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 about pluck and daring, but it all ends in play; no one has any real craving for the discipline that lies in looking danger manfully in the face. Don't stand and point at me with your bow, stupid; it might go off,

Olaf.

No, Uncle, there's no bolt in it.

Hilmar.

How do you know? There may very likely be a bolt in it. Take it away, I tell you!—Why the deuce have you never gone to America in one of your father's ships? There you could go buffalo-hunting or fighting the redskins.

Mrs. Bernick.

Oh, Hilmar

Olaf.

I should like to very much, Uncle; and then perhaps I might meet Uncle Johan and Aunt Lona.

Hilmar.

H'm—don't talk nonsense.

Mrs. Bernick.

Now you can go down the garden again, Olaf.

Olaf.

Mayn't I go out into the street, mother?

Mrs. Bernick.

Yes; but take care not to go too far. [Olaf runs out through the garden gate.

Rörlund.

You ought not to put such notions into the child's head, Mr. Tönnesen.