Egholm was in his seat. The train was ready to start.
“I’ll tell you where he is,” said Egholm, with a smile. “He’s on his way to America by now. I said good-bye to him last night.”
Young Karlsen was not used to being made a fool of. He collapsed as the train moved off; he waved a clenched fist furiously after it, and shouted. Then, turning to go, he discovered Sivert.
“What are you grinning at, you young devil?”
“He’s forgotten his bag,” said Sivert, shaking his white mop of hair with a satisfied smile.
But Karlsen found poor comfort in that.
VIII
Sivert stood in the smithy, trembling in every limb each time the hammer clanged on the iron plate. His mother had just gone, and he was alone. The hammer crashed like thunder, and he expected every moment to be struck by lightning.