But he could not stand there for ever, in the middle of the room, saying nothing.  “H’m,” he said.  “Ho!  So there’s but fifteen goats there now, you say?”

“That’s all I make it,” answered Oline gently.  “But you’d better count for yourself and see.”

Now was his time—­he could do it now:  reach out with his hands and alter the shape of Oline considerably, with but one good grip.  He could do it.  He did not do it, but said boldly, making for the door:  “I’ll say no more just now.”  And he went out, as if plainly showing that, next time, he would have proper words to say, never fear.

“Eleseus!” he called out.

Where was Eleseus, where were the children?  Their father had something to ask them; they were big fellows now, with their eyes about them.  He found them under the floor of the barn; they had crept in as far as they could, hiding away invisibly, but betraying themselves by an anxious whispering.  Out they crept now like two sinners.

The fact of the matter was that Eleseus had found a stump of coloured pencil the engineer had left behind, and started to run after him and give it back, but the big men with their long strides were already far up in the forest.  Eleseus stopped.  The idea occurred to him that he might keep the pencil—­if only he could!  He hunted out little Sivert, so that they might at least be two to share the guilt, and the pair of them had crept in under the floor with their find.  Oh, that stump of pencil—­it was an event in their lives, a wonder!  They found shavings and covered them all over with signs; the pencil, they discovered, made blue marks with one end and red with the other, and they took it in turns to use.  When their father called out so loudly and insistently, Eleseus whispered:  “They’ve come back for the pencil!” All their joy was dashed in a moment, swept out of their minds at a touch, and their little hearts began beating and thumping terribly.  The brothers crept forth.  Eleseus held out the pencil at arm’s length; here it was, they had not broken it; only wished they had never seen the thing.

No engineer was to be seen.  Their hearts settled to a quieter beat; it was heavenly to be rid of that dreadful tension.

“There was a woman here yesterday,” said their father.

“Yes.”

“The woman from the place down below.  Did you see her go?”

“Yes.”

“Had she a goat with her?”

“No,” said the boys.  “A goat?”

“Didn’t she have a goat with her when she left?”

“No.  What goat?”

Isak wondered and wondered.  In the evening when the animals came home, he counted the goats once over—­there were sixteen.  He counted them once more, counted them five times.  There were sixteen.  None missing.

Isak breathed again.  But what did it all mean?  Oline, miserable creature, couldn’t she count as far as sixteen?  He asked her angrily:  “What’s all this nonsense? there are sixteen goats.”