The Great Hunger. Johan Bojer

daresay,” said Peer, turning round to the wall. He had heard that it cost several hundred crowns to go through the course at the midwifery school. It would be years before he could get together anything like that sum. Poor girl, it looked as if she would have a long time to wait.

      After that they fell silent. The north-wester roared over the housetops, and presently brother and sister were asleep.

      When Peer awoke the next morning, Louise was about already, making coffee over the little stove. Then she opened her box, took out a yellow petticoat and hung it on a nail, placed a pair of new shoes against the wall, lifted out some under-linen and woollen stockings, looked at them, and put them back again. The little box held all her worldly goods.

      As Peer was getting up: “Gracious mercy!” she cried suddenly, “what is that awful noise down in the yard?”

      “Oh, that’s nothing to worry about,” said Peer. “It’s only the job-master and his wife. They carry on like that every blessed morning; you’ll soon get used to it.”

      Soon they were seated once more at the little table, drinking coffee and laughing and looking at each other. Louise had found time to do her hair—the two fair plaits hung down over her shoulders.

      It was time for Peer to be off, and, warning the girl not to go too far from home and get lost, he ran down the stairs.

      At the works he met Klaus Brock, and told him that his sister had come to town.

      “But what are you going to do with her?” asked Klaus.

      “Oh, she’ll stay with me for the present.”

      “Stay with you? But you’ve only got one room and one bed, man!”

      “Well—she can sleep on the floor.”

      “She? Your sister? She’s to sleep on the floor—and you in the bed!” gasped Klaus.

      Peer saw he had made a mistake again. “Of course I was only fooling,” he hastened to say. “Of course it’s Louise that’s to have the bed.”

      When he came home he found she had borrowed a frying-pan from the carter’s wife, and had fried some bacon and boiled potatoes; so that they sat down to a dinner fit for a prince.

      But when the girl’s eyes fell on the coloured print on the wall, and she asked if it was a painting, Peer became very grand at once. “That—a painting? Why, that’s only an oleograph, silly! No, I’ll take you along to the Art Gallery one day, and show you what real paintings are like.” And he sat drumming with his fingers on the table, and saying: “Well, well—well, well, well!”

      They agreed that Louise had better look out at once for some work to help things along. And at the first eating-house they tried, she was taken on at once in the kitchen to wash the floor and peel potatoes.

      When bedtime came he insisted on Louise taking the bed. “Of course all that was only a joke last night,” he explained. “Here in town women always have the best of everything—that’s what’s called manners.” As he stretched himself on the hard floor, he had a strange new feeling. The narrow little garret seemed to have widened out now that he had to find room in it for a guest. There was something not unpleasant even in lying on the hard floor, since he had chosen to do it for some one else’s sake.

      After the lamp was out he lay for a while, listening to her breathing. Then at last:

      “Louise.”

      “Yes?”

      “Is your father—was his name Hagen?”

      “Yes. It says so on the certificate.”

      “Then you’re Froken Hagen. Sounds quite fine, doesn’t it?”

      “Uf! Now you’re making fun of me.”

      “And when you’re a midwife, Froken Hagen might quite well marry a doctor, you know.”

      “Silly! There’s no chance—with hands like mine.”

      “Do you think your hands are too big for you to marry a doctor?”

      “Uf! you ARE a crazy thing. Ha-ha-ha!”

      “Ha-ha-ha!”

      They both snuggled down under the clothes, with the sense of ease and peace that comes from sharing a room with a good friend in a happy humour.

      “Well, good-night, Louise.”

      “Good-night, Peer.”