e by little managed to get hold of a
bit of live stock and such-like, but with no wife, and no woman to
help him. "Well, I don't mind telling you, if you take Barbro, she'll
be all the help you'll need," said Brede to him. "Look, here's her
picture; you can see."

And after a week or so, came Barbro. Axel was in the midst of his
haymaking, and had to do his mowing by day and haymaking by night, and
all by himself--and then came Barbro! It was a godsend. Barbro soon
showed she was not afraid of work; she washed clothes and cleaned
things, cooked and milked and helped in the hayfield--helped to carry
in the hay, she did. Axel determined to give her good wages, and not
lose by it.

She was not merely a photograph of a fine lady here. Barbro was
straight and thin, spoke somewhat hoarsely, showed sense and
experience in various ways--she was not a child. Axel wondered what
made her so thin and haggard in the face. "I'd know you by your
looks," he said; "but you're not like the photograph."

"That's only the journey," she said, "and living in town air all that
time."

And indeed, she very soon grew plump and well-looking again. "Take my
word for it," said Barbro, "it pulls you down a bit, a journey
like that, and living in town like that." She hinted also at the
temptations of life in Bergen--one had to be careful there. But
while they sat talking, she begged him to take in a paper--a Bergen
newspaper--so that she could read a bit and see the news of the world.
She had got accustomed to reading, and theatres and music, and it was
so dull in a place like this.

Axel was pleased with the results of his summer help, and took in a
paper. He also bore with the frequent visits of the Brede family, who
were constantly dropping in at his place and eating and drinking. He
was anxious to show that he appreciated this servant-girl of his.
And what could be nicer and homelier than when Barbro sat there of a
Sunday evening twanging the strings of a guitar and singing a little
with her hoarse voice? Axel, was touched by it all, by the pretty,
strange songs, by the mere fact that some one really sat there singing
on his poor half-baked farm.

True, in the course of the summer he learned to know other sides of
Barbro's character, but on the whole, he was content. She had her
fancies, and could answer hastily at times; was somewhat over-quick to
answer back. That Saturday evening, for instance, when Axel himself
had to go down to the