Twice a year she had to call for the payment for him at the Consul-General’s office in the town.  Nikolai, too, often had leave to go out to the country house with the kitchen cart, which had come in to make the morning purchases.

And there he would sit, while the cart rumbled and jolted along the road, smart and clean, head and body respectively combed and scoured like a copper kettle that has been cleaned with sand and lye.  He could not sit still a minute; he talked and asked questions—­always about the horse, the wonderful brown horse—­whether it was the best or the second best, if it could go faster than the railway train, or who and what it could beat.

Then the cart turned—­so much too soon—­into the yard in front of the kitchen door, and he was led through the passage by the man-servant to the nursery.

“I hope you have rubbed your shoes?  You might have had the sense, Lars, not to bring the boy in that way, with such shoes as those!” His mother took him and set him on a chair.

And then he was given bread-and-butter and cracknels and milk.  But he must wait now until she came in again, for she was busy to-day washing Lizzie’s and Ludvig’s clothes.

In rushed the aforesaid children, his equals in point of age; the one was drawing a large saddled horse after him, the other was carrying two large, dressed dolls.  They had been sent out by their mother to play with Nikolai.  And they were soon in full gallop round the nursery.  Gee-up! gee-up!—­Nikolai drew, and Ludvig rode—­hi! gee-up!  And at last Nikolai wanted to ride too; he had been drawing for such a long time.  But Ludvig would not get down, so Nikolai dropped the bridle and pulled him off the horse by one leg.

“You ragged boy!  How dare you?”

“Ragged boy!  Ragged boy yourself!” It ended with a fling up on to the bed, behind which Ludvig entrenched himself howling, while his sister took his part and joined in.

“What is the matter, what is the matter, dears?” cried Barbara, hurrying in.  “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Nikolai, behaving like that to the Consul’s children!  You’d better try it on!  There Ludvig—­there, there, Lizzie—­he shan’t hurt you!  Just do what they want, do you hear, Nikolai!”

And then Barbara had to lament over Ludvig’s starched collar, which had got crumpled.

“Come here, my precious boy.  Come now, and then you shall play again directly.”

She took him up on her knee.  “It’s my own precious boy, it is, who’s so good!  There, hold his blouse, Nikolai, and you shall see such a fine boy, and so good, so good!”

“Show him my Sunday clothes, Barbara, and the patent leather shoes!” And Nikolai was allowed to look into the drawers at all Ludvig’s and Lizzie’s dresses and sashes and fine underclothes, and to peep into the toy-cupboard to be bewildered by all the old drums and trumpets and headless men and horses, and tin soldiers, and Noah’s arks, with their belongings, all of which, Barbara said, they had been given because they were so good.