Eli's auburn hair had become unfastened, so that it floated carelessly about her; her face was as hot and as red as a berry, her bosom heaved, she could not speak, and laughed because she was so out of breath. "Yes, that is the way with young people." Margit looked at Eli with satisfaction as she spoke. "I suppose you do not know me?" Eli had no doubt wanted to ask who she was, but could not command the courage to do so, because the other was so much older than she; now she said that she did not remember having seen her before. "Well, to be sure, that is scarcely to be expected; old folks seldom get out. You may perhaps know my son, Arne Kampen. I am his mother." She stole a sly glance, as she spoke, at Eli, on whom these words wrought a considerable change. "I am inclined to think he worked over at Boeen once, did he not?" Yes, it was Eli's impression, too, that he had done so. "The weather is fine this evening. We turned our hay to-day, and got it in before I left home; it is really blessed weather." "There will surely be a good hay-harvest this year," Eli observed. "Yes, you may well say so. I suppose everything looks splendidly over at Boeen." "They are through harvesting there." "Oh, of course; plenty of help, stirring people. Are you going home this evening?" No, she did not intend to do so. They talked together about one thing and another and gradually became so well acquainted that Margit felt at liberty to ask Eli to walk a short distance with her. "Could you not keep me company a few steps?" said she. "I so seldom find any one to talk with, and I dare say it will make no difference to you." Eli excused herself because she had not her jacket on. "Well, I know, it is really a shame to ask such a thing the first time I meet a person; but then one has to bear with old folks." Eli said she was quite willing to go, she only wanted to fetch her jacket. It was a close-fitting jacket; when it was hooked, she looked as if she wore a complete dress; but now she only fastened the two lowest hooks, she was so warm. Her fine linen had a small turned down collar, and was fastened at the throat with a silver button, in the form of a bird with outspread wings. Such a one tailor Nils had worn the first time Margit Kampen had danced with him. "What a handsome button," she remarked, looking at it. "My mother gave it to me," said Eli. "Yes, so I thought," and Margit helped the girl adjust it as she spoke. Now they walked on along the road. The new-mown hay was lying about in heaps. Margit took up a handful, smelled it, and thought it was good. She asked about the live stock at the parsonage, was led thereby to inquire about that at Boeen, and then told how much they had at Kampen.