"Hush! you overgrown young ones! No uproar here! Be quiet and you
shall hear about it, children." He looked slowly around. "You are
number two," said he to a boy with blue eyes, who was gazing up at him
most beseechingly; and the boy danced out of the circle. "You are
number three," he tapped a red-haired, active little fellow who stood
tugging at his jacket. "You are number five; you number eight," and so
on. Here he caught sight of Marit. "You are number one of the
girls,"--she blushed crimson over face and neck, but tried to smile.
"You are number twelve; you have been lazy, you rogue, and full of
mischief; you number eleven, nothing better to be expected, my boy;
you, number thirteen, must study hard and come to the next examination,
or it will go badly with you!"

Oyvind could bear it no longer; number one, to be sure, had not been
mentioned, but he had been standing all the time so that the
school-master could see him.

"School-master!" He did not hear. "School-master!" Oyvind had to
repeat this three times before it was heard. At last the school-master
looked at him.

"Number nine or ten, I do not remember which," said he, and turned to
another.

"Who is number one, then?" inquired Hans, who was Oyvind's best friend.

"It is not you, curly-head!" said the school-master, rapping him over
the hand with a roll of paper.