“Why, certainly; but I thought you had gone to the saeter to stay, at least a week.”

“Yes, but—­but, I’ve come home again, you see.”

“Yes, I see,” and he looked oddly at her.  He had also seen Hr.  Bogstad set out for the mountains two days before, and now he wondered.

Hagbert fetched the boat, took in his passenger, and his strong arms soon sent the light craft to the other bank.

“A thousand thanks, Hagbert,” she said, as she sprang out, and then climbed up the steep path, and watched him pull back.  He was a strong, handsome fellow, too, a poor fisherman, yet somehow, she felt easier in his company than in Hr.  Bogstad’s.

Signe found no one at home.  Her mother and the children had, no doubt, gone to the mainland to pick blueberries; so she went out into the garden to finish her book.  She became so absorbed in her reading that she did not see her mother’s start of surprise when they came home with their baskets full of berries.

“Well, well, Signe, is that you?  What’s the matter?” exclaimed her mother.

“Nothing, mother; only I couldn’t stay up there any longer.”  And that was all the explanation her mother could get until the father came home that evening.  He was tired and a little cross.  From Hans he had heard a bit of gossip that irritated him, and Signe saw that her secret was not wholly her own.  She feared her father.

“Signe,” said he, after supper, “I can guess pretty well why you came home so soon.  I had a talk with Hr.  Bogstad before he went to the saeter.”

The girl’s heart beat rapidly, but she said nothing.

“Did he speak to you about—­why did you run away from him, girl?”

“Father, you know I don’t like Hr.  Bogstad.  I don’t know why; he is nice and all that, but I don’t like him anyway.”

“You have such nonsensical ideas!” exclaimed the father, and he paused before her in his impatient pacing back and forth.  “He, the gentleman, the possessor of thousands.  Girl, do you know what you are doing when you act like this?  Can’t you see that we are poor; that your father is worked to death to provide for you all?  That if you would treat him as you should, we would be lifted out of this, and could get away from this rock-ribbed island on to some land with soil on?  Our future would be secure.  Can’t you see it, girl?  O, you little fool, for running away from such a man.  Don’t you know he owns us all, as it were?”

“No, father, he does not.”

“The very bread you eat and the water you drink come from his possessions.”

“Still, he does not own us all.  He does not own me, nor shall he as long as I feel as I do now, and as long as there is other land and other water and other air to which he can lay no claim.”

It was a bold speech, but something prompted her to say it.  She was aroused.  The mother came to intercede, for she knew both father and daughter well.