Oh, they were doing famously, these settlers in the wilds; they had got on so far, and if this year's crops turned out well they would be enviable folk, no less. What was lacking on the place at all? A hayloft, perhaps; a big barn with a threshing-floor inside--but that might come in time. Ay, it would come, never fear, only give then time. And now pretty Silverhorns had calved, the sheep had lambs, the goats had kids, the young stock fairly swarmed about the place. And what of the little household itself? Eleseus could walk already, walk by himself wherever he pleased, and little Sivert was christened. Inger? By all signs and tokens, making ready for another turn; she was not what you'd call niggardly at bearing. Another child--oh, a mere nothing to Inger! Though, to be sure, she was proud enough of them when they came. Fine little creatures, as any one could see. 'Twas not all, by a long way, that the Lord had blessed with such fine big children. Inger was young, and making the most of it. She was no beauty, and had suffered all her girlhood by reason of the same, being set aside and looked down on. The young men never noticed her, though she could dance and work as well. They found nothing sweet in her, and turned elsewhere. But now her time had come; she was in full flower and constantly with child. Isak himself, her lord and master, was earnest and stolid as ever, but he had got on well, and was content. How he had managed to live till Inger came was a mystery; feeding, no doubt, on potatoes and goats' milk, or maybe venturesome dishes without a name; now, he had all that a man could think of in his place in the world. There came another drought, a new bad year. Os-Anders the Lapp, coming by with his dog, brought news that folk in the village had cut their corn already, for fodder. "'Tis a poor look out," said Inger, "when it comes to that." "Ay. But they've the herring. A fine haul, 'tis said. Your Uncle Sivert, he's going to build a country house." "Why, he was none so badly off before." "That's true. And like to be the same with you, for all it seems." "Why, as to that, thank God, we've enough for our little needs. What do they say at home about me up here?" Os-Anders wags his head helplessly; there's no end to the great things they say; more than he can tell. A pleasant-spoken fellow, like all the Lapps. "If as you'd care for a dish of milk now, you've only to say so," says Inger. "'Tis more than's worth your while. But if you've a sup for the dog here...." Milk for Os-Anders, and food for the dog. Os-Anders lifts his head suddenly, at a kind of music inside the house. "What's that?" "'Tis only our clock," says Inger. "It strikes the hours that way." Inger bursting with pride. The Lapp wags his head again: "House and cattle and all manner of things. There's nothing a man could think of but you've that thing." "Ay, we've much to be thankful for, 'tis true." "I forgot to say, there's Oline was asking after you."