But for all that, he did not look much of a man to control the fate of villages, as he went away.  He carried a parcel of food in his hand, and his white waistcoat was no longer altogether clean.  His good wife might have equipped him for the journey up this time out of the rest of the forty thousand she had once got—­who could say, perhaps she had.  Anyhow, he was going back poor enough.

He did not forget to look in at Axel Stroem on the way down, and give the results of his thinking over.  “I’ve been looking at it every way,” said he.  “The matter’s in abeyance for the present, so there’s nothing to be done just yet.  You’ll be called up for a further examination, and you’ll have to say how things are....”

Words, nothing more.  Geissler had probably never given the matter a thought at all.  And Axel agreed dejectedly to all he said.  But at last Geissler flickered up into a mighty man again, puckered his brows, and said thoughtfully:  “Unless, perhaps, I could manage to come to town myself and watch the proceedings.”

“Ay, if you’d be so good,” said Axel.

Geissler decided in a moment.  “I’ll see if I can manage it, if I can get the time.  But I’ve a heap of things to look after down south.  I’ll come if I can.  Good-bye for now.  I’ll send you those machines all right.”

And Geissler went.

Would he ever come again?

Chapter VI

The rest of the workmen came down from the mine.  Work is stopped.  The fjeld lies dead again.

The building at Sellanraa, too, is finished now.  There is a makeshift roof of turf put on for the winter; the great space beneath is divided into rooms, bright apartments, a great salon in the middle and large rooms at either end, as if it were for human beings.  Here Isak once lived in a turf hut together with a few goats—­there is no turf hut to be seen now at Sellanraa.

Loose boxes, mangers, and bins are fitted up.  The two stoneworkers are still busy, kept on to get the whole thing finished as soon as possible, but Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says, and he is leaving.  Gustaf has been a splendid lad at the stonework, heaving and lifting like a bear; and in the evenings, a joy and delight to all, playing his mouth-organ, not to speak of helping the womenfolk, carrying heavy pails to and from the river.  But he is going now.  No, Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says.  It looks almost as if he were in a hurry to get away.

“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?” says Inger.

No, it can’t wait, he’s no more work to do here, and besides, going now, he will have company across the hills, going over with the last; gang from the mines.

“And who’s to help me with my buckets now?” says Inger, smiling sadly.

But Gustaf is never at a loss, he has his answer ready, and says “Hjalmar.”  Now Hjalmar was the younger of the two stoneworkers, but neither of them was young as Gustaf himself, none like him in any way.