Gunnar thought that he would have no men to help him, and Sigrid said, "Oh no, we want no others. With you to help all will go well."
"You trust me, I see," said Gunnar, and Sigrid looked at him with friendly eyes.
"How should I not? Are you not the trustiest of men?"
"If you were not so kind to me," he told her, "perhaps I should not be so trusty. And it may be that we should both be the better for it. But I have a soft heart, and you have found that out."
"I know nothing for your heart," she said. "That is the last thing that I know about you."
"So be it," said Gunnar. "Now tell me what you wish to be at with this wonderful affair."
It did not suit her very well just then to be talking of the wagon, so she crossed her knee and clasped it with her hands. "The heart of a man is like the snow just now, I think. It is quickly melted where the sun strikes it or the rain falls upon it. It is easy to make a dint in it. But below that there is ice. In small matters a man will be kind enough; but there may be great matters which may break themselves to pieces against him before he will be moved."
Gunnar made no answer, but busied himself examining the wagon. He broke a bubble of paint with his thumb, and said, "Look at that now. There's bad workmanship for you."
"It is exactly the contrary with women," said Sigrid. "A girl's heart is like a spring which is guarded by overhanging snow and a thin film of ice. The first thaw breaks that through, and the water wells up warm. But the film, while it remains there, is respectable; for it denotes that the spring beneath is to be guarded from defiling hands."