had a long beard that was black, and hands not a shade . His hands were so black because of his trade. His wife was of figure and red and round of face. In one of the rooms there stood a cupboard with glass doors. It contained glasses that were never used, and cups that had flowers and names painted on them. The cupboard soon claimed my whole attention. Whenever we went there again after that first visit, the dyer's wife gave us an apple or perhaps a piece of white bread. She was very kind to both of us, but did not often speak to me. It was chiefly my friend to whom she addressed her remarks. But that I did not mind in the least. I was so happy to sit in front of that cupboard and look at the things. At first I thought everything equally perfect, but by-and-by my attention was concentrated upon one particular piece. This was a small statue of the Holy Mother, dressed all in white except the veil, which was edged light blue. One evening a wonderful thing happened. The dyer's wife talked with Leopoldine, who, by-the-by, fidgeted about on her chair in the fashion that children do, and I stared at the Holy Mother. She seemed to be even more beautiful than ever, and just when I was wonderingly thinking whether or not I, too, might look as pretty with a white frock and the very same veil on, our hostess stepped up to the cupboard, singled out the object of my , and placed herself in front of me. I trembled with delight. Never had I been so close to it. The glass doors had, though kept spotlessly clean, always hidden parts of its dainty beauty from my eyes. And now, there stood the woman holding it in her large, red hands, so that the Holy Mother looked whiter than it had done before.
 
"Do you know anything about the Holy Mother?"
 
Thinking that she noticed how much I loved the little figure, I grew hot with shame. At last I nodded and said that she was the Mother of Jesus. And then the most wonderful thing happened to me. Pressing the Holy Mother into my hands, the woman said: "There, you may have it." I cannot tell how I got home that day. All I know is that I came home too late, and that my father whipped me with one of those much regretted Christmas birches.