Tomasine Rendalen had certainly often remembered that he had a sister, but not as a matter which concerned herself; it did not seem to her of any further consequence, but he begged so continuously, that she began to think a little more seriously about it. Suppose his sister should be in want? The property had been John Kurt's, and it had prospered greatly, thanks to his own plan, that of extending the gardens further up the hill, thus making them nearly twice as large. John Kurt's child must be properly provided for, there ought to be no doubt about it. She made inquiries about the child, and learned that her little namesake lived with her grandmother, Marit Stöen, "Mother Stöa," as they called her, the widow of the pilot who had gained a great reputation on that coast. Marit Stöen lived up on the mountain, therefore to the left of "The Estate": Tomasine decided to see the child. As there was no hurry about it, she determined to do so the first fine Sunday. As it chanced, the weather for a number of Sundays was bad, so it was full summer before one came which tempted her to go. Andreas Berg accompanied her. The road to the mountain led to the left from the market-place, past the new churchyard, and further out into the country. But after that, when they turned towards the mountain, the way was more of a quagmire than a road. Till that time the poorer people of the town had been allowed to build as they liked, and live as they could, and a regular road was only just being constructed. Down by the sea, the boats lay side by side, as close together as possible, for the left side of the mountain sheltered them. All round the boats, and in them, were a number of children, mostly little ones, and there was as much noise as if there were a thousand of them. Tomasine wondered if the one she sought were there as well. She looked into each wild little face to see if she could find anything familiar. It was not a pleasant occupation. The rough children gathered round her in a swarm, when she inquired for Mark Stöen, and at least twenty pointed up the hill. But she could not distinguish what they said to her all together. Nor did she wish to stay, but, with Andreas Berg, began to climb all the corkscrew turnings of the road. The shouts from below followed her, but none of the children, so that she concluded that none of them had anything to do with Marit Stöen. It was a rough road, over the solid rock for the most part, though here and there a step had been made, and now and then it had been slightly hollowed.