The snow fell slowly in great white flakes; he trudged laboriously over the sledge hill to enter the forest from the left. Never before, either Winter or Summer, had he passed over the sledge hills without some joyful remembrance or happy thought. Now it was a lifeless, weary way; he dragged through the wet snow, his knees were stiff, either from dancing the day before or from lack of energy. He felt that the sledge play was at an end for this year, and, therefore, for ever. Something else he longed for, as he threaded his way among the trees where the snow fell noiselessly; a frightened ptarmigan screamed and fluttered a few yards off, and everything seemed to stand as though waiting for a word that never was said. But what it was that he longed for he could not exactly tell, only it was not to be at home, nor was it to be anywhere else; it was not pleasure, nor work, it was something high above or far away. Shortly after, it shaped itself into a definite wish; it was to be confirmed in the Spring, and there to be number one. His heart beat as he thought of it, and before he could hear the sound of his father's axe among the branches, this desire had stronger hold of him than any he had ever known since he was born. As usual his father did not speak many words to him; they both hewed, and threw the wood together in heaps. Now and then they came into close contact, and once Ovind let slip the unhappy words,--"A poor peasant has much to endure!" "As much as others," said the father, spat on his hands, and took the axe again. When the tree was felled, and the father dragged it to the heap, Ovind remarked,--"If you were a rich farmer you wouldn't have to slave so." "Oh, well there'd be other things to trouble me then," he replied, and worked away. The mother came up with their dinner, and they seated themselves. The mother seemed in good spirits, she sat and hummed, and beat her feet together to the time. "What will you be when you grow up, Ovind?" she said suddenly. "Oh! for a peasant lad there isn't much to choose," said he. "The schoolmaster says you must go to the training school." "Can one go there free?" asked Ovind. "The school fund pays," answered the father whilst he was eating. "Would you like it?" asked the mother. "I should like to learn something, but not to be schoolmaster." They were all three silent awhile, she hummed again, and looked round. Ovind went away and sat by himself. "We don't need to take from the school fund," said she, when the lad was gone. Her husband looked at her: "Poor people like us!" "I don't like, Thore, that you should always give yourself out for poor when you are not so." They both of them peeped to see whether the lad could hear them where he sat. Then the father looked sharply at her. "Nonsense! you don't understand things." She laughed, then said seriously, "It seems like not thanking God that we have got on well."