"You wrong me, sir, I'm sure. You say you know me; and know what a bad, reckless person I am, and that you have heard it from the Provst himself, so there must be reason in it. The Provst has so often condemned me to hell fire that I can't help thinkin' he's sincere. But you know very well, sir, that things don't always fall out exac'ly as the Provsts preach, and perhaps I'm not quite so black as the Provst would like to make me out. I won't deny, as far as that goes, that I came here to have a little talk with you, between four walls, as we say, for it has long been in my mind to pay you a visit. It seems to me that there might very well be a few things for us to talk about. When I heard that you had gone into Anders Jörgen's, it struck me it was best not to lose the chance."
"I am sure I do not see what we can have to talk about," exclaimed Emanuel shortly, in a voice still trembling with anger.
"Well, well, perhaps not," continued the weaver just as soberly, but in a changed tone, while the smile for a moment left his face, and he watched the curate narrowly as if to test him. "I believe all the same that you take us Skibberup folks in the wrong way. We always have our own way of taking things. We somehow speak plainly about everything, and because of that you're annoyed with me to-day, sir. All I can say is, that the last thing I should wish to do, would be to offend you."
