up against the storehouse wall
since she was there last; that was the only change she saw. She turned
to the right to go first into grandmother's house, her fear tempting
her to take this little respite before meeting her parents; when, just
between the two houses, at the wood-block, she came on her father,
fitting a handle to an axe. He was in his knitted jersey with the
braces over it, bareheaded, his thin long hair blowing in the breeze
that was beginning to come up from the valley. He looked well, and
almost cheerful at his work, and she took courage at the sight. He did
not notice her, she had come so quietly and cautiously over the
flagstones.

"Good morning!" she said in a low voice.

He looked at her in surprise for a moment.

"Is that you, Mildrid? Is there anything the matter?" he added
hastily, examining her face.

"No," she said, and blushed a little. But he kept his eyes on hers,
and she did not dare to look up.

Then he put down the axe, saying:

"Let us go in to mother!"

On the way he asked one or two questions about things up at the
soeter, and got satisfactory answers.

"Now Hans sees us going in," thought Mildrid, as they passed a gap
between the barn and some of the smaller outhouses.

When they got into the living-room, her father went to the door
leading into the kitchen, opened it, and called:

"Come here, mother! Mildrid has come down."

"Why, Mildrid, has anything gone wrong?" was answered from the
kitchen.

"No," replied Mildrid from behind her father, and then coming to the
door herself, she went into the kitchen and stood beside her mother,
who was sitting by the hearth paring potatoes and putting them in the
pot.

Her mother now looked as inquiringly at her as her father had done,
with the same effect. Then Randi set away the potato dish, went to
the outer door and spoke to some one there, came back again, took off
her kitchen apron and washed her hands, and they went together into
the room.

Mildrid knew her parents, and knew that these preparations meant that
they expected something unusual. She had had little courage before,
but now it grew less. Her father took his raised seat close to the
farthest away window, the one that looked down the valley. Her mother
sat on the same bench, but nearer the kitchen. Mildrid seated herself
on the opposite one, in front of the table. Hans could see her there;
and he could see her father, right in the face, but her mother he
could