xel's pressing business in
the town had been to buy machines; his mother too might think so
for all that. Ho, but there was neither of them thought so in their
hearts; they had heard whispers enough of what was the matter; of a
new child-murder case in the wilds.

"Time for bed," says his father at last.

Sivert goes off to bed, swelling with knowledge. Axel had been
summoned for examination; 'twas a big affair--the Lensmand had gone
with him--so big indeed that the Lensmand's lady, who had just had
another child, had left the baby and was gone in to town with her
husband. She had promised to put in a word to the jury herself.

Gossip and scandal all abroad in the village now, and Sivert saw well
enough that a certain earlier crime of the same sort was being called
to mind again. Outside the church, the groups would stop talking as he
came up, and had he not been the man he was, perhaps some would have
turned away from him. Good to be Sivert those days, a man from a big
place to begin with, son of a wealthy landowner--and then beside, to
be known as a clever fellow, a good worker; he ranked before others,
and was looked up to for himself. Sivert had always been well liked
among folk. If only Jensine did not learn too much before they got
home that day! And Sivert had his own affairs to think of--ay, folk in
the wilds can blush and pale as well as other. He had seen Jensine as
she left the church with little Rebecca; she had seen him too, but
went by. He waited a bit, and then drove over to the smith's to fetch
them.

They were sitting at table, all the family at dinner. Sivert is asked
to join them, but has had his dinner, thanks. They knew he would be
coming, they might have waited that bit of a while for him--so they
would have done at Sellanraa, but not here, it seemed.

"Nay, 'tis not what you're used to, I dare say," says the smith's
wife. And, "What news from church?" says the smith, for all he had
been at church himself.

When Jensine and little Rebecca were seated up in the cart again, says
the smith's wife to her daughter: "Well, good-bye, Jensine; we'll
be wanting you home again soon." And that could be taken two ways,
thought Sivert, but he said nothing. If the speech had been more
direct, more plain and outspoken, he might perhaps ... He waits, with
puckered brows, but no more is said.

They drive up homeward, and little Rebecca is the only one with a word
to say; she is full of the wonder of going