"I can't make the sausage longer than it is."
Here Ovind must laugh, though in sooth he was in no laughing mood; but
with some people laughter and fear go hand in hand.
"What are you laughing at?" said Ole sharply.
"I?"
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Heavens preserve me!" but his own reply only made him worse.
Ole saw this, and it infuriated him. They would turn the conversation,
and begged him to go in, but it was three years' pent up anger that now
sought liberty, and it was not to be stayed.
"Don't think to make a fool of me," he began, "I seek my
granddaughter's happiness as I understand it, and your giggling
laughter shall not hinder me. One doesn't bring up a girl just to hand
her over to the first peasant that turns up, neither does one labor for
forty years to leave all to the first that fools her. My daughter went
on so, till at last she married a scamp; he ruined them both through
drink, and I had to take the child, and pay for the entertainment, but,
on my word, it shall not be so with my granddaughter, do you hear that?
I tell you that as true as I am Ole Nordistuen of Heidegaard, the
priest might as well think of publishing the banns for the trolls up in
the forest, as to give out such names from the pulpit as Marit's and
your's, you puppy dog! You sly fox, as if I didn't know what you think
of, you and she! You think old Ole must soon turn his nose up in the
church-yard, and then you'll trip away to the altar. No, no, I've lived
seventy years now, and you shall see, boy, that I shall not die till
you are both tired out! I tell you, you may watch for her, and not even
see her footprints, for I shall send her away somewhere where she will
be safe, and you may roam about like a fool, and keep company with the
wind and the rain! And now I shan't say any more to you, but you, who
are his father, know my will, and if you desire his happiness in this
respect, you will get him to turn the river where it can flow, for
through my territory it shall not pass." He turned, and hobbled away
with short quick steps, lifting the right foot higher than the left,
and grumbling to himself.
An evil foreboding overshadowed those who remained; there was no more
joking and laughter and the house stood as though empty. They entered
without a word being said. The mother, who had overheard all from the
kitchen door, looked at Ovind sorrowfully, almost in tears, and would
not make matters harder for him by saying anything. The father sat down
in the window, and looked after Ole. Ovind watched for the slightest
change of expression on that grave and serious face, for on his first
word the destiny of the future might depend. If Thore should join Ole
in saying no, it would hardly be possible to overcome it. His
frightened thoughts bore him swiftly on from one obstruction to
another. He saw before him only poverty, opposition, and
misunderstanding, and each support that he had relied on seemed to give
way under the thought. It increased his anxiety that his mother stood
with her hand on the door-latch, uncertain whether to stay and see the
result or not, and that at last she quite lost courage and stole
quietly out. Thore was still staring out of the window, and Ovind dared
not speak to him, for he knew he must have his thought out. Just then,
his own thoughts having run their unhappy course, took courage again,
and, as he looked at his father's knitted brows, he thought: "None but
God can separate us in the end." Thore drew a long sigh, he rose, and
at the same time met his son's gaze. He stopped, and looked long at
him: "I should like it best if you could give her up, for one should
not either beg, or force oneself upon others; but if you cannot, you
must let me know, and perhaps I can help you." He went to his work, and
the son followed.
In the evening Ovind had got his plan all ready. He would try to get to
be Agriculturist for the district, and would ask the principal and the
schoolmaster to help him. "If she will hold out, by God's help I shall
win her through my work."
He waited in vain for Marit that evening, but whilst he waited he sang
the song he loved the best:--
"Come lift your head up, my thoughtful lad,
If a hope from your heart be riven,
Another may brighten your tearful eye,
If you turn to the light of heaven!
Come lift your head up, and look around,
Voices are kindly calling,--
A thousand voices are bidding you come,
Softly their echoes are falling!
Come lift your head up, for deep within
Lieth a fountain of blessing,
Tones of music are flowing free,
Love on your heart impressing.
Come lift your head up, and gaily sing,
Nor fear for the coming morrow,--
As the buds of the Spring return again,
So joy will come after sorrow.
Then lift your head up, and courage take
In the hope around you springing,
From the blue above, to the green beneath,
To the world she ever is singing."