Brede, then, is husband and father in the house, and apart from that position, has got on variously beside.  He had been once more installed as Lensmand’s assistant and deputy, and had a good deal to do that way for a time.  Unfortunately, his daughter Barbro had fallen out with the Lensmand’s wife last autumn, about a trifling matter, a mere nothing—­indeed, to tell the truth, a flea; and Brede himself is somewhat in disfavour there since.  But Brede counts it no great loss, after all; there are other families that find work for him now on purpose to annoy the Lensmand’s; he is frequently called upon, for instance, to drive for the doctor, and as for the parsonage, they’d gladly send for Brede every time there’s a pig to be killed, and more—­Brede says so himself.

But for all that there are hard times now and again in Brede’s house; ’tis not all the family are as fat and flourishing as the dog.  Still, Heaven be praised, Brede is not a man to take things much to heart.  “Here’s the children growing up day by day,” says he, though, for that matter, there’s always new little ones coming to take their place.  The ones that are grown up and out in the world can keep themselves, and send home a bit now and again.  There’s Barbro married at Maaneland, and Helge out at the herring fishery; they send home something in money or money’s worth as often as they can; ay, even Katrine, doing waiting at home, managed, strangely enough, to slip a five-Krone note into her father’s hand last winter, when things were looking extra bad.  “There’s a girl for you,” said Brede, and never asked her where she’d got the money, or what for.  Ay, that was the way!  Children with a heart to think of their parents and help them in time of need!

Brede is not altogether pleased with his boy Helge in that respect; he can be heard at times standing in the store with a little group about him, developing his theories as to children and their duty toward their parents.  “Look you, now, my boy, Helge; if he smokes tobacco a bit, or takes a dram now and then, I’ve nothing against that, we’ve all been young in our time.  But ’tis not right of him to go sending one letter home after another and nothing but words and wishes in.  ’Tis not right to set his mother crying.  ’Tis the wrong road for a lad.  In days gone by, things were different.  Children were no sooner grown than they went into service and started sending home a little to help.  And quite right, too.  Isn’t it their father and mother had borne them under their breast first of all, and sweating blood to keep the life in them all their tender years?  And then to forget it all!”

It almost seemed as if Helge had heard that speech of his father’s, for there came a letter from him after with money in—­fifty Kroner, no less.  And then Bredes had a great time; ay, in their endless extravagance they bought both meat and fish for dinner, and a lamp all hung about with lustres to hang from the ceiling in the best room.