ently,
and made no scene. Oh, there was something great about Isak; as it
might be Israel, promised and ever deceived, but still believing.

By Monday the tension was less marked, and as the days went on, the
impression of that unhappy Saturday evening grew fainter. Time can
mend a deal of things; a spit and a shake, a meal and a good night's
rest, and it will heal the sorriest of wounds. Isak's trouble was not
so bad as it might have been; after all, he was not certain that he
had been wronged, and apart from that, he had other things to think
of; the harvesting was at hand. And last, not least, the telegraph
line was all but finished now; in a little while they would be left in
peace. A broad light road, a king's highway, had been cut through the
dark of the forest; there were poles and wires running right up over
the hills.

Next Saturday paytime, the last there was to be, Isak managed to be
away from home--he wished it so. He went down into the village with
cheese and butter, and came back on Sunday night. The men were all
gone from the barn; nearly all, that is; the last man stumbled out of
the yard with his pack on his shoulder--all but the last, that is.
That it was not altogether safe as yet Isak could see, for there was a
bundle left on the floor of the barn. Where the owner was he could not
say, and did not care to know, but there was a peaked cap on top of
the bundle--an offence to the eye.

Isak heaved the bundle out into the yard, flung the cap out after
it, and closed the door. Then he went into the stable and looked out
through the window. And thought, belike: "Let the bundle stay there,
and let the cap lie there, 'tis all one whose they may be. A bit of
dirt he is, and not worth my while"--so he might have thought. But
when the fellow comes for his bundle, never doubt but that Isak will
be there to take him by the arm and make that arm a trifle blue. And
as for kicking him off the place in a way he'd remember--why, Isak
would give him that too!

Whereupon Isak left his window in the stable and went back to the
cowshed and looked out from there, and could not rest. The bundle was
tied up with string; the poor fellow had no lock to his bag, and the
string had come undone--Isak could not feel sure he had not dealt over
hardly with that bundle. Whatever it might be--he was not sure he had
acted rightly. Only just now he had been in the village, and seen
his new harrow, a brand-new harrow he had ordered-