But Isak is sullen, terribly sullen and stern; he says: "Nay, I don't
know."
And Inger again, foolish that she is--ugh, keeps on talking and asking
and will not go.
"Seeing as you've seen it yourself," says he at last, "I'm getting up
this stone here."
"Ho, going to get him up?"
"Ay."
"And couldn't I help a bit at all?" she asks.
Isak shakes his head. But it was a kindly thought, anyway, that she
would have helped him, and he can hardly be harsh in return.
"If you just wait the least bit of a while," says he, and runs home
for the hammers.
If he could only get the stone rough a bit, knocking off a flake or so
in the right spot, it would give the lever a better hold. Inger holds
the setting-hammer, and Isak strikes. Strikes, strikes. Ay, sure
enough, off goes a flake. "'Twas a good help," says Isak, "and thanks.
But don't trouble about food for me this bit of a while, I must get
this stone up first."
But Inger does not go. And to tell the truth, Isak is pleased enough
to have her there watching him at his work; 'tis a thing has always
pleased him, since their young days.
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