him. Engaerd--wasnot that a little cabin where a poor widow with five children had lived?The widow had owed his father a few hundred kroner and in order to getback his money he had sold her cabin. After that the widow, with herthree eldest children, went to Norrland to seek employment, and the twoyoungest became a charge on the parish.
As he called this to mind he grew bitter. He knew that his father hadbeen severely censured for squeezing out that money, which by rightbelonged to him.
"What are you doing nowadays?" he asked in a cross tone. "Didn't theboard of charities take charge of you? Why do you roam around and beg?"
"It's not our fault," replied the larger girl. "The people with whom weare living have sent us out to beg."
"Well, your packs are filled," the farmer observed, "so you can'tcomplain. Now you'd better take out some of the food you have with youand eat your fill, for here you'll get no food, as all the women folkare in bed. Later you may lie down in the corner by the hearth, so youwon't have to freeze."
He waved his hand, as if to ward them off, and his eyes took on a hardlook. He was thankful that he had had a father who had been careful ofhis property. Otherwise, he might perhaps have been forced in childhoodto run about and beg, as these children now did.
No sooner had he thought this out to the end than the shrill, mockingvoice he had heard once before that evening repeated it, word for word.
He listened, and at once understood that it was nothing--only the windroaring in the chimney. But the queer thing about it was, when the windrepeated his thoughts, they seemed so strangely stupid and hard andfalse!
The children meanwhile had stretched themselves, side by side, on thefloor. They were not quiet, but lay there muttering.
"Do be still, won't you?" he growled, for he was in such an irritablemood that he could have beaten them.
But the mumbling continued, and again he called for silence.
"When mother went away," piped a clear little voice, "she made mepromise that every night I would say my evening prayer. I must do this,and Britta Maja too. As soon as we have said 'God who cares for littlechildren--' we'll be quiet."
The master sat quite still while the little ones said their prayers,then he rose and began pacing back and forth, back and forth, wringinghis hands all the while, as though he had met with some great sorrow.
"The horse driven out and wrecked, these two children turned into roadbeggars--both father's doings! Perhaps father did not do right afterall?" he thought.
He sat down again and buried his head in his hands. Suddenly his lipsbegan to quiver and into his eyes came tears, which he hastily wipedaway. Fresh tears came, and he was just as prompt to brush these away;but it was useless, for more followed.
When his mother stepped into the room, he swung his chair quickly andturned his back to her. She must have noticed something unusual, for shestood quietly behind him a long while, as if waiting for him to speak.She realized how difficult it always is for men to talk of the thingsthey feel most deeply. She must help him of course.
From her bedroom she had observed all that had taken place in the livingroom, so that she did not have to ask questions. She walked very softlyover to the two sleeping children, lifted them, and bore them to her ownbed. Then she went back to her son.
"Lars," she said, as if she did not see that he was weeping, "you hadbetter let me keep these children."
"What, mother?" he gasped, trying to smother the sobs.
"I have been suffering for years--ever since father took the cabin fromtheir mother, and so have you."
"Yes, but--"
"I want to keep them here and make something of them; they are too goodto beg."
He could not speak, for now the tears were beyond his control; but hetook his old mother's withered hand and patted it.
Then he jumped up, as if something had frightened him.
"What would father have said of this?"
"Father had his day at ruling," retorted the mother. "Now it is yourday. As long as father lived we had to obey him. Now is the time to showwhat you are."
Her son was so astonished that he ceased crying.
"But I have just shown what I am!" he returned.
"No, you haven't," protested the mother. "You only try to be like him.Father experienced hard times, which made him fear poverty. He believedthat he had to think of himself first. But you have never had anydifficulties that should make you hard. You have more than you need, andit would be unnatural of you not to think of others."
When the two little girls entered the house the boy slipped in behindthem and secreted himself in a dark corner. He had not been there longbefore he caught a glimpse of the shed key, which the farmer had thrustinto his coat pocket.
"When the master of the house drives the children out, I'll take the keyand ran," he thought.
But the children were not driven out and the boy crouched in the corner,not knowing what he should do next.
The mother talked long with her son, and while she was speaking hestopped weeping. Gradually his features softened; he looked like anotherperson. All the while he was stroking the wasted old hand.
"Now we may as well retire," said the old lady when she saw that he wascalm again.
"No," he said, suddenly rising, "I cannot retire yet. There's a strangerwithout whom I must shelter to-night!"
He said nothing further, but quickly drew on his coat, lit the lanternand went out. There were the same wind and chill without, but as hestepped to the porch he began to sing softly. He wondered if the horsewould know him, and if he would be glad to come back to his old stable.
As he crossed the house yard he heard a door slam.
"That shed door has blown open again," he thought, and went over toclose it.
A moment later he stood by the shed and was just going to shut the door,when he heard a rustling within.
The boy, who had watched his opportunity, had run directly to the shed,where he left the animals, but they were no longer out in the rain: Astrong wind had long since thrown open the door and helped them to get aroof over their heads. The patter which the master heard was occasionedby the boy running into the shed.
By the light of the lantern the man could see into the shed. The wholefloor was covered with sleeping cattle. There was no human being to beseen; the animals were not bound, but were lying, here and there, in thestraw.
He was enraged at the intrusion and began storming and shrieking torouse the sleepers and drive them out. But the creatures lay still andwould not let themselves be disturbed. The only one that rose was an oldhorse that came slowly toward him.
All of a sudden the man became silent. He recognized the beast by itsgait. He raised the lantern, and the horse came over and laid its headon his shoulder. The master patted and stroked it.
"My old horsy, my old horsy!" he said. "What have they done to you? Yes,dear, I'll buy you back. You'll never again have to leave this place.You shall do whatever you like, horsy mine! Those whom you have broughtwith you may remain here, but you shall come with me to the stable. NowI can give you all the oats you are able to eat, without having tosmuggle them. And you're not all used up, either! The handsomest horseon the church knoll--that's what you shall be once more! There, there!There, there!"
THE BREAKING UP OF THE ICE
_Thursday, April twenty-eighth_.
The following day the weather was clear and beautiful. There was astrong west wind; people were glad of that, for it dried up the roads,which had been soaked by the heavy rains of the day before.
Early in the morning the two Smaland children, Osa, the goose girl, andlittle Mats, were out on the highway leading from Soermland to Naerke. Theroad ran alongside the southern shore of Hjaelmar Lake and the childrenwere walking along looking at the ice, which covered the greater part ofit. The morning sun darted its clear rays upon the ice, which did notlook dark and forbidding, like most spring ice, but sparkled temptingly.As far as they could see, the ice was firm and dry. The rain had rundown into cracks and
hollows, or been absorbed by the ice itself. Thechildren saw only the sound ice.
Osa, the goose girl, and little Mats were on their way North, and theycould not help thinking of all the steps they would be saved if theycould cut straight across the lake instead of going around it. Theyknew, to be sure, that spring ice is treacherous, but this lookedperfectly secure. They could see that it was several inches thick nearthe shore. They saw a path which they might follow, and the oppositeshore appeared to be so near that they ought to be able to get there inan hour.
"Come, let's try!" said little Mats. "If we only look before us, so thatwe don't go down into some hole, we can do it."
So they went out on the lake. The ice was not very slippery, but rathereasy to walk upon. There was more water on it than they expected to
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