KERSTI. That remains to be seen.
MATS. And what have we to eat, dear.
KERSTI. Nothing at all, Mats.
MATS. Then there is nothing left but to smoke.
They seat themselves on two small, three-legged stools and we flint and steel to light their pipes.
MATS. [When they have smoked a while in silence] What was that you said about the hunt just now?
KERSTI. I haven't the heart to tell, Mats. I haven't the heart since I guessed what folk they were.
MATS. Better not, maybe!... Look at the cradle—going as if it could rock itself.
KERSTI. That's the wind, Mats; the wind in the birches.
MATS. But there is no wind in the spruces over there.