He was stalking about the room now, with his hands in his pockets, whistling.
“But what is it, Peer?”
“Why, you see, I was standing there chopping wood. And all the time swarms of mowing machines—nine million of them—were going in my head, all with the grass sticking fast to the shears and clogging them up. I was in a cold sweat—I felt myself going straight to hell—and then, in a flash—a flash of steel—it came to me. It means salvation for us, Merle, salvation.”
“Oh, do talk so that I can understand a little of what you’re saying.”
“Why, don’t you see—all that’s wanted is a small movable steel brush above the shears, to flick away the grass and keep them clear. Hang it all, a child could see it. By Jove, little woman, it’ll soon be changed times with us now.”
Merle laid her work down in her lap and let her hands fall. If this were true!
“I’ll have the machine up here, Merle. Making the brushes and fixing them on will be no trouble at all—I can do it in a day in the smithy here.”
“What—you had better try! You’re just beginning to get a little better, and you want to spoil it all again!”
“I shall never get well, Merle, as long as I have that infernal machine in my head balancing between world-success and fiasco. It presses on my brain like a leaden weight, I shall never have a decent night’s sleep till I get rid of it. Oh, my great God—if times were to change some day—even for us! Well! Do you think I wouldn’t get well when that day came!”
This time she let him take her in his arms. But when he had gone, she sat still, watching the sun sink behind the snow-ranges, till her eyes grew dim and her breath came heavily.