“Bring up a good-sized basket, or a box,” she had said, “next time you’re down to the village.”

“What d’you want that for?” asked Isak.

“I’ll just be wanting it,” said Inger.

Isak hauled up the roof-beams on a rope, Inger guiding them with one hand; it seemed a help just to have her about.  Bit by bit the work went on; there was no great height to the roof, but the timber was huge and heavy for a little house.

The weather kept fine, more or less.  Inger got the potatoes in by herself, and Isak had the roofing done before the rain came on in earnest.  The goats were brought in of a night into the hut and all slept there together; they managed somehow, they managed everyway, and did not grumble.

Isak was getting ready for another journey down to the village.  Said Inger very humbly: 

“Do you think perhaps you could bring up a good-sized basket, or a box?”

“I’ve ordered some glass windows,” said Isak. “and a couple of painted doors.  I’ll have to fetch them up,” said he in his lordly way.

“Ay well, then.  It’s no great matter about the basket.”

“What did you want with a basket?  What’s it for?”

“What’s it for?...  Oh, haven’t you eyes in your head!”

Isak went off deep in thought.  Two days later he came back, with a window and a door for the parlour, and a door for the bedroom; also he had hung round his neck in front a good-sized packing-case, and full of provisions to boot.

“You’ll carry yourself to death one day,” said Inger.

“Ho, indeed!” Isak was very far indeed from being dead; he took out a bottle of medicine from his pocket—­naphtha it was—­and gave it to Inger with orders to take it regularly and get well again.  And there were the windows and the painted doors that he could fairly boast of; he set to work at once fitting them in.  Oh, such little doors, and secondhand at that, but painted up all neat and fine again in red and white; ’twas almost as good as having pictures on the walls.

And now they moved into the new building, and the animals had the turf hut to themselves, only a lambing ewe was left with Cow, lest she should feel lonely.

They had done well, these builders in the waste:  ay, ’twas a wonder and a marvel to themselves.

Chapter II

Isak worked on the land until the frost act in; there were stones and roots to be dug up and cleared away, and the meadow to be levelled ready for next year.  When the ground hardened, he left his field work and became a woodman, felling and cutting up great quantities of logs.

“What do you want with all these logs?” Inger would say.

“Oh, they’ll be useful some way,” said Isak off-handedly, as though he had no plan.  But Isak had a plan, never fear.  Here was virgin forest, a dense growth, right close up to the house, a barrier hedging in his fields where he wanted room.  Moreover, there must be some way of getting the logs down to the village that winter; there were folk enough would be glad of wood for firing.  It was sound enough, and Isak was in no doubt; he stuck to his work in the forest, felling trees and cutting them up into logs.