And the wooing proceeded as shall now be told.

The school-master:  “We are having fine weather this autumn, after all.”

Thore:  “It has been mending of late.”

“It is likely to remain pleasant, now that the wind is over in that quarter.”

“Are you through with your harvesting up yonder?”

“Not yet; Ole Nordistuen here, whom, perhaps, you know, would like very much to have help from you, Oyvind, if there is nothing else in the way.”

Oyvind:  “If help is desired, I shall do what I can.”

“Well, there is no great hurry.  The gard is not doing well, he thinks, and he believes what is wanting is the right kind of tillage and superintendence.”

Oyvind:  “I am so little at home.”

The school-master looks at Ole.  The latter feels that he must now rush into the fire; he clears his throat a couple of times, and begins hastily and shortly,—­

“It was—­it is—­yes.  What I meant was that you should be in a certain way established—­that you should—­yes—­be the same as at home up yonder with us,—­be there, when you were not away.”

“Many thanks for the offer, but I should rather remain where I now live.”

Ole looks at the school-master, who says,—­

“Ole’s brain seems to be in a whirl to-day.  The fact is he has been here once before, and the recollection of that makes his words get all confused.”

Ole, quickly:  “That is it, yes; I ran a madman’s race.  I strove against the girl until the tree split.  But let by-gones be by-gones; the wind, not the snow, beats down the grain; the rain-brook does not tear up large stones; snow does not lie long on the ground in May; it is not the thunder that kills people.”

They all four laugh; the school-master says: 

“Ole means that he does not want you to remember that time any longer; nor you, either, Thore.”

Ole looks at them, uncertain whether he dare begin again.

Then Thore says,—­

“The briar takes hold with many teeth, but causes no wound.  In me there are certainly no thorns left.”

Ole:  “I did not know the boy then.  Now I see that what he sows thrives; the harvest answers to the promise of the spring; there is money in his finger-tips, and I should like to get hold of him.”

Oyvind looks at the father, he at the mother, she from them to the school-master, and then all three at the latter.

“Ole thinks that he has a large gard”—­

Ole breaks in:  “A large gard, but badly managed.  I can do no more.  I am old, and my legs refuse to run the errands of my head.  But it will pay to take hold up yonder.”

“The largest gard in the parish, and that by a great deal,” interrupts the school-master.

“The largest gard in the parish; that is just the misfortune; shoes that are too large fall off; it is a fine thing to have a good gun, but one should be able to lift it.”  Then turning quickly towards Oyvind, “Would you be willing to lend a hand to it?”