“Fine place, Sellanraa, splendid place,” he said.  “And now there’s others coming up one after another, since you’ve started, Isak.  I counted five myself.  Are there any more?”

“Seven in all.  There’s two that can’t be seen from the road.”

“Seven holdings; say fifty souls.  Why, it’ll be a densely populated neighbourhood before long.  And you’ve a school already, so I hear?”

“Ay, we have.”

“There—­what did I say?  A school all to yourselves, down by Brede’s place, being more in the middle.  Fancy Brede as a farmer in the wilds!” and Geissler laughed at the thought.  “Ay, I’ve heard all about you, Isak; you’re the best man here.  And I’m glad of it.  Sawmill, too, you’ve got?”

“Ay, such as it is.  But it serves me well enough.  And I’ve sawed a bit now and again for them down below.”

“Bravo!  That’s the way!”

“I’d be glad to hear what you think of it, Lensmand, if so be you’d care to look at that sawmill for yourself.”

Geissler nodded, with the air of an expert; yes, he would look at it, examine it thoroughly.  Then he asked:  “You had two boys, hadn’t you—­what’s become of the other?  In town?  Clerk in an office?  H’m,” said Geissler.  “But this one here looks a sturdy sort—­what was your name, now?”

“Sivert.”

“And the other one?”

“Eleseus.”

“And he’s in an engineer’s office—­what’s he reckon to learn there?  A starvation-business.  Much better have come to me,” said Geissler.

“Ay,” said Isak, for politeness’ sake.  He felt a sort of pity for Geissler at the moment.  Oh, that good man did not look as if he could afford to keep clerks; had to work hard enough by himself, belike.  That jacket—­it was worn to fringes at the wrists.

“Won’t you have some dry hose to put on?” said Inger, and brought out a pair of her own.  They were from her best days; fine and thin, with a border.

“No, thanks,” said Geissler shortly, though he must have been wet through.—­“Much better have come to me,” he said again, speaking of Eleseus.  “I want him badly.”  He took a small silver tobacco box from his pocket and sat playing with it in his fingers.  It was perhaps the only thing of value left him now.

But Geissler was restless, changing from one thing to another.  He slipped the thing back into his pocket again and started a new theme.  “But—­what’s that?  Why, the meadow that’s all grey.  I thought it was the shadow.  The ground is simply parched.  Come along with me, Sivert.”

He rose from the table suddenly, thinking no more of food, turned in the doorway to say “Thank you” to Inger for the meal, and disappeared, Sivert following.

They went across to the river, Geissler peering keenly about all the time.  “Here!” he cried, and stopped.  And then he explained:  “Where’s the sense of letting your land dry up to nothing when you’ve a river there big enough to drown it in a minute?  We’ll have, that meadow green by tomorrow!”