There was a good average snowfall that winter, and early in the year, when the roads were passable, folk from the village began carting up telegraph poles over the moors, dropping their loads at regular intervals.  They drove big teams, and came up past Breidablik, past Sellanraa farm, and met new teams beyond, coming down with poles from the other side of the hills—­the line was complete.

So life went on day by day, without any great event.  What was there to happen, anyway?  Spring came, and the work of setting up the poles began.  Brede Olsen was there again, with the gangs, though he should have been working on his own land at that season. “’Tis a wonder he’s the time,” thought Isak.

Isak himself had barely time to eat and sleep; it was a close thing to get through the season’s work now, with all the land he had brought under tillage.

Then, between seasons, he got his sawmill roofed in, and could set to work putting up the machine parts.  And look you, ’twas no marvel of fine woodwork he had set up, but strong it was, as a giant of the hills, and stood there to good use.  The saw could work, and cut as a sawmill should; Isak had kept his eyes about him down in the village, and used them well.  It was hearty and small, this sawmill he had built, but he was pleased with it; he carved the date above the doorway, and put his mark.

And that summer, something more than usual did come about after all at Sellanraa.

The telegraph workers had now reached so far up over the moors that the foremost gang came to the farm one evening and asked to be lodged for the night.  They were given shelter in the big barn.  As the days went on, the other gangs came along, and all were housed at Sellanraa.  The work went on ahead, passing the farm, but the men still came back to sleep in the barn.  One Saturday evening came the engineer in charge, to pay the men.

At sight of the engineer, Eleseus felt his heart jump, and stole out of the house lest he should be asked about that coloured pencil.  Oh, there would be trouble now—­and Sivert nowhere to be seen; he would have to face it alone.  Eleseus slipped round the corner of the house, like a pale ghost, found his mother, and begged her to tell Sivert to come.  There was no help for it now.

Sivert took the matter less to heart—­but then, he was not the chief culprit.  The two brothers went a little way off and sat down, and Eleseus said:  “If you’d say it was you, now!”

“Me?” said Sivert.

“You’re younger, he wouldn’t do anything to you.”

Sivert thought over it, and saw that his brother was in distress; also it flattered him to feel that the other needed his help.

“Why, I might help you out of it, perhaps,” said he in a grown-up voice.

“Ay, if you would!” said Eleseus, and quite simply gave his brother the bit of pencil that was left.  “You can have it for keeps,” he said.