“Let me carry the ax and things, anyway,” says Brede.

“Nay,” says Oline, speaking for Axel.  “He’ll take them himself.”

And Brede goes on again:  “You might have called to me, anyway; we’re not so deadly enemies that you couldn’t say a word to a man?—­You did call?  Well, you might have shouted then, so a man could hear.  Blowing a gale and all....  Leastways, you might have waved a hand.”

“I’d no hand to wave,” answers Axel.  “You saw how ’twas with me, shut down and locked in all ways.”

“Nay, that I’ll swear I didn’t.  Well, I never heard.  Here, let me carry those things.”

Oline puts in:  “Leave him alone.  He’s hurt and poorly.”

But Axel’s mind is getting to work again now.  He has heard of Oline before, and understands it will be a costly thing for him, and a plague besides, if she can claim to have saved his life all by herself.  Better to share between them as far as may be.  And he lets Brede take the basket and the tools; ay, he lets it be understood that this is a relief, that it eases him to get rid of it.  But Oline will not have it, she snatches away the basket, she and no other will carry what’s to be carried there.  Sly simplicity at war on every side.  Axel is left for a moment without support, and Brede has to drop the basket and hold him, though Axel can stand by himself now, it seems.

Then they go on a bit that way, Brede holding Axel’s arm, and Oline carrying the things.  Carrying, carrying, full of bitterness and flashing fire; a miserable part indeed, to carry a basket instead of leading a helpless man.  What did Brede want coming that way at all—­devil of a man!

“Brede,” says she, “what’s it they’re saying, you’ve sold your place and all?”

“And who’s it wants to know?” says Brede boldly.

“Why, as to that, I’d never thought ’twas any secret not to be known.”

“Why didn’t you come to the sale, then, and bid with the rest?”

“Me—­ay, ’tis like you to make a jest of poor folk.”

“Well, and I thought ’twas you had grown rich and grand.  Wasn’t it you had left you old Sivert’s chest and all his money in?  He he he!”

Oline was not pleased, not softened at being minded of that legacy.  “Ay, old Sivert, he’d a kindly thought for me, and I’ll not say otherwise.  But once he was dead and gone, ’twas little they left after him in worldly goods.  And you know yourself how ’tis to be stripped of all, and live under other man’s roof; but old Sivert he’s in palaces and mansions now, and the likes of you and me are left on earth to be spurned underfoot.”

“Ho, you and your talk!” says Brede scornfully, and turns to Axel:  “Well, I’m glad I came in time—­help you back home.  Not going too fast, eh?”

“No.”

Talk to Oline, stand up and argue with Oline!  Was never a man could do it but to his cost.  Never in life would she give in, and never her match for turning and twisting heaven and earth to a medley of seeming kindness and malice, poison and senseless words.  This to her face now:  Brede making as if ’twas himself was bringing Axel home!