"How can you hear them whetting knives at Branehog?" said Herr
Arne, smiling. "The place lies two miles from here. Take up your
spoon again and let us finish our supper."

The old woman made an effort to overcome her terror. She took up
her spoon and dipped it in the milk bowl, but in doing it her hand
shook so that all could hear the spoon rattle against the edge.
She put it down again at once. "How can I eat?" she said. "Do I
not hear the whining of the whetstone, do I not hear it grating?"

At this Herr Arne thrust the milk bowl away from him and clasped
his hands. All the others did the same, and the curate began to
say grace.

When this was ended, Herr Arne looked down at those who sat along
the table, and when he saw that they were pale and frightened, he
was angry.

He began to speak to them of the days when he had lately come to
Bohuslen to preach the Lutheran doctrine. Then he and his servants
were forced to fly from the Papists like wild beasts before the
hunter. "Have we not seen our enemies lie in wait for us as we
were on our way to the house of God? Have we not been driven out
of the parsonage, and have we not been compelled to take to the
woods like outlaws? Does it beseem us to play the coward and give
ourselves up for lost on account of an evil omen?"

As Herr Arne said this he looked like a valiant champion, and the
others took heart anew on hearing him.