“To America.”

“I should like to go with them.  When they speak of America my heart begins to ring.  Did you say America on purpose, or is that the truth?”

Several old women are whispering: 

“Wild Gart is angry again at his sailor.  Have you noticed it?”

“The sailor is displeased.  Look, how wan his face is.”

“Yes, he looks like the evil one when he is compelled to listen to a psalm.  But I don’t like Wild Gart, either.  No.  Where did he come from?”

They resume their whispers.  Haggart complains softly: 

“Why have you the same name, Mariet, for everybody?  It should not be so in a truthful land.”

Mariet speaks with restrained force, pressing both hands to her breast: 

“I love you so dearly, Gart; when you go out to sea, I set my teeth together and do not open them until you come back.  When you are away, I eat nothing and drink nothing; when you are away, I am silent, and the women laugh:  ‘Mute Mariet!’ But I would be insane if I spoke when I am alone.”

Haggart—­Here you are again compelling me to smile.  You must not, Mariet—­I am forever smiling.

Mariet—­I love you so dearly, Gart.  Every hour of the day and the night I am thinking only of what I could still give to you, Gart.  Have I not given you everything?  But that is so little—­everything!  There is but one thing I want to do—­to keep on giving to you, giving!  When the sun sets, I present you the sunset; when the sun rises, I present you the sunrise—­take it, Gart!  And are not all the storms yours?  Ah, Haggart, how I love you!

Haggart—­I am going to toss little Noni so high to-day that I will toss him up to the clouds.  Do you want me to do it?  Let us laugh, dear little sister Mariet.  You are exactly like myself.  When you stand that way, it seems to me that I am standing there—­I have to rub my eyes.  Let us laugh!  Some day I may suddenly mix things up —­I may wake up and say to you:  “Good morning, Haggart!”

Mariet—­Good morning, Mariet.

Haggart—­I will call you Haggart.  Isn’t that a good idea?

Mariet—­And I will call you Mariet.

Haggart—­Yes—­no.  You had better call me Haggart, too.

“You don’t want me to call you Mariet?” asks Mariet sadly.

The abbot and old Dan appear.  The abbot says in a loud, deep voice: 

“Here I am.  Here I am bringing you a prayer, children.  I have just composed it; it has even made me feel hot.  Dan, why doesn’t the boy ring the bell?  Oh, yes, he is ringing.  The fool—­he isn’t swinging the right rope, but that doesn’t matter; that’s good enough, too.  Isn’t it, Mariet?”

Two thin but merry bells are ringing.

Mariet is silent and Haggart answers for her: 

“That’s good enough.  But what are the bells saying, abbot?”