obliged to give this information.

Grong, on the contrary, called Magnhild a lazy, selfish, pretentious
hussy. She would not even take the trouble to tie up her stockings; he
had noticed this himself. The hand-work she had started here had long
since been left to a hunchback girl named Marie and a tall girl by the
name of Louise. Magnhild occasionally taught them something new, yet
even that was due not to herself but to her husband, who picked up such
things on his travels and spurred her on to introduce them. Upon the
whole, Skarlie was a capable, industrious fellow, who had breathed life
into this sleepy, ignorant parish, and even if he had victimized the
people somewhat, it could scarcely be expected that so much knowledge
should be gained for nothing.

Magnhild's vocation? Bah! He had long since given up the idea of there
being such a thing as a special destiny. In Nordland, many years before,
he had seen an old man who in his childhood had been the only person
saved out of a whole parish; the rest had been swept away by an
avalanche. This man was a great dunce; he had lived to be sixty-six
years of age without earning a farthing except by rowing, and had died a
year before, a pauper. What sort of a destiny was that? Indeed, there
were precious few who had any destiny at all.

Grong at this time was wretchedly out of humor: he had believed his
gifted son to be destined for something; he lived for his sake
alone--and the young man had accomplished nothing except falling in
love. Roennaug, who knew nothing of Grong's own experience, was shocked
at his harsh verdict. Nor could she induce him to discuss the subject
with her, for he declared point blank that Magnhild bored him.

So she once more sought Magnhild herself, but found her so apathetic
that it was impossible to approach her.

If she would persevere in her design, there was nothing left for her but
to resort to strategy.

In the most indifferent tone in the world she therefore one day
announced to Magnhild that in a couple of days she proposed starting;
Magnhild would not need to take much luggage with her, for when they
stopped anywhere they could purchase whatever they required. That was
the way she always managed.

This was about nine o'clock in the morning, and until twelve o'clock
Magnhild was toiling over a telegram to her husband who had just
announced to her his arrival at Bergen. The telegram was at last
completed as follows:--

"Roennaug,