stood open on the table. Mother, at one end of the table, spread each
child six pieces of bread and butter, which were then placed together,
two and two, white bread on brown bread, a mixture which, was uncommonly
nice. The box would take exactly so many. Then it was put in the school-
bag with the books. And with bag on back you went to school, always the
same way. But those were days when the journey was much impeded. Every
minute you met boys who called you names and tried to hit the little
one, and you had to fight at every street corner you turned. And those
were days when, even in the school itself, despite the humanity of the
age (not since attained to), terms of abuse, buffets and choice insults
were one's daily bread, and I can see myself now, as I sprang up one day
in a fight with a much bigger boy and bit him in the neck, till a master
was obliged to get me away from him, and the other had to have his neck
bathed under the pump.

I admired in others the strength that I lacked myself. There was in the
class one big, stout, squarely built, inexpressibly good-natured boy,
for whom no one was a match in fighting. He was from Lolland, and his
name was Ludvig; he was not particularly bright, but robust and as
strong as a giant. Then one day there arrived at the school a West
Indian of the name of Muddie, dark of hue, with curly hair, as strong
and slim as a savage, and with all the finesse and feints which he had
at his command, irresistible, whether wrestling or when fighting with
his fists. He beat all the strongest boys in the school. Only Ludvig and
he had not challenged each other. But the boys were very anxious to see
a bout between the two, and a wrestling match between them was arranged
for a free quarter of an hour. For the boys, who were all judges, it was
a fine sight to see two such fighters wrestle, especially when the
Lollander flung himself down on the other and the West Indian struggled
vainly, writhing like a very snake to twist himself out of his grasp.