Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 4).djvu/133

 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 around,-
 * 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.]