Also, it seemed that some one must have been talking to Lars Falkenberg,
my good old comrade that had been, and made him suspicious of me now.
Lars came in one evening and took me aside; he had come to say he forbade
me to show myself on his place again. His manner was comically
threatening.
Now, I had not been there more than a few times with washing--maybe half a
dozen times in all; he had been out, but Emma and I had talked a bit of
old things and new. The last time I was there Lars came home suddenly and
made a scene the moment he got inside the door, because Emma was sitting
on a stool in her petticoat. "It's too hot for a skirt," she said. "Ho,
yes, and your hair all down your back--too hot to put it up, I suppose?"
he retorted. Altogether he was in a rage with her. I said good-night to
him as I left, but he did not answer.
I had not been there since. Then what made him come over like this all of
a sudden? I set it down as more of Ragnhild's mischievous work.
When he had told me in so many words he forbade me to enter his house,
Lars nodded and looked at me; to his mind, I ought now to be as one dead.
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