cliff, and the sound died far away. Then he looked for Marit, and when he found her there, he did not take much more notice of her.

Now one Christmas the boy and the girl were both about sixteen or seventeen years of age, and they were both to be confirmed in the Spring. In Christmas week there was to be a grand party at Heidegaard, where Marit's grand-parents lived, who had brought her up and educated her. They had promised her this fête for three years, and now at last they were obliged to fulfil their word. To this party Ovind was invited.

It was a dull evening, not a single star to be seen; it would probably rain next day. There were great drifts of snow along the mountain side, with here and there bare places, and again the groups of birch trees standing isolated and conspicuous against the white back ground. The farmstead lay in the middle of the fields on the mountain side, and in the darkness the houses looked like black clumps from which the light streamed first from one window then from another. It seemed as though they were busy inside. Old and young flocked thither from different directions. No one liked to go in first; so when they reached the farm, instead of going direct to the house, they loitered about the outbuildings. Some hid behind the cattle shed, a few under the granary, some stood beside the hay-loft and imitated foxes, while others replied in the distance as cats; one stood behind the bakehouse and howled like an angry old dog, until there was a general chase. The girls came by-and-bye in great numbers, accompanied by their younger brothers, who would fain conduct themselves as grown-up men. The girls were very shy, and when the older youths already assembled came out to meet them, they ran away in all directions, and had to be brought in one by one. A few there were who would not be persuaded to enter, till Marit came herself and bade them. Now and then there also came a few who had certainly not been invited, and whose intention had been simply to look on from outside, but who, seeing the dancing, at last ventured in just for one single turn. Marit invited those she liked best into the private sitting room where her grandparents sat, and they fared exceedingly well. Now Ovind was not of the number, and this he thought very strange.

The grand fiddler of the neighbourhood could not come until late, so they had to content themselves with the old gardener, known by the name of "Grey Knut." He could play four dances,--two Spring dances, a halling,^[1] and a waltz. When they tired of these, they made him vary the hailing to suit a quadrille, and a Spring dance in the same way to the mazurka polka.

The party being at her grandfather's house, Marit was dancing nearly all the time, and this the more drew Ovind's attention to her. He wished to dance with her himself, and therefore he sat during one round in order to spring to her side the moment the dance was done; and this he succeeded in doing, but a tall, dark-looking fellow with black hair, stepped suddenly forward;--"Away, child!" he cried, and pushed Ovind that he nearly fell over Marit. Never before had he known such behaviour,--never had any one been so unkind to him, and never had he been called "Child!" in that contemptuous way. He blushed crimson, but said nothing, and turned back to where the new fiddler, who had just entered, had seated himself, and now tuned up. Every one stood still, waiting to hear the first strong tones of "Himself;" they waited long while he tuned the fiddle, but at last he began with a "Spring;"--the lads stepped out, and, pair by pair, they quickly joined in the dance. Ovind looked at Marit as she danced with the dark-haired man; he saw her smiling face over the man's shoulder, and for the first time in his life he felt a strange pang at his heart.

He looked more and more earnestly at her, and it came forcibly before him that Marit was now quite grown up. "And yet it cannot be," thought he, "for she is still playing with us in the sledges." But grown she certainly was, and the dark-haired man drew her to him at the end of the dance; she loosened herself from his clasp but continued to sit by his side.

Ovind looked at the man: he wore a fine blue cloth suit, and fancy shirt, and carried a silk pocket handkerchief; he had a small face, deep blue eyes, laughing defying mouth; he was good looking. Ovind looked long at him, and at last he looked at himself. He had got new trousers for Christmas, which had much pleased him, but now he saw they were only of gray homespun; his jacket was of the same material but old and dark; his vest of common plaided cloth, also old, and with two bright buttons and one black. He looked round and thought very few were so poorly clad as he. Marit wore a black bodice of fine stuff, a brooch in her necktie, and had a folded silk pocket handkerchief in her hand. She had a little black head-dress fastened under the chin with broad striped silk ribbons; she was red and white; she smiled, and the man talked to her and laughed; the fiddler tuned up, and the dance must begin again.

One of his companions came and sat by him.

"Why don't you dance, Ovind?" he said kindly.

"Oh! no!" said Ovind, "I don't look like dancing."

"Don't look like dancing!" said his companion; but before he could get further, Ovind interrupted him,--

"Who is that in the blue cloth suit, dancing with Marit?"

"That is Jon Hatlen; he has been at the Agricultural School, and is now to take the farm."

At the same moment Jon and Marit seated themselves.

"Who is that light-haired lad sitting there by the fiddler and staring at me?" said Jon.

Then Marit laughed and said, "Oh! that's the peasant's son at the little farm."

Ovind had always known that he was a peasant's son, but until now he had never felt it. He felt now so insignificant, that in order to keep himself up, he tried to think of everything that had ever made him feel proud, from the sledge playing to the smallest word of commendation. But when he thought of his father and mother sitting at home, and picturing him happy and glad, he could scarcely refrain from tears. All about him were laughing and joking; the fiddler thrummed close under his ear; it seemed to darken before his eyes; then he remembered the school with all his companions, and the schoolmaster who was so kind to him, and the pastor, who, at the last examination, had given him a book and said he was a clever lad; his father even, who sat by, hearing it had given him a smile. "Be a good boy, Ovind," he could fancy he heard the schoolmaster say, taking him on his knee as though he were still a child. "Dear me, it is so small a matter, and in reality they are all kind, it only looks as though they were not,--we two shall get on Ovind, as well as Jon Hatlen, we shall get good clothes, and dance with Marit, a fine room, a hundred people, smile and talk together, go to church together, chiming bells, a bride and bridegroom, the pastor and I in the vestry, all with gladsome faces, and mother at home, a large farm, twenty cows, three horses, and Marit good and kind as at school...."

The dance over, Ovind saw Marit opposite to him, and Jon sat by her side, his face close to hers; he felt again the sharp pain at his heart, and it was as if he said to himself,--"Yes, I am not well."

At the same moment Marit rose and came direct over to him. She bent down to speak to him,--"You must not sit and stare at me in that way," she said, "the people will notice it; now go and dance with some one."

He did not answer, but looked at her, and the tears came into his