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There's not a pot nor pitcher in the place you haven't thought of. A threshing-floor, you said?" Isak is a child. Oline's flattering words go to his head, and he answers something foolishly with fine words: "As to that new house of mine, there must be a threshing-floor in the same, necessarily. 'Tis my intention so." "A threshing-floor?" says Oline, wagging her head.
"Are there sixteen?" she asked innocently. "Ay." "Ay, well, then." "A nice one to count, you are." Oline answered quietly, in an injured tone, "Since all the goats are there, why, then, thank Heaven, you can't say Oline's been eating them up. And well for her, poor thing." Oline had taken him in completely with her trickery; he was content, imagining all was well.
And from across the hills came Oline, the imperishable Oline. This time, too, she brought news with her from her own village; 'twas not Oline's way to come empty of gossip. Old Sivert's affairs had been gone into, his accounts reckoned up, and the fortune remaining after him come to nothing. Nothing! Here Oline pressed her lips together and looked from one to another.
"Better if you'd saved him at the point of death," says she. "And how was it, Brede, you coming by and seeing him in deadly peril and heard his cry and never stopped to help?" "You hold your tongue," says Brede. And it might have been easier for her if she had, wading deep in snow and out of breath, and a heavy burden and all, but 'twas not Oline's way to hold her tongue.
As for that Barbro case, Oline was displeased, ay, disappointed was Oline. Both of them acquitted! That Brede's girl Barbro should be let off when Inger Sellanraa had got eight years was not to Oline's taste at all; she felt an unchristian annoyance at such favouritism. But the Almighty would look to things, no doubt, in His own good time!
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