Part 12 (1/2)

”You may well be astonished! From Boen?”

”Is that so strange?” asked Arne, but did not look at her as he spoke.

”From Boen?” cried the mother, once more.

”Well, why not as well from there as from another gard?” Arne now looked up a little.

”From Boen and Birgit Boen! Baard, who gave your father the blow that was his ruin, and that for Birgit Boen's sake!”

”What do you say?” now cried the youth. ”Was that Baard Boen?”

Son and mother stood and looked at each other. Between the two a whole life was unfolded, and this was a moment wherein they could see the black thread which all along had been woven through it. They fell later to talking about the father's proud days, when old Eli Boen herself had courted him for her daughter Birgit, and got a refusal. They went through his whole life just as far as where he was knocked down, and both found out that Baard's fault had been the least. Nevertheless, it was he who had given the father that fatal blow,--he it was.

”Am I not yet done with father?” then thought Arne, and decided at the same moment to go.

When Arne came walking, with the hand-saw on his shoulder, over the ice and up toward Boen, it seemed to him a pretty gard. The house always looked as though it were newly painted; he was a little chilled, and that was perhaps why it seemed so cozy to him. He did not go directly in, but went beyond toward the stable, where a flock of s.h.a.ggy goats were standing in the snow, gnawing at the bark of some fir branches. A shepherd dog walked to and fro on the barn-bridge, and barked as though the devil himself was coming to the gard; but the moment Arne stood still, he wagged his tail and let him pat him. The kitchen door on the farther side of the house was often opened, and Arne looked down there each time; but it was either the dairy-maid, with tubs and pails, or the cook, who was throwing something out to the goats. Inside the barn they were thres.h.i.+ng with frequent strokes, and to the left, in front of the wood-shed, stood a boy chopping wood; behind him there were many layers of wood piled up.

Arne put down his saw and went into the kitchen; there white sand was spread on the floor, and finely cut juniper leaves strewed over it; on the walls glittered copper kettles, and crockery stood in rows. They were cooking dinner. Arne asked to speak with Baard. ”Go into the sitting-room,” some one said, pointing to the door. He went; there was no latch to the door, but a bra.s.s handle; it was cheerful in there, and brightly painted, the ceiling was decorated with many roses, the cupboards were red, with the owner's name in black, the bed-stead was also red, but bordered with blue stripes. By the stove sat a broad-shouldered man, with a mild face, and long, yellow hair; he was putting hoops about some pails; by the long table sat a tall, slender woman, with a high linen cap on her head, and dressed in tight-fitting clothes; she was sorting corn into two heaps. Besides these there were no others in the room.

”Good day, and bless the work!” said Arne, drawing off his hat. Both looked up; the man smiled, and asked who it was.

”It is he who is to do carpentering.”

The man smiled more, and said, as he nodded his head and began his work again,--

”Well, then, it is Arne Kampen!”

”Arne Kampen?” cried the wife, and stared fixedly before her.

The man looked up hastily, and smiled again. ”The son of tailor Nils,”

he said, and went on once more with his work.

After a while, the wife got up, crossed the floor to the shelf, turned, went to the cupboard, turned again, and as she at last was rummaging in a table drawer, she asked, without looking up,--

”Is _he_ to work _here_?”

”Yes, that he is,” said the man, also without looking up. ”It seems no one has asked you to sit down,” he observed, addressing himself to Arne.

The latter took a seat; the wife left the room, the man continued to work; and so Arne asked if he too should begin.

”Let us first have dinner.”

The wife did not come in again; but the next time the kitchen-door opened it was Eli who came. She appeared at first not to notice Arne; when he rose to go to her, she stood still, and half turned to give him her hand, but she did not look at him. They exchanged a few words; the father worked on. Eli had her hair braided, wore a tight-sleeved dress, was slender and straight, had round wrists and small hands. She laid the table; the working-people dined in the next room, but Arne with the family in this one; it so happened that they had their meals separately to-day; usually they all ate at the same table in the large, light kitchen.

”Is not mother coming?” asked the man.

”No, she is up-stairs weighing wool.”

”Have you asked her?”

”Yes; but she says she does not want anything.”