"No."
"Will you not take part in a dance, boy?"
"No; not yet."
"Not yet? When, then?"
Oyvind did not answer.
"What do you mean by _yet_?"
As the youth did not answer, the school-master said,--
"Come, now, no such nonsense."
"No, I will not go."
He was very decided and at the same time agitated.
"The idea of your own school-master standing here and begging you to go to a dance."
There was a long pause.
"Is there any one in there whom you are afraid to see?"
"I am sure I cannot tell who may be in there."
"But is there likely to be any one?"
Oyvind was silent. Then the school-master walked straight up to him, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said,--
"Are you afraid to see Marit?"
Oyvind looked down; his breathing became heavy and quick.
"Tell me, Oyvind, my boy?"
Oyvind made no reply.
"You are perhaps ashamed to confess it since you are not yet confirmed; but tell me, nevertheless, my dear Oyvind, and you shall not regret it."
Oyvind raised his eyes but could not speak the word, and let his gaze wander away.
"You are not happy, either, of late. Does she care more for any one else than for you?"
Oyvind was still silent, and the school-master, feeling slightly hurt, turned away from him. They retraced their steps.
After they had walked a long distance, the school-master paused long enough for Oyvind to come up to his side.
"I presume you are very anxious to be confirmed," said he.
"Yes."
"What do you think of doing afterwards?"
"I should like to go to the seminary."
"And then become a school-master?"
"No."
"You do not think that is great enough?"
Oyvind made no reply. Again they walked on for some distance.
"When you have been through the seminary, what will you do?"
"I have not fairly considered that."
"If you had money, I dare say you would like to buy yourself a gard?"
"Yes, but keep the mills."
"Then you had better enter the agricultural school."
"Do pupils learn as much there as at the seminary?"
"Oh, no! but they learn what they can make use of later."
"Do they get numbers there too?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I should like to be a good scholar."
"That you can surely be without a number."
They walked on in silence again until they saw Pladsen; a light shone from the house, the cliff hanging over it was black now in the winter evening; the lake below was covered with smooth, glittering ice, but there was no snow on the forest skirting the silent bay; the moon sailed overhead, mirroring the forest trees in the ice.
"It is beautiful here at Pladsen," said the school-master.
There were times when Oyvind could see these things with the same eyes with which he looked when his mother told him nursery tales, or with the vision he had when he coasted on the hill-side, and this was one of those times,--all lay exalted and purified before him.
"Yes, it is beautiful," said he, but he sighed.
"Your father has found everything he wanted in this home; you, too, might be contented here."
The joyous aspect of the spot suddenly disappeared. The school-master stood as if awaiting an answer; receiving none, he shook his head and entered the house with Oyvind. He sat a while with the family, but was rather silent than talkative, whereupon the others too became silent.
When he took his leave, both husband and wife followed him outside of the door; it seemed as if both expected him to say something.