(Sveinungi locks the drying-shed and looks into the storehouse, pretending to be very busy.)
Enter Ljot from the house.
Ljot. Here I am, father.
Sveinungi. I did not hear you. (Smiles.) You step as lightly as a young foal. You are not hurt at what I said a moment ago? It was only for your own good. I won't have any shiftless straggler around here making eyes at you. The parish can gossip about something else. (Ljot goes to the fence, resting her hands on it.) But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about. (Goes to her.) You know Arne, the farmer at Skrida. You have seen his son Halfdan. What do you think of him?
Ljot. I have seen him only a few times.
Sveinungi. There are two brothers. The older one is married and is going to take the farm, but Halfdan is most like his father. You should see the way their place is kept. Their yard is nearly as big as this, and there are long stretches where the grass stands so high that it falls over. It's as fine a sight as I have ever seen. We stopped there, Jorunn and I, for a full hour, on our way back from town, and there was no lack of welcome. Can you guess what we talked about?
Ljot. No.
Sveinungi (laughs). You can't? Arne asked me whether I would have his son Halfdan for a son-in-law.
Ljot. And what did you say?
Sveinungi. I said I had nothing against it—quite the contrary. I should be content if you had a husband like him, and we are getting old, your mother and I. We don't know when death may strike us. It may come at any time, and I should like to see the man who is to take my place when I am gone.