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"That's neither a trade nor a profession," said Dally after a while, still smiling. "I fear you are fuzzy-wuzzying again, Wellander. What do you mean by an explorer?" "One who explores rivers and deserts and unknown countries and such things," said Keith brazenly. "And you really mean that you are going in for that sort of thing?"
"Cederskjöld, and I think it was recognized as noble. I never knew the inside of it, but it looks peculiar. Carl's and my father and his brother and two sisters took common action to get the family name changed to Wellander. I am sure my grandfather must have been up to some rather striking deviltry, and for all I know he might have been hanged."
For the moment they meant nothing to him. "Why are you not here too," he persisted. "Because I am only an attendant a mere vaktmästare. That is a fact you had better fix in your mind once for all, my boy." "Is that your little boy, Wellander," one of the other men called out at that moment. "Let us have a look at him."
Everybody was addressed by his family name both by the teachers and by his fellow pupils. Keith had become Wellander, and the first time he heard himself called by that name he blushed as deeply as if his most intimate privacy had suddenly been violated.
He sat looking at that piece of wood as if it were a dragon that had swallowed the whole Christmas in a single gulp. He wanted to cry, but for the first time he seemed to feel a pride that forbade him to do so.... "Master Keith Wellander," the father read out again with evident haste and in a voice which he tried to make very jolly, "When beaten in the open field, this will be my trusty shield."
The father read the inscription aloud before he handed each parcel to its recipient, who had to open it and let its contents be admired by all before another gift was distributed. The table became crowded. The floor was a litter of paper. Lena giggled. Granny's cap was down on one ear. Keith could not sit still on his chair. "To Master Keith Wellander," the father read out.
The murmur grew as the winner failed to appear, but Keith could not move a limb. Dumbly and unbelievingly he stared at the Rector and the group of teachers seated around him on the platform. "Come forward, Wellander," the Rector said in a friendly voice as if he could well understand the overwhelming effect of such distinction.
He listened to what his parents talked, but always in a spirit of utter indifference, as if what they said could have no possible bearing on his own life. One evening the servant girl her name was Hilda at the time brought word that Herr Stangenberg wanted very badly to see Fru Wellander for a few minutes.
Once he picked an enormous volume on Greek mythology, full of pictures and translated passages from Homer and the dramatists. "You don't want that, Wellander," the teacher said, eying him curiously, when Keith presented the book for registration. "Yes, I do," replied Keith stoutly, but his heart began to quake at the thought that the cherished volume was going to be denied him.
Again he stopped, the class waiting breathlessly for him to go on. At that moment Keith became aware that the teacher's gaze rested firmly on him with an expression that sent the blood in a hot stream to his face. "Wellander," Dally began again, and in spite of the beating of his own heart, Keith noticed that the teacher's voice trembled a little as he spoke.
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