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I cannot stay;— I've four—five—babes of bread bereft!

[Facetiously.]

You don't know just how many, en

One was e'en dying when I left.

Hold. You are enter'd, are you not?

[Examines his papers.]

No. Yes, you are though. Well for you.

[To the .]

Give Number Twenty-nine his lot. Come, come, good folks, be patient, do! Nils Snemyr?

Ay, ay!

We must pare A quarter off your former share. You're fewer now, you know.

Yes, yes,— My Ragnhild died yestreen.

[Making a note.]

One less. Saving is saving, howsoe'er.

[To the, who is retiring.]