se. I could help him with sundry things, and he would
teach me more. Then I thought that work was the only thing I had to
rely on, and I thanked him very much; and I do not yet repent it,
although now I long for you, for the longer I stay here the better
right I shall have to ask for you one day. How happy I am now! I work
like three people, and never will I be behind-hand in any work! But
you must have a book that I am reading, for there is much in it about
love. I read in it in the evening when the others are sleeping, and
then I read your letter over again. Have you thought about our
meeting? I think of it so often, and you, too, must try and find out
how delightful it will be. I am truly happy that I have toiled and
studied so much, although it was hard before; for now I can say what I
please to you, and smile over it in my heart.
I shall give you many books to read, that you may see how much
tribulation they have borne who have truly loved each other, and that
they would rather die of grief than forsake each other. And that is
what we would do, and do it with the greatest joy. True, it will be
nearly two years before we see each other, and still longer before we
get each other; but with every day that passes there is one day less to
wait; we must think of this while we are working.
My next letter shall be about many things; but this evening I have
no more paper, and the others are asleep. Now I will go to bed and
think of you, and I will do so until I fall asleep.
Your friend,
OYVIND PLADSEN.

CHAPTER IX.

One Saturday, in midsummer, Thore Pladsen rowed across the lake to meet
his son, who was expected to arrive that afternoon from the
agricultural school, where he had finished his course. The mother had
hired women several days beforehand, and everything was scoured and
clean. The bedroom had been put in order some time before, a stove had
been set up, and there Oyvind was to be. To-day the mother carried in
fresh greens, laid out clean linen, made up the bed, and all the while
kept looking out to see if, perchance, any boat were coming across the
lake. A plentiful table was spread in the house, and there was always
something wanting, or flies to chase away, and the bedroom was
dusty,--continually dusty. Still no boat came. The mother leaned
against the window and looked across the waters; then she heard a step
near at hand on the road,