And with a blue silk ribbon
round her neck, that she hadn't been wearing before, and a wonder she
ever found time to put it on now. There he goes, a trifle short and
stout, spry on his feet, with a light, full beard, eight or ten years
older than herself. Ay, none so bad-looking to her mind!
And then the party came back from church late on Sunday night. All had
gone well, little Rebecca had slept the last few hours of the way
up, and was lifted from the cart and carried indoors without waking.
Sivert has heard a deal of news, but when his mother asks, "Well, what
you've got to tell?" he only says: "Nay, nothing much. Axel he's got a
mowing-machine and a harrow."
"What's that?" says his father, all interested. "Did you see them?"
"Ay, I saw them right enough. Down on the quay."
"Ho! So that was what he must go in to town for," says his father.
And Sivert sits there swelling with pride at knowing better, but says
never a word.
His father might just as well believe that Axel's pressing business in
the town had been to buy machines; his mother too might think so
for all that.
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