So then it was that we were to go to spend St Lawrence’s festival with grandfather. This festival occurs at the beginning of August, when cocks begin to crow soon after midnight, and the sun still rises very early. But still earlier than those cocks did we children awake, and before the first cock had cock-a-doodled, we were already dressed; and before the first ray of sunrise had shown itself, we were already seated, smart and tidy, before the manse, on the doorstep, congratulating ourselves that we were going to spend the festival at grandfather’s.
Our parents slept in the room next to ours, and we had sneaked out so quietly that they had not the least idea of our secret preparations. How mother must have started when coming to wake us she found our bed empty and not a sign of us. We heard entreaties and outcries—mother ran from room to room, then about the courtyard, looking for us everywhere, at last even in the well, while we all the time nestled against one another like chickens, and scarcely breathed with fright lest mother should find us, and we, early as it was, should be punished, for there was already a great disturbance about us. And now it occurs to mother to look for us on the village green, to see whether she could find some trace of us. Opening the door she found us cuddled close together on the door-step. Mother almost smothered us with delight when she caught sight of us, and we told her that we wanted to set off that instant to the feast at grandfather’s.
“But you cannot go without breakfast,” said she, leading us back again, and glowing with delight, because her dismal fears were so soon dispelled.
What did we understand about breakfast just then?
