We got up and went back a little way up the river,
where Grindhusen had a bit of a log hut. We crept in, lit a fire, made
some coffee, and had a meal. Then, going outside again, we lit our pipes
and lay down in the heather.
Grindhusen had aged, and was in no better case than I myself; he did not
care to think of the gay times in our youth, when we had danced the whole
night through. He it was that had once been as a red-haired wolf among the
girls, but now he was thoroughly cowed by age and toil, and had not even a
smile. If I had only had a drop of spirits with me it might have livened
him up a little, but I had none.
In the old days he had been a stiff-necked fellow, obstinate as could be;
now he was easy-going and stupid. "Ay, maybe so," was his answer to
everything. "Ay, you're right," he would say. Not that he meant it; only
that life had taught him to seek the easiest way. So life does with all of
us, as the years go by--but it was an ill thing to see, meeting him so.
Ay, he got along somehow, he said, but he was not the man he used to be.
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