* * * * *

Early in May came a visitor. A woman came over the hills to that
lonely place where none ever came; she was of Inger's kinsfolk, though
not near, and they made her welcome.

"I thought I'd just look in," she says, "and see how Goldenhorns gets
on since she left us."

Inger looks at the child, and talks to it in a little pitying voice:
"Ah, there's none asks how he's getting on, that's but a little tiny
thing."

"Why, as for that, any one can see how he's getting on. A fine little
lad and all. And who'd have thought it a year gone, Inger, to find you
here with house and husband and child and all manner of things."

"'Tis no doing of mine to praise. But there's one sitting there that
took me as I was and no more."

"And wedded?--Not wedded yet, no, I see."

"We'll see about it, the time this little man's to be christened,"
says Inger. "We'd have been wedded before, but couldn't come by it,
getting down to a church and all. What do you say, Isak?"

"Wedded?" says Isak. "Why, yes, of course."

"But if as you'd help us, Oline," says Inger. "Just to come up for a
few days in the off time once, and look to the creatures here while
we're away?"

Ay, Oline would do that.

"We'll see it's no loss to you after."

Why, as to that, she'd leave it to them.... "And you're building
again, I see. Now what'll that be for? Isn't there built enough?"

Inger sees her chance and puts in here: "Why, you must ask him about
that. I'm not to know."

"Building?" says Isak. "Oh, 'tis nothing to speak of. A bit of a
shed, maybe, if we should need it. What's that you were saying about
Goldenhorns? You'd like to see her?"

They go across to the cowshed, and there's cow and calf to show, and
an ox to boot. The visitor nods her head, looking at the beasts, and
at the shed; all fine as could be, and clean as couldn't be cleaner.
"Trust Inger for looking after creatures every way," says Oline.

Isak puts a question: "Goldenhorns was at your place before?"

"Ay, from a calf. Not my place, though; at my son's. But 'tis all the
same. And we've her mother still."

Isak had not heard better news a long while; it was a burden lighter.
Goldenhorns was his and Inger's by honest right. To tell the truth, he
had half thought of getting rid of his trouble in a sorry way; to kill
off the cow that autumn, scrape the hide, bury the horns, and thus
make away with all trace of Cow Goldenhorns in this life. No ne