He was the sinner, ay, he and none other;
The ugly beast tempted my poor boy astray
Kari.
Had I not better send word to the parson?
Mayhap you're worse than you think you are.
Åse.
To the parson? Truly I almost think so.
[Starts up.
But, oh God, I can't! I'm the boy's own mother;
And help him I must; it's no more than my duty;
I must do what I can when the rest forsake him.
They've left him his coat; I must patch it up.
I wish I dared snap up the fur-rug as well!
What's come of the hose?
Kari.
They are there, 'mid that rubbish.
Åse.
[Rummaging about.]
Why, what have we here? I declare it's an old
Casting-ladle, Kari! With this he would play
Button-moulder, would melt, and then shape, and then stamp them.
One day—there was company—in the boy came,
And begged of his father a lump of tin.
"Not tin," says Jon, "but King Christian's coin;
Silver; to show you're the son of Jon Gynt."
God pardon him, Jon; he was drunk, you see,
And then he cared neither for tin nor for gold.
Here are the hose. Oh, they're nothing but holes;
They want darning, Kari!
