A five-Kroner note.
Well, perhaps it was barely enough; I felt in my pocket for some more.
“No, mother, it was a ten-Kroner,” said Petter. “And that's too much; you'll have to give him something back.”
The old woman opens her hand, looks at the note, and turns so very surprised all at once.
“Why, so it is, ten Kroner, yes.... I didn't properly look. Why, then, 'tis right enough, and many thanks....”
Her husband, in embarrassment, starts talking to the two lads of what he'd been reading in the paper; nasty accident; hand crushed in a threshing-machine. The girls pretended not to notice me, but sat like two cats all the time, with necks drawn in and eyes as thin as knife blades. Nothing to stay for here—good-bye to them all.
The old woman comes out in the passage and tries making up to me.
“If only you'd lend us just one of those bottles now,” she says, “'twould be a real kindness, that it would. With the two lads sitting there and all.”
“Farvel,” said I shortly, and would hear no more.
I had my sack over my shoulder, and the sewing-machine in one hand; it was a heavy load, and the muddy road made things no easier. But for all that I walked with a light heart. It was a miserable business altogether, and I might as well admit I had acted a trifle meanly. Meanly? Not a bit! I formed myself into a little committee, and pointed out that those infernal girls had planned to entertain their sweethearts with my wine. Well and good; but was not my ill-will towards that idea male selfishness on my part? If two strange girls had been invited, instead of two young men, should I not have uncorked the wine without a murmur? Certainly! And then as to their calling me an old fellow; after all, it was perfectly right. Old indeed I must be, since I took offence at being set aside in favour of stray plough-boys....