THE SMITH. [_Winking to the others._] Let us hear them, Peer! PEER. They are nought to you. THE SMITH. [_After a pause._] You’re going to Hegstad? PEER. No. THE SMITH. Time was They said that the girl there was fond of you. PEER. You grimy crow——! THE SMITH. [_Falling back a little._] Keep your temper, Peer Though Ingrid has jilted you, others are left;— Think—son of Jon Gynt! Come on to the feast; You’ll find there both lambkins and well-seasoned widows—— PEER. To hell—— THE SMITH. You will surely find one that will have you.— Good evening! I’ll give your respects to the bride.— [_They go off, laughing and whispering._ PEER. [_Looks after them a while, then makes a defiant motion and turns half round_.] For my part, may Ingrid of Hegstad go marry Whoever she pleases. It’s all one to me. [_Looks down at his clothes._ My breeches are torn. I am ragged and grim.— If only I had something new to put on now. [_Stamps on the ground._ If only I could, with a butcher-grip, Tear out the scorn from their very vitals! [_Looks round suddenly._ What was that? Who was it that tittered behind there? H’m, I certainly thought—— No no, it was no one.— I’ll go home to mother. [_Begins to go upwards, but stops again and listens towards Hegstad._ They’re playing a dance! [_Gazes and listens; moves downwards step by step, his eyes glisten; he rubs his hands down his thighs._ How the lasses do swarm! Six or eight to a man! Oh, galloping death,—I must join in the frolic!— But how about mother, perched up on the mill-house—— [_His eyes are drawn downwards again; he leaps and laughs._ Hei, how the Halling[31] flies over the green! Ay, Guttorm, he can make his fiddle speak out! It gurgles and booms like a foss[32] o’er a scaur. And then all that glittering bevy of girls!— Yes, galloping death, I must join in the frolic! [_Leaps over the fence and goes down the road._ SCENE THIRD.