Good Books

In his belt he carried a
formidable hunting-knife, and as he faced the two intruders on his
ground, he rested one hand lightly yet suggestively on a weighty staff
of pine, which was notched all over with quaint letters and figures, and
terminated in a curved handle at the top. He waited for the young man to
speak, and finding they remained silent, he glanced at them half angrily
and again repeated his words--
"I am the _bonde_,--Olaf Gueldmar. Speak your business and take your
departure; my time is brief!"
Lorimer looked up with his usual nonchalance,--a faint smile playing
about his lips. He saw at once that the old farmer was not a man to be
trifled with, and he raised his cap with a ready grace as he spoke.
"Fact is," he said frankly, "we've no business here at all--not the
least in the world. We are perfectly aware of it! We are trespassers,
and we know it. Pray don't be hard on us, Mr.--Mr. Gueldmar!"
The _bonde_ glanced him over with a quick lightening of the eyes, and
the suspicion of a smile in the depths of his curly beard.


Pages:
90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114