blindly into the living room, knocking his head against the door
jamb because he forgot to stoop. He dropped into a chair behind
the stove, thrusting his big feet back helplessly on either side of
him.

Ole was a long time in coming, and Canute sat there, still and
silent, with his hands clenched on his knees, and the skin of his
face seemed to have shriveled up into little wrinkles that trembled
when he lowered his brows. His life had been one long lethargy of
solitude and alcohol, but now he was awakening, and it was as when
the dumb stagnant heat of summer breaks out into thunder.

When Ole came staggering in, heavy with liquor, Canute rose at
once.

"Yensen," he said quietly, "I have come to see if you will let
me marry your daughter today."

"Today!" gasped Ole.

"Yes, I will not wait until tomorrow. I am tired of living alone."

Ole braced his staggering knees against the bedstead, and
stammered eloquently: "Do you think I will marry my daughter to a
drunkard? a man who drinks raw alcohol? a man who sleeps with
rattle snakes? Get out of my house or I will kick you out
for your impudence." And Ole began looking anxiously for his feet.

Canute answered not a word, but he put on his hat and went out
into the kitchen. He went up to Lena and said without looking at