ull of things. And when he went back up
the road again, it was with a whole little stock-in-trade of his
own--and he would stop at Sellanraa on the way and open his pack and
show them. Notepaper with a flower in the corner, and a new pipe and
a new shirt, and a fringed neckerchief--sweets for the womenfolk, and
shiny things, a watch-chain with a compass, a pocket-knife--oh, a host
of things. Ay, there were rockets he had bought to let off on
Sunday, for every one to see. Inger gave him milk, and he joked with
Leopoldine, and picked up little Rebecca and swung her up in the
air--"_Hoy huit_!"

"And how's the building getting on?" he asked the Swedes--Gustaf was
a Swede himself, and made friends with them too. The building was
getting on as best it could, with but themselves to the work. Why,
then, he'd come and give them a hand himself, would Gustaf, though
that was only said in jest.

"Ay, if you only would," said Inger. For the cowshed ought to be ready
by the autumn, when the cattle were brought in.

Gustaf let off a rocket, and having let off one, there was no sense
in keeping the rest. As well let them off too--and so he did, half a
dozen of them, and the women and children stood round breathless at
the magic of the magician; and Inger had never seen a rocket before,
but the wild fire of them somehow reminded her of the great world she
had once seen. What was a sewing-machine to this? And when Gustaf
finished up by playing his mouth-organ, Inger would have gone off
along the road with him for sheer emotion....

The mine is working now, and the ore is carted down by teams of horses
to the sea; a steamer had loaded up one cargo and sailed away with it
to South America, and another steamer waits already for the next load.
Ay, 'tis a big concern. All the settlers have been up to look at the
wonderful place, as many as can walk. Brede Olsen has been up, with
his samples of stone, and got nothing for his pains, seeing that the
mining expert was gone back to Sweden again. On Sundays, there was a
crowd of people coming up all the way from the village; ay, even Axel
Stroem, who had no time to throw away, turned off from his proper road
along the telegraph line to look at the place. Hardly a soul now but
has seen the mine and its wonders. And at last Inger herself, Inger
from Sellanraa, puts on her best, gold ring and all, and goes up to
the hills. What does she want there?

Nothing, does not even care to see how the wo