s a
telegram which had been forwarded by post, and was from Lensmand
Geissler. A blessing on that man Geissler, wonderful man that he was!
He telegraphed these few words, that Inger was free, "Home soonest
possible: Geissler." And at this the store took to whirling curiously
round and round; the counter and the people in the shop were suddenly
far away. Isak felt rather than heard himself saying, "_Herregud_!"
and "Praise and thanks to God."

"She might be here no later than tomorrow the day," said the
storekeeper, "if so be she's left Trondhjem in time."

"Ho!" said Isak.

He waited till the next day. The carrier came up with letters, from
the landing-stage where the steamer put in, but no Inger. "Then she
won't be here now till next week," the storekeeper said.

Almost as well, after all, that there was time to wait--Isak has many
things to do. Should he forget himself altogether, and neglect his
land? He sets off home again and begins carting out manure. It is
soon done. He sticks a crowbar into the earth, noting how the frost
disappears from day to day. The sun is big and strong now, the snow
is gone, green showing everywhere; the cattle are out to graze. Isak
ploughs one day, and a few days later he is sowing corn, planting
potatoes. Ho, the youngsters too, planting potatoes like angels;
blessed little hands they have, and what can their father do but
watch?

Then Isak washes out the cart down by the river, and puts the seat
in. Talks to the lads about a little journey; he must have a little
journey down to the village.

"But aren't you going to walk?"

"Not today. I've took into my head to go down with horse and cart
today."

"Can't we come too?"

"You've got to be good boys, and stay at home this time. Your own
mother'll be coming very soon, and she'll learn you a many things."

Eleseus is all for learning things; he asks: "Father, when you did
that writing on the paper--what does it feel like?"

"Why, 'tis hardly to feel at all; just like a bit of nothing in the
hand."

"But doesn't it slip, like on the ice?"

"What slip?"

"The pen thing, that you write with?"

"Ay, there's the pen. But you have to learn to steer it, you'll see."

But little Sivert he was of another mind, and said nothing about pens;
he wanted to ride in the cart; just to sit up on the seat before the
horse was put in, and drive like that, driving ever so fast in a cart
without a horse. And it was all his doing that fathe