He remained sitting, silent and thoughtful; his
wife dared say no more, but was trying to find clothes for him:
the things with which she had covered him, as he lay unconscious,
having fallen off. He received her attentions in silence, but as
she crouched down to cover his feet, he laid a hand upon her head.
She hid her face in his lap, and wept aloud. At last he had
noticed her. Lars understood, and said:
"You are the only friend I have."
Although to hear these words had cost the house, no matter, they
made her happy; she gathered courage and said, rising and looking
submissively at him:
"That is because no one else understands you."
Now again they talked of all that had transpired, or rather he
remained silent, while she told about it. Canute Aakre had been
first to perceive the fire, had awakened his people, sent the
girls out through the parish, while he himself hastened with men
and horses to the spot where all were sleeping. He had taken
charge of extinguishing the fire and saving the property; Lars
himself he had dragged from the burning room and brought him here
on the left, to the windward,--here, out on the churchyard.
While they were talking of all this, some one came driving rapidly
up the road and turned off toward them; soon he alighted. It was
Canute, who had been home after his church-wagon; the one in which
so many times they had ridden together to and from the parish
meetings. Now Lars must get in and ride home with him.
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