Well, let them!  Huh!  Was he to lie here in the bushes and forget himself?  A nice thing for him—­to lie there flat on his belly and forget himself.  Who was she, after all?  But he was the man he was.  Huh! again.

He sprang to his feet and stood up.  Brushed the twigs and dust from his clothes and drew himself up and stood upright again.  His rage and desperation came out in a curious fashion now:  he threw all care to the winds, and began singing a ballad of highly frivolous import.  And there was an earnest expression on his face as he took care to sing the worst parts loudest of all.

Chapter XIX

Isak came back from the village with a horse.  Ay, it had come to that; he had bought the horse from the Lensmand’s assistant; the animal was for sale, as Geissler had said, but it cost two hundred and forty Kroner—­that was sixty Daler.  The price of horseflesh had gone up beyond all bounds:  when Isak was a boy the best horse could be bought for fifty Daler.

But why had he never raised a horse himself?  He had thought of it, had imagined a nice little foal—­that he had been waiting for these two years past.  That was a business for folk who could spare the time from their land, could leave waste patches lying waste till they got a horse to carry home the crop.  The Lensmand’s assistant had said:  “I don’t care about paying for a horse’s keep myself; I’ve no more hay than my womenfolk can get it in by themselves while I’m away on duty.”

The new horse was an old idea of Isak’s, he had been thinking of it for years; it was not Geissler who had put him up to it.  And he had also made preparations such as he could; a new stall, a new rope for tethering it in the summer; as for carts, he had some already, he must make some more for the autumn.  Most important of all was the fodder, and he had not forgotten that, of course; or why should he have thought it so important to get that last patch broken up last year if it hadn’t been to save getting rid of one of the cows, and yet have enough keep for a new horse?  It was, sown for green fodder now; that was for the calving cows.

Ay, he had thought it all out.  Well might Inger be astonished again, and clap her hands just as in the old days.

Isak brought news from the village; Breidablik was to be sold, there was a notice outside the church.  The bit of crop, such as it was,—­hay and potatoes,—­to go with the rest.  Perhaps the live stock too; a few beasts only, nothing big.

“Is he going to sell up the home altogether and leave nothing?” cried Inger.  “And where’s he going to live?”

“In the village.”