Olof strode down the slope with easy step, his heart swelling with joy.
Down on the shore below the rapids stood a group of men, young fellows from the village, who came down at times to earn a little extra by keeping watch over the timber at night.
Olof cast his eyes over the group, and his pleasant feeling of contentment vanished. He felt himself weighed down as by a burden. But a little while since, he had lifted the heavy beam they had set against the door of a girl's room, and carried it back to the barn, the weight seeming as nothing to him in his gladness. But now….
"A single word, a look, would be enough. But if they just go on as if nothing had happened—what can I do?"
A dark flush burned in his cheeks as he approached the group; he glanced about him guardedly under his brows.
The men made no sign.
Olof picked up his pole from the grass, and began slowly wiping off the dew, eyeing the men watchfully as he did so.
They stood about, apparently unconcerned.
He bit his lips. Was he to let it pass off like this?
He walked past them, with a burning glance.