THE NEW YEAR, 1896 455 



" Johansen is asleep, and making the hut resound. I 

 am glad his mother cannot see him now. She would 

 certainly pity her boy, so black and grimy and ragged 

 as he is, with sooty streaks all over his face. But wait, 

 only wait ! She shall have him again, safe and sound 

 and fresh and rosy. 



" Wednesday, January 8th. Last night the wind blew 

 the sledoe to which our thermometer was hansfine out 

 over the slope. Stormy weather outside — furious weath- 

 er, almost taking away your breath if you put your 

 head out. We lie here trying to sleep — sleep the time 

 away. But we cannot always do it. Oh, those long 

 sleepless nights when you turn from side to side, kick 

 your feet to put a little warmth into them, and wish for 

 only one thing in the world — sleep ! The thoughts are 

 constantly busy with everything at home, but the long, 

 heavy body lies here trying in vain to find an endur- 

 able position among the rough stones. However, time 

 crawls on, and now little Liv's birthday has come. 

 She is three years old to-day, and must be a big 

 girl now. Poor little thing! You don't miss your fa- 

 ther now, and next birthday I shall be with you, I 

 hope. What good friends we shall be ! You shall ride 

 a- cockhorse, and I will tell you stories from the north 

 about bears, foxes, walruses, and all the strange ani- 



to be formed only when the temperature sank lower than it had previ- 

 ously been in the course of that winter; at least, it was only then that we 

 heard the rumblings. 



