“Well, you’ve got so many friends to lose that a little thing like this wouldn’t matter to you.  No doubt you would have liked it if the children had succeeded in converting the schoolmaster.”

“I can’t imagine those poor little kids trying to tackle Storm!” Ingmar was dumfounded.  What Strong Ingmar had said about the parish being turned upside down must be true after all, he thought.

“But they did, though,” Strong Ingmar replied.  “One evening, as Storm was sitting in the classroom writing, a score of them came in and began preaching to him.”

“And what did Storm do?” asked Ingmar, unable to keep from laughing.

“He was so astounded at first that he couldn’t say or do a thing.  But, as luck would have it, Hellgum had arrived a few moments before and was in the kitchen talking with Gertrude.”

“Was Hellgum with Gertrude?”

“Yes; Hellgum and Gertrude have been friends ever since the day that he acted upon her advice in the little matter with Gunhild.  When Gertrude heard the racket in the schoolroom, she said:  ’You’re just in time to see something new, Hellgum.  It would seem that henceforth the children are to instruct the schoolmaster.’  Then Hellgum laughed, for he comprehended that this sort of thing was ludicrous.  He promptly drove the children out, and abolished the nuisance.”

Ingmar noticed that the old man was eying him in a peculiar way; it was as if a hunter were looking at a wounded bear and wondering whether he should give it another shot.

“I don’t know what you expect of me,” said Ingmar.

“What could I expect of you, who are only a boy!  Why, you haven’t a penny to your name.  All you’ve got in the world are your two empty hands.”

“I verily believe you want me to throttle Hellgum!”

“They said down at the village that this would soon blow over if you could only induce Hellgum to leave these parts.”

“Whenever a new religious sect springs up there’s always strife and dissension,” said Ingmar.  “So this is nothing out of the common.”

“All the same, this will be a good way for you to show people what sort of stuff you’re made of,” the old man persisted.

Ingmar turned away and set the saws going.  He would have liked above everything to ask how Gertrude was getting along, and whether she had already joined the Hellgumists; but he was too proud to betray his fears.

At eight o’clock he went home to his breakfast.  As usual, the table was heaped with tempting dishes, and both Halvor and Karin were especially nice to him.  Seeing them so kind and gentle, he could not believe a word of Strong Ingmar’s chatter.  He felt light of heart once more, and positive that the old man had exaggerated.  In a little while his anxiety about Gertrude returned, with a force so overwhelming that it took away his appetite, and he could not touch his food.  Suddenly he turned to Karin and said abruptly: