As they were thus assembled together one day, and Magda stood at the window, the little one said,—
"There goes a man into your house, Magnhild: he is lame."
Magnhild sprang up, very red.
"What is it?" asked Fru Bang, who was lying on the sofa with a headache, and had been talking in a whisper with Tande.
"Oh! it is"—Magnhild was searching for her hat; she found it and withdrew. From the open window she heard the child say: "A lame, ugly man, who"—
Skarlie was working this year on the sea-coast. A foreign ship had been wrecked there Skarlie and some men in Bergen had bought it; for they could repair it at a much less outlay than had originally been estimated. They had made an uncommonly good bargain. Skarlie supervised the carpentering, painting, and leather work of refitting the vessel. He had come home now after a fresh supply of provisions for the workmen.
His surprise on entering his house was not small. Everything in order! And the room filled with a pleasant perfume. Magnhild came—it was a lady who stood before him. Her whole countenance was changed. It had opened out like a flower, and the soft, fair hair floating about neck and drooping shoulders threw a lustre over head and form. She paused on the threshold, her hand on the door-knob. Skarlie had seated himself in the broad chair in the corner, and was wiping the perspiration from his bald head. As soon as his first astonishment was over, he said: "Good-day!"
No reply. But Magnhild came in now, and closed the door after her.
"How fine it looks here," said he. "Is it your lodger"—
He puckered up his lips, his eyes grew small. Magnhild looked at him coldly. He continued more good-naturedly,—