was able to say; but he had been able to rear his son Joel and his
daughter Hulda in comfort; and Ole Kamp, a son of his wife's sister,
had also been brought up like one of his own children. But for his
uncle Harald, this orphan child would doubtless have been one of those
poor creatures who come into the world only to leave it; and Ole
Kamp evinced a truly filial devotion toward his parents by adoption.
Nothing would ever sever the tie that bound him to the Hansen family,
to which his marriage with Hulda was about to bind him still more
closely.

Harald Hansen had died about eighteen months before, leaving his
wife, in addition to the inn, a small farm on the mountain, a piece
of property which yielded very meager returns, if any. This was
especially true of late, for the seasons had been remarkably
unpropitious, and agriculture of every kind had suffered greatly,
even the pastures. There had been many of those "iron nights," as the
Norwegian peasants call them--nights of north-easterly gales and ice
that kill the corn down to the very root--and that meant ruin to the
farmers of the Telemark and the Hardanger.

Still, whatever Dame Hansen might think of the situation of affairs,
she had never said a word to any living soul, not even to her
children. Naturally cold and reserved, she was very uncommunicative--a
fact that pained Hulda and Joel not a little. But with that respect
for the head of the family innate in Northern lands, they made no
attempt to break down a reserve which was eminently distasteful to
them. Besides, Dame Hansen never asked aid or counsel, being firmly
convinced of the infallibility of her own judgment, for she was a true
Norwegian in that respect.