Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 4).djvu/275



Another part of the heath.

[Sings.]  A sexton! A sexton! where are you, hounds? A song from braying precentor-mouths: Around your hat-brim a mourning band;— My dead are many; I must follow their biers! , with a box of tools and a large casting-ladle, comes from a side path.

Well met, old gaffer!

Good evening, friend!

The man's in a hurry. Why, where is he going?

To a grave-feast.

Indeed? My sight's not very good;— Excuse me,—your name doesn't chance to be Peer?

Peer Gynt, as the saying is.

That I call luck! It's precisely Peer Gynt I am sent for to-night.