The things we do!

God's blessing on the old days, when something
could be rare!
Smoke rising now from the fisher-huts on the southern point of the island.
Evening time, and porridge cooking for supper. And when supper's done,
decent folk go to their beds, to be up again with the dawn. Only young and
foolish creatures still go trapesing round from house to house, putting
off their bedtime, not knowing what is best for themselves.


II

A man landed here this morning--come to paint the house. But Old Gunhild,
being very old indeed, and perishing with gout most times, gets him to cut
up a few days' firewood for her cooking before he starts. I've offered
many a time to cut that wood myself, but she thinks my clothes too fine,
and would not let me have the ax on any account.
This painter, now, is a short, thick-set fellow with red hair and no
beard. I watch him from behind a window as he works, to see how he handles
the ax. Then, noticing that he is talking to himself, I steal out of the
house to listen.


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