OYVIND PLADSEN.




CHAPTER IX.


One Saturday, in midsummer, Thore Pladsen rowed across the lake to meet
his son, who was expected to arrive that afternoon from the
agricultural school, where he had finished his course. The mother had
hired women several days beforehand, and everything was scoured and
clean. The bedroom had been put in order some time before, a stove had
been set up, and there Oyvind was to be. To-day the mother carried in
fresh greens, laid out clean linen, made up the bed, and all the while
kept looking out to see if, perchance, any boat were coming across the
lake. A plentiful table was spread in the house, and there was always
something wanting, or flies to chase away, and the bedroom was
dusty,--continually dusty. Still no boat came. The mother leaned
against the window and looked across the waters; then she heard a step
near at hand on the road, and turned her head. It was the school-
master, who was coming slowly down the hill, supporting himself on a
staff, for his hip troubled him. His intelligent eyes looked calm. He
paused to rest, and nodded to her:--

"Not come yet?"

"No; I expect them every moment."

"Fine weather for haymaking, to-day."