He looked slowly round him. "You are Number 2," he said to a lad with blue eyes looking beseechingly at him, and the lad danced out of the circle. "You are Number 3,"--he touched a red-haired quick little boy who stood and pulled at his coat; "You are Number 5;" "You Number 8," &c. He caught sight of Marit,--"You are Number One of the girls." She blushed crimson over her face and neck, but tried to smile. "You, Number 12, have been lazy, you idle worthless scamp;" "Number 11, you couldn't expect to stand higher, my lad;" "You, Number 13, must read diligently before the confirmation or else you won't succeed!" Ovind could not bear it any longer. Number One had certainly not been named, and yet he had stood the whole time so that the schoolmaster could see him. "Schoolmaster?" He did not hear. "Schoolmaster!" Three times he had to call before he was heard. At last the schoolmaster looked at him--"Number 9 or 10, can't say exactly which," said he, and turned quickly to another. "Who is Number One then?" asked Hans, who was Ovind's best friend. "Not you, you curly head!" and tapped him on the hand with a paper roll. "Who is it then?" asked many. "Who is it?" "Yes, who is it?" "He will get to know it himself!" said the schoolmaster decidedly. He would not have more questions. "Now go nicely home children, thank God, and make your parents happy! Thank your old schoolmaster too, if it had not been for him you would not have been good for much!" They thanked him and laughed, then went joyously home. One only was left, who could not quickly find his books, and when he found them, sat down as if to read again. The schoolmaster went up to him, "Well Ovind, are you not going with the others?" He did not answer. "Why are you opening your books again?" "I want to see what it is that I've answered wrong." "You have not answered anything wrong." Ovind looked at him, and the tears gathered in his eyes, he turned his head away while one after another rolled slowly down, but he did not speak a word. The schoolmaster went in front of him,--"Are you not pleased that you have passed?" His lips quivered, but he did not answer. "Your father and mother will be very pleased," said the schoolmaster, and looked at him. Ovind struggled some time to get a word out; at last he asked in slow broken sentences,--"Is it--because I--am a peasant lad--that I am Number 9 or 10?" "Surely it must be so," said the schoolmaster. "Then it is no use for me to work," said he hopelessly, and all his grand dreams vanished. Suddenly he lifted his head, raised his right hand, struck it on the table with all his might, cast himself down on his face, and burst into a violent fit of tears. The schoolmaster left him to lay there and cry it out; he waited long, till at last his grief became more childlike. Then he rose took Ovind's head in both his hands, lifted it up, and looked into the tearful face.