And then he had to think over what he would try his hand at the next day--cutting the ice, work on the quay, clearing away snow or carrying planks in the yard.
Thinly-clad and with no overcoat, and rather red with the cold, he clattered down in a coat that was in holes at the elbows, and his old scarf that had taken its hue from the smithy, pulled high up about his ears.

It was not difficult to see in him the smith's apprentice.
Whenever he met any of Haegberg's men, he burst into a scornful laugh.
Did they think, perhaps, that he was slovenly clad?
It was just as he was now, that he wanted to be.

He wanted to be free and have neither master nor journeyman nor any one over him, and to care for nobody.
If the forge-yard was one point that he preferred to keep away from, there were also other places in the town that he made a round to avoid--namely, that part of the quay where the blockmaker's workshop lay, and the Holmans' house up in the square.
Whatever the reason might be, he had no wish to meet Silla.
The last time he had spoken to her--the day after he had left the smithy--he noticed that she was looking about in a frightened way the whole time, and wanted him to stand first in one place and then in another.

It could not be fear of any one at home, and then it suddenly dawned upon him that she was ashamed that people should see her standing and talking to him, so with a "Good-bye, Silla!" he darted from her.
Afterwards he thoroughly enjoyed seeing her look so unhappy and so eager to show him that she did not care what people thought.

What did she care about him, when he had nothing to treat her with?
It was not fit for her to stand talking to a fellow like him.
There is a splendid friend and ally for every one who has thin, ragged clothes, and that is the sun.