TO OYVIND PLADSEN:—
You seem to be displeased
with me, and this greatly grieves me.
For I did not mean to make you angry. I meant
well. I know I have often failed to do rightly
by you, and that is why I write to you now; but you
must not show the letter to any one. Once I had
everything just as I desired, and then I was not kind;
but now there is no one who cares for me, and I am
very wretched. Jon Hatlen has made a lampoon
about me, and all the boys sing it, and I no longer
dare go to the dances. Both the old people know
about it, and I have to listen to many harsh words.
Now I am sitting alone writing, and you must not
show my letter.
You have learned much
and are able to advise me, but you are now
far away. I have often been down to see your
parents, and have talked with your mother, and we
have become good friends; but I did not like to say
anything about it, for you wrote so strangely.
The school-master only makes fun of me, and he knows
nothing about the lampoon, for no one in the parish
would presume to sing such a thing to him. I
stand alone now, and have no one to speak with.
I remember when we were children, and you were so
kind to me; and I always sat on your sled, and I could
wish that I were a child again.
I cannot ask you to
answer me, for I dare not do so. But if you
will answer just once more I will never forget it
in you, Oyvind.
MARIT
KNUDSDATTER.
Please burn this letter; I scarcely know whether I dare send it.
DEAR MARIT,—Thank you for your letter; you wrote it in a lucky hour. I will tell you now, Marit, that I love you so much that I can scarcely wait here any longer; and if you love me as truly in return all the lampoons of Jon and harsh words of others shall be like leaves which grow too plentifully on the tree. Since I received your letter I feel like a new being, for double my former strength has come to me, and I fear no one in the whole world. After I had sent my last letter I regretted it so that I almost became ill. And now you shall hear what the result of this was. The superintendent took me aside and asked what was the matter with me; he fancied I was studying too hard. Then he told me that when my year was out I might remain here one more, without expense. I could help him with sundry things, and he would teach me more. Then I thought that work was the only thing I had to rely on, and I thanked him very much; and I do not yet repent it, although now I long for you, for the longer I stay here the better right I shall have to ask for you one day. How happy I am now! I work like three people, and never will I be behind-hand in any work! But you must have a book that I am reading, for there is much in it about love. I read in it in the evening when the others are sleeping, and then I read your letter over again. Have you thought about our meeting? I think of it so often, and you, too, must try and find out how