Enok was certainly a good man for the post. He was one of your deep-thinking sort, and did not carry his head in the air, but bowed on his breast; an earnest man. It was whispered that he was no good man to share with in a boat; there was some story of his having been caught, many years back, pulling up other folk’s lines. But this, no doubt, was pure envy and malice. There was nothing lordly or baronial about him in the way of looks; that everlasting kerchief round his ears did not improve him. Moreover, he had a way of blowing through his nostrils; on meeting anyone, he would lay a finger first on one side and blow, then on the other side, and blow again. But the Lord took no account of outward things, and Enok, His humble servant, had doubtless no other thought with this beyond smartening himself up a little on meeting with his fellows. When he came up he would say, “_Freden!_” and when he went away, “_Bliv i Freden_.”[6] Sound and thoughtful, an earnest man. Even his _tollekniv_, the big knife at his belt, he seemed to wear with thankfulness, as who should say, “Alas, there’s many that haven’t so much as a knife to cut with in the world.” Only last Offering, Enok had created a sensation by the amount of his gift; he had laid a note on the altar. Had he been doing so well of late in ready cash? Doubtless some higher power must have added its mite to his savings. He owed nothing in Mack’s books at the store; his fish-loft was untouched, his family were decently clad. And Enok ruled his house with strictness and propriety. He had a son, a very model of quiet and decorous behaviour. The lad had been out with the fishing fleet from Lofoten, and earned the right to come home with a blue anchor on his hand, but this he did not. His father had instructed him early in humility and the fear of God. It was a blessed thing, in Enok’s mind, to walk humbly and meekly.... [6] “Peace” and “Be in Peace.” These are more rustic forms of greeting than the “_Goddag_” and “_Farvel_” generally used. The priest lay thinking over these things, and the morning wore on. That miserable Rolandsen had spoiled his night’s rest; he got up at six, which was all too early. But then it appeared that his wife had already dressed and gone out without a sound. During the forenoon Fruen walked in to Rolandsen and said, “You must not come up like that and sing songs outside at night.” “I know; it was wrong of me,” he said. “I thought Jomfru van Loos would be there, but she had moved.” “Oh!... So it was for her you sang?” “Yes. A poor little bit of a song to greet the day.” “That was my room,” said she. “It used to be Jomfruen’s room in the old priest’s time.” Fruen said no more; her eyes had turned dull and stupid. “Well, thanks,” she said, as she went. “It was very nice, I’m sure, but don’t do it again.” “I won’t, I promise.... If I’d known ... of course, I wouldn’t have dared....” Rolandsen looked utterly crushed.