Ida Brandt Read Online Free PDF

finished, and the forester’s two youngest, Edvard and Karl Johan, who had chapped hands (“Heaven knows how that happens,” said Mrs Lund: “but all the dirt in existence seems to land on those boys’ hands”) went for the dishes of cakes all of a sudden as though they had to grab at everything they were eating.
    “Sofie,” said Mrs Brandt, looking down along the silent table, “I do not think they have anything down there,” as though it was only a matter of filling them up.
    “No thank you,” said Ingeborg, when Mrs Brandt offered her more, “it’s so late to be having tea.”
    The two from the inn had turned their cups upside down.
    Brandt appeared at the bottom of the Mound – his trousers so easily found their way into the backs of his shoes as he walked:
    “Aha, this is a party,” he said as he came up. “Have you all got something?” he said. “Aha,” he went around pinching their cheeks, diffidently saying their names for he did not know what else to say, while the little girls shuffled and looked down at their skirts.
    “But then you’ d better play some games,” he repeated.
    “Then they had better play games,” he repeated to his wife.
    “But perhaps some of the children would like some more,” replied Mrs Brandt.
    “No,” said the eldest of those from the inn sharply, behind his cup, deciding it for them all.
    “Then you must go and play,” continued the father in the same tone; he did not know what they were to play.
    “We could have a game of handkerchief into the ring,” said the judge’s daughter Ingeborg, while the little girls sat there, flushed and quiet.
    “Well, yes, but little children must be allowed to make a noise,” said Brandt. “Children must make a noise, they must run around.” And suddenly, quite put out, he said:
    “I’ll fetch Schrøder, my dear.” And he went.
    “The forester’s two mumbled something about not knowing what was meant by handkerchief into the ring, and they went over and sulked by a tree.
    “Right, you can start,” said Ida hanging over the edge of a bench beside Ingeborg and handing her a handkerchief that was far too small to be thrown into the ring.
    Brandt ran through the garden and in through His Lordship’s gate. Up in the main building, all the doors were wide open and there was a smell of starched curtains and cleanliness.
    Miss Schrøder was standing on a stepladder in the middle of the sitting room in her stocking feet; when hard-pressed she was fond of taking off her shoes:
    “Lord, Mr Brandt, you’ve come to fetch me,” she shouted, letting her arms fall.
    “Yes, Schrøder my dear, you’ll have to go over there…they can’t get things going,” said Brandt, pushing his glasses up and down; “there’s no one who knows what children do to enjoy themselves.” He pulled both trouser legs up:
    “I think there are fifty of them,” he said.
    “Good heavens, of course I’ll come.” And Schrøder put her hands up to her hair: “But I’ve got all this to do.”
    Schrøder looked around; there were curtains on all the chairs: “And they’ll be here tomorrow!” She came down from the steps and flipped her shoes on. “This heat’s terrible on your legs,” she said. Heat was always a problem for Schrøder, and from the first day in June she was forever on her way down through the garden with a sheet; she used to bathe in the pond: there’s nothing in the world like water, she said.
    “Oh good Lord,” she looked at the curtains: “then we’ll hang them up tonight.”
    Down on the Mound they had started rolling lids.
    “Good heavens,” said Schrøder, surveying the group: “this is a bit tame, isn’t it? Let’s have something with a bit more go in it.”
    She lined the children up and they started to march. Ida took her hand, and when they had marched a little way, the judge’s daughter Ingeborg came and took her other hand.
    “Look,” she said to Ingeborg. “I am wearing bronze shoes.”
    The