From one to two the children were again out of doors. But they often went in a few minutes before the play hour was up, so as to run through their lessons for the afternoon session, which was from two to four. Afterwards, they would read the lessons for the next day. They were never allowed to sit at their studies later than five o’clock, when they must go out-doors again. Now they were off to some distant coasting hill. At one time they had a big ram to drive, and that, of course, was great sport. When they got back to the house a pleasant hour awaited them. A log fire crackled in the living room and on the folded card table stood a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of unfermented beer. To sit or lie before the fire while munching their sandwiches--that was something the youngsters enjoyed hugely. They chattered and planned all sorts of things. It was the only hour of the day they had to themselves. When the fire burned low, the lamp on the round table over by the sofa was lit. Fru Lagerlöf now took her little daughters in hand, and taught them to sew, crochet, and knit. She had a volume of Hans Andersen’s fairy tales, and when she thought the work had gone well she would reward the children by reading or narrating “The Travelling Companion,” or “The Tinder-box,” or “The Wild Swans.” Besides, there were pretty and amusing illustrations in that book, and to look at those was almost as much fun as to hear the stories. At eight o’clock supper was served, and then the Lieutenant appeared. Up to that hour he had been at the farm-office poring over his ledgers. And now, after the long work-filled day, one could at last relax. The children put away their needlework, and the Lieutenant, sitting back in his rocking-chair, began to tell schoolboy yarns like the one about Mamselle Brorström, or else he related his memories of the glorious Jenny Lind as _Norma_ or the _Daughter of the Regiment_, or of Emily Högquist as the _Maid of Orleans._ When at times he did not feel like talking, he would ask Fru Lagerlöf or Mamselle Lovisa to read aloud from Tegnér. Anything more beautiful than “Fritiof’s Saga” he thought had never been written. He would rather have been the Lund professor who sang of Fritiof’s and Ingeborg’s love, than Emperor of France or Tsar of Russia. He was also an admirer of Runeberg, whose tales of “Surgeon Stål” and epic poems he enjoyed hearing. But he did not like it if any one said the Finnish poet was greater than Tegnér. Sometimes (and that was the best fun of all) he would sit down at the old piano and strike a few chords, then call out: “Come, children, let’s sing Bellman!” The girls needed no coaxing, they were over by the piano in a jiffy. Then, with high glee, they let loose on Bellman! They always began with “Old Man Noah” and “Joachim of Babylon,” then followed “Father Movitz” and “Mother at Tuppen,” and they sang of “Dancing Master Mollberg, and His Misadventures in Rostock Tavern.”