The _Dancer_ would have the boy grow up a merry, dashing cavalier. The _Monk_, on the contrary, would make of him a serious ascetic. After a spirited controversy, they finally come to an agreement. Each shall direct one half of the little Mårbacka child’s span of life. So for a time he is destined to lead the jolly life of a young officer; in his later years he is to settle down quietly, and practise abstinence and good deeds, with Mårbacka as cloister. Oriel Afzelius as the Monk and Kristofer Wallroth in draperies and veils as the Dancer, sing solos and duets from the popular operas. They gesticulate and declaim with emotional fervour, and wind up their quarrel with a lively _pas-de-deux._ As the curtain falls there is wild applause. People shout, stamp their feet, and wave their handkerchiefs. Fru Lagerlöf sits in fear and trembling lest the floor give way under the storm. The Lieutenant cries out: “Yi, yi, Melanoz! It’s none of the outlanders winning now!” The young folk at Mårbacka have rehearsed a little play, but the players feel rather disheartened as they are about to appear; they have nothing to offer comparable to Uncle Oriel’s allegory. Anna Lagerlöf is now fourteen, and this is her first appearance in a regular part. The piece is called “A Cigar,” and she is cast for the rôle of the young wife. Indeed, the performance is far from a failure, thanks to the acting of little Anna Lagerlöf! “How does that child come by her histrionic talent?” people wonder. She acts with such ease, naturalness, and charm, the spectators cannot get over their surprise. “That little girl is going to be a heart-breaker,” some are heard to say. “Why, the lass is really pretty!” comes from another quarter. “And how well she acts, too!” It seemed as if the plaudits and curtain calls would never end. “Do you see, Lieutenant,” shouts Sexton Melanoz above the tumult, “that the natives can hold their own?” But at last they clamber down the break-neck attic stairs. Then they dance again, and chatter, and drink toddies, and some of them take to story-telling, for which up to then there has been no time. After supper, at midnight, the Chinese lanterns are lit. This is done every year now, and must never be omitted. For a change, they have the illumination on the front lawn. Ah! how lovely it looks--as Mamselle Lovisa’s flower beds stand out in the vari-coloured light; as the weeping ash, like a huge lamp, sends forth its rays through the lacy branches; as the dark copses gleam as if with fire-flowers! Now all have come out to see the illuminations. They find themselves in a fairyland. The sweet harmonies of the quartette intensify the spell of enchantment.