sisters of us at home, and as I am the
eldest, it is natural that I should describe myself first. I am very
tall and slim (Mother calls it "long and lanky"); and, sad to say, I
have very large hands and very large feet. "My, what big feet!" our
horrid old shoemaker always says when he measures me for a pair of new
shoes. I feel like punching his tousled head for him as he kneels there
taking my measure; for he has said that so often now that I am sick and
tired of it.

My hair is in two long brown braids down my back. That is well enough,
but my nose is too broad, I think; so sometimes when I sit and study I
put a doll's clothespin on it to make it smaller; but when I take the
clothespin off, my nose springs right out again; so there is no help for
it, probably.

Why people say such a thing is a puzzle; but they all, especially the
boys, do say that I am so self-important. I say I am not--not in the
least--and I must surely know best about myself, now that I am as old as
I am. But I ask you girls whether it is pleasant to have boys pull your
braids, or call you "Ginger," or to have them stand and whistle and give
cat-calls down by the garden wall, when they want you to come out. I
have said that they must once for all understand that my braids must be
let alone, that I will not be whistled for in that manner, and that I
will come out when I am ready and not before. And then they call me
self-important!

After me comes Karsten. He has a large, fair face, light hair, and big
sticking-out ears. It is a shame to tease any one, but I do love to
tease Karsten, for he gets so excited that he flushes scarlet out to the
tips of his ears and looks awfully funny! Then he runs after me--which
is, of course, just what I want--and if he catches me, gives me one or
two good whacks; but usually we are the best of friends. Karsten likes
to talk about wonderfully strong men and how much they can lift on their
little finger with their arm stretched out; and he is great at
exaggeration. People say I exaggerate and add a sauce to everything, but
they ought to hear Karsten! Anyway, I don't exaggerate,--I only have a
lively imagination.

After Karsten there is a skip of five years; then comes Olaug, who is
still so little that she goes to a "baby school" to learn her letters,
and the Catechism. I often go to fetch Olaug home, for it is awfully
funny there. When Miss Einarsen, the teacher, and her sister say
anything they do not wish the