Another part of the heath.
Peer Gynt.
[Sings.]
A sexton! A sexton! where are you, hounds? A song from braying precentor-mouths: Around your hat-brim a mourning band;— My dead are many; I must follow their biers!
The Button-moulder, with a box of tools and a large casting-ladle, comes from a side path.
The Button-moulder.
Well met, old gaffer!
Peer.
Good evening, friend!
The Button-moulder.
The man's in a hurry. Why, where is he going?
Peer.
To a grave-feast.
The Button-moulder.
Indeed? My sight's not very good;—
Excuse me,—your name doesn't chance to be Peer?
Peer.
Peer Gynt, as the saying is.
The Button-moulder.
That I call luck!
It's precisely Peer Gynt I am sent for to-night.
