"Has it been decided that Tidemands are going to the country, then?" he asked. "I understood it was not settled yet." Aagot nodded and said that it had been decided. "That pleasure has been denied me," he said with a wistful smile. "No country joys for me." "Why not?" She regretted her question immediately; of course, he could not afford it. She was always so indelicate and awkward! She added a few meaningless words to save him the humiliation of a reply. "When I want to go to the country I hire a boat and row over to the island," he said with his sad smile. "Anyway, it is better than nothing." The island? She grew 'attentive. "Of course, the island! I haven't been there yet. Is it pretty?" "Beautiful! There are some wonderful places. I know them all. If I only dared I would ask you to let me row you over some time?" This was not said in simple courtesy; it was a request. She understood it perfectly. But she said, all the same, that she was not sure she had time; it would be interesting, but-- Pause. "I wrote many of my poems there," continued Irgens. "I should like to show you the place." Aagot was silent. "Come, please!" he exclaimed suddenly, and wanted to take her hand. Just then Ole Henriksen appeared on the stairs and came toward them. Irgens remained in his pleading attitude; he said with outstretched hand: "Do, please!" She glanced at him hurriedly. "Yes," she whispered. Ole joined them; he had not been able to get hold of Arendal at once; he could not get a reply until to-morrow. Off to Sara now! He really had a surprise for them--he carried in his pocket Ojen's latest work. They just ought to hear it! II Quite a number of the clique were ensconced at Sara's, drinking and gossiping. Tidemand was there, happy and contented with everything. He had been all smiles since his success with that enormous enterprise in rye. The grain had begun to arrive and was being stored in his warehouses, thousands upon thousands of sacks. They grew into mountains; there was no room for anything else; even Ole Henriksen had been obliged to let him have space for storing. Tidemand walked around and viewed this wealth with pride; even he had accomplished something above the ordinary. Never for an instant did he regret that he had given such unlimited orders. Journalist Gregersen offered Ole one finger and said: "You have something on your conscience, Ole?" "Oh, nothing sensational, exactly," said Ole. "I had a letter from Ojen; he sends me his latest poem. Do you want to hear it?" "Does he send you his--Has he sent you a manuscript?" exclaimed Milde in astonishment. "I have never heard anything like it!" "Now, no personalities!" warned the Journalist. "Yes, but excuse me--why in the world did he send it to _you_, Ole?" asks Milde again and does not give in.