Oh yes, I said to myself, you're very careful to do what's right and
proper, sending the lad up to fetch that washing. But you'll find it isn't
that at all. Right and proper, indeed; you're getting old, that's what it
is.
I bore with this reproach for an hour. Then--well, it was all nonsense,
like as not, and here was a lovely evening, and Sunday into the bargain,
nothing to do, no one to talk to down here.... Getting old, was I? Afraid
of the walk uphill?
And I went up myself.
Early next morning Lars Falkenberg came over again. He drew me aside, as
he had done once before, and with the same intent: I had been up to the
clearing yesterday, it seemed; it was to be the last time, and would I
please to make no mistake about that!
"It was the last of my washing, anyhow," I said.
"Oh, you and your washing! As if I couldn't have brought along your
miserable shirt a hundred times since you've been here!"
Now, by what sort of magic had he got to know of my little walk up there
already? Ragnhild, of course, at her old tricks again--it could be no one
else.
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