The fiddler started another tune, and the dancing was about to begin again.

A comrade came and sat down beside Oyvind.
"Why are you not dancing, Oyvind?
" he asked pleasantly.
"Dear me!" said Oyvind, "I do not look fit." "Do not look fit ?" cried his comrade; but before he could say more, Oyvind inquired,-- "Who is that in the blue broadcloth suit, dancing with Marit ?" "That is Jon Hatlen, he who has been away so long at an agricultural school and is now to take the gard." At that moment Marit and Jon sat down.
"Who is that boy with light hair sitting yonder by the fiddler, staring at me ?" asked Jon.
Then Marit laughed and said,-- "He is the son of the houseman at Pladsen." Oyvind had always known that he was a houseman's son; but until now he had never realized it.

It made him feel so very little, smaller than all the rest; in order to keep up he had to try and think of all that hitherto had made him happy and proud, from the coasting hill to each kind word.

He thought, too, of his mother and his father, who were now sitting at home and thinking that he was having a good time, and he could scarcely hold back his tears.

Around him all were laughing and joking, the fiddle rang right into his ear, it was a moment in which something black seemed to rise up before him, but then he remembered the school with all his companions, and the school-master who patted him, and the priest who at the last examination had given him a book and told him he was a clever boy.