And when they came home she had to lie down in bed, while Peer went
about the place, humming to himself, while he got ready a little supper
and brought it to her bedside.
"I can't understand how you can take it so easily," she burst out.
"No--no," he laughed a little oddly. "The less said about that the
better, perhaps."
But the next day it was Peer who said he felt lazy again and would lie
still a bit. Merle looked at him and stroked his forehead.
And the time went on. They worked hard and constantly to make both ends
meet without help, and they were content to take things as they came.
When the big dairy was started close by, he made a good deal of money
setting up the plant, but he was not above sharpening a drill for the
road-gangs either. He was often to be seen going down to the country
store in a sleeved waistcoat with a knapsack on his back. He carried his
head high, the close-trimmed beard was shading over into white, his face
often had the strained look that comes from sleeplessness, but his step
was light, and he still had a joke for the girls whom he met.
In summer, the neighbours would often see them shutting up the house and
starting off up the hill with knapsack and coffee-kettle and with little
Asta trotting between them. They were gone, it might be, to try and
recapture some memory of old days, with coffee in the open air by a
picnic fire.
In the autumn, when the great fields yellowed all the hillsides, Peer
and Merle had a little plot of their own that showed golden too.
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