_Birkebeineren_ sailed, and Abrahamsen with her, leaving Soren at home to his fate. The potato-planting was shelved for the time being, as were the various other little jobs Cilia had mentioned; her one idea now was that he should appear as a gentleman of leisure, which Soren was unfeignedly content to do. In order, however, that he should not find the life too monotonous, she found him an occupation which to her idea was not incompatible with the dignity of a shipowner he was to look after Fagerlin. Fagerlin was the big brindled cow, and at present, being summertime, was allowed to take the air in the garden. Soren was accordingly charged to see that Fagerlin behaved herself, and did not eat up the carrots or the tiger lilies. Soren found the work comparable to that of the local customs officer, consisting as it did for the most part in sitting on a bench and smoking, with back numbers of the _Shipping Gazette_ to while away the time.
Cilia, however, was still constantly occupied in finding further means whereby the family might attain that position of importance and consideration in local society which, she was forced to admit, was lacking at present.
In this she found an unexpected ally in the person of Lieutenant Heidt, the magistrate's son, an old acquaintance from the days when Cilia had been parlourmaid at the house. True, he had been but a little boy at the time, but they had never quite lost sight of each other, and had grown most intimate, especially of late, since Cilia had taken to lending him money, in secret.
Lt. Heidt was of opinion that Soren ought to go off to some health resort; it was customary among people of the better class, he declared, to suffer from gout, or insomnia, or some such fashionable ailment, necessitating a few weeks' cure at one of the recognised establishments every summer. "And they put it in the papers, you know, who's there; it would look quite nice, say, in the _Morning News_, to see Shipowner Braathen, of Strandvik, was recuperating at So-and-so."
Cilia found the suggestion excellent, and began hinting to Soren that he was suffering from sleeplessness and gout. Soren was astounded, and indeed was disposed to regard the insinuation of sleeplessness as a piece of sarcasm, in view of the fact that he regularly took a couple of hours' nap each day irrespective of his customary ten hours at night. His protests, however, were in vain; he must go to Sandefjord, whether he liked it or not.