a garden in which grew red cabbage; oh, how nice it was, I cannot think of
anything more delicious.”
“But one cabbage stalk is exactly like another,” said the swallow; “and
here we have often bad weather.”
“Yes, but we are accustomed to it,” said the hen.
“But it is so cold here, and freezes sometimes.”
“Cold weather is good for cabbages,” said the hen; “besides we do have it
warm here sometimes. Four years ago, we had a summer that lasted more
than five weeks, and it was so hot one could scarcely breathe. And then in
this country we have no poisonous animals, and we are free from robbers.
He must be wicked who does not consider our country the finest of all
lands. He ought not to be allowed to live here.” And then the hen wept very
much and said, “I have also travelled. I once went twelve miles in a coop,
and it was not pleasant travelling at all.”
“The hen is a sensible woman,” said the doll Bertha. “I don’t care for
travelling over mountains, just to go up and come down again. No, let us go
to the sand-pit in front of the gate, and then take a walk in the cabbage
garden.”
And so they settled it.
Saturday
Am I to hear any more stories?” asked little Hjalmar, as soon as Ole-Luk-
Oie had sent him to sleep.
