Part 1 (1/2)
What Happened to Inger Johanne.
by Dikken Zwilgmeyer.
I, INGER JOHANNE
I have always heard grown people say that when you meet strangers and there is no one else to introduce you, it is highly proper and polite to introduce yourself. Uncle Karl says that polite people always get on in the world; and as I want dreadfully to do that, I will be polite and tell you who I am.
Everybody in our town knows me; and they call me ”the Judge's Inger Johanne,” because my father is the town judge, you see; and I am thirteen years old. So now you know me.
And just think! I am going to write a book! If you ask, ”What about?” I shall have to say, ”Nothing in particular,” for I haven't a speck more to tell of than other girls thirteen years old have, except that queer things are always happening to me, somehow.
Probably it isn't easy to write a book when you have never done it before, especially when thoughts come galloping through your head as fast as they do through mine. Why, I think of a hundred things, while Peter, the dean's son, is thinking of one and a half! But, easy or not, since I, Inger Johanne, have set my heart on writing a book, write it I will, you may be sure; and now I begin in earnest.
CHAPTER I
OURSELVES, OUR TOWN, AND OTHER THINGS
OURSELVES
There are four brothers and sisters of us at home, and as I am the eldest, it is natural that I should describe myself first. I am very tall and slim (Mother calls it ”long and lanky”); and, sad to say, I have very large hands and very large feet. ”My, what big feet!” our horrid old shoemaker always says when he measures me for a pair of new shoes. I feel like punching his tousled head for him as he kneels there taking my measure; for he has said that so often now that I am sick and tired of it.
My hair is in two long brown braids down my back. That is well enough, but my nose is too broad, I think; so sometimes when I sit and study I put a doll's clothespin on it to make it smaller; but when I take the clothespin off, my nose springs right out again; so there is no help for it, probably.
Why people say such a thing is a puzzle; but they all, especially the boys, do say that I am so self-important. I say I am not--not in the least--and I must surely know best about myself, now that I am as old as I am. But I ask you girls whether it is pleasant to have boys pull your braids, or call you ”Ginger,” or to have them stand and whistle and give cat-calls down by the garden wall, when they want you to come out. I have said that they must once for all understand that my braids must be let alone, that I will not be whistled for in that manner, and that I will come out when I am ready and not before. And then they call me self-important!
After me comes Karsten. He has a large, fair face, light hair, and big sticking-out ears. It is a shame to tease any one, but I do love to tease Karsten, for he gets so excited that he flushes scarlet out to the tips of his ears and looks awfully funny! Then he runs after me--which is, of course, just what I want--and if he catches me, gives me one or two good whacks; but usually we are the best of friends. Karsten likes to talk about wonderfully strong men and how much they can lift on their little finger with their arm stretched out; and he is great at exaggeration. People say I exaggerate and add a sauce to everything, but they ought to hear Karsten! Anyway, I don't exaggerate,--I only have a lively imagination.
After Karsten there is a skip of five years; then comes Olaug, who is still so little that she goes to a ”baby school” to learn her letters, and the Catechism. I often go to fetch Olaug home, for it is awfully funny there. When Miss Eina.r.s.en, the teacher, and her sister say anything they do not wish the children to understand, they use P-speech: Can-pan you-pou talk-palk it-pit? I went there often on purpose to learn it, for it is so ignorant to know only one language. But now I know both Norwegian and P-speech. Olaug always remembers exactly the days when the school money is to be paid, for on those days each child who brings the money gets a lump of brown sugar. Once a year the minister comes to Miss Eina.r.s.en's to catechize the children; but Miss Eina.r.s.en always stands behind the one who is being questioned and whispers the right answer. ”Oh, Teacher is telling, Teacher is telling!”
the children say to each other. ”Yes, I am telling,” says Miss Eina.r.s.en.
”How do you think you would get along if I didn't?” On examination days Miss Eina.r.s.en always treats to thin chocolate in tiny cups, and the children drink about six cups apiece! Well, that's how it is at Olaug's school.
After Olaug comes Karl, but he is only a little midget. He thinks he can reach the moon if he stands on a chair by the window and stretches his arms away up high. He is perfectly wild to get hold of the moon because he thinks it would roll about so beautifully on the floor.
OUR TOWN
We live in a little town on the sea-coast. It is much more fun to live in a little town than a big one, for then you know every one of the boys and girls, and there are many more good places to play in; and all the sea besides. Oh, yes! I know very well that there are lots of small towns that do not lie by the sea. They must be horrid!
Think how we have the great ocean thundering in against the sh.o.r.e, wave after wave. Oh, it is delightful! Any one who has not seen that has missed a really beautiful sight. It is beautiful both in summer and winter; but I do believe it is most beautiful and wonderful in the time of the autumn storms. Go up on the hilltop some day in autumn, where the big beacon is, and look out over the sea! You have to hold on to your hat, hold on to your clothes, hold on to your body itself, almost.
Whew-ew! the wind! How it blows! How it blows! And the whole ocean looks as if it were astir from the very bottom. Big black billows with broad white crests of foam come rolling, rolling, rolling in--one wave does not wait for the other. And how they break over the islands out where the lighthouse is! The lighthouse stands like a tall white ghost against the dark sea and the dark sky;--sinks behind an enormous wave, rises again, sinks and rises again. How swiftly the clouds fly! How the ocean seethes and roars! We hear it all over town, sobbing, roaring, thundering! Away in by the wharves of the market square the waters are all in a turmoil. The little boats rock and rock, and the big s.h.i.+ps dip up and down. The wet rigging sparkles, the mooring chains strain and creak, and there is _such_ a smell of salt in the air! You can almost taste the salt with your tongue.
In such weather the damaged s.h.i.+ps come in. One autumn there came a Spanish steams.h.i.+p, with a green funnel and a white hull. It lay with almost its whole stern under water when the pilot from Krabbesund brought it in. That was jolly; not for the people on board,--it was anything but jolly for them,--but for us children.
When we choose, we go out into the harbor in boats and row round and round among the strange s.h.i.+ps. At last, very likely, the sailors call out to us and ask us to come on board, and then it doesn't take us long to scramble up the ladder, you may be sure! On board, it is awfully jolly. Once a French skipper gave us some pineapple preserves; but generally we only get crackers. When the Spanish s.h.i.+p was in, the streets swarmed with foreign sailors, with long brown necks and burning black eyes. Then the old policeman, Mr. Weiby, strutted about, and sent Father long written reports about street rows and disturbances. The Spaniards didn't bother themselves a mite about old Weiby, puffing around with his chin high in the air!
Sometimes on summer afternoons when the water lies calm and s.h.i.+ning, we slip off and borrow a boat (Mr. Terkelsen's, quite often) and go rowing around the island. Then, afterwards, we float about,--dabbling and splas.h.i.+ng in the darkened water until evening comes on. Ah! that is pleasure!