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Updated: May 25, 2025
Peter Samuelsen, commonly known as Pitter Nilken, the manager of the small shop in the back premises. Worse's property had consisted of an entire building, of which the front looked out towards the sea and the quay where the steamers were moored, and at the back was a little dark lane, where Pitter Nilken had his shop.
Boys and girls all assembled, the more the merrier, generally in the dusk of the evening, and sneaked quietly down into the alley at the back of the Worses' house, and when they got under Samuelsen's shop-window, they began singing, to a well-known air "Little Pitter Nilken, Sitting on his chair! He's always growing smaller, The longer he sits there."
Worse began to give an explanation of her affairs, according to the calculations of Pitter Nilken, the Consul's manner changed, and he got up, walked round the table, and seated himself near her. He calmly and patiently examined each paper, went through the calculations and figures, and at last read the draught of a guarantee which Samuelsen had made, with the greatest attention.
The small fruit will require a little over half a pint of syrup. Pick over, wash and drain four quarts of large, perfect cranberries; or stem and then stone four pounds of large cherries, use a cherry pitter so cherries remain whole. This amount will require four pounds of sugar. Bake in a very slow oven two hours. Let stand. Then keep in a cool, dry place.
The faint tinkling grew nearer, mingled with a light pitter patter and a far off baa-ing and bleating; then, as shadowy as the sheep in dreams, a great flock came winding round the hill; in and out through the sage-brush they went and came, elusive as the early morning shadows they moved among. The air was crystalline and sparkling; creation’s first morning could not have promised more.
He said a word or two of undeserved rebuke to his horse, and looked about him. He tried to persuade himself that he had heard the distant squeal of a fox or perhaps a young rabbit gripped by a ferret. Swish, swish, swish, pitter, patter, swish ... What was that? He felt he was getting fanciful. He shook his shoulders and told his horse to get on. He listened, and heard nothing. Or was it nothing?
Samuelsen had also his own private enemies to contend against, and these consisted of nearly all the school children in the town. It had always been, and was still, a favourite amusement for the children to "Sing for Pitter Nilken." The game was carried on in the following manner.
You know that intermittent drowsing as one sits, the drooping of the head, the nodding to the rhythm of the wheels then chin upon the breast, and at once the sudden start up again. Pitter, litter, patter. "What was that?" It seemed to the doctor he had heard a thin shrill squeal close at hand. For a moment he was quite awake.
Samuelsen turned his head he could read the couplet on the busy lips, and follow the song "Little Pitter Nilken, Sitting on his chair" It was enough to drive one mad. "He's always growing smaller The longer he sits there." The newly married couple got in, and the carriage rolled off through the town. Mrs.
A group of small boys were naturally standing round the carriage, partly to see the horses, and partly to have a good look at the dreaded Pitter Nilken. Suddenly one of the young rascals took it into his head to repeat the well-known irritating verse not exactly singing out loud, but only barely moving his lips. The idea was soon caught up by his comrades, and wherever the unhappy Mr.
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