“Then come with me; we must set to work forthwith.”
She moved, but merely to look into the house.
“Yes, tell your mother,” said he.
The mother was just passing, and, seeing her child speak with a stranger, she came out on the flag-stone.
“He wants to teach me to read,” said the child, doubtfully, fixing her eyes on her mother.
Gunlaug made no reply, but, with arms akimbo, stood looking at Ödegaard.
“Your daughter is an ignorant child,” said he, “you cannot justify yourself before either God or man if you let her grow up in this way.”
“Who are you?” asked Gunlaug, sharply.
“Hans Ödegaard, your priest's son.”
Her face cleared a little; she had heard much good of him.
“From time to time when I have been at home, I have noticed this child,” he began once more. “To-day I have had my attention called to her afresh. She must no longer busy herself only with what is evil.”
“What is that to you?” the mother’s face plainly expressed.
He calmly asked, however: “You surely expect her to learn something?”
