“Little Knut has not been very well,” answered Ingeborg, “but he is better now.” At these words, Einar seemed to see the little fatherless boy looking at him and asking: “Are you really going to be unkind to grandfather?”
A little later Ingeborg told him that a young horse had been found dead in its stable the morning before. Einar felt for his father’s loss, and seemed to be standing at his side and looking at the stable where the horses were stamping. And he thought how the beautiful creatures would turn their heads in their stalls and whinny their recognition of him, as if they too would say: “Are you really going to!” For he kept in mind all the time that he would have to go through it all.
As they turned up the avenue and approached the house, he asked himself again: “Am I really going to?” It began to seem dreadful.
When they turned into the yard, their father and mother stood upon the steps, as they always did when he came home.
“How do you do, father? How do you do, mother?” he cried; but the words sounded like treachery to-day.
“Come into my office; I want to tell you something,” said his father, when Einar had taken off his coat in the passage.
“But you must come in soon and have something to eat,” said his mother. “It’s all ready.”
When they entered the office, Norby turned round at the writing-table, and said, with his hands behind his back and his legs astride:
“I only want to tell you that your mother knows nothing about your letter.”