"Kille bukken, kille bukken, kille bukken! lammet mit!" with a final flourish which would have made a real prima donna ill for a week from jealousy.
"Mette has got a temperament," said Knutty, still smiling. "Thank Heaven for that! Anything is better than your dead-alivers, your decaying vegetable world. No disrespect to you, kjaere, for you look particularly alive this evening; a nice flush on your face—whether anger or joy, no matter—the effect is the same—life."
"Ejnar and I have found some dwarf-birch," said Gerda, pointing to her green wallet.
"Ah, that is certainly a life-giving discovery," remarked Knutty.
"We've had a lovely afternoon together," continued Gerda, "and we've discussed 'Salix' to our hearts' content."
"Ah," said Knutty, "no wonder you look so animated."
"But just by the group of mountain-ashes we met Fröken Frensham," said Gerda, "and Ejnar left me. And I was angry. But as she had the Sorenskriver and your Englishman with her, I didn't mind so much. Oh, it isn't her fault. She doesn't encourage him; and she cannot help being attractive. But Ejnar——"
"Why, my child," said Knutty, "who ever heard of a live woman being jealous, generous, and just? You can't possibly be an animal—nor even a vegetable—you must be a mineral. I have it—gold!"
"Tante," said Gerda, "wait until you have a husband, and then you won't laugh."