It was his place to protect her and them all; he
was the Man, the Leader.
But Inger saw through it also, and said: "Oh, I know you don't want to
frighten me. But you must take Sivert with you all the same."
Isak only sniffed.
"You might be taken poorly of a sudden, taken ill out in the
woods--you've not been over well lately."
Isak sniffed again. Ill? Tired, perhaps, and worn out a bit, but ill?
No need for Inger to start worrying and making a fool of him; he was
sound and well enough; ate, slept, and worked; his health was simply
terrific, it was incurable! Once, felling a tree, the thing had come
down on top of him, and broken his ear; but he made light of it. He
set the ear in place again, and kept it there by wearing his cap
drawn over it night and day, and it grew together again that way. For
internal complaints, he dosed himself with _treak_ boiled in milk to
make him sweat--liquorice it was, bought at the store, an old and
tried remedy, the _Teriak_ of the ancients. If he chanced to cut his
hand, he treated the wound with an ever-present fluid containing
salts, and it healed up in a few days.
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