But it was only the first days, the first week; after that she began to be less eager about the work.  There was really no need to take all that trouble about cowsheds and things; she could make better use of her time now.  Inger had learned a deal among the town folk, and it would be a pity not to turn it to account.  She took to her spinning-wheel and loom again—­true enough, she was even quicker and neater than before—­a trifle too quick—­hui!—­especially when Isak was looking on; he couldn’t make out how any one could learn to use their fingers that way—­the fine long fingers she had to her big hands.  But Inger had a way of dropping one piece of work to take up another, all in a moment.  Well, well, there were more things to be looked to now than before, and maybe she was not altogether so patient as she had been; a trifle of unrest had managed to creep in.

First of all there were the flowers she had brought with her—­bulbs and cuttings; little lives these too, that must be thought of.  The glass window was too small, the ledge too narrow to set flower-pots on; and besides, she had no flower-pots.  Isak must make some tiny boxes for begonias, fuchsias, and roses.  Also, one window was not enough—­fancy a room with only one window!

And, “Oh, by the way,” said Inger, “I want an iron, you know.  There isn’t one in the place.  I could use a flat iron for pressing when I’m sewing dresses and things, but you can’t do proper work without an iron of some sort.”

Isak promised to get the blacksmith down at the village to make a first-rate pressing-iron.  Oh, Isak was ready to do anything, do all that she asked in every way; for he could see well enough that Inger had learned a heap of things now, and matchless clever she was grown.  She spoke, too, in a different way, a little finer, using elegant words.  She never shouted out to him now as she used to:  “Come and get your food!” but would say instead:  “Dinner’s ready, if you please.”  Everything was different now.  In the old days he would answer simply “Ay,” or say nothing at all, and go on working for a bit before he came.  Now, he said “Thanks,” and went in at once.  Love makes the wise a fool:  now and then Isak would say “Thanks, thanks.”  Ay, all was different now—­maybe a trifle too fine in some ways.  When Isak spoke of dung, and was rough in his speech, as peasants are, Inger would call it manure, “for the sake of the children, you know.”

She was careful with the children, and taught them everything, educated them.  Let tiny Leopoldine go on quickly with her crochet work, and the boys with writing and schooling; they would not be altogether behindhand when the time came for them to go to school in the village.  Eleseus in particular was grown a clever one, but little Sivert was nothing much, if the truth must be told—­a madcap, a jackanapes.  He even ventured to screw a little at Mother’s sewing-machine, and had already hacked off splinters from table and chairs with his new pocket-knife.  Inger had threatened to take it away altogether.