Lensmand Heyerdahl had married the year before. His wife had no intention of ever being a mother—no children for her, thank you! And she had none.
"And now," said the Lensmand, "this business about Sellanraa. At last I am in a position to settle it definitely. The Department is graciously pleased to approve the sale of the land, more or less according to the terms I suggested."
"H'm," said Isak.
"It has been a lengthy business, but I have the satisfaction of knowing that my endeavours have not been altogether fruitless. The terms I proposed have been agreed to almost without exception."
"Without exception," said Isak, and nodded.
"Here are the title-deeds. You can have the transfer registered at the first session."
"Ay," said Isak. "And how much is there to pay?"
"Ten Daler a year. The Department has made a slight alteration here—ten Daler per annum instead of five. You have no objection to that, I presume?"
"As long as I can manage to pay …" said Isak.
"And for ten years." Isak looked up, half frightened.
"Those are the terms—the Department insists. Even then, it's no price really for all that land, cleared and cultivated as it is now."
Isak had the ten Daler for that year—it was the money he had got for his loads of wood, and for the cheeses Inger had laid by. He paid the amount, and had still a small sum left.
"It's a lucky thing for you the Department didn't get to hear about your wife," said the Lensmand. "Or they might have sold to some one else."
"Ay," said Isak. He asked about Inger. "Is it true that she's gone away for eight years?"
"That is so. And can't be altered—the law must take its course. As a matter of fact, the sentence is extraordinarily light. There's one thing you must do now—that is, to set up clear boundaries between your land and the State's. A straight, direct line, following the marks I set up on the spot, and entered in my register at the time. The timber cleared from the boundary line becomes your property. I will come up some time and have a look at what you have done."
Isak trudged back to his home.
Chapter VIII
Time flies? Ay, when a man is growing old. Isak was not old, he had not lost his vigour; the years seemed long to him. He worked on his land, and let his iron beard grow as it would.
Now and again the monotony of the wilderness was broken by the sight of a passing Lapp, or by something happening to one of the animals on the place, then all would be as before. Once there came a number of men at once; they rested at Sellanraa, and had some food and a dish of milk; they asked Isak and Oline about the path across the hills; they were marking out the telegraph line, they said. And once came Geissler—Geissler himself, and no other. There he came, free and easy as ever, walking up from the village, two men with him, carrying mining tools, pick and spade.
Oh, that Geissler! Unchanged, the same as ever; meeting and greeting as if nothing had happened, talked to the children, went into the house and came out again, looked over the ground, opened the doors of cowshed and hayloft and looked in. "Excellent!" said he. "Isak, have you still got those bits of stone?"
"Bits of stone?" said Isak, wondering.
"Little heavy lumps of stone I saw the boy playing with when I was here once before."
The stones were out in the larder, serving as weights for so many mouse-traps; Isak brought them in. Geissler and the two men examined them, talking together, tapped them here and there, weighed them in the hand. "Copper," they said.
"Could you go up with us and show where you found them?" asked Geissler.
They all went up together; it was not far to the place where Isak had found the stones, but they stayed up in the hills for a couple of days, looking for veins of metal, and firing charges here and there. They came down to Sellanraa with two bags filled with heavy lumps of stone.
Isak had meanwhile had a talk with Geissler, and told him everything as to his own position: about the purchase of the land, which had come to a hundred Daler instead of fifty.
"That's a trifle," said Geissler easily. "You've thousands, like as not, on your part of the hills."
"Ho!" said Isak.
"But you'd better get those title-deeds entered in the register as soon as ever you can."
"Ay."
"Then the State can't come any nonsense about it after, you understand."
Isak understood. "'Tis worst about Inger," he said.
"Ay," said Geissler, and remained thoughtful longer than was usual with him. "Might get the case brought up again. Set out the whole thing properly; very likely get the sentence reduced a bit. Or we could put in an application for a pardon, and that would probably come to the same thing in the end."
"Why, if as that could be done…."
"But it wouldn't do to try for a pardon at once. Have to wait a bit. What was I going to say … you've been taking things down to my wife—meat and cheese and things—what?"
"Why, as to that, Lensmand paid for all that before."
"Did I, though?"
"And helped us kindly in many a way."
"Not a bit of it," said Geissler shortly. "Here—take this." And he took out some Daler notes.
Geissler was not the man to take things for nothing, that was plain. And he seemed to have plenty of money about him, from the way his pocket bulged. Heaven only knew if he really had money or not.
"But she writes all's well and getting on," said Isak, coming back to his one thought.
"What?—Oh, your wife!"
"Ay. And since the girl was born—she's had a girl child, born while she was there. A fine little one."
"Excellent!"
"Ay, and now they're all as kind as can be, and help her every way, she says."
"Look here," said Geissler, "I'm going to send these bits of stone in to some mining experts, and find out what's in them. If there's a decent percentage of copper, you'll be a rich man."
"H'm," said Isak. "And how long do you think before we could apply for a pardon?"
"Well, not so very long, perhaps, I'll write the thing for you. I'll be back here again soon. What was it you said—your wife has had a child since she left here?"
"Yes."
"Then they took her away while she was expecting it. That's a thing they've no right to do."
"Ho!"
"Anyhow, it's one more reason for letting her out earlier."
"Ay, if that could be …" said Isak gratefully.
Isak knew nothing of the many lengthy writings backward and forward between the different authorities concerning the woman who was expecting a child. The local authorities had let her go free while the matter was pending, for two reasons: in the first place, they had no lock-up in the village where they could keep her, and, in the second place, they wished to be as lenient as possible. The consequence was something they could not have foreseen. Later, when they had sent to fetch her away, no one had inquired about her condition, and she herself had said nothing of it. Possibly she had concealed the matter on purpose, in order to have a child