brief slumber. I hear someone come up the stairs.
"It was Student Pettersen, I . . . I have two letters for him."
"He has gone home," replies the woman; "but he will return after the holidays. I could take the letters if you like!"
"Yes, thanks! that was all right," said I. "He could get them then when he came back; they might contain matters of importance. Good-morning."
When I got outside, I came to a standstill and said loudly in the open street, as I clenched my hands: "I will tell you one thing, my good Lord God, you are a bungler!" and I nod furiously, with set teeth, up to the clouds; "I will be hanged if you are not a bungler."
Then I took a few strides, and stopped again. Suddenly, changing my attitude, I fold my hands, hold my head on one side, and ask, with an unctuous, sanctimonious tone of voice: "Hast thou appealed also to him, my child?" It did not sound right!
With a large H, I say, with an H as big as a cathedral! once again, "Hast thou invoked Him, my child?" and I incline my head,