Several years ago their paths in life had begun to deviate, but so far there had never been any serious encounter between them; but now what had happened was to prove decisive. Between these two, in the middle of the garden and surrounded by the singers, sat a tall girl in a plum-colored silk dress, round her neck some broad yellow lace which hung in long loose folds down to her waist. She herself was not singing; she was making a wreath out of a whole garden of field flowers and grass. One could easily see that she was sister to the conqueror, but with darker complexion and hair. The same shape of head, although her forehead was comparatively higher and the whole face larger, undoubtedly too large. The sharp family nose had a more gentle bend in her well-proportioned face; his thin lips became fuller, his chin more rounded, his uneven eyebrows more even, the eyes larger--and yet it was the same face. The expression of the two was different; hers, though not cold, was calm and silent; no one could quickly read those deep eyes; and yet the two expressions were much alike. Her head was well set on a strong-looking neck and well-shaped shoulders, the bust, too, was well developed. Her dark hair was twisted into a knot peculiar to herself. Her throat was bare, but the dress, with its yellow lace fastened closely round it--indeed, her whole attire gave one the idea of something shut in, buttoned up as it were; and so it was with her whole manner. As before said, she was making a wreath and looked neither at one or the other of the two who had been fighting. The quarrel has been caused by a large black dog; it lay there now pretending to sleep, its thick wet coat glistening in the sun. Several of them had been throwing sticks into the water and sending the dog in after them; each time they threw a stick they shouted, "Samson! Samson!"--that was the dog's name. Edward Kallem said to two or three who stood near him, "Samson means sun-god." "What?" asked one young girl, "does Samson mean sun-god?" "Certainly it does; but of course the clergymen take care not to tell that." He said it in youthful exuberance, not in the least intending to hurt anyone's feelings, or to say more at all. But by chance Ole Tuft overheard him and said, with rather a superior air: "Why should the clergymen not dare to tell the children that Samson means sun-god?" "Why, for then the whole legend about him could no longer serve them as a type of the Christ-myth." This last word was like a sharp stab, and it was meant as such. With a superior smile Ole said: "I suppose Samson may be used as a type, whether he be _called_ sun-god or not." "Certainly, whether he be _called_ sun-god or not, but suppose him to _be_ sun-god?" "Indeed, so he was sun-god?" shouted Ole, laughing. "The name tells us so." "The name? Are we bears or wolves because we are called after bears or wolves? Or gods because we are called after gods?"