But it is hard to walk over such a field, I can assure you." As their conversation now turned on the size of the gard, and what portion of it most needed cultivation, they decided to go up the slope that they might have a view of the whole.

When they at length had reached a high elevation, and could take it all in, the old man became moved.
"Indeed, I should not like to leave it so.

We have labored hard down there, both I and those who went before me, but there is nothing to show for it." A song rang out directly over their heads, but with the peculiar shrilling of a boy's voice when it is poured out with all its might.
They were not far from the tree in whose top was perched little Knut Ostistuen, gathering leaves for his father, and they were compelled to listen to the boy:-- "When on mountain peaks you hie, 'Mid green slopes to tarry, In your scrip pray no more tie, Than you well can carry.
Take no hindrances along To the crystal fountains; Drown them in a cheerful song, Send them down the mountains.
"Birds there greet you from the trees, Gossip seeks the valley; Purer, sweeter grows the breeze, As you upward sally.
Fill your lungs, and onward rove, Ever gayly singing, Childhood's memories, heath and grove, Rosy-hued, are bringing.
"Pause the shady groves among, Hear yon mighty roaring, Solitude's majestic song Upward far is soaring.
All the world's distraction comes When there rolls a pebble; Each forgotten duty hums In the brooklet's treble.
"Pray, while overhead, dear heart, Anxious mem'ries hover; Then go on: the better part You'll above discover.
Who hath chosen Christ as guide, Daniel and Moses, Finds contentment far and wide, And in peace reposes."[1] [Footnote 1: Auber Forestier's translation.] Ole had sat down and covered his face with his hands.
"Here I will talk with you," said the school-master, and seated himself by his side.
Down at Pladsen, Oyvind had just returned home from a somewhat long journey, the post-boy was still at the door, as the horse was resting.
Although Oyvind now had a good income as agriculturist of the district, he still lived in his little room down at Pladsen, and helped his parents every spare moment.

Pladsen was cultivated from one end to the other, but it was so small that Oyvind called it "mother's toy-farm," for it was she, in particular, who saw to the farming.
He had changed his clothes, his father had come in from the mill, white with meal, and had also dressed.

They just stood talking about taking a short walk before supper, when the mother came in quite pale.
"Here are singular strangers coming up to the house; oh dear! look out!" Both men turned to the window, and Oyvind was the first to exclaim:-- "It is the school-master, and--yes, I almost believe--why, certainly it is he!" "Yes, it is old Ole Nordistuen," said Thore, moving away from the window that he might not be seen; for the two were already near the door.
Just as Oyvind was leaving the window he caught the school-master's eye, Baard smiled, and cast a glance back at old Ole, who was laboring along with his staff in small, short steps, one foot being constantly raised higher than the other.