lding work, at any rate, seemed never to be finished.
He had a sawmill and a cornmill and a summer shed for the cattle; it
was but reasonable he should have a smithy. Only a little place, for
odd jobs as need arose; it was a long way to send down to the village
when the sledge-hammer curled at the edges or a horseshoe or so
wanted looking to. Just enough to manage with, that was all--and why
shouldn't he? Altogether, there were many outbuildings, little and
big, at Sellanraa.

The place is growing, getting bigger and bigger, a mighty big place at
last. Impossible now to manage without a girl to help, and Jensine has
to stay on. Her father, the blacksmith, asks after her now and again,
if she isn't coming home soon; but he does not make a point of it,
being an easy-going man, and maybe with his own reasons for letting
her stay. And there is Sellanraa, farthest out of all the settlements,
growing bigger and bigger all the time; the place, that is, the houses
and the ground, only the folk are the same. The day is gone when
wandering Lapps could come to the house and get all they wanted for
the asking; they come but rarely now, seem rather to go a long way
round and keep out of sight; none are even seen inside the house, but
wait without if they come at all. Lapps always keep to the outlying
spots, in dark places; light and air distress them, they cannot
thrive; 'tis with them as with maggots and vermin. Now and again
a calf or a lamb disappears without a trace from the outskirts of
Sellanraa, from the farthest edge of the land--there is no helping
that. And Sellanraa can bear the loss. And even if Sivert could shoot,
he has no gun, but anyway, he cannot shoot; a good-tempered fellow,
nothing warlike; a born jester: "And, anyway, I doubt but there's a
law against shooting Lapps," says he.

Ay, Sellanraa can bear the loss of a head or so of cattle here and
there; it stands there, great and strong. But not without its troubles
for all that. Inger is not altogether pleased with herself and with
life all the year round, no; once she made a journey to a place a long
way off, and it seems to have left an ugly discontent behind. It
may disappear for a time, but always it returns. She is clever and
hard-working as in her best days, and a handsome, healthy wife for a
man, for a barge of a man--but has she no memories of Trondhjem; does
she never dream? Ay, and in winter most of all. Full of life and
spirits at times, and wanting n