she was always asking. So, of course, they had to go.

But Signe was very quiet, and Henrik said but little. He had come to the
conclusion that he truly loved this girl whose parents were among the
poorest of his tenants. None other of his acquaintances, even among the
higher class, charmed him as did Signe. He was old enough to marry, and
she was not too young. He knew full well that if he did marry her, many
of his friends would criticise; but Henrik had some of the Norseman
spirit of liberty, and he did not think that a girl's humble position
barred her from him. True, he had received very little encouragement
from her, though her parents had looked with favor upon him. And now he
was thinking of her cold indifference.

They sat down on a rocky bank, carpeted with gray reindeer moss.

They had been talking of his experiences at school. He knew her desire
to finish the college education cut short by a lack of means.

"Signe, I wish you would let me do you a favor."

She thought for a moment before she asked what it was.

"Let me help you attend college. You know I am able to,
besides--besides, some day you may learn to think as much of me as I do
of you, and then, dear Signe--"

Signe arose. "Hr. Bogstad," she said, "I wish you would not talk like
that. If you do, I shall go back to Hansine."

"Why, Signe, don't be offended. I am not jesting." He stood before her