"My daughter," he said, in calm judicial tones, "your mother and I have read the writings in the little book, the good grandmother also has seen them. It is all nonsense, of course--what could a child like you write but nonsense? But it is not such bad nonsense, after all," he added kindly. Then he bade her sit by him, and she fetched a low stool, and sat by his knee--up to now she had been standing as a dutiful child should. He laid his hand on her shining plaits of hair, and bent her head back so that he might look into her eyes. "True eyes," he said dreamily, half to himself, "Andersen eyes, and you have the Andersen face, child. Lotte is of your mother's race, but Ingeborg and you are Andersens through and through--and you look like your Uncle Olaf." He paused awhile, apparently immersed in thought. Ragna burned with excitement and curiosity, what could it mean? What could he be going to say? Her head moved under his hand, and recalled to him the fact of her presence. "Ragna, your mother and I have decided that you must go away; you must go to a school where you can learn more than is possible here. Fru Bjork, a relative of your mother's, is taking her daughter to a convent in Paris, and I have written to her asking her to take you also, and to place you in the convent with Astrid. You are sixteen--two years in Paris will do more for you than a lifetime here. The mother and I shall miss you--but an Andersen must have the best, and I believe I can trust you to make the most of this opportunity. Now, my child, I have said what I had in my mind, there is nothing more, only this: remember always that an Andersen must have the best and be worthy of it!" Ragna had listened to him, her colour coming and going, her eyes shining. Two years in Paris! It was too wonderful almost to be believed. She rose from her stool, and made motion to kiss her father's hand, as was her custom, but he took her into his arms, and kissed her forehead. "You are too old now to kiss my hand," he said smiling. She flung her arms about his neck and clung to him, sobbing with excitement and joy, till her father loosed her arms and putting her copy-book into her hand, led to the door saying: "There, there! Control yourself my dear, recollect that you are almost a woman now!" And he closed the door behind her. CHAPTER II The next few weeks passed as in a dream, and at length the day of departure came. Ragna set off with her father in the stulkjarre, her modest box well corded and tied on behind. Grandmother, mother and sisters, even the old nurse, waving a tearful farewell, disappeared behind the clustering trees.