"Why are you crying, then?" "Because I shall no longer be with Mathilde." This was the name of the priest's only daughter, and reminded Arne that a peasant girl had been brought up with her. "That could not last forever, any way." "Yes, but just one day longer, dear!" and she sobbed violently. "It is best you should go home at once; perhaps it is already too late." "Too late? Why so? Who ever heard of such a thing?" "You are peasant-born, and a peasant you shall remain: we cannot afford to keep a fine lady." "I should still be a peasant, even if I remained here." "You are no judge of that." "I have always worn peasant's clothes." "It is not that which makes the difference." "I have been spinning and weaving and cooking." "It is not _that_, either." "I can talk just as you and mother do." "Not that, either." "Then I do not know what it can be," said the girl, and laughed. "Time will show. Besides, I am afraid you already have too many ideas." "Ideas, ideas! You are always saying that. I have no ideas." She wept again. "Oh, you are a weathercock,--that you are!" "The priest never said so." "No, but now _I_ say so." "A weathercock? Who ever heard of such a thing? I will not be a weathercock." "Come, then, what will you be?" "What will I be? Did you ever hear the like? I will be nothing." "Very good, then; be nothing." Now the girl laughed. Presently she said, gravely, "It is unkind of you to say I am nothing." "Dear me, when that was what you wanted to be yourself!" "No, I do not want to be nothing." "Very good, then; be everything." The girl laughed. Presently, with a sorrowful voice, "The priest never fooled with me in this way." "No, he only made a fool of you." "The priest? You have never been so kind to me as the priest has." "No, for that would have spoiled you." "Sour milk can never become sweet." "Oh, yes, when it is boiled to whey." Here the girl burst out laughing. "There comes your mother." Then she grew sober again. "Such a long-winded woman as the priest's lady I have never met in all the days of my life," here interposed a shrill, rattling voice. "Make haste, now, Baard. Get up and push the boat out. We will not get home to-night. The lady wished me to see that Eli kept her feet dry. Dear me, you will have to see to that yourself. Every morning she must take a walk, for the sake of her health. It is health, health, from morning till night. Get up, now, Baard, and push out the boat. Just think, I have to set sponge this evening!" "The chest has not come yet," said he, and lay still. "But the chest is not to come, either; it is to remain until the first Sunday there is service. Do you hear, Eli? Pick yourself up; take your bundle, and come. Get up, now, Baard!" She led the way, and the girl followed. "Come, now, I say,--come now!" resounded from below. "Have you looked after the plug in the boat?" asked Baard, still without rising.