On his way through the drawing-room he drew out of his tail pocket a black silk cap, with which he was wont to cover himself before presenting himself to his parishoners. Having also prepared himself by clearing his throat loudly, he entered his study.
A little figure stood by the door in the subdued green light, enveloped in an immense great coat several sizes too large for him, from which only a light mop of hair, two swollen blue hands and a pair of feet in white woollen socks stuck out.
"Good evening," said the Provst, in a friendly voice, waving his hand, "Do you want to speak to me?"
A hiccup was his first answer, followed by "yes" in a frightened whisper.
"What is your name, friend? " continued the Provst.
For a moment the only sound was the chattering of the lad's teeth. At last the answer came hoarsely and hurriedly, "Ole Christian Julius Andersen."
"Are you a son of old Anders Jörgen of Skibberup?"
"Yes."
"Then it was you who came to me as a candidate for confirmation last year, wasn't it."
"Yes."
"And now you have come to request me to administer the Sacrament to your old father—I
