He'd been troubled with gout of late, and pains in the chest as well. His
pains in the chest were cardialgic. But it was none so bad as long as he'd
the work here for Engineer Lassen. He knew the river right up, and worked
here all spring and early summer in his hut. And as for clothes, he'd
nothing to wear out save breeches and blouse all the year round. Had a bit
of luck, though, last year, he said suddenly. Found a sheep with nobody to
own it. Sheep in the forest? Up that way, he said, pointing. He'd had meat
on Sundays half through the winter off that sheep. Then he'd his folks in
America as good as any one else: children married there and well-to-do.
They sent him a little to help the first year or so, but now they'd
stopped; it was close on two years now since he'd heard from them at all.
Eyah! well, that's how things were now with him and his wife. And getting
old....
Grindhusen lapsed into thought.
A dull, rushing sound from the forest and the river, like millions of
nothings flowing and flowing on.
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