He had been away now for some years, and had grown taller than his father, with long white hands and a little dark growth on his upper lip.  He did not give himself airs, but seemed anxious to appear natural and kindly; his mother, was surprised and pleased.  He shared the small bedroom with Sivert; the two brothers got on well together, and were constantly playing tricks on each other by way of amusement.  But, naturally, Eleseus had to take his share of the work in building the house; and tired and miserable it made him, all unused as he was to bodily fatigue of any kind.  It was worse still when Sivert had to go off and leave it all to the other two; Eleseus then was almost more of a hindrance than a help.

And where had Sivert gone off to?  Why, ’twas Oline had come over the hills one day with word from Uncle Sivert that he was dying; and, of course, young Sivert had to go.  A nice state of things all at once—­it couldn’t have happened worse than to have Sivert running off just now.  But there was no help for it.

Said Oline:  “I’d no time to go running errands, and that’s the truth; but for all that ...  I’ve taken a fancy to the children here, all of them, and little Sivert, and if as I could help him to his legacy....”

“But was Uncle Sivert very bad, then?”

“Bad?  Heaven bless us, he’s falling away day by day.”

“Was he in bed, then?”

“In bed?  How can you talk so light and flighty of death before God’s Judgment-seat?  Nay, he’ll neither hop nor run again in this world, will your Uncle Sivert.”

All this seemed to mean that Uncle Sivert had not long to live, and
Inger insisted that little Sivert should set off at once.

But Uncle Sivert, incorrigible old knave, was not on his death-bed; was not even confined to bed at all.  When young Sivert came, he found the little place in terrible muddle and disorder; they had not finished the spring season’s work properly yet—­had not even carted out all the winter manure; but as for approaching death, there was no sign of it that he could see.  Uncle Sivert was an old man now, over seventy; he was something of an invalid, and pottered about half-dressed in the house, and often kept his bed for a time.  He needed help on the place in many ways, as, for instance, with the herring nets that hung rotting in the sheds.  Oh, but for all that he was by no means at his last gasp; he could still eat sour fish and smoke his pipe.

When Sivert had been there half an hour and seen how things were, he was for going back home again.

“Home?” said the old man.

“We’re building a house, and father’s none to help him properly.”

“Ho!” said his uncle.  “Isn’t Eleseus come home, then?”

“Ay, but he’s not used to the work.”

“Then why did you come at all?”

Sivert told him about Oline and her message, how she had said that Uncle Sivert was on the point of death.