Mogens wandered about
hunting for a sheltered place, but the wind seemed to blow on all
sides of the church. He threw himself down near the embankment, drew a
book out of his pocket; but he did not get on with his reading; every
time when a cloud went past the sun, it seemed to him as though it
were growing chilly, and he thought of getting up, but then the light
came again and he remained lying. A young girl came slowly along the
way, a greyhound and a pointer ran playfully ahead of her. She stopped
and it seemed as if she wanted to sit down, but when she saw Mogens
she continued her walk diagonally across the cemetery out through the
gate. Mogens rose and looked after her; she walked down on the main
road, the dogs still played. Then he began reading the inscription on
one of the graves; it quickly made him smile. Suddenly a shadow fell
across the grave and remained lying there, Mogens looked sideways. A
tanned, young man stood there, one hand in his game-bag, in the other
he held his gun.
"It isn't really half bad," he said, indicating the inscription.
"No," said Mogens and straightened up from his bent position.
"Tell me," continued the hunter, and looked to the side, as if seeking
something, "you have been here for a couple of days, and I have been
going about wondering about you, but up to the present didn't come
near you. You go and drift about so alone, why haven't you looked in
on us? And what in the world do you do to kill the time? For you
haven't any business in the neighborhood, have you?"
"No, I am staying here for pleasure.
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