He looked at the two in the cart as he walked. There was Inger, all strangely dressed and strange and fine to look at, with no hare-lip now, but only a tiny scar on the upper lip. No hissing when she talked; she spoke all clearly, and that was the wonder of it all. A grey-and-red woollen wrap with a fringe looked grand on her dark hair. She turned round in her seat on the cart, and called to him: "It's a pity you didn't bring a skin rug with you; it'll be cold, I doubt, for the child towards night." "She can have my jacket," said Isak. "And when we get up in the woods, I've left a rug there on the way." "Oh, have you a rug up in the woods?" "Ay. I wouldn't bring it down all the way, for if you didn't come today." "H'm. What was it you said before--the boys are well and all?" "Ay, thank you kindly." "They'll be big lads now, I doubt?" "Ay, that's true. They've just been planting potatoes." "Oh!" said the mother, smiling, and shaking her head. "Can they plant potatoes already?" "Why, Eleseus, he gives a hand with this, and little Sivert helps with that," said Isak proudly. Little Leopoldine was asking for something to eat. Oh, the pretty little creature; a ladybird up on a cart! She talked with a sing in her voice, with a strange accent, as she had learned in Trondhjem. Inger had to translate now and again. She had her brothers' features, the brown eyes and oval cheeks that all had got from their mother; ay, they were their mother's children, and well that they were so! Isak was something shy of his little girl, shy of her tiny shoes and long, thin, woollen stockings and short frock; when she had come to meet her strange papa she had curtseyed and offered him a tiny hand. They got up into the woods and halted for a rest and a meal all round. The horse had his fodder; Leopoldine ran about in the heather, eating as she went. "You've not changed much," said Inger, looking at her husband. Isak glanced aside, and said, "No, you think not? But you've grown so grand and all." "Ha ha! Nay, I'm an old woman now," said she jestingly. It was no use trying to hide the fact: Isak was not a bit sure of himself now. He could find no self-possession, but still kept aloof, shy, as if ashamed of himself. How old could his wife be now? She couldn't be less than thirty--that is to say, she couldn't be more, of course. And Isak, for all that he was eating already, must pull up a twig of heather and fall to biting that. "What--are you eating heather?" cried Inger laughingly. Isak threw down the twig, took a mouthful of food, and going over to the road, took the horse by its forelegs and heaved up its forepart till the animal stood on its hindlegs. Inger looked on with astonishment. "What are you doing that for?" she asked. "Oh, he's so playful," said Isak, and set the horse down again. Now what _had_ he done that for? A sudden impulse to do just that thing; perhaps he had done it to hide his embarrassment.