A melancholy weariness and rest comes over me. I feel miserable and alone. It is late; my heart has had its day....
Through the white mist comes a leaping figure; it is Ragnhild coming up from among the bushes, running with her tongue thrust out.
The engineer came up to me, nodded Godmorgen, and asked me to mend the summer-house door.
“Is it broken again?”
“Yes, it got broken last night.”
It was early for him to be about—no more than halfpast four; we farm-hands had not yet started for the fields. His eyes showed small and glittering, as if they burned; likely enough he had not slept all night. But he said nothing as to how the door had got broken.
Not for any thought of him, but for Captain Falkenberg's sake, I went down at once to the summer-house and mended the door once again. No need for such haste, maybe; the Captain had a long drive there and back, but it was close on twenty-four hours now since he started.
The engineer came down with me. Without in the least perceiving how it came about, I found myself thinking well of him; he had broken open that door last night—quite so, but he was not the man to sneak out of it after. He and no one other it was who had it mended. Eh, well, perhaps after all 'twas only my vanity was pleased. I felt flattered at his trusting to my silence. That was it. That was how I came to think well of him.
“I'm in charge of some timber-rafting on the rivers,” he said. “How long are you staying here?”