Axel takes no heed. He had given a promise to God not to be vengeful,

not to tell of what Brede had done, but beyond that he was free. And

what was Brede going up that way again for now? Had he seen that Oline

was at Maaneland, and guessed that she would hear?

"And it's you here, Oline, is it?" goes on Brede easily. "Where d'you

find him? Under a tree? Well, now, 'tis a curious thing," says he. "I

was up that way just now on duty, along the line, and seems like

I heard some one shouting. Turns round and listens quick as a

flash--Brede's the man to lend a hand if there's need. And so 'twas

Axel, was it, lying under a tree, d'you say?"

"Ay," says Axel. "And well you knew that saw and heard as well. But

never helping hand...."

"Good Lord, deliver us!" cries Oline, aghast. "As I'm a sinner...."

Brede explains. "Saw? Why, yes, I saw you right enough. But why didn't

you call out? You might have called out if there was anything wrong. I

saw you right enough, ay, but never thought but you were lying down a

bit to rest."

"You'd better say no more," says Axel warningly. "You know well enough

you left me there and hoping I'd never rise again."

Oline sees her way now; Brede must not be allowed to interfere. She

must be indispensable, nothing can come between her and Axel that

could make him less completely indebted to herself. She had saved him,

she alone. And she waves Brede aside; will not even let him carry the

ax or the basket of food. Oh, for the moment she is all on Axel's

side--but next time she comes to Brede and sits talking to him over a

cup of coffee, she will be on his.

"Let me carry the ax and things, anyway," says Brede.

"Nay," says Oline, speaking for Axel. "He'll take them himself."

And Brede goes on again: "You might have called to me, anyway; we're

not so deadly enemies that you couldn't say a word to a man?--You did

call? Well, you might have shouted then, so a man could hear. Blowing

a gale and all.... Leastways, you might have waved a hand."

"I'd no hand to wave," answers Axel. "You saw how 'twas with me, shut

down and locked in all ways."

"Nay, that I'll swear I didn't. Well, I never heard. Here, let me

carry those things."

Oline puts in: "Leave him alone. He's hurt and poorly."

But Axel's mind is getting to work again now. He has heard of Oline

before, and understands it will be a costly thing for him, and a

plague besides, if she can claim to have saved his life all by

herself. Better to share between them as far as may be. And he lets

Brede take the basket and the tools; ay, he lets it be understood that

this is a relief, that it eases him to get rid of it. But Oline will

not have it, she snatches away the basket, she and no other will carry

what's to be carried there. Sly simplicity at war on every side. Axel

is left for a moment without support, and Brede has to drop the basket

and hold him, though Axel can stand by himself now, it seems.

Then they go on a bit that way, Brede holding Axel's arm, and Oline

carrying the things. Carrying, carrying, full of bitterness and

flashing fire; a miserable part indeed, to carry a basket instead

of leading a helpless man. What did Brede want coming that way at

all--devil of a man!

"Brede," says she, "what's it they're saying, you've sold your place

and all?"

"And who's it wants to know?" says Brede boldly.

"Why, as to that, I'd never thought 'twas any secret not to be known."

"Why didn't you come to the sale, then, and bid with the rest?"

"Me--ay, 'tis like you to make a jest of poor folk."

"Well, and I thought 'twas you had grown rich and grand. Wasn't it you

had left you old Sivert's chest and all his money in? He he he!"

Oline was not pleased, not softened at being minded of that legacy.

"Ay, old Sivert, he'd a kindly thought for me, and I'll not say

otherwise. But once he was dead and gone, 'twas little they left after

him in worldly goods. And you know yourself how 'tis to be stripped of

all, and live under other man's roof; but old Sivert he's in palaces

and mansions now, and the likes of you and me are left on earth to be

spurned underfoot."

"Ho, you and your talk!" says Brede scornfully, and turns to Axel:

"Well, I'm glad I came in time--help you back home. Not going too

fast, eh?"

"No."

Talk to Oline, stand up and argue with Oline! Was never a man could

do it but to his cost. Never in life would she give in, and never her

match for turning and twisting heaven and earth to a medley of seeming

kindness and malice, poison and senseless words. This to her face now:

Brede making as if 'twas himself was bringing Axel home!

"What I was going to say," she begins: "They gentlemen came up to

Sellanraa that time; did you ever get to show them all those sacks of

stone you'd got, eh, Brede?"

"Axel," says Brede, "let me hoist you on my shoulders, and I'll carry

you down rest of the way."

"Nay," says Axel. "For all it's good of you to ask."

So they go on; not far now to go. Oline must make the best of her time

on the way. "Better if you'd saved him at the point of death," says

she. "And how was it, Brede, you coming by and seeing him in deadly

peril and heard his cry and never stopped to help?"

"You hold your tongue," says Brede.

And it might have been easier for her if she had, wading deep in snow

and out of breath, and a heavy burden and all, but 'twas not Oline's

way to hold her tongue. She'd a bit in reserve, a dainty morsel. Ho,

'twas a dangerous thing to talk of, but she dared it.

"There's Barbro now," says she. "And how's it with her? Not run off

and away, perhaps?"

"Ay, she has," answers Brede carelessly. "And left a place for you for

the winter by the same."

But here was a first-rate opening for Oline again; she could let it be

seen now what a personage she was; how none could manage long without

Oline--Oline, that, had to be sent for near or far. She might

have been two places, ay, three, for that matter. There was the

parsonage--they'd have been glad to have her there, too. And here was

another thing--ay, let Axel hear it too, 'twould do no harm--they'd

offered her so-and-so much for the winter, not to speak of a new pair

of shoes and a sheepskin into the bargain. But she knew what she was

doing, coming to Maaneland, coming to a man that was lordly to give

and would pay her over and above what other folk did--and so she'd

come. No, 'twas no need for Brede to trouble himself that gait--when

her Heavenly Father had watched over her all those years, and opened

this door and that before her feet, and bidden her in. Ay, and it

seemed like God Himself had known what He was doing, sending her up

to Maaneland that day, to save the life of one of His creatures on

earth....

Axel was getting wearied again by now; his legs could hardly bear him,

and seemed like giving up. Strange, he had been getting better by

degrees, able to walk, as the life and warmth came back into his body.

But now--he must lean on Brede for support! It seemed to begin when

Oline started talking about her wages; and then, when she was saving

his life again, it was worse than ever. Was he trying to lessen her

triumph once more? Heaven knows--but his mind seemed to be working

again. As they neared the house, he stopped, and said: "Looks like

I'll never get there, after all."

Brede hoists him up without a word, and carries him. So they go on

like that, Oline all venom, Axel up full length on Brede's back.

"What I was going to say," gets out Oline--"about Barbro--wasn't she

far gone with child?"

"Child?" groans Brede, under the weight. Oh, 'tis a strange

procession; but Axel lets himself be carried all the way till he's set

down at his own door.

Brede puffs and blows, mightily out of breath.

"Ay, or how--was it ever born, after all?" asks Oline.

Axel cuts in quickly with a word to Brede: "I don't know how I'd ever

have got home this night but for you." And he does not forget Oline:

"And you, Oline, that was the first to find me. I've to thank you both

for it all."

That was how Axel was saved....

* * * * *

The next few days Oline would talk of nothing but the great event;

Axel was hard put to it to keep her within bounds. Oline can point out

the very spot where she was standing in the room when an angel of the

Lord called her out to the door to hear a cry for help--Axel goes

back to his work in the woods, and when he has felled enough, begins

carting it up to the sawmill at Sellanraa.

Good, regular winter work, as long as it lasts; carting up rough

timber and bringing back sawn planks. The great thing is to hurry and

get through with it before the new year, when the frost sets in

in earnest, and the saw cannot work. Things are going on nicely,

everything as well as could be wished. If Sivert happens to come up

from the village with an empty sledge, he stops and takes a stick of

timber on the way, to help his neighbour. And the pair of them talk

over things together, and each is glad of a talk with the other.

"What's the news down village?" asks Axel.

"Why, nothing much," says Sivert. "There's a new man coming to take up

land, so they say."

A new man--nothing in that; 'twas only Sivert's way of putting it. New

men came now every year or so, to take up land; there were five new

holdings now below Breidablik. Higher up, things went more slowly,

for all that the soil was richer that way. The one who had ventured

farthest was Isak, when he settled down at Sellanraa; he was the

boldest and the wisest of them all. Later, Axel Ström had come--and

now there was a new man besides. The new man was to have a big patch

of arable land and forest down below Maaneland--there was land enough.

"Heard what sort of a man it is?" asked Axel.

"Nay," said Sivert. "But he's bringing up houses all ready made, to

fix up in no time."

"Ho! A rich man, then?"

"Ay, seems like. And a wife and three children with him; and horse and

cattle."

"Why, then, 'twill be a rich man enough. Any more about him?"

"No. He's three-and-thirty."

"And what's his name?"

"Aron, they say. Calls his place Storborg."

"Storborg? H'm. 'Tis no little place, then." [Footnote: "_Stor_" =

great]

"He's come up from the coast. Had a fishery there, so they say."

"H'm--fishery. Wonder if he knows much about farming?" says Axel.

"That all you heard? Nothing more?"

"No. He paid all down in cash for the title-deeds. That's all I heard.

Must have made a heap of money with his fishery, they say. And now

he's going to start here with a store."

"Ho! A store?"

"Ay, so they say."

"H'm. So he's going to start a store?"

This was the one really important piece of news, and the two

neighbours talked it over every way as they drove up. It was a big

piece of news--the greatest event, perhaps, in all the history of the

place; ay, there was much to say of that. Who was he going to trade

with, this new man? The eight of them that had settled on the common

lands? Or did he reckon on getting custom from the village as well?

Anyway, the store would mean a lot to them; like as not, it would

bring up more settlers again. The holdings might rise in value--who

could say?

They talked it over as if they would never tire. Ay, here were two men

with their own interests and aims, as great to them as other men's.

The settlement was their world; work, seasons, crops were the

adventures of their life. Was not that interest and excitement enough?

Ho, enough indeed! Many a time they had need to sleep but lightly, to

work on long past meal-times; but they stood it, they endured it and

were none the worse; a matter of seven hours lying pinned down beneath

a tree was not a thing to spoil them for life as long as their limbs

were whole. A narrow world, a life with no great prospects? Ho,

indeed! What of this new Storborg, a shop and a store here in the

wilds--was not that prospect enough?

They talked it over until Christmas came....

Axel had got a letter, a big envelope with a lion on it; it was from

the State. He was to fetch supplies of wire, a telegraph apparatus,

tools and implements, from Brede Olsen, and take over inspection of

the line from New Year's Day.

Chapter IV

Teams of horses driving up over the moors, carting up houses for the

new man come to settle in the wilds; load after load, for days on end.

Dump the things down on a spot that is to be called Storborg; 'twill

answer to its name, no doubt, in time. There are four men already at

work up in the hills, getting out stone for a wall and two cellars.

Carting loads, carting new loads. The sides of the house are built and

ready beforehand, 'tis only to fix them up when the spring comes; all

reckoned out neatly and accurately in advance, each piece with its

number marked, not a door, not a window lacking, even to the coloured

glass for the verandah. And one day a cart comes up with a whole load

of small stakes. What's them for? One of the settlers from lower down

can tell them; he's from the south, and has seen the life before.

"'Tis for a garden fence," says he. So the new man is going to have a

garden laid out in the wilds--a big garden.

All looked well; never before had there been such carting and traffic

up over the moors, and there were many that earned good money letting

out their horses for the work. This, again, was matter for discussion.

There was the prospect of making money in the future; the trader would

be getting his goods from different parts; inland or overseas, they

would have to be carted up from the sea with teams of horses.

Ay, it looked as if things were going to be on a grander scale all

round. Here was a young foreman or manager in charge of the carting

work; a lordly young spark he was, and grumbled at not getting horses

enough, for all that there were not so many loads to come.

"But there can't be so much more to come now, with the houses all up,"

they said.

"Ho, and what about the goods?" he answered.

Sivert from Sellanraa came clattering up homeward, empty as usual, and

the foreman called to him: "Hi, what are you coming up empty for? Why

didn't you bring up a load for us here?"

"Why, I might have," said Sivert. "But I'd no knowledge of it."

"He's from Sellanraa; they've two horses there," some one whispered.

"What's that? You've got two horses?" says the foreman. "Bring them

down, then, the pair of them, to help with the cartage here. We'll pay

you well."

"Why," says Sivert, "that's none so bad, dare say. But we're pressed

just now, and can't spare the time."

"What? Can't spare the time to make money!" says the foreman.

But they had not always time at Sellanraa, there was much to do on the

place. They had hired men to help--the first time such a thing had

ever been done at Sellanraa--two stoneworkers from the Swedish side,

to get out stone for a new cowshed.

This had been Isak's great idea for years past, to build a proper

cowshed. The turf hut where the cattle were housed at present was too

small, and out of repair; he would have a stone-built shed with double

walls and a proper dung-pit under. It was to be done now. But there

were many other things to be done as well, one thing always leading to

another; the building work, at any rate, seemed never to be finished.

He had a sawmill and a cornmill and a summer shed for the cattle; it

was but reasonable he should have a smithy. Only a little place, for

odd jobs as need arose; it was a long way to send down to the village

when the sledge-hammer curled at the edges or a horseshoe or so

wanted looking to. Just enough to manage with, that was all--and why

shouldn't he? Altogether, there were many outbuildings, little and

big, at Sellanraa.

The place is growing, getting bigger and bigger, a mighty big place at

last. Impossible now to manage without a girl to help, and Jensine has

to stay on. Her father, the blacksmith, asks after her now and again,

if she isn't coming home soon; but he does not make a point of it,

being an easy-going man, and maybe with his own reasons for letting

her stay. And there is Sellanraa, farthest out of all the settlements,

growing bigger and bigger all the time; the place, that is, the houses

and the ground, only the folk are the same. The day is gone when

wandering Lapps could come to the house and get all they wanted for

the asking; they come but rarely now, seem rather to go a long way

round and keep out of sight; none are even seen inside the house, but

wait without if they come at all. Lapps always keep to the outlying

spots, in dark places; light and air distress them, they cannot

thrive; 'tis with them as with maggots and vermin. Now and again

a calf or a lamb disappears without a trace from the outskirts of

Sellanraa, from the farthest edge of the land--there is no helping

that. And Sellanraa can bear the loss. And even if Sivert could shoot,

he has no gun, but anyway, he cannot shoot; a good-tempered fellow,

nothing warlike; a born jester: "And, anyway, I doubt but there's a

law against shooting Lapps," says he.

Ay, Sellanraa can bear the loss of a head or so of cattle here and

there; it stands there, great and strong. But not without its troubles

for all that. Inger is not altogether pleased with herself and with

life all the year round, no; once she made a journey to a place a long

way off, and it seems to have left an ugly discontent behind. It

may disappear for a time, but always it returns. She is clever and

hard-working as in her best days, and a handsome, healthy wife for a

man, for a barge of a man--but has she no memories of Trondhjem; does

she never dream? Ay, and in winter most of all. Full of life and

spirits at times, and wanting no end of things--but a woman cannot

dance by herself, and so there was no dancing at Sellanraa. Heavy

thoughts and books of devotion? Ay, well.... But there's something,

Heaven knows, in the other sort of life, something splendid and

unequalled. She has learned to make do with little; the Swedish

stoneworkers are something, at any rate; strange faces and new voices

about the place, but they are quiet, elderly men, given to work

rather than play. Still, better than nothing--and one of them sings

beautifully at his work; Inger stops now and again to listen. Hjalmar

is his name.

And that is not all the trouble at Sellanraa. There is Eleseus, for

instance--a disappointment there. He had written to say that his place

in the engineer's office was no longer open, but he was going to

get another all right--only wait. Then came another letter; he was

expecting something to turn up very shortly, a first-rate post; but

meantime, he could not live on nothing at all, and when they sent him

a hundred-_Krone_ note from home, he wrote back to say it was just

enough to pay off some small debts he had.... "H'm," said Isak. "But

we've these stoneworker folk to pay, and a deal of things ... write

and ask if he wouldn't rather come back here and lend a hand."

And Inger wrote, but Eleseus did not care about coming home again; no,

no sense in making another journey all to no purpose; he would rather

starve.

Well, perhaps there was no first-rate post vacant just then in the

city, and Eleseus, perhaps, was not as sharp as a razor in pushing his

way. Heaven knows--perhaps he wasn't over clever at his work either.

Write? ay, he could write well enough, and quick and hard-working

maybe, but there might be something lacking for all that. And if so,

what was to become of him?

When he arrived from home with his two hundred _Kroner_, the city was

waiting for him with old accounts outstanding, and when those were

paid, well, he had to get a proper walking-stick, and not the remains

of an umbrella. There were other little things as well that were but

reasonable--a fur cap for the winter, like all his companions wore,

a pair of skates to go on the ice with as others did, a silver

toothpick, which was a thing to clean one's teeth, and play with

daintily when chatting with friends over a glass of this or that. And

as long as he had money, he stood treat as far as he was able; at a

festive evening held to celebrate his return to town, he ordered half

a dozen bottles of beer, and had them opened sparingly, one after

another. "What--twenty _Ore_ for the waitress?" said his friends;

"ten's quite enough."

"Doesn't do to be stingy," said Eleseus.

Nothing stingy nor mean about Eleseus, no; he come from a good home,

from a big place, where his father the Margrave owned endless tracts

of timber, and four horses and thirty cows and three mowing-machines.

Eleseus was no liar, and it was not he who had spread abroad all the

fantastic stories about the Sellanraa estate; 'twas the district

surveyor who had amused himself talking grandly about it a long while

back. But Eleseus was not displeased to find the stories taken more or

less for truth. Being nothing in himself, it was just as well to be

the son of somebody that counted for something; it gave him credit,

and was useful that way. But it could not last for ever; the day came

when he could no longer put off paying, and what was he to do then?

One of his friends came to his help, got him into his father's

business, a general store where the peasants bought their

wares--better than nothing. It was a poor thing for a grown lad to

start at a beginner's wage in a little shop; no short cut to the

position of a Lensmand; still, it gave him enough to live on, helped

him over the worst for the present--oh, 'twas not so bad, after all.

Eleseus was willing and good-tempered here too, and people liked him;

he wrote home to say he had gone into trade.

This was his mother's greatest disappointment. Eleseus serving in a

shop--'twas not a whit better than being assistant at the store

down in the village. Before, he had been something apart, something

different from the rest; none of their neighbours had gone off to live

in a town and work in an office. Had he lost sight of his great aim

and end? Inger was no fool; she knew well enough that there was a

difference between the ordinary and the uncommon, though perhaps she

did not always think to reckon with it. Isak was simpler and slower of

thought; he reckoned less and less with Eleseus now, when he reckoned

at all; his eldest son was gradually slipping out of range. Isak no

longer thought of Sellanraa divided between his two sons when he

himself should be gone.

* * * * *

Some way on in spring came engineers and workmen from Sweden; going

to build roads, put up hutments, work in various ways, blasting,

levelling, getting up supplies of food, hiring teams of horses, making

arrangements with owners of land by the waterside; what--what was it

all about? This is in the wilds, where folk never came but those who

lived there? Well, they were going to start that copper mine, that was

all.

So it had come to something after all; Geissler had not been merely

boasting.

It was not the same big men that had come with him that time--no, the

two of them had stayed behind, having business elsewhere, no doubt.

But the same engineer was there, and the mining expert that had come

at first. They bought up all the sawn planks Isak could spare, bought

food and drink and paid for it well, chatted in kindly fashion and

were pleased with Sellanraa. "Aerial railway," they said. "Cable

haulage from the top of the fjeld down to the waterside," they said.

"What, down over all this moorland here?" said Isak, being slow to

think. But they laughed at that.

"No, on the other side, man; not this way, 'twould be miles to go. No,

on the other side of the fjeld, straight down to the sea; a good fall,

and no distance to speak of. Run the ore down through the air in iron

tanks; oh, it'll work all right, you wait and see. But we'll have to

cart it down at first; make a road, and have it hauled down in carts.

We shall want fifty horses--you see, we'll get on finely. And we've

more men on the works than these few here--that's nothing. There's

more coming up from the other side, gangs of men, with huts all

ready to put up, and stores of provisions and material and tools and

things--then we meet and make connection with them half-way, on the

top, you see? We'll make the thing go, never fear--and ship the ore to

South America. There's millions to be made out of it."

"What about the other gentlemen," asked Isak, "that came up here

before?"

"What? Oh, they've sold out. So you remember them? No, they've sold.

And the people that bought them out have sold again. It's a big

company now that owns the mine--any amount of money behind it."

"And Geissler, where'll he be now?" asks Isak.

"Geissler? Never heard of him. Who's he?"

"Lensmand Geissler, that sold you the place first of all."

"Oh, him! Geissler was his name? Heaven knows where he is now. So you

remember him too?"

* * * * *

Blasting and working up in the hills, gangs of men at work all through

the summer--there was plenty doing about the place. Inger did a

busy trade in milk and farm produce, and it amused her--going into

business, as it were, and seeing all the many folk coming and going.

Isak tramped about with his lumbering tread, and worked on his land;

nothing disturbed him. Sivert and the two stoneworkers got the new

cowshed up. It was a fine building, but took a deal of time before it

was finished, with only three men to the work, and Sivert, moreover,

often called away to help in the fields. The mowing-machine was useful

now; and a good thing, too, to have three active women that could take

a turn at the haymaking.

All going well; there was life in the wilds now, and money growing,

blossoming everywhere.

And look at Storborg, the new trader's place--there was a business on

a proper scale! This Aron must be a wizard, a devil of a fellow; he

had learned somehow beforehand of the mining operations to come, and

was on the spot all ready, with his shop and store, to make the most

of it. Business? He did business enough for a whole State--ay, enough

for a king! To begin with, he sold all kinds of household utensils and

workmen's clothes; but miners earning good money are not afraid to

spend it; not content with buying necessaries only; they would buy

anything and everything. And most of all on Saturday evenings, the

trading station at Storborg was crowded with folk, and Aron raking

money in; his clerk and his wife were both called in to help behind

the counter, and Aron himself serving and selling as hard as he could

go at it--and even then the place would not be empty till late at

night. And the owners of horse-flesh in the village, they were right;

'twas a mighty carting and hauling of wares up to Storborg; more than

once they had to cut off corners of the old road and make new short

cuts--a fine new road it was at last, very different from Isak's

first narrow path up through the wilds. Aron was a blessing and a

benefactor, nothing less, with his store and his new road. His name

was not Aron really, that being only his Christian name; properly, he

was Aronsen, and so he called himself, and his wife called him the

same. They were a family not to be looked down upon, and kept two

servant-girls and a lad.

As for the land at Storborg, it remained untouched for the present.

Aronsen had no time for working on the soil--where was the sense of

digging up a barren moor? But Aronsen had a garden, with a fence all

round, and currant bushes and asters and rowans and planted trees--ay,

a real garden. There was a broad path down it, where Aronsen could

walk o' Sundays and smoke his pipe, and in the background was the

verandah of the house, with panes of coloured glass, orange and red

and blue. Storborg ... And there were children--three pretty little

things about the place. The girl was to learn to play her part as

daughter of a wealthy trader, and the boys were to learn the business

themselves--ay, three children with a future before them!

Aronsen was a man to take thought for the future, or he would not have

come there at all. He might have stuck to his fishery, and like enough

been lucky at that and made good money, but 'twas not like going into

business; nothing so fine, a thing for common folk at best. People

didn't take off their hats to a fisherman. Aronsen had rowed his boat

before, pulling at the oars; now he was going to sail instead. There

was a word he was always using: "Cash down." He used it all sorts of

ways. When things went well, they were going "cash down." His children

were to get on in the world, and live more "cash down" even than

himself. That was how he put it, meaning that they should have an

easier life of it than he had had.

And look you, things did go well; neighbours took notice of him, and

of his wife--ay, even of the children. It was not the least remarkable

thing, that folk took notice of the children. The miners came down

from their work in the hills, and had not seen a child's face for many

days; when they caught sight of Aronsen's little ones playing in the

yard, they would talk kindly to them at once, as if they had met three

puppies at play. They would have given them money, but seeing they

were the trader's children, it would hardly do. So they played music

for them on their mouth-organs instead. Young Gustaf came down, the

wildest of them all, with his hat over one ear, and his lips ever

ready with a merry word; ay, Gustaf it was that came and played with

them for long at a time. The children knew him every time, and ran to

meet them; he would pick them up and carry them on his back, all three

of them, and dance with them. "Ho!" said Gustaf, and danced with them.

And then he would take out his mouth-organ and play tunes and music

for them, till the two servant-girls would come out and look at him,

and listen, with tears in their eyes. Ay, a madcap was Gustaf, but he

knew what he was doing!

Then after a bit he would go into the shop and throw his money about,

buying up a whole knapsack full of things. And when he went back up

the road again, it was with a whole little stock-in-trade of his

own--and he would stop at Sellanraa on the way and open his pack and

show them. Notepaper with a flower in the corner, and a new pipe and

a new shirt, and a fringed neckerchief--sweets for the womenfolk, and

shiny things, a watch-chain with a compass, a pocket-knife--oh, a host

of things. Ay, there were rockets he had bought to let off on

Sunday, for every one to see. Inger gave him milk, and he joked with

Leopoldine, and picked up little Rebecca and swung her up in the

air--"_Hoy huit_!"

"And how's the building getting on?" he asked the Swedes--Gustaf was

a Swede himself, and made friends with them too. The building was

getting on as best it could, with but themselves to the work. Why,

then, he'd come and give them a hand himself, would Gustaf, though

that was only said in jest.

"Ay, if you only would," said Inger. For the cowshed ought to be ready

by the autumn, when the cattle were brought in.

Gustaf let off a rocket, and having let off one, there was no sense

in keeping the rest. As well let them off too--and so he did, half a

dozen of them, and the women and children stood round breathless at

the magic of the magician; and Inger had never seen a rocket before,

but the wild fire of them somehow reminded her of the great world she

had once seen. What was a sewing-machine to this? And when Gustaf

finished up by playing his mouth-organ, Inger would have gone off

along the road with him for sheer emotion....

The mine is working now, and the ore is carted down by teams of horses

to the sea; a steamer had loaded up one cargo and sailed away with it

to South America, and another steamer waits already for the next load.

Ay, 'tis a big concern. All the settlers have been up to look at the

wonderful place, as many as can walk. Brede Olsen has been up, with

his samples of stone, and got nothing for his pains, seeing that the

mining expert was gone back to Sweden again. On Sundays, there was a

crowd of people coming up all the way from the village; ay, even Axel

Ström, who had no time to throw away, turned off from his proper road

along the telegraph line to look at the place. Hardly a soul now but

has seen the mine and its wonders. And at last Inger herself, Inger

from Sellanraa, puts on her best, gold ring and all, and goes up to

the hills. What does she want there?

Nothing, does not even care to see how the work is done. Inger has

come to show herself, that is all. When she saw the other women going

up, she felt she must go too. A disfiguring scar on her upper lip, and

grown children of her own, has Inger, but she must go as the others

did. It irks her to think of the others, young women, ay ... but she

will try if she can't compete with them all the same. She has not

begun to grow stout as yet, but has still a good figure enough, tall

and natty enough; she can still look well. True, her colouring is

not what it used to be, and her skin is not comparable to a golden

peach--but they should see for all that; ay, they should say, after

all, she was good enough!

They greet her kindly as she could wish; the workmen know her, she has

given them many a drink of milk, and they show her over the mine, the

huts, the stables and kitchens, the cellars and storesheds; the bolder

men edge in close to her and take her lightly by the arm, but Inger

does not feel hurt at all, it does her good. And where there are

steps to go up or down, she lifts her skirts high, showing her legs a

trifle; but she manages it quietly, as if without a thought. Ay, she's

good enough, think the men to themselves.

Oh, but there is something touching about her, this woman getting on

in years; plain to see that a glance from one of these warm-blooded

menfolk came all unexpectedly to her; she was grateful for it, and

returned it; she was a woman like other women, and it thrilled her to

feel so. An honest woman she had been, but like enough 'twas for lack

of opportunity.

Getting on in years....

Gustaf came up. Left two girls from the village, and a comrade, just

to come. Gustaf knew what he was at, no doubt; he took Inger's hand

with more warmth, more pressure than was needed, and thanked her for

the last pleasant evening at Sellanraa, but he was careful not to

plague her with attention.

"Well, Gustaf, and when are you coming to help us with the building?"

says Inger, going red. And Gustaf says he will come sure enough before

long. His comrades hear it, and put in a word that they'll all be

coming down before long.

"Ho!" says Inger. "Aren't you going to stay on the mine, then, come

winter?"

The men answer cautiously, that it doesn't look like it, but can't be

sure. But Gustaf is bolder, and laughs and says, looks like they've

scraped out the bit of copper there was.

"You'll not say that in earnest surely?" says Inger. And the other men

put in that Gustaf had better be careful not to say any such thing.

But Gustaf was not going to be careful; he said a great deal more, and

as for Inger, 'twas strange how he managed to win her for himself, for

all that he never seemed to put himself forward that way. One of

the other lads played a concertina, but 'twas not like Gustaf's

mouth-organ; another lad again, and a smart fellow he was too, tried

to draw attention to himself by singing a song off by heart to the

music, but that was nothing either, for all that he had a fine rolling

voice. And a little while after, there was Gustaf, and if he hadn't

got Inger's gold ring on his little finger! And how had it come about,

when he never plagued nor pushed himself forward? Oh, he was forward

enough in his way, but quiet with it all, as Inger herself; they did

not talk of things, and she let him play with her hand as if without

noticing. Later on, when she sat in one of the huts drinking coffee,

there was a noise outside, high words between the men, and she knew it

was about herself, and it warmed her. A pleasant thing to hear, for

one no longer young, for a woman getting on in years.

And how did she come home from the hills that Sunday evening? Ho, well

enough, virtuous as she had come, no more and no less. There was a

crowd of men to see her home, the crowd of them that would not turn

back as long as Gustaf was there; would not leave her alone with him,

not if they knew it! Inger had never had such a gay time, not even in

the days when she had been out in the world.

"Hadn't Inger lost something?" they asked at last.

"Lost something? No."

"A gold ring, for instance?"

And at that Gustaf had to bring it out; he was one against all, a

whole army.

"Oh, 'twas a good thing you found it," said Inger, and made haste to

say good-bye to her escort. She drew nearer Sellanraa, saw the many

roofs of the buildings; it was her home that lay there. And she awoke

once more, came back to herself, like the clever wife she was, and

took a short cut through to the summer shed to look to the cattle. On

the way she passes by a place she knows; a little child had once lain

buried there; she had patted down the earth with her hands, set up a

tiny cross--oh, but it was long ago. Now, she was wondering if those

girls had finished their milking in good time....

The work at the mine goes on, but there are whisperings of something

wrong, the yield is not as good as it had promised. The mining expert,

who had gone back home, came out again with another expert to help

him; they went about blasting and boring and examining all the ground.

What was wrong? The copper is fine enough, nothing wrong with that,

but thin, and no real depth in it; getting thicker to the southward,

lying deep and fine just where the company's holding reached its

limit--and beyond that was _Almenning_, the property of the State.

Well, the first purchasers had perhaps not thought so much of the

thing, anyway. It was a family affair, some relatives who had bought

the place as a speculation; they had not troubled to secure the whole

range, all the miles to the next valley, no; they had but taken over

a patch of ground from Isak Sellanraa and Geissler, and then sold it

again.

And what was to be done now? The leading men, with the experts and the

foremen, know well enough; they must start negotiations with the State

at once. So they send a messenger off at full speed to Sweden, with

letters and plans and charts, and ride away themselves down to the

Lensmand below, to get the rights of the fjeld south of the water. And

here their difficulties begin; the law stands in their way; they are

foreigners, and cannot be purchasers in their own right. They knew all

about that, and had made arrangements. But the southern side of the

fjeld was sold already--and that they did not know. "Sold?"

"Ay, long ago, years back."

"Who bought it then?"

"Geissler."

"What Geissler?--oh, that fellow--h'm."

"And the title-deeds approved and registered," says the Lensmand.

"'Twas bare rock, no more, and he got it for next to nothing."

"Who is this fellow Geissler that keeps cropping up? Where is he?"

"Heaven knows where he is now!"

And a new messenger is sent off to Sweden. They must find out all

about this Geissler. Meanwhile, they could not keep on all the men;

they must wait and see.

So Gustaf came down to Sellanraa, with all his worldly goods on his

back, and here he was, he said. Ay, Gustaf had given up his work at

the mine--that is to say, he had been a trifle too outspoken the

Sunday before, about the mine and the copper in the mine; the foreman

had heard of it, and the engineer, and Gustaf was given his discharge.

Well, good-bye then, and maybe 'twas the very thing he wanted; there

could be nothing suspicious now about his coming to Sellanraa. They

set him to work at once on the cowshed.

They worked and worked at the stone walls, and when a few days later

another man came down from the mine, he was taken on too; now there

were two spells, and the work went apace. Ay, they would have it ready

by the autumn, never fear.

But now one after another of the miners came down, dismissed, and took

the road to Sweden; the trial working was stopped for the present.

There was something like a sigh from the folk in the village at the

news; foolish folk, they did not understand what a trial working was,

that it was only working on trial, but so it was. There were dark

forebodings and discouragement among the village folk; money was

scarcer, wages were reduced, things were very quiet at the trading

station at Storborg. What did it all mean? Just when everything was

going on finely, and Aronsen had got a flagstaff and a flag, and had

bought a fine white bearskin for a rug to have in the sledge for the

winter, and fine clothes for all the family ... Little matters these,

but there were greater things happening as well. Here were two new

men had bought up land for clearing in the wilds; high up between

Maaneland and Sellanraa, and that was no small event for the whole of

that little outlying community. The two new settlers had built

their turf huts and started clearing ground and digging. They were

hard-working folk, and had done much in a little time. All that summer

they had bought their provisions at Storborg, but when they came

down now, last time, there was hardly anything to be had. Nothing in

stock--and what did Aron want with heavy stocks of this and that now

the work at the mine had stopped? He had hardly anything of any sort

on the place now--only money. Of all the folk in the neighbourhood,

Aronsen was perhaps the most dejected; his reckoning was all upset.

When some one urged him to cultivate his land and live on that till

better times, he answered: "Cultivate the land? 'Twas not that I came

and set up house here for."

At last Aronsen could stand it no longer; he must go up to the mine

and see for himself how things were. It was a Sunday. When he got to

Sellanraa, he wanted Isak to go with him, but Isak had never yet set

foot on the mine since they had started; he was more at home on the

hillside below. Inger had to put in a word. "You might as well go with

Aronsen, when he asks you," she said. And maybe Inger was not sorry to

have him go; 'twas Sunday, and like as not she wanted to be rid of him

for an hour or so. And so Isak went along.

There were strange things to be seen up there in the hills; Isak did

not recognize the place at all now, with its huts and sheds, a whole

town of them, and carts and waggons and great gaping holes in the

ground. The engineer himself showed them round. Maybe he was not in

the best of humour just now, that same engineer, but he had tried

all along to keep away the feeling of gloom that had fallen upon the

village folk and the settlers round--and here was his chance, with no

less persons than the Margrave of Sellanraa and the great trader from

Storborg on the spot.

He explained the nature of the ore and the rocks in which it was

found. Copper, iron, and sulphur, all were there together. Ay, they

knew exactly what there was in the rocks up there--even gold and

silver was there, though not so much of it. A mining engineer, he

knows a deal of things.

"And it's all going to shut down now?" asked Aronsen.

"Shut down?" repeated the engineer in astonishment. "A nice thing

that'd be for South America if we did!" No, they were discontinuing

their preliminary operations for a while, only for a short time; they

had seen what the place was like, what it could produce; then they

could build their aerial railway and get to work on the southern side

of the fjeld. He turned to Isak: "You don't happen to know where this

Geissler's got to?"

"No."

Well, no matter--they'd get hold of him all right. And then they'd

start to work again. Shut down? The idea!

Isak is suddenly lost in wonder and delight over a little machine

that works with a treadle--simply move your foot and it works. He

understands it at once--'tis a little smithy to carry about on a cart

and take down and set up anywhere you please.

"What's a thing like that cost, now?" he asks.

"That? Portable forge? Oh, nothing much." They had several of the same

sort, it appeared, but nothing to what they had down at the sea; all

sorts of machines and apparatus, huge big things. Isak was given to

understand that mining, the making of valleys and enormous chasms

in the rock, was not a business that could be done with your

fingernails--ha ha!

They stroll about the place, and the engineer mentions that he himself

will be going across to Sweden in a few days' time.

"But you'll be coming back again?" says Aronsen.

Why, of course. Knew of no reason why the Government or the police

should try to keep him.

Isak managed to lead round to the portable forge once more and

stopped, looking at it again. "And what might a bit of a machine like

that cost?" he asked.

Cost? Couldn't say off-hand--a deal of money, no doubt, but nothing to

speak of in mining operations. Oh, a grand fellow was the engineer;

not in the best of humour himself just then, perhaps, but he kept up

appearances and played up rich and fine to the last. Did Isak want a

forge? Well, he might take that one--the company would never trouble

about a little thing like that--the company would make him a present

of a portable forge!

An hour after, Aronsen and Isak were on their way down again. Aronsen

something calmer in mind--there was hope after all. Isak trundles down

the hillside with his precious forge on his back. Ay, a barge of a

man, he could bear a load! The engineer had offered to send a couple

of men down with it to Sellanraa next morning, but Isak thanked

him--'twas more than worth his while. He was thinking of his own folk;

'twould be a fine surprise for them to see him come walking down with

a smithy on his back.

But 'twas Isak was surprised after all.

A horse and cart turned into the courtyard just as he reached home.

And a highly remarkable load it brought. The driver was a man from

the village, but beside him walked a gentleman at whom Isak stared in

astonishment--it was Geissler.

Chapter V

There were other things that might have given Isak matter for

surprise, but he was no great hand at thinking of more than one thing

at a time. "Where's Inger?" was all he said as he passed by the

kitchen door. He was only anxious to see that Geissler was well

received.

Inger? Inger was out plucking berries; had been out plucking berries

ever since Isak started--she and Gustaf the Swede. Ay, getting on in

years, and all in love again and wild with it; autumn and winter near,

but she felt the warmth in herself again, flowers and blossoming

again. "Come and show where there's cloudberries," said Gustaf;

"cranberries," said he. And how could a woman say no? Inger ran

into her little room and was both earnest and religious for several

minutes; but there was Gustaf standing waiting outside, the world was

at her heels, and all she did was to tidy her hair, look at herself

carefully in the glass, and out again. And what if she did? Who would

not have done the same? Oh, a woman cannot tell one man from another;

not always--not often.

And they two go out plucking berries, plucking cloudberries on the

moorland, stepping from tuft to tuft, and she lifts her skirts high,

and has her neat legs to show. All quiet everywhere; the white grouse

have their young ones grown already and do not fly up hissing any

more; they are sheltered spots where bushes grow on the moors. Less

than an hour since they started, and already they are sitting down to

rest. Says Inger: "Oh, I didn't think you were like that?" Oh, she

is all weakness towards him, and smiles piteously, being so deep in

love--ay, a sweet and cruel thing to be in love, 'tis both! Right and

proper to be on her guard--ay, but only to give in at last. Inger

is so deep in love--desperately, mercilessly; her heart is full of

kindliness towards him, she only cares to be close and precious to

him.

Ay, a woman getting on in years....

"When the work's finished, you'll be going off again," says she.

No, he wasn't going. Well, of course, some time, but not yet, not for

a week or so.

"Hadn't we better be getting home?" says she.

"No."

They pluck more berries, and in a little while they find a sheltered

place among the bushes, and Inger says: "Gustaf, you're mad to do it."

And hours pass--they'll be sleeping now, belike, among the bushes.

Sleeping? Wonderful--far out in the wilderness, in the Garden of Eden.

Then suddenly Inger sits upright and listens: "Seems like I heard some

one down on the road away off?"

The sun is setting, the tufts of heather darkening in shadow as they

walk home. They pass by many sheltered spots, and Gustaf sees them,

and Inger, she sees them too no doubt, but all the time she feels as

if some one were driving ahead of them. Oh, but who could walk all the

way home with a wild handsome lad, and be on her guard all the time?

Inger is too weak, she can only smile and say: "I never knew such a

one."

She comes home alone. And well that she came just then, a fortunate

thing. A minute later had not been well at all. Isak had just come

into the courtyard with his forge, and Aronsen--and there is a horse

and cart just pulled up.

"_Goddag_," says Geissler, greeting Inger as well. And there they

stand, all looking one at another--couldn't be better....

Geissler back again. Years now since he was there, but he is back

again, aged a little, greyer a little, but bright and cheerful as

ever. And finely dressed this time, with a white waistcoat and gold

chain across. A man beyond understanding!

Had he an inkling, maybe, that something was going on up at the mine,

and wanted to see for himself? Well, here he was. Very wide awake to

look at, glancing round at the place, at the land, turning his head

and using his eyes every way. There are great changes to note; the

Margrave had extended his domains. And Geissler nods.

"What's that you're carrying?" he asks Isak. "'Tis a load for one

horse in itself," says he.

"'Tis for a forge," explains Isak. "And a mighty useful thing to have

on a bit of a farm," says he--ay, calling Sellanraa a bit of a farm,

no more!

"Where did you get hold of it?"

"Up at the mine. Engineer, he gave me the thing for a present, he

said."

"The company's engineer?" says Geissler, as if he had not understood.

And Geissler, was he to be outdone by an engineer on a copper mine?

"I've heard you'd got a mowing-machine," says he, "and I've brought

along a patent raker thing that's handy to have." And he points to the

load on the cart. There it stood, red and blue, a huge comb, a hayrake

to be driven with horses. They lifted it out of the cart and looked at

it; Isak harnessed himself to the thing and tried it over the ground.

No wonder his mouth opened wide! Marvel on marvel coming to Sellanraa!

They spoke of the mine, of the work up in the hills. "They were asking

about you, quite a lot," said Isak.

"Who?"

"The engineer, and all the other gentlemen. 'Have to get hold of you

somehow,' they said."

Oh, but here Isak was saying overmuch, it seemed. Geissler was

offended, no doubt; he turned sharp and curt, and said: "Well, I'm

here, if they want me."

Next day came the two messengers back from Sweden, and with them a

couple of the mine-owners; on horseback they were, fine gentlemen and

portly; mighty rich folk, by the look of them. They hardly stopped

at Sellanraa at all, simply asked a question or so about the road,

without dismounting, and rode on up the hill. Geissler they pretended

not to see, though he stood quite close. The messengers with their

loaded packhorses rested for an hour, talked to the men at work on the

building, learned that the old gentleman in the white waistcoat and

gold chain was Geissler, and then they too went on again. But that

same evening one of them came riding down to the place with a message

by word of mouth for Geissler to come up to the gentlemen at the

mines. "I'm here if they want me," was the answer Geissler sent back.

Geissler was grown an important personage, it seemed; thought himself

a man of power, of all the power in the world; considered it, perhaps,

beneath his dignity to be sent for by word of mouth. But how was it he

had come to Sellanraa at all just then--just when he was most wanted?

A great one he must be for knowing things, all manner of things.

Anyway, when the gentlemen up at the mine had Geissler's answer, there

was nothing for it but they must bestir themselves and come all the

way down to Sellanraa again. The engineer and the two mining experts

came with them.

So many crooked ways and turnings were there before that meeting

was brought about. It looked ill to start with; ay, Geissler was

over-lordly by far.

The gentlemen were polite enough this time; begged him to excuse their

having sent a verbal message the day before, being tired out after

their journey. Geissler was polite in return, and said he too was

tired out after his journey, or he would have come. Well, and then, to

get to business; Would Geissler sell the land south of the water?

"Do you wish to purchase on your own account, may I ask," said

Geissler, "or are you acting as agents?"

Now this could be nothing but sheer contrariness on Geissler's part;

he could surely see for himself that rich and portly gentlemen of

their stamp would not be acting as agents. They went on to discuss

terms. "What about the price?" said they.

"The price?--yes," said Geissler, and sat thinking it over. "A couple

of million," said he.

"Indeed?" said the gentlemen, and smiled. But Geissler did not smile.

The engineer and the two experts had made a rough investigation of the

ground, made a few borings and blastings, and here was their report:

the occurrence of ore was due to eruption; it was irregular, and

from their preliminary examination appeared to be deepest in the

neighbourhood of the boundary between the company's land and

Geissler's decreasing from there onwards. For the last mile or so

there was no ore to be found worth working.

Geissler listened to all this with the greatest nonchalance. He took

some papers from his pocket, and looked at them carefully; but the

papers were not charts nor maps--like as not they were things no way

connected with the mine at all.

"You haven't gone deep enough," said he, as if it were something he

had read in his papers. The gentlemen admitted that at once, but

the engineer asked: How did he know that--"You haven't made borings

yourself, I suppose?"

And Geissler smiled, as if he had bored hundreds of miles down through

the globe, and covered up the holes again after.

They kept at it till noon, talking it over this way and that, and at

last began to look at their watches. They had brought Geissler down to

half a million now, but not a hair's breadth farther. No; they must

have put him out sorely some way or other. They seemed to think he was

anxious to sell, obliged to sell, but he was not--ho, not a bit; there

he sat, as easy and careless as themselves, and no mistaking it.

"Fifteen, say twenty thousand would be a decent price anyway," said

they.

Geissler agreed that might be a decent price enough for any one sorely

in need of the money, but five-and-twenty thousand would be better.

And then one of the gentlemen put in--saying it perhaps by way of

keeping Geissler from soaring too far: "By the way, I've seen your

wife's people in Sweden--they sent their kind regards."

"Thank you," said Geissler.

"Well," said the other gentleman, seeing Geissler was not to be won

over that way, "a quarter of a million ... it's not gold we're buying,

but copper ore."

"Exactly," said Geissler. "It's copper ore."

And at that they lost patience, all of them, and five watch-cases were

opened and snapped to again; no more time to fool away now; it was

time for dinner. They did not ask for food at Sellanraa, but rode back

to the mine to get their own.

And that was the end of the meeting.

Geissler was left alone.

What would be in his mind all this time--what was he pondering and

speculating about? Nothing at all, maybe, but only idle and careless?

No, indeed, he was thinking of something, but calm enough for all

that. After dinner, he turned to Isak, and said: "I'm going for a long

walk over my land up there; and I'd have liked to have Sivert with me,

same as last time."

"Ay, so you shall," said Isak at once.

"No; he's other things to do, just now."

"He shall go with you at once," said Isak, and called to Sivert to

leave his work. But Geissler held up his hand, and said shortly: "No."

He walked round the yard several times, came back and talked to the

men at their work, chatting easily with them and going off and coming

back again. And all the time with this weighty matter on his mind, yet

talking as if it were nothing at all. Geissler had long been so long

accustomed to changes of fortune, maybe he was past feeling there was

anything at stake now, whatever might be in the air.

Here he was, the man he was, by the merest chance. He had sold the

first little patch of land to his wife's relations, and what then?

Gone off and bought up the whole tract south of the water--what for?

Was it to annoy them by making himself their neighbour? At first, no

doubt, he had only thought of taking over a little strip of the land

there, just where the new village would have to be built if the

workings came to anything, but in the end he had come to be owner of

the whole fjeld. The land was to be had for next to nothing, and he

did not want a lot of trouble with boundaries. So, from sheer idleness

he had become a mining king, a lord of the mountains; he had thought

of a site for huts and machine sheds, and it had become a kingdom,

stretching right down to the sea.

In Sweden, the first little patch of land had passed from hand to

hand, and Geissler had taken care to keep himself informed as to its

fate. The first purchasers, of course, had bought foolishly, bought

without sense or forethought; the family council were not mining

experts, they had not secured enough land at first, thinking only of

buying out a certain Geissler, and getting rid of him. But the new

owners were no less to be laughed at; mighty men, no doubt, who could

afford to indulge in a jest, and take up land for amusement's sake,

for a drunken wager, or Heaven knows what. But when it came to trial

workings, and exploiting the land in earnest, then suddenly they found

themselves butting up against a wall--Geissler.

Children! thought Geissler, maybe, in his lofty mind; he felt his

power now, felt strong enough to be short and abrupt with folk. The

others had certainly done their best to take him down a peg; they

imagined they were dealing with a man in need of money, and threw out

hints of some fifteen or twenty thousand--ay, children. They did not

know Geissler. And now here he stood.

They came down no more that day from the fjeld, thinking best, no

doubt, not to show themselves over-anxious. Next morning they came

down, packhorses and all, on their way home. And lo--Geissler was not

there.

Not there?

That put an end to any ideas they might have had of settling the

manner in lordly wise, from the saddle; they had to dismount and wait.

And where was Geissler, if you please? Nobody could tell them; he went

about everywhere, did Geissler, took an interest in Sellanraa and all

about it; the last they had seen of him was up at the sawmill. The

messengers were sent out to look for him, but Geissler must have gone

some distance, it seemed, for he gave no answer when they shouted. The

gentlemen looked at their watches, and were plainly annoyed at first,

and said: "We're not going to fool about here waiting like this. If

Geissler wants to sell, he must be on the spot." Oh, but they changed

their tone in a little while; showed no annoyance after a while, but

even began to find something amusing in it all, to jest about it. Here

were they in a desperate case; they would have to lie out there in

the desolate hills all night. And get lost and starve to death in the

wilds, and leave their bones to bleach undiscovered by their mourning

kin--ay, they made a great jest of it all.

At last Geissler came. Had been looking round a bit--just come from

the cattle enclosure. "Looks as if that'll be too small for you soon,"

said he to Isak. "How many head have you got up there now altogether?"

Ay, he could talk like that, with those fine gentlemen standing there

watch in hand. Curiously red in the face was Geissler, as if he had

been drinking. "Puh!" said he. "I'm all hot, walking."

"We half expected you would be here when we came," said one of the

gentlemen.

"I had no word of your wanting to see me at all," answered Geissler,

"otherwise I might have been here on the spot."

Well, and what about the business now? Was Geissler prepared to accept

a reasonable offer today? It wasn't every day he had a chance of

fifteen or twenty thousand--what? Unless, of course.... If the money

were nothing to him, why, then....

This last suggestion was not to Geissler's taste at all; he was

offended. A nice way to talk! Well, they would not have said it,

perhaps, if they had not been annoyed at first; and Geissler, no

doubt, would hardly have turned suddenly pale at their words if he had

not been out somewhere by himself and got red. As it was, he paled,

and answered coldly:

"I don't wish to make any suggestion as to what you, gentlemen, may be

in a position to pay--but I know what I am willing to accept and what

not. I've no use for more child's prattle about the mine. My price is

the same as yesterday."

"A quarter of a million _Kroner_?"

"Yes."

The gentlemen mounted their horses." Look here," said one, "we'll go

this far, and say twenty-five thousand."

"You're still inclined to joke, I see," said Geissler. "But I'll make

_you_ an offer in sober earnest: would you care to sell your bit of a

mine up there?"

"Why," said they, somewhat taken aback--"why, we might do that,

perhaps."

"I'm ready to buy it," said Geissler.

Oh, that Geissler! With the courtyard full of people now, listening

to every word; all the Sellanraa folk, and the stoneworkers and the

messengers. Like as not, he could never have raised the money, nor

anything near it, for such a deal; but, again, who could say? A man

beyond understanding was Geissler. Anyhow, his last words rather

disconcerted those gentlemen on horseback. Was it a trick? Did he

reckon to make his own land seem worth more by this manoeuvre?

The gentlemen thought it over; ay, they even began to talk softly

together about it; they got down from their horses again. Then the

engineer put in a word; he thought, no doubt, it was getting beyond

all bearing. And he seemed to have some power, some kind of authority

here. And the yard was full of folk all listening to what was going

on. "We'll not sell," said he.

"Not?" asked his companions.

"No."

They whispered together again, and they mounted their horses once

more--in earnest this time. "Twenty-five thousand!" called out one of

them. Geissler did not answer, but turned away, and went over to talk

to the stoneworkers again.

And that was the end of their last meeting.

Geissler appeared to care nothing for what might come of it. He walked

about talking of this, that, and the other; for the moment he seemed

chiefly interested in the laying of some heavy beams across the shell

of the new cowhouse. They were to get the work finished that week,

with a temporary roof--a new fodder loft was to be built up over later

on.

Isak kept Sivert away from the building work now, and left him

idle--and this he did with a purpose, that Geissler might find the lad

ready at any time if he wanted to go exploring with him in the hills.

But Isak might have saved himself the trouble; Geissler had given up

the idea, or perhaps forgotten all about it. What he did was to get

Inger to pack him up some food, and set off down the road. He stayed

away till evening.

He passed the two new clearings that had been started below Sellanraa,

and talked to the men there; went right down to Maaneland to see what

Axel Ström had got done that year. Nothing very great, it seemed; not

as much as he might have wished, but he had put in some good work on

the land. Geissler took an interest in this place, too, and asked him:

"Got a horse?"

"Ay."

"Well, I've a mowing-machine and a harrow down south, both new; I'll

send them up, if you like."

"How?" asked Axel, unable to conceive such magnificence, and thinking

vaguely of payment by instalments.

"I mean I'll make you a present of them," said Geissler.

"'Tis hard to believe," said Axel.

"But you'll have to help those two neighbours of yours up above,

breaking new land."

"Ay, never fear for that," said Axel; he could still hardly make out

what Geissler meant by it all. "So you've machines and things down

south?"

"I've a deal of things to look after," said Geissler. Now, as a matter

of fact, Geissler had no great deal of things to look after, but he

liked to make it appear so. As for a mowing-machine and a harrow, he

could buy them in any of the towns, and send up from there.

He stayed talking a long while with Axel Ström about the other

settlers near; of Storborg, the trading station; of Axel's brother,

newly married, who had come to Breidablik, and had started draining

the moors and getting the water out. Axel complained that it was

impossible to get a woman anywhere to help; he had none but an old

creature, by name Oline; not much good at the best of times, but he

might be thankful to have her as long as she stayed. Axel had been

working day and night part of that summer. He might, perhaps, have got

a woman from his own parts, from Helgeland, but that would have meant

paying for her journey, besides wages. A costly business all round.

Axel further told how he had taken over the inspection of the

telegraph line, but rather wished he had left it alone.

"That sort of thing's only fit for Brede and his like," said Geissler.

"Ay, that's a true word," Axel admitted. "But there was the money to

think of."

"How many cows have you got?"

"Four. And a young bull. 'Twas too far to go up to Sellanraa to

theirs."

But there was a far weightier matter Axel badly wanted to talk over

with Geissler; Barbro's affair had come to light, somehow, and an

investigation was in progress. Come to light? Of course it had. Barbro

had been going about, evidently with child and plain to see, and she

had left the place by herself all unencumbered and no child at all.

How had it come about?

When Geissler understood what the matter was, he said quite shortly:

"Come along with me." And he led Axel with him away from the house.

Geissler put on an important air, as one in authority. They sat down

at the edge of the wood, and Geissler said: "Now, then, tell me all

about it."

Come to light? Of course it had; how could it be helped? The place was

no longer a desert, with never a soul for miles; and, moreover, Oline

was there. What had Oline to do with it? Ho! and, to make things

worse, Brede Olsen had made an enemy of her himself. No means of

getting round Oline now; here she was on the spot, and could worm

things out of Axel a bit at a time. 'Twas just such underhand work she

lived for; ay, lived by, in some degree. And here was the very thing

for her--trust Oline for scenting it out! Truth to tell, Oline was

grown too old now to keep house and tend cattle at Maaneland; she

ought to have given it up. But how could she? How could she leave a

place where a fine, deep mystery lay simply waiting to be brought to

light? She managed the winter's work; ay, she got through the summer,

too, and it was a marvel of strength she gained from the mere thought

of being able one day to show up a daughter of Brede himself. The snow

was not gone from the fields that spring before Oline began poking

about. She found the little green mound by the stream, and saw at once

that the turf had been laid down in squares. She had even had the luck

to come upon Axel one day standing by the little grave, and treading

it down. So Axel knew all about it! And Oline nodded her grey

head--ay, it was her turn now!

Not but Axel was a kindly man enough to live with, but miserly;

counted his cheeses, and kept good note of every tuft of wool; Oline

could not do as she liked with things, not by a long way. And then

that matter of the accident last year, when she had saved him--if Axel

had been the right sort, he would have given her the credit for it

all, and acknowledged his debt to her alone. But not a bit of it--Axel

still held to the division he had made on the spot. Ay, he would say,

if Oline hadn't happened to come along, he would have had to lie out

there in the cold all night; but Brede, he'd been a good help too, on

the way home. And that was all the thanks she got! Oline was full of

indignation--surely the Lord Almighty must turn away His face from His

creatures! How easy it would have been for Axel to lead out a cow from

its stall, and bring it to her and say: "Here's a cow for you, Oline."

But no. Not a word of it.

Well, let him wait--wait and see if it might not come to cost him more

than the worth of a cow in the end!

All through that summer, Oline kept a look-out for every passer-by,

and whispered to them and nodded and confided things to them in

secret. "But never a word I've said," so she charged them every time.

Oline went down to the village, too, more than once. And now there

were rumours and talk of things about the place, ay, drifting like a

fog, settling on faces and getting into ears; even the children going

to school at Breidablik began nodding secrets among themselves. And at

last the Lensmand had to take it up; had to bestir himself and report

it, and ask for instructions. Then he came up with a book to write

in and an assistant to help him; came up to Maaneland one day and

investigated things and wrote things down, and went back again. But

three weeks after, he came up once more, investigating and writing

down again, and this time, he opened a little green mound by the

stream, and took out the body of a child. Oline was an invaluable help

to him; and in return he had to answer a host of questions she put.

Among other things, he said yes, it might perhaps come to having Axel

arrested too. At that, Oline clasped her hands in dismay at all the

wickedness she had got mixed up with here, and only wished she were

out of the place, far away from it all. "But the girl," she whispered,

"what about Barbro herself?"

"The girl Barbro," said the Lensmand, "she's under arrest now in

Bergen. The law must take its course," said he. And he took the little

body and went back again to the village....

Little wonder, then, that Axel Ström was anxious. He had spoken out to

the Lensmand and denied nothing; he was in part responsible for the

coming of the child at all, and in addition, he had dug a grave for

it. And now he was asking Geissler what he had better do next. Would

he have to go in to the town, to a new and worse examination, and be

tortured there?

Geissler was not the man he had been--no; and the long story had

wearied him, he seemed duller now, whatever might be the cause. He was

not the bright and confident soul he had been that morning. He looked

at his watch, got up, and said:

"This'll want thinking over. I'll go into it thoroughly and let you

know before I leave."

And Geissler went off.

He came back to Sellanraa that evening, had a little supper, and went

to bed. Slept till late next morning, slept, rested thoroughly; he was

tired, no doubt, after his meeting with the Swedish mine-owners. Not

till two days after did he make ready to leave. He was his lordly self

again by then, paid liberally for his keep, and gave little Rebecca a

shining _Krone_.

He made a speech to Isak, and said: "It doesn't matter in the least if

nothing came of the deal this time, it'll come all right later on. For

the present, I'm going to stop the working up there and leave it a

bit. As for those fellows--children! Thought they would teach me, did

they? Did you hear what they offered me? Twenty-five thousand!"

"Ay," said Isak.

"Well," said Geissler, and waved his hand as if dismissing all

impertinent offers of insignificant sums from his mind, "well, it

won't do any harm to the district if I do stop the working there a

bit--on the contrary, it'll teach folk to stick to their land. But

they'll feel it in the village. They made a pile of money there last

summer; fine clothes and fine living for all--but there's an end of

that now. Ay, it might have been worth their while, the good folks

down there, to have kept in with me; things might have been different

then. Now, it'll be as I please."

But for all that, he did not look much of a man to control the fate of

villages, as he went away. He carried a parcel of food in his hand,

and his white waistcoat was no longer altogether clean. His good wife

might have equipped him for the journey up this time out of the rest

of the forty thousand she had once got--who could say, perhaps she

had. Anyhow, he was going back poor enough.

He did not forget to look in at Axel Ström on the way down, and give

the results of his thinking over. "I've been looking at it every way,"

said he. "The matter's in abeyance for the present, so there's nothing

to be done just yet. You'll be called up for a further examination,

and you'll have to say how things are...."

Words, nothing more. Geissler had probably never given the matter a

thought at all. And Axel agreed dejectedly to all he said. But at last

Geissler flickered up into a mighty man again, puckered his brows, and

said thoughtfully: "Unless, perhaps, I could manage to come to town

myself and watch the proceedings."

"Ay, if you'd be so good," said Axel.

Geissler decided in a moment. "I'll see if I can manage it, if I can

get the time. But I've a heap of things to look after down south. I'll

come if I can. Good-bye for now. I'll send you those machines all

right."

And Geissler went.

Would he ever come again?

Chapter VI

The rest of the workmen came down from the mine. Work is stopped. The

fjeld lies dead again.

The building at Sellanraa, too, is finished now. There is a makeshift

roof of turf put on for the winter; the great space beneath is divided

into rooms, bright apartments, a great salon in the middle and large

rooms at either end, as if it were for human beings. Here Isak once

lived in a turf hut together with a few goats--there is no turf hut to

be seen now at Sellanraa.

Loose boxes, mangers, and bins are fitted up. The two stoneworkers

are still busy, kept on to get the whole thing finished as soon as

possible, but Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says, and he is

leaving. Gustaf has been a splendid lad at the stonework, heaving and

lifting like a bear; and in the evenings, a joy and delight to all,

playing his mouth-organ, not to speak of helping the womenfolk,

carrying heavy pails to and from the river. But he is going now. No,

Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says. It looks almost as if he

were in a hurry to get away.

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?" says Inger.

No, it can't wait, he's no more work to do here, and besides, going

now, he will have company across the hills, going over with the last;

gang from the mines.

"And who's to help me with my buckets now?" says Inger, smiling sadly.

But Gustaf is never at a loss, he has his answer ready, and says

"Hjalmar." Now Hjalmar was the younger of the two stoneworkers, but

neither of them was young as Gustaf himself, none like him in any way.

"Hjalmar--huh!" says Inger contemptuously. Then suddenly she changes

her tone, and turns to Gustaf, thinking to make him jealous. "Though,

after all, he's nice to have on the place, is Hjalmar," says she, "and

so prettily he sings and all."

"Don't think much of him, anyway," says Gustaf. He does not seem

jealous in the least.

"But you might stay one more night at least?"

No, Gustaf couldn't stay one more night--he was going across with the

others.

Ay, maybe Gustaf was getting tired of the game by now. 'Twas a fine

thing to snap her up in front of all the rest, and have her for his

own the few weeks he was there--but he was going elsewhere now, like

as not to a sweetheart at home--he had other things in view. Was he to

stay on loafing about here for the sake of her? He had reason enough

for bringing the thing to an end, as she herself must know; but she

was grown so bold, so thoughtless of any consequence, she seemed to

care for nothing. No, things had not held for so very long between

them--but long enough to last out the spell of his work there.

Inger is sad and down-hearted enough; ay, so erringly faithful that

she mourns for him. 'Tis hard for her; she is honestly in love,

without any thought of vanity or conquest. And not ashamed, no; she

is a strong woman full of weakness; she is but following the law of

nature all about her; it is the glow of autumn in her as in all things

else. Her breast heaves with feeling as she packs up food for Gustaf

to take with him. No thought of whether she has the right, of whether

she dare risk this or that; she gives herself up to it entirely,

hungry to taste, to enjoy. Isak might lift her up to the roof and

thrust her to the floor again--ay, what of that! It would not make her

feel the less.

She goes out with the parcel to Gustaf.

Now she had set the bucket by the steps on purpose, in case he should

care to go with her to the river just once more. Maybe she would like

to say something, to give him some little thing--her gold ring; Heaven

knows, she was in a state to do anything. But there must be an end of

it some time; Gustaf thanks her, says good-bye, and goes.

And there she stands.

"Hjalmar!" she calls out aloud--oh, so much louder than she need. As

if she were determined to be gay in spite of all--or crying out in

distress.

Gustaf goes on his way....

* * * * *

All through that autumn there was the usual work in the fields all

round, right away down to the village: potatoes to be taken up, corn

to be got in, the horned cattle let loose over the ground. Eight

farms there are now and all are busy; but at the trading station, at

Storborg, there are no cattle, and no green lands, only a garden. And

there is no trade there now, and nothing for any to be busy about

there.

They have a new root crop at Sellanraa called turnips, sending up a

colossal growth of green waving leaves out of the earth, and nothing

can keep the cows away from them--the beasts break down all hedgework,

and storm in, bellowing. Nothing for it but to set Leopoldine and

little Rebecca to keep guard over the turnip fields, and little

Rebecca walks about with a big stick in her hand and is a wonder at

driving cows away. Her father is at work close by; now and again

he comes up to feel her hands and feet, and ask if she is cold.

Leopoldine is big and grown up now; she can knit stockings and mittens

for the winter while she is watching the herds. Born in Trondhjem, was

Leopoldine, and came to Sellanraa five years old. But the memory of

a great town with many people and of a long voyage on a steamer is

slipping away from her now, growing more and more distant; she is a

child of the wilds and knows nothing now of the great world beyond the

village down below where she has been to church once or twice, and

where she was confirmed the year before....

And the little casual work of every day goes on, with this thing and

that to be done beside; as, for instance, the road down below, that is

getting bad one or two places. The ground is still workable, and Isak

goes down one day with Sivert, ditching and draining the road. There

are two patches of bog to be drained.

Axel Ström has promised to take part in the work, seeing that he has a

horse and uses the road himself--but Axel had pressing business in the

town just then. Heaven knows what it could be, but very pressing, he

said it was. But he had asked his brother from Breidablik to work with

them in his stead.

Fredrik was this brother's name. A young man, newly married, a

light-hearted fellow who could make a jest, but none the worse for

that; Sivert and he are something alike. Now Fredrik had looked in at

Storborg on his way up that morning, Aronsen of Storborg being his

nearest neighbour, and he is full of all the trader has been telling

him. It began this way; Fredrik wanted a roll of tobacco. "I'll give

you a roll of tobacco when I have one," said Aronsen.

"What, you've no tobacco in the place?"

"No, nor won't order any. There's nobody to buy it. What d'you think I

make out of one roll of tobacco?"

Ay, Aronsen had been in a nasty humour that morning, sure enough; felt

he had been cheated somehow by that Swedish mining concern. Here had

he set up a store out in the wilds, and then they go and shut down the

work altogether!

Fredrik smiles slyly at Aronsen, and makes fun of him now. "He's not

so much as touched that land of his," says he, "and hasn't even feed

for his beasts, but must go and buy it. Asked me if I'd any hay to

sell. No, I'd no hay to sell. 'Ho, d'you mean you don't want to make

money?' said Aronsen. Thinks money's everything in the world, seems

like. Puts down a hundred-_Krone_ note on the counter, and says

'Money!' 'Ay, money's well enough,' says I. 'Cash down,' says he. Ay,

he's just a little bit touched that way, so to speak, and his wife she

goes about with a watch and chain and all on weekdays--Lord He knows

what can be she's so set on remembering to the minute."

Says Sivert: "Did Aronsen say anything about a man named Geissler?"

"Ay. Said something about he'd be wanting to sell some land he'd

got. And Aronsen was wild about it, he was--'fellow that used to be

Lensmand and got turned out,' he said, and 'like as not without so

much as a five _Krone_ in his books, and ought to be shot!' 'Ay, but

wait a bit,' says I, 'and maybe he'll sell after all.' 'Nay,' says

Aronsen, 'don't you believe it. I'm a business man,' says he, 'and

I know--when one party puts up a price of two hundred and fifty

thousand, and the other offers twenty-five thousand, there's too big a

difference; there'll be no deal ever come out of that. Well, let 'em

go their own way, and see what comes of it,' says he. 'I only wish I'd

never set my foot in this hole, and a poor thing it's been for me and

mine.' Then I asked him if he didn't think of selling out himself.

'Ay,' says he, 'that's just what I'm thinking of. This bit of

bogland,' says he, 'a hole and a desert--I'm not making a single

_Krone_ the whole day now,' says he."

They laughed at Aronsen, and had no pity for him at all.

"Think he'll sell out?" asks Isak.

"Well, he did speak of it. And he's got rid of the lad he had already.

Ay, a curious man, a queer sort of man, that Aronsen, 'tis sure. Sends

away his lad could be working on the place getting in winter fuel and

carting hay with that horse of his, but keeps on his storeman--chief

clerk, he calls him. 'Tis true enough, as he says, not selling so much

as a _Krone_ all day, for he's no stock in the place at all. And what

does he want with a chief clerk, then? I doubt it'll be just by way of

looking grand and making a show, must have a man there to stand at a

desk and write up things in books. Ha ha ha! ay, looks like he's just

a little bit touched that way, is Aronsen."

The three men worked till noon, ate food from their baskets, and

talked a while. They had matters of their own to talk over, matters of

good and ill to folk on the land; no trifles, to them, but things to

be discussed warily; they are clear-minded folk, their nerves unworn,

and not flying out where they should not. It is the autumn season now,

a silence in the woods all round; the hills are there, the sun is

there, and at evening the moon and the stars will come; all regular

and certain, full of kindliness, an embrace. Men have time to rest

here, to lie in the heather, with an arm for a pillow.

Fredrik talks of Breidablik, how 'tis but little he's got done there

yet awhile.

"Nay," says Isak, "'tis none so little already, I saw when I was down

that way."

This was praise from the oldest among them, the giant himself, and

Fredrik might well be pleased. He asks frankly enough: "Did you think

so, now? Well, it'll be better before long. I've had a deal of things

to hinder this year; the house to do up, being leaky and like to fall

to pieces; hayloft to take down and put up again, and no sort of room

in the turf hut for beasts, seeing I'd cow and heifer more than Brede

he'd ever had in his time," says Fredrik proudly.

"And you're thriving like, up here?" asks Isak.

"Ay, I'll not say no. And wife, she's thriving too, why shouldn't we?

There's good room and outlook all about; we can see up and down the

road both ways. And a neat little copse by the house all pretty to

look at, birch and willow--I'll plant a bit more other side of the

house when I've time. And it's fine to see how the bogland's dried

only since last year's ditching--'tis all a question now what'll grow

on her this year. Ay, thrive? When we've house and home and land and

all--'tis enough for the two of us surely."

"Ho," says Sivert slyly, "and the two of you--is that all there's ever

to be?"

"Why, as to that," says Fredrik bravely, "'tis like enough there'll

be more to come. And as to thriving--well, the wife's not falling off

anyway, by the looks of her."

They work on until evening, drawing up now and again to straighten

their backs, and exchange a word or so.

"And so you didn't get the tobacco?" says Sivert.

"No, that's true. But 'twas no loss, for I've no use for it, anyway,"

says Fredrik.

"No use for tobacco?"

"Nay. 'Twas but for to drop in at Aronsen's like, and hear what he'd

got to say." And the two jesters laughed together at that.

On the way home, father and son talk little, as was their way; but

Isak must have been thinking out something for himself; he says:

"Sivert?"

"Ay?" says Sivert again.

"Nay, 'twas nothing."

They walk on a good ways, and Isak begins again:

"How's he get on, then, with his trading, Aronsen, when he's nothing

to trade with?"

"Nay," says Sivert. "But there's not folk enough here now for him to

buy for."

"Ho, you think so? Why, I suppose 'tis so, ay, well...."

Sivert wondered a little at this. After a while his father went on

again:

"There's but eight places now in all, but there might be more before

long. More ... well, I don't know...."

Sivert wondering more than ever--what can his father be getting at?

The pair of them walk on a long way in silence; they are nearly home

now.

"H'm," says Isak. "What you think Aronsen he'd ask for that place of

his now?"

"Ho, that's it!" says Sivert. "Want to buy it, do you?" he asks

jestingly. But suddenly he understands what it all means: 'tis Eleseus

the old man has in mind. Oh, he's not forgotten him after all, but

kept him faithfully in mind, just as his mother, only in his own way,

nearer earth, and nearer to Sellanraa.

"'Twill be going for a reasonable price, I doubt," says Sivert. And

when Sivert says so much, his father knows the lad has read his

thought. And as if in fear of having spoken out too clearly, he falls

to talking of their road-mending; a good thing they had got it done at

last.

For a couple of days after that, Sivert and his mother were putting

their heads together and holding councils and whispering--ay, they

even wrote a letter. And when Saturday came round Sivert suddenly

wanted to go down to the village.

"What you want to go down village again for now?" said his father in

displeasure. "Wearing boots to rags...." Oh, Isak was more bitter than

need be; he knew well enough that Sivert was going to the post.

"Going to church," says Sivert.

'Twas all he could find by way of excuse, and his father muttered:"

Well, what you want to go for ...?"

But if Sivert was going to church, why, he might harness up and take

little Rebecca with him. Little Rebecca, ay, surely she might have

that bit of a treat for once in her life, after being so clever

guarding turnips and being all ways the pearl and blessing of them

all, ay, that she was. And they harnessed up, and Rebecca had the maid

Jensine to look after her on the way, and Sivert said never a word

against that either.

While they are away, it so happens that Aronsen's man, his chief

clerk, from Storborg, comes up the road. What does this mean? Why,

nothing very much, 'tis only Andresen, the chief clerk from Storborg,

come up for a bit of a walk this way--his master having sent him.

Nothing more. And no great excitement among the folk at Sellanraa over

that--'twas not as in the old days, when a stranger was a rare sight

on their new land, and Inger made a great to-do. No, Inger's grown

quieter now, and keeps to herself these days.

A strange thing that book of devotion, a guide upon the way, an arm

round one's neck, no less. When Inger had lost hold of herself a

little, lost her way a little out plucking berries, she found her way

home again by the thought of her little chamber and the holy book; ay,

she was humble now and a Godfearing soul. She can remember long

years ago when she would say an evil word if she pricked her finger

sewing--so she had learned to do from her fellow-workers round the big

table in the Institute. But now she pricks her finger, and it bleeds,

and she sucks the blood away in silence. 'Tis no little victory gained

to change one's nature so. And Inger did more than that. When all the

workmen were gone, and the stone building was finished, and Sellanraa

was all forsaken and still, then came a critical time for Inger; she

cried a deal, and suffered much. She blamed none but herself for it

all, and she was deeply humbled. If only she could have spoken out to

Isak, and relieved her mind, but that was not their way at Sellanraa;

there was none of them would talk their feelings and confess things.

All she could do was to be extra careful in the way she asked her

husband to come in to meals, going right up to him to say it nicely,

instead of shouting from the door. And in the evenings, she looked

over his clothes, and sewed buttons on. Ay, and even more she did. One

night she lifted up on her elbow and said:

"Isak?"

"What is it?" says Isak.

"Are you awake?"

"Ay."

"Nay, 'twas nothing," says Inger. "But I've not been all as I ought."

"What?" says Isak. Ay, so much he said, and rose up on his elbow in

turn.

They lay there, and went on talking. Inger is a matchless woman, after

all; and with a full heart, "I've not been as I ought towards you,"

she says, "and I'm that sorry about it."

The simple words move him; this barge of a man is touched, ay, he

wants to comfort her, knowing nothing of what is the matter, but only

that there is none like her. "Naught to cry about, my dear," says

Isak. "There's none of us can be as we ought."

"Nay, 'tis true," she answers gratefully. Oh, Isak had a strong, sound

way of taking things; straightened them out, he did, when they turned

crooked. "None of us can be as we ought." Ay, he was right. The god of

the heart--for all that he is a god, he goes a deal of crooked ways,

goes out adventuring, the wild thing that he is, and we can see it in

his looks. One day rolling in a bed of roses and licking his lips and

remembering things; next day with a thorn in his foot, desperately

trying to get it out. Die of it? Never a bit, he's as well as ever. A

nice look-out it would be if he were to die!

And Inger's trouble passed off too; she got over it, but she keeps

on with her hours of devotion, and finds a merciful refuge there.

Hard-working and patient and good she is now every day, knowing Isak

different from all other men, and wanting none but him. No gay young

spark of a singer, true, in his looks and ways, but good enough, ay,

good enough indeed! And once more it is seen that the fear of the Lord

and contentment therewith are a precious gain.

And now it was that the little chief clerk from Storborg, Andresen,

came up to Sellanraa one Sunday, and Inger was not in the least

affected, far from it; she did not so much as go in herself to give

him a mug of milk, but sent Leopoldine in with it, by reason that

Jensine the maid was out. And Leopoldine could carry a mug of milk as

well as need be, and she gave it him and said, "Here you are," and

blushed, for all she was wearing her Sunday clothes and had nothing to

be ashamed of, anyway.

"Thanks, 'tis overkind of you," says Andresen. "Is your father at

home?" says he.

"Ay; he'll be about the place somewhere."

Andresen drank and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and looked at

the time. "Is it far up to the mines?" he asked.

"No, 'tis an hour's walk, or hardly that."

"I'm going up to look over them, d'you see, for him, Aronsen--I'm his

chief clerk."

"Ho!"

"You'll know me yourself, no doubt; I'm Aronsen's chief clerk. You've

been down buying things at our place before."

"Ay."

"And I remember you well enough," says Andresen. "You've been down

twice buying things."

"'Tis more than could be thought, you'd remember that," says

Leopoldine, and had no more strength after that, but stood holding by

a chair.

But Andresen had strength enough, he went on, and said: "Remember you?

Well, of course I should." And he said more:

"You wouldn't like to walk up to the mine with me?" said he.

And a little after something went wrong with Leopoldine's eyes;

everything turned red and strange about her, and the floor was

slipping away from under, and Chief Clerk Andresen was talking from

somewhere ever so far off. Saying: "Couldn't you spare the time?"

"No," says she.

And Heaven knows how she managed to get out of the kitchen again. Her

mother looked at her and asked what was the matter. "Nothing," said

Leopoldine.

Nothing, no, of course. But now, look you, 'twas Leopoldine's turn to

be affected, to begin the same eternal round. She was well fitted

for the same, overgrown and pretty and newly confirmed; an excellent

sacrifice she would make. A bird is fluttering in her young breast,

her long hands are like her mother's, full of tenderness, full of sex.

Could she dance?--ay, indeed she could. A marvel where she had managed

to learn it, but learn it they did at Sellanraa as well as elsewhere.

Sivert could dance, and Leopoldine too; a kind of dancing peculiar

to the spot, growth of the new-cleared soil; a dance with energy and

swing: schottische, mazurka, waltz and polka in one. And could not

Leopoldine deck herself out and fall in love and dream by daylight all

awake? Ay, as well as any other! The day she stood in church she was

allowed to borrow her mother's gold ring to wear; no sin in that,

'twas only neat and nice; and the day after, going to her communion,

she did not get the ring on till it was over. Ay, she might well show

herself in church with a gold ring on her finger, being the daughter

of a great man on the place--the Margrave.

When Andresen came down from the mine, he found Isak at Sellanraa, and

they asked him in, gave him dinner and a cup of coffee. All the

folk on the place were in there together now, and took part in the

conversation. Andresen explained that his master, Aronsen, had sent

him up to see how things were at the mines, if there was any sign of

beginning work there again soon. Heaven knows, maybe Andresen sat

there lying all the time, about being sent by his master; he might

just as well have hit on it for his own account--and anyway, he

couldn't have been at the mines at all in the little time he'd been

away.

"'Tis none so easy to see from outside if they're going to start work

again," said Isak.

No, Andresen admitted that was so; but Aronsen had sent him, and after

all, two pair of eyes could see better than one.

But here Inger seemingly could contain herself no longer; she asked:

"Is it true what they're saying, Aronsen is going to sell his place

again?"

Andresen answers: "He's thinking of it. And a man like him can surely

do as he likes, seeing all the means and riches he's got."

"Ho, is he so rich, then?"

"Ay," says Andresen, nodding his head; "rich enough, and that's a true

word."

Again Inger cannot keep silence, but asks right out:

"I wonder, now, what he'd be asking for the place?"

Isak puts in a word here; like as not he's more curious to know than

Inger herself, but it must not seem that the idea of buying Storborg

is any thought of his; he makes himself a stranger to it, and says

now:

"Why, what you want to know for, Inger?"

"I was but asking," says she. And both of them look at Andresen,

waiting. And he answers:

Answers cautiously enough that as to the price, he can say nothing of

that, but he knows what Aronsen says the place has cost him.

"And how much is that?" asks Inger, having no strength to keep her

peace and be silent.

"'Tis sixteen hundred _Kroner_" says Andresen.