Isak has noticed the same thing before. When Os-Anders or any of the
other Lapps have been there, Oline makes coffee in Inger's little pot
for a long time after. She does it while Isak is out in the woods or
in the fields, and when he comes in unexpectedly and sees it, she says
nothing. But he knows that he is the poorer by a cheese or a bundle of
wool each time. And it is to his credit that he does not pick up Oline
in his fingers and crush her to pieces for her meanness. Altogether,
Isak is trying hard indeed to make himself a better man, better and
better, whatever may be his idea, whether it be for the sake of peace
in the house, or in some hope that the Lord may give him back his
Inger the sooner. He is something given to superstition and a
pondering upon things; even his rustic wariness is innocent in its
way. Early that autumn he found the turf on the roof of the stable was
beginning to slip down inside. Isak chewed at his beard for a while,
then, smiling like a man who understands a jest, he laid some poles
across to keep it up. Not a bitter word did he say. And another thing:
the shed where he kept his store of provisions was simply built on
high stone feet at the corners, with nothing between. After a while,
little birds began to find their way in through the big gaps in the
wall, and stayed fluttering about inside, unable to get out. Oline
complained that they picked at the food and spoiled the meat, and made
a nasty mess about the place. Isak said: "Ay, 'tis a pity small birds
should come in and not be able to get out again." And in the thick of
a busy season he turned stonemason and filled up the gaps in the wall.

Heaven knows what was in his mind that he took things so; whether
maybe he fancied Inger might be given back to him the sooner for his
gentleness.