He was vexed that it was only this old man who had frightened him and made him hasten his dressing.
“What do you want?” he asked, sitting down before his writing-table.
To his great astonishment the old man came close up to him and seated himself so that he could look Norby straight in the face.
“It’s a hard task I have to-day,” began the old man.
“Indeed?” said Norby impatiently.
“I’ve come to ask you, sir”—he stopped to cough—“whether you’ve laid this matter with Wangen before the Lord.”
Norby stared. He leant back in his chair and stared still more; and wretched as he felt, he could not help bursting out laughing. He thought, as he had so often done, that it was his father who sat there listening to this. And to think that one of his small tenants, an old clod, whom he kept alive up on the hill out of kindness, that he should come here and want to interfere in a matter that concerned only himself and Providence! No, that was too much! And Norby laughed. It was like an avalanche falling, and he shouted and could not stop, until the floor shook under him. Finally he did not know whether to give this poor fellow a krone, or kick him out of the room.
“And what then?” he at last managed to ask, trying to be serious.
The old cottager placed his hands upon his stick which he held between his knees, and continued calmly:
“I want to rest quiet in my coffin; but I’d rather not go and witness against you, sir.”