Canute, who blushed easily, turned very red, and moved nervously as usual when he was impatient; but notwithstanding, he answered in a low, careful tone, that there were savings banks enough in the country, he thought, quite near, and almost too near.  But if one was to be instituted, there were other ways of attaining this end, than by trampling upon the gifts of the dead, and the love of the living.  His voice was a little unsteady when he said this, but recovered its composure, when he began to speak of the grain magazine as such, and reason concerning its utility.

Lars answered him ably on this last, adding:  “Besides, for many reasons I would be led to doubt whether the affairs of this parish are to be conducted for the best interests of the living, or for the memory of the dead; or further, whether it is the love and hate of a single family which rules, rather than the welfare of the whole.”

Canute answered quickly:  “I don’t know whether the last speaker has been the one least benefited not only by the dead of this family, but also by its still living representative.”

In this remark he aimed first at the fact that his powerful grandfather had, in his day, managed the farm for Lars’ grandfather, when the latter, on his own account, was on a little visit to the penitentiary.

The straw, which had been moving quickly for a long time, was now still: 

“I am not in the habit of speaking everywhere of myself and family,” said he, treating the matter with calm superiority; then he reviewed the whole matter in question, aiming throughout at a particular point.  Canute was forced to acknowledge to himself, that he had never looked upon it from that standpoint, or heard such reasoning; involuntarily he had to turn his eye upon Lars.  There he stood tall and portly, with clearness marked upon the strongly-built forehead and in the deep eyes.  His mouth was compressed, the straw still hung playing in its corner, but great strength lay around.  He kept his hands behind him, standing erect, while his low deep intonations seemed as if from the ground in which he was rooted.  Canute saw him for the first time in his life, and from his inmost soul felt a dread of him; for unmistakably this man had always been his superior!  He had taken all Canute himself knew or could impart, but retained only what had nourished this strong hidden growth.

He had loved and cherished Lars, but now that he had become a giant, he hated him deeply, fearfully; he could not explain to himself why he thought so, but he felt it instinctively, while gazing upon him; and in this forgetting all else, he exclaimed: 

“But Lars!  Lars! what in the Lord’s name ails you?”

He lost all self-control,—­“you, whom I have”—­“you, who have”—­he couldn’t get out another word, and seated himself, only to struggle against the excitement which he was unwilling to have Lars see; he drew himself up, struck the table with his fist, and his eyes snapped from below the stiff disorderly hair which always shaded them.  Lars appeared as if he had not been interrupted, only turning his head to the assembly, asking if this should be considered the decisive blow in the matter, for in such a case nothing more need be said.