Then he began to rummage in his sack again, pushing the bacon well down so that the cloth might not be stained by it; after this he took off his leather belt and put it round the sack, with a loop to carry over one shoulder. "Now if I take the neck of the sack over the other shoulder, I'll find it easier to carry," he said. I gave him my letters to post on the other side of the fjeld and he stowed them away safely, slapping the outside of his pocket afterward; I also gave him a special envelope in which to keep the money for the stamps, and tied it to the neck of the sack. "Where do you live?" I asked him. "Where can a poor man live? Of course I live by the sea. I'm sorry to say I have a wife and children--no use denying it." "How many children have you?" "Four. One's got a crippled arm and the others--there's something wrong with all of them. It's not easy for a poor devil. My wife's ill, and a few days ago she thought she was dying and wanted Communion." A sad note crept into his voice. But the note was false. He was telling me a pack of lies. When they came to look for him from the village, no Christian would have the heart to accuse a man with such a large and sick family. This, no doubt, was his meaning. Man, oh man, thou art worse than a mouse! I questioned him no further, but asked him to sing something, a ballad or a song, since we had nothing else to do. "I've no heart to sing now," he replied. "Except possibly a hymn." "All right; sing a hymn, then." "Not now. I'd like to do you a favor, but--" His uneasiness was rising. A little later he took his sack and went out. "Well, he's gone," I thought, "but he hasn't said the customary peace-be-with-you. I'm glad I've come into the forest," I thought. "This is my home, and from this day forth, no mother's son shall come within my walls again." I made an elaborate agreement with myself that I should have no more truck with men. "Madame, come here," I said. "I esteem you highly, and herewith, Madame, I undertake to enter upon a union with you for life!" Half an hour later, the man returned. He carried no sack. "I thought you'd gone," I said. "Gone? I'm not a dog," he replied. "I've met people before this, and I say good morning when I come and peace-be-with-you when I go. You shouldn't sneer at me, you know." "What have you done with the sack?" "I've carried it part of the way." His concealing the sack in case anyone should come proved he had forethought, for it was easier to get away scot-free without a burden on one's back. To stop him from telling me any more lies about his poverty, I said: "I expect you've raised plenty of dust in your day? Still do, for that matter?" "Well, I do what I can," he replied cheerfully. "I can lift a barrel easier than most, and nobody was able to dance me off the floor last Christmas! Hush--is that someone coming?"