indeed he feels somehow younger already--devil knows what it could be,
but somehow slighter of build. Isak drives down to the village.

Next day the mail boat comes in. Isak climbs up on a rock by the
storekeeper's wharf, looking out, but still no Inger to be
seen. Passengers there were, grown-up folk and children with
them--_Herregud_!--but no Inger. He had kept in the background,
sitting on his rock, but there was no need to stay behind any longer;
he gets down and goes to the steamer. Barrels and cases trundling
ashore, people and mailbags, but still Isak lacked what he had come
for. There was something there--a woman with a little girl, up at the
entrance to the landing-stage already; but the woman was prettier to
look at than Inger--though Inger was good enough. What--why--but it
was Inger! "H'm," said Isak, and trundled up to meet them. Greetings:
"_Goddag_," said Inger, and held out her hand; a little cold, a little
pale after the voyage, and being ill on the way. Isak, he just stood
there; at last he said:

"H'm. 'Tis a fine day and all."

"I saw you down there all along," said Inger. "But I didn't want to
come crowding ashore with the rest. So you're down in the village
today?"

"Ay, yes. H'm."

"And all's well at home, everything all right?"

"Ay, thank you kindly."