Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. A Happy Boy by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (electronic book reader TXT) 📖
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in the passage to see what the dog kept barking at; but paused, as if suddenly bewitched, turned fiery red, and ran in. Old Ole, meanwhile, shouted so tremendously for her when he got into the house that she had to come forward again.
"Go and make yourself trim, girl; here is the one who is to have the gard!"
"Is that true?" she cries, involuntarily, and so loud that the words rang through the room.
"Yes; it is true!" replies Oyvind, clapping his hands.
At this she swings round on her toe, flings away what she has in her hand, and runs out; but Oyvind follows her.
Soon came the school-master, and Thore and his wife. The old man had ordered candles put on the table, which he had had spread with a white cloth. Wine and beer were offered, and Ole kept going round himself, lifting his feet even higher than usual; but the right foot always higher than the left.
Before this little tale ends, it may be told that five weeks later Oyvind and Marit were united in the parish church. The school-master himself led the singing on the occasion, for the assistant chorister was ill. His voice was broken now, for he was old; but it seemed to Oyvind that it did the heart good to hear him. When the young man had given Marit his hand, and was leading her to the altar, the school-master nodded at him from the chancel, just as Oyvind had seen him do, in fancy, when sitting sorrowfully at that dance long ago. Oyvind nodded back while tears welled up to his eyes.
These tears at the dance were the forerunners of those at the wedding. Between them lay Oyvind's faith and his work.
Here endeth the story of A HAPPY BOY.
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"Go and make yourself trim, girl; here is the one who is to have the gard!"
"Is that true?" she cries, involuntarily, and so loud that the words rang through the room.
"Yes; it is true!" replies Oyvind, clapping his hands.
At this she swings round on her toe, flings away what she has in her hand, and runs out; but Oyvind follows her.
Soon came the school-master, and Thore and his wife. The old man had ordered candles put on the table, which he had had spread with a white cloth. Wine and beer were offered, and Ole kept going round himself, lifting his feet even higher than usual; but the right foot always higher than the left.
Before this little tale ends, it may be told that five weeks later Oyvind and Marit were united in the parish church. The school-master himself led the singing on the occasion, for the assistant chorister was ill. His voice was broken now, for he was old; but it seemed to Oyvind that it did the heart good to hear him. When the young man had given Marit his hand, and was leading her to the altar, the school-master nodded at him from the chancel, just as Oyvind had seen him do, in fancy, when sitting sorrowfully at that dance long ago. Oyvind nodded back while tears welled up to his eyes.
These tears at the dance were the forerunners of those at the wedding. Between them lay Oyvind's faith and his work.
Here endeth the story of A HAPPY BOY.
Imprint
Publication Date: 09-01-2010
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