Isak was thoughtful, and shook
his head and reckoned it was a big thing to do, but the storekeeper
refused to order anything but a gold ring. Isak went home again,
secretly pleased with his decision, but somewhat anxious, for all
that, at the extravagant lengths he had gone to, all for being in love
with his wife.
There was a good average snowfall that winter, and early in the year,
when the roads were passable, folk from the village began carting
up telegraph poles over the moors, dropping their loads at regular
intervals. They drove big teams, and came up past Breidablik, past
Sellanraa farm, and met new teams beyond, coming down with poles from
the other side of the hills--the line was complete.
So life went on day by day, without any great event. What was there
to happen, anyway? Spring came, and the work of setting up the poles
began. Brede Olsen was there again, with the gangs, though he should
have been working on his own land at that season. "'Tis a wonder he's
the time," thought Isak.
Isak himself had barely time to eat and sleep; it was a close thing to
get through the season's work now, with all the land he had brought
under tillage.
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