It was the busy season now, and there was work enough.  The animals were let loose; in the empty shed were cases and bins of potatoes left to grow.  Isak sowed more corn this year than last, and did all he could to get it nicely down.  He made beds for carrots and turnips, and Inger sowed the seeds.  All went on as before.

Inger went about for some time with a bag of hay under her dress, to hide any change in her figure, taking out a little from time to time, and finally discarding the bag altogether.  At last, one day, Isak noticed something, and asked in surprise: 

“Why, how’s this?  Hasn’t anything happened?  I thought....”

“No.  Not this time.”

“Ho.  Why, what was wrong?

“’Twas meant to be so, I suppose.  Isak, how long d’you think it’ll take you to work over all this land of ours?”

“Yes, but ... you mean you had your trouble—­didn’t go as it should?”

“Ay, that was it—­yes.”

“But yourself—­you’re not hurt anyway after it?”

“No.  Isak, I’ve been thinking, we ought to have a pig.”

Isak was not quick to change the subject that way.  He was silent a little, then at last he said:  “Ay, a pig.  I’ve thought of that myself each spring.  But we’ll need to have more potatoes first, and more of the small, and a bit of corn beside; we’ve not enough to feed a pig.  We’ll see how this year turns out.”

“But it would be nice to have a pig.”

“Ay.”

Days pass, rain comes, fields and meadows are looking well—­oh, the year will turn out well, never fear!  Little happenings and big, all in their turn:  food, sleep, and work; Sundays, with washing of faces and combing of hair, and Isak sitting about in a new red shirt of Inger’s weaving and sewing.  Then an event, a happening of note in the ordinary round:  a sheep, roaming with her lamb, gets caught in a cleft among the rocks.  The others come home in the evening.  Inger at once sees there are two missing, and out goes Isak in search.  Isak’s first thought is to be thankful it is Sunday, so he is not called away from his work and losing time.  He tramps off—­there is an endless range of ground to be searched; and, meanwhile, the house is all anxiety.  Mother hushes the children with brief words; there are two sheep missing, and they must be good.  All share the feeling; what has happened is a matter for the whole little community.  Even the cows know that something unusual is going on, and give tongue in their own fashion, for Inger goes out every now and then, calling aloud towards the woods, though it is near night.  It is an event in the wilderness, a general misfortune.  Now and again she gives a long-drawn hail to Isak, but there is no answer; he must be out of hearing.

Where are the sheep—­what can have come to them?  Is there a bear abroad?  Or have the wolves come down over the hills from Sweden and Finland?  Neither, as it turns out.  Isak finds the ewe stuck fast in a cleft of rock, with a broken leg and lacerated udder.  It must have been there some time, for, despite its wounds, the poor thing has nibbled the grass down to the roots as far as it could reach.  Isak lifts the sheep and sets it free; it falls to grazing at once.  The lamb makes for its mother and sucks away—­a blessed relief for the wounded udder to be emptied now.