Under the Autumn Star by Hamsun Knut 1859-1952

Author:Hamsun, Knut, 1859-1952
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature
Publisher: The University of Adelaide Library

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http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/h/hamsun/knut/h23u/chapter20.html

Last updated Monday, December 22, 2014 at 10:51

Under the Autumn Star, by Knut Hamsun

Chapter XXI

One evening there came visitors to the place, and as Petter was still poorly, and the other lad was only a youngster, I had to go and take out the horses. A lady got out of the carriage.

“Is any one at home?” she asked.

The sound of wheels had brought faces to the windows; lamps were lit in the rooms and passages. Fruen came out, calling:

“Is that you, Elisabeth? I’m so glad you’ve come.”

It was Frøken Elisabeth from the vicarage.

“Is he here?” she asked in surprise.

“Who?”

It was myself she meant. So she had recognized me. . . .

Next day the two young ladies came out to us in the wood. At first I was afraid lest some rumour of a certain nightly ride on borrowed horses should have reached the vicarage, but calmed myself when nothing was said of it.

“The water-pipes are doing nicely,” said Frøken Elisabeth.

I was pleased to hear it.

“Water-pipes?” said Fruen inquiringly.

“He laid on a water-supply to the house for us. Pipes in the kitchen and upstairs as well. Just turn a tap and there it is. You ought to have it done here.”

“Really, though? Could it be done here, do you think?”

I answered: yes; it ought to be easy enough.

“Why didn’t you speak to my husband about it?”

“I did speak of it. He said he would see what Fruen thought about it.”

Awkward pause. So he would not speak to her even of a thing that so nearly concerned herself. I hastened to break the silence, and said at random.

“Anyhow, it’s too late to start this year; the winter would be on us before we could get it done. But next spring. . . . ”

Fruen seemed to come back to attention from somewhere far away.

“Oh yes, I remember now, he did say something about it,” she said. “We talked it over. But it was too late this year. . . . Elisabeth, don’t you like watching them felling trees?”

We used a rope now and then to guide the tree in its fall. Falkenberg had just fixed this rope high up, and the tree stood swaying.

“What’s that for?”

“To make it fall the right way,” I began. But Fruen did not care to listen to me any more; she turned to Falkenberg and put the question to him directly:

“Does it matter which way it falls?”

Falkenberg had to answer her.

“Why, no, we’ll need to guide it a bit, so it doesn’t break down too much of the young growth when it falls.”

“Did you notice,” said Fruen to her friend, “what a voice he has? He’s the one that sings.”

How I hated myself now for having talked so much, instead of reading her wish! But at least I would show her that I understood the hint. And, moreover, it was Frøken Elisabeth and no other I was in love with; she was not full of changing humours, and was just as pretty as the other — ay, a thousand times prettier.

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