zow; the worthy Pastor pulled a face upon which even Ansgarius could read a confession of crime.
"I can't possibly believe," began Mrs. Hartvig, "that you, Pastor, have been conspiring with—" And then he could not help laughing and making a clean breast of it, amid great merriment, while the boys in triumph produced the parcel with the game. Every one was in the best possible humour. Consul Hartvig was delighted to find that their clerical host could join in a joke, and the Pastor himself was in higher spirits than he had been in for many a year.
In the course of the conversation some one happened to remark that although the arrangements might be countrified enough, the viands were too town-like; "No country meal is complete without thick milk."[1]
Rebecca at once rose and demanded leave to bring a basin of milk; and, paying no attention to Mrs. Hartvig's protests, she left the table.
"Let me help you, Miss Rebecca," cried Max, and ran after her.
"That is a lively young man," said the Pastor.
"Yes, isn't he," answered the Consul, "and a deuced good business man into the bargain. He has spent several years abroad, and now his father has taken him into partnership."
- ↑ Milk allowed to stand until it has thickened to the consistency of curds, and then eaten, commonly with sugar.
