cloth, something like a Scotch plaid, and it is difficult. And now I
will tell you that I am still at home, and that there are those who
would like to have it otherwise. Now I have no more to write about for
this time, and so I must bid you farewell.
MARIT KNUDSDATTER.
P.S.--Be sure and burn this letter.



TO THE AGRICULTURIST, OYVIND THORESEN PLADSEN:--
As I have told you before, Oyvind, he who walks with God has come
into the good inheritance. But now you must listen to my advice, and
that is not to take the world with yearning and tribulation, but to
trust in God and not allow your heart to consume you, for if you do you
will have another god besides Him. Next I must inform you that your
father and your mother are well, but I am troubled with one of my hips;
for now the war breaks out afresh with all that was suffered in it.
What youth sows age must reap; and this is true both in regard to the
mind and the body, which now throbs and pains, and tempts one to make
any number of lamentations. But old age should not complain; for
wisdom flows from wounds, and pain preaches patience, that man may grow
strong enough for the last journey. To-day I have taken up my pen for
many reasons, and first and above all for the sake of Marit, who has
become a God-fearing maiden, but who is as light of foot as a reindeer,
and of rather a fickle disposition. She would be glad to abide by one
thing, but is prevented from so doing by her nature; but I have often
before seen that with hearts of such weak stuff the Lord is indulgent
and long-suffering, and does not allow them to be tempted beyond their
strength, lest they break to pieces, for she is very fragile. I duly
gave her your letter, and she hid it from all save her own heart. If