Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Beggar
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
small for her twelve years, and had sharp, inquiring
eyes and a firmly closed mouth.
“Would to God the horse was smaller and the
load bigger, so it would last longer,” she answered.
“Are you taking home your own fodder, then?”
“Yes, I am. Young as I am, I must find my own
living.”
The beggar grasped the back of the sledge,
intending to help it forward, but she turned instantly,
saying,
“You need not think I shall give you anything
for your trouble.”
He laughed.
“You must surely be the daughter of the Broby
parson,” he exclaimed.
“That is just who I am. Many have a poorer
father, none have a worse, though it is a shame his
own child should say so.”
“Is it true, then, that he is both a miser and
wicked, this father of yours?”
“He is miserly, and he is wicked; but people
say his daughter will be worse, if she lives.”
“I should think they might be right. I should
like to know where you got that sack of flour?”
“Well, it makes no difference if you know or not.
I took the rye out of the granary this morning,
and I’ve been to the mill with it.”
“Won’t he see it when you bring it home?”
“Well, you certainly never finished your
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
