grown folks here; but the half-grown-up ones soon united, thrust one
another forward, drank a little strong ale to strengthen their courage,
and then Oyvind came forward with them. The room grew warm to them;
merriment and ale mounted to their heads. Marit was on the floor most
of the time that evening, no doubt because the party was at her
grandparents'; and this led Oyvind to look frequently at her; but she
was always dancing with others. He longed to dance with her himself,
and so he sat through one dance, in order to be able to hasten to her
side the moment it was ended; and he did so, but a tall, swarthy
fellow, with thick hair, threw himself in his way.

"Back, youngster!" he shouted, and gave Oyvind a push that nearly made
him fall backwards over Marit.

Never before had such a thing occurred to Oyvind; never had any one
been otherwise than kind to him; never had he been called "youngster"
when he wanted to take part; he blushed crimson, but said nothing, and
drew back to the place where the new fiddler, who had just arrived, had
taken his seat and was tuning his instrument. There was silence in the
crowd, every one was waiting to hear the first vigorous tones from "the
chief fiddler." He tried his instrument and kept on tuning; this
lasted a long time; but finally he began with a spring dance, the boys
shouted and leaped, couple after couple coming into the circle. Oyvind
watched Marit dancing with the thick-haired man; she laughed over the
man's shoulder and her white teeth glistened. Oyvind felt a strange,
sharp pain in his heart for the first time in his life.

He looked longer and longer at her, but however it might be, it seemed
to him that Marit was now a young maiden. "It cannot be so, though,"
thought he, "for she still takes part with the rest of us in our