"It is he who is to do carpentering." The man smiled more, and said, as he nodded his head and began his work again,-- "Well, then, it is Arne Kampen!" "Arne Kampen?" cried the wife, and stared fixedly before her. The man looked up hastily, and smiled again. "The son of tailor Nils," he said, and went on once more with his work. After a while, the wife got up, crossed the floor to the shelf, turned, went to the cupboard, turned again, and as she at last was rummaging in a table drawer, she asked, without looking up,-- "Is _he_ to work _here_?" "Yes, that he is," said the man, also without looking up. "It seems no one has asked you to sit down," he observed, addressing himself to Arne. The latter took a seat; the wife left the room, the man continued to work; and so Arne asked if he too should begin. "Let us first have dinner." The wife did not come in again; but the next time the kitchen-door opened it was Eli who came. She appeared at first not to notice Arne; when he rose to go to her, she stood still, and half turned to give him her hand, but she did not look at him. They exchanged a few words; the father worked on. Eli had her hair braided, wore a tight-sleeved dress, was slender and straight, had round wrists and small hands. She laid the table; the working-people dined in the next room, but Arne with the family in this one; it so happened that they had their meals separately to-day; usually they all ate at the same table in the large, light kitchen. "Is not mother coming?" asked the man. "No, she is up-stairs weighing wool." "Have you asked her?" "Yes; but she says she does not want anything." There was silence for a while. "But it is cold up-stairs." "She did not want me to make a fire." After dinner Arne began work; in the evening he was again with the family in the sitting-room. Then the wife, too, was there. The women were sewing. The husband was busy with some trifles, and Arne helped him; there was a prolonged silence, for Eli, who usually led in conversation, was also silent. Arne thought with dismay that it probably was often thus at his own home; but he realized it now for the first time. Eli drew a long breath at last, as though she had restrained herself long enough, and then she fell to laughing. Then the father also laughed, and Arne, too, thought it was laughable, and joined in. From this time forth they talked of various things; but it ended in Arne and Eli doing most of the talking, the father putting in an occasional word. But once, when Arne had been speaking for some time and happened to look up, he met the eyes of the mother, Birgit; she had dropped her sewing, and sat staring fixedly at him. Now she picked up her work again, but at the first word he spoke she raised her eyes.