Enter Kari and Arnes. They are weather-beaten, bareheaded, dressed in knitted jerkins and knitted knee-breeches. Their feet are bare in their shoes. Both have ram's horns hanging at their side. Kari carries a swan, Arnes a bunch of ptarmigans, some faggots, and a few tufts of bearberry.
Kari (looking into the hut). Halla! No, she is not here.
Arnes. She may have gone for water.
Kari (lays down the swan). It is quite heavy.
Arnes. You might have let me carry it. I had not tired myself with running.
Kari. As I had caught it, I wanted to carry it. (Smiles.) The old pride, you see.
Arnes. The honor would have been yours just the same.
Kari. This is the first swan this fall. (Stroking it fondly.) I am glad the feathers didn't get blood-stained.
Arnes. It would be lonesome up here if we were only two.
Kari. Indeed it would, but you have tried the loneliness before. Was it not two years you had been alone before you met us?