"And what then?" asked the son. "I don't know what we'd do with it, though; it's not worth much as it is."
"That's what you've been thinking of?"
"No, not that way…. Unless Eleseus he'd like to have the place to work on."
"Eleseus? Well, no, I don't know—"
Long pause, the two men thinking hard. The father begins gathering tools together, packing up to go home.
"Ay, unless …" said Sivert. "You might ask him what he says."
The father made an end of the matter thus: "Well, there's another day, and we haven't found that door-slab yet, either."
Next day was Saturday, and they had to be off early to get across the hills with the child. Jensine, the servant-girl, was to go with them; that was one godmother, the rest they would have to find from among Inger's folk on the other side.
Inger looked nice; she had made herself a dainty cotton dress, with white at the neck and wrists. The child was all in white, with a new blue silk ribbon drawn through the lower edge of its dress; but then she was a wonder of a child, to be sure, that could smile and chatter already, and lay and listened when the clock struck on the wall. Her father had chosen her name. It was his right; he was determined to have his say—only trust to him! He had hesitated between Jacobine and Rebecca, as being both sort of related to Isak; and at last he went to Inger and asked timidly: "What d'you think, now, of Rebecca?"
"Why, yes," said Inger.