his mother what it was.

"It is the children reading," answered she, and he was delighted, for
thus it was that he had read before he learned the letters.

On entering he saw so many children round a table that there could not
be more at church; others sat on their dinner-pails along the wall,
some stood in little knots about an arithmetic table; the
school-master, an old, gray-haired man, sat on a stool by the hearth,
filling his pipe. They all looked up when Oyvind and his mother came
in, and the clatter ceased as if the mill-stream had been turned off.
Every eye was fixed on the new-comers; the mother saluted the
school-master, who returned her greeting.

"I have come here to bring a little boy who wants to learn to read,"
said the mother.

"What is the fellow's name?" inquired the school-master, fumbling down
in his leathern pouch after tobacco.

"Oyvind," replied the mother, "he knows his letters and he can spell."

"You do not say so!" exclaimed the school-master. "Come here, you
white-head!"

"Oyvind walked up to him, the school-master took him up on his knee and
removed his cap.

"What a nice little boy!" said he, stroking the child's hair. Oyvind
looked up into his eyes and laughed.