They managed somehow, and what more could they ask?  Bredes, they kept alive, lived from hand to mouth, but without great fear.  What more could they wish for?

“Here’s visitors indeed!” says Brede, showing Isak and Eleseus into the room with the new lamp.  “And I’d never thought to see.  Isak, you’re never going away yourself, and all?”

“Nay, only to the smith’s for something, ’tis no more.”

“Ho!  ’Tis Eleseus, then, going off south again?”

Eleseus is used to hotels; he makes himself at hojne, hangs up his coat and stick on the wall, and calls for coffee; as for something to eat, his father has things in a basket.  Katrine brings the coffee.

“Pay?  I’ll not hear of it,” says Brede.  “I’ve had many a bite and sup at Sellanraa; and as for Eleseus, I’m in his books already.  Don’t take it, Katrine.”  But Eleseus pays all the same, takes out his purse and pays out the money, and twenty Ore over; no nonsense about him.

Isak goes across to the smith’s, and Eleseus stays where he is.

He says a few words, as in duty bound, to Katrine, but no more than is needed; he would rather talk to her father.  No, Eleseus cares nothing for women; has been frightened off by them once, as it were, and takes no interest in them now.  Like as not he’d never much inclination that way to speak of, seeing he’s so completely out of it all now.  A strange man to live in the wilds; a gentleman with thin writer’s hands, and the sense of a woman for finery; for sticks and umbrellas and galoshes.  Frightened off, and changed, incomprehensibly not a marrying man.  Even his upper lip declines to put forth any brutal degree of growth.  Yet it might be the lad had started well enough, come of good stock, but been turned thereafter into an artificial atmosphere, and warped, transformed?  Had he worked so hard in an office, in a shop, that his whole originality was lost thereby?  Ay, maybe ’twas so.  Anyway, here he is now, easy and passionless, a little weak, a little heedless, wandering farther and farther off the road.  He might envy every soul among his fellows in the wilds, but has not even strength for that.

Katrine is used to jesting with her customers, and asks him teasingly if he is off to see his sweetheart in the south again.

“I’ve other things to think of,” says Eleseus.  “I’m out on business—­opening up connections.”

“No call to be so free with your betters, Katrine,” says her father reprovingly.  Oh, Brede Olsen is all respect towards Eleseus, mighty respectful for him to be.  And well he may, ’tis but wise of him, seeing he owes money up at Storborg, and here’s his creditor before him.  And Eleseus?  Ho, all this deference pleases him, and he is kind and gracious in return; calls Brede “My dear sir,” in jest, and goes on that way.  He mentions that he has forgotten his umbrella:  “Just as we were passing Breidablik, I thought of it; left my umbrella behind.”