Altogether, the days were longer and lighter now; Easter was past, Isak had hauled up all his timber, everything looked bright, human beings could breathe again after another winter gone.

Inger was again the first to brighten up; she had been more cheerful now for a long time.  What could it be?  Ho, ’twas for a very simple reason; Inger was heavy again; expecting a child again.  Everything worked out easily in her life, no hitch anywhere.  But what a mercy, after the way she had sinned! it was more than she had any right to expect.  Ay, she was fortunate, fortunate.  Isak himself actually noticed something one day, and asked her straight out:  “Looks to me as if you’re on the way again; what do you say yourself?”

“Ay, Lord be thanked, ’tis surely so,” she answered.

They were both equally astonished.  Not that Inger was past the age, of course; to Isak’s mind, she was not too old in any way.  But still, another child ... well, well....  And little Leopoldine going to school several times a year down at Breidablik—­that left them with no little ones about the place now—­besides which, Leopoldine herself was grown up now.

Some days passed, and Isak resolutely threw away a whole week-end—­from Saturday evening till Monday morning—­on a trip down to the village.  He would not say what he was going for when he set out, but on his return, he brought with him a girl.  “This is Jensine,” he said.  “Come to help.”

“’Tis all your nonsense,” said Inger, “I’ve no need of help at all.”

Isak answered that she did need a help—­just now.

Need or not—­it was a kind and generous thought of his; Inger was abashed and grateful.  The new girl was a daughter of the blacksmith, and she was to stay with them for the present; through the summer, anyhow, and then they would see.

“And I’ve sent a telegram,” said Isak, “after him Eleseus.”

This fairly startled Inger; startled the mother.  A telegram?  Did he mean to upset her completely with his thoughtfulness?  It had been her great sorrow of late that boy Eleseus was away in town—­in the evil-minded town; she had written to him about God, and likewise explained to him how his father here was beginning to sink under the work, and the place getting bigger all the time; little Sivert couldn’t manage it all by himself, and besides, he was to have money after his uncle one day—­all this she had written, and sent him the money for his journey once for all.  But Eleseus was a man-about-town now, and had no sort of longing for a peasant’s life; he answered something about what was he to do anyway if he did come home?  Work on a farm and throw away all the knowledge and learning he had gained?  “In point of fact,”—­that was how he put it,—­“I’ve no desire to come back now.  And if you could send me some stuff for underclothes, it would save me getting the things on credit.”  So he wrote.  And yes, his mother sent him stuff—­sent him remarkable quantities of stuff from time to time for underclothes.  But when she was converted, and got religion, the scales fell from her eyes, and she understood that Eleseus was selling the stuff and spending the money on other things.