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Updated: June 5, 2025
Little showers of corn flung out fanwise from his hand; a kindly clouded sky, with a promise of the faintest little misty rain. It was the slack time between the seasons, but the woman Oline did not come.
There was no end to the things he brought. A bottomless well, rich in all manner of things, like a city store. Says Inger: "I wish Oline could have seen all this when she was here." Just like a woman! Sheer senseless vanity as if that mattered! Isak sniffed contemptuously. Though perhaps he himself would not have been displeased if Oline had been there to see. The child was crying.
You can't bear the sight of mine, because they're fine and strong, and better named than yours. Is it my fault they're prettier flesh and blood than yours ever were?" If there was one thing could drive Oline to fury it was this.
"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.
"I was up that way just now on duty, along the line, and seems like I heard some one shouting. Turns round and listens quick as a flash Brede's the man to lend a hand if there's need. And so 'twas Axel, was it, lying under a tree, d'you say?" "Ay," says Axel. "And well you knew that saw and heard as well. But never helping hand...." "Good Lord, deliver us!" cries Oline, aghast.
Oline sees her way now; Brede must not be allowed to interfere. She must be indispensable, nothing can come between her and Axel that could make him less completely indebted to herself. She had saved him, she alone. And she waves Brede aside; will not even let him carry the ax or the basket of food.
But well that you've shown what sort and manner of man you are this day; I know it now. Ay, and I'll know it another time." But Oline, she died that night some time in the night; anyway, she was cold next morning when they came in. Oline an aged creature. Born and died....
There was a thing Isak had bought once at the village store, a china pot with a dog's head on the lid. It was a sort of tobacco box, really, and stood on a shelf. Oline took off the lid and dropped it on the floor. Inger had left behind some cuttings of fuchsia, under glass. Oline took the glass off and, putting it back, pressed it down hard and maliciously; next day, all the cuttings were dead.
But she was not ill pleased to have Oline on her side; it cost her a cheese, to be sure, but Oline thanked her so fulsomely: "'Tis as I say, 'tis as I've always said: Inger, she gives with both hands; nothing grudging, nothing sparing about her! No, maybe you're not afraid of Os-Anders, but I've forbid him to come here all the same. 'Twas the least I could do for you."
He might have done all this at home, of course, but was shy of doing it before Oline; it was quite enough to stand there right in front of her nose and put on a red shirt. He cuts and cuts away, a certain amount of beard falls into his patent mirror. The horse grows impatient at last and is moving on; Isak is fain to be content with himself as he is, and gets up again.
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