When she heard hooves clopping not far away, Birgit rose from her weeding and peered over the bushy potato plants.

Her father spurred his horse up the slope from Brekke farm, bear gun slung at his back. He vanished into the forest.

Birgit glanced at her big brother Sveinung, who met her gaze with a grin. "I'm ahead on my row. How about you?"

The six-year-old nodded.

"Let's go!" he said. They dropped their hoes and buckets and raced up the dale to another small farm. Birgit knocked on the door, and Sveinung called their names.

"Come in then," the farm-wife answered.

The two youngsters from Brekke farm made polite greeting then turned to the cradle. Their little brother Talleiv goggled up at them, then broke into a toothless smile.

"And how's your mother?" the woman asked.

"She got up and made porridge this morning," Sveinung said.

"Andres and Halvor cheered," Birgit added. "They're tired of doing woman's work."

"Where's your sister? Why isn't she doing the cooking?"

"Ingebjørg can't do everything," Sveinung said. "She does the washing and mending and spinning and sewing."

"And nursing when Mor has a bad day," Birgit said. At Talleiv's birth, Guro had nearly died from blood loss, then came down with a raging fever that sapped her strength for months. Hard Knut had ranted and fumed about the inconvenience her frailty had caused. "I fetch water and sweep," Birgit chirped, "and Sveinung chops our firewood."

"Does he?" The farm-wife studied the twelve-year-old. "If your father doesn't send the goat he promised, I'll take my pay in kindling."

Sveinung's eyes widened. "I would if I could, but Far doesn't give us much free time."

"Why is he never home when I come asking about the goat? He can't expect me to nurse a whole year for nothing. I'll donate to a pauper, but he's not that bad off."

Little Talleiv gurgled and held arms up. Birgit hoisted him. "Uff da! He's getting heavy!"

"And has a big appetite," the farm-wife growled. "Tell your father I'd better see that goat in my yard or I'll take him before the sheriff."

"We can't!" Birgit cried. "He doesn't know we come to cuddle."

Sveinung snugged his sister close to his side, folding the baby, too, into his comforting arms. "He'd forbid, if he found out."

Or worse. All the children at Brekke knew his belt better than they wished.

"Well, Ting it is then. Sheriff and judge and all. Don't look so scared. Just him, not you. Buck up now. I won't mention your visits."

.

At Ting, Hard Knut of Brekke swore up and down he'd made no promise of pay, and the farm-wife could produce no witnesses to support her claim. The disgruntled woman went home with neither goat nor baby, and little Talleiv, back in his invalid mother's arms, had a quick weaning from wet nurse to goat's milk.

.

BEHIND THE SCENES

Talleiv was the last baby born to Guro and Knut.

In this dramatized version of the life of my ancestors, the names and ages of the siblings at Brekke farm come from parish records. However, all details of Talleiv's birth and Guro's illness are products of the author's imagination.

Ting is a local assembly of law, a custom dating back to the viking age.