Sivert, all astonishment, said “Yes.”

“Dig down obliquely from here, see?—­on a slope.  The ground’s level; have to make some sort of a channel.  You’ve a sawmill there—­I suppose you can find some long planks from somewhere?  Good!  Run and fetch a pick and spade, and start here; I’ll go back and mark out a proper line.”

He ran up to the house again, his boots squelching, for they were wet through.  He set Isak to work making pipes, a whole lot of them, to be laid down where the ground could not well be cut with ditches.  Isak tried to object that the water might not get so far; the dry ground would soak it up before it reached the parched fields.  Geissler explained that it would take some time; the earth must drink a little first, but then gradually the water would go on—­“field and meadow green by this time tomorrow.”

“Ho!” said Isak, and fell to boxing up long planks as hard as he could.

Off hurries Geissler to Sivert once more:  “That’s right—­keep at it—­didn’t I say he was a sturdy sort?  Follow these stakes, you understand, where I’ve marked out.  If you come up against heavy boulders, or rock, then turn aside and go round, but keep the level—­the same depth; you see what I mean?”

Then back to Isak again:  “That’s one finished—­good!  But we shall want more—­half a dozen, perhaps.  Keep at it, Isak; you see, we’ll have it all green by tomorrow—­we’ve saved your crops!” And Geissler sat down on the ground, slapped his knees with both hands and was delighted, chattered away, thought in flashes of lightning.  “Any pitch, any oakum, or anything about the place?  That’s splendid—­got everything.  These things’ll leak at the edges you see, to begin with, but the wood’ll swell after a while, and they’ll be as taut as a bottle.  Oakum and pitch—­fancy you having it too!—­What?  Built a boat, you say?  Where is the boat?  Up in the lake?  Good!  I must have a look at that too.”

Oh, Geissler was all promises.  Light come, light go—­and he seemed more giving to fussing about than before.  He worked at things by fits and starts, but at a furious rate when he did work.  There was a certain superiority about him after all.  True, he exaggerated a bit—­it was impossible, of course, to get all green by this time tomorrow, as he had said, but for all that, Geissler was a sharp fellow, quick to see and take a decision; ay, a strange man was Geissler.  And it was he and no other that saved the crops that year at Sellanraa.

“How many have you got done?  Not enough.  The more wood you can lay, the quicker it’ll flow.  Make them twenty feet long or twenty-five, if you can.  Any planks that length on the place?  Good; fetch them along—­you’ll find it’ll pay you at harvest-time!”

Restless again—­up and off to Sivert once more.  “That’s the way, Sivert man; getting on finely.  Your father’s turning out culverts like a poet, there’ll be more than I ever thought.  Run across and get some now, and we’ll make a start.”