Einar inclined his head, and the old man continued:
“And if that’s what you’ve come home about, you’ll have to keep to me.”
“Very well, father.”
“So that is what you’ve come for?”
“Yes, father,” said Einar in a low voice.
The old man compressed his lips, but he moved towards the door, saying: “Well, let’s first go in and have dinner.” Einar followed in a shamefaced way, as if he were a naughty boy. He was old enough to see his father’s faults, but he had a very great respect for him.
“Then mother knows nothing,” he thought. “And if father is so afraid of its coming to her ears——” He dared not think it out.
The old man was quiet, almost cheerful, during dinner; but Einar noticed how pale he was. His mother seemed to have grown greyer lately, and he felt an involuntary desire to spare her; she had such complete faith in their cause.
He felt more and more drawn into the home atmosphere. He asked for news from the district, and had to tell his news from town. He had his old place at table, and was the son just returned home, to whom every one showed the most friendly face. Little Knut came creeping under the table several times, and up between his knees. Everything combined to draw him into something beautiful and soft, where he felt he must surrender; but all the time a good instinct seemed to be shaking him. “Take care!” it said, “take care! Don’t let your good feelings play you a trick!”
“Now, little Knut,” said the little boy’s mother, “you mustn’t worry uncle.”