When Halvor, Liv, and Åsne arrived home from Breidalen, Little Anne, now sixteen, and twelve-year-old Torjus wondered at their parents' smiles.

"Did Margit have a girl or a boy?" Little Anne asked.

"A boy," Halvor said.

"And you'll never guess his name," Liv said, grinning at Torjus.

"Not another one!" he cried.

Halvor and Liv just grinned the wider.

"You'll have to think up better nicknames," Little Anne told him. Bald has more hair than you, and Middle is too skinny for that name. Maybe if he were fat, now--"

"While on the road home, we happened across the fiddler from Høydalsmo, who is looking for a good saddle horse," Halvor said in an offhand manner. "I mentioned the colt. We're thinking about making a trade."

Torjus knit his brow. "What does he have we'd want?"

"Trading with the wedding fiddler-- No one's getting married, is she?" Little Anne said, directing a look at Åsne, who rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Torjus, dig down in my old chest," Liv said, pointing to the far wall. "Bring me the bundle at the bottom."

The boy obeyed, hefting the packet as he returned to his mother.

"Your father is a generous, kind man," she said as she began to unwrap the bundle. "He made me a promise before we married. You know the story why we didn't name you Sveinung for your farfar. Well, I've never spoken much about my first husband for whom you're named, but my Torjus," Liv paused as she opened the final wrapping, "was a fine fiddler." She held up the fiddle, her most treasured keepsake.

Torjus' eyes grew round.

"We've seen you hovering around the fiddler from Høydalsmo at every barn dance the last few years," Halvor said. "He has agreed to give you lessons in exchange for the colt."

Torjus whooped in exultation and reached for the instrument.

Liv pulled it back. "Rule number one: Clean hands."

Torjus dashed for the water pail.

"I have clean hands already," Little Anne declared, holding them out.

"And no interest in music," Liv said. "However, Margit's husband gave me something for you. I wonder how clean your hands will stay." She handed over a small wooden box with swirling floral designs painted on the lid.

Little Anne's eyes flashed excitement when she opened the box to find half-full jars of paint and two paintbrushes, one large and one finely tipped. "I have a stack of birchbark drying in the loft. I'll be right back."

"You may want to stay there while you paint!" Liv called after her. She turned a wry smile on Halvor. "And you may want to go tend that colt in the nice quiet barn," she told him. "This fiddle hasn't been tuned for twenty-five years!"

prompt: kind