He walked slower and looked at her, smiling. "Mildrid, you mean that they have settled to give you the farm?"
She blushed, but did not answer.
"Well, then—we'll let that alone till the time comes. When they want us to take their places, it's for them to ask us to do it." He said this very gently and tenderly, but she felt what it meant. Thoughtful of others, as she always was, and accustomed to consider their feelings before her own, she yielded in this too. But very soon they came to where they could see Tingvold in the valley below them. She looked down at it, and then at him, as if it could speak for itself.
The big sunny fields on the hill slope, with the wood encircling and sheltering them, the house and farm buildings a little in the shadow, but big and fine—it all looked so beautiful. The valley, with its rushing, winding river, stretched away down beyond, with farm after farm in the bottom and on its slopes on both sides—but none, not one to equal Tingvold—none so fertile or so pleasant to the eye, none so snugly sheltered, and yet commanding the whole valley. When she saw that Hans was struck by the sight, she reddened with joy.
"Yes," he said, in answer to her unspoken question—"yes, it is true; Tingvold is a fine place; it would be hard to find its equal."
He smiled and bent down to her. "But I care more for you, Mildrid, than for Tingvold; and perhaps—you care more for me than for Tingvold?"
When he took it this way she could say no more. He looked so happy too; he sat down, and she beside him.
"Now I'm going to sing something for you," he whispered.
She felt glad. "I've never heard you sing," she said.
"No, I know you have not; and though people talk about my singing, you must not think it's anything very great. There's only this about it, that it comes upon me sometimes, and then I must sing."