olly devoid of
thought as two raisins; suddenly he gave a start that set a quantity of
springs beneath him to creaking and grating, and the book that lay
upside down on his knee fell. The saddler picked up the volume smiling,
and turned over the leaves. The priest had risen to his feet.

"What does Magnhild have to say to this?" asked he.

The saddler looked up with a smile.

"Of course I should not have asked if she were not likely to give her
consent," said he.

The priest put his pipe in his mouth, and strode up and down the floor,
puffing away. Gradually he grew calmer, and without slackening his
speed, he observed:--

"To be sure I do not know what is to become of the girl."

Once more the saddler raised his eyes from the book whose leaves he was
turning over, and now laying it aside, he remarked:--

"It is, you know, rather a sort of adoption than a marriage. Down yonder
at my house she can develop into whatever she pleases."

The priest looked at him, took a puff at his pipe, paced the floor, and
puffed again.

"Aye, to be sure! You are, I believe, a wealthy man?"

"Well, if not precisely wealthy, I am sufficiently well provided to get
married."

Here Skarlie laughed.

But there was something in his laugh, something which did not quite
please the priest. Still less did he like the tone of indifference with
which Skarlie seemed to treat the whole affair. Least of all did he like
being so taken by surprise.

"I must speak with my wife about this," said he, and groaned. "That I
must," he added decidedly, "and with Magnhild," came as an
afterthought.

"Certainly," said the other, as he rose to take leave.

A little while later, the priest's wife was sitting where the saddler
had sat. Both hands lay idly open on her lap, while her eyes followed
her spouse as he steamed back and forth.

"Well, what do you think?" he urged, pausing in front of her.

Receiving no reply, he moved on again.

"He is far too old," she finally said.

"And surely very sly," added the priest, and then pausing again in front
of his wife, he whispered: "No one really knows where he comes from, or
why he chooses to settle here. He might have a fine workshop in a large
city--wealthy, and a smart dog!"

The priest did not use the choicest language in his daily discourse.

"To think she should allow herself to be so beguiled!" whispered the
wife.

"Beguiled! Just the word--beguiled!" repeated the priest, snapping his
fin