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of a horse. Yes, I would stand up on him
too,—on one leg—stretch out my arms, and
throw kisses as they do at the circus.
“ Karsten,” said I the next day, “ what
should you say if I became a circus-rider? ”
“ You—when you’re knock-kneed!—you
would look nice, Inger Johanne, you would.”
“ You look af ter your own knees, Karsten,
I’m going to be a circus-rider, all the same, I
really am.”
“ Oh, what bosh! ”
“ Well, you’ll see; when the circus-riders go
I’m going with them. You mustn’t tell a soul,
Karsten, but a circus-rider is what I’m going
to be.”
Karsten looked at me rather doubt fully.
“ But you must help me to get into the barn
through that hole at the back, for I shall have
to practice, you understand.”
“ Well, will you give me that red-and-blue
pencil of yours then? ”
“ Oh, yes, only come along.”
We stole behind the barn. Karsten kept
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