Isak—it was hard to say how he felt about it. Half as if he were not ill-pleased after all to find his land valued at a big price, after the work he had done. As for the hundred Daler, he could manage to pay that off, no doubt, in course of time. He made no further business about it; he could go on working as he had done hitherto, clearing and cultivating, fetching loads of timber from the untended woodlands. Isak was not a man to look about anxiously for what might come; he worked.
Inger thanked the Lensmand, and hoped he would put in a word for them with the State.
“Yes, yes. But I’ve no say in the matter myself. All I have to do is to say what I have seen, and what I think. How old is the youngest there?”
“Six months as near as can be.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
The Lensmand was no tyrant, but shallow, and not overconscientious. He ignored his assistant, Brede Olsen, who by virtue of his office should be an expert in such affairs; the matter was settled out of hand, by guesswork. Yet for Isak and his wife it was a serious matter enough—ay, and for who should come after them, maybe for generations. But he set it all down, as it pleased him, making a document of it on the spot. Withal a kindly man; he took a bright coin from his pocket and gave it to little Sivert; then he nodded to the others and went out to the sledge.
Suddenly he asked: “What do you call the place?”
“Call it?”
“Yes. What’s its name? We must have a name for it.”
No one had ever thought of that before. Inger and Isak looked at each other.
“Sellanraa?” said the Lensmand. He must have invented it out of his own head; maybe it was not a name at all. But he only nodded, and said again, “Sellanraa!” and drove off.
Settled again, at a guess, anything would do. The name, the price, the boundaries. …
Some weeks later, when Isak was down in the village, he heard rumours of some business about Lensmand Geissler; there had been an inquiry about some moneys he could not account for, and the matter had been reported to his superior. Well, such things did happen; some folk were content to stumble through life anyhow, till they ran up against those that walked.
Then one day Isak went down with a load of wood, and coming back, who should drive with him on his sledge but Lensmand Geissler. He stepped out from the trees, on to the road, waved his hand, and simply said: “Take me along, will you?”
They drove for a while, neither speaking. Once the passenger took a flask from his pocket and drank; offered it to Isak, who declined. “I’m afraid this journey will upset my stomach,” said the Lensmand.
He began at once to talk about Isak’s deal in land. “I sent off the report at once, with a strong recommendation on my own account. Sellanraa’s a nice name. As a matter of fact, they ought to let you have the place for nothing, wouldn’t do to say so, of course. If I had, they’d only have taken offence and put their own price on it. I suggested fifty Daler.”
“Ho. Fifty, you said? Not a hundred?”
The Lensmand puckered his brow and thought a moment. “As far as I recollect it was fifty. Yes. …”
“And where will you be going, now?” asked Isak.
“Over to Vesterbotten, to my wife’s people.”
“ ’Tis none so easy that way at this time of year.”
“I’ll manage. Couldn’t you go with me a bit?”
“Ay; you shan’t go alone.”
They came to the farm, and the Lensmand stayed the night, sleeping in the little room. In the morning, he brought out his flask again, and remarked: “I’m sure this journey’s going to upset my stomach.” For the rest, he was much the same as last time, kindly, decisive, but fussy, and little concerned about his own affairs. Possibly it might not be so bad after all. Isak ventured to point out that the hillside was not all under cultivation yet, but only some small squares here and there. The Lensmand took the information in a curious fashion. “I knew that well enough, of course, last time I was here, when I made out the report. But Brede, the fellow who was with me, he didn’t see it. Brede, he’s no earthly good. But they work it out by table. With all the ground as I entered it, and only so few loads of hay, so few bushels of potatoes, they’ll say at once that it must be poor soil, cheap soil, you understand. I did my best for you, and you take my word for it, that’ll do the trick. It’s two and thirty thousand fellows of your stamp the country wants.”
The Lensmand nodded and turned to Inger. “How old’s the youngest?”
“He’s just three-quarters of a year.”
“And a boy, is he?”
“Yes.”
“But you must see and get that business settled as soon as ever you can,” said he to Isak again. “There’s another man wants to purchase now, midway between here and the village, and as soon as he does, this’ll be worth more. You buy now, get the place first, and let the price go up after—that way, you’ll be getting some return for all the work you’ve put into it. It was you that started cultivating here at all. ’Twas all wilderness before.”
They were grateful for his advice, and asked if it was not he himself that would arrange the matter. He answered that he had done all he could; everything now depended on the State. “I’m going across to Vesterbotten now, and I shan’t be coming back,” he told them straightforwardly.
He
