"I should just think they did. Anders Berg is a capital fellow; he's going to set up for himself in Svelvig soon, and get married."
"And were the others engaged, too?"
"Pshaw!"
"Well?"
"Pooh!"
"What's the matter with you? Can't you tell me?"
"Why, it's nothing—only nonsense! There's not one of them that'll make a smith's wife—creatures that have larks now with one fellow and now with another?"
"And did you dance?"
"Oh, the 'prentices have only to run after beer; but when I'm a journeyman—but, Silla, the time—we must hurry!" he broke off suddenly.
"Oh, it's not late yet. One more nice one with jam—do go in and buy it! Oh, do, Nikolai!" she begged, and as he ran in to get what she wanted, she called after him: