"
"I will do no such thing," thought Oyvind; and gazed defiantly up the
hills. Nor did he wait long before an old man appeared on the
hill-top, paused to rest, walked on a little, rested again. Both Thore
and his wife stopped to look. Thore soon smiled, however; his wife, on
the other hand, changed color.
"Do you know him?"
"Yes, it is not very easy to make a mistake here."
Father and son again began to carry hay; but the latter took care that
they were always together. The old man on the hill slowly drew near,
like a heavy western storm. He was very tall and rather corpulent; he
was lame and walked with a labored gait, leaning on a staff. Soon he
came so near that they could see him distinctly; he paused, removed his
cap and wiped away the perspiration with a handkerchief. He was quite
bald far back on the head; he had a round, wrinkled face, small,
glittering, blinking eyes, bushy eyebrows, and had lost none of his
teeth. When he spoke it was in a sharp, shrill voice, that seemed to
be hopping over gravel and stones; but it lingered on an "r" here and
there with great satisfaction, rolling it over for several yards, and
at the same time making a tremendous leap in pitch. He had been known
in his younger days as a lively but quick-tempered man; in his old age,
through much adversity, he had become irritable and suspicious.
Thore and his son came and went many times before Ole could make his
way to them; they both knew that he did not come for any good purpose,
therefore it was all the more comical that he never got there.
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