“The bird that comes about our doors When autumn winds are sobbing, The Peter of Norway boors, Their Thomas in Finland, And Russia far inland. The bird, who by some name or other, All men who know it call their brother.” “Now that is charming of you to come and see me just at the very right minute, Sigrid,” said Fru Askevold, kissing the girl, whose face, owing to trouble and sleeplessness, looked more worn than her own. “I’ve just been cutting out Ingeborg’s new frock, and am wanting to sit down and rest a little. What do you think of the color! Pretty, isn’t it?” “Charming,” said Sigrid. “Let me do the tacking for you.” “No, no; you look tired, my child; sit down here by the stove, and I will tack it together as we chat. What makes those dark patches beneath your eyes.” “Oh, it is nothing. I could not sleep last night, that is all.” “Because you were worrying over something. That does not pay, child; give it up. It’s a bad habit.” “I don’t think I can help it,” said Sigrid. “We all of us have a natural tendency that way. Don’t you remember how Frithiof never could sleep before an examination?” “And you perhaps were worrying your brain about him? Was that it?” “Partly,” said Sigrid, looking down and speaking nervously. “You see it was in this way—I had a chance of becoming rich and well to do, of stepping into a position which would have made me able to help the others, and because it did not come up to my own notion of happiness I threw away the chance.” And so little by little and mentioning no name, she put before the motherly old lady all the facts of the case. “Child,” said Fru Askevold, “I have only one piece of advice to give you—be true to your own ideal.” “But then one’s own ideal may be unattainable in this world.” “Perhaps, and if so it can’t be helped. But if you mean your marriage to be a happy one, then be true. Half the unhappy marriages come from people stooping to take just what they can get. If you accepted this man’s offer you might be wronging some girl who is really capable of loving him properly.” “Then you mean that some of us have higher ideals than others?” “Why, yes, to be sure; it is the same in this as in every thing else, and what you have to do is just to shut your ears to all the well-meaning but false maxims of the world, and listen to the voice in your own heart. Depend upon it, you will be able to do far more for Frithiof and Swanhild if you are true to yourself than you would be able to do as a rich woman and an unhappy wife.” Sigrid was silent for some moments. “Thank you,” she said, at length. “I see things much more clearly now; last night I could only see things through Aunt Grönvold’s spectacles, and I think they must be very short-sighted ones.” Fru Askevold laughed merrily.