the children were just growing up, and big enough now to go out and
make their own way in the world, said he. Helge was gone to the
herring fisheries already, and Katrine was going to help at the
doctor's. That left only the two youngest--well, well, there was a
third on the way, true, but, anyhow ...

Isak had more news from the village: the Lensmand's lady had had a
baby. Inger suddenly interested at this: "Boy or girl?"

"Why, I didn't hear which," said Isak.

But the Lensmand's lady had had a child after all--after all the way
she'd spoken at the women's club about the increasing birth-rate among
the poor; better give women the franchise and let them have some say
in their own affairs, she said. And now she was caught. Yes, the
parson's wife had said, "She's had some say in lots of things--but
her own affairs are none the better for it, ha ha ha!" And that was a
clever saying that went the round of the village, and there were many
that understood what was meant--Inger no doubt as well; it was only
Isak who did not understand.

Isak understood his work, his calling. He was a rich man now, with a
big farm, but the heavy cash payments that had come to him by a lucky
chance he used but poorly; he put the money aside. The land saved him.
If he had lived down in the village, maybe the great world would have
affected even him; so much gaiety, so many elegant manners and ways;
he would have been buying useless trifles, and wearing a red Sunday
shirt on weekdays. Here in the wilds he was sheltered from all
immoderation; he lived in clear air, washed himself on Sunday
mornings, and took a bath when he went up to the lake. Those thousand