And Inger was amiable and kind.  She told them about the cathedral at Trondhjem, and began like this:  “You haven’t seen the cathedral at Trondhjem, maybe?  No, you haven’t been there!” And it might have been her own cathedral, from the way she praised it, boasted of it, told them height and breadth; it was a marvel!  Seven priests could stand there preaching all at once and never hear one another.  “And then I suppose you’ve never seen St. Olaf’s Well?  Right in the middle of the cathedral itself, it is, on one side, and it’s a bottomless well.  When we went there, we took each a little stone with us, and dropped it in, but it never reached the bottom.”

“Never reached the bottom?” whispered the two women, shaking their heads.

“And there’s a thousand other things besides in that cathedral,” exclaimed Inger delightedly.  “There’s the silver chest to begin with.  It’s Holy St. Olaf his own silver chest that he had.  But the Marble Church—­that was a little church all of pure marble—­the Danes took that from us in the war....”

It was time for the women to go.  Oline took Inger aside, led her out into the larder where she knew all the cheeses were stored, and closed the door.  “What is it?” asked Inger.

Oline whispered:  “Os-Anders, he doesn’t dare come here any more.  I’ve told him.”

“Ho!” said Inger.

“I told him if he only dared, after what he’d done to you.”

“Ay,” said Inger.  “But he’s been here many a time since for all that.  And he can come if he likes, I’m not afraid.”

“No, that’s so,” said Oline.  “But I know what I know, and if you like, I’ll lay a charge against him.”

“Ho!” said Inger.  “No, you’ve no call to do that.  Tis not worth it.”

But she was not ill pleased to have Oline on her side; it cost her a cheese, to be sure, but Oline thanked her so fulsomely:  “’Tis as I say, ’tis as I’ve always said:  Inger, she gives with both hands; nothing grudging, nothing sparing about her!  No, maybe you’re not afraid of Os-Anders, but I’ve forbid him to come here all the same.  ’Twas the least I could do for you.”

Said Inger then:  “What harm could it do if he did come, anyway?  He can’t hurt me any more.”

Oline pricked up her ears:  “Ho, you’ve learned a way yourself, maybe?”

“I shan’t have any more children,” said Inger.

And now they were quits, each holding as good a trump as the other:  for Oline stood there knowing all the time that Os-Anders the Lapp had died the day before....

* * * * *