All of a sudden. He kept on wandering in and out of the house. When Hege started asking questions he replied: “It’s my stomach, sort of. But only sort of.” “Is it something you’ve eaten, or is it the weather?” “Neither one,” he replied, wandering outside again. The woodcock was in grave danger, that was what it was. That morning he’d met a youngster up on the road who had asked if it was true that there was a woodcock flying right across his house? Yes, yes there was, Mattis had replied, happy that someone should ask. Up till now he had had to force his news on people. Then suddenly he felt a cold shudder go right through him, and regretted bitterly every word he’d said. From a sudden gleam in the youngster’s eyes he realized that he’d been talking to a fowler. “But it’s stopped now! It’s too late in the summer. I haven’t seen it for a long time.” The youngster had just laughed – he knew better: “Do you think I don’t know when that sort of flight stops?”
