Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/134

 The thick-swarming undergrowth shudders around him!

[Begins lopping the branches from the trunk; suddenly he listens, and stands motionless with his axe in the air.

There's some one after me;—Ay, are you that sort, Old Hegstad-churl; would you play me false?

[Crouches behind the tree, and peeps over it. A lad! One only. He seems afraid. He peers all round him. What's that he hides 'Neath his jacket? A sickle. He stops and looks round,— Now he lays his hand on a fence-rail flat. What's this now? Why does he lean like that? Ugh, ugh! Why, he's chopped his finger off! A whole finger off!—He bleeds like an ox.— Now he takes to his heels with his fist in a clout. [Rises. What a devil of a lad! An unmendable finger! Right off! And with no one compelling him to it! Ho, now I remember! It's only thus You can 'scape from having to serve the King. That's it. They wanted to send him soldiering, And of course the lad didn't want to go.— But to chop off—-? To sever for good and all? Ay, think of it—wish it done—will it to boot,— But do it! No, that's past my understanding! [Shakes his head a little; then goes on with his work.