"Ditlef says you're so clever, Johannes. You always come out top. And he says you write poetry too; is that true?" He answered curtly with a squirm: "Yes, of course. Everybody does." Now, he thought, she wouldn't stay much longer, for she said nothing more. "Did you ever see anything like it, I was stung by a wasp this morning," he said, showing his mouth. "That's why I look like this." "Then you've been away too long, the wasps don't recognize you." It made no difference to her whether he had been disfigured by a wasp or not. All right. She stood there twirling a red gold-mounted parasol on her shoulder and nothing else mattered to her. And yet he had carried her ladyship in his arms more than once. "I don't recognize the wasps," he answered; "they used to be friends of mine." But she didn't see the deep meaning in his words; she didn't answer. Oh, but it was so deep. "I don't recognize anything here now. Even the woods have been cut down." A little twitch passed over her face. "Then perhaps you can't write poetry here," she answered. "Fancy if you would write me a poem some day. No, what am I talking about! That shows you how little I know about it." He looked at the ground, stung and silent. She was making a fool of him in the friendliest way, she talked patronizingly and watched him for the effect. Begging her pardon, he hadn't wasted all his time in writing, he had studied more than most.... "Well, we shall meet another time. Good-bye for the present." He took off his cap and went without making a reply. If she only knew it, it was to her and no one else he had written his poems, every one of them, even the one to Night, even the one to the Spirit of the Mere. She should never find that out. On Sunday Ditlef called and wanted him to come over to the island. I'm to be boatman again, he thought. He went. There was a group of Sunday idlers on the pier, otherwise all was quiet and the sun was bright and warm. Suddenly a distant sound of music came from over the water, from the islands outside; the mail-boat swung in towards the pier in a great curve; there was a band on board. Johannes cast off the boat and took the oars. He was in a yielding, pliant mood, this bright day and the music from the ship were weaving a tissue of flowers and golden grain before his eyes.... Why didn't Ditlef come? He was standing on shore looking at the people and the ship as if he didn't mean to go any farther. Johannes thought: I'm not going to sit holding these oars any longer, I'm going ashore. He began to turn the boat. Then he suddenly saw a gleam of white and heard a splash; a desperate cry of many voices rose from the ship and from people ashore and hands and eyes all pointed to the place where the white flash had disappeared. The band stopped playing at once.