Lars. "Thou therefore gird up thy loins and arise, and speak unto
them all that I command thee."

Olof. Why do not you go?

Lars. I am too old.

Olof. You are afraid!

Lars. I am, for I have not the strength; but you have--and now
may the Lord give you the faith also.

Olof. Oh, once I did have the flame of faith, and it burned
wondrously, but the monkish gang smothered it with their holy
water when they were trying to read the devil out of my body.

Lars. That was a fire of straw which had to flicker out; but now
the Lord will light you a fire of logs by which the offspring of
the Philistines shall be consumed. Do you know your own will,
Olof?

Olof. No, but I feel myself choking when I think of these poor
people who yearn for salvation. They are crying for water--for
living water--but there is no one who can give it to them.

Lars. Tear down the crumbling old house first, you can do that.
Then the Lord Himself will build them a new one.

Olof. Then they will be without a roof over their heads for a
time.