"A domestic, moreover, who deserts the ways of her own people,--who hath dealings with the dwellers in darkness,--who even bringeth herself to forget much of her own native tongue, and who devoteth herself to--" What he would have said was uncertain, as at that moment he was nearly thrown down by a something that slipped agilely between his legs, pinching each fat calf as it passed--a something that looked like a ball, but proved to be a human creature--no other than the crazy Sigurd, who, after accomplishing his uncouth gambol successfully, stood up, shaking back his streaming fair locks and laughing wildly.
"Ha, ha!" he exclaimed.

"That was good; that was clever! If I had upset you now, you would have said your prayers backward! What are you here for?
This is no place for you! They are all gone out of it.

_She_ has gone--all the world is empty! There is nothing any where but air, air, air!--no birds, no flowers, no trees, no sunshine! All gone with her on the sparkling, singing water!" and he swung his arms round violently, and snapped his fingers in the minister's face.

"What an ugly man your are!" he exclaimed with refreshing candor.

"I think you are uglier than I am! You are straight,--but you are like a load of peat--heavy and barren and fit to burn.