“’Tis hard for her mother and for me to rest content with this,” answered Lavrans heavily. “The more that she is so fair and so good.” “Have you seen the child at Lidstad, south in the Dale,” asked the monk. “Would you rather your daughter had been like that?” Lavrans shuddered and pressed the child close to him. “Think you not,” said Brother Edwin again, “that in God’s eyes we are all children he has cause to grieve for, crippled as we are with sin? And yet we deem not we are so badly off in this world.” He went to the picture of the Virgin Mary upon the wall, and all knelt down while he said the evening prayer. It seemed to them that Brother Edwin had given them good comfort. But, none the less, after he had gone from the room to seek his place of rest, Astrid, the head serving-wench, swept with care all parts of the floor where the monk had stood, and cast the sweepings at once into the fire. * * * * * Next morning Kristin rose early, took milk-porridge and wheat-cakes in a goodly dish of flame-grained birchwood—for she knew that the monk never touched meat—and herself bore the food out to him. But few of the folk were yet about in the houses. Brother Edwin stood upon the bridge of the cow-house, ready for the road with staff and scrip; with a smile he thanked Kristin for her pains, and sat himself down on the grass and ate, while Kristin sat at his feet. Her little white dog came running up, the little bells on his collar tinkling. She took him into her lap, and Brother Edwin snapped his fingers at him, threw small bits of wheat-cake into his mouth, and praised him mightily the while. “’Tis a breed Queen Euphemia brought to the country,” said he. “You are passing fine here on Jörundgaard now; both in great things and small.” Kristin flushed with pleasure. She knew already the dog was of a fine breed, and she was proud of having it; no one else in the parish had a lapdog. But she had not known it was of the same kind as the Queen’s pet dogs. “Simon Andressön sent him to me,” said she, and pressed it to her, while it licked her face. “His name is Kortelin.” She had thought to speak to the monk about her trouble and to pray for his counsel. But she had no longer any wish to let her mind dwell on the thoughts of the past evening. Brother Edwin was sure God would turn all things to the best for Ulvhild. And it was good of Simon to send her such a gift before even their betrothal was fixed. Arne she would not think of—he had not borne himself as he should towards her, she thought. Brother Edwin took his staff and scrip, and bade Kristin greet those within the house—he would not stay till folk were up, but go while the day was yet cool. She went with him up past the church and a little way into the wood. When they parted he wished her God’s peace, and blessed her.