Upon the high grassy hill above the beach, among some large stones, we three children built our own warehouse of flat stone slabs, with store-house, boat-house and quay below.

In the boat-house we had all kinds of boats, small and great, from the four-oared punt up to the ten-oared galley, some of wood and bark, others of the boat-shaped, blue mussel shells.  Our greatest pride, the large yacht—­a great, mended trough, with one mast and a deck, that was constantly being fitted out for the Bergen market—­was still not the best; and I can remember how I many a time sat in church and made believe that we owned the splendid, full-rigged ship, with cannon, that hung under the chancel arch, [A ship, symbolical of the church, often hangs in Norwegian churches.] and how, while the minister was preaching, I pictured to myself all kinds of sailing-tours, which Carl and Susanna, but especially Susanna, should look on at in wonder.  That ship was the only thing that was wanting to my happiness.

In the bay, by father’s quay, there was a deep, shelving bank, where, at the end of the summer, came shoals of young cod-fish and other small fry; and there we boys carried on our fishing, each with his linen thread and bent pin.  We cut the fish open, and hung them over the drying poles standing in the field over by our own warehouse for the preparation of dried fish, and we let the liver stand in small tubs to rot until it became train-oil.  Both products were then duly put away in our store-house, ready “to go to Bergen” later on, in the yacht; and Heaven knows we worked and slaved as eagerly and earnestly at our work as the grown-up people did at theirs, yet the only real return we had for it was the sunshine we got over our sunburnt, happy faces.

Carl was a slenderly-built boy, who generally followed his more energetic sister in everything.  Both children had thick yellow hair; Susanna’s curled in ringlets that seemed to twinkle round her head every time she moved—­which, as already said, she constantly did with a toss of her head, to keep her hair off her forehead.  Both had alike a fair, brilliant complexion, and beautiful blue eyes.  I do not know whether Susanna at that time was tall or short for her age—­I only know I thought her at least of the same height as myself, though she must really have been half a head shorter; the difference was probably made up by my admiration.

I remember her, as she went to church on Sundays with her mother, a little, pale, soberly-clad, busy woman, who was always, except on Sunday mornings, knitting a long, dreary stocking.  Susanna walked along the sand-strewn path to church in a white or blue dress, with a dark shepherdess hat on her head, a little white pocket-handkerchief folded behind a very large old hymn-book, and white stockings, and shoes with a band crossed over the instep.  I did not think there could be a prettier costume in the world than Susanna’s Sunday dress.