Next morning I was more content with things. I had cooled down and turned sensible — I was resigned. If only I had seen before what was best for me, I might have taken service here at the vicarage, and been the first of all equals. Ay, and settle down and taken root in a quiet countryish life.

Fru Falkenberg stood out in the courtyard. Her bright figure stood like a pillar, stood there free and erect² in the open courtyard, and her head was bare.

I greeted her Godmorgen.

“Godmorgen!” she answered again, and came striding towards me. Then very quietly she asked: “I wanted to see how they put you up last night, only I couldn’t get away. That is, of course, I got away, but . . . you weren’t in the barn, were you?”

The last words came to me as if in a dream, and I did not answer.

“Well, why don’t you answer?”

“Yes . . . in the barn? Yes.”

“Were you? And was it quite all right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, then . . . yes — yes. We shall be going back sometime to-day.”

She turned and walked away, her face all in one great flush. . . .

Harald came and asked me to make a kite.

“A kite?” I answered all confusedly. “Ay, I’ll make you a kite, a huge one, that’ll go right up to the clouds. That I will.”

We worked at it for a couple of hours, Harald and I. He was good and quick, and so innocent in his eagerness; I, for my part, was thinking of anything but kites. We made a tail several metres long, and busied ourselves with paste and lashing³ and binding⁴; twice Fr?ken¹ Elisabeth came out to look on. She may have been every bit as sweet and bright as before, but I cared nothing for what she was, and gave no thought, to her.

Then came the order to harness ready to start. I should have obeyed the order at once, for we had a long drive before us, but, instead, I sent Harald in to ask if we might wait just half an hour more. And we worked on till the kite was finished. Next day, when the paste was dry, Harald could send up his kite and watch it rise, and feel unknown emotion within him, as I did now.

Ready to start.

Fruen comes out; all the family are there to see her off. The priest and his wife both know me again, return my greeting, and say a few words — but I heard nothing said of my taking service with them now. The priest knew me again — yes; and his blue-eyed wife looked at me with that sidelong glance of hers as she knew me again, for all she had known me the night before as well.

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