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Updated: May 21, 2025
Jeppe retorted contemptuously, "Who's going to lend a poor mate's widow three hundred kroner? He might as well throw it into the sea right away." But Baker Jorgen gave Bjerregrav a great smack on the back. "You've given her the money, it's you has done it; nobody else would he such a silly sheep!" he said threateningly. "You let me be!" stammered Bjerregrav. "I've done nothing to you!
"To-morrow I shall go to the pastrycook and demand that he be sent away. I am commander of the militia, and I know all the townsfolk think as I do." Drejer thought it might be well to pray from the pulpit as in time of plague, and in the bad year when the field-mice infested the country. Next morning Jorgen Kofod looked in on his way to the pastrycook's.
"I thought you'd been a Mormon a long time, Uncle Jorgen," said Master Andres. The old man laughed. "Well, well; one tries all sorts of things in one's time," he said, and looked out at the sky. Up the street stood the watchmaker, on his stone steps, his face turned up to the zenith, while he shouted his senseless warnings: "The new time!
He was of a dark complexion, and she was very fair, with hair almost of a golden colour; her eyes were as blue as the sea when the sun is shining upon it. One day when they were walking together, and Jörgen was holding her hand with a tight and affectionate grasp, she said to him, "Jörgen, I have something on my mind.
Man's life is a strange thing, Andres." "Ah, and potatoes are bad this year, Bjerregrav!" Neighbor Jorgen filled up the whole doorway. "Lord, here we have that blessed Bjerregrav!" he shouted; "and in state, too! What's on to-day then going courting, are you?" "I've been following!" answered Bjerregrav, in a hushed voice.
I'm inclined to think they are the Antichrist the Bible foretells." "Ah, but what do they really want?" asked Baker Jorgen. "What is their madness really driving at?" "What do they want?" Wooden-leg Larsen pulled himself together.
At last they heard, "Totally lost every one on board perished!" But at Huusby-Klitter, in the fisherman's cottage, there dwelt now a little urchin. Where God bestows food for two, there is always something for a third; and near the sea there is plenty of fish to be found. The little stranger was named Jörgen. "He is surely a Jewish child," said some people, "he has so dark a complexion."
Jeppe came to the window to see and to silence him; one could hear Brother Jorgen's falsetto voice right down the street. "Has he been courting? However did you get him to venture such a leap?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, it was while we were sitting at table. I had a tussle with my melancholy madman because I couldn't help thinking of the little Jorgen.
But before long we were all "broken in," and then the transfer to the site of our home "Framheim" went on rapidly; the house grew daily. When all the material had been landed our skilled carpenters, Olav Bjaaland and Jorgen Stubberud, began building the house. It was a ready-made house, which we had brought with us; nothing had to be done but to put together the various numbered parts.
To all this Jörgen listened eagerly; and he treasured this ancient legend in his memory, along with all that had happened during the pleasantest days of his childhood the days of the funeral feast. It was delightful to go from home, and to see new places and new people; and he was to go still farther away. He went on board a ship.
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