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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.]
