would refuse to let you die. I would give you all my strength. I
would take all your suffering."

"I have no pain," she said, smiling at such bold promises.

"I am thinking that I would like to carry you away like a frozen
bird, lay you under my vest like a young squirrel. Fancy what it
would be to work if something so warm and soft was waiting for one
at home! But if you were well, there would be so many--"

She looked at him with weary surprise, prepared to put him back in
his proper place. But she must have seen again something of the
magic crown about the boy's head, for she had patience with him. He
meant nothing. He had to talk as he did. He was not like others.

"Ah," she said, indifferently, "there are not so many, Petter Nord.
There has hardly been any one in earnest."

But now there came another turn to his advantage. In her suddenly
awoke the eager hunger of a sick person for compassion. She longed
for the tenderness, the pity that the poor workman could give her.
She felt the need of being near that deep, disinterested sympathy.
The sick cannot have enough of it. She wished to read it in his
glance and his whole being. Words meant nothing to her.

"I like to see you here," she said. "Sit here for a while, and tell
me what you have been doing these six years!"

While he talked, she lay and drew in the indescribable something
which passed between them. She heard and yet she did not hear. But