"No, you do not."

"Indeed? What do I want, then?"

"To carry out your own will, that is what you want; but you do not ask
about mine."

"And have you a will, you young sea-gull, you? Do you suppose you know
what is for your good, you fool? I will give you a taste of the rod, I
will, for all you are so big and tall. Listen now, Marit; let me talk
kindly with you. You are not so bad at heart, but you have lost your
senses. You must listen to me. I am an old and sensible man. We will
talk kindly together a little; I have not done so remarkably well in
the world as folks think; a poor bird on the wing could easily fly away
with the little I have; your father handled it roughly, indeed he did.
Let us care for ourselves in this world, it is the best thing we can
do. It is all very well for the school-master to talk, for he has
money himself; so has the priest;--let them preach. But with us who
must slave for our daily bread, it is quite different. I am old. I
know much. I have seen many things; love, you see, may do very well to
talk about; yes, but it is not worth much. It may answer for priests
and such folks, peasants must look at it in a different light. First
food, you see, then God's Word, and then a little writing and
arithmetic, and then a little love, if it happens to come in the way;
but, by the Eternals! there is no use in beginning with love and ending
with food. What can you say, now, Marit?"

"I do not know."