He stood a moment amazed, then, remembering the many similar conversations leading only to the same end, he shook his head, turned his back and went.
He vented his wrath on the men, abused the girls, beat the great dog, and nearly frightened the life out of a little hen that had strayed in the field, but to Marit he said nothing.
That evening Marit was so happy when she went up stairs to bed, that she opened her window, looked out, and sang. She had got a fine little book from Ovind, and in it was a fine little love song,--this she sang:--
Do you love me true,
E'en as I love you,
All the livelong happy day;--
The summer quickly flies,
The leaf and blossom dies,
But to come again we say.
What you said before,
Comes to me o'er and o'er,
Like a small bird in a tree,--