Both
had to walk very serious, and talk in a whisper; but as this did not
come to an end it became ludicrous. Only half a word that is to the
point can kindle laughter under such circumstances, and especially when
it is dangerous to laugh. When at last Ole was only a few rods
distant, but which seemed never to grow less, Oyvind said, dryly, in a
low tone,--
"He must carry a heavy load, that man,"--and more was not required.
"I think you are not very wise," whispered the father, although he was
laughing himself.
"Hem, hem!" said Ole, coughing on the hill.
"He is getting his throat ready," whispered Thore.
Oyvind fell on his knees in front of the haycock, buried his head in
the hay, and laughed. 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.
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