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Updated: June 1, 2025
When the young man had given Marit his hand, and was leading her to the altar, the school-master nodded at him from the chancel, just as Oyvind had seen him do, in fancy, when sitting sorrowfully at that dance long ago. Oyvind nodded back while tears welled up to his eyes. These tears at the dance were the forerunners of those at the wedding. Between them lay Oyvind's faith and his work.
Just as Oyvind was leaving the window he caught the school-master's eye, Baard smiled, and cast a glance back at old Ole, who was laboring along with his staff in small, short steps, one foot being constantly raised higher than the other. Outside the school-master was heard to say, "He has recently returned home, I suppose," and Ole to exclaim twice over, "Well, well!"
"I could not bear to have you leave so, Oyvind; we have known each other since we were children." "Yes; we have." "And now we have not spoken to each other for half a year." "No; we have not." "We parted so strangely, too, that time." "We did. I think I must come up to you!" "Oh, no! do not come! But tell me: you are not angry with me?" "Goodness! how could you think so?"
Then he would look round for Marit, but when she had come he payed no further attention to her. At last there came a Christmas, when Oyvind and Marit might be about sixteen or seventeen, and were both to be confirmed in the spring.
Oyvind did not dare join in at once, for there were too many grown folks here; but the half-grown-up ones soon united, thrust one another forward, drank a little strong ale to strengthen their courage, and then Oyvind came forward with them. The room grew warm to them; merriment and ale mounted to their heads.
Oyvind looked up at him amazed; the school-master nodded; the boy took a few steps, stopped, a few steps more, stopped again: "Yes, it surely is so; he has spoken to the priest for me," and the boy walked swiftly up to his place. "You are to be number one, after all," some one whispered to him. "Yes," answered Oyvind, in a low voice, but did not feel quite sure yet whether he dared think so.
Those whom Marit liked well she invited into a small chamber, where her grandfather sat smoking his pipe, and her grandmother was walking about. The old people offered them something to drink and spoke kindly to them. Oyvind was not among those invited in, and this seemed to him rather strange.
Oyvind sat by the window, he had been upstairs and had answered everything that had been asked him; but the priest had not said anything, neither had the school-master. For more than half a year he had been considering what they both would say when they came to know how hard he had toiled, and he felt now deeply disappointed as well as wounded.
The mother knew what he meant. "Oyvind has not been happy of late," said she. "Ah, no! he who is ambitious never is happy," and he gazed up with an old man's calmness into God's peaceful heavens above. Marit had just come down from the priest, from whom she had received a handsome book and much praise; she laughed and chatted with her girl friends on all sides and glanced around among the boys.
Last came the school-master, silently took Oyvind and his parents by the hands, and made a sign to start for home; he wanted to accompany them. The four were together once more, and this was to be the last evening. On the way home they met many others who took leave of Oyvind and wished him good luck; but they had no other conversation until they sat down together in the family-room.
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