strangers here.' 'Oh, these are only relatives!' says father. 'All
these men have lived at the Ingmar Farm, and the oldest among them
is from way back in heathen times.' 'But I want to speak to you in
private,' I say.

"Then father looks round and wonders whether he ought to step into
the next room, but since it's just I he walks out into the kitchen
instead. There he seats himself in the fireplace, while I sit down
on the chopping block.

"'You've got a fine farm here, father,' I say. 'It's not so bad,'
says father, 'but how's everything back home?' 'Oh, everything is
all right there; last year we got twelve kroner for a ton of hay.'
'What!' says father. 'Are you here to poke fun at me, little
Ingmar?'

"'But with me everything goes wrong' I say. 'They forever telling
me that you were as wise as our Lord himself, but no one cares a
straw for me.' 'Aren't you one of the district councillors?' the
old man asks. 'I'm not on the School Board, or in the vestry, nor
am I a councillor.' 'What have you done that's wrong, little
Ingmar?' 'Well, they say that he who would direct the affairs of
others, first show that he can manage his own properly.'

"Then I seem to see the old man lower his eyes and sit pondering.
In a little while he says: 'Ingmar, you ought to marry some nice
girl who will make you a good wife.' 'But that's exactly what I
can't do, father,' I reply. 'There is not a farmer in the parish,
even among the poor and lowly, who would give me his daughter.'
'Now tell me straight out what's back of all this, little Ingmar,'