Gustaf had better be careful not to say any such thing.

But Gustaf was not going to be careful; he said a great deal more, and
as for Inger, 'twas strange how he managed to win her for himself, for
all that he never seemed to put himself forward that way. One of
the other lads played a concertina, but 'twas not like Gustaf's
mouth-organ; another lad again, and a smart fellow he was too, tried
to draw attention to himself by singing a song off by heart to the
music, but that was nothing either, for all that he had a fine rolling
voice. And a little while after, there was Gustaf, and if he hadn't
got Inger's gold ring on his little finger! And how had it come about,
when he never plagued nor pushed himself forward? Oh, he was forward
enough in his way, but quiet with it all, as Inger herself; they did
not talk of things, and she let him play with her hand as if without
noticing. Later on, when she sat in one of the huts drinking coffee,
there was a noise outside, high words between the men, and she knew it
was about herself, and it warmed her. A pleasant thing to hear, for
one no longer young, for a woman getting on in years.

And how did she come home from the hills that Sunday evening? Ho, well
enough, virtuous as she had come, no more and no less. There was a
crowd of men to see her home, the crowd of them that would not turn
back as long as Gustaf was there; would not leave her alone with him,
not if they knew it! Inger had never had such a gay time, not even in
the days when she had been out in the world.

"Hadn't Inger lost something?" they asked at last.

"Lost something? No."

"A gold ring, for instance?"

And at that Gustaf had to bring it out; he was one against all, a
whole army.

"Oh, 'twas a good thing you found it," said Inger, and made haste to
say good-bye to her escort. She drew nearer Sellanraa, saw the many
roofs of the buildings; it was her home that lay there. And she awoke
once more, came back to herself, like the clever wife she was, and
took a short cut through to the summer shed to look to the cattle. On
the way she passes by a place she knows; a little child had once lain
buried there; she had patted down the earth with her hands, set up a
tiny cross--oh, but it was long ago. Now, she was wondering if those
girls had finished their milking in good time....

The work at the mine goes on, but there are whisperings of something
wrong, the yield is not as good as it had promised. The minin