Then mine host proposed a song, in which all joined, even the jailer, who held second voice and tooted like a clarinet.
After that, in spite of some objection, the ship’s-joiner rose, and, supporting himself by his neighbors’ shoulders, began, with tears in his eyes:
“Good friends and hearers, we are all that, I think—”
“Yes, yes,” they answered.
“We will now—something must be said to them before they leave father and mother—I mean before they leave the circle of these kind friends—”
“They don’t go until to-morrow,” said mine host.
“No,” said Björn, banging the table with his fist.
“He’s right,” said Niels, coming in just then. “The wind is fresh from the south, Björn.”
“I know,” said Björn, getting up.
“Hush!” whispered the innkeeper. “Let the joiner finish his speech.”