The evening was dull and rainy, and a light already shone in the cottage
as Begmand and Marianne approached.

"There they are, drinking again," said she.

"I believe they are," answered Begmand.

She went to the window, the small panes of which were covered with dew,
but she knew one which had a crack in it, through which she could look.

"There they are, all four of them," whispered Marianne. "You'll have to
sit there, in front of the kitchen door, grandfather."

"Yes, child; yes!" answered the old man.

When they entered the room, there was a pause in the conversation, which
was carried on by four men who sat drinking round the table. They had
not long begun, and were only in the first stage of harmless elevation.


Martin greeted them in a cheerful tone, which he thought would hide his
guilty conscience. "Good evening, grandfather. Good evening, Marianne.
Come, let me offer you a drop of beer."

The thick smoke from the freshly lighted pipes still lay curling over
the table, and round the little paraffin lamp without a globe. On the
table were tobacco, glasses, matches, and half-empty bottles, while on
the bench stood several full ones awaiting their fate.