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BIOGRAPHY. 41
ment at Arsta. My father returned the same evening from
town. I must at this time have been fifteen or sixteen
years old, because we had now removed into the upper
storey, and I had got my mother’s distinct permission — a
permission not given until we should have reached that
age — to eat as much as we liked both at breakfast, dinner,
and supper.
We had just finished supper, and went as usual into my
father’s library, to converse until the clock in the old tower
had struck ten. I do not remember how it happened that
the four elder children did not follow our parents into the
library, but only IL who, when my father was seated on
the sofa, and, as usual, asked for news, related to him the
wonderful occurrence of the day. My father listened at-
tentively to nly recital, wondering what could have been
the cause. Then in came one of the other children, relat-
ing the same story. My father listened, but said nothing.
Then came a third, repeating what the others had told; and
when at last Fredrika made her appearance, and began
with “ Do you know, papa, that the bullocks ” — my father
interrupted her, saying, “ Ah! very well; this is the fourth
time I have heard that story, and now there must be an
end of it.” A general silence ensued, and no one had
another word to say until the clock struck ten, when my
father said “ Good night,” and we went to our own rooms.
In the long, dark autumn evenings at Arsta, we all as-
sembled in the “yellow drawing-room.” At ten minutes
to six the footman entered to lay the cloth for tea, and
shortly after came the housekeeper, who was to make and
pour out tea. Our party consisted always of my mother
and father, our governess and my eldest brother’s tutor,
Fredrika, Hedda, and myself. When they all had had
their tea, with the exception of us three sisters, who were
mere lookers-on, the housekeeper — fortunate woman ! —
disappeared, and we sisters remained sitting, with our work,
at a table in one corner of the room; my mother sat down
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