"This is the way it is every single day."

As they proceeded upward they heard a merry song from the slopes.

"Why, they are singing over their work," said the school-master.

"That is little Knut Ostistuen who is singing; he is helping his father
gather leaves. Over yonder _my_ people are working; you will not find
them singing."

"That is not one of the parish songs, is it?"

"No, it is not."

"Oyvind Pladsen has been much in Ostistuen; perhaps that is one of the
songs he has introduced into the parish, for there is always singing
where he is."

There was no reply to this.

The field they were crossing was not in good condition; it required
attention. The school-master commented on this, and then Ole stopped.

"It is not in my power to do more," said he, quite pathetically.
"Hired work-people without attention cost too much. But it is hard to
walk over such a field, I can assure you."

As their conversation now turned on the size of the gard, and what
portion of it most needed cultivation, they decided to go up the slope
that they might have a view of the whole. When they at length had