The first snow is come; it thaws again at once, but winter is not far off,
and we are nearing the end of our woodcutting now at Ovrebo--another week
or so, perhaps, no more. What then? There was work on the railway line up
on the, hills, or perhaps more woodcutting at some other place we might
come to. Falkenberg was for trying the railway.

But I couldn't get done with my machine in so short a time. We'd each our
own affairs to take our time; apart from the machine, there was that
thumbnail for the pipe I wanted to finish, and the evenings came out all
too short. As for Falkenberg, he had made it up with Emma again. And that
was a difficult matter and took time. She had been going about with Markus
Shoemaker, 'twas true, but Falkenberg for his part could not deny having
given Helene presents--a silk handkerchief and a work box set with shells.


Falkenberg was troubled, and said:

"Everything is wrong, somehow. Nothing but bother and worry and foolery."

"Why, as to that..."

"That's what I call it, anyway, if you want to know. She won't come up in
the hills as we said."

"It'll be Markus Shoemaker, then, that's keeping her back?"

Falkenberg was gloomily silent. Then, after a pause:

"They wouldn't even have me go on singing."