chimneys, and she could guess what they were going to have for supper. As she sat there, she again heard a creaking in the branches, and Halvard Ullern stood again before her, with his jacket on his arm, and the same bridle in his hand.
“You have not found your bay mare yet?” she exclaimed, laughingly. “And you think she is likely to be in this neighborhood?”
“I don’t know,” he answered; “and I don’t care if she isn’t.”
He spread his jacket on the grass, and sat down on the spot where he had sat the night before. Brita looked at him in surprise and remained silent; she didn’t know how to interpret this second visit.
“You are very handsome,” he said, suddenly, with a gravity which left no doubt as to his sincerity.
“Do you think so?” she answered, with a merry laugh. He appeared to her almost a child, and it never entered her mind to feel offended. On the contrary, she was not sure but that she felt pleased.
“I have thought of you ever since yesterday,” he continued, with the same imperturbable manner. “And if you were not angry with me, I thought I would like to look at you once more. You are so different from other folks.”
“God bless your foolish talk,” cried Brita, with a fresh burst of merriment. “No, indeed I am not angry with you; I should just as soon think of being angry with—with that calf,” she added for want of another comparison.
“You think I don’t know much,” he stammered. “And I don’t.” The sad smile again settled on his countenance.
A feeling of guilt sent the blood throbbing through her veins. She saw that she had done him injustice. He evidently possessed more sense, or at least a finer instinct, than she had given him credit for.
“Halvard,” she faltered, “if I have offended you, I assure you I didn’t mean to do it; and a thousand times I beg your pardon.”
“You haven’t offended me, Brita,” answered he, blushing like a girl. “You are the first one who doesn’t make me feel that I am not so wise as other folks.”
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