By way of saying something, I asked about young Erik. He had been thrown by a runaway horse and badly hurt....
“He's better now,” said Frøkenen shortly.—“Are you ready to go on again, Lovise?”
“Yes, indeed. Can we start?”
“Whenever you please,” I answered.
And we drove on again.
The hours pass, the sun draws lower down the sky, and it is cooler—a chill in the air; then later wind and wet, half rain, half snow. We passed the annexe church, a couple of wayside stores, and farm after farm.
Then came a knocking on the window of the carriage.
“Wasn't it here you went riding one night on borrowed horses?” said Frøkenen laughingly. “Oh, we know all about it, never fear!”
And both the ladies were highly amused.
I answered on a sudden thought: