"Yes, and the child came before I could get out."
"H'm," said he. "But you took the bit of wrapping with you before you went out—was that in case you should happen to fall in?"
"Wrapping?" said she again.
"A bit of white rag—one of my shirts you'd cut half across."
"Ay," said Barbro, "'twas a bit of rag I took with me to carry back juniper twigs in."
"Juniper twigs?"
"Yes. Didn't I tell you that was what I'd been for?"
"Ay, so you said. Or else it was twigs for a broom."
"Well, no matter what it was…."
It was an open quarrel between them this time. But even that died away after a time, and all was well again. That is to say, not well exactly—no, but passable. Barbro was careful and more submissive; she knew there was danger. But that way, life at Maaneland grew even more forced and intolerable—no frankness, no joy between them, always on guard. It could not last long, but as long as it lasted at all, Axel was forced to be content. He had got this girl on the place, and had wanted her for himself and had her, tied his life to her; it was not an easy matter to alter all that. Barbro knew everything about the place: where pots and vessels stood, when cows and goats were to bear, if the winter feed would be short or plenty, how much milk was for cheese and how much for food—a stranger would know nothing of it all, and even so, a stranger was perhaps not to be had.