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Updated: May 18, 2025
It was clay lower down, and our clothes were soon in a sorry state from the work. We dug for a week, and started the next getting out stones to line the well. This was work we were both used to from the old days at Skreia. Then we put in another week digging, and by that time we had carried it deep enough.
Did he remember the old days at Skreia? He looks at me, taking stock of me, with something of reserve; it is quite a while before I can draw him out to remember it at all. Yes, he remembers Skreia well enough. "And Anders Fila and 'Spiralen' and Petra?" "Which one?" "Petra the one that was your girl." "Ay, I remember her. I got tied up with her at last." Grindhusen falls to chopping wood again.
Something thrilled me warmly at the word; it was like a calling from my youth, from Skreia, from days a generation gone. I row across to him and ask: "Can you dig that well all alone?" "No. I'll have to take another man along." "Take me," I said. "Wait for me here, while I go up and settle at the house." Half-way up I heard Grindhusen calling again: "I can't wait here all night.
Only, he's not a painter at all, the rascal, but Grindhusen, one of the men I worked with when I was roadmaking at Skreia. I go up to him, and ask if he remembers me, and we talk a bit.
As for the masonry work, we could break out our stone on the site itself; there was layer on layer of granite there. By noon next day we were hard at work, Lars Falkenberg digging the trench for the pipe-line, Grindhusen and I getting stone. We were both well used to this work from the days when we had been road-making together at Skreia. Well and good. We worked four days; then it was Sunday.
Grindhusen, that I had worked with as a young man at Skreia my partner in the digging of a certain well six years before. And now to meet him here. We gave each other greeting, and sat down on the logs to talk, asking and answering questions for an hour or more. Then it was too late to get any more done that day.
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