A FIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
That was a dangerous corner, where the wide street leading to the
grammar school crossed the narrow one that led to the board school; and,
on the days when the afternoon hours for the latter began just when the
grammar school's long morning was over, it might happen that the free,
exuberant spirits of those who were leaving school came into collision
with the heavier and more bitter mood of those who were on their way to
it.
Ludvig Veyergang, with his sealskin satchel on his back, had already
travelled this road for several years. He had been nicknamed the
Ostrich, because of his little head with the bird-like nose, his long
bare neck, and the way he walked. When he met Nikolai, he pretended not
to know him, and Nikolai whistled and clattered with his shoes on the
pavement.
The board school's new slide ran along the gutter a good way out into
the grammar school street. It was the product of the joint work of many
for a whole week, and fate willed that Nikolai, at the head of a string
of comrades, should come full speed down it, hallooing and shouting,
just as Ludvig Veyergang and a few others came round the corner. Young
Veyergang received a push that made him drop his pencil-case; and pens,
lead and slate pencils lay strewn over the ground.
"Pick them up, you beggar!" he cried to Nikolai, for it was he who had
knocked up against him. "I shall tell about you at home, you may be
pretty sure. Pick them up, or--"
A kick sent a few loose lumps of snow in answer.
"You shall be made to bend soon enough, if that's what you want. Father
shall be told, this very day, that you are the leader of the street cads
in the town; and if no one else will tell your mother about it, I'll
tell her myself, however much she cries!"
"Do you want to have your ostrich-beak pulled?"
"You'd better try it on! Perhaps you don't know that we pay for you at
the blockmaker's. But I'll take care that you get thrashed until you beg
my pardon: a fellow who doesn't even know who his father is, and his
mother only wishes he had never been born!"
The last words were hardly out of his mouth when Nikolai sprang upon him
with both fists like a pair of sledge-hammers, and for a few blissful
seconds hammered out every trace of difference in birth and position.
Now he should feel "both his father and his mother!"
It was one of the board school's memorable and famous days, when the
wine was tapped from Ludvig Veyergang's nose in the snow; and even the
next day at dinner-time, two or three school classes of interested
spectators were searching for traces of red spots in the snow by the
lamp-post.
But, though he enjoyed great honour and admiration during the whole
afternoon at school, Nikolai knew that at home he would meet with an
utterly different interpretation of the event, news of which the Holmans
must already have received, surely and promptly, from the Veyergangs.
As he neared home, he went slower and slower. The thought of what might
await him, made his feet grow heavier and heavier, and when he had
separated from his last companion, he suddenly stopped and turned down
by the chandler's, where the street led away from, and not towards his
home.
* * * * *
It was now the third night Nikolai had been away, explained Mrs. Holman
to the policeman outside; and it was not much wonder if he expected the
reward he deserved, and felt his back smart. Lay hands on better
people's children! And the son of Consul Veyergang, his own benefactor,
too!
But where could he be? He could not possibly be in the timber-yard now,
at this time of year.
His stronghold was not easy to hit upon either, for it was something
very like looking in her own pocket. In common with other evil-doers,
Nikolai was driven by an irresistible desire--like moths that flutter
round a candle--to hide himself as near as possible to the place of his
fear and dread, where Mrs. Holman was, and where he could catch a
glimpse of Silla.
Holman lay at night and felt, through his intoxication, that things were
going wrong with Nikolai. He heard it dripping and dripping in the thaw
outside--splash, splash! The sound came in a monotonous chant:
Ni-ko-lai, Ni-ko-lai.
He would ruin his health out there!
With sudden energy he sat up in bed. Where else would Nikolai be than
under the old carriage hood that stood in the loft over the coach-house,
mouldy and dropping to pieces with its opening towards the wall?
It was in the light of this idea that he rushed out.
Nikolai never felt the blockmaker's hand; he still slept on happily, as
it lifted him up by the coat collar.
It was only when he stood erect on both feet that he grasped the
situation, and threw himself down again, kicking and screaming. He would
not go home, they might kill him first, or take off his head!
The heels of his boots made it evident both to sight and feeling that he
meant it: he was utterly beside himself.
Only let Holman get him inside the door, and the strap should dance!
Holman had worked himself up into a state of excitement.
Mrs. Holman was waiting in the doorway with a candle. By its light she
saw an ashy pale face, with eyes staring at her, and at the same time
heard the words: "You won't get me in! If I was born in the street, I
can live in the street!" She caught a glance from the sharp, defiant
grey eyes--then out of the blockmaker's hands, out of the gate, and he
was gone!
The blows on Ludvig's nose had gone to Barbara's heart. But when she
heard that Nikolai had run away from the Holmans' and that there was
some talk of getting him into an institute for morally depraved
children, there was crying and weeping. She had had shame enough with
the boy, and this she could not survive! Her mistress must prevent it.
She was conscious of having done her duty and more than her duty all
these years that she had been Ludvig and Lizzie's nurse, but she could
not put up with this! Her mistress must prevent it, or she did not know
what she might do, or what might happen: she felt quite capable of
leaving them.
Barbara sat sighing and weeping in the nursery, until the children were
almost afraid to go in.
Such attacks generally lasted, at the most, one day; but this one had
now been going on for three, and was disturbing the comfort of the
house. Then Mrs. Veyergang got one of her headaches, and was going to
have an afternoon nap, her accustomed cure, during which everything must
be kept perfectly quiet around her.
It was Barbara who generally guarded her slumbers by going hushing and
quieting right out into the kitchen, and keeping watch at the door into
the passage. But now she only sat in her room sobbing.
It did surprise her a little that her mistress lay so quiet all the time
without calling her. On the other hand, she rather enjoyed the sentence
she was carrying out. Her mistress should know what opposing her meant,
even if it were to last the whole week.
It grew dark, and still her mistress lay there. She lay until the Consul
came driving home towards evening; and she did not even ring for lights
when she got up.
It was with a shawl about her head and a face red with weeping, that
Mrs. Veyergang received her husband that evening; she was in a violently
excited state of mind, and her voice quite trembled.
She wanted nothing less than that he should give Barbara warning.
A tyranny existed in the house that was quite unparalleled--had existed
for several years--and if she had put up with it without
complaining--her husband knew that she had never complained--it was for
the children's sake. But it was really unnecessary now, and "it may be
just as well to seize the opportunity; she has become far, far too
overbearing in the house!"
It was a matter of course that the warning was given in the most
appreciative and considerate, although firmly decisive manner. The whole
circle of Mrs. Veyergang's acquaintance agreed that they had all
expected that the Veyergangs would really one day part with that
pampered creature!
The only person who was thoroughly astonished and quite stunned, as if
by a thunder-clap, was Barbara herself; and for a long time she could
not understand that she, the Veyergangs' Barbara, had actually received
warning to leave Ludvig and Lizzie and the house where she had been so
indispensable.
She went about with a solemn, injured air, and expected that a change of
decision would some day take place. Then she became humble to her
mistress, and wept before the children.
But there was always only the same kindness, which ever clenched the
dismissal more firmly.
And now her mistress began to talk about a substantial acknowledgement
of her services with which the Consul would present her on her
departure.
In indignation Barbara tied the strings of her best bonnet beneath her
chin, and with offended dignity requested permission to go into town.
Her mistress was to know the meaning of this when she returned later in
the day. It was nothing less than that it was her fixed, resolute
purpose to offer herself to others who would appreciate her better than
the Veyergangs did.
She directed her wrathful steps straight to Scheele, the magistrate's
house: they had four children, and were looking for a nurse. They were
the Consul's most intimate friends, where she would only need to present
herself, and they would jump at the opportunity. How often the
magistrate's wife had praised her management, and talked condescendingly
to her, when they had dined at the Veyergangs on Sundays! She had more
than once thought Mrs. Veyergang fortunate in having such a treasure in
the house, and sighed over her own inability to find just such another.
But--how unfortunate it was--Mrs. Scheele was extremely sorry--they had
just engaged another nurse!
"Fancy!" exclaimed Mrs. Scheele, when her husband came down from his
office, "there is a revolution at the Veyergangs', and that high and
mighty Nurse Barbara has got her dismissal. She has been here and
offered herself to us. I wouldn't have that pampered creature at any
price!"
Barbara walked a long way that day and to the best houses. On a large
sheet of paper, folded in three, she had the Consul-General's long and
excellent testimonial to exhibit; moreover she was fully conscious of
the extent to which she was known. But though she stood so large and
erect and smart at the door, and comported herself so well, there was no
one who could make any use of her!
And late in the evening, later than was needful, as she did not wish to
show herself, she came home again, disappointed and weary.
It really seemed as if all the celebrity she had acquired during all
these years, all her fidelity, all her prestige as nurse at the
Veyergangs, was to vanish at one stroke into thin air!
Deeply hurt as she was after her unlucky expedition, it was remarkable
that no one in the house asked her how she had got on--though there were
plenty of mischievous glances from her fellow-servants, whose standing
with their mistress had depended for so many years upon her. And
whenever she tried to broach the subject with Mrs. Veyergang, the latter
always turned the conversation--indeed, once she even dismissed the
subject, saying that Barbara must know that she never meddled with such
things.
But the kindness increased as the day of her departure approached.
Barbara began to perceive how this screw of kindness, that turned so
gently, was screwing her farther and farther out of the house. The
Consul had Nikolai placed on trial as apprentice in a smithy down by the
crane, and from Mrs. Veyergang she received one thing after another, as
remembrances. But when, one day, the Consul--very thoughtfully--made her
a present of one of his old travelling trunks, she let her large, heavy
person sink down upon its lid, completely overwhelmed. She could not
bring herself to think, had never believed, that the day would come when
she must part from her mistress and Ludvig and Lizzie--it would kill
her!
This was a direct appeal to the Consul himself, but the answer was not
exactly as Barbara wished. He patted her on the shoulder, saying:
"I'm glad, my dear Barbara, that you feel that you have been well off."
When she went into the Consul's office for a settlement and to receive
her savings-bank book--the amount it contained was a hundred and
fourteen specie-dollars, a result, the Consul said, with which she ought
to be thoroughly satisfied, when she considered the great expense she
had been put to with Nikolai--she declared her intention of resting for
a time before she went out to service again, and had made arrangements
to lodge with a farmer out in the country: she had now been toiling for
others for fourteen years!
The last evening, which she had dreaded so, went more easily than she
had expected. The Consul and his wife were invited to the Willocks'
country-house in the afternoon with the children, so the farewell could
only be a short one, before they got into the carriage.
She was left standing with the feeling of Lizzie's soft fur, which she
had stroked, in her fingers.