Now all the pipes were laid, and the taps fixed; the water spurted out
in the sink in a fine, powerful jet. Grindhusen had borrowed the tools
we needed from somewhere else, so we could plaster up a few holes left
here and there; a couple of days more, and we had filled in the trench
down the hillside, and our work at the vicarage was done. The priest was
pleased with us; he offered to stick up a notice on the red post saying
we were experts in the business of wells and pipes and water-supply,
but, seeing it was so late in the year, and the frost might set in any
time, it wouldn't have helped us much. We begged him instead to bear us
in mind next spring.
Then we went over to the neighbouring farm to dig potatoes, promising to
look in at the vicarage again some time.
There were many hands at work on the new place; we divided up into gangs
and were merry enough. But the work would barely last over a week; after
that we should have to shift again.
One evening the priest came over and offered to take me on as an outdoor
hand at the vicarage. It was a nice offer, and I thought about it for a
while, but ended by saying no. I would rather wander about and be my own
master, doing such work as I could find here and there, sleeping in the
open, and finding a trifle to wonder at in myself. I had come across
a man here in the potato fields that I might join company with when
Grindhusen was gone. This new man was a fellow after my own mind, and
from what I had heard and seen of him a good worker; Lars Falkberget was
his name, wherefore he called himself Falkenberg. [Footnote: The
latter name has a more distinguished sound than the native and rustic
“Falkberget.”]
Young Erik was foreman and overseer in charge of the potato diggers, and
carted in the crop. He was a handsome lad of twenty, steady and sound
for his age, and a proper son of the house. There was something no doubt
between him and Frøken Elisabeth from the vicarage, seeing she came over
one day and stood talking with him out in the fields for quite a while.
When she was leaving, she found a few words for me as well, saying Oline
was beginning to get used to the new contrivances of water-pipes and
tap.
“And yourself?” I asked.
Out of politeness, she made some little answer to this also, but I could
see she had no wish to stay talking to me.
So prettily dressed she was, with a new light cloak that went so well
with her blue eyes....
Next day Erik met with an accident; his horse bolted, dragging him
across the fields and throwing him up against a fence at last. He was
badly mauled, and spitting blood; a few hours later, when he had come to
himself a little, he was still spitting blood. Falkenberg was now set to
drive.
I feigned to be distressed at what had happened, and went about silent
and gloomy as the rest, but I did not feel so. I had no hope of Frøken
Elisabeth for myself, indeed; still, I was rid of one that stood above
me in her favour.
That evening I went over to the churchyard and sat there a while. If
only she would come, I thought to myself. And after a quarter of an hour
she came. I got up suddenly, entirely as I had planned, made as if to
slip away and hide, then I stopped, stood helplessly and surrendered.
But here all my schemes and plans forsook me, and I was all weakness at
having her so near; I began to speak of something.
“Erik--to think it should have happened--and that, yesterday....”
“I know about it,” she answered.
“He was badly hurt.”
“Yes, yes, of course, he was badly hurt--why do you talk to me about
him?”
“I thought.... No, I don't know. But, anyhow, he'll get better. And then
it will be all right again, surely.”
“Yes, yes....”
Pause.
It sounded as if she had been making fun of me. Then suddenly she said
with a smile:
“What a strange fellow you are! What makes you walk all that way to come
and sit here of an evening?”
“It's just a little habit I've got lately. For something to do till
bedtime.”
“Then you're not afraid?”
Her jesting tone gave me courage; I felt myself on surer ground, and
answered:
“No, that's just the trouble. I wanted to learn to shiver and shake.”
“Learn to shiver and shake? Like the boy in the fairy tale. Now where
did you read about that, I wonder?”
“I don't know. In some book or other, I suppose.”
Pause.
“Why wouldn't you come and work for us when Father asked you?”
“I'd be no good at that sort of work. I'm going out on the roads now
with another man.”
“Which way are you going?”
“That I cannot say. East or west. We are just wanderers.”
Pause.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I mean, I don't think it's wise of you.... Oh,
but what was it you said about Erik? I only came to ask about him....”
“He's in a baddish way now, but still.”
“Does the doctor think he will get better?”
“Yes, as far as I know. I've not heard otherwise.”
“Well--good-night.”
Oh to be young and rich and handsome, and famous and learned in
sciences!... There she goes....
Before leaving the churchyard I found a serviceable thumbnail and put
it in my pocket. I waited a little, peering this way and that, and
listening, but all was still. No voice came saying, “That's mine!”