There lived an old, and exceedingly handsome, white-haired
Chamberlain, called the General, who frequently dined with Frederik VII,
and invariably brought us children goodies from dessert, lovely large
pieces of barley sugar in papers with gay pictures on the outside of
shepherd lovers, and crackers with long paper fringes. His youngest son,
who owned a collection of insects and many other fine things, became my
sworn friend, which means that I was his, for he did not care in the
least about me; but I did not notice that, and I was happy and proud of
his friendship and sailed with him and lots of other boys and girls on
the pretty Farum lake, and every day was more convinced that I was quite
a man. It was a century since I had worn blouses.
Every morning I took all the newspapers to Dr. Doerr, the German tutor at
the castle, and every morning I accidentally met Henrietta, and after
that we were hardly separated all day. I had no name for the admiration
that attached me to her. I knew she was lovely, that was all. We were
anxious to read something together, and so read the whole of a
translation of _Don Quixote_, sitting cheek against cheek in the
summer-house. Of course, we did not understand one-half of it, and I
remember that we tried in vain to get an explanation of the frequently
recurring word "doxy"; but we laughed till we cried at what we did
understand.
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