iege the old man with good deeds."

"Those are brave words. What more, Oyvind?"

"Why, the rest simply concerns us two. You must not go away."

"Not if he orders it?"

"And keep nothing secret that concerns us two."

"Even if he torments me?"

"We gain more and defend ourselves better by allowing everything to be
open. We must manage to be so constantly before the eyes of people,
that they are constantly forced to talk about how fond we are of each
other; so much the sooner will they wish that all may go well with us.
You must not leave home. There is danger of gossip forcing its way
between those who are parted. We pay no heed to any idle talk the
first year, but we begin by degrees to believe in it the second. We
two will meet once a week and laugh away the mischief people would like
to make between us; we shall be able to meet occasionally at a dance,
and keep step together until everything sings about us, while those who
backbite us are sitting around. We shall meet at church and greet each
other so that it may attract the attention of all those who wish us a
hundred miles apart. If any one makes a song about us we will sit down
together and try to get up one in answer to it; we must succeed if we
assist each other. No one can harm us if we keep together, and thus
_show_ people that we keep together. All unhappy love belongs either
to timid people, or weak people, or sick people, or calculating people,
who keep waiting for some special opportunity, or cunning people, who,
in the end, smart for their own cunning; or to sensuous people that do
not care enough for each other to forget rank and distinction; they go
and hide from sight, they send letters, they tremble at a word, and
finally they mistake fear, that constant uneasiness and irritation in
the blood, for love, become wretched and dissolve like sugar. Oh
pshaw! if they truly loved each other they would have no fear; they
would laugh, and would openly march to the church door, in the face of
every smile and every word. I have read about it in books, and I have
seen it for myself. That is a pitiful love which chooses a secret
course. Love naturally begins in secresy because it begins in shyness;
but it must live openly because it lives in joy. It is as when the
leaves are changing; that which is to grow cannot conceal itself, and
in every instance you see that all which is dry falls from the tree the
moment the new leaves begin to sprout. H