The curious thing about this letter was that Inger had written and spelt it all herself.  Isak was not so learned but that he had to get it read for him down in the village, by the man at the store; but once he had got it into his head it stayed there; he knew it off by heart when he got home.

And now he sat down with great solemnity at the head of the table, spread out the letter, and read it aloud to the boys.  He was willing enough that Oline also should see how easily he could read writing, but he did not speak so much as a word to her directly.  When he had finished, he said:  “There now, Eleseus, and you, Sivert, ’tis your mother herself has written that letter and learned all these things.  Even that little tiny sister of yours, she knows more than all the rest of us here.  Remember that!” The boys sat still, wondering in silence.

“Ay, ’tis a grand thing,” said Oline.

And what did she mean by that?  Was she doubting that Inger told the truth?  Or had she her suspicions as to Isak’s reading?  It was no easy matter to get at what Oline really thought, when she sat there with her simple face, saying dark things.  Isak determined to take no notice.

“And when your mother comes home, boys, you shall learn to write too,” said he to the lads.

Oline shifted some clothes that were hanging near the stove to dry; shifted a pot, shifted the clothes again, and busied herself generally.  She was thinking all the time.

“So fine and grand as everything’s getting here,” she said at last.  “I do think you might have bought a paper of coffee for the house.”

“Coffee?” said Isak.  It slipped out.

Oline answered quietly:  “Up to now I’ve bought a little now and again out of my own money, but....”

Coffee was a thing of dreams and fairy tales for Isak, a rainbow.  Oline was talking nonsense, of course.  He was not angry with her, no; but, slow of thought as he was, he called to mind at last her bartering with the Lapps, and he said bitterly: 

“Ay, I’ll buy you coffee, that I will.  A paper of coffee, was it?  Why not a pound?  A pound of coffee, while you’re about it.”

“No need to talk that way, Isak.  My brother Nils, he gets coffee; down at Breidablik, too, they’ve coffee.”

“Ay, for they’ve no milk.  Not a drop of milk on the place, they’ve not.”

“That’s as it may be.  But you that know such a lot, and read writing as pat as a cockroach running, you ought to know that coffee’s a thing should be in everybody’s house.”

“You creature!” said Isak.

At that Oline sat down and was not to be silenced.  “As for that Inger,” said she, “if so be I may dare to say such a word....”

“Say what you will, ’tis all one to me.”

“She’ll be coming home, and learned everything of sorts.  And beads and feathers in her hat, maybe?”

“Ay, that may be.”

“Ay,” said Oline; “and she can thank me a little for all the way she’s grown so fine and grand.”