“You there!  I don’t belong to you any longer, and all the people who live here are no more to me than you are.”

Barefoot started to cry; but she resolved within herself that this should be the last time until her brother’s departure, and until he was fairly gone.  And she kept her word to herself.

The people in the village said that Barefoot had no heart, because her eyes were not wet when her brother went away.  People like to see tears actually shed—­for what do they care about those that are shed in secret?  But Barefoot was calm and brave.

Only during the last days before Damie set out did she for the first time fail in her duty; for she neglected her work by being with Damie all the time.  She let Rose upbraid her for it, and merely said:  “You are right.”  But still she ran after her brother everywhere—­she did not want to lose a minute of his company as long as he was there.  She very likely felt that she might be able to do something special for him at any moment, or say something special that would be of use to him all his life; and she was vexed with herself for finding nothing but quite ordinary things to say, and for even quarreling with him sometimes.

Oh, these hours of parting!  How they oppress the heart!  How all the past and all the future seem crowded together into one moment, and one knows not how to set about anything rightly, and only a look or a touch must tell all that is felt!

Still Amrei found good words to speak.  When she counted out her brother’s stock of linen she said: 

“These are good, respectable shirts—­keep yourself respectable and good in them.”

And when she packed everything into the big sack, on which her father’s name was still to be seen, she said: 

“Bring this back full of glittering gold; then you shall see how glad they will be to give you back the right to live here.  And Farmer Rodel’s Rose, if she’s still unmarried, will jump over seven houses to get you.”

And when she laid their father’s ax in the large chest, she said: 

“How smooth the handle is!  How often it has slipped through our father’s hand.  I fancy I can still feel his touch upon it!  So now I have a motto for you—­’Sack and Ax.’  Working and gathering in, those are the best things in life—­they make one keep cheerful and well and happy.  God keep you!  And say to yourself very often—­’Sack and Ax.’  I shall do the same, and that shall be our motto, our remembrance, our call to each other when we are far, far apart, and until you write to me, or come to fetch me, or do what you can, as God shall will it.  ’Sack and Ax’—­yes it’s all included in that; so one can treasure up everything—­all thoughts and all that one has earned!”

And when Damie was sitting up in the wagon, and for the last time gave her his hand, for a long time she would not release it.  And when at last he drove away, she called out after him with a loud voice: