"Breidablik, he calls it. There's wide moorland, but the timber's
poor."

They talked of the new place as they passed on. Isak noticed that
Brede's cart was still left out in the open.

The child was growing sleepy now, and Isak took her gently in his arms
and carried her. They walked and walked. Leopoldine was soon fast
asleep, and Inger said:

"We'll wrap her up in the rug, and she can lie down in the cart and
sleep as long as she likes."

"'Twill shake her all to pieces," said Isak, and carries her on. They
cross the moors and get into the woods again.

"_Ptro_!" says Inger, and the horse stops. She takes the child from
Isak, gets him to shift the chest and the sewing-machine, making a
place for Leopoldine in the bottom of the cart. "Shaken? not a bit of
it!"

Isak fixes things to rights, tucks his little daughter up in the rug,
and lays his jacket folded under her head. Then off again.

Man and wife gossiping of this and that. The sun is up till late in
the evening, and the weather warm.

"Oline," says Inger--"where does she sleep?"