Arne was quite startled, and answered "Yes," as though he scarcely knew what he was saying. No sooner had the messenger gone than the mother said,
"You may well be astonished! From Böen?"
"Is that so strange?" asked Arne, but did not look at her as he spoke.
"From Böen?" cried the mother, once more.
"Well, why not as well from there as from another gard?" Arne now looked up a little.
"From Böen and Birgit Böen! Baard, who gave your father the blow that was his ruin, and that for Birgit Böen's sake!"
"What do you say?" now cried the youth. "Was that Baard Böen?"
Son and mother stood and looked at each other. Between the two a whole life was unfolded, and this was a moment wherein they could see the black thread which all along had been woven through it. They fell later to talking about the father's proud days, when old Eli Böen herself had courted him for her daughter Birgit, and got a refusal. They went through his whole life just as far as where he was knocked down, and both found out that Baard's fault had been the least. Nevertheless, it was he who had given the father that fatal blow,—he it was.
"Am I not yet done with father?" then thought Arne, and decided at the same moment to go.
When Arne came walking, with the hand-saw on his shoulder, over the ice and up toward Böen, it seemed to him a pretty gard. The house always looked as though it were newly painted; he was a little chilled, and that was perhaps why it seemed so cozy to him. He did not go directly in, but went beyond toward the stable, where a flock of shaggy goats were standing in the snow, gnawing at the bark of some fir branches. A shepherd dog walked to and fro on the barn-bridge, and barked as though the devil himself was coming to the gard; but the moment Arne stood still, he wagged his tail and let him pat him. The kitchen door on the farther side of the house was often opened, and Arne looked down there each time; but it was either the dairy-maid, with tubs and pails, or the cook, who was throwing something out to the goats. Inside the barn they were threshing with frequent strokes, and to the left, in front of the wood-shed, stood a boy chopping wood; behind him there were many layers of wood piled up.