_Gregers_. HIALMAR, show the great soul I always _said_ you had.
This sorrow will set free what is noble in you. Don't spoil a fine
situation. Be a man! Let the child shoot herself!

_Hialmar_ (_irresolutely_). Well, really I don't know. There's a good
deal in what GREGERS says. Hm!

_Gina_. A good deal of tomfool rubbish! I'm illiterate, I know. I've
been a Wild Duck in my time, and I waddle. But for all that, I'm
the only person in the play with a grain of common-sense. And I'm
sure--whatever Mr. IBSEN or GREGERS choose to say--that a screaming
burlesque like this ought _not_ to end like a tragedy--even in this
queer Norway of ours! And it shan't, either! Tell the child to put
that nasty pigstol down and come away, do!

_Hialmar_ (_yielding_). Ah, well, I am a farcical character myself,
after all. Don't touch a hair of that duck's head, HEDVIG. Come to my
arms and all shall be forgiven!

[_HEDVIG throws down the pistol,--which goes off and kills a
rabbit--and rushes into her father's arms. Old EKDAL comes
out of a corner with a fowl on each shoulder, and bursts into
tears. Affecting family picture._

_Gregers_ (_annoyed_). It's all very pretty, I dare say--but it's not
IBSEN! My real mission is to be the thirteenth at table. I don't know
what I mean--but I fly to fulfil it! [_He goes._

_Hialmar_. And now we've got rid of _him_, HEDVIG, fetch me the deed
of gift I tore up, and a slip of paper, and a penny bottle of gum, and