Could she be making it all up, and coming out with it so pat?  No, it wasn’t thinkable.  It must be true, the cow was hers.  Ho, they were getting well-to-do, with this hut of theirs, this farm of theirs; why, ’twas good enough for any one.  Ay, they’d as good as all they could wish for already.  Oh, that Inger; he loved her and she loved him again; they were frugal folk; they lived in primitive wise, and lacked for nothing.  “Let’s go to sleep!” And they went to sleep.  And wakened in the morning to another day, with things to look at, matters to see to, once again; ay, toil and pleasure, ups and downs, the way of life.

As, for instance, with those timber baulks—­should he try to fit them up together?  Isak had kept his eyes about him down in the village, with that very thing in mind, and seen how it was done; he could build with timber himself, why not?  Moreover, it was a call upon him; it must be done.  Hadn’t they a farm with sheep, a farm with a cow already, goats that were many already and would be more?—­their live stock alone was crowding them out of the turf hut; something must be done.  And best get on with it at once, while the potatoes were still in flower, and before the haytime began.  Inger would have to lend a hand here and there.

Isak wakes in the night and gets up, Inger sleeping fine and sound after her long tramp, and out he goes to the cowshed.  Now it must not be thought that he talked to Cow in any obsequious and disgustful flattery; no, he patted her decently, and looked her over once more in every part, to see if there should, by chance, be any sign, any mark of her belonging to strange owners.  No mark, no sign, and Isak steals away relieved.

There lies the timber.  He falls to, rolling the baulks, then lifting them, setting them up against the wall in a framework; one big frame for a parlour, and a smaller one—­there must be a room to sleep in.  It was heavy work, hard-breathing work, and his mind being set on it, he forgot the time.  There comes a smoke from the roof-hole of the hut, and Inger steps out and calls to breakfast.

“And what are you busy with now?” asked Inger.

“You’re early about,” says Isak, and that was all.

Ho, that Isak with his secrets and his lordly ways!  But it pleased him, maybe, to have her asking and wondering, and curious about his doings.  He ate a bit, and sat for a while in the hut before going out again.  What could he be waiting for?

“H’m,” says he at last, getting up.  “This won’t do.  Can’t sit here idling today.  Work to be done.”

“Seems like you’re building,” says Inger.  “What?”

And he answered condescendingly, this great man who went about building with timber all by himself, he answered:  “Why, you can see as much, I take it.”

“Yes....  Yes, of course.”

“Building—­why, there’s no help for it as I can see..  Here’s you come bringing a whole cow to the farm—­that means a cowshed, I suppose?”