Of his life, till one year before confirmation, there is not much to
relate. He read in the mornings, worked in the afternoons, and played
in the evenings.
As he was very lively the children of the neighbourhood sought his
company during play hours. Close to the farm lay a great hill, as
before mentioned, where, on a fine day, they assembled to drive their
sledges on the snow. Ovind was always master in the field: he had two
sledges, "Quick Trotter," and "Superior." The last he lent out, and the
first he used himself, taking Marit with him.
The first thing Ovind did when he awoke in the morning, was to look out
and see if it was fine weather; if it was thick and misty, or he heard
it dripping from the roof, he dressed as slowly as if there was nothing
to be done that day. But on the contrary, and especially on holidays,
if it was sharp, cold, and clear weather,--his best clothes and no
work, the whole of the afternoon and evening free,--hey! he bounded out
of bed, was dressed like lightning, and could scarcely eat anything for
excitement. When afternoon came he sprang over the hill to the sledge
ground, and joined the party with a long shout that echoed from cliff
to cliff, and the sound died far away. Then he looked for Marit, and
when he found her there, he did not take much more notice of her.
Now one Christmas the boy and the girl were both about sixteen or
seventeen years of age, and they were both to be confirmed in the
Spring. In Christmas week there was to be a grand party at Heidegaard,
where Marit's grand-parents lived, who had brought her up and educated
her. They had promised her this fete for three years, and now at last
they were obliged to fulfil their word. To this party Ovind was
invited.
It was a dull evening, not a single star to be seen; it would probably
rain next day. There were great drifts of snow along the mountain side,
with here and there bare places, and again the groups of birch trees
standing isolated and conspicuous against the white back ground. The
farmstead lay in the middle of the fields on the mountain side, and in
the darkness the houses looked like black clumps from which the light
streamed first from one window then from another. It seemed as though
they were busy inside. Old and young flocked thither from different
directions. No one liked to go in first; so when they reached the farm,
instead of going direct to the house, they loitered about the
outbuildings. Some hid behind the cattle shed, a few under the granary,
some stood beside the hay-loft and imitated foxes, while others replied
in the distance as cats; one stood behind the bakehouse and howled
like an angry old dog, until there was a general chase. The girls came
by-and-bye in great numbers, accompanied by their younger brothers, who
would fain conduct themselves as grown-up men. The girls were very shy,
and when the older youths already assembled came out to meet them, they
ran away in all directions, and had to be brought in one by one. A few
there were who would not be persuaded to enter, till Marit came herself
and bade them. Now and then there also came a few who had certainly not
been invited, and whose intention had been simply to look on from
outside, but who, seeing the dancing, at last ventured in just for one
single turn. Marit invited those she liked best into the private
sitting room where her grandparents sat, and they fared exceedingly
well. Now Ovind was not of the number, and this he thought very
strange.
The grand fiddler of the neighbourhood could not come until late, so
they had to content themselves with the old gardener, known by the name
of "Grey Knut." He could play four dances,--two Spring dances, a
halling,[1] and a waltz. When they tired of these, they made him vary
the hailing to suit a quadrille, and a Spring dance in the same way to
the mazurka polka.
The party being at her grandfather's house, Marit was dancing nearly
all the time, and this the more drew Ovind's attention to her. He
wished to dance with her himself, and therefore he sat during one round
in order to spring to her side the moment the dance was done; and this
he succeeded in doing, but a tall, dark-looking fellow with black hair,
stepped suddenly forward;--"Away, child!" he cried, and pushed Ovind
that he nearly fell over Marit. Never before had he known such
behaviour,--never had any one been so unkind to him, and never had he
been called "Child!" in that contemptuous way. He blushed crimson, but
said nothing, and turned back to where the new fiddler, who had just
entered, had seated himself, and now tuned up. Every one stood still,
waiting to hear the first strong tones of "Himself;" they waited long
while he tuned the fiddle, but at last he began with a "Spring;"--the
lads stepped out, and, pair by pair, they quickly joined in the dance.
Ovind looked at Marit as she danced with the dark-haired man; he saw
her smiling face over the man's shoulder, and for the first time in his
life he felt a strange pang at his heart.
He looked more and more earnestly at her, and it came forcibly before
him that Marit was now quite grown up. "And yet it cannot be," thought
he, "for she is still playing with us in the sledges." But grown she
certainly was, and the dark-haired man drew her to him at the end of
the dance; she loosened herself from his clasp but continued to sit by
his side.
Ovind looked at the man: he wore a fine blue cloth suit, and fancy
shirt, and carried a silk pocket handkerchief; he had a small face,
deep blue eyes, laughing defying mouth; he was good looking. Ovind
looked long at him, and at last he looked at himself. He had got new
trousers for Christmas, which had much pleased him, but now he saw they
were only of gray homespun; his jacket was of the same material but old
and dark; his vest of common plaided cloth, also old, and with two
bright buttons and one black. He looked round and thought very few were
so poorly clad as he. Marit wore a black bodice of fine stuff, a brooch
in her necktie, and had a folded silk pocket handkerchief in her hand.
She had a little black head-dress fastened under the chin with broad
striped silk ribbons; she was red and white; she smiled, and the man
talked to her and laughed; the fiddler tuned up, and the dance must
begin again.
One of his companions came and sat by him.
"Why don't you dance, Ovind?" he said kindly.
"Oh! no!" said Ovind, "I don't look like dancing."
"Don't look like dancing!" said his companion; but before he could get
further, Ovind interrupted him,--
"Who is that in the blue cloth suit, dancing with Marit?"
"That is Jon Hatlen; he has been at the Agricultural School, and is now
to take the farm."
At the same moment Jon and Marit seated themselves.
"Who is that light-haired lad sitting there by the fiddler and staring
at me?" said Jon.
Then Marit laughed and said, "Oh! that's the peasant's son at the
little farm."
Ovind had always known that he was a peasant's son, but until now he
had never felt it. He felt now so insignificant, that in order to keep
himself up, he tried to think of everything that had ever made him feel
proud, from the sledge playing to the smallest word of commendation.
But when he thought of his father and mother sitting at home, and
picturing him happy and glad, he could scarcely refrain from tears. All
about him were laughing and joking; the fiddler thrummed close under
his ear; it seemed to darken before his eyes; then he remembered the
school with all his companions, and the schoolmaster who was so kind to
him, and the pastor, who, at the last examination, had given him a book
and said he was a clever lad; his father even, who sat by, hearing it
had given him a smile. "Be a good boy, Ovind," he could fancy he heard
the schoolmaster say, taking him on his knee as though he were still a
child. "Dear me, it is so small a matter, and in reality they are all
kind, it only looks as though they were not,--we two shall get on
Ovind, as well as Jon Hatlen, we shall get good clothes, and dance with
Marit, a fine room, a hundred people, smile and talk together, go to
church together, chiming bells, a bride and bridegroom, the pastor and
I in the vestry, all with gladsome faces, and mother at home, a large
farm, twenty cows, three horses, and Marit good and kind as at
school...."
The dance over, Ovind saw Marit opposite to him, and Jon sat by her
side, his face close to hers; he felt again the sharp pain at his
heart, and it was as if he said to himself,--"Yes, I am not well."
At the same moment Marit rose and came direct over to him. She bent
down to speak to him,--"You must not sit and stare at me in that way,"
she said, "the people will notice it; now go and dance with some one."
He did not answer, but looked at her, and the tears came into his eyes.
She had already turned to go, but observing it she stopped. She blushed
crimson, turned and went to her place, then turned again and took
another seat. Jon quickly followed her.
Ovind rose and went out; he passed through the house, and sat down on
the steps of the adjacent porch, but did not know what he did it for.
He got up, but sat down again, for he would not go home, and thought he
might as well be there as anywhere else. He could not realise anything
of what had happened, and he would not think about it, neither would he
think of the future, it seemed so void.
"But what is it that I am thinking of?" he asked himself half aloud,
and when he heard his own voice, he thought, "I can still speak; can I
laugh?" And he tried: yes, he could laugh, and he laughed louder and
louder, and then it seemed so curious to be sitting there quite alone
and laughing, that at last he laughed at himself.
Now Hans his companion, who had been sitting by him in the
dancing-room, had come out after him,--"Bless me, Ovind, what are you
laughing at!" he exclaimed, and stopped in front of the porch.
Then Ovind ceased. Hans remained standing, as if waiting to see what
would happen next. Ovind got up, looked carefully round, and then said
in a low tone,--"Now I will tell you, Hans, why I have been so happy
hitherto; it is because I have not really cared for anybody; from the
day we care for any one we are no longer glad;" and he burst into
tears.
"Ovind!" a voice whispered out in the garden; "Ovind!" He stood still
and listened; "Ovind!" it said again a little louder. It must be, he
thought.
"Yes," he answered also in a whisper, dried his eyes quickly, and
stepped forth. Then he saw a woman's figure slowly approaching,--
"Are you there?" said she.
"Yes," he answered, and stopped.
"Who is with you?"
"Hans."