"Is the hut yours, perhaps?" I asked in my turn. Then he looked at me. "Because if the hut is yours, that's another matter," I said. "But I don't intend like a pickpocket to take it with me when I leave." I spoke gently and jestingly to avoid committing a blunder by my speech. But I had said quite the right thing; the man at once lost his assurance. Somehow I had made him feel that I knew more about him than he knew about me. When I asked him to come in, he was grateful and said: "Thank you, but I'm afraid I'll get snow all over your floor." Then he took special pains to wipe his boots clean, and bringing his sack with him, crawled in. "I could give you some coffee," I said. "You shouldn't trouble on my account," he replied, wiping his face and panting with the heat, "though I've been walking all night." "Are you crossing the fjeld?" "That depends. I don't suppose there's work to be got on a winter day on the other side, either." I gave him coffee. "Got anything to eat?" he said. "It's a shame to ask you. A round of crisp-bread? I had no chance to bring food with me." "Yes, I've got bread, butter, and reindeer cheese. Help yourself." "It's not so easy for a lot of people in the winter," said the man as he ate. "Could you take some letters to the village for me?" I asked. "I'll pay you for it." "Oh, no, I couldn't do that," the man replied. "I'm afraid that's impossible. I must cross the fjeld now. I've heard there's work in Hilling, in the Hilling Forest. So I can't." "Must get his back up a bit again," I thought. "He just sits now there without any guts at all. In the end he'll start begging for a few coppers." I felt his sack and said: "What's this you're lugging about with you? Heavy things?" "Mind your own business!" was his instant retort, as he drew the sack closer to him. "I wasn't going to steal any of it; I'm no thief," I said, jesting again. "I don't care what you are," he muttered. The day wore on. Since I had a visitor, I had no desire to go to the woods, but wanted to sit and talk to him and ask him questions. He was a very ordinary man, of no great interest to the irons in my fire, with dirty hands, uneducated and uninteresting in his speech; probably he had stolen the things in his sack. Later I learned that he was quick in much small knowledge that life had taught him. He complained that his heels felt cold, and took off his boots. And no wonder he felt cold, for where the heels of his stockings should have been there were only great holes. He borrowed a knife to cut away the ragged edges, and then drew on the stockings again back to front, so that the torn soles came over his instep. When he had put on his boots again, he said, "There, now it's nice and warm."