at the same time making a tremendous leap in pitch. He had been known
in his younger days as a lively but quick-tempered man; in his old age,
through much adversity, he had become irritable and suspicious.

Thore and his son came and went many times before Ole could make his
way to them; they both knew that he did not come for any good purpose,
therefore it was all the more comical that he never got there. Both
had to walk very serious, and talk in a whisper; but as this did not
come to an end it became ludicrous. Only half a word that is to the
point can kindle laughter under such circumstances, and especially when
it is dangerous to laugh. When at last Ole was only a few rods
distant, but which seemed never to grow less, Oyvind said, dryly, in a
low tone,--

"He must carry a heavy load, that man,"--and more was not required.

"I think you are not very wise," whispered the father, although he was
laughing himself.

"Hem, hem!" said Ole, coughing on the hill.

"He is getting his throat ready," whispered Thore.

Oyvind fell on his knees in front of the haycock, buried his head in
the hay, and laughed. His father also bowed down.

"Suppose we go into the barn," whispered he, and taking an armful of
hay he trotted off. Oyvind picked up a little tuft, rushed after him,
bent crooked with laughter, and dropped down as soon as he was inside
the barn. His father was a grave man, but if he once got to laughing,