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Updated: May 4, 2025
"She says she isn't good enough for us," Ingmar replied, for Brita's words could scarcely be heard for her sobs. "What is she crying about?" asked the old woman. "Because I am such a miserable sinner," said Brita, pressing her hands to her heart which she thought would break. "What's that?" the old woman asked once more. "She says she is such a miserable sinner," Ingmar repeated.
"Alas," murmured he, "my son, that we should meet thus." There they stood, bound together by the bonds of blood, but, alas, there lay a world between them. All night they sat together at the dying woman's bedside. Not a word was spoken. Toward morning, as the sun stole into the darkened chamber, Brita murmured their names, and they laid their hands in hers.
In the middle of June, Brita went to the saeter with the cattle; and her sister, Grimhild, remained at home to keep house on the farm. She loved the life in the mountains; the great solitude sometimes made her feel sad, but it was not an unpleasant sadness, it was rather a gentle toning down of all the shrill and noisy feelings of the soul.
Ingmar gave her an angry look and jumped out of the wagon, so that he might read the letter in peace. Brita was as much excited now as she had been in the old days, when things did not go her way. "What I say in that letter isn't true. The chaplain talked me into writing it. I don't love you, Ingmar." He looked up from the paper and gazed at her in astonishment.
Never had he felt so keenly his utter defeat, and he was determined to put himself right. "I'd be a hell of a man if I couldn't make Brita happy here!" he said. He dealt the bedpost a last blow before getting up to go back to his work. "As sure as you're born it was Big Ingmar that sent old Kaisa here, in order to make me tale that trip to the city."
And no children dared come into the shop to spend their poor coppers for candy and raisins when Brita was in charge there. That day Brita had not many customers. So for hours and hours she sat quite alone, staring into vacancy, despair burning in her eyes. By and by she got up and took out a rope; then she moved a little stepladder from the shop into the back room.
Even Brita Halstendsdatter Höl, the strong housewife, smacked her lips over the glass which she drank after sitting to me for her portrait. When the sketch was completed, we filled the empty bottle with milk and set out on our return. Our return from the Vöring-Foss to the hamlet of Sæbö was accomplished without accident or particular incident.
He actually imagined that he saw before him the face of his father. "I shall have to lay the whole case before the old man, frankly and clearly," he remarked to himself, "so he can advise me." "'Winter had come and gone, yet nothing was changed. I felt at times that if Brita were to keep on being unhappy I might better give her up and send her home. However, it was too late to think of that.
She noticed that he had black curly hair, throat whiskers, keen eyes, and big, sinewy hands. He was well dressed, but his bearing was that of a labourer. After seating himself on a rickety chair near the door, he began to stare hard at Brita. By that time Brita was again standing behind the counter. She did not ask him what he wanted; she only wished he would go away.
I would have sent her back to her parents in a week or so and the banns annulled, on the grounds that she was not happy with us. 'That's all very well, but no one can expect a young chap like you to have an old man's head on him. 'The whole parish thinks that I behaved badly toward Brita. 'She has done worse in bringing disgrace upon honest folk. 'But I made her take me. 'She ought to be mighty glad of it, says father.
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