All the new settlers that spring, with the exception of Torkel

Tallaksen, built sod houses; but he had vaster plans in mind. He set

up a tent, hitched his four horses to the breaking plow, worked like

a beaver, and soon had broken a big field, considering the fact that

he had just arrived. He had brought seed enough with him to plant the

whole area. Rumours began to spread in the settlement about his plans;

when he was done seeding he proposed to go to Worthington after lumber;

both his living house and barn were to be built this summer.... Per

Hansa listened to these rumours and cocked his head on one side, but

made no comment.

One day just as they were sitting down to the noon meal at Per

Hansa’s, Torkel Tallaksen swaggered in and asked in a loud voice if he

could hire Per Hansa and the oxen to go to Worthington with him for

building materials? All the other neighbours were going, too.... “You

folks have been here so long now, and have got such a good start that

you can afford to lend a hand to a poor devil who is just starting

in! I need all the critters that can crawl, with me. I’ll pay you in

either work or cash—but I prefer cash, for then it’s over with!... No,

thank you, I’m not going to sit down; I just stepped in on my way to

your neighbours’.... Fine fields you’ve got on this side of the creek.

You ought to get a fairly decent harvest, considering.... How big is

that field of yours, anyway?... Good Lord! Not more than that in a

whole year?... Well, I’ll give you a tip—oxen aren’t any good; they’re

too slow for the way things go nowadays.... Fine-looking house you’ve

got, inside, but sod houses aren’t much better than dugouts—in some

ways, really not so good.... For my part, I am through with such poor

makeshifts.... Well, can I count on you, then?” ... Tallaksen referred

to this trip as airily as if he were asking for a match.

“Are you going to build?” Per Hansa asked, quietly.

“You bet I am. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? If I’m to stay

here, I intend to live like a human being!” ... And now he began

outlining his building plans and explaining them at length.... “Oh yes,

there’s a lot to do before I get everything ready; but I intend to hire

plenty of help and get it done in a jiffy. See? I’ve come out here to

_break prairie_, I want you to know.... If crops turn out decently

this year, I’ll snap up one more quarter by fall, or perhaps two.

Really”—here the man grew confidential—“I don’t see any nameable reason

why a smart man couldn’t farm a whole section of land like this—or even

more. Why, you’ve only got to put the plow into the level prairie!...

But first of all, I want to build a decent house; the painting I’ll let

go until fall.” ... His voice flowed on in such a steady stream that no

one else could get in a word edgewise.

“You’re going to _paint_?” Per Hansa asked, and got up from the

table abruptly. He was breathing fast.

“Paint? Why, certainly! It would never do to let a house stand

unpainted in this climate. It wouldn’t look well, either.”

A look of innocent curiosity rested on Beret’s face as she listened to

the great plans being unfolded before her. She seemed lost in thought,

and asked in a quiet tone if it were really true that he intended

to build a home like that—now, at once, this summer? It would be a

fine thing, she added—and there was a note of wistful gladness in her

voice—to see a real house once more. It would make the desert look

brighter....

At that Torkel Tallaksen had to laugh outright; he had never seen such

a houseful of moles! Here he had been explaining till he was hoarse,

but apparently they hadn’t understood one word of it! What was the use

of wasting more breath on them?... He turned to go.

“Well,” he said to Per Hansa in an important voice, “can I count on you

for the trip?”

Per Hansa paused over his answer. They were all looking at him

inquiringly when he spoke:

“It seems to me,” he began, quietly, “that you are starting from the

wrong end.” Again he paused, for he found it hard to choose his words.

“If you would take the money that you intend to spend in building and

put it into cattle and horses and machinery, and hire help enough to

run them, then the devil himself couldn’t keep up with you. In a few

years you’d be the king of all of us—though God knows we’d much rather

have another. But this I tell you, now”—prophetic power rang in Per

Hansa’s voice—“if you start from the other end and do as you’ve been

proposing, then you and I will fight—yes, you and I!—for both the

scepter and the crown ... though all I’ve got now, God knows, is a pair

of pants and a yoke of oxen!” ...

Torkel Tallaksen laughed overbearingly. “One doesn’t need to live in

a gopher hole, in order to get ahead!... Here, too, will have to come

decency and civilized living.”

The words stung Per Hansa like a whip lash; in his effort to

control himself he felt in his pocket for a match, found one, and

hurled it to the floor.... “We’ll get our decency and civilized living

all right—even if you should go back where you came from!... And now

let me tell you one thing more—it’s better to begin in a gopher hole

than to end in one.” ...

Before Torkel Tallaksen was able to collect himself for a reply, Beret

said, slowly, as if thinking aloud, but in a manner that compelled

attention:

“Your wife certainly will have many reasons to be glad. Walls that will

shut out all the unspeakable things out here ... floors that can be

washed on the Sabbath eve.... I know too well that human beings should

not live like beasts! After they have turned into beasts, houses don’t

matter.” ...

Torkel Tallaksen looked at the woman as if he had discovered her for

the first time.... Uh-huh, he nodded; here’s the common sense of this

outfit!... “Right you are, and no doubt about it! I wouldn’t live like

this for all the prairie land in the whole of Dakota Territory.... But

now things are going to be different, if I have anything to say about

it. We’re going to build houses that can stand up and be seen; people

won’t need to wonder whether this is a settlement or a gopher camp!”

Suddenly a fresh idea seemed to strike him: “Perhaps you’d like to help

my wife weave a few carpets? She’s all the time talking about carpets,

and I suppose she must have ’em.... They save the floors, too.”

“I would be glad to try,” said Beret, humbly. “One ought to help

another get what she cannot have for herself.... I think it would be

interesting work.”

As he listened to his wife, Per Hansa was fumbling in his pocket for

another match; at last he brought it out, struck it on the table, and

held it until it burned down to the end. The room was swimming before

his eyes; words floated across his vision—words that he longed to use;

he reached out for them, but they melted into the air; what Beret had

said had driven them away.... Per Hansa sat down heavily on the chest,

his face pale and drawn.

“All right—that’s settled, then!” said Torkel Tallaksen. Then he

turned to Per Hansa: “We start the day after to-morrow. I’m counting on

you, remember—you and the oxen.... You’ll be needing some one to haul

for you pretty soon, when you once get on your feet.”

Silence fell on the room. The man stood there, waiting for an answer.

“You’d better count over again!” Per Hansa growled. Without another

word he sprang up from the chest and left the house. In a gruff voice

he called to the oxen. That day he kept on breaking as long as he could

see. When he unhitched at last he walked in slowly from the field,

stooping over in thought; he could hardly bring himself to going home.

What business had he there—what earthly business?... The sod house and

all it contained lay in a great darkness, yet he was drawn toward it

irresistibly....

... Perhaps it was true? What she had said might be more than half

right—everything here was a failure, and he himself was no good....

A thought cut him to the very quick: “That’s the reward you get for

fighting and striving—she says you are no good!” ... To think that she

hadn’t felt ashamed, that she had been willing to lay bare her troubles

to that infernal blabberer and braggart!... Had she lost all sense of

propriety?... “Oh, hell! Get up, there!” he ripped out to the oxen.

But as it transpired, Torkel Tallaksen’s great plans ran up against a

snag. Tönseten didn’t care to go along unless Per Hansa went, for he

was fully occupied with his own affairs. And the Solum boys were not

overly enthusiastic; they were busy breaking prairie when Tallaksen

came, and answered him that they would see how the others felt about

it, and let him know. It finally developed that Torkel Tallaksen

could engage only two men and two teams, which weren’t enough to haul

home all the materials for a whole farmstead. And so, in the face of

the inevitable, Torkel Tallaksen had to give up building for that

summer.... Thus it happened that before the fall set in, another sod

hut stuck its head above the waving grass of the prairie.

V

That summer many land seekers passed through the settlement on their

way west. The arrival of a caravan was always an event of the greatest

importance. How exciting they were, those little ships of the Great

Plain! The prairie schooners, rigged with canvas tops which gleamed

whitely in the shimmering light, first became visible as tiny specks

against the eastern sky; one might almost imagine them to be sea gulls

perched far, far away on an endless green meadow; but as one continued

to watch, the white dots grew; they came drifting across the prairie

like the day; after long waiting, they gradually floated out of the

haze, distinct and clear; then, as they drew near, they proved to be

veritable wagons, with horses hitched ahead, with folk and all their

possessions inside, and a whole herd of cattle following behind.

The caravan would crawl slowly into the settlement and come to anchor

in front of one of the sod houses; the moment it halted, people would

swarm down and stretch themselves and begin to look after the teams;

cattle would bellow; sheep would bleat as they ran about. Many queer

races and costumes were to be seen in these caravans, and a babble of

strange tongues shattered the air. Nut-brown youngsters, dressed only

in a shirt and a pair of pants, would fly around between the huts,

looking for other youngsters; an infant, its mother crooning softly to

it, would sit securely perched in the fold of her arm; white-haired old

men and women, who should have been living quietly at home, preparing

for a different journey, were also to be seen in the group, running

about like youngsters; the daily jogging from sky line to sky line had

brightened their eyes and quickened their tongues. All were busy; each

had a thousand questions to ask; every last one of them was in high

spirits, though they knew no other home than the wagon and the blue

skies above.... The Lord only could tell whence all these people had

come and whither they were going!...

The caravan usually intended to stop only long enough for the women

folk to boil coffee and get a fresh supply of water; but the

starting was always delayed, for the men had so many questions to ask.

Once in a while during these halts a fiddler would bring out his fiddle

and play a tune or two, and then there would be dancing. Such instances

were rare, but good cheer and excitement invariably accompanied these

visits.

—Why not settle right here? The Spring Creek folk would ask the

west-movers.... There’s plenty of good land left—nothing better to be

found between here and the Pacific Ocean!

—No, not yet. They weren’t quite ready to settle; these parts looked

fairly crowded.... The farther west, the better.... They guessed they

would have to go on a way, though this really looked pretty good!...

And so the caravans would roll onward into the green stillness of the

west. How strange—they vanished faster than they had appeared! The

white sails grew smaller and smaller in the glow of the afternoon,

until they had dwindled to nothing; the eye might seek them out

there in the waning day, and search till it grew blurred, but all in

vain—they were gone, and had left no trace!...

* * * * *

Foggy weather had now been hanging over the prairie for three whole

days; a warm mist of rain mizzled continuously out of the low sky.

Toward evening of the third day, the fog lifted and clear sky again

appeared; the setting sun burst through the cloud banks rolling up

above the western horizon, and transformed them into marvellous fairy

castles.... While this was going on, over to the northeast of the

Solum boys’ place a lonely wagon had crept into sight; it had almost

reached the creek before anyone had noticed it, for the Solum boys were

visiting among the Sognings, where there were many young people. But as

Beret sat out in the yard, milking, the wagon crossed her view. When

she brought in the milk, she remarked in her quiet manner that they

were going to have company, at which tidings the rest of the family had

to run out and see who might be coming at this time of day.

There was only one wagon, with two cows following behind; on the left

side walked a brown-whiskered, stooping man—he was doing the

driving; close behind him came a half-grown boy, dragging his feet

heavily. The wagon at last crawled up the hill and came to a stop in

Per Hansa’s yard, where the whole family stood waiting.

“I don’t suppose there are any Norwegians in this settlement. No, that

would be too much to expect,” said the man in a husky, worn-out voice.

“If you’re looking for Norwegians, you have found the right place, all

right! We sift the people as they pass through here—keep our own, and

let the others go!” ... Per Hansa wanted to run on, for he felt in high

spirits; but he checked himself, observing that the man looked as if he

stood on the very brink of the grave.

—Was there any chance of putting up here for the night?

“Certainly! certainly!” cried Per Hansa, briskly, “provided they were

willing to take things as they were.”

The man didn’t answer, but walked instead to the wagon and spoke to

some one inside:

“Kari, now you must brace up and come down. Here we have found

Norwegians at last!” As if fearing a contradiction, he added: “Ya, they

are real Norwegians. I’ve talked with them.”

On top of his words there came out of the wagon, first a puny boy with

a hungry face, somewhat smaller than the other boy; then a girl of

about the same size, but looking much older. She helped to get down

another boy, about six years old, who evidently had been sleeping and

looked cross and tired. That seemed to be all.

The man stepped closer to the wagon. “Aren’t you coming, Kari?”

A groan sounded within the canvas. The girl grabbed hold of her

father’s arm. “You must untie the rope! Can’t you remember _anything_?”

she whispered, angrily.

“Ya, that’s right! Wait a minute till I come and help you.”

An irresistible curiosity took hold of Per Hansa; in two jumps he stood

on the tongue of the wagon. The sight that met his eyes sent chills

running down his spine. Inside sat a woman on a pile of clothes,

with her back against a large immigrant chest; around her wrists and

leading to the handles of the chest a strong rope was tied; her face

was drawn and unnatural. Per Hansa trembled so violently that he had

to catch hold of the wagon box, but inwardly he was swearing a steady

stream. To him it looked as if the woman was crucified.

... “For God’s sake, man!” ...

The stranger paid no attention; he was pottering about and pleading:

“Come down now, Kari.... Ya, all right, I’ll help you! Everything’s

going to be all right—I know it will!... Can you manage to get up?” He

had untied the rope, and the woman had risen to her knees.

“O God!” she sighed, putting her hands to her head.

“Please come. That’s right; I’ll help you!” pleaded the man, as if he

were trying to persuade a child.

She came down unsteadily. “Is this the place, Jakob?” she asked in

a bewildered way. But now Beret ran up and put her arm around her;

the women looked into each other’s eyes and instantly a bond of

understanding had been established. “You come with me!” urged Beret....

“O God! This isn’t the place, either!” wailed the woman; but she

followed Beret submissively into the house.

“Well, well!” sighed the man as he began to unhitch the horses. “Life

isn’t easy—no, it certainly isn’t.” ...

Per Hansa watched him anxiously, hardly knowing what to do. Both the

boys kept close to him. Then an idea flashed through his mind: “You

boys run over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him not to go to bed until

I come.... No, I don’t want him here. And you two stay over there

to-night. Now run along!”

Turning to the man, he asked, “Aren’t there any more in your party?”

“No, not now. We were five, you see, to begin with—five in all—but the

others had to go on.... Haven’t they been by here yet? Well, they must

be somewhere over to the westward.... No, life isn’t easy.” ... The man

wandered on in his monotonous, blurred tone; he sounded all the

time as if he were half sobbing.

“Where do you come from?” Per Hansa demanded, gruffly.

The man didn’t give a direct answer, but continued to ramble on in the

same mournful way, stretching his story out interminably.... They had

been wandering over the prairie for nearly six weeks.... Ya, it was a

hard life. When they had started from Houston County, Minnesota, there

had been five wagons in all. Strange that the others hadn’t turned up

here. Where could they be? It seemed to him as if he had travelled far

enough to reach the ends of the earth!... Good God, what a nightmare

life was! If he had only—only known...!

“Did the others go away and _leave you_?” Per Hansa hadn’t intended to

ask that question, but it had slipped out before he realized what he

was saying. He wondered if there could be anything seriously wrong....

“They couldn’t possibly wait for us—couldn’t have been expected to.

Everything went wrong, you see, and I didn’t know when I would be able

to start again.... Turn the horses loose, John,” he said to the boy.

“Take the pail and see if you can squeeze some milk out of the cows.

Poor beasts, they don’t give much now!” Then he turned to Per Hansa

again: “I don’t know what would have become of us if we hadn’t reached

this place to-night! We’d have been in a bad hole, that I assure you!

Women folk can’t bear up....” The man stopped and blew his nose.

Per Hansa dreaded what might be coming next. “You must have got off

your course, since you are coming down from the north?”

The man shook his head helplessly. “To tell the truth, I don’t know

where we’ve been these last few days. We couldn’t see the sun.”

“Haven’t you got a compass?”

“Compass? No! I tried to steer with a rope, but the one I had wasn’t

long enough.”

“Like hell you did!” exclaimed Per Hansa, excitedly, full of a

sudden new interest.

“Ya, I tried that rope idea—hitched it to the back of the wagon, and

let it drag in the wet grass. But it didn’t work—I couldn’t steer

straight with it. The rope was so short, and kept kinking around so

much, that it didn’t leave any wake.”

“Uh-huh!” nodded Per Hansa wisely. “You must be a seafaring man, to

have tried that trick!”

“No, I’m no sailor. But fisher-folk out here have told me that it’s

possible to steer by a rope.... I had to try _something_.”

“Where did you cross the Sioux?”

“How do I know where I crossed it? We came to a river a long way to

the east of here—that must have been the Sioux. We hunted and hunted

before we could find a place shallow enough to cross.... God! this has

certainly been a wandering in the desert for me!... But if Kari only

gets better, I won’t complain—though I never dreamed that life could be

so hard.” ...

“Is she—is she _sick_, that woman of yours?”

The man did not answer this question immediately; he wiped his face

with the sleeve of his shirt. When he spoke again, his voice had grown

even more blurred and indistinct: “Physically she seems to be as well

as ever—as far as I can see. She certainly hasn’t overworked since

we’ve been travelling. I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.... But

certain things are hard to bear—I suppose it’s worse for the mother,

too—though the Lord knows it hasn’t been easy for me, either!... You

see, we had to leave our youngest boy out there on the prairie....”

“_Leave_ him?” ... These were the only two words that came to Per

Hansa’s mind.

“Ya, there he lies, our little boy!... I never saw a more promising

man—you know what I mean—when he grew up.... But now—oh, well....”

Per Hansa felt faint in the pit of his stomach; his throat grew dry;

his voice became as husky as that of the other; he came close up to

him. “Tell me—how did this happen?”

The man shook his head again, in a sort of dumb despair. Then

he cleared his throat and continued with great effort: “I can’t tell

how it happened! Fate just willed it so. Such things are not to be

explained.... The boy had been ailing for some time—we knew that, but

didn’t pay much attention. We had other things to think of.... Then

he began to fail fast. We were only one day’s journey this side of

Jackson; so we went back. That was the time when the others left us.

I don’t blame them much—it was uncertain when we could go on.... The

doctor we found wasn’t a capable man—I realize it now. He spoke only

English and couldn’t understand what I was saying. He had no idea what

was wrong with the boy—I could see that plainly enough.... Ya, well—so

we started again.... It isn’t any use to fight against Fate; that’s

an old saying, and a true one, too, I guess.... Before long we saw

that the boy wasn’t going to recover. So we hurried on, day and night,

trying to catch our neighbours.... Well, that’s about all of it. One

night he was gone—just as if you had blown out a candle. Ya, let me

see—that was five nights ago.”

“Have you got him there in the wagon?” demanded Per Hansa, grabbing the

man by the arm.

“No, no,” he muttered, huskily. “We buried him out there by a big

stone—no coffin or anything. But Kari took the best skirt she had and

wrapped it all around him—we had to do _something_, you know.... But,”

he continued, suddenly straightening up, “Paul cannot lie there! As

soon as I find my neighbours, I’ll go and get him. Otherwise Kari....”

The man paused between the sobs that threatened to choke him. “I have

had to tie her up the last few days. She insisted on getting out and

going back to Paul. I don’t think she has had a wink of sleep for over

a week.... It’s just as I was saying—some people can’t stand things.”

...

Per Hansa leaned heavily against the wagon. “Has she gone crazy?” he

asked, hoarsely.

“She isn’t much worse than the rest of us. I don’t believe ...

Kari is really a well-balanced woman ... but you can imagine how it

feels, to leave a child _that_ way....”

The boy, John, had finished milking. He had put the pail down and was

standing a little way off, listening to his father’s story; suddenly he

threw himself on the ground, sobbing as if in convulsions.

“John! John!” admonished the father. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself—a

grown-up man like you! Take the milk and carry it into the house!”

“That’s right!” echoed Per Hansa, pulling himself together. “We’d

better all go in. There’s shelter here, and plenty to eat.”

Beret was bustling around the room when they entered; she had put the

woman to bed, and now was tending her. “Where are the boys?” she asked.

Per Hansa told her that he had sent them to Hans Olsa’s for the night.

“That was hardly necessary; we could have made room here somehow.”

Beret’s voice carried a note of keen reproach.

The man had paused at the door; now he came over to the bed, took the

limp hand, and muttered: “Poor soul!... Why, I believe she’s asleep

already!”

Beret came up and pushed him gently aside. “Be careful. Don’t wake her.

She needs the rest.”

“Ya, I don’t doubt it—not I! She hasn’t slept for a week, you see—the

poor soul!” With a loud sniff, he turned and left the room.

When supper time came the woman seemed to be engulfed in a stupefying

sleep. Beret did not join the others at the supper table, but busied

herself, instead, by trying to make the woman more comfortable; she

loosened her clothes, took off her shoes, and washed her face in warm

water; during all this the stranger never stirred. That done, Beret

began to fix up sleeping quarters for the strangers, in the barn. She

carried in fresh hay and brought out all the bedding she had; she

herself would take care of the woman, in case she awoke and needed

attention. Beret did little talking, but she went about these

arrangements with a firmness and confidence that surprised her husband.

Per Hansa came in from the barn, after helping the strangers settle

themselves for the night. Beret was sitting on the edge of the bed,

dressing the baby for the night; she had put And-Ongen to bed beside

the distracted woman.

“Did she tell you much?” he asked in a low voice.

Beret glanced toward the other bed before she answered:

“Only that she had had to leave one of her children on the way. She

wasn’t able to talk connectedly.”

“It’s a terrible thing!” he said, looking away from his wife. “I think

I’ll go over to Hans Olsa’s for a minute. I want to talk this matter

over with him.”

“Talk it over with him?” she repeated, coldly. “I don’t suppose Hans

Olsa knows everything!”

“No, of course not. But these people have got to be helped, and we

can’t do it all alone.” He hesitated for a minute, as if waiting for

her consent. “Well, I won’t be gone long,” he said as he went out of

the door.

When he returned, an hour later, she was still sitting on the edge

of the bed, with the baby asleep on her lap. They sat in silence for

a long while; at last he began to undress. She waited until he was

in bed, then turned the lamp low and lay down herself, but without

undressing.... The lamp shed only a faint light. It was so quiet in the

room that one could hear the breathing of all the others. Beret lay

there listening; though the room was still, it seemed alive to her with

strange movements; she forced herself to open her eyes and look around.

Noticing that Per Hansa wasn’t asleep, either, she asked:

“Did you look after the boys?”

“Nothing the matter with them! They were fast asleep in Sofie’s bed.”

“You told them everything, at Hans Olsa’s?”

“Of course!”

“What did they think of it?”

Per Hansa raised himself on his elbows and glanced at the broken

creature lying in the bed back of theirs. The woman, apparently,

had not stirred a muscle. “It’s a bad business,” he said. “We must try

to get together a coffin and find the boy. We can’t let him lie out

there—that way.” ... As Beret made no answer, he briefly narrated the

story that the man had told him. “The fellow is a good-for-nothing,

stupid fool, I’m sure of that,” concluded Per Hansa.

She listened to him in silence. For some time she brooded over her

thoughts; then in a bitter tone she suddenly burst out: “Now you

can see that this kind of a life is impossible! It’s beyond human

endurance.”

He had not the power to read her thoughts; he did not want to know

them; to-night every nerve in his body was taut with apprehension and

dismay. But he tried to say, reassuringly. “Hans Olsa and I will both

go with the man, as soon as the day breaks. If we only had something

to make the coffin of! The few pieces of board that I’ve got here will

hardly be enough.... Now let’s go to sleep. Be sure and call me if you

need anything!”

He turned over resolutely, as if determined to sleep; but she noticed

that he was a long time doing it.... I wonder what’s going through

his mind? she thought. She was glad to have him awake, just the same;

to-night there were strange things abroad in the room....

VI

The instant the woman had climbed down from the wagon and looked

into Beret’s face a curtain seemed to be drawn over all the terrible

experiences of the last few weeks. She entered a cozy room where things

were as they should be; she felt the warm presence of folk who had

dwelt here a long time. She took in the whole room at a glance—table

and benches and stools; a fire was burning in a real stove; a kettle

was boiling; wet clothes were hanging on a line by the stove, giving

out a pleasant, familiar odor; and there actually stood two beds, made

up with clean bedding! The sense of home, of people who lived in an

orderly fashion, swept over her like a warm bath. A kind hand led her

to one of the beds, and there she sank down. She mumbled a few

words, but soon gave it up; everything about her seemed so wonderfully

pleasant; she must keep quiet, so as not to disturb the dream. The hand

that helped her had such a sympathetic touch; it took a rag, dipped it

in lukewarm water, and wiped her face; then it loosened her clothes and

even took off her shoes. But best of all, she could stretch her back

again!

... Strange that she couldn’t remember what had been going on! Had she

told the woman all that she ought to know? About the makeshift coffin,

and the big stone beside which they would find him? And that she would

have to take a blanket with her, for the nights were chilly and Paul

had very little on—only a shirt that was worn and thin?... No, she

couldn’t remember anything except that she had been able to lie down

and stretch her back; the warmth of the room, and the knowledge that

friendly people were near her, had overcome all her senses with a sweet

languor. Her body lay as if fast asleep; but away back in the inner

depths of her consciousness a wee eye peeped out, half open, and saw

things....

She remained in the same position until three o’clock in the morning.

But then the wee bit of an eye opened wider and her senses slowly began

to revive; she realized that she was lying in a strange room, where

a lamp burned with a dim light. Suddenly she remembered that she had

arrived here last night—but Paul was not with her.... Too bad I am so

forgetful! she thought. I must hurry now before Jakob sees me, because

there’s no way of stopping him—he always wants to go on!... She was

fully awake now; she sat up and buttoned her clothes, then slipped

quietly out of bed.

For a moment she stood perfectly still, listening; she could hear the

breathing of many people; bending suddenly over the bed, she snatched

up And-Ongen. She held the child tenderly in her arms and put her

cheek against the warm face.... We must be careful now! she thought.

With quiet movements she wrapped her skirt about the sleeping child;

glancing around the room to see if all was well, she glided out

like a shadow; she did not dare to close the door behind her, lest it

should make a noise.... “Here is our wagon!” she murmured. “I mustn’t

let Jakob see me now; he doesn’t understand; he only wants to get on!”

... Clutching the child to her breast, she started on the run, taking a

direction away from the house.

Beret was awakened by a voice calling to her from a great distance; it

called loudly several times. What a shame they can’t let me alone in

peace, to get a little rest! she thought, drowsily. I was up so late

last night and I need the sleep badly!... But the voice kept calling so

persistently that after a while she sat up in bed, her mind coming back

to reality; she remembered that strangers had arrived last night, that

another besides herself was in deep distress. Well, she had done her

best to take care of her.... She turned her head to see how the other

woman was resting.

... “Heaven have mercy!” ...

* * * * *

Beret leaped frantically out of bed; in a second she had reached the

side of the other bed, but no one was there. She did not notice that

And-Ongen was gone, too. A cold draught rushing through the room told

her that the door stood open; she hurried over to it. She seemed to

recall dimly that some one had recently gone out. Hadn’t she heard it

in her sleep? Beret went through the door and stood in front of the

house, but did not dare to make an outcry; she listened intently, then

called in a low voice; getting no answer, she ran around the house,

peering hither and thither, but the grey morning light disclosed

nothing.

Running back into the house, she called her husband distractedly.

“She’s gone! Get up! You must hurry!”

In an instant Per Hansa was up and had tumbled into his clothes. “Run

over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him to come at once! Be as quick as you

can! In the meanwhile I’ll search down by the creek.”

When they came out, the first light of day was creeping up the eastern

sky; a slight fog floated along the creek; the morning air was crisp

and cool. Per Hansa leaped up into the seat of the wagon and

scanned the prairie in every direction.... What was _that_, over there?

Wasn’t it a human being standing on the top of the hill? Could she have

taken that direction?... He jumped down from the wagon, and rushed

around to the other side of the house, called to Beret, and pointed up

the hill. Instantly they both started out on the run.

The woman did not seem in the least surprised at their coming. When Per

Hansa had almost reached her, he stopped stone dead. What, in God’s

name, was she carrying in her arms? His face blanched with terror.

“Come here!” he shouted. In a moment he had the child in his own arms.

And-Ongen was almost awake now and had begun to whimper; things were

going on around her that she could not understand; she felt cold, and

father had such a queer look on his face. Sleepily she cuddled up in

the fold of his left arm, her cheek against his heart, though a hard

hand which seemed to be pounding against a wall was trying to wake her

up again; she would just let it go on pounding all it pleased. She

had to sleep some more!... But now mother was here. Hurriedly she was

transferred into her mother’s arms and squeezed almost to a pancake.

She had to gasp for breath; nevertheless she snuggled into her arms

as closely as she could, for she felt, oh, so sleepy!... But no peace

here, either! Here, too, a hand pounded against a wall. Were they

tearing down the house? And-Ongen was certainly at a loss to understand

all this racket in the middle of the night.... But let ’em pound!

As Beret walked homeward, carrying the child, it seemed more precious

to her than the very first time when she had held it in her arms; and

she experienced a wonderful blessing. Upon this night the Lord had been

with them: His mighty arm had shielded them from a fearful calamity.

The other woman was still obsessed by her own troubles; she kept on

hunting up there on the hill.... Wouldn’t these people help her to

find Paul? She had to find him at once—He would be cold with so little

on.... Now they had taken that blessed child away from her; but she

didn’t wonder—that man had a bad face. She felt afraid of him....

But no time to think of such things now; Jakob would soon be coming?

She began muttering to herself: “Oh, why can’t I find the stone? What

has become of it? Wasn’t it somewhere here?” ...

Per Hansa went up and spoke to her, his voice sounding hoarse and

unnatural. “Come with me, now! To-day Hans Olsa and I are going to

find your boy.” Taking her gently by the arm, he led her back to the

house.... It’s very kind of him, to help find Paul, she thought, and

followed willingly.

At breakfast she sat very quiet; she ate when they bade her, but never

spoke. While they were making the coffin she sat looking on, wondering

why they didn’t hurry faster with the work. Couldn’t they understand

that Paul was cold? A little later a handsome woman entered the house—a

woman with such a kind face, who lined the coffin inside with a white

cloth.... Now, that is fine of her; that’s just what a woman with such

a kind face would do!... She would have liked to talk to that woman;

she had something very important to confide to her; but perhaps she had

better not delay her in her work—the coffin had to be lined!...

As soon as the coffin was ready, Per Hansa and Hans Olsa, along with

the stranger and his wife, left the settlement to hunt for the body of

the dead boy. They took quite a stock of provisions with them. On this

search they were gone four days; they criss-crossed the prairie for a

long way to the east, and searched high and low; but when they returned

the coffin was still empty.

VII

After the return from the search the strangers stayed one more day with

them. The morning they were to leave it looked dark and threatening,

and Per Hansa wouldn’t hear of their setting out; but along toward noon

the sky cleared and the weather appeared more settled. The man, very

anxious to be on his way, had everything loaded into the wagon,

and as soon as the noon meal was over they were ready to go.

But before the man got on his way Per Hansa asked him where he intended

to settle.

—Well, he wasn’t positive as to the exact place. It was over somewhere

toward the James River—his neighbours had told him that.

—Did he know where the James River was? Per Hansa inquired further.

—Certainly he did! How could he ask such a foolish question. The river

lay off there; all he needed to do was to steer straight west. After

finding the river, of course he’d have to ask. But that part of it

would be quite easy....

Per Hansa shuddered, and asked no more questions.

The woman had been quite calm since their return. She kept away from

the others, muttering to herself and pottering over insignificant

things, much like a child at play; but she was docile and inoffensive,

and did what anyone told her. A short while before noon that day she

took a notion that she must change her clothes; she got up from what

she was doing, washed, and went to the wagon. When she came back she

had dressed herself in her best; in a way she looked all right, but

made a bizarre appearance because she had put so much on.... The man

seemed fairly cheerful as they started; he talked a good deal, heaping

many blessings upon Per Hansa.... If he could only find his neighbours,

and Kari could only forget, things would be all right in a little

while. Ya, it was a hard life, but——Well, God’s blessings on Per Hansa,

and many thanks! And now he must be off!... His voice was just as husky

and blurred as when he came.

The wagon started creaking; the man, short and stooping, led the way;

the family piled into the wagon; the two cows jogged behind.... They

laid their course due west.... Banks of heavy cloud were rolled up on

the western horizon—huge, fantastic forms that seemed to await them in

Heaven’s derision—though they might have been only the last stragglers

of the spell of bad weather just past.

After they had gone, Beret could find no peace in the house; her

hand trembled; she felt faint and dizzy; every now and then she had to

go out and look at the disappearing wagon; and when the hill finally

shut off the view she took the youngest two children and went up there

to watch. In a way she felt glad that these people were gone; at the

same time she reproached herself for not having urged them to stay

longer. Sitting now on the hilltop, a strong presentiment came over

her that they should not have started to-day.... “That’s the way I’ve

become,” she thought sadly. “Here are folk in the deepest distress,

and I am only glad to send them off into direr calamities! What will

they do to-night if a storm comes upon them? He is all broken up—he

couldn’t have been much of a man at any time. And the poor wife insane

from grief! Perhaps she will disappear forever this very night.... What

misery, what an unspeakable tragedy, life is for some!” ...

Slowly, very slowly, the forlorn caravan crept off into the great,

mysterious silence always hovering above the plain. To Beret, as she

watched, it seemed as if the prairie were swallowing up the people, the

wagon, the cows and all. At last the little caravan was merged in the

very infinite itself; Beret thought she could see the wagon yet, but

was not certain; it might be only a dead tuft of grass far away which

the wind stirred....

She took the children and went home, walking with slow, dragging steps;

she wanted to cry, and felt the need of it, but no tears came....

Per Hansa and the boys were breaking prairie; to judge from the

language they used in talking to the oxen, they must be hard at it.

Her loneliness was so great that she felt a physical need of bringing

happiness to some living thing; as soon as she got home she took her

little remaining store of rice and cooked porridge for supper; the boys

were very fond of that dish.

Toward evening the air grew heavy and sultry; the cloud banks, still

rolling up in the western sky, had taken on a most threatening aspect;

it looked as if a thunderstorm might be coming on.

After supper Per Hansa was due to meet at Hans Olsa’s with the

other neighbours, to lay plans for the trip to town which had to be

made before harvesting set in. The boys asked leave to go, too—it was

so much fun to be with the men.

When she had washed the supper dishes Beret went outdoors and sat down

on the woodpile. A nameless apprehension tugged at her heart and would

not leave her in peace; taking the two children as before, she again

ascended the hill. The spell of the afternoon’s sadness was still upon

her; her constant self-reproach since then had only deepened it....

Those poor folk were straying somewhere out there, under the towering

clouds. Poor souls! The Lord pity the mother who had left a part

of herself back east on the prairie! How could the good God permit

creatures made in His image to fall into such tribulations? To people

this desert would be as impossible as to empty the sea. For how could

folk establish homes in an endless wilderness? Was it not the Evil

One that had struck them with blindness?... Take her own case, for

example: here she sat, thousands of miles from home and kindred, lost

in a limitless void.... Out yonder drifted these folk, like chips on

a current.... Must man perish because of his own foolishness. Where,

then, was the guiding hand?... Beret was gazing at the western sky

as the twilight fast gathered around her; her eyes were riveted on a

certain cloud that had taken on the shape of a face, awful of mien and

giantlike in proportions; the face seemed to swell out of the prairie

and filled half the heavens.

She gazed a long time; now she could see the monster clearer. The

face was unmistakable! There were the outlines of the nose and mouth.

The eyes—deep, dark caves in the cloud—were closed. The mouth, if

it were to open, would be a yawning abyss. The chin rested on the

prairie.... Black and lean the whole face, but of such gigantic,

menacing proportions! Wasn’t there something like a leer upon it?...

And the terrible creature was spreading everywhere; she trembled

so desperately that she had to take hold of the grass.

It was a strange emotion that Beret was harbouring at this moment; in

reality she felt a certain morbid satisfaction—very much like a child

that has been arguing with its parents, has turned out to be right,

and, just as the tears are coming, cries, “Now, there, you see!” ...

Here was the simple solution to the whole riddle. She had known in her

heart all the time that people were never led into such deep affliction

unless an evil power had been turned loose among them. And hadn’t

she clearly felt that there were unspeakable things out yonder—that

the great stillness was nothing but life asleep?... She sat still as

death, feeling the supernatural emanations all around her. The face

came closer in the dusk—didn’t she feel its cold breath upon her? When

that mouth opened and began to suck, terrible things would happen!...

Without daring to look again, she snatched up the children and ran

blindly home.

After a while the others returned, the boys storming boisterously into

the house, the father close behind; he was evidently chasing them; by

the tone of his voice, she knew he was in high spirits.

“Why, Beret,” he cried gayly, as soon as he got inside, “what have you

been doing to the windows—covering them up?” He was looking at her

with narrow, sparkling eyes. “Beret, Beret, you’re a dear girl!” he

whispered. Then he came over and fondled her—he wanted to help undress

her and put her to bed....

“No, no—not _that_!” she cried, vehemently, an intense anger surging

up within her. Had he no sense whatever of decency and propriety, no

feeling of shame and sin?... That’s only one more proof, she thought,

that the devil has us in his clutches!

After that time, Beret was conscious of the face whenever she was

awake, but particularly along toward evening, as the twilight came

on; then it drew closer to her and seemed alive. Even during the day

she would often be aware of its presence; high noon might stand over

the prairie, with the sun shedding a flood of light that fairly

blinded the sight, but through and behind the light she would see

it—huge and horrible it was, the eyes always closed, with only those

empty, cavernlike sockets beneath the brows.

As she went about doing her work, now, she would frequently be seized

by a faintness so great that she had to sit down.... How was this going

to end? she asked herself. Yes, how would it end?... Vague premonitions

hovered about her like shadows. Many times she was on the point of

asking her husband if he saw what she did, towering above the prairie

out west; but always she seemed to be tongue-tied.... Well, why mention

it? Couldn’t he and the others see it perfectly well for themselves?

How could they help it?... She noticed that a silence would often fall

upon them when they were out-of-doors, especially in the evening.

Certainly they saw it!... Every evening, now, whether Per Hansa was

away or at home, she hung something over the windows—it helped shut out

the fear....

At first her husband made all sorts of fun of this practice of hers; he

teased her about it, as if it were a good joke, and continued to force

his caresses on her, his voice low and vibrant with pent-up emotion.

But as time went on he ceased laughing; the fear that possessed her had

begun to affect him, too....

VIII

The month of July wore on. The small patches of fields in the Spring

Creek settlement were slowly ripening and made a brave showing. Never

had one seen finer fields! The grain had started to head out long

ago; the kernels were already formed, tiny bodies wrapped in the most

delicate green silk. With every day that passed the wheat filled out

more and more; the heads grew heavy and full of milk; as soon as the

breeze died down in the afternoon, they would tilt toward the setting

sun and slowly drop off to sleep, only to dream of the marvellous life

that was now stirring within them.

These days, Per Hansa was behaving like a good boat it a heavy

sea—as long as the keel pointed the right way, he would go on. He

watched his wife covering the windows at night, and felt both sad and

angry; but when he saw how everything was growing on the farm—meadows

and fields, cattle and youngsters—then he was filled with an exultant

joy that made him momentarily forget his wife’s condition. He had a

larger field than any of his neighbours, and there wasn’t a doubt that

his grain was the finest—theirs was just ordinary dumb grain, while

his seemed alive!... He tried to reason himself out of his serious

misgivings over Beret. True enough, she didn’t act as a normal person

should; yet it was nothing that wouldn’t naturally right itself with

time. Perhaps he would go to work and build her a house this fall.

By thunder, he’d have to see about that! The castle would have to be

tackled sooner or later.... The lumberman at Worthington was a fine

fellow, and Per Hansa wouldn’t be ashamed to ask him for credit. Huh!

What could the man expect to do with his lumber but sell it?... Next

spring he would make a big haul in his fur trade with the Indians; he’d

buy every damned scalp they had in the place. And when his castle was

ready it would be stranger than the devil if such a sensible girl as

Beret didn’t perk up and throw off her gruesome fancies!

Everything he had planted that spring was blooming like a garden. Why,

he could just _hear_ the potatoes grow! Already, as early as this, they

were having new potatoes every day, while in his neighbours’ patches

the plants were just beginning to blossom. The oats, too, were standing

high; but the wheat—best of all was the _wheat_! The neighbours, and

all the east-siders—so the folk who had settled east of the creek had

come to be called—and even the Irish from over to the westward, would

come to look at his wheat field and say that the sight did them good.

He couldn’t understand what the Irish were saying, of course, but their

joy at the sight of the wheat was written all over their faces....

Damned fine people, these Irish. Too bad he couldn’t talk with them.

But he felt like showing his appreciation of their visits in some

tangible way, so he would go over to the potato patch, dig into a row,

and give them enough for a meal.... Good God! a man as well off as he

was must lend a hand to a pack of starving devils!...

By this time Tönseten had lost the last vestige of ill-feeling toward

Per Hansa for doing his own seeding; he was even willing to praise the

other for having had sense enough to get the seed into the ground good

and _early_. Now they would be able to cut and harvest the wheat here

before the other fields had ripened.... “I tell you what, Per Hansa,

that’s the most sensible thing you ever did in your life—and I ought to

know what I’m talking about!” ... Tönseten’s round, fat body bristled

with importance, for, of course, it would fall to him to do the reaping

for these greenhorns. The Solum boys would have to teach them how

to bind. Damn it, he couldn’t be expected to do everything!... Yes,

Syvert Tönseten was a very busy man these days. There was the reaper to

overhaul, and the harnesses to be mended; he had to keep a sharp eye on

the grain, too, lest they let it stand too long. Such heavy wheat would

shell easily! So he waddled back and forth between the houses of his

three neighbours, invariably finding some important matter to discuss

wherever he went.

Per Hansa was not running true to form these days; he who was always

so easily excited and never had patience to wait when something had

to be done, seemed in no hurry to start his harvesting. Every evening

he would make a trip up to the field, to see how the wheat was coming

on, and with each trip his mind was more at ease. “Come up with me

and see how fine the wheat stands!” he would coax Beret. And Beret

would usually go; she would agree absentmindedly that the grain looked

fine—of course it did; but then she would always remember some task she

had left undone at home and would have to hurry back before dark; she

seldom seemed to have time to wait for him.

... “No, no, there’s no hurry yet with the wheat!” Per Hansa thought.

When Tönseten insisted that it was time to start cutting he would

argue with him: “No, Syvert brother, we’ll leave the wheat awhile

yet—give her a spell longer to think it over. You’ll be able to do the

reaping easily enough before the others need you. Don’t we all know

that your equal in running the reaper isn’t to be found in the whole of

Dakota Territory?”

Tönseten would give an embarrassed cough: “You mean perhaps in

Minnesota?”

“Certainly! Wasn’t that what I said?” Whereupon both would laugh like a

couple of happy boys.

But one forenoon Tönseten came over in great excitement, declaring

flatly that now they would have to start cutting here—and no use

talking! He had just come from Hans Olsa’s, where he’d been looking at

the field; and there, too, the grain was ripening fast. This job had to

be gotten out of the way right now, or where the devil would they be?

“Oh, what’s your hurry, Syvert? Don’t let’s get excited; we’ll just

give her one more night for extra measure!” argued Per Hansa.

Then Tönseten grew goggle-eyed, waving his arms as he talked. “You’re a

stubborn, ignorant fool, Per Hansa—I don’t mind telling you so! No, I’m

damned if I do! Here we have eighty acres of grain, and I alone must do

all the cutting! In all probability I’ll have to help the east-siders,

too; they don’t seem to have any more brains than they need—some of ’em

don’t, at least!”

“Take it easy, take it easy, Syvert! Don’t you see how nicely the wheat

is filling out—just like a young girl budding into womanhood?”

At that Tönseten got mad in earnest. “You make me tired, man! You don’t

know as much as the nose on your face—no, you don’t! What the devil

would happen to us if all our grain came in at the same time? Just what

would we _do_, I’d like to know? We couldn’t save it.... Now I’ve made

up my mind: there’s to be no more damned shilly-shallying. We start

this afternoon, and that’s the end of it!”

“As you say, Captain!” answered Per Hansa, meekly, his eyes twinkling.

“All right, then. I’ll tell Hans Olsa. You run over and tell the

Solum boys.”

Per Hansa chuckled aloud. “Are you going to call in all of Dakota

Territory to help harvest this little patch of mine?”

“Stop your joking, Per Hansa! You don’t know an earthly thing about

harvesting in America—no, you don’t! You and Hans Olsa couldn’t any

more take care of the binding, when I once get going, than you could

fly! You don’t even know what needs to be done; you’ve never seen a

job of binding in your life!... Now do as I tell you and get the Solum

boys!” ... Tönseten spoke as if the welfare of the whole country were

resting on his shoulders. His neighbour only laughed still harder and

did as he was bid.

The moment the noon meal was over, the whole of the little settlement

assembled at Per Hansa’s wheat field, men, women, and children; Beret

had brought And-Ongen with her, and even carried the baby in her arms.

Tönseten’s shouts and numberless commands put everyone but himself

in a festive mood; he felt it to be a solemn occasion, and highly

disapproved of the way they took it; but the others only laughed and

joked as gayly as if they were in a bridal procession on the way to

church, some bright Sunday morning. Some one would think of a funny

remark, which straightway would cause some one else to make a still

funnier sally; though most of it was aimed at Tönseten, his wife

laughed until the tears came. But Tönseten held himself superior to

their silly talk; he had matters of weight and purpose on his mind.

Fools will snicker and blat! he observed to himself, working steadily

on; that’s the only way one can keep ’em going. He was on his back

under the machine, sweating streams, hammering away with a heavy monkey

wrench, tightening one bur here and another there; now here was a place

that needed oiling.... “What the devil became of the oil can? Can’t you

do anything but stand there and grin? Come here and help me!”

But at last he got things so far along that he could hitch the

horses to the reaper; taking the lines, he mounted to the throne.

... “Now, the Lord help us!” he muttered to himself. He wanted to give

more orders, but couldn’t get a chance; the mosquitoes were bad and

the horses rather uneasy, and new things kept happening all the time.

With a great flourish he manœuvred the reaper over to the edge of

the field, shouted loudly to the horses—and the first harvest in the

settlement by Spring Creek had begun.

The machine roared fearfully as it got its belly full of the heavy

grain, but kept calling for more; the horses stepped off at a lively

pace and gave it what it called for. Tönseten was now intent on cutting

out the first swathe; it had to be straight, and yet it couldn’t leave

anything along the edge; he was too much taken up with this momentous

task even to see the others. But when he had finished the fourth round

of the field he felt that he was master of the situation. Stopping

the machine, he called in English to Henry Solum—how was he getting

along? Could he pound any sense into those idiots? Well, Kjersti had

been a smart binder in her day. Why didn’t he get her to help him with

the instruction?... And then, turning majestically in his seat, he

addressed Per Hansa:

“If this wheat doesn’t run forty bushels to the acre, I’ll eat my own

shirt! By God, I will!... Well, anyway, thirty-five....”

“You go on with the cutting, brother!” chuckled Per Hansa. “Here’s a

whole army waiting for something to do!... Go on, I say. We’ll measure

it up later.”

All were working; all were having a good time. For the greenhorns the

binding proved to be more like work than art; they soon caught on to

the trick; there were so many of them at it that the binding this

afternoon went like a jolly game. When Beret finally put the baby down

on the grass and began tying up bundles of wheat Kjersti felt that

she had to come over and speak to her. There wasn’t any need of that,

she said; the men could easily handle what had to be done. Heavens

and earth—five grown men and two boys in a field no bigger than

this! Beret and Sörine had better go home and get a lunch ready,

Kjersti advised further; the menfolk were never happier than when they

had coffee brought to them in the field. She knew them!... After a

while the two women followed her advice and went home to make their

preparations.

Per Hansa was in a rare mood that afternoon. Now he was binding his own

wheat, his hands oily with the sap of the new-cut stems; a fine oil

it was, too—he rubbed his hands together and felt a sensuous pleasure

welling up within him. His body seemed to grow a little with every

bundle he tied; he walked as if on springs; a strength the like of

which he had never felt before ran through his muscles. How good it was

to be alive! He had made a daring throw, and luck had smiled on him!...

He tied the ripe, heavy bundles, gave them a twist, and there stood the

shock! As he looked at them he laughed to himself joyously, stopping

a second as he finished each one to draw his hands over his face....

He must handle these bundles with care—the heavy kernels might shell

out.... How absurdly light-hearted and gay he felt to-day!...

The men continued working until the dew became so heavy on the wheat

that the reaping machine refused to go; it was long after sundown

before they quit. Tönseten felt stiff and tired, but he wasn’t

announcing the fact from the house-tops. In Per Hansa’s hut stood

a table heaped with many good things, though the porridge bowls

predominated. Both Kjersti and Sörine had been home to do their own

chores for the night, and had returned to help Beret with the supper.

The men were already seated at the table; but they waited for Per

Hansa, who had his head in the big chest and was hunting for something

or other. “Hold on a minute, boys, before you say grace,” came from the

cavernous depths of the chest. “Haven’t you manners enough to wait for

the head of the family?” ... When he finally emerged and came up to the

table, he shook a bottle behind Tönseten’s ear, asking, gayly, “Did you

ever hear a sweeter sound, Syvert? Can’t you just hear her _wink_ at

you, my boy?” ... There was enough in the bottle for one round,

and then a little drop to swallow on, before the meal started.

Tönseten cleared his throat after the drink; he was anxious to make a

little speech:

“What do you plan on doing in the future, Per Hansa, if you’re going to

get rich on the very first crop?... I never in my life saw such wheat!

Why, the kernels are like potatoes!”

“How about yourself, then?” inquired Per Hansa in great good humour. “I

like to help worthy people who are in trouble; in case you and Kjersti

should run short of stockings to keep your money in, you might come to

me!”

As the meal went on, the spirits of the men sitting about the table

rose higher and higher, and each vied with the other in good cheer.

“Rich?” exclaimed Tönseten. “We’ll all get rich; no doubt about it!...

It’s going to be hardest on Sam, poor fellow. He’ll have to spend it

all in getting married to that fine Trönder girl who’s waiting for him

over east by the Sioux River! Hard luck, I say!”

“Yes, sir!” drawled Sam, blushing furiously. “But if I were you,

Kjersti, I wouldn’t let Syvert go to the wedding—no, I wouldn’t at all!”

“Why?” laughed Kjersti, innocently.

“Well, you see, he gets sort of strung-up when he’s turned loose among

the Trönder women—not that I mean anything, you know....”

“Sam, you’re a fool!” remarked Tönseten, angrily, laying down his spoon

and leaving the table.

IX

By noon the next day they had finished the wheat field. To-day Tönseten

was of a different mind—there really was no great hurry; the weather

kept cool, and the grain didn’t look any riper to-day than yesterday,

either at his own place or at Hans Olsa’s; if this spell of cool

weather should last, the wheat would profit by yet another week; but

then they might prepare to harvest a crop unique in the history of

wheat growing.

Tönseten felt highly well pleased with himself and the rest of the

world; he had now proved his prowess before his neighbours; the field

was almost finished here, and it wouldn’t do any harm to rest and visit

awhile.... “Don’t fret, boys, I won’t need to hurry at all! Those four

acres of oats will only be play for the afternoon!”

And Per Hansa felt very much the same way. He and the other men were

sitting in the shade on the north side of the house, with their backs

up against the wall, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up from

the west.... What was the use of hurrying?... Per Hansa had told the

Solum boys that he wouldn’t need them that afternoon, as he and Hans

Olsa could easily bind the oats; but it was so pleasant to rest here

and spin yarns that the boys didn’t feel like stirring until the others

went to the field.

As they got up at last and returned to their work, the northwest breeze

struck them full in the face with its cool, fresh fragrance; Tönseten

sniffed it approvingly, declaring that if this weather kept on, he and

Hans Olsa would be sure to steal a march on Per Hansa in the end; never

had the Lord sent finer weather for wheat to ripen in! He chuckled and

talked away, his rotund body bobbing up and down with an irresistible

merriment.... “Well, boys, in my opinion the Land of Canaan didn’t

have much on this country—no, I’m damned if it had! Do you suppose the

children of Israel ever smelt a westerly breeze like this? Why, folks,

it’s blowing honey!” ... His festive mood was still possessing him as

he began to hitch up the horses; in the midst of it he had to turn

around and ask them shyly, “Now, wasn’t it remarkable that I should

discover just _this_ place for you?”

Hans Olsa burst into a laugh. “Yes, it surely was wonderful, Syvert!”

But Tönseten felt that this praise wasn’t enough—he wanted to carry the

joke a little farther. Turning to his other neighbour, he asked with

the same roguish air, “What did you say, Per Hansa?”

Per Hansa remained strangely silent; he was standing a little distance

away, shading his eyes with his right hand and looking into the west;

an intent, troubled expression had come over his face.

... “What in the devil?...” he muttered to himself. Off in the western

sky he had caught sight of something he couldn’t understand—something

that sent a nameless chill through his blood.... Could that be a storm

coming on?

He hurried over to the wheat shock where Hans Olsa was sitting, pointed

westward, and asked in a low voice, “Tell me, can you see anything over

there?”

Hans Olsa was on his feet in an instant.... “Well, look at that!... It

must be going to storm!”

Tönseten had finished hitching the horses to the reaper, and had just

mounted the seat when he saw Per Hansa run over, pointing to the west.

Now both his neighbours were shouting at him:

“What’s that, Syvert?”

Tönseten turned in his seat, to face a sight such as he had never

seen or heard before. From out of the west layers of clouds came

rolling—thin layers that rose and sank on the breeze; they had none of

the look or manner of ordinary clouds; they came in waves, like the

surges of the sea, and cast a glittering sheen before them as they

came; they seemed to be made of some solid murky substance that threw

out small sparks along its face.

The three men stood spellbound, watching the oncoming terror; their

voices died in their throats; their minds were blank. The horses

snorted as they, too, caught sight of it, and became very restless.

The ominous waves of cloud seemed to advance with terrific speed,

breaking now and then like a huge surf, and with the deep, dull roaring

sound as of a heavy undertow rolling into caverns in a mountain

side.... But they were neither breakers nor foam, these waves.... It

seemed more as if the unseen hand of a giant were shaking an immense

tablecloth of iridescent colours!...

“For God’s sake, what——!” ... Tönseten didn’t finish; unconsciously

he had been hauling so hard on the lines that the horses began

backing the machine.

Just then Ole and Store-Hans came running wildly up, shouting

breathlessly, “A snowstorm is coming!... _See_!”

... The next moment the first wave of the weird cloud engulfed them,

spewing over them its hideous, unearthly contents. The horses became

uncontrollable. “Come here and give me some help!” cried Tönseten

through the eerie hail, but the others, standing like statues, heard

nothing and paid no heed; the impact of the solid surge had forced them

to turn their backs to the wind. Tönseten could not hold the horses;

they bolted across the field, cutting a wide semicircle through the

oats; not until he had the stern of his craft well into the wind could

he stop them long enough to scramble down and unhitch them from the

reaper.

At that moment two women came running up—Kjersti first, with her

skirt thrown over her head, Sörine a little way behind, beating the

air with frantic motions. The Solum boys, too, had now joined the

terror-stricken little crowd. Down by the creek the grazing cows

had hoisted their tails straight in the air and run for the nearest

shelter; and no sooner had the horses been turned loose, than they

followed suit; man and beast alike were overcome by a nameless fear.

And now from out the sky gushed down with cruel force a living,

pulsating stream, striking the backs of the helpless folk like pebbles

thrown by an unseen hand; but that which fell out of the heavens was

not pebbles, nor raindrops, nor hail, for then it would have lain

inanimate where it fell; this substance had no sooner fallen than it

popped up again, crackling, and snapping—rose up and disappeared in

the twinkling of an eye; it flared and flittered around them like

light gone mad; it chirped and buzzed through the air; it snapped and

hopped along the ground; the whole place was a weltering turmoil of

raging little demons; if one looked for a moment into the wind, one

saw nothing but glittering, lightninglike flashes—flashes that came

and went, in the heart of a cloud made up of innumerable dark-brown

clicking bodies! All the while the roaring sound continued.

“Father!” shrieked Store-Hans through the storm. “They’re little

birds—they have regular wings! Look here!” ... The boy had caught one

in his hand; spreading the wings and holding it out by their tips,

he showed it to his father. The body of the unearthly creature had a

dark-brown colour; it was about an inch in length, or perhaps a trifle

longer; it was plump around the middle and tapered at both ends; on

either side of its head sparkled a tiny black eye that seemed to look

out with a supernatural intelligence; underneath it were long, slender

legs with rusty bands around them; the wings were transparent and of a

pale, light colour.

“For God’s sake, child, throw it away!” moaned Kjersti.

The boy dropped it in fright. No sooner had he let it go than there

sounded a snap, a twinkling flash was seen, and the creature had merged

itself with the countless legions of flickering devils which now filled

all space. They whizzed by in the air; they literally covered the

ground; they lit on the heads of grain, on the stubble, on everything

in sight—popping and glittering, millions on millions of them.... The

people watched it, stricken with fear and awe. Here was _Another One_

speaking!...

Kjersti was crying bitterly; Sörine’s kind face was deathly pale as

she glanced at the men, trying to bolster up her courage; but the big

frame of her husband was bent in fright and dismay. He spoke slowly and

solemnly: “This must be one of the plagues mentioned in the Bible!”

“Yes! and the devil take it!” muttered Per Hansa, darkly.... “But it

can’t last forever.”

To Tönseten the words of Per Hansa, in an hour like this, sounded like

the sheerest blasphemy; they would surely call down upon them a still

darker wrath! He turned to reprove his neighbour: “Now the Lord is

taking back what he has given,” he said, impressively. “I might have

guessed that I would never be permitted to harvest such wheat. That was

asking too much!”

“Stop your silly gabble!” snarled Per Hansa. “Do you really suppose

_He_ needs to take the bread out of your mouth?”

There was a certain consolation in Per Hansa’s outburst of angry

rationalism; Kjersti ceased weeping, though it was her own husband that

had been put to shame. “I believe Per Hansa is right,” she said, the

sobs still choking her. “The Lord can’t have any use for our wheat. He

doesn’t need bread, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t take it from us in

this way!”

But her open unbelief only confirmed her husband in his position;

clearing his throat, he began to take Kjersti to task: “Don’t you

remember your catechism, and your Bible history. Isn’t it plainly

stated that this is one of the seven plagues that fell upon Egypt? Look

out for your tongue, woman, lest He send us the other six, too!...

It states as plain as day that it was because the people _hardened

themselves_!” ...

Tönseten would probably have gone on indefinitely expounding the

Scriptures to his wife if Henry Solum hadn’t interrupted just then

with a practical idea. Turning to his brother, he said, “Go fetch

the horses, so we can finish this field; by to-morrow there won’t be

anything left!”

Per Hansa looked at Henry and nodded approvingly; the simple

practicability of the suggestion had touched the chord of action again;

he jumped to his feet and walked across to the field, where the work

of devastation was already in full progress. As he saw the fine, ripe

grain being ruthlessly destroyed before his eyes, he felt but one

impulse—to stop the inroads of these demons in any possible way. He

began to jump up and down and wave his hat, stamping and yelling like

one possessed. But the hosts of horrid creatures frolicking about him

never so much as noticed his presence; the brown bodies whizzed by on

every hand, alighting wherever they pleased, chirping wherever they

went; as many as half a dozen of them would perch on a single head of

grain, while the stem would be covered with them all the way to the

ground; even his own body seemed to be a desirable halting place; they

lit on his arms, his back, his neck—they even dared to light on his

bared head and on the very hat he waved.

His utter impotence in the face of this tragedy threw him into an

uncontrollable fury; he lost all restraint over himself. “You, Ola!” he

shouted, hoarsely. “Run home after Old Maria, and bring the caps!”

The boy was soon back with the old musket. His father, hardly able

to wait, ran to meet him and snatched the weapon out of his hands.

Hurriedly putting on a cap, he settled himself in a firm foothold—for

he still had sense enough to remember how hard the rifle kicked when it

had been lying loaded a long time.

As Hans Olsa caught wind of what he intended to do he tried to stop it.

“Don’t do that, Per Hansa! If the Lord has sent this affliction on us,

then....”

Per Hansa glowered at him with a look of angry determination; then,

facing squarely the hurricane of flying bodies, he fired straight

into the thickest of the welter!... The awful detonation of the old,

rusty muzzle-loader had a singular effect; at first, as the shattering

sound died away, nothing appeared to have happened—the glittering

demons flickered by as unconcernedly as before; but presently a new

movement seemed to originate within the body of the main cloud; it

began to heave and roll with a lifting motion; in a few minutes the

cloud had left the ground and was sailing over their heads, with only

an intermittent hail of bodies pelting down on them out of its lower

fringe; the roaring becoming more muffled.

“Do you suppose you’ve actually driven them off?” cried Henry,

breathlessly, marvelling as he watched.

“Yes, from _here_!” said Hans Olsa in the same solemn tone, as he

pointed down the hill. “But see our fields ...!”

Per Hansa was still in the grip of the strange spell that had taken

possession of him; he apparently did not hear what the others were

saying; without looking again he hurried off to help Sam with the

horses. “Let’s get the reaper started!” he cried. “No sense in sitting

here like a row of dummies!”

His example roused them once more, and without further words they

followed his lead; just before sundown that night they finished

the oat field at Per Hansa’s. All the while fresh clouds of marauders

were passing over. As soon as he could get away each man hurried to his

own place; they were all terribly anxious to see how much damage had

been done at home.... Couldn’t they start cutting to-morrow, even if

the grain wasn’t quite ripe? they thought as they hurried on. Wouldn’t

it be possible to save _something_ out of the wreck? What in God’s name

could they do if the whole crop were destroyed?... Anxiety tugged at

their heartstrings. Yes, what could they do?...

Ole and Store-Hans went home with Hans Olsa to bring back word as

to whether it would be possible to start harvesting his field in

the morning. Per Hansa walked home alone; the spell had lifted now,

and the reaction had left him in a troubled, irresolute frame of

mind. The things that had happened that afternoon seemed harsh and

inexplicable.... To be sure, _he_ had saved his whole crop—but how and

why? He had saved it—partly because of his own foolish, headstrong

acts, and partly because his land chanced to lie so much higher than

that of his neighbours, that it had been the first to dry out in the

spring.... Well, great luck for him! But at this moment gladness and

happiness were the last things that he could feel.... There were

his neighbours—poor devils! Hadn’t they worked just as faithfully,

hadn’t they struggled just as hard—and with a great deal more common

sense than he had shown? Why should they have to suffer this terrible

calamity while he went scot-free?... And there was something else that

worried him desperately. Throughout the afternoon, while he had been

working, vague misgivings of how it was going at home had visited

him, an uneasy sense of oppression and impending disaster; he had

found himself constantly watching his own house, and had every moment

expected to see Beret come around the corner. But not a soul had he

caught sight of in all this time, moving about down there, though the

hard labour and the fiends of the air had left him scant chance to

think about it till now.

As he approached the house his misgivings grew more pronounced,

till suddenly they leaped into an overmastering fear which he

tried to assuage by telling himself that she had kept indoors because

she had not dared to leave the children, and that in doing so she had

acted wisely.... The house lay in deep twilight as he drew near; there

was no sign of life to be seen or heard, except the malign beings that

still snapped and flared through the air; the sod hut, surrounded as it

was by flowing shapes, looked like a quay thrust out into a turbulent

current; in the deepening twilight, the pale, shimmering sails of

the flying creatures had taken on a still more unearthly sheen; they

came, flickered by, and were gone in an instant, only to give place to

myriads more.

... Can she have gone over to one of the neighbours’? he wondered as he

came up to the door. No, she hasn’t—the door can’t be closed from the

outside.... Per Hansa gasped for breath as he knocked on the door of

his own house.... He rapped harder ... called, with his voice tearing

from his throat:

“Open the door, Beret!”

He found himself listening intently, his ears strained to catch the

least sound; at length he thought he heard a movement inside, and a

great wave of relief swept over him.

... “Thank God!” ... He waited for the door to be opened—but nothing

happened; nothing more could be heard.... What can she be doing? Didn’t

she hear me? What in Heaven’s name has she put in front of the door?...

Per Hansa had begun to shove against the panel.

“Open the door, I tell you!... Beret—where are you?” ...

Once more he listened; once more he caught a faint sound; but the blood

pounding in his ears deafened him now. Pulling himself together, he

shoved against the door with all his strength—shoved until red streaks

were flashing before his eyes. The door began to give—the opening

widened; at last he had pushed it wide enough to slip through.

... “_Beret_!” ... The anguish of his cry cut through the air....

“Beret!” ...

Now he stood in the middle of the room. It was absolutely dark

before his eyes; he looked wildly around, but could see nothing.

... “Beret, where are you?” ...

No answer came—there was no one to be seen. But wasn’t that a sound?

“Beret!” he called again, sharply. He heard it now distinctly. Was

it coming from one of the beds, or over there by the door?... It was

a faint, whimpering sound. He rushed to the beds and threw off the

bedclothes—no one in this one, no one in that one—it must be over by

the door!... He staggered back—the big chest was standing in front of

the door. Who could have dragged it there?... Per Hansa flung the cover

open with frantic haste. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run

cold. Down in the depths of the great chest lay Beret, huddled up and

holding the baby in her arms; And-Ongen was crouching at her feet—the

whimpering sound had come from her.

It seemed for a moment as if he would go mad; the room swam and receded

in dizzy circles.... But things had to be done. First he lifted

And-Ongen out and carried her to the bed—then the baby. At last he took

Beret up in his arms, slammed down the lid of the chest, and set her on

it.

... “Beret, Beret!” ... he kept whispering.

All his strength seemed to leave him as he looked into her tear-swollen

face; yet it wasn’t her tears that drained his heart dry—the face was

that of a stranger, behind which her own face seemed to be hidden.

He gazed at her helplessly, imploringly; she returned the gaze in a

fixed stare, and whispered hoarsely:

“Hasn’t the devil got you yet? He has been all around here to-day....

Put the chest back in front of the door right away! He doesn’t dare to

take the chest, you see.... We must hide in it—all of us!”

“Oh, Beret!” begged Per Hansa, his very soul in the cry. Speechless and

all undone, he sank down before her, threw his arms around her waist,

and buried his head in her lap—as if he were a child needing comfort.

The action touched her; she began to pat his head, running her fingers

through his hair and stroking his cheek.... “That’s right!” she

crooned.... “Weep now, weep much and long because of your sin!... So I

have done every night—not that it helps much.... Out here nobody pays

attention to our tears ... it’s too open and wild ... but it does no

harm to try.”

“Oh, Beret, my own girl!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, as if to hush him. She grew more loving,

caressed him tenderly, bent over to lift him up to her.... “Don’t be

afraid, dear boy of mine!... For ... well ... it’s always worst just

before it’s over!”

Per Hansa gazed deep into her eyes; a sound of agony came from his

throat; he sank down suddenly in a heap and knew nothing more....

Outside, the fiendish shapes flickered and danced in the dying glow of

the day. The breeze had died down; the air seemed unaccountably lighter.

... That night the Great Prairie stretched herself voluptuously;

giantlike and full of cunning, she laughed softly into the reddish

moon. “Now we will see what human might may avail against us!... Now

we’ll see!” ...

X

And now had begun a seemingly endless struggle between man’s fortitude

in adversity, on the one hand, and the powers of evil in high places,

on the other. There were signs of the scourge in the summer of ’73,

but not before the following year did it assume the proportions of a

plague; after that it raged with unabated fury throughout the years

’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, and part of ’78; then it disappeared as suddenly

and mysteriously as it had come. The devastation it wrought was

terrible; it made beggars of some, and drove others insane; still

others it sent wandering back to the forest lands, though they found

conditions little better there, either.... But the greater number

simply hung on where they were. They stayed because poverty, that most

supreme of masters, had deprived them of the liberty to rise up and

go away. And where would they have gone? In the name of Heaven,

whither would they have fled?

In the course of time it came about that fresh inroads of settlers,

just as poverty-stricken as they were, arrived to help them suffer

privation and to wait for better times.... Beautiful out here on the

wide prairie—yes, beautiful indeed!... The finest soil you ever dreamed

of—a veritable Land of Canaan!... One caravan after another came

creaking along, a single wagon dropping out to settle here, another

to settle there; for it really looked wonderful, this vast expanse of

level, smiling plain—the new Promised Land into which the Lord was

leading His poor people from all the corners of the earth!...

But the plague of locusts proved as certain as the seasons. All that

grew above the ground, with the exception of the wild grass, it would

pounce upon and destroy; the grass it left untouched because it had

grown here ere time was and _without the aid of man’s hand_....

Who would dare affirm that this plague was not of supernatural origin?

During the spring season, and throughout the early part of the summer,

the air would be as pure and clear as if it had been filtered, wrapping

and caressing the body like the finest silk; the sky would be as blue

as if it had been scoured and newly painted; everything planted in the

ground by man would grow as if by magic, filling out with an amazing

fruitfulness, as the long warm days passed in endless array, until it

bent under its own burden. And then, just as the process of ripening

had begun, or perhaps a little before, the plague would descend upon

them, suddenly, mysteriously, disastrously! On a certain bright, sunny

day, when the breeze sighed its loveliest out of the northwest, strange

clouds would appear in the western sky; swiftly they would advance,

floating lazily through the clear air, a sight beautiful to behold. But

these clouds would be made up of innumerable dark-brown bodies with

slender legs, sailing on transparent wings; in an instant the air would

be filled with nameless, unclean creatures—legions on legions of them,

hosts without number! Now pity the fields that the hand of man had

planted with so much care! And the ruthless marauders invariably came

out of the clear northwest where the afternoon glow was brightest, most

marvellous; more than often toward evening, when the day was sinking to

rest and all earth seemed at peace, they would come. To these wandering

Norsemen, the old adage that all evil dwells below and springs from the

north, was proving true again.[21]

[21] An old superstition that goes back to Norse mythology: the Kingdom

of Darkness and Evil was located in the far north; the way to Hell led

downward and in a northerly direction. In the practice of sorcery and

witchcraft, whenever water was to be used it must always be taken from

streams flowing from south to north, for such water had supernatural

power.

During the summer of their first visitation, the demons left behind

them evil enough to pollute a whole continent. In the plowed fields

they laid tiny, frail eggs, having the appearance of fine dry sawdust;

although they seemed so delicate, these eggs would lie there unharmed

during the wet fall season, and all through the winter, embedded in

ice and covered by many feet of snow, thawing and freezing by turns

in the early spring; but when the hot sun of summer had warmed them

for a while they would suddenly burst open, letting loose a host of

voracious, crawling devils. This phenomenon called to mind another

saying: No evil is quite so bad as that which man himself fosters.

It seemed to be true enough in this case; for these little wriggling

demons were not only revoltingly nasty to look at, but they also caused

an even greater devastation than those which came flying on the wings

of the western breeze.

Not that these others ceased coming now, because man had raised a

crop of his own—God, no! It would happen for days at a time, during

the height of the pest season, that one could not see clear sky.

But not always did the scourge choose to descend; often the locust

clouds would come drifting across the sun, very much like streamers of

snow, floating lazily by for days on end; then, all of a sudden, as

if overcome by their own neglect, they would swoop down, dashing and

spreading out like an angry flood, slicing and shearing, cutting

with greedy teeth, laying waste every foot of the field they lighted

in. At last, perhaps by the time the next afternoon’s breeze had risen,

they would apparently take the notion that this wasn’t a fit place to

stay in; in a moment they would fly up and be gone in a great cloud,

off on the search for new conquests.

Impossible to outguess them! No creatures ever acted so whimsically or

showed such a lack of rational, orderly method. One field they might

entirely lay waste, while they ate only a few rods into the next; a

third, lying close beside the others, they might not choose to touch at

all. In one field they would cut the stalks, leaving the ground strewn

with a green carpet of heads; in the next they might content themselves

with shearing the beard—then the grain looked like shorn sheep with the

ears gone. Nor were they at all fastidious: potatoes and vegetables of

all kinds, barley and oats, wheat and rye—it made no difference; or a

swarm of insects might light on a wagon box, and when it lifted again

the box would have been scarred by countless sharp teeth; at one place

a fork with a handle of hickory might be standing in the ground, and

after a few swarms had passed the surface of the handle would be rasped

and chewed, a mass of loose slivers; somewhere else a garment might

be laid out on the ground to dry—a swarm would light on it, and in a

moment only shreds would be left; if the annihilating devils were in

the proper mood, they would take anything and leave nothing.

The folk looked on helplessly, in grim despair and awe-stricken wonder;

the more timid ones among them were oppressed by a growing fear, while

the godless swore so that the air smelled of brimstone; the pious would

assemble in homes and churches, entreating the Lord to deliver them

from famine and pestilence; but the brave did not lose heart, and kept

on busily inventing all sorts of devices with which to drive the demons

away. Many odd expedients were tried in different places; simple-minded

people would take a washtub and a rolling pin, and beat until they were

tired, but never a ripple did such a din cause in the current’s

steady flow.

And all the while the folk tried to comfort one another.... It will be

better by-and-by, you know!... This plague must leave _some time_—it

can’t go on forever!... The Sognings were a people of even temperament,

not easily flustered; they bore the affliction with remarkable calmness

and fortitude. Of course this thing would have to stop! They had faith

to believe it—how could it well be otherwise?... And their cousins, the

Vossings, would always agree with them. Yes, indeed! Why, such things

always seem hardest to bear at the first—don’t we know _that_?...

Some one would think of a hallowed consolation with which to comfort

the others. Wasn’t it pretty bad in Egypt?—But what did the Book say?

Didn’t the plague vanish there? Why, it had lasted practically no time

at all!... I’ll bet my last dollar, some one else would venture, that

next year everything will be all right!... And when it turned out to

be just as bad the following year, the same person would be even more

confident. Now, see—we’ve had this thing with us two years already—this

is the end! Who ever heard of a plague lasting forever? Don’t you

remember the Black Death? That finished up in half a year, didn’t it,

and was never heard of again?... And even when the third summer came,

and there was no let-up in the awful visitation, some bright head would

remember the indisputable fact that _all good things are three_. So

there!—Now let’s thank the Lord that we’re through with it at last!

Just wait awhile—the soil out here is first class; if we hang on, we’re

sure to make a clean sweep!... On the fourth summer the plague raged

worse than ever before; but now it had begun to lose its power over the

people—they feared it no longer. We’re getting used to it, they would

say with a bitter laugh. It takes neither man nor beast—let’s thank God

for _that_, anyway!...

III. The Glory of the Lord

I

A day in June, of quivering, vital sunlight.... The irregular shadows

of fleecy clouds drifting across an endless plain.... Sun and

irregular, fleecy clouds—nothing but these all day....

Over the prairie, making toward the settlement by Spring Creek, rattled

an old, dilapidated cart, antique of build, in a state so wretched that

it seemed ready to fall apart at the next tussock it might encounter.

The nag in front was in perfect keeping with the vehicle: long-shanked

and rawboned, and so lean and lanky that one could have counted every

rib. Originally its colour might have been a light grey, but now it was

no longer definable: dirty grey, rusty, yellowish-brown—it might have

been any one of these, or just as accurately something else. Only a

few miserable hanks were left of what probably had once been a flowing

mane. Above the shoulders rose a big hump; when the animal stretched

out its neck, one was reminded of a dromedary. Undoubtedly it had once

been an authentic horse, but that must have been a long time ago.

The man in the seat was of even more uncertain age than either horse

or vehicle. He might be forty-five, or he might just as likely be

sixty-five. But for his beard and stoutness, one would be inclined

to guess the former figure, for the expression of his face was still

youthful, the eyes bright and sparkling with something boyish in

their gleam. But the beard clearly suggested a more advanced age; it

stretched from ear to ear, forming a thick fringe around the chin; it

was perhaps an inch long, heavy and stiff, originally blond in color,

but now streaked with grey. The clothes, too, testified to the

man’s advanced age; especially the coat, which seemed to be neither

coat nor jacket, but something out of the ordinary—a garment of thin

black cloth, loosely fitting, too long to be called a jacket, yet not

long enough for a topcoat.

The horse trudged slowly on, the cart jolting and rumbling behind; the

man on the seat allowed him to dawdle as much as he pleased, and hummed

tunes to himself to pass the time. After a long while the sod huts by

Spring Creek began almost imperceptibly to lift their heads out of the

ground; and not a bit too soon, for evening was fast coming on.

A couple of frame houses, one large and square, the other smaller

and with a high gable, had long been visible. They seemed strangely

conspicuous in the bare, level landscape; one could not help wondering

if they really belonged here in the wilderness. The man on the cart,

however, apparently paid no heed to them; as the sod huts came more and

more within the range of his vision, his humming gradually grew fainter

and more intermittent.

“Hm ... hm.... Well, here they are. Move along now. King!” came

coaxingly from out of the fringe of beard. “We must try to scratch

gravel, you see, and get there before the folks go to bed. Go ’long, I

tell you, go ’long!”

The sun had already set when the horse came to a standstill in front of

one of the huts; the traveller did not get down.

“Anybody at home here?” he shouted in a strong voice.

Sounds of sudden movement were heard within. A stout toil-worn,

red-faced man came hastily out, an equally stout but rounder woman

rolled after him, both with their mouths full of food; the red-faced

man was wiping his beard; both he and his wife were staring at the

stranger.

“I asked if there were people here,” repeated the man, unconsciously

falling into the idiom of his native tongue and using a phrase that

carried a special meaning. Behind the fringe of his whiskers beamed a

broad smile.

“Oh, the devil! Are you Norwegian, then?” shouted the red-faced

man, jovially.

“So, so! Do you call on _that fellow_ around here?”

The man on the ground immediately grew serious; he and his wife were

staring at the stranger.

“Have you any more food than you need for supper, and a place to put up

a tired horse that’s been on his feet all day?”

Without waiting for an answer, the speaker threw down the lines,

stepped out of the cart, stretched himself, and sighed with relief.

“My, my! How stiff one gets from all this shaking!... What’s your name,

my good man?”

“My name is Syvert Tönseten. What kind of a fellow may you be?”

Tönseten came close up and looked inquiringly at the stranger, who had

now turned to the woman:

“Have you got any food in the house, mother?” And ignoring the man, the

traveller took from his cart a large, old, and well-worn satchel, which

he deposited on the ground.

“Why, yes ... of course ... if you will take what we have!” said

Kjersti, slowly. There she paused; moving behind her husband, she took

her hand from under her apron and gave a pull at his jacket; she had

now looked the stranger over and didn’t feel altogether relieved....

Tönseten was too preoccupied with himself to notice her. “I am asking

you,” he said with pompous dignity, “what kind of a fellow you are and

what you are after. Are you looking for land?”

The stranger put his hands against his sides, looked straight at them,

and said, impressively:

“I am a minister. As for you, my good man, you ought not to stand there

swearing into the face of strangers!... Now let me ask you again: May I

stop here to-night?”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tönseten, letting his breath go as if some

one had hit him in the stomach.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” wailed Kjersti, awe-stricken, yet overwhelmed with

joy. “Is the man crazy? Can he really be a minister?... Of course

he must stop here, if he can only eat the stuff we have!”

“Don’t worry about that, mother.” He turned to her husband. “And now

you and I will attend to the horse.”

Tönseten’s knees were weak from penitent zeal; he trembled with

eagerness to help; he wanted to talk, but his voice failed and the

words would not come. But the horse was wonderfully well cared for;

he even went back a second time, after they were through, to spread

another layer of straw for bedding. While they worked the minister had

many questions to ask; they took their own time about coming in.

At last Tönseten ushered the minister into the hut, placed a chair

at the farthest end of the table, and bade him be seated. The table

now was laid with a white tablecloth, on which had been placed a

superabundance of food for only one person; there were _römmekolle_

and _flatbröd_, fresh milk and boiled eggs; there were coffee and

cakes; but even so, Kjersti thought it too little to offer such

a distinguished visitor; now she was busy frying a couple of egg

pancakes. Thank goodness, there was plenty of what she had! She had

hurriedly tidied up the room; it looked cozy and comfortable inside the

hut, and the minister could not refrain from expressing his admiration.

Finally he sat up to the table and began to eat, praising everything

that he tasted and helping himself bountifully, like a healthy person

whose hunger has been sharpened by a long fast.

Tönseten remained standing in the middle of the floor, talking with

the minister; his manner was humble almost to the point of unction,

his voice had taken on a tone of great solemnity. Kjersti hung in

the background by the stove, where the room lay in shadow, listening

closely to the conversation; she was more concerned about what her

husband said than to follow the minister’s discourse—Syvert was so

easily excited, poor fellow, and had so little experience in talking

to people of quality! She watched the minister as he helped himself

liberally to the food, and felt the blessing of it descend upon

her. How kind of him to say the nice things he did about the food she

had prepared!... And he chatted with them so pleasantly and naturally!

No traces of sermonizing in his talk! Why, he and Syvert were just

discussing ordinary everyday things—about conditions as they were

around there, about crops and prospects, about the best way to run a

farm.... Now and then Tönseten would turn their conversation toward the

future; he was more interested in visualizing how things were going to

turn out than in making a bare statement of how they actually were;

_that_ was something he could enlarge upon to the minister. And the

minister seemed to have much good advice; thus they ought to do with

that, he said, and so with this, but differently with the other....

At length he inquired about the religious life of the people in this

locality. Tönseten cleared his throat at the question, which he had

been expecting, and answered emphatically that that was a subject on

which he wasn’t very well posted; you couldn’t expect a common farmer

to know much about such matters. And then he began hurriedly to ask the

pastor which way he had come, and whether he had seen many settlers

in the parts through which he had travelled. This, in turn, gave him

an opportunity to tell how the country looked hereabouts when he had

first arrived six years ago; he waxed so eloquent on this point that it

seemed difficult for him to stop.... Kjersti realized that he was now

on extremely dangerous ground!——

At last the minister had finished his meal.

“Now then, my good man, be silent, and we will thank the Lord for this

day.”

“Yes, yes—of course!” ... Tönseten blew his nose vigorously; but not

knowing what to do with himself next, he stuck his thumbs inside his

trousers-band, and stood where he was in the middle of the floor,

utterly unnerved.

Kjersti sank down on the wood-box, and wiped her eyes with her

apron.... She wanted to tell her husband to sit down, but simply

couldn’t screw up her courage to do it.

Placing his folded hands on the table, the minister began in a

quiet way, as if addressing some one they could not see who stood very

near; he seemed to be well acquainted with this unseen being, for he

spoke in a low voice and very intimately, as to a dear friend who,

unexpectedly, had done him a good turn. He thanked Him for the day

that now was past, nevermore to return, entreating Him to cast into

the ocean of grace all sins committed on this day; he prayed long and

earnestly for the people out here, for the house in which he sat, and

especially for the man standing there who was so prone to swear; in one

way or another He must come to him and remind him constantly of what

His holy law provided with respect to this grievous sin. But He must

not be too severe with these poor people, for they had wandered far

from home and some had gone astray, and long had they dwelt out here in

the Great Wilderness, without a shepherd and without care. Truly, life

had not been easy for them!... After saying amen, he remained silent

for some time, with hands still folded; from the candle on the table a

pale glow was thrown over his face, touching the fringe of his beard

with pure silver.... Peace had fallen on the room.

Then the minister arose.

“Praise be to God, and thanks to you, good people, for this sumptuous

feast!”

Tönseten again blew his nose violently; then, overcome with confusion,

he wheeled about and walked out of the hut.

Kjersti sat on the wood-box, weeping with mingled emotions. The

minister came over and took her by the hand. “A fine meal you prepared

for me, mother, and here are my heartfelt thanks!”

“Oh, well—that’s nothing!” ... She shook her head speechlessly, but

could not let go his hand.

In a moment Tönseten returned.... This would never do, he wanted to

explain. He wasn’t such a bad case as the minister seemed to think. He

ought to hear some of the others when they let themselves go!... But as

soon as he stood in the presence of the pastor, confusion overcame him

again; he merely stuttered and stammered, and found nothing to say.

The minister now opened his satchel; first of all he took out a large,

fat pouch, and then an ancient pipe, which he carefully cleaned and

promptly filled. “A little incense, I think, will now be blessedly

enjoyable.... No, just remain seated, mother.”

II

The sleeping quarters assigned to the minister were the spare sod

house, a structure which was now to be found on every farm. Clothes

were hung in it, and food was stored there, as well as tools and farm

implements; it might even contain a blacksmith’s shop and a carpenter’s

bench, if the size of the room was sufficient; but nearly always there

was a bed, made and ready for use.

But the minister seemed more anxious to visit with them than to go to

bed; he smoked pipe after pipe, striking it against his toe to knock

out the ashes, each time filling and lighting it anew. He asked them

all about their life, and the struggle they had had since they came to

this place. This was rich for Tönseten; he never tired of telling....

Finally the minister knocked out the ashes of his pipe for the last

time, got up, and laid it carefully aside.

“Well, now the day is done, and a fine, blessed day it has been; the

night is approaching, so let us enjoy sweet repose.... Where do you

intend to put me up for the night, mother?”

Both Kjersti and Tönseten felt that they must accompany him to the

other hut. There stood the bed, with a small table at its side, covered

with a rose-coloured cloth; the room was small and crowded, but seemed

cozy and cheerful withal.

“Oh, here it will be sweet to stretch one’s weary limbs!” exclaimed the

minister, joyfully.

“What a wonderful man he is!” thought Kjersti. She began to make many

excuses because they had nothing better to offer.

With a mixture of jest and earnestness the minister rebuked her

for such talk; soon they were all three laughing together, and it was

so pleasant that the hosts could hardly tear themselves away.

Tönseten had aged considerably in the last two years; one who had known

him before that time would scarcely recognize him now. He had struggled

with a bad cough for two consecutive springs; this spring it had been

so violent at times that he feared the end had come; but Kjersti had

finally managed to boil and dose it out of him. It had left its mark,

however; he became easily tired now, and needed a lot of sleep in order

to keep going.

But to-night he didn’t get much sleep; and what little there was

brought no rest. Serious things to think about had suddenly come

forward.... Oh, my God!...

He would have liked to stay with the minister for a private and

confidential talk; but he knew that Kjersti would never go away and

leave them alone. While she was clearing the table, after they had

gone back to their own house, he slipped out and walked over to the

other hut; but when he got there he realized that it was too late; he

couldn’t talk to the minister to-night—it would never do to disturb him

now.

At last they went to bed together, Tönseten and his wife. Kjersti

lost consciousness almost at once; but Syvert lay awake a long while,

pondering over how he might be able to gain the ear of the minister....

“To-morrow morning,” he thought, “before the minister shows up, I’ll

take some wash water over to him. I’ll sit down in the doorway while

he washes, where I can see if anyone is coming; then, maybe, I’ll get

a chance to talk with him.... I’ll tell him everything. There’s going

to be the devil to pay! Useless to try any tricks here—I can’t get

out of it. His eyes are too keen—they see right through you!... But

suppose Kjersti comes along while we are talking? Well, there you are!

He would be likely to refer to it again when we go over to the house,

and that would give the whole thing away; he’s a terror when he begins

asking questions! No, this thing has always been my own worry, and

it shall continue to be.... O Lord! I dread it like hell! If he

could make such a fuss over that little innocent word I dropped, just

speaking _naturally_, what will he say about _this_?” ... Cold sweat

was standing on Tönseten’s forehead.... “No, it will probably be better

to wait till he leaves; then I can go along with him a little way—get

out of range of those eyes of hers.”

This decision brought him something like peace, but no sleep; for now

he had to consider how to present the case in the best light possible.

No sooner had he begun to think that over than the whole wretched

business stood clearly before his eyes; there he lay, wide awake,

staring at his great sin....

Tönseten was indeed in a terrible plight; none but himself knew how

utterly heinous and desperate it was. Until last spring he hadn’t

known it, either; but at that time, when he was lying prostrate and

the cough was threatening to make an end of him, he had come to a

full realization of the enormity of his deed; since then it had hung

over him like a dark shadow, growing deeper and deeper the longer he

turned it in his mind.... Just imagine a perfectly innocent man getting

himself into such a fix! But had anyone, innocent or guilty, ever

committed a sin like the one that lay at his door?

This minister seemed to have a lot of sense, though; perhaps he might

understand that it wasn’t altogether Syvert’s fault, in a manner of

speaking.... They had come to him, you see—he couldn’t get out of it.

He had been legally elected, too; and one of the specified duties of

his office was to do just _this thing_. Surely those who had laid down

the law and forced ignorant people to perform such acts ought to be

made to bear part of the blame!... Of course, he might have objected.

Oh yes, that was just it—he might have refused. That was probably just

what the minister would say; he felt it in his bones. Great God, what

a mess!... The picture of it passed before his mind in rank and file,

clearly and distinctly; he could both see and hear the actors of that

hateful drama; and so he lived it over once more to the last

detail, muttering to himself, and turning alternately hot and cold.

It would be just four years the coming fall since this transgression

had taken place.... It had even happened on a Sunday afternoon....

Well, perhaps that wasn’t so bad. The whole crowd had come walking up

toward the hut; nearly all the east-siders were in the procession, with

Johannes Mörstad and his girl, Josie, in the center.... Halvor Hegg had

explained their errand—Halvor, he was a pretty decent fellow. Tönseten

couldn’t remember the exact words now, but their import was something

like this: “You are a justice of the peace, Syvert Tönseten, and that

is a very important office.” He remembered one thing distinctly, that

Halvor had emphasized the word _important_. “Now, Johannes and Josie,

they want to get married and live together, because Johannes, he needs

help the way he is hustling; and there isn’t anyone else but you to

perform the ceremony. According to law and justice, you’ll have to do

it, too, as near as you can in the Christian manner; you realize that

yourself.” That was the trend of Halvor’s remarks.... Tönseten groaned

aloud, for he well remembered how frightened he had been when he had

finally waked up to the grim fact that Halvor meant what he said.

Since last spring, when he had lain there fighting with death, he had

scarcely thought of anything else....

And that Sunday afternoon he had married the couple!

If he could only be sure, even, that he had done it properly according

to law! But he had been unable to find the papers and instructions

furnished him for such an occasion; not that they would have helped

him much, for they were all in English.... The neighbours had elected

him justice of the peace when they organized the town; the regulations

called for such an official, and they had poked a lot of fun at him

about his important office. At that time he hadn’t dreamed that it

would ever call for legal or technical action, least of all for

anything like _that_.... How could he, an ignorant layman, have dared

to go to work deliberately and do such a sacrilegious thing! Tönseten

spat on the floor and rolled over in bed; he was absolutely

convinced that the heaviest sin one could commit was that of meddling

in sacred matters.

... He _had_ excused himself—he _had_ tried to get out of it! He had

insisted that he didn’t know how—the neighbours could testify to

that!...

The worst of it was that the young people had made merry with him about

it, both then and afterward; they had hurrahed for the “parson” as well

as for the bridal couple, and had applauded the whole ceremony as if it

were a joke.... And Johannes and Josie had moved at once into a house

of their own and had lived together as man and wife ever since.... What

infamy! The minister would simply have to do something about it!... Oh

yes, he recalled the whole damnable business....

Why, hadn’t the two principals themselves, Johannes and Josie, stood

before him without a sign of seriousness in their attitude; hadn’t they

even laughed right into his face?... And he couldn’t be certain that

he, too, hadn’t smiled, although he had tried hard to keep his face

straight.... Then he had taken her hand and placed it in Johannes’s....

No, now let’s see, it must have been the other way around; it had

been Josie, however, who had taken the notion that he wasn’t doing it

right, and had insisted on changing the hands—the others had laughed

and shouted fit to kill.... With that settled, in a deep silence he had

pronounced these words: “Now, Johannes, you take this woman standing by

your side—yes, I say, take her now, and use her decently and honorably,

as is befitting good Norwegian folk!” After that he had uttered the

word “amen” in a loud voice—for the life of him he couldn’t think of

anything else to say. And Josie had looked up brightly into his face,

her eyes snapping with mischief—she was such a pretty girl and had

laughed so happily.... Since then these two had lived together as man

and wife—in infamy! But after all, no serious calamity had befallen

them, save that the children had come so terribly close together; at

any rate, they were all pretty and well shaped!... Huf! Huf!...

Tönseten turned over for the twentieth time. Oh, well, he would

confess to the minister in the morning, let the chastising be ever so

severe. He must be absolved of this sin! If that cough should return

next winter, there was no telling what might happen!...

Since children baptized at home could be rebaptized by a minister, as

if the religious ceremony had only been postponed, there was no logical

reason why a matter like this couldn’t be mended!

At breakfast next morning the minister kept asking a host of questions;

he inquired at length about everything that his brief survey had shown

him: Who lived in this hut and who lived in that? Who had built the big

houses? How had those men happened to prosper ahead of the others?

Tönseten sat at the opposite end of the table, where he was served

separately. This morning he didn’t seem to have any appetite—he

couldn’t relish his food.... It was astonishing how many things the

minister found to ask questions about.... Throughout the breakfast

Tönseten sat in the grip of a silent fear, afraid of what might come

next; as soon as the meal was safely over, he found a pretext for

leaving the room.

A few moments later the minister came out into the yard, with his

satchel in his hand, and glanced around at the neighbourhood where he

had arrived. In his wake came Kjersti, bashfully tripping out of the

house; Tönseten walked restlessly about the yard, handling one thing

after another, but did not approach the minister; then the latter

called out to him:

... Who lived directly west of them?

... Why, that was Hans Olsa—that is to say, Hans Vaag.

... And to the north?

... That was Per Holm—or rather Per Hansa, as he was called.

The minister scrutinized closely that part of the settlement visible

from where they stood; then he went on with his inquiries about the

people.

... Where was the largest house?

... Did he mean the biggest room? Well, that was at Per Holm’s; he

had gone ahead and built on a big scale the very spring he came out;

people had thought him crazy for putting up such a sod house, but it

had turned out that he wasn’t so crazy, after all.... Torkel Tallaksen

was now building a grand house of lumber, that would surely be a

mansion when it was finished; but it wasn’t done yet....

“Well, now, let’s get to work,” said the minister, resolutely. “First

of all, my good man, I must get you to help me. Will you hurry around

to all your neighbours and tell them that to-day, at two o’clock,

I shall conduct divine services at the house of this man Per Holm.

Everyone must be present—tell them that they have to come! And you,

mother”—he turned to address Kjersti—“I think it would be a kindness of

you if you were to go over and help Mrs. Holm get the house ready for

the service; it need not be anything extraordinary, but the place in

which the Lord’s blessings are dealt out ought at least to be clean and

tidy!”

They gazed at the minister in alarm, but for a while said nothing.

“Well—poor Beret!” sighed Kjersti, compassionately.

“Beret?... So that is her name? What is the matter with the woman? Are

they so very poor?”

Suddenly Tönseten forgot his reserve and spoke up emphatically: “I’ll

tell you about it. This Per Hansa—that is to say, Per Holm—he has got

rich out here; he has done better than anyone else, though he came here

without a cent to his name. And why shouldn’t he have done well? He

has plenty of help in his own family, so he never needs to hire; and

besides that, good luck has followed him right along. The first year

we settled, for instance, the grasshoppers came and made a clean sweep

of the rest of us; but Per Hansa saved his whole crop! The same year

he made a big haul with his potatoes ... why, he must have sold for a

thousand that year, and nobody knows how much he has made these years

on the fur trade that he’s carried on with the Indians.... He is now

settled on three quarters of land!”

“Well, well! that’s fine! But what ails his wife?”

Now it was Kjersti’s turn; she shook her head sadly as she related

all the distressing circumstances. Now and then Tönseten, fearing that

she hadn’t made things clear enough, would put in a word. The minister

prompted them with questions. After a while he had learned the whole

sad story about Beret Holm.... His face clouded as he listened; it

was as if the sun had suddenly darkened over a beautiful landscape,

until it became drab and desolate to look upon. For a long time he

stood there absorbed in thought, the two gazing at him apprehensively;

they dared not speak to him in this mood. At last he said, quietly, “I

think we had better arrange it this way, mother: I will go over there

first, and you follow about noontime. As for you, my friend,” turning

to Tönseten, “try to do your errand well! Remember that they must bring

all the children requiring baptism. Don’t forget that! And tell them to

be sure and bring their hymn books, too.”

The minister was now making his preparations to go to Per Hansa’s; as

the distance was so short, he had decided to leave his horse.

Tönseten fussed about uneasily, delaying his errand; he assured the

minister that he needn’t worry—he would get the message around to

everybody in good season—it would only take a minute or two!... His red

beard caught the sunlight every time he moved his head, which now kept

bobbing around in a ridiculous way.

At last the minister took his departure and Tönseten was on hand to go

along with him.

“Let me carry that satchel for you.... I’ll begin here on the north

side and work east—that’s the shortest way.”

They walked on side by side, the minister deeply absorbed in thought;

after a while Tönseten fell a little way behind.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he tried to say casually. His

voice was so faint and low that the other could hardly catch it.

The minister stopped short and looked at him. Tönseten glanced this way

and that; his eyes fell to the ground and he made nervous dashes

here and there, as if seeking escape....

“Well?” ...

Too late now!... Tönseten took a deep breath, summoned all his courage,

glanced once at the minister—then turned his head away....

“I just wanted to ask you if ... well ... if it’s possible to marry a

couple who are already married? Because in that case, I’d ask them to

come, too.”

“You mean, they are divorced?”

“No, indeed, not divorced! Heavens! I should say not! But maybe it

wasn’t done just right, you see, when the ceremony was performed....”

“I am afraid I do not understand you.”

Tönseten spat out a huge mouthful of tobacco juice, and looked up into

the sky.

“You see, it happened here,” he confessed in a desperate voice, “that

we had to organize the township; so we had to have officials, you see.

Well, they went ahead and elected me justice of the peace.... How could

I help it, I’d like to know?... And then, you see, there wasn’t a

minister to be found in all Dakota Territory—there simply wasn’t one in

sight!” Tönseten waved his hand with a wild gesture, still looking off

into the sky.

The minister’s face expanded into a broad smile.

“And so you had to serve as minister?”

“You’ve hit it—that’s _exactly_ what happened!... You see, this fellow,

Johannes Mörstad, and his wife, they couldn’t wait any longer—they

should have been married long before, for that matter. And so they

pounced upon me!... I refused point blank, of course ... I have

witnesses to _that_. But then, you see, I really was justice of the

peace; and at last I had to give in.... That’s the worst sin of all!”

... Tönseten could only whisper now.

“And so you married them?” said the minister, slowly.

“Well, yes—I pitched in and did the best I could.... But now you’ve got

to fix it up properly!” begged Tönseten.

The minister’s smile suddenly became a loud chuckle; Tönseten

listened incredulously; that chuckle descended on the anxious old

fellow like a warm shower; it gave him courage to glance again at

his companion. So great was his thankfulness that the feeling surged

through him: for that man he could gladly die!

He spat and sputtered, blowing his nose in stentorian tones; but he

could not take his eyes off the other man’s face.

“Was it long ago?”

“It will be four years this coming fall.... It was the third Sunday

after Trinity, to be exact. I put a mark in my hymn book.”

“You did what the law prescribed?”

“Of course I did!... Well, that is to say ... I’m only an ignorant

man....”

“Are there any children?”

“Children! Don’t talk about it! There are three of them already, with

a fourth well on the way. As far as that part of it is concerned,”

Tönseten observed in all seriousness, “everything seems to have been

done properly enough! But ... well, you’ll just have to do it over

again!”

“No,” said the minister, still smiling, “that is your job, and I’ll

have nothing to do with it. But tell them to bring the children with

them.... And now see that you get started!”

“But wasn’t it a sacrilegious thing to do?”

“Yes, under normal conditions—undoubtedly. But at the time, as you say,

conditions were far from normal out here, and you had been duly elected

to perform certain official duties.... The Children of Israel wandered

about in the desert; at first they used the barren desert for their

house of worship, then came the tabernacle, finally the temple. And so

with our people in this country. Such marrying practices as some people

have here are sacrilegious and must be discontinued ... you’re right in

that.”

“Do you think the Lord will ever forgive me?”

“That I truly believe He will! This probably is not the worst sin you

have committed!” ...

Tönseten’s joy and relief were almost suffocating; he wiped his

eyes as he gazed at the minister.... What a marvellously sensible

man!...

“I’ll hurry right off and tell them!... But, please, I beg of you,

don’t mention this at home. You see—well, Kjersti is not very strong.”

...

And now Tönseten was speeding along in great excitement from farm to

farm, announcing to all the people that a pastor had come to them at

last and that they must gather to hear him, he was such a wonderfully

able man. And the farther and faster he went, the easier became the

road and the more wonderful did the minister grow in his mind, a

fact which he emphasized at every place he came to and enlarged upon

whenever he could stop long enough to draw breath. And he forgot

neither the children nor the hymn books; he even found other items

to bring to their attention.... All the while he was thinking: Just

imagine, even _he_ could splice a couple together so that it was all

right with the Lord! Well, well, that certainly was a most remarkable

thing!...

III