In God's Way: A Novel

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

III.

The day had been dull, the air thick, and the clouds were driving along against a light southerly wind; it was mild, though, and had begun to thaw again; the roads were in a fearful state with snow slush and mud, especially close by the town where it had been trampled and trodden into a perfect morass.

Edward had not been walking more than ten minutes before his somewhat thin boots were wet through. Well, that did not matter, what was much worse was that he had finished his last biscuit and was by no means satisfied--not by a long way! However, even that did not matter as he would soon overtake Ole, he walked so much quicker and lighter than he did, and then he was hurrying tremendously. As soon as he reached him he would put things right again; not for an instant did he doubt that. Ole was very easily managed and he, Edward, would make all square with the other boys, it was the least he could do; he would enjoy it, too; he would get others to join him and they would have a fight.

But after he had walked a quarter of a mile[^[1]] without seeing any traces of Ole's boots in the mud and no sign of himself either, and particularly after he had dragged on for another quarter along the most dreadful roads, his feet dripping wet, now perspiring, now cold, then half-dry, then wet again--it was threatening rain and the wind was getting up, and all nature seemed so uncomfortably lonely along the stony ridges with dark woods between each valley--then indeed his courage fell considerably.

And it seemed so strange, too, that after the first quarter of a mile he never met a soul. There were plenty of footmarks on the road both of horses, people, and dogs; they were all bent in the same direction as himself and most of them were quite fresh, but there was not a creature to be seen anywhere, not even in the farmyards, not a dog did he hear bark, nor did he see a chimney smoke; all was deserted. He passed by one empty cove after the other; they were divided by jutting out ridges of loose stones caused by landslips; on each side of these ridges lay a cove, and in every cove one or more farmyards and a brook or stream, but no people. So many times had the boy now struggled up these stony hills and gone so far along that he could see across the next field without distinguishing Ole on the high road, in fact without seeing anyone, so he began to think that he would have to trudge on, hungry and tired as he was, the whole way to Store Tuft. It was nearly a mile distant; that would keep him away so long that his father would hear of his absence, and then it would be a case of scolding and lecturing, and probably of beating and swearing as well, and the head-master would very likely look in and then it would all begin over again.... He could not help it, the tears would come. Confound Anders Hegge, with his greedy, fishy eyes and oily smile, his mocking laugh and sneaking friendliness, the story-teller, the brute! Here was he now forced to tramp along with tingling feet in all the mud, tired and done up. This then was the meaning of his fearful fright the evening before, now all was explained.

But, hang it all! who would cry about that? One must arrive some day at the journey's end, and a beating would be nothing new, tra-la-la! And he broke into a Spanish ditty and sang verse upon verse till he became quite breathless and was obliged to slacken his pace, but taking fright when he no longer heard the sound of his own voice, he began afresh and kept on singing all the way through the long valley.

He met nobody there either, only traces of cart-wheels and footmarks of old and young folk, of horses and dogs from the farms; all bound in the same direction. What could be going on? A fire? An auction? But then they would not have taken carts with them. Had there been a landslip anywhere? Or was it a wreck from yesterday's storm? Well, it was all the same to him. Just as he was crossing over the next ridge which jutted out into the bay, he caught sight for the first time of Ole's footsteps on the hill; he could see that he had walked along by the side of the road; he recognized the iron heels and the straps under each foot. The marks were quite fresh too, so Ole could not be far off. This was exciting, and he hurried on.

Here there was a thick fir-wood, very still and quiet, and as he had to stop singing going up-hill it was rather uncanny. The farther he advanced into the wood the thicker it became; the snow lay firmer on the ground, stones and small tufts of heather peeping up through it like animals; and then there was a crack here and a rustle there and sometimes a cry; a startled capercailzie flew up with great flapping of wings, and the boy in a terrible fright bent down to look for Ole's foot-marks, just for company's sake--the terror of the day before was on him again. If he dared but begin to run, and if the wood would only come to an end! In the painfully long silence that followed the capercailzie's cry he felt that a very little more and he would go mad with fright. And this bit of road with high banks on each side, through which he would have to pass--he looked on ahead at the steep dark sides which seemed as if they would close over him; terrible looking trees hung over the top peering down at him. When at last he arrived there, he felt as if he were the tiniest little ant in a wood; if only all would keep still, or at least no one swoop down upon him and seize him by the neck, or drop down suddenly before him, or behind him, or begin to puff and blow at him.... He walked on with stiff eyes, like one walking in his sleep, the gnarled and crooked roots of the fir-trees stretched along the banks, they seemed as though alive, but he pretended not to notice them. High up in the air far in front of him a bird was winging its way toward the town he came from. Ah, if he might but mount that bird! He could see the town distinctly and the ships in the harbour; he could hear the cheery heave-a-hoy songs and the rattling of anchor chains, the rolling of barrels along the wharf, and the merry screams of laughter and the shouts of command.... Yes, he could even hear those, and the whistle of a steamer! and then another, a shrill one! and voices! Those were voices! And neighing of horses, and barking of dogs! And again the sound of voices, many voices. He had got through the road with the steep banks, for it had only been a short bit, and through the trees he could see the sea and boats.... But what was that? Was he back in town again? Had he been walking round and round? No, surely he had followed the sea all the way. He began to run, he felt all right again. But had he really walked straight on? Of course, here is the clearing in the wood, and there the bay, he knew it well, and the little islands, he remembered them too, it was the right way, and it was not so very far now to Store Tuft.... But what are all those boats doing there? And what is the meaning of that steady buzzing noise? Herring fishing! Hurrah! herring fishing! He had come right into the midst of a take of herrings, hurrah! hurrah! And away with hunger, fatigue, and fear, off flew the boy down the hill with mighty strides.

One of the sweep-nets had been hauled in, one was out, one was just going to be put out, it was a great take. But it was Saturday evening, and it was necessary to net the herrings before Sunday evening, and to gut the fish that was already taken. In the twinkling of an eye he understood it all.

The shore was crowded with people, near the road and on the road, and up on the fields, crowds and crowds. And endless carts and sledges with barrels and tubs, some with horses still harnessed, others with the horses taken out, crowds of dogs; children everywhere, and great laughter and noise. Out in the bay the boats were round the sweep-net that was to be put out, the men shouting and calling to each other, and high in the air a flock of birds flew overhead, flapping their wings and screaming.

The sky was overcast, the smoke from the steamers making the air seem thicker and more threatening, the bare, bleak islands seemed suited to the coming storm, they looked as if they had just started into existence; the little wooded islet far out rose up solitary and mysterious through the rainy mist; the steamers came steaming in, puffing and whistling as if for a wager; they belonged to rival companies. Men were stamping about in fishermen's boots and in oilskin clothes over their ordinary ones; others were dressed more like peasants in coarse cloth coats and fur caps. Women as well as men were busy cleaning the fish, wrapped in shawls or in a man's jacket over their own; the usual quiet style of conversation had been disturbed.

Heavy drops of rain began to fall, faster and faster; nearly all the faces Edward looked at were wet with the rain. They stared a great deal at him, the delicate looking town boy in the midst of this noisy crowd, thinly clad, with dripping face and breathless, his little fur cap clinging wet to his head.

Who should he see just in front of him but Ingebert Syvertsen, the tall, black-haired man, who did business with his father. He was standing there bargaining, tall and thin, and dressed in oilskin from top to toe; he had evidently taken a very active part in it all, the shiny fish-scales lay thick on his arms and his boots like silver.

"Good day, Ingebert!" shouted the boy in great light.

The great fellow with wet face under his sou'wester, a great drop hanging from his nose, thin black beard, and three of his upper teeth missing, knew him at once and laughed; then he said: "Your father is somewhere about my lad, he is out riding to-day."

Someone spoke to Ingebert at that moment; he turned round, became angry and abusive, which took up time, when he turned again to speak to the boy he saw him already far away along the road beyond the whole of the fishing crowd.

Edward had run away from sheer fright--and it was only when he found himself out on the road that he remembered he was running just in the direction his father was coming from. Was it likely he could get to Store Tuft without meeting his father?

But what was he to do? All those people had seen him, and had stared hard at him, they would be sure to find out who he was, and then when his father came riding past he would hear of it too. There was not much use trying to run away. It was all one whether he got a beating now or one later. He felt inclined to sing again, for nothing could be worse than the present state of affairs. He actually did strike up a song, the Marseillaise, in French; it was so very suitable for one advancing to get a beating as he was! But before he got to the end of the first verse his courage failed him, his voice grew fainter, the time slower, there was a general change of colouring. And oh, it was heavy walking, and raining fast. So his song gradually died away until it stopped. Then the boy's thoughts went back to something he had lately read in the papers about a large coal mine in England that had been inundated with water. The miners tried to escape as quickly as possible, the horses after them, down in the mine they could not help themselves, poor creatures! One boy who had escaped told the others about a horse that had neighed and whinnied so hopelessly; the boy climbed to the top, but not the horse.... Edward could distinctly see what the horse must have looked like, its head, the beautiful shining eyes, he heard its breathing, its whinnying and felt himself turn quite sick. What it must be to die amid such horrors! And to think that all that would come to life again at the day of judgment! And all that would arise from the mines and very bowels of the earth! Why not the animals too? Surely they would come forward whining and complaining against mankind? Great heavens, what complaints there would be. And so many animals, too--only fancy, from the creation of the world! And where were they all to be found? On the earth and down in the earth--and think of those that lay in the sea, at the bottom of the deep sea! And those who lay under that again, for in many places there had been land where there now was sea. Well, well!

Oh, how hungry he was! And cold too; he could no longer walk so fast, and he was very, very tired.

And certainly there was nothing very inviting to look forward to, oh, no! Well he knew the new riding-whip; he had himself despatched the old one out of the world; but if he had known that the new one was still worse, he would have let the old one live on for a couple of years more. Ouf! how his nails began to ache and his fingers to swell with the cold. And his feet! But it would never do to think about them or they got worse directly; hark, how the water sopped in his boots! He amused himself by putting his feet forward cross ways, and went on from right to left, from left to right till he got tired of that too. Harder and harder was the struggle, more and more tedious, again he had to climb up hill. Dear me! is not this the last hill? Does not Store Tuft lie in the next valley? Just under the hill? Surely that is Store Tuft? Perhaps after all he could get there before his father? It would always be something gained, the evil day put off awhile. At any rate it was worth hurrying for. Fresh life came to the boy, on he went again!

His father was not always severe either, he could be kind sometimes. Especially if Josephine were on his side and asked to get him off; and if Ole came back again then she surely would do that, she must take his part. They could try, too, to make the apothecary join them! He, the apothecary, was always so kind, and it is a good thing to be many. Good heavens! were there no others who----

Up came the chestnut's head over the hill-top! The big straw shoes which his father used in the winter as stirrups stood out on each side of the old hack like the paws of a wild beast; the boy stood still, petrified.

The old hack stared at the lad from out of its heavy Spanish harness; it could hardly believe its own clever eyes! Neither could the boy's father believe his, for the round head in the gray woollen cap stretched farther and farther forward over the horse's neck, till he had to lean with both hands on the pommel of the saddle. Was that drenched, dripping boy, with the wisp of fur on his head, standing terrified and pale as a ghost in the middle of the road--was that the boy who ought to be sitting at home doing his lessons before he was allowed to move? And on Saturday afternoon! In such weather and such roads, and so thinly clad, out on the hill at Store Tuft? And without permission?

"What the devil are you doing there?"

The horse was pulled up sharp; its warm breath seemed to fill the air around the boy and envelop him in a thick mist of unpleasant vapours from its steaming body. Edward dared neither move nor answer. He only stared up at his father through the mist in a stupid, clumsy fashion, as though half-dazed.

His father dismounted without delay, and with the bridle round his left arm and the whip in his right hand he stood before the boy.

"What's the matter? Hey? Why are you here! Why the devil can't you answer?"

Mechanically Edward slipped farther and farther away, his father after him; mechanically, too, the boy raised his right arm to shield his face, and stretched out his left to ward off the coming blows.

"Where are you going to?"

"To Ole Tuft."

"What are you going to do there? Hey? Is Ole Tuft at home? Hey?"

"Yes."

"What are you going there for?"

"I am going to--to----"

"Well!"

"To beg his pardon."

"To beg his pardon? What for? What for? Hey?" and he raised his whip.

The boy answered, hurriedly: "He won't come to school any more."

"Oh, indeed! So you've been teasing him? Hey? You at the head? Hey?"

"Yes."

"Your fault, was it? Hey?" he cried.

"I found out----" here he stopped.

"Well?"

"That he--that he----" and the boy began to cry.

"Well?"

"That he goes to visit the sick."

"So you told the others? Hey? Carried tales? Hey?"

Edward dared not answer, and then the whip began to be troublesome; both the lad's arms swung up and down, keeping time with the whip, as if uncertain where it would fall next. He kept slipping farther and farther away.

"Stand still!" shouted his father.

But instead the boy sprang with one bound right to the edge of the ditch. Fiercely the father lifted his whip again; but, unintentionally, the horse behind him received such a sharp cut that it pulled so hard at the bridle as nearly to upset its master. Edward could not resist the comical side of this most welcome deliverance and he burst into a roar of laughter. But he was so startled at hearing himself laugh that he hopped over the ditch and ran into the wood. He could not possibly control himself as he turned away; he began to laugh again, and could hit upon no better way of hiding it than to set up a good howl.

The father's contempt for his son was not to be described. He recovered his temper, though, quieted the horse, and mounted again. "Come along," said he, quietly, pointing with his whip in the direction of the Tuft valley.

"There will be more accounts to settle when we get there," thought the boy to himself.

He obeyed his father's call, of course, and walked on, but at a safe distance in front of the horse. He kept at the same distance all the time; the horse was a quick stepper, so it was an effort.

The man in gray on the chestnut horse drove his son mercilessly on before him, through the snow and slush, although one could clearly see by the way he walked that his feet hurt him, and although his hands were half-frozen--he kept putting them in his mouth--and although he was dripping wet; his fur cap was sticking to his head like a washed-out rag. The man in gray sat comfortably on his horse, in warm, waterproof clothes, his whip in his hand, his eyes glistening on each side of his hooked nose. No one who saw this little procession could have guessed that the dearest wish of this stern-looking man was to love the boy he was so angrily driving before him.

But in order to love anyone that person must be exactly as we would wish--is not that the case? And supposing now the boy was not willing? And that Kallem was not accustomed to opposition? His wife's death was the first serious blow he had met with; it happened not very long before this affair with the boy. Up to that time they had all lived abroad, Kallem leading a quiet retired life with his wife, his business, sport, and his silent books (he was a great reader), and had never been worried or annoyed. His wife's brother took charge of the business, which was a flourishing one, and his wife took charge of the house, where all flourished too. Everything was managed without fear or disturbance, and exactly as was proper, until the wife died. But afterward!

At first neither he himself nor any of the others could realize the unexpected change that had come over him. Some people thought that the loss of his wife had made him mad; he himself thought that the air of Spain was too warm; he was anxious to leave, and longed for home. The head of the firm agreed at once. It would be a capital speculation to move the principal house of business to Norway and just have a branch house in Spain. And so they left--now about a year ago.

But it was the boy who, when they were still in Spain, had been the cause of his father's first losing command of himself, and indeed the second time too, and unfortunately also the third, fourth, fifth, sixth time; it was always the boy. And the same thing, too, when they had moved to Norway. Hot or cold climate, the boy was equally troublesome.

Soon there began to come complaints about him over from the school, then from the apothecary, who was an old friend of Kallem's, and in whose house they had lodgings; then from the courtyard, from the neighbours, and from the wharf. But possibly other parents also heard complaints about their sons, and perhaps people in this part of the world were more given to complaining; of course Kallem could know nothing about that, for he was a solitary man. But he knew that his son was the cleverest lad in all the school; one master after the other came and assured him of that; he knew that nothing was lacking in the boy, neither heart nor will; but he was peculiar, indifferent to all, and yet liked meddling in matters that did not concern him. He was both brave and cowardly, a shameful tease, and altogether hopelessly naughty. He would have tried the patience of an angel from heaven, to say nothing of Kallem, who was entirely without that virtue.

This thin, slippery customer, limping on in front of him with frightened side-glances at both horse and whip, had spoilt the peace of his father's life. Not only had he made him feel inwardly so unsafe and uncertain, but at times his want of power became perfect helplessness, and on those occasions he longed to beat the boy to smithereens.

He would send for him and try both threats and entreaties. Last night, the night of the storm, he had kept guard over him and used all his powers of persuasion trying to talk the boy out of his shameful fright, scolded him and tried to make it clear to him by all manner of natural history proofs that the prophecy about the end of the world was all a lie, an invention. The boy answered, yes, and indeed, but did not believe a word his father said! As soon as the storm broke he was like one crazy, out and away in the most abject state of fear.

And here he is now to-day, out on the open high road, a mile from the town, in rain, storm, and wind, and of course without permission. First he goes and ill-treats the best lad in the school, a little fellow whom Kallem was really fond of and had helped with a few pence now and then for his little mission, which he heard of from Josephine; and then on the top of that----

"Look at him!" said he, to himself. "Deuce take the boy, if he isn't laughing!" but he pretended not to see it.

What was that? Why, the horse behind him with "What the devil" on its back, and the whip, and the heavy tramp, tramp in the snow and slush. Sop-sop, sop-sop, sop-sop, sop-sop; all this grew and grew and got larger and larger, until it became a huge monster all twisted and shapeless.... Hurriedly the boy began thinking of other things. He threw himself into the coal-mine in England that had been inundated, and tried to conjure up before him the horse that had neighed so piteously after the escaping miner lad. But no, he could not force himself into the mine; there was nothing but the high road and "sop-sop, sop-sop," and "What the devil" and his whip, and he himself in front limping along with one leg and a half, he, he--e--e!

A shrill "Hey!" came from behind. The sound seemed to creep down the boy's back like a sharp piece of ice.

Presently Store Tuft came in sight. It lay just below the hill they were going down. There were many outhouses, most of them in a square round the farmyard; a stream rushed noisily by on the other side where the corn and saw-mills lay; the islands outside and the two arms of land on either side shut in the bay so completely that the water there was as still and quiet as a millpond, with ice in the corners; there was a row of boathouses side by side along the bay; there were fruit-gardens, too, most of them a good size.

The smoke rose up from the house-chimney at Store Tuft--at last! Ole's mother must be cooking dinner for him! And hunger, grief, and longing came over the boy, and the thought of a warm room and dry clothes, and the remembrance of his own mother and of their home in Spain nearly made him cry again; but then he thought that his father would say: "Devil take him! Now he's crying again!" so he controlled himself.

He looked toward the farm with fear and trembling.

The house lay with its longest side out to the garden; it was a two-storied wooden house, painted red, with white window-sills. They turned up the road, the boy still in front, the father after him.

Passing the short end of the house they came into the yard; on the other side of that lay cow-house and stable, under the same roof; these buildings were quite new, and lay at right angles with the barn, wood-house, and other buildings in the middle. A herd of goats stood in this corner munching leaves, and surrounded by an incredible number of sparrows. The whole party were collected together just outside the barn.

The goats caught sight of the newcomers; they lifted their heads and stretched out their necks all at the same moment, their eyes wide open, ears standing up stiff, with the last bite immovable in their mouths, inquisitive to the last degree. The billy-goat only kept on munching as he looked at them, lazily satisfied. The flock of sparrows flew away with a whirr.

Between the cattle-stable and the short end of the dwelling-house, the father stopped and dismounted. The boy was already inside the yard, and stood staring at the barn roof, which was broken up and being renewed, but there were no workmen to be seen; probably they had gone off to the herring fishery; the ladder still stood on the scaffolding, leaning upward.

"Stop!" shouted the father, and the boy stopped and turned round; his father was tying up his old hack to one of the grinding stones which stood up against this short end of the dwelling-house; the lad stood and looked on.

"Wonderful, how quiet he is now," thought the father, as he came forward and pointed with his whip. The boy was to walk in front of him up to the broad stone step at the entrance in the middle of the house. And he did so. Past a sledge with railed-in seat that was standing there; he discovered two kittens playing with each other through the railing, the one inside, the other outside. The windows they went past were so low that they could see right through the little room which had windows on the other side, and through that again into the other room. There sat Ole in a huge shirt that reached down to his feet, in front of the hearth with his legs up; his mother stood beside him, bending over some pots and pans. Edward had not time to see more; he stepped over the stone and into the passage, where he was met by a strong smell of fish, both old and new; also a smell of something else which he could not at first make out. The father pointed on to the right; to the left, too, there was a door, grandly painted and with a brass handle, and he was not meant to go there. No, thought the boy, I knew that much, too, that we were to go where there are people, and not into the cold guest room. He put his swollen fingers on the latch and lifted it.

The fireplace was in the corner to the left, close by the door, and one can fancy how the two in there opened their eyes! To such an extent that curly-lock's head stretched up out of his father's wide blue linen shirt. The mother was tall and had a delicate face; she wore a black cap; her fair hair was puffed out down her cheeks and made her face seem long. She turned from her pots and pans toward the two arrivals, whom she knew both. It was a grave but friendly face. She seemed afraid and uncertain. Just at first she did not let her eyes rest on either of them. Ole's boots stood by the fireside; but his clothes, shirt, and stockings were hung up to dry above on some of the many poles that reached across from beam to beam. On the other poles were bundles of wood and various things put up to dry. Dishes and cups stood about just as usual on a weekday.

The room was not painted but wainscoted; on each side under the windows there were red-painted benches. In the corner to the left, at the other side of the window, stood a table with a bookcase above; at the end of the table, just by the door into the smaller room, hung the clock. It ticked as evenly and cheerily as if there had never before been anything but peace in that room. Outside he saw the kittens in the sledge, the one inside sticking its paw out through the railing, and the outside one pushing its paw in; and then he saw Ole's face just in front of him. He was smiling, was Ole, and it was because he too was afraid. But those pots and pans! Hungry and tired as Edward was, the pots seemed to him the best part of it all. There were potatoes in the one which stood down, quite ready; but two pots still hung over the fire; could it be fish in one of them? But in the other?

The mother hesitated, not knowing what to do; for they remained standing there, the angry looking man and the boy. At last just as she was going to ask them to sit down, or something similar, the father began. He presumed that she knew now what had happened, hey? The boy had come to beg pardon and to receive his punishment; it was quite necessary, for he was a bad boy and nothing but punishing did him any good; kindness was utterly wasted on him.

"Oh, must it be?" said the mother, mildly. She was quite frightened, and Ole turned a bluish-white, like the shirt he had on.

"Yes, he must have a beating! Beg pardon first. Sharp's the word?"

Ole began to cry, not so Edward. Ole could not sit still; he got up, he looked at his mother: "Mother, dear!" said he. He could not get out another word; but his meaning was evident, his mother was to make peace between them.

"Beg pardon!" shouted the father, and the whip became restless.

"But, mother dear!" shrieked Ole.

Then Edward had to come forward. Ole turned away; he could not look on any longer, he was not used to that sort of thing. Edward dived and ducked, his father after him with clanking spurs. In his fright Edward rushed to Ole's mother with outstretched hand; she did not take it, but Ole began to yell. So much sympathy was too much for poor Edward; he too began to roar, as he dashed round and round the mother. There was such a hubbub and noise that again the goats stopped their munching and stared in, listening; the sparrows too, which had come back, flew away over the roof.

And what happened? The sparrows showed the boy the way. Quick as lightning, he flew past his father and out at the door, which he left wide open behind him. They saw the goats fly on all sides, and the boy into the scaffolding, up the ladder, and on to the roof. Directly he got there he began to pull the ladder up after him.

"Look at him! Look at him!" screamed his father from the window. "Hey!" and away he rushed.

As soon as his son saw him coming he dropped the ladder which fell thundering down. Like a cat the lad ran up the rafters to the ridge of the roof and along that, balancing himself as though he had never done anything else all his life. He thought no more of his aching feet.

His father was in great alarm: "Take care, I say, take care there, take care! Come away from there, and at once! Come down, you young wretch!" He ran out into the yard in his long riding-boots and threatened him with the whip.

"I think I see myself! I shall jump right down into the yard!"

"Mad boy! Devil take him! Will you come down?"

"Yes if you'll not beat me!"

"I won't promise."

"Oh, you won't promise?" and away crept the boy farther out along the ridge.

"Yes, yes! O you wretch! O you coward!"

"Well, have you promised?"

"Devil take your promising. Come down, can't you!"

"And you won't pull my hair either?"

"Down with you! You'll only fall up there!"

"You won't pull my hair and won't beat me, and won't do anything?"

"No, no, no! But come down directly! Look, now you're slipping! Edward, do you hear?" shouted he.

"Well, will you keep to what you promise?"

"Oh! what don't you deserve!" and he threatened up with his whip. "Yes, yes, I promise! But take care!"

But the boy went on: "May I stay here till tomorrow with Ole? May I?"

"I won't answer anything till you come down."

"Oh, you won't? all right!"

"Oh you scoundrel; oh, you miserable rascal!"

"Do you agree, then?"

"Yes, deuce take you! But get away from the outer edge at least! Devil take the boy!"

"I say, it might be just as well if you went away first father."

"Not I; you'll not get me to do that. Never. I must see you down first."

The boy thought this just as well. His father put up the ladder and slowly the lad came down; but not until his father had gone a little way back into the yard. And he kept his distance, although his father wished to speak to him and assured him he would not harm him. Neither would he go into the house as long as his father stayed there; but being wet through, obliged his father to go away.

Five or six minutes after both lads lay kicking on the floor, Edward in just as big a shirt as Ole's and equally naked otherwise; they were both going to put on a pair of thick woollen stockings, of the kind the peasants use that come well up over the thighs. They had thought it easier to try and put them on sitting on the floor, which was strewn with sand. There they pushed each other over and laughed as though many days had gone by since that happened which we have just witnessed. Everything Edward did Ole did after him; they laughed until at last the quiet, gentle mother was obliged to laugh too; there was no end to all that Edward hit upon. They were to put on those long stockings so that they might sit at table and eat their dinner without feeling too cold; at table there was no fireplace for their legs. And at last they were so far ready they got them on. And then was disclosed the contents of the other pot; it was cream porridge. Edward had never tasted that before. Ole was to be coaxed into better spirits than he was in when he arrived, therefore his mother had made that porridge for him. Edward applauded loudly and greeted the food with laughter.

But all at once Ole sat quite solemn and quiet. What now? Hands folded, eyes cast down? The mother stood before them; she too was serious with folded hands and cast-down eyes. Her face was bent down, it seemed to be vanishing gradually farther and farther, or rather it was as if shutters were put up before and all light in it extinguished. And then she began, as though from afar, a long, long grace, in a low monotonous voice, as if she were talking quietly with someone but at some other place. Edward felt himself out of it all. His loneliness and fright came back again, the old recollections and the old longing for his mother. Then it passed away, pushed back like a shutter; it all vanished behind the hill.

Edward had never before been present when grace was said at meals, and her manner and ways were so altogether new to him, and he did not understand her and her mumbling. He sat very quiet for some time after. Ole did not speak either; all the time while they were dining he was very silent and hardly even smiled. Food was God's gift; a certain solemnity was therefore necessary.

But what a serious matter their eating was! The mother asked them at last if they did not think it would be best to keep a little till the evening? No, they said, this was dinner and supper in one. They were to sleep together in the servant's room, which was used as a spare room; the fire had been lighted there, and now they would sit by the fireside for an hour or so and then go to bed.

The mother saw they would rather be alone, so she left them.

Then afterward when they were in the bedroom! At first the most terrific row; the bed-clothes and featherbeds flew about them; then they grew calmer after each attack, and at last they began to talk. Ole told how the boys had treated him and Edward promised that he would give that boy such a thrashing--yes, even if it were Anders Hegge himself--if he would not hold his tongue about the "ways of God," and all that, Edward would give him a proper kind of beating. Anders Hegge was a coward. He knew who he would get to help him; they would have such fun!

As they grew more tired they became sentimental. Ole spoke of Josephine and Edward joined in and assured him that she had behaved splendidly that day. He described her as she came rowing out in search of him. Ole thought this grand. Certainly there was something great about Josephine; they both agreed as to that.

Edward could not understand why Ole should wish to be a missionary? Why on earth was it such an excellent thing to go off on wild adventures when one had enough to do here at home? Ole should be a clergyman and he would be a doctor, and they would both live together in the same town; would not that be much nicer?

And Edward went on drawing pictures of their future life. They were to live next door to each other and be often together; in the evenings particularly, with their glass of punch, just as his father and the apothecary were and play chess together as those two did. And they would have a carriage for high days and holidays, and each harness his own horse to it and drive out together; it would be more sociable like that. Or else they would live by the sea-side and have a big boat between them; everything must be between them.

In Ole's fancy Josephine was to be always with them, though Edward did not actually say as much. But it was clear that she was to be with them. And Ole thought this showed so much tact on Edward's part and was very grateful to him; indeed it quite decided him. Josephine was to be the clergyman's wife and manage everything in the house.

At last he agreed to all; it was decided that one was to be a clergyman and the other a doctor, and they were to live together. The last thing they talked about was their fishing expeditions.

They heard sounds of tramping and talking; it was the men coming home from the herring-fishing. But they were very tired and soon fell asleep.