eld lies dead again.

The building at Sellanraa, too, is finished now. There is a makeshift
roof of turf put on for the winter; the great space beneath is divided
into rooms, bright apartments, a great salon in the middle and large
rooms at either end, as if it were for human beings. Here Isak once
lived in a turf hut together with a few goats--there is no turf hut to
be seen now at Sellanraa.

Loose boxes, mangers, and bins are fitted up. The two stoneworkers
are still busy, kept on to get the whole thing finished as soon as
possible, but Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says, and he is
leaving. Gustaf has been a splendid lad at the stonework, heaving and
lifting like a bear; and in the evenings, a joy and delight to all,
playing his mouth-organ, not to speak of helping the womenfolk,
carrying heavy pails to and from the river. But he is going now. No,
Gustaf is no hand at woodwork, so he says. It looks almost as if he
were in a hurry to get away.

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?" says Inger.

No, it can't wait, he's no more work to do here, and besides, going
now, he will have company across the hills, going over with the last;
gang from the mines.

"And who's to help me with my buckets now?" says Inger, smiling sadly.

But Gustaf is never at a loss, he has his answer ready, and says
"Hjalmar." Now Hjalmar was the younger of the two stoneworkers, but
neither of them was young as Gustaf himself, none like him in any way.

"Hjalmar--huh!" says Inger contemptuously. Then suddenly she changes
her tone, and turns to Gustaf, thinking to make him jealous. "Though,
after all, he's nice to have on the place, is Hjalmar," says she, "and
so prettily he sings and all."

"Don't think much of him, anyway," says Gustaf. He does not seem
jealous in the least.

"But you might stay one more night at least?"

No, Gustaf couldn't stay one more night--he was going across with the
others.

Ay, maybe Gustaf was getting tired of the game by now. 'Twas a fine
thing to snap her up in front of all the rest, and have her for his
own the few weeks he was there--but he was going elsewhere now, like
as not to a sweetheart at home--he had other things in view. Was he to
stay on loafing about here for the sake of her? He had reason enough
for bringing the thing to an end, as she herself must know; but she
was grown so bold, so thoughtless of any consequence, she seemed to
care for nothing. No, things had not held for so very long betw