beginning, little by little, to take such
matters more calmly; eyah, _Herregud_! All things were changed, the
land itself was different now, with broad telegraph roads up through
the woods, that had not been there before, and rocks blasted and
sundered up by the water, as they had not been before. And folk, too,
were changed. They did not greet coming and going as in the old days,
but nodded only, or maybe not even that.

But then--in the old days there had been no Sellanraa, but only a turf
hut, while now.... There had been no Margrave in the old days.

Ay, but Margrave, what was he now? A pitiful thing, nothing
superhuman, but old and fading, going the way of all flesh. What
though he had good bowels, and could eat well, when it gave him no
strength? 'Twas Sivert had the strength now, and a mercy it was
so--but think, if Isak had had it too! A sorry thing, to find his
works running down. He had toiled like a man, carrying loads enough
for any beast of burden; now, he could exercise his patience in
resting.

Isak is ill-pleased, heavy at heart.

Here lies an old hat, an old sou'wester, rotting on the ground.
Carried there by the gale, maybe, or maybe the lads had brought it
there to the edge of the wood years ago, when they were little ones.
It lies there year after year, rotting and rotting away; but once it
had been a new sou'wester, all yellow and new. Isak remembers the day
he came home with it from the store, and Inger had said it was a fine
hat. A year or so after, he had taken it to a painter down in the
village, and had it blacked and polished, and the brim done in green.
And when he came home, Inger thought it a finer hat than before. Inger
always thought everything was fine; ay, 'twas a good life those days,
cutting faggots, with Inger to look on--his best days. And when March
and April came, Inger and he would be wild after each other, just like
the birds and beasts in the woods; and when May was come, he would sow
his corn and plant potatoes, living and thriving from day to dawn.
Work and sleep, loving and dreaming, he was like the first big ox, and
that was a wonder to see, big and bright as a king. But there was no
such May to the years now. No such thing.

Isak was sorely despondent for some days. Dark days they were. He felt
neither wish nor strength to start work on the fodder loft--that could
be left for Sivert to do some day. The thing to be done now was the
house for himself--the last house t