Ordinarily the _jungfru_ was quick to take offence, but not when she could talk about her dear deanery children. Then she was imperturbable. At all events, Herr Tyberg had helped them away from Isaac. They never learned to what uses he eventually put his talent. “The two next were twins, and they were called Jacob and Esau. They were as like as two coffee beans. I couldn’t tell one from t’other. I never saw such boys for running and jumping and skating. But they became priests, they, too.” “I thought they were going to be rope-dancers,” the Lieutenant cut in. “They became priests, they, too,” the _jungfru_ reiterated, not in the least put out. “Esau went up to Jämtland, where he had to clamber ’mong the fells, and Jacob, he went down to Bohuslän, where he scrambled in and out of boats and ships. They found their right places and turned to use the talents God had given ’em--they, like their brothers and sisters.” “But what happened to Joseph?” asked the Lieutenant quickly. “There were two girls before him, Lieutenant, called Rachel and Leah. They were handy in the garden; the one planted and the other weeded. When the bishop paid a visit he declared he’d never tasted such peas and such strawberries. They married, too; each of them got a foundry owner. And now I’m coming to Joseph.” “He became a squire, I suppose?” said the Lieutenant. “He became a tenant of his father’s,” the _jungfru_ corrected him. “He looked after the fields and tended the cows and provided food for his parents and his brethren.” “H’m--that was just what I thought.” So saying, the Lieutenant arose and sidled toward the door, where his hat and cane were hanging, and sneaked out. “The thirteenth was David,” pursued the _jungfru._ “He married three times, and had three children by each wife. If it please you, I can tell you the names of all the wives and children.... But maybe ’twould be better to keep to the twenty brethren?” They all thought that quite the wisest plan. But with these prospects before her, Fru Lagerlöf felt a bit uneasy. “I’ll run out and fetch something to work on,” she said, “then I’ll be able to follow you better.” But it was a good while before she came back with that work. “The fourteenth was a girl named Deborah. She was always so nice about giving me a hand with the bread-making. She never got married and never left home, for she had to stay at the deanery and help me and her mother with the little ones. Sometimes she was kind of queer, though, and then she’d say she liked the Catholic religion because it didn’t allow its priests to marry.” A slight noise was heard down by the door. Herr Tyberg had slipped out so softly no one noticed it till he was gone. “The fifteenth was a girl, and her name was Martha. She was the greatest beauty you ever set eyes on! But she, too, was a bit queer. When she came seventeen she married a dean who was two-and-sixty, just because she wanted to get away from home.”