It was long
since last he heard that sound. And there were memories.
"Want this welded, Jens? Where's the borax? Look here, this is the way
of it."
"Might ha' been born and bred a smith," said Jens, as he watched the
deft and easy hammer-strokes.
Christmas Eve came, and the grey farm-pony dragged up a big wooden case
to the door. Peer opened it and carried in the things--a whole heap of
good things for Christmas from the Ringeby relations.
He bit his lips when he saw all the bags piled up on the kitchen table.
There had been a time not long ago when Merle and he had loaded up a
sledge at the Loreng storehouse and driven off with Christmas gifts to
all the poor folk round. It was part of the season's fun for them. And
now--now they must even be glad to receive presents themselves.
"Merle--have WE nothing we can give away this year?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
"A poor man's Christmas it'll be with a vengeance--if we're only to take
presents, and haven't the least little thing to give away."
Merle sighed. "We must hope it won't happen to us again," she said.
"I won't have it happen to us now," he said, pacing up and down.
"There's that poor devil of a joiner down at Moen, with consumption. I'm
going down there with a bit of a parcel to chuck in at his door, if I
have to take your shift and the shirt off my back. You know yourself it
won't be any Christmas at all, if we don't do something."
"Well--if you like.
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