struggling to reach the lower one, it gives the face an extremely gloomy expression, naturally therefore Julie's face is greatly improved by a smile. The upper lip falls into its natural place, the large, even, white teeth are seen, and even the nose passes muster. But above all the brown eyes are made to smile. They screw themselves up behind a number of tiny wrinkles, and from their hiding-place they twinkle merrily at you. When Julie stands like this with smiling face, the dark hair falling over her forehead, throwing a kiss to herself in the mirror—her hand is slim and beautiful—she is almost a dear, and even a wee bit—coquettish.
The widow's daughter 'coquettish!' the disagreeable Professor Magens' 'ugly kid' a dear—no, my good girl, either your mirror is lying, or you are an interested critic.
But all the same, when Julie went to bed after the mirror review, she was still in high spirits, and as a result she has just written a long and kind letter to Erik.
She has nothing else to relate about to-day.
SAND—sand—nothing but sand. Oh, what's the use of writing a diary about the days always—and—ever—the—same.
MY neighbour is beginning to interest me. On the surface everything in his home seems to be so quiet and correct, yet I think this
