She acted according to this arrangement, and found it agreeable enough as long as it was new, but afterwards, and especially when summer came, she began to get tired of it, for she had been accustomed in summer to sit up in the forest the whole day long, and had read in her books, which from the depths of her heart she now missed, as she missed Odegaard, as she missed conversation. The consequence was that at last she took it where it was to be found. About this time a young girl entered the sewing school, called Lise Let, i.e. Lise, but not Let; for that was the name of a young cadet, who had been at home one Christmas, and betrothed himself to her on the ice, while she was only a child at school. Lise vowed it was not true, and cried if any one named it; nevertheless, she went by the name of Lise Let. The little, active Lise Let often laughed and often cried; but, whether she laughed or cried, she thought about love. A perfect swarm of new and curious thoughts soon filled the school; if a hand was reached out for the scissors, it was to go a courting, and the scissors said, yes, or gave a refusal. The needle was bethrothed to the thread, and the thread sacrificed herself stitch by stitch to the heartless tyrant; she who pricked her finger, shed her heart's blood, and to change needles was to be unfaithful. If two of the girls whispered together, it was about something remarkable that had happened to them; soon two more began to whisper, and then two again; each one had her confidant, and there were a thousand secrets: it was impossible to stand it.