And so we work in the woods, the other man and I, talk of our little affairs, working with heart and soul, and getting on well together. The days passed; already, worse luck, I could see the end of our work ahead, but I had a little hope the Lensmand might find something else for me to do when the woodcutting was finished. Something would surely turn up. I had no wish to set out wandering anew before Christmas. Then one day I go to the post again, and there is a letter for me. I cannot understand that it is for me, and I stand turning and twisting it confusedly; but the man knows me now; he reads from the envelope again and says yes, it is my name right enough, and care of the Lensmand. Suddenly a thought strikes me, and I grasp the letter. Yes, it is for me; I forgot ... yes, of course.... And I hurry out into the road, with something ringing in my ears all the time, and open the letter, and read: “_Skriv ikke til mig_--” [Footnote: “Do not write (skrive) to me.”] No name, no place, but so clear and lovely. The first word was underlined. I do not know how I got home. I remember I sat on a stone by the roadside and read the letter and put it in my pocket, and walked on till I came to another stone and did the same again. _Skriv ikke_. But--did that mean I might come and perhaps speak with her? That little, dainty piece of paper, and the swift, delicate characters. Her hands had held it, her eyes had looked on it, her breath had touched it. And then at the end a dash. Which might have a world of meaning. I came home, handed in the Lensmand's post, and went out into the wood. I was dreaming all the time. My comrade, no doubt, must have found me an incomprehensible man, seeing me read a letter again and again, and put it back with my money. How splendid of her to have found me! She must have held the envelope up to the light, no doubt, and read the Lensmand's name under the stamps; then laid her beautiful head on one side and half closed her eyes and thought for a moment: he is working for the Lensmand at Hersæt now.... That evening, when we were back home, the Lensmand came out and talked to us of this and that, and asked: “Didn't you say you'd been working for Captain Falkenberg at Øvrebø?” “Yes.” “I see he's invented a machine.” “A machine?” “A patent saw for timber work. It's in the papers.” I started at this. Surely he hadn't invented my patent saw? “There must be some mistake,” I said. “It wasn't the Captain who invented it.” “Oh, wasn't it?” “No it wasn't. But the saw was left with him.” And I told the Lensmand all about it. He went in to fetch the paper, and we both read what it said: “New Invention.... Our Correspondent on the spot.... Of great importance to owners of timber lands.... Principle of the mechanism is as follows:...” “You don't mean to say it's your invention?” “Yes, it is.”