Page:The Yellow Book - 08.djvu/296

The deacon smiled. His was a serious face, a good deal covered with black hair, which contrasted strongly with his white complexion and pale grey eyes. When he smiled his expression became kind and indulgent. He knew this, and sometimes smiled instead of speaking, a plan that saved him trouble and was effective.

A small, fat, and solemn boy of seven, and a sprightly and coquettish damsel of four, advanced shyly to the breakfast table in response to his invitation. Usually quite a home with their teacher—a due allowance being made for the awe in which they held his office—they displayed a newly-acquired timidity upon this occasion. Not even encouraging remarks from Karen, and an unlimited supply of pancakes added to the usual Norwegian breakfast fare of smoked salmon, cheese, and flat-brod, sufficed to put them quite at their ease. They felt towards the deacon that odd degree of strangeness that forces itself upon one in one's relations towards anybody who has been very familiar and is destined shortly to enter upon another sphere. Thus the sister who is going to be married, the brother who has accepted an appointment abroad, the friend who has won distinction from the outer world, become momentarily some one unknown. The difference disturbs the old sympathy, but, of course, only quite fleetingly, and is recognised merely by those whose temperaments cause them to be hyper-sensitive to such impressions, as children are.

Lauritz and Pauline, moreover, were aware of their own importance upon the occasion, and were the observed of many observers, who clustered about the half-opened door and took turns to peep into the kitchen. This in itself was sufficient to make them self-conscious and shy. Every time the deacon looked in that direction there was a fresh little face, a little pale-haired crown, a couple of pink cheeks, a pair of blue eyes, and a moist open little mouth.

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