Axel thought for a moment, and said:  “I could have made it up to you other ways.  That you shouldn’t lose by it, I mean.”

But no, Barbro had got rid of the rings, and never so much as gave him the chance of buying back a gold ring and a silver ring at a reasonable price.

For all that, Barbro was not so thoroughly harsh and unlovable, that she was not.  She had a long apron thing that fastened over the shoulders and with tucks at the edge, and a strip of white stuff up round her neck—­ay, she looked well.  There were some said she’d found a lad already down in the village to go sweethearting with, though maybe ’twas but their talk, after all.  Fru Heyerdahl kept a watchful eye on her at any rate, and took care not to let her go to the Christmas dances.

Ay, Fru Heyerdahl was careful enough, that she was; here was Axel standing talking to his former servant-girl about a matter of two rings, and suddenly Fru Heyerdahl comes right between them and says:  “Barbro, I thought you were going to the store?” Off goes Barbro.  And her mistress turns to Axel and says:  “Have you come down with some meat, or something?”

“H’m,” said Axel, just that, and touched his cap.

Now it was Fru Heyerdahl that had praised him up so that last autumn, saying he was a splendid fellow and she had always thought well of him; and one good turn was worth another, no doubt.  Axel knew the way of doing things; ’twas an old story, when simple folk had dealing with their betters, with authority.  And he had thought at once of a piece of butcher’s meat, a bull he had, that might be useful there.  But time went on, and month and month passed by and autumn was gone, and the bull was never killed.  And what harm could it do, after all, if he kept it for himself?—­give it away, and he would be so much poorer.  And ’twas a fine beast, anyway.

“H’m, Goddag.  Nay,” said Axel, shaking his head; he’d no meat with him today.

But Fru Heyerdahl seemed to be guessing his thoughts, for she said:  “I’ve heard you’ve an ox, or what?”

“Ay, so I have,” said Axel.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“Ay, I’ll be keeping him yet.”

“I see.  You’ve no sheep to be killed?”

“Not now I haven’t.  ’Tis this way, I’ve never had but what’s to be kept on the place.”

“Oh, I see,” said Fru Heyerdahl; “well, that was all.”  And she went on her way.

Axel drove up homeward, but he could not help thinking somewhat of what had passed; he rather feared he had made a false step somehow.  The Lensmand’s lady had been an important witness once; for and against him, but important anyway.  He had been through an unpleasant time on that occasion, but, after all, he had got out of it in the end—­got out of a very awkward business in connection with the body of a child found buried on his land.  Perhaps, after all, he had better kill that sheep.

And, strangely enough, this thought was somehow connected with Barbro.  If he came down bringing sheep for her mistress it could hardly fail to make a certain impression on Barbro herself.