A friend's advice; _vox populi._ And then, why, one of the cows might
be an ox to ride, a means of transport for my shivering age! But it came
to naught--it came to naught! My wisdom has not come with age; here am I
going up to Trovatn and the waste lands to live in a wooden hut!
What pleasure can there be in that? _Ai_, Lars Falkenberg, and
_ai,_ every one else, have no fear; I have a man to come up with
things I need.
* * * * *
So I drift about and about by myself, looking after myself, living alone.
I miss that seal of Bishop Pavel's. One of his descendants gave it to me,
and I had it in my waistcoat pocket this summer, but, looking for it now,
I find I have lost it. Well, well; but, anyhow, I have been paid in
advance for that mishap, in having owned it once.
But I do not feel the want of books to read.
The 12th of December--I can keep a date in mind and carelessly forget
things more important. It is only just now I remember about the books--
that Captain Falkenberg and his wife had many books in their house--novels
and plays--a whole bookcase full.
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