t any hesitation,
but if the stammering once began, there was nothing for it but to give
up the attempt for that time. There he would stand, gasping and gasping,
till he got so enraged that he nearly had a fit. When he was young it
was dangerous to go near him at such times, for the angrier he got the
more he stammered, and the more he stammered the more his anger
increased. There was only one way out of it, and that was by singing;
and so whenever anything of more than usual importance refused to come
out, he was obliged to sing his intelligence, which he did to a merry
little air he always used on these occasions. It was said that he had to
sing when he proposed to his wife, but whether there was any truth in
the statement is not quite clear. It was certain, however, that he did
not often have to sing, and woe to any one who dared to say, "Sing,
Anders." This was, of course, when he was young; he was now so broken
down that any one could say what they liked to him. There was,
therefore, no longer any pleasure in teasing him, and he was allowed to
go in peace. Among the workmen he was held in the greatest respect, not
only because he had been in the shop for more than fifty years, but
because he had had so much sorrow in his old age, and especially because
of the misfortune of Marianne, who was the apple of his eye and the
light of his life. Martin, too, had brought him nothing but trouble: he
was quite hopeless, and the captain with whom he had returned on his
last voyage had complained of him, and refused to take him out again; so
now he stayed at home, drinking and getting into mischief.

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,