When the hisses became universal, and completely drowned the speaker, he looked up with a broad smile, and rose.
"Come, come, now, Maren Smeds, hadn't we better keep all this here for another time. Seems like we shouldn't spoil the good impression of Mr Hansted's speech with too much jaw after it.
"Hear, hear," was heard on all sides.
The weaver, who seemed as if he would have added something more, stopped suddenly and sat down. At the same time, a dozen hands pulled Maren by the skirts down on to the seat with a bump like a wooden doll.
Emanuel, who had risen, looked with uncomprehending glances both at the speaker and at the hissers, when a bystander whispered a few words to him, and he sat down again.
Now a movement arose in the background. A man jumped on to the last bench, and in a loud voice asked leave to speak. It was the big, blackbearded "Viking" figure, whom Emanuel had occasionally met before, first, as the speaker among the snow-clearers on that winter evening's sledge ride to Skibberup.
With a voice which rang through the room like a horn, he said:
"I'd like to thank the Pastor for what he's said to-day, too—but most of all for his presence. I think we can all say that we've found the man we wanted, and we weren't far wrong when we were pleased at hearing who was to be our curate.
