work; nothing of all she handled was her own. There was a thing Isak
had bought once at the village store, a china pot with a dog's head on
the lid. It was a sort of tobacco box, really, and stood on a shelf.
Oline took off the lid and dropped it on the floor. Inger had left
behind some cuttings of fuchsia, under glass. Oline took the glass off
and, putting it back, pressed it down hard and maliciously; next day,
all the cuttings were dead. It was not so easy for Isak to bear with
such things; he looked displeased, and showed it, and, as there was
nothing swanlike and gentle about Isak, it may well be that he showed
it plainly. Oline cared little for looks; soft-spoken as ever, she
only said: "Now, could I help it?"

"That I can't say," answered Isak. "But you might have left the things
alone."

"I'll not touch her flowers again," said Oline. But the flowers were
already dead.

Again, how could it be that the Lapps came up to Sellanraa so
frequently of late? Os-Anders, for instance, had no business there at
all, he should have passed on his way. Twice in one summer he came
across the hills, and Os-Anders, it should be remembered, had no
reindeer to look to, but lived by begging and quartering himself on
other Lapps. As soon as he came up to the place, Oline left her work
and fell to chatting with him about people in the village, and, when
he left, his sack was heavy with no end of things. Isak put up with it
for two years, saying nothing.

Then Oline wanted new shoes again, and he could be silent no longer.
It was in the autumn, and Oline wore shoes every day, instead of going