There was no reply.

“Why do you open your books?”

“I want to find out what I answered wrong to-day.”

“You answered nothing wrong.”

Then Oyvind looked at him; tears filled his eyes, but he gazed intently at the school-master, while one by one trickled down his cheeks, and not a word did he say.  The school-master sat down in front of him.

“Are you not glad that you passed?”

There was a quivering about the lips but no reply.

“Your mother and father will be very glad,” said the school-master, and looked at Oyvind.

The boy struggled hard to gain power of utterance, finally he asked in low, broken tones,—­

“Is it—­because I—­am a houseman’s son that I only stand number nine or ten?”

“No doubt that was it,” replied the school-master.

“Then it is of no use for me to work,” said Oyvind, drearily, and all his bright dreams vanished.  Suddenly he raised his head, lifted his right hand, and bringing it down on the table with all his might, flung himself forward on his face and burst into passionate tears.

The school-master let him lie and weep,—­weep as long as he would.  It lasted a long time, but the school-master waited until the weeping grew more childlike.  Then taking Oyvind’s head in both hands, he raised it and gazed into the tear-stained face.

“Do you believe that it is God who has been with you now,” said he, drawing the boy affectionately toward him.

Oyvind was still sobbing, but not so violently as before; his tears flowed more calmly, but he neither dared look at him who questioned nor answer.

“This, Oyvind, has been a well-merited recompense.  You have not studied from love of your religion, or of your parents; you have studied from vanity.”

There was silence in the room after every sentence the school-master uttered.  Oyvind felt his gaze resting on him, and he melted and grew humble under it.

“With such wrath in your heart, you could not have come forward to make a covenant with your God.  Do you think you could, Oyvind?”

“No,” the boy stammered, as well as he was able.

“And if you stood there with vain joy, over being number one, would you not be coming forward with a sin?”

“Yes, I should,” whispered Oyvind, and his lips quivered.

“You still love me, Oyvind?”

“Yes;” here he looked up for the first time.

“Then I will tell you that it was I who had you put down; for I am very fond of you, Oyvind.”

The other looked at him, blinked several times, and the tears rolled down in rapid succession.

“You are not displeased with me for that?”

“No;” he looked up full in the school-master’s face, although his voice was choked.

“My dear child, I will stand by you as long as I live.”