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Updated: June 11, 2025
It was three months now since the news of the terrible thing that had happened in Frank Shabata's orchard had first run like a fire over the Divide. Signa and Nelse were staying on with Alexandra until winter. "Ivar," Signa exclaimed as she wiped the rain from her face, "do you know where she is?" The old man put down his cobbler's knife. "Who, the mistress?" "Yes.
Old Ivar met him at the windmill and took his horse, and the young man went directly into the house. He called to his sister and she answered from her bedroom, behind the sitting-room, saying that she was lying down. Emil went to her door. "Can I see you for a minute?" he asked. "I want to talk to you about something before Carl comes." Alexandra rose quickly and came to the door. "Where is Carl?"
Ivar came running with his white bag, and the moment he got to her she was quiet and let him saw her horn off and daub the place with tar." Emil had been watching his sister, his face reflecting the sufferings of the cow. "And then didn't it hurt her any more?" he asked. Alexandra patted him. "No, not any more. And in two days they could use her milk again."
"There is a great deal in what you say, Ivar. Like as not they will be wanting to take me to Hastings because I have built a silo; and then I may take you with me. But at present I need you here. Only don't come to me again telling me what people say. Let people go on talking as they like, and we will go on living as we think best.
As far as Uncle Ivar was concerned, 'Sons of Norway' was no doubt good enough for any or every dance; and as to the dance itself, the music was really not so very important; for, you see, it happened in this way: Uncle Ivar came swinging in with one arm by his side, and tall, respectable Mrs. Knoph on the other.
"I could have hidden it under the straw in the bottom of the wagon." "Then we'd have had to lie to Ivar. Besides, they say he can smell dead birds. And if he knew, we wouldn't get anything out of him, not even a hammock. I want to talk to him, and he won't talk sense if he's angry. It makes him foolish." Lou sniffed. "Whoever heard of him talking sense, anyhow!
It was Uncle Ivar himself, who shouted: 'Come, boy; inside with you, and move your legs. Don't stand there like a snivelling chamberlain, but show what kind of fellow you are with those long pipe-stalks that our Lord has sent you out upon.
She grinned at her aunt, with whom she was a great deal more at ease than she was with her mother. Alexandra winked a reply. "Milly needn't be afraid of Ivar. She's an especial favorite of his. In my opinion Ivar has just as much right to his own way of dressing and thinking as we have. But I'll see that he doesn't bother other people.
Ivar's bandy legs seemed to have grown shorter with years, and they were completely misfitted to his broad, thick body and heavy shoulders. "Well, Ivar, what is it?" Alexandra asked after she had waited longer than usual. Ivar had never learned to speak English and his Norwegian was quaint and grave, like the speech of the more old-fashioned people.
Emil, for all his track practice, did not stand up under farmwork very well, and by night he was too tired to talk or even to practise on his cornet. On Wednesday morning Carl got up before it was light, and stole downstairs and out of the kitchen door just as old Ivar was making his morning ablutions at the pump.
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