Arne was a very handy man and was now making Kristin a sewing-chair as a keepsake. He had covered both the box and the frame of the chair with fair, rich carving, and was now busy in the smithy on iron bands and lock for it. On a fine evening well on in summer Kristin had gone down to him. She had taken with her a jacket of her father’s she had to mend, and sat upon the stone threshold sewing while she chatted with the youth in the smithy. Ulvhild was with her; she hopped about upon her crutch, eating the raspberries which grew among the heaps of stone around the field.
After a while Arne came to the smithy door to cool himself. He made as though to seat himself beside Kristin, but she moved a little away and bade him have a care not to dirty the sewing she had upon her knee.
“Is it come to this between us,” said Arne, “that you dare not let me sit by you for fear the peasant boy should soil you?”
Kristin looked at him in wonder, and answered:
“You know well enough what I meant. But take your apron off, wash the charcoal from your hands and sit down a little and rest you here by me—” and she made room for him.
But Arne laid himself in the grass in front of her; then she said again:
“Nay, be not angry, my Arne. Can you think I could be unthankful for the brave gift you are making me, or ever forget you have been my best friend at home here all my days?”
“Have I been that?” he asked.
“You know it well,” said Kristin. “And never will I forget you. But you, who are to go out into the world—maybe you will gain wealth and honor or ever you think—you will like enough forget me, long before I forget you—”
“You will never forget me?” said Arne, smiling. “And I will forget you ere you forget me?—you are naught but a child, Kristin.”