"Good evening," said Peer, stretching out his hand.
The girl looked at him for a moment, then cast a glance at her own
clothes--as women will when they see a man who takes their fancy.
"An' who may you be?" she asked.
"Can you cook me some cream-porridge?"
"A' must finish milking first, then."
Here was a job that Peer could help with. He took off his knapsack,
washed his hands, and was soon seated on a stool in the close sweet air
of the shed, milking busily. Then he fetched water, and chopped some
wood for the fire, the girl gazing at him all the time, no doubt
wondering who this crazy person could be. When the porridge stood ready
on the table, he insisted on her sitting down close to him and sharing
the meal. They ate a little, and then laughed a little, and then
chatted, and then ate and then laughed again. When he asked what he had
to pay, the girl said: "Whatever you like"--and he gave her two crowns
and then bent her head back and kissed her lips. "What's the man up to?"
he heard her gasp behind him as he passed out; when he had gone a good
way and turned to look back, there she was in the doorway, shading her
eyes and watching him.
Whither away now? Well, he was pretty sure to reach some other inhabited
place before night. This, he felt, was not his abiding-place. No, it was
not here.
It was nearly midnight when he stood by the shore of a broad mountain
lake, beneath a snow-flecked hill-side. Here were a couple of saeters,
and across the lake, on a wooded island, stood a small frame house that
looked like some city people's summer cottage.
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