After that Per spent many days with the sheep. The sheep came and nuzzled him and were given salt, not blows. There was plenty of time to sit and think, especially in the evenings when it was nearly time to go home, when the sun sank low so that there was shade and it was quiet and cool, and when the sheep had eaten their fill---then it was good to sit and think.

I wonder what Olav Bringa is doing now?

And he thought too: I wonder what Åsne Bakken is doing now?

At home everything continued as it should. Things were set in motion and not allowed to get out of rhythm.

One day the sheep were to graze in the home woods no longer; they were to be driven up to the moorland and the mountain. This was the day all the shepherds looked forward to: the sheep were leaving. Little brown herdsmen scurried about, not knowing what to do with their arms and legs. They were free.

Per and Aunt Anne were standing by the roadside minding   [p. 76]   the Bufast sheep when the whole flock arrived with shouting and noise and dust. Somewhere farther along the same road Olav was standing waiting.

Auntie laughed and looked at Per. "So now you're free."

She went in front of him down to the farmyard. Auntie herself was spending a good deal of time in the woods these days with the cows. She swung her arms delightedly. Per watched her.

Auntie must never become old and wrinkled and stooping like some old women he had seen. Auntie must walk as she was walking now, swinging her arms and humming---and he himself would be a short distance away.

Free. Free of the sheep. Free of school. He tried to forget what he was not free of, and did feel free as the air.

Smoke rose up from the chimney, slowly and freely. And it felt like Saturday. The river murmured placidly. Father was over on the cleared land, Mother was down in the hen-house and Åsmund was running after her, shouting. Everything was almost right. Per stood watching them, and was free. Auntie let the cows out and took them with her into the woods. Mother began washing clothes at the well. Father came home sweating, was given food, and left again. Everything was right and in full swing; he was standing still and was free; the sheep had gone; he was a bit giddy, and his body felt light. It was like Saturday even though it was a Tuesday.

In the afternoon he walked slowly down to the meeting-place by the river. And Olav was there.

Per asked, joy flooding through him, "Have you been here long?"

"Yes."

"They left today, I suppose?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Ours did too."

It was good to be there.

Nothing lay between them. No sin. No word. No stubborn   [p. 77]   look that read into your heart. Just Olav and himself. As they lay there side by side kicking the grass with the toes of their shoes, it seemed unthinkable that it could ever be any different either.

They said nothing about it.

Per picked up stones and threw them into the river. Olav picked up the same kinds of stones and threw them too. Olav wandered about in a copse for a while; then Per wandered about in the copse for a while too. There was a smooth wall of rock there and soft stones that you could write on the rock with. Per wrote on the wall in big, clear letters: OLAV BRINGA.

Olav wrote, in the same kind of primary school writing: PER BUFAST.

The river sang a friendlier melody. There was no sin here. They looked into each other's eyes. Each of them winced. All the rest of it seemed to be lying behind a thin wall: misery, fighting, sulks, boring work, wicked words---they hurriedly looked aside and chased it back to where it had come from. It was nothing. It did not exist! And when they looked at each other again, it really did not exist.

They had fought and become enemies forever, and had been eating their hearts out for each other; they knew it at this moment---and yet they were not enemies, but friends!

Per was ready to tell Olav everything he knew now. If only Olav had asked, Per would have told him. He knew it and was thinking about it.

Don't ask me, he wished.

Olav did not ask.

Yes, he would have told him all the hidden things. About Botolv. About Auntie who had kissed him, about the meeting with Åsne Bakken in the river long ago. Perhaps many other things---oh, it was unsafe to be so ready to tell someone if only you were asked.

Don't ask me, he thought.

Olav did not ask about anything.

That was strange too, and almost suspicious, that nobody should ask you when you knew about such things. Per began   [p. 78]   to wonder whether he ought to tell him without being asked.

No, no!

Yes, I will.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks hot. But before he got started it was too late.

"We must go home," said Olav, and got up. He had not noticed anything.

"Home?" Per breathed more easily. He felt freed from a sudden temptation. The things he knew had been lying like open hatches; now they closed again with a bang. He would not tell him.

"Yes, I suppose we must go home."

"Yes, we must."

"See you."

"'Bye."

This happened the day the sheep left. Olav had been found again. Per remembered Åsne as he was walking home. During the whole of their meeting, she had not so much as entered his mind.