Among the workmen he was held in the greatest respect, not only because he had been in the shop for more than fifty years, but because he had had so much sorrow in his old age, and especially because of the misfortune of Marianne, who was the apple of his eye and the light of his life.

Martin, too, had brought him nothing but trouble: he was quite hopeless, and the captain with whom he had returned on his last voyage had complained of him, and refused to take him out again; so now he stayed at home, drinking and getting into mischief.
The evening was dull and rainy, and a light already shone in the cottage as Begmand and Marianne approached.
"There they are, drinking again," said she.
"I believe they are," answered Begmand.
She went to the window, the small panes of which were covered with dew, but she knew one which had a crack in it, through which she could look.
"There they are, all four of them," whispered Marianne.

"You'll have to sit there, in front of the kitchen door, grandfather." "Yes, child; yes!" answered the old man.
When they entered the room, there was a pause in the conversation, which was carried on by four men who sat drinking round the table.

They had not long begun, and were only in the first stage of harmless elevation.
Martin greeted them in a cheerful tone, which he thought would hide his guilty conscience.

"Good evening, grandfather.