And the oftener
they met the more they found to talk about; to
be sure, it was she who did the talking, and he
looked at her with his large wondering eyes and
listened. She told him of the lamb which had
tumbled down over a steep precipice and still
was unhurt, of the baby who pulled the pastor's
hair last Sunday during the baptismal ceremony,
or of the lumberman, Lars, who drank the kero-
sene his wife gave him for brandy, and never
knew the difference. But, when the milkmaids
passed by, she would suddenly forget what she
had been saying, and then they sat gazing at
each other in silence. Once she told him of the
lads who danced with her at the party at Houg;
and she thought she noticed a deeper color on
his face, and that he clinched both his fists and
--thrust them into his pockets. That set her
thinking, and the more she thought, the more
curious she grew. He played the violin well;
suppose she should ask him to come and fiddle
at the party her father was to give at the end
of the harvest. She resolved to do it, and he,
not knowing what moved her, gave his promise
eagerly. It struck her, afterward, that she had
done a wicked thing, but, like most girls, she
had not the heart to wrestle with an uncomfortable
thought; she shook it off and began to hum
a snatch of an old song.
"O'er the billows the fleet-footed storm-wind rode,
The billows blue are the merman's abode,
So strangely that harp was sounding."
The memory of old times came back to her,
the memory of the morning long years ago,
when they sat together on the strand, and he
said; "I think I would rather be your bride-
groom, Borghild.
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