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Ole, abruptly: "Marit in the bargain; Marit in the bargain!" Then Oyvind burst out laughing, and jumped right up; all three laughed with him. Oyvind rubbed his hands, paced the floor, and kept repeating again and again: "Marit in the bargain! Marit in the bargain!" Thore gave a deep chuckle, the mother in the corner kept her eyes fastened on her son until they filled with tears.
He changed his place, and then she recited a little piece of a song three or four times over so that the little boy learned it, and that was the first he learned at school. Then the children sang, and Oeyvind stood with Marit by the door. All the children stood with folded hands and sang. Oeyvind and Marit also folded their hands, but they could not sing. And that was the first day at school.
Then he did not know exactly what happened; but he felt himself lifted up by two strong arms, and tears fell hot and fast upon his face. "My boy! my boy!" said the voice in his ears, "I expected to find you dead." "No, but the bear is dead," said Lars, innocently. "I didn't mean to tell on you, Lars," cried Marit, "but I was so afraid, and then I had to."
"And this is Miss Marit in print?" "Ja." She took the book and tried to read it. "Nikka Forstoe!" she didn't understand. "What does it say?" she asked, rather gravely. Here was a job to translate the paragraph into Norwegian! Besides, it would not do to translate it literally, so I made a sort of impromptu paraphrase upon it. "Oh! it says Miss Marit is a very pretty young lady."
Lars meant, for once, to put the story-book hero into the shade. He engaged little Marit to watch over Stella while he was gone, and under no circumstances to betray him all of which Marit solemnly promised.
They entice us and weep until they are set free, but then at once run away from us again, and will take no further advice. Now it is Marit; she coaxes me with many sweet words to write at the same time she does, for she takes comfort in not writing alone.
She will be much offended if you do not prove that you have a good appetite." Miss Marit stood by approvingly. During a pause in my heavy labors I called the attention of this estimable person to her own name in the printed pamphlet, at which she blushed and looked somewhat confused. Possibly there might be a mistake about it. "Your name is Miss Marit?" I asked, very politely. "Ja."
Just as the boy was about turning toward the school-master, he espied, near the hearthstone close beside him, sitting on a little red-painted box, Marit with the many names; she had hidden her face behind both hands and sat peeping out at him. "I will sit here!" cried Oyvind, promptly, and seizing a lunch-box he seated himself at her side.
He did not say what she had expected, therefore she was silent; but at that moment she saw the light from a pipe right in front of her. It was her grandfather, who had just turned the corner and was coming that way. He stood still. "Is it here you are, Marit?" "Yes." "With whom are you talking?" "With Oyvind." "Whom did you say?" "Oyvind Pladsen." "Oh! the son of the houseman at Pladsen.
In addition to the two voyages of Cada Mosto himself, there is a third voyage included in the present chapter, performed by Piedro de Cintra to the same coast, the narrative of which was communicated to Cada Mosto by one who had accompanied Cintra, and had been clerk to Cada Mosto in the two former voyages. Astley, Col. of Voy. and Trav. Clarke, Prog. of Marit. Disc.
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