By-and-by I got to know different people who lived in the village. Leopoldine took me one day to friends of hers, whose little house was situated close to the grave-yard. The man was a dyer by trade, and I thought him very interesting. He had a long beard that was raven black, and hands not a shade lighter. His hands were so black because of his trade. His wife was stout of figure and red and round of face. In one of the rooms there stood a cupboard with glass doors. It contained glasses that were never used, and cups that had flowers and names painted on them. The cupboard soon claimed my whole attention. Whenever we went there again after that first visit, the dyer's wife gave us an apple or perhaps a piece of white bread. She was very kind to both of us, but did not often speak to me. It was chiefly my friend to whom she addressed her remarks. But that I did not mind in the least. I was so happy to sit in front of that cupboard and look at the things. At first I thought everything equally perfect, but by-and-by my attention was concentrated upon one particular piece. This was a small statue of the Holy Mother, dressed all in white except the veil, which was edged light blue. One evening a wonderful thing happened. The dyer's wife talked with Leopoldine, who, by-the-by, fidgeted about on her chair in the fashion that children do, and I stared at the Holy Mother. She seemed to be even more beautiful than ever, and just when I was wonderingly thinking whether or not I, too, might look as pretty with a white frock and the very same veil on, our hostess stepped up to the cupboard, singled out the object of my admiration, and placed herself in front of me. I trembled with delight. Never had I been so close to it. The glass doors had, though kept spotlessly clean, always hidden parts of its dainty beauty from my longing eyes. And now, there stood the woman holding it in her large, red hands, so that the Holy Mother looked whiter than it had done before.
"Do you know anything about the Holy Mother?"
Thinking that she noticed how much I loved the little figure, I grew hot with shame. At last I nodded and said that she was the Mother of Jesus. And then the most wonderful thing happened to me. Pressing the Holy Mother into my hands, the woman said: "There, you may have it." I cannot tell how I got home that day. All I know is that I came home too late, and that my father whipped me with one of those much regretted Christmas birches.