“But he’s been out and about now this last week, and getting used to things.”

Isak was silent.  He took a big knife, hung it in a sheath at his waist, and led out the bull.

A mighty beast it was, glossy-coated and terrible to look at, swaying at the buttocks as it walked.  A trifle short in the leg; when it ran, it crushed down the undergrowth with its chest; it was like a railway engine.  Its neck was huge almost to deformity; there was the strength of an elephant in that neck.

“If only he doesn’t get mad with you,” said Inger.

Isak thought for a moment.  “Why, if as he takes it that way, I’ll just have to slaughter him half-way and carry down the meat.”

Inger sat down on the door-slab.  She was in pain; her face was aflame.  She had kept her feet till Isak was gone; now he and the bull were out of sight, and she could give way to a groan without fear.  Little Eleseus can talk a little already; he asks:  “Mama hurt? “—­“Yes, hurt.”  He mimics her, pressing his hands to his sides and groaning.  Little Sivert is asleep.

Inger takes Eleseus inside the house, gives him some things to play with on the floor, and gets into bed herself.  Her time was come.  She is perfectly conscious all the while, keeps an eye on Eleseus, glances at the clock on the wall to see the time.  Never a cry, hardly a movement; the struggle is in her vitals—­a burden is loosened and glides from her.  Almost at the same moment she hears a strange cry in the bed, a blessed little voice; poor thing, poor little thing ... and now she cannot rest, but lifts herself up and looks down.  What is it?  Her face is grey and blank in a moment, without expression or intelligence; a groan is heard; unnatural, impossible—­a choking gasp.

She slips back on the bed.  A minute passes; she cannot rest, the little cry down there in the bed grows louder, she raises herself once more, and sees—­O God, the direst of all!  No mercy, no hope—­and this a girl!

Isak could not have gone more than a couple of miles or so.  It was hardly an hour since he had left.  In less than ten minutes Inger had borne her child and killed it....

Isak came back on the third day, leading a half-starved yearling bull.  The beast could hardly walk; it had been a long business getting up to the place at all.

“How did you get on?” asked Inger.  She herself was ill and miserable enough.

Isak had managed very well.  True, the big bull had been mad the last two miles or so, and he had to tie it up and fetch help from the village.  Then, when he got back, it had broken loose and took a deal of time to find.  But he had managed somehow, and had sold for a good price to a trader in the village, buying up for butchers in the town.  “And here’s the new one,” said Isak.  “Let the children come and look.”

Any addition to the live stock was a great event.  Inger looked at the bull and felt it over, asked what it had cost; little Sivert was allowed to sit on its back.  “I shall miss the big one, though,” said Inger.  “So glossy and fine he was.  I do hope they’ll kill him nicely.”