self now, it seems.

Then they go on a bit that way, Brede holding Axel's arm, and Oline
carrying the things. Carrying, carrying, full of bitterness and
flashing fire; a miserable part indeed, to carry a basket instead
of leading a helpless man. What did Brede want coming that way at
all--devil of a man!

"Brede," says she, "what's it they're saying, you've sold your place
and all?"

"And who's it wants to know?" says Brede boldly.

"Why, as to that, I'd never thought 'twas any secret not to be known."

"Why didn't you come to the sale, then, and bid with the rest?"

"Me--ay, 'tis like you to make a jest of poor folk."

"Well, and I thought 'twas you had grown rich and grand. Wasn't it you
had left you old Sivert's chest and all his money in? He he he!"

Oline was not pleased, not softened at being minded of that legacy.
"Ay, old Sivert, he'd a kindly thought for me, and I'll not say
otherwise. But once he was dead and gone, 'twas little they left after
him in worldly goods. And you know yourself how 'tis to be stripped of
all, and live under other man's roof; but old Sivert he's in palaces
and mansions now, and the likes of you and me are left on earth to be
spurned underfoot."

"Ho, you and your talk!" says Brede scornfully, and turns to Axel:
"Well, I'm glad I came in time--help you back home. Not going too
fast, eh?"

"No."

Talk to Oline, stand up and argue with Oline! Was never a man could
do it but to his cost. Never in life would she give in, and never her
match for turning and twisting heaven and earth to a medley of seeming
kindness and malice, poison and senseless words. This to her face now:
Brede making as if 'twas himself was bringing Axel home!

"What I was going to say," she begins: "They gentlemen came up to
Sellanraa that time; did you ever get to show them all those sacks of
stone you'd got, eh, Brede?"

"Axel," says Brede, "let me hoist you on my shoulders, and I'll carry
you down rest of the way."

"Nay," says Axel. "For all it's good of you to ask."

So they go on; not far now to go. Oline must make the best of her time
on the way. "Better if you'd saved him at the point of death," says
she. "And how was it, Brede, you coming by and seeing him in deadly
peril and heard his cry and never stopped to help?"

"You hold your tongue," says Brede.

And it might have been easier for her if she had, wading deep in snow
and out of breath, and a heavy burden and all, but 'twas not Oline'