about pluck and daring, but it all ends in play; no one has any real craving for the discipline that lies in looking danger manfully in the face. Don't stand and point at me with your bow, stupid; it might go off,
Olaf.
No, Uncle, there's no bolt in it.
Hilmar.
How do you know? There may very likely be a bolt in it. Take it away, I tell you!—Why the deuce have you never gone to America in one of your father's ships? There you could go buffalo-hunting or fighting the redskins.
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, Hilmar
Olaf.
I should like to very much, Uncle; and then perhaps I might meet Uncle Johan and Aunt Lona.
Hilmar.
H'm—don't talk nonsense.
Mrs. Bernick.
Now you can go down the garden again, Olaf.
Olaf.
Mayn't I go out into the street, mother?
Mrs. Bernick.
Yes; but take care not to go too far. [Olaf runs out through the garden gate.
Rörlund.
You ought not to put such notions into the child's head, Mr. Tönnesen.
