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Updated: June 9, 2025
Inger had written home to say she was well, and was learning a lot of things where she was. Her little girl was big, and was called Leopoldine, after the day she was born, the 15th November. She knew all sorts of things, and was a genius at hemstitch and crochet, wonderful fine work she could do on linen or canvas.
But Isak, he sits there just exactly like a fjeld, and says only: "Ay, it's the big houses he's put up." "Ay," says Andresen again, "'tis just that. 'Tis the fine big houses and all." Just when Andresen is making ready to go, Leopoldine slips out by the door. A strange thing, but somehow she cannot bring herself to think of shaking hands with him.
"And I remember you well enough," says Andresen. "You've been down twice buying things." "'Tis more than could be thought, you'd remember that," says Leopoldine, and had no more strength after that, but stood holding by a chair. But Andresen had strength enough, he went on, and said: "Remember you? Well, of course I should."
Sit on a roller? nay, she's all too little and unknowing for that yet. Her brothers know better. There's no seat on father's roller. But father thinks it fine and a pleasure to see little Leopoldine coming up so trustingly to him already; he talks to her, and shows her how to walk nicely over the fields, and not get her shoes full of earth.
But when the boys came nearer they stopped running all of a sudden and stared. They had forgotten what their mother looked like, and little sister they had never seen. But father they didn't know him at all till he came quite close. He had cut off his heavy beard. All is well now. Isak sows his oats, harrows, and rolls it in. Little Leopoldine comes and wants to sit on the roller.
A miserable day, and a long night, and a day beyond. Isak went out of the house and lay outside, for all that there was hay to be got in; Sivert was with his father. Inger had little Leopoldine and the animals to keep her company; but lonely she was for all that, crying nearly all the time and shaking her head at herself.
While the Emperor Francis was losing the battle of Austerlitz, his wife, who was in Silesia, with only one of her children, the little Archduchess Leopoldine, who was born in 1797 and was not yet eight years old, fell seriously ill with the measles, and dreaded giving the disease to her little girl.
Geissler himself must have found it hard to leave Sellanraa without paying as he generally did for his keep; so he pretended that he had paid; made as if he had laid down a big note in payment, and said to little Leopoldine: "Here, child, here's something for you as well." And with that he gave her the silver box, his tobacco box.
She had expected to see Yann start off again on the Marie, which she knew so well and had formerly visited, and whose Virgin had so long protected its dangerous voyages; and the change to the Leopoldine increased her anguish. But she told herself that that was not her concern, and nothing about him ought ever to affect her.
O God! he! Some one had knocked it could be no other than he! She was up now, barefooted; she, so feeble for the last few days, had sprung up as nimbly as a kitten, with her arms outstretched to wind round her darling. Of course the Leopoldine had arrived at night, and anchored in Pors-Even Bay, and he had rushed home; she arranged all this in her mind with the swiftness of lightning.
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