Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/137

 He was the sinner, ay, he and none other; The ugly beast tempted my poor boy astray

Had I not better send word to the parson? Mayhap you're worse than you think you are.

To the parson? Truly I almost think so.

[Starts up.

But, oh God, I can't! I'm the boy's own mother; And help him I must; it's no more than my duty; I must do what I can when the rest forsake him. They've left him his coat; I must patch it up. I wish I dared snap up the fur-rug as well! What's come of the hose?

They are there, 'mid that rubbish.

[Rummaging about.]

Why, what have we here? I declare it's an old Casting-ladle, Kari! With this he would play Button-moulder, would melt, and then shape, and then stamp them. One day—there was company—in the boy came, And begged of his father a lump of tin. "Not tin," says Jon, "but King Christian's coin; Silver; to show you're the son of Jon Gynt." God pardon him, Jon; he was drunk, you see, And then he cared neither for tin nor for gold. Here are the hose. Oh, they're nothing but holes; They want darning, Kari!