His father also bowed down.
"Suppose we go into the barn," whispered he, and taking an armful of hay he trotted off.

Oyvind picked up a little tuft, rushed after him, bent crooked with laughter, and dropped down as soon as he was inside the barn.

His father was a grave man, but if he once got to laughing, there first began within him a low chuckling, with an occasional ha-ha-ha, gradually growing longer and longer, until all blended in a single loud peal, after which came wave after wave with a longer gasp between each.

Now he was under way.

The son lay on the floor, the father stood beside him, both laughing with all their might.
Occasionally they had such fits of laughter.
"But this is inconvenient," said the father.
Finally they were at a loss to know how this would end, for the old man must surely have reached the gard.
"I will not go out," said the father; "I have no business with him." "Well, then, I will not go out either," replied Oyvind.
"Hem, hem!" was heard just outside of the barn wall.
The father held up a threatening finger to his boy.
"Come, out with you!" "Yes; you go first!" "No, you be off at once." "Well, go you first." And they brushed the dust off each other, and advanced very seriously.
When they came below the barn-bridge they saw Ole standing with his face towards the kitchen door, as if he were reflecting.