They lay awake talking of Cow; of the great event. "And isn't she a
dear cow, too? Her second's on the way. And her name's Goldenhorns.
Are you asleep, Isak?"
"No."
"And what do you think, she knew me again; knew me at once, and
followed me like a lamb. We lay up in the hills a bit last night."
"Ho?"
"But she'll have to be tied up through the summer, all the same, or
she'll be running off. A cow's a cow."
"Where's she been before?" asked Isak at last.
"Why, with my people, where she belonged. And they were quite sorry to
lose her, I can tell you; and the little ones cried when I took her
away."
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.
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