"Good day, good day, Irgens!" called Ole with outstretched hand. "Glad to see you. I want to thank you for the book you sent us. You are a wonder; you surprise your very best friends even--poet, master!" Ole talked on, pleased and happy over his friend's accomplishment, admiring now one stanza, now another, and thanking Irgens over and over. "Aagot and I have read it with beating hearts!" he said. "I really believe Aagot wept a little now and then--Yes; you did; no use denying it, Aagot. You need not feel ashamed of that--What I wanted to say--come along to the telegraph office, Irgens; then we'll drop in at Sara's afterward, if you like. I have a little surprise for you." Aagot said nothing. "You can walk up and down a little while I telegraph," said Ole. "But don't get impatient if it takes some time. I have got to catch a ship before it leaves Arendal!" And Ole ran up the stairs and disappeared; Irgens looked after him. "Listen--I want to thank you for your book!" said Aagot quickly in a low voice. "You will never know how I have enjoyed it." "Really? Truly? It is good to hear you say that," he replied, full of gratitude. That she should have waited until Ole had left in order to thank him was a charming and delicate tribute; she had done it now much more genuinely and warmly; her words meant so much more now. She told him what had especially stirred her; it was that wonderful "Song to Life"; never had she read anything so beautiful. Then, as if she feared she had spoken too warmly and laid herself open to misunderstanding, she added in an ordinary tone of voice that Ole had been just as enchanted as she; he had read most of it aloud to her. Irgens made a wry face. Did she care to have things read to her? Really?