od
to work with them about, and hear the bells, though it did take some
of his time now and again. There was the bull, mischievous beast,
would take to butting at the lichen stacks; and as for the goats, they
were high and low and everywhere, even to the roof of the hut.

Troubles great and small.

One day Isak heard a sudden shout; Inger stood on the door-slab with
the child in her arms, pointing over to the bull and the pretty little
cow Silverhorns--they were making love. Isak threw down his pick and
raced over to the pair, but it was too late, by the look of it. The
mischief was done. "Oh, the little rascal, she's all too young--half
a year too soon, a child!" Isak got her into the hut, but it was too
late.

"Well, well," says Inger, "'tis none so bad after all, in a way; if
she'd waited, we'd have had both of them bearing at the same time."
Oh, that Inger; not so bright as some, maybe, yet, for all that, she
may well have known what she was about when she let the pair loose
together that morning.

Winter came, Inger carding and spinning, Isak driving down with loads
of wood; fine dry wood and good going; all his debts paid off and
settled; horse and cart, plough and harrow his very own. He drove down
with Inger's goats' milk cheeses, and brought back woollen thread, a
loom, shuttles and beam and all; brought back flour and provisions,
more planks, and boards and nails; one day he brought home a lamp.

"As true as I'm here I won't believe it," says Inger. But she had
long had in her mind about a lamp for all that. They lit it the same
evening, and were in paradise; little Eleseus he thought, no doubt, it
was the sun. "Look how he stares all wondering like," said Isak. And
now Inger could spin of an evening by lamplight.

He brought up linen for shirts, and new hide shoes for Inger. She had
asked for some dye-stuffs, too, for the wool, and he brought them.
Then one day he came back with a clock. With what?--A clock. This was
too much for Inger; she was overwhelmed and could not say a word. Isak
hung it up on the wall, and set it at a guess, wound it up, and let it
strike. The child turned its eyes at the sound and then looked at its
mother. "Ay, you may wonder," said Inger, and took the child to her,
not a little touched herself. Of all good things, here in a lonely
place, there was nothing could be better than a clock to go all the
dark winter through, and strike so prettily at the hours.

When the last loa