“Well, Nanna,” said he stroking his long beard which gave a venerable appearance to his benevolent features, “are you thinking of the fine shawl that Ragnar is to send you by his friend Jon Jonson?”

“Not at all, dear father,” replied Nanna.

“True,” continued the old man, “your disposition in that respect does not resemble Magde’s.  She is pleased, as every young woman should be, when she has an opportunity of decorating her person with elegant clothing.”

“I think, that hereafter,” said Nanna, slightly confused, “I shall also cultivate a taste for such things; but thus far I have had but little opportunity.”

“I hope so,” replied her father, “I have frequently been much troubled in mind, when I have observed your indifference to dress, so unnatural to one of your age; but which is only a result of the romantic notions that you have always indulged in.”

“But dear father, is it not wrong to strive to make ourselves beautiful when we are only poor people?”

“Beautiful!” exclaimed the old man, “what put that into your little head?”

“Magde told me that all poor women ought to be born ugly, that their reputation might not be suspected.”

“Magde was a little out of humor, when she said that, and she who wishes to please her husband so much, could not have really intended what she said.”

“Yes, but when a woman is married, it alters the case entirely.”

“But why should not an unmarried girl wish herself handsome for the sake of her father, her brother, and above all for her own sake?  That is a good wish so long as it continues innocent.”

“When then, is it not innocent?” inquired Nanna.

“It is no longer innocent when the love of fine apparel, and the desire to be beautiful, changes the heart, and the girl neglects her duties, and gives her sole attention to that which should only serve as a simple recreation; but that I am sure will never be the case with you.”

Nanna was silent.  She drooped her head.  “There is no danger of that,” thought she, “for who will care to witness the change?”

“On next St. John’s day,” continued her father, “you must wear that elegant silk shawl which belonged to your poor mother.”

As Nanna heard these words, a smile of peculiar meaning passed over her lips.  It was the smile of a woman who anticipates a future triumph.

“Thank God,” said the old man, turning the conversation in another channel, “for all the blessings he has bestowed upon us.  Although we may now be in trouble, when Ragnar’s packages arrive, we shall be in better circumstances.  Poverty has many blessings of which the rich man cannot even dream.  The poor man’s gratitude and joy for even the slightest piece of fortune is too great to describe.  The rich man has not that relish for the good things of life that the poor man has.”

While honest Lonner was thus losing himself in his meditations, Nanna moved in her seat uneasily, and dropped stitch after stitch of her knitting-work.  The former topic of conversation was endurable, but this—­