And when he came home, Inger thought it a finer hat than before. Inger
always thought everything was fine; ay, 'twas a good life those days,
cutting faggots, with Inger to look on--his best days. And when March
and April came, Inger and he would be wild after each other, just like
the birds and beasts in the woods; and when May was come, he would sow
his corn and plant potatoes, living and thriving from day to dawn.
Work and sleep, loving and dreaming, he was like the first big ox, and
that was a wonder to see, big and bright as a king. But there was no
such May to the years now. No such thing.
Isak was sorely despondent for some days. Dark days they were. He felt
neither wish nor strength to start work on the fodder loft--that could
be left for Sivert to do some day. The thing to be done now was the
house for himself--the last house to build. He could not long hide
from Sivert what he was doing; he was clearing the ground, and plain
to see what for. And one day he told.
"There's a good bit of stone if we'd any use for stonework," said he.
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