Ib and Little Christine

There she was to help the housekeeper, and later, if she did well and was confirmed there, the people would adopt her as their own daughter.

So Ib and Christine parted. People were calling them "the sweethearts," and before she left she showed Ib that she still had the two nuts he had given her during their adventure in the forest so long ago, and she told him that in her chest drawer she still kept the little wooden shoes he had carved as a present for her when he was a boy. And that was their parting.

After Ib was confirmed, he remained in his mother's house, for he had become a clever shoemaker, and in the summer he took care of the little field. He worked alone, for his father had died, and his mother kept no farm hand.

It was only seldom that he heard of Christine from some passing rider or eel fisherman. But he knew she was doing very well at the rich innkeeper's; and after her confirmation she wrote to her father and sent greetings to Ib and his mother. In the letter Christine wrote of six new linen garments and a lovely new dress that her employer and his wife had given her as a present. That was certainly good news.

One beautiful day, the following spring, there was a knock on Ib's and his mother's door, and there stood the boatman with Christine. She had come over for a day's visit in the next village, and she had taken the opportunity of seeing her friends again. She looked as lovely as a fine lady, and she wore a pretty dress that had been carefully sewn expressly for her. There she stood, in grand array, and Ib was in his working clothes. He could not stammer a word; he seized her hand and in his delight held it fast in his own, but he could not make his tongue obey him. But Christine was not embarrassed; she talked and talked, and kissed Ib right on his mouth.

"Didn't you know me again, Ib?" she said.

Even later, when they were left by themselves, and he was still holding her hand in his, he could only say, "You look like a real lady, and I'm so rough and clumsy!