Arne put down his saw and went into the kitchen; there white sand was spread on the floor, and finely cut juniper leaves strewed over it; on the walls glittered copper kettles, and crockery stood in rows. They were cooking dinner. Arne asked to speak with Baard. "Go into the sitting-room," some one said, pointing to the door. He went; there was no latch to the door, but a brass handle; it was cheerful in there, and brightly painted, the ceiling was decorated with many roses, the cupboards were red, with the owner's name in black, the bed-stead was also red, but bordered with blue stripes. By the stove sat a broad-shouldered man, with a mild face, and long, yellow hair; he was putting hoops about some pails; by the long table sat a tall, slender woman, with a high linen cap on her head, and dressed in tight-fitting clothes; she was sorting corn into two heaps. Besides these there were no others in the room.
"Good day, and bless the work!" said Arne, drawing off his hat. Both looked up; the man smiled, and asked who it was.
"It is he who is to do carpentering."
The man smiled more, and said, as he nodded his head and began his work again,—
"Well, then, it is Arne Kampen!"
"Arne Kampen?" cried the wife, and stared fixedly before her.
The man looked up hastily, and smiled again. "The son of tailor Nils," he said, and went on once more with his work.
After a while, the wife got up, crossed the floor to the shelf, turned, went to the cupboard, turned again, and as she at last was rummaging in a table drawer, she asked, without looking up,—
"Is he to work here?"
"Yes, that he is," said the man, also without looking up. "It seems no one has asked you to sit down," he observed, addressing himself to Arne.