They drink it on the grass. They eat and chat while Ingrid and Lars play with the dog in the farmyard. They load the hay onto the rowing boat and lash it down.

But they don’t call the children when they have finished, instead they lie down in the sand, supported on their elbows, and look out to sea – to Barrøy, they idle their time away.

Hans Barrøy remembers he has brought a bottle along, from which first the men, then the women drink. They strip off for a dip, and it is easier for a child to be naked, so it’s difficult to persuade their grandfather Martin, the only person who can’t swim; he takes off his clothes and sits on the shore like a white fish, gets up and walks slowly down to the lapping tongues of water, wades a few steps in and curses the insects on his back he can’t reach with his large copper-brown hands, until the others have had enough, then he emerges from the water and gets dressed with them, and they continue to sit around on the beach.

The couple at the farm have seen what they are doing and come down to join them, they have a bottle, too.

This is a scene drawn by a child, the green is green, the blue is blue, hardly a sea urchin is red here, but it is the yellow that makes the most lasting impression, and the white sand. Nesholmen is perhaps a little bigger than Barrøy, and there may be two or three households on it, but if the truth be told the two islands are as like as like can be; the Barrøyers are among their own kind, it is a marvel of a day, until this one, too, draws to an end, and they have to go home.