"The first round was a poor one, and neither man could beat; But both kept in their places, and steady on their feet. "The second round, poor Bugge was beaten black and blue. 'Little Bugge, are you tired? It's going hard with you.' "The third round, Bugge tumbled, and bleeding there he lay. 'Now, Bugge, where's your bragging?' 'Bad luck to me to-day!'"[4] More the boy did not sing; but there were two other stanzas which his mother was not likely to have taught him:-- "Have you seen a tree cast its shadow on yesterday's snow? Have you seen how Nils does his smiles on the girls bestow? "Have you looked at Nils when to dance he just commences? Come, my girl, you must go; it is too late, when you've lost your senses." These two stanzas the grandmother knew, and they came all the more distinctly into her mind because they were not sung. She said nothing to the boy; but to the mother she said, "Teach the boy well about your own shame; do not forget the last verses." Nils the tailor was so broken down by drink that he was no longer the man he had been, and some people thought his end could not be far distant. It so happened that two American gentlemen were visiting in the parish, and having heard that a wedding was going on in the vicinity, wanted to attend it, that they might learn the customs of the country. Nils was playing there. They gave each a dollar to the fiddler, and asked for a halling; but no one would come forward to dance it, however much it was urged. Several begged Nils himself to dance. "He was best, after all," they said. He refused, but the request became still more urgent, and finally unanimous. This was what he wanted. He gave his fiddle to another player, took off his jacket and cap, and stepped smiling into the middle of the room. He was followed by the same eager attention as of old, and this gave him his old strength. The people crowded closely together, those who were farthest back climbing upon tables and benches. Some of the girls were perched up higher than all the rest, and foremost among these--a tall girl with sunny brown hair of a varying tint, with blue eyes deeply set beneath a strong forehead, a large mouth that often smiled, drawing a little to one side as it did so--was Birgit Boeen. Nils saw her, as he glanced up at the beam. The music struck up, a deep silence followed, and he began. He dashed forward along the floor, his body inclining to one side, half aslant, keeping time to the fiddle. Crouching down, he balanced himself, now on one foot, now on the other, flung his legs crosswise under him, sprang up again, stood as though about to make a fling, and then moved on aslant as before. The fiddle was handled by skillful fingers, and more and more fire was thrown into the tune. Nils threw his head farther and farther back, and suddenly his boot-heel touched the beam, sending the dust from the ceiling in showers over them all.