round and went straight on to Our
Saviour's Cemetery, where I found a quiet seat on the slope near the
Mortuary Chapel.

I sat there in complete quietness, dozed in the damp air, mused,
half-slept and shivered.

And time passed. Now, was it certain that the story really was a little
masterpiece of inspired art? God knows if it might not have its faults
here and there. All things well weighed, it was not certain that it
would be accepted; no, simply not even accepted. It was perhaps
mediocre enough in its way, perhaps downright worthless. What security
had I that it was not already at this moment lying in the waste-paper
basket?... My confidence was shaken. I sprang up and stormed out of the
graveyard.

Down in Akersgaden I peeped into a shop window, and saw that it was
only a little past noon. There was no use in looking up the editor
before four. The fate of my story filled me with gloomy forebodings;
the more I thought about it the more absurd it seemed to me that I
could have written anything useable with such suddenness, half-asleep,
with my brain full of fever and dreams. Of course I had deceived myself
and been happy all through the long morning for nothing!... Of
course!... I rushed with hurried strides up Ullavold-sveien, past St.
Han's Hill, until I came to the open fields; on through the narrow
quaint lanes in Sagene, past waste plots and small tilled fields, and
found myself at last on a country road, the end of which I could not
see.

Here I halted and decided to turn.

I was warm from the walk, and returned slowly and very downcast. I met
two hay-carts. The drivers were lying flat upon the top of their loads,
and sang. Both were bare-headed, and both had round, care-free faces. I
passed them and thought to myself that they were sure to accost me,
sure to fling some taunt or other at me, play me some trick; and as I
got near enough, one of them called out and asked what I had under my
arm?

"A blanket!"

"What o'clock is it?" he asked then.

"I don't know rightly; about three, I think!" Whereupon they both
laughed and drove on. I felt at the same moment the lash of a whip curl
round one of my ears, and my hat was jerked off. They couldn't let me
pass without playing me a trick. I raised my hand to my head more or
less confusedly, picked my hat out of the ditch, and continued on my
way. Down at St. Han's Hill I met a man who told me it was past four.
Past four! already past four! I mended my pace,