Everything here is so small to what it is in other countries; we understand next to nothing, we learn everything from the Scotch and Swiss, but gardening most from Holland. I have now been here nearly a year, and I thought I had learnt a great deal; but when I saw what those who left at the last examination knew, and thought that not even they knew anything in comparison to the foreigners, I felt quite disheartened. I am now in the first class, and must stay here another year before I am ready. But most of my companions are gone, and I long for home. It seems as if I stood alone, though I certainly do not, but it feels so strange when one has been long away. What am I to do when I leave here? I shall naturally come home first, and then I must seek for some situation, but it must not be far away. Good-bye dear parents. Remember me kindly to those who ask after me, and say I am well, but I long to come home. Your attached son, Ovind Thoresen Pladsen. Dear Schoolmaster, This is to ask you if you will be so good as to send the enclosed letter, but be sure and say nothing about it to anybody. If you will not, then it must be burnt. Ovind Thoresen Pladsen. To Marit Knudsdatter Heidegaard. You will very likely be surprised to receive a letter from me, but you need not be, for I will only ask how you fare, and this you must let me know as soon as possible and in every respect. Respecting myself, I have only to say that I shall be ready to leave here in one year. Respectfully, Ovind Pladsen. To Ovind Pladsen, At the Agricultural School. I duly received your letter from the schoolmaster, and will answer it as you ask me, though I am rather afraid, because you are now so learned; I have a letter book but it doesn't suit. However, I will do my best, and you must take the will for the deed; but you musn't show it, or else you are not what I think you are; and you musn't hide it because any one might easily get hold of it, but you must burn it, that you must promise me. There are a great many things that I wanted to write about, but I dare not. We have had a good Autumn; potatoes are high, and here at Heidegaard we have plenty of them. But the bears have made sad havoc among the stock this Summer; they killed two of Ole Nedregaard's cows, and injured one of our tenant's calves so that it was obliged to be killed. I am weaving a very large web like the Scotch plaid, and it is very difficult. And now I must tell you that I am still at home, though there are some who would have it otherwise. I have nothing more to say this time, and so good-bye. Marit Knudsdatter. You must be sure to burn this letter. To Ovind Thoresen Pladsen.