Inger could make nothing of this. "Ay, maybe so. Was it Oline said
so?"

"I don't well remember," says the Lapp, and his shifty eyes looked all
ways around.

Inger wondered why he did not beg for anything; Os-Anders always
begged, as do all the Lapps. Os-Anders sits scraping at the bowl of
his clay pipe, and and lights up. What a pipe! He puffs and draws at
it till his wrinkled old face looks like a wizard's runes.

"No need to ask if the little ones there are yours," says he,
flattering again. "They're as like you as could be. The living image
of yourself when you were small."

Now Inger was a monster and a deformity to look at; 'twas all wrong,
of course, but she swelled with pride for all that. Even a Lapp can
gladden a mother's heart.

"If it wasn't that your sack there's so full, I'd find you something
to put in it," says Inger.

"Nay, 'tis more than's worth your while."

Inger goes inside with the child on her arm; Eleseus stays outside
with the Lapp. The two make friends at once; the child sees something
curious in the sack, something soft and fluffy, and wants to pat it.
The dog stands alert, barking and whining. Inger comes out with a
parcel of food; she gives a cry, and drops down on the door-slab.