rle glanced at Lorentz, who had instinctively come close to her, and
was looking at his father.

"From Bruseth? How is Louise getting on?" she asked.

"You can see for yourself. Here's the letter," said he.

Merle read it through hurriedly, and glanced at Lorentz once more.

That evening, after the children had gone to bed, the father and mother
sat up talking together in a low voice.

And Merle had to admit that her husband was right. It would be selfish
of them to keep the boy here, when he might be heir to Bruseth some day
if they let him go.

Suppose he stayed and worked here under his father and learned to be a
smith? The blacksmith's day is over--factories do all the work now.

And what schooling could he get away here in the country? Aunt Marit
offered to send him to a good school.--And so the die was cast for him
too.

But when they went with the boy to see him off at the station, the
mother's handkerchief was at her eyes all the time, do what she would.

And when they came home she had to lie down in bed, while Peer went
about the place, humming to himself, while he got ready a little supper
and brought it to her bedside.

"I can't understand how you can take it so easily," she burst out.

"No--no," he laughed a little oddly. "The less said about that the
better, perhaps."

But the next day it was Peer who said he felt lazy again and would lie
still a bit. Merle looked at him and stroked his forehead.

And the time went on. They worked hard and constantly to make both ends
meet without help, and they were content to take things as they came.
When the big dairy was started close by, he made a good deal of money
setting up the plant, but he was not above sharpening a drill for the
road-gangs either. He was often to be seen going down to the country
store in a sleeved waistcoat with a knapsack on his back. He carried his
head high, the close-trimmed beard was shading over into white, his face
often had the strained look that comes from sleeplessness, but his step
was light, and he still had a joke for the girls whom he met.

In summer, the neighbours would often see them shutting up the house and
starting off up the hill with knapsack and coffee-kettle and with little
Asta trotting between them. They were gone, it might be, to try and
recapture some memory of old days, with coffee in the open air by a
picnic fire.

In the autumn, when the great fields yellowed all the hillsides, Peer
and Merle ha