For a long time after the light was put out they talked under the clothes about the prices of coffee, meal, and credit. Even in their tenderest moments these two prudent persons never forgot their business for a moment.
Aggerbölle was the one of the three wanderers who had furthest to go.
He lived in a little neglected house half a mile from the village, on the way to the shore. Fifteen years ago—when, newly married, he came to this neighbourhood—he chose this desolate place on purpose to enjoy his happiness in solitude. There was a wide view of the Fiord and the shore from the windows. Many a balmy spring evening and moonlight autumn night he and his young wife had wandered among the silent hills, arm in arm, cheek pressed to cheek, while their hearts beat with joy and lightsome hope.
Now, he many a time swore at the distance, as, dazed with drink and play, he stumbled home in the dark through mire and snow. His gig was generally left at the place where he had stranded in the day; for when it came to going home, he was usually in no state to be trusted with a horse. Nor would Jensen, this evening, hand over his vehicle, although with the snow on the ground it was quite light, and the road was cleared nearly all the way to his house. But Aggerbölle did not keep to the road, he floundered across the fields in great circles, over his top boots in snow, stopping every moment with loud lamentations,
