atisfaction; for Jacob
Worse was an important man in the town, and hitherto he had rather
belonged to those who opposed and derided the Haugians.

They nodded and smiled at Madame Torvestad, who greatly enjoyed her
triumph.

Sivert Jespersen was especially pleased--he and Worse were
acquaintances of old, up at the northern fishery; and Sivert Gesvint,
as he was nick-named, was, when outside the meeting-house, a lively
and enterprising man. Whilst, on the one hand, his tongue was always
ready with texts and hymns, he was no less ready at a pinch to give
any one a helping hand, or to "carry on" recklessly if it was a
question of sailing out first to the fishing grounds.

Skipper Worse growled a little and rubbed his head, when Sivert
Gesvint pressed his hand and welcomed him with effusion. There was an
old affair between them about a consignment of salt, respecting which
Skipper Worse declared that Sivert had cheated him; indeed, he had
told him as much, to his face, many times, when they had met at the
fishing. Sivert Gesvint, however, used only to smile, and pat him on
the shoulder.

Madame Torvestad now led Worse to the armchair. He felt extremely ill
at ease, and inwardly cursed both Madame Torvestad and Lauritz, which
latter sat on a low stool behind two stout females, where he could
catch a glimpse of Henrietta.

Sarah bashfully welcomed Skipper Worse, who patted her on the head;
he had known her ever since she was a small child.

When they were all seated, and order was restored, Madame Torvestad
said: "Now little Erik Pontoppidan, what was the subject discussed at
the meeting?"

"Sanctification," said the pale boy near the door, in a prompt but
mechanical manner.

"What hymn did they sing, Henrietta," said her mother; "you remember
of course?"

Henrietta had indeed been at the meeting, but being quite absorbed by
the sad news that Lauritz could not lodge with them, she had derived
but scanty benefit from it. When she returned home and learnt that
after all he had received permission, she was so delighted that now
her mother's question came upon her like a bucket of cold water.

She turned very red, and felt as if her senses were leaving her.

Madame Torvestad looked severely at her for a while, and then turned
to Erik Pontoppidan, who gave the first line of the hymn, without
hesitation, the moment he caught her eye.

People nodded and smiled approvingly at the boy. His mother, a stout,
pale woman,