The minister stood in the corner next to the window, arrayed in full

canonicals. The gown was threadbare and badly wrinkled, as a result

of its many journeys inside the old valise; the ruff might have been

whiter, perhaps; but such trifles were not noticed now, for here stood

a real Norwegian minister in ruff and robe!... It was undoubtedly true,

what Tönseten had said about him—he was an altogether remarkable man.

The vestments which he wore seemed only to emphasize the strength of

his features, whose youthful vigour, in spite of the grey-streaked

beard, appeared at this solemn moment to have taken on a new glow of

life.

The table, spread with a white cloth, had been placed so close to the

window that the minister barely had space to stand behind it; on the

table stood two homemade candles, one at either end; the candlesticks,

too, were homemade, cut from two four-inch pieces of sapling, with the

bark left on and painted white; at a little distance they looked like

curious works of art. The candles were not yet lighted; a bible

and a hymn book lay between them.

The time for the meeting had come. The people filed slowly in and took

their places, settling down wherever space was available; on the beds

sat women crowded close together, strung along the edge like beads;

these were mostly the mothers, and behind them sat and lay the children

all over the beds; on the big chest eight in all had taken their seats,

running from big to little; the chest had been pulled out from the

wall, so that people could sit on all four sides; the six rough benches

which Per Hansa and Hans Olsa had hastily nailed together were now

filled to capacity, mostly by women, young children, and older people

who were not able to stay on their feet so long.

The beds stood in one corner of the room, the stove in another; in

the third were the minister and the table; in the fourth, and on

every available part of the floor, people were packed like sardines.

As many as the room would actually hold had crowded in, eager to see

the minister. But not all who had come could gain an entrance; quite

a crowd had to remain outdoors: some stood along the walls; others

had settled down on the grass. From those outside the house came the

subdued sound of talk and laughter.

The women had dressed up in their best for the occasion, and most

of the men, as well; but here and there one saw a man who had come

straight from his work in the fields, his face covered with sweat and

grime....

In the dense cluster of people by the door some one cleared his throat

loudly; another was heard to mutter that it was a good thing they

didn’t have to be particular about the floor! This latter remark caused

a slight disturbance in the group; a voice laughed outright, and a

couple of men tried to push the people ahead of them forward a little,

so that they could clear a space to spit in.... The minister glanced up

sharply, searching the crowd for the one who had spoken; the youthful

look on his face changed to sternness as he rapped on the table:

“Let us have silence, good people! We will begin at once.” He

raised his voice: “Those who are outside must keep perfectly quiet!”

And now a deep silence descended on the closely packed room; through

this silence the sound of quiet breathing rose and fell, gently yet

perceptibly, like the rise and fall of a heavy ocean swell.

The pastor read the opening prayer. Then he announced the hymn which

they were to sing, and himself led the singing; a few joined in at

first, one voice after another straggling along, like waves on a calm

sea; but before the first stanza was ended every voice had picked up

the tune and the room was vibrating to a surge of mighty song. After

the hymn the minister chanted, conducting the full service just as if

it had been in a real church.... How wonderful it seemed!... Before

long the men had to slip their coats off, it had grown so warm in the

room.

The minister preached on the coming of the Israelites into the Land

of Canaan. He began by reminding his hearers of the dangers which

the Children of Israel had been obliged to pass through, and of the

struggles and tribulations which they had been forced to endure. He set

forth what had been promised them if they would remain faithful to the

heritage of their fathers and obedient to the law which the Lord had

given them as their guide.

Then, in powerful strokes, he sketched the history of Israel. First of

all, how had the ten tribes fared? They had been taken as prisoners to

a strange country; they had remained there and had forsaken their gods;

and then they had disappeared, leaving no trace, like the morning dew

on the face of the Great Prairie. Where were the ten tribes now? Not a

word nor a sign remained of them—not even a chance name, here or there,

to indicate where they must have been! Was it not significant that a

whole people could disappear so completely?... How different the story

of the two-tribe peoples! They, too, had been put in chains and treated

as slaves; but they had been held in bonds of loyalty to their race and

to Him who had nurtured them; and they had endured and prospered. And

so, at last, they had come back to rebuild the ruined walls of

Zion—and from their loins had sprung the Saviour of mankind!

Then the minister shifted the scene, applying the parable to those

who stood before him; they, too, had wandered in search of a Land of

Canaan; from the ancient home of their race they had fared forth, far

away over the ocean into a foreign country; here they had settled

now, here they proposed to strike root again; and here their seed

would multiply from generation to generation, ages without end. True

enough, they had no hostile nations to fight against—and for that they

should thank the Lord! Yet there were other battles, for the powers of

darkness never rested; here were the long journeys to town, with their

strong temptations; here was the force of heathendom, which constantly

threatened them; and here, in all probability, would soon come wealth!

Here was the endless prairie, so rich in its blessings of fertility,

but also full of a great loneliness—a form of freedom which curiously

affected the minds of strangers, especially those to whom the Lord had

given a sad heart. Even the bravest would find it hard to face and

conquer the strangeness of it all, the hopeless chill, the overwhelming

might of this great solitude.

The minister was now spinning out his thoughts and holding them forth

in the light for the people to see; he grew in greatness and power

before their watching eyes, as he showed them their own feelings during

the lonely hours. But when he even came to the grasshoppers at last,

then Tönseten could no longer restrain himself; he had to make manifest

his approval in some way or other. With a firm hand he pushed against

the back of the person in front of him, gaining the room to spit which

he greatly needed; then he looked around at the others triumphantly, as

if to say: “Well, didn’t I tell you—isn’t he a wonderful minister?” ...

But there was no time to waste on such thoughts now!

For now the minister was busy with their future.... Did they fully

understand what the Lord had given them here—and were they sufficiently

grateful to Him for it?... The minister towered high and mighty

before them.... In what manner had they thought to make use

of the unbounded liberty which the Lord in His mercy had granted

them? Here they were about to build a new kingdom—themselves to lay

the foundations, themselves to raise the whole structure from the

ground up. Had they begun to realize the greatness of that glorious

responsibility which He had placed on their shoulders, and did they

have sense enough in their heads to thank Him for it on bended knee?...

He had spread before them here an opportunity the equal of which was

unknown in human history; and here it would be tested out whether

they could measure up to it—whether they were sprung from good stock

or not—whether they were the children of free men or slaves.... Were

they not glad of the chance?... Oh, they ought to sing like the birds

of the plain in the morning sunrise—and then thank God, thank Him in

all humility! In truth, they had not come here out of captivity and

bondage—that, too, they should bear in mind in giving thanks. But they

had found here the fairest promise that the Lord God had ever given to

any people....

The words came with thrilling meaning; they took on a richer glow, a

brighter texture, as the minister fired to his subject.... There was

one point, he cried, where they and the ancient Children of Israel

paralleled each other in a striking manner. For the kingdom which they

were founding here would be a work of praise, a blessing to coming

generations, only in so far as they remained steadfast to the truths

implanted in them as children by their fathers. There was no other

foundation to build upon; indeed, what other refuge did men have?...

And now he stood here in their presence on this great day, a frail

messenger of the Lord, to bring them this solemn question: Would they

do as the ten lost tribes of Israel did, and disappear out of the

world, or would they do as the two tribes had done, and never perish

among men?...

The minister’s voice had sunk low, but his words bore in upon them

with irresistible power; his eyes glowed with a secret light; his

cheeks burned with the flush of his inspiration; all his boyish

youthfulness had gone, and in its place was speaking the authority of

ripe, mature experience.

The people sat and stood about while he was preaching, hanging on

every word he said. Only a few were competent to climb the ladder

of reasoning that he had raised for them. The others realized that

he was preaching well, and let it go at that; it gave them a simple

satisfaction just to listen; they rejoiced in their hearts that such

a man had come here to-day; they felt that he wished them well. And

it was so fine and jolly, too, this gathering together; now there

would be some excitement in the settlement.... One was thinking about

the congregation that they would have to organize; another about the

location of the new church; still another about the cemetery, as

to where it would probably be located; and to everyone the thought

came that men would be needed to manage these activities; well, they

would show him that they could govern themselves, that they were a

well-conducted people!... One woman had it in mind that they would of

course start a ladies’ aid, now that they had a minister; and that

would be great fun, with meetings and cakes and coffee and sewing and

all the rest; she proposed to begin some embroidering at once! But

those who had not yet been confirmed dreaded the ordeal a little,

though at the same time they were glad; at any rate, there would be a

change in the daily monotony, and they would of course have some fine

new clothes for the confirmation!... Tönseten had fallen into deep

and serious thought concerning a matter of great importance—of very

great importance. He was wondering how he could manage to help the

minister out in the most valuable way.... Now, when the congregation

was organized, they would as a matter of course have to elect a

_klokker_![22] Well, if he had been able to splice a couple so that the

knot held even before the Lord, he certainly ought to be able to

serve as _klokker_.... He would have to see about it later on....

[22] A church official having partly the duty of cantor and partly of

sexton. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a _candidatus

theologiæ_ when deemed too great a blockhead to receive ordination to

the holy ministry, was often appointed _klokker_.

In the farthest corner by the stove sat a pale, delicate-featured

woman, almost hidden by those in front of her. As soon as the minister

began to talk she bent her head forward and a little to one side, until

she had found an opening through which she could get a glimpse of his

face. She listened intently to the sermon—at first with a wondering,

happy look, which slowly grew skeptical and sad; all the while her eyes

did not release their hold on the speaker. As the sermon progressed,

the expression on her face became covert and cunning; her lips moved

as if she were making objections, but no sound came.... “That! No,

that shall not happen—it shall not happen!” was what the face seemed

to say.... “He is playing us false ... this man ... he will lead us to

something that is not good.” ...

By her side sat a man with a handsome, fair-skinned little boy in his

lap; the boy had sparkling blue eyes, which flitted about from face

to face, looking at everyone, laughing mischievously when the look

was caught and returned.... Now and then the man laid his hand on the

woman’s shoulder, as if to reassure her; then she smiled strangely; she

had no time to look at him, but the smile seemed to say: “Don’t worry,

he shall not deceive me.... I understand it all.... He is sly, though,

isn’t he?” ...

When the hymn following the sermon had been sung, the minister said to

them:

“Now, it is my advice that those who have been sitting all this time,

and have the strength to stand, change places with those who have been

standing; in this way we may help to bear one another’s burdens. Let

the change be made with order and decency.... We shall now perform the

holy act of baptism. I should appreciate it if all you grown people

would remain, and thus call to mind your own sacred covenant with the

Lord.... First let all unbaptized children come forward; and afterward

those who have been christened at home.”

At this a considerable disturbance arose in the crowd; some people

got up and pushed their way out of the door, talking in low tones as

they squeezed through the throng; at the same time several who had

remained outside during the sermon pushed their way in; hitherto they

had heard only the voice, but now they wanted to get a glimpse of the

man....

Sörine came in with a basin of water which she placed on the table, and

laid a clean towel beside it.

Those who were to hold the children now took them in their arms and

came forward; the sponsors stood up and looked around; there was scant

room to move in the stifling crush, and several people had to go out at

this moment; but little by little the disorder subsided, so that the

ceremony could begin.

Most of the grown people knew the baptismal hymn by heart, and although

the air was heavy and close in the crowded hut, the singing rose with

great fervour. There were fourteen children who had not been baptized,

one of them only three weeks old—a tiny being whose arrival had been

looked for in the fond hope that it might turn out to be a baby girl,

as indeed it had, and who now lay sweetly sleeping in its mother’s arms.

The first child to be baptized was four years old—a big, fat,

dark-haired, hungry lump of a boy, who talked out loud and wanted to

get down and run over to his mother. He didn’t seem to appreciate in

the least what was about to be done for him, and aroused a good deal of

merriment among the onlookers. However, the ceremony soon went on with

all proper calm and decorum.... Josie, the one for whom Tönseten had

performed the marriage rite, came last of all; she had three children,

and had striven hard to get them ready for this service; she carried

the youngest in her own arms. Tönseten regarded her and her offspring

with a certain fatherly pride, and folded his hands devoutly as she

came forward.

Then came three children who had been privately baptized by laymen.

Sörine advanced first, holding up for his second christening the child

at whose birth she had been present and for whom she had once

before stood sponsor; the boy awakened in the arms of his godmother,

turning two bright blue eyes toward the minister; he laughed aloud and

asked Sörine who that man was with the whiskers and the long black

skirt? Sörine tried by petting him to hush him up.... “He doesn’t have

any pants!” said the boy, still laughing and putting his arms around

her neck; those who stood near enough to overhear were doubled up with

mirth.

But as the pastor asked the child’s name and she gave it, and he

repeated it clearly and distinctly, so as to be heard throughout

the room—“Peder Victorious, dost thou renounce—” ... something

extraordinary happened. From out that pale face over in the corner

came a sound of anguish. Beret rose up and pushed her way violently

through the crowd, which moved aside in sudden alarm to let her pass,

then closed immediately in behind her; Per Hansa tried to follow, but

found it hard to make a passage through the throng, which now was

crowding forward in order to get a better view; and all at once her

voice, shrill and vibrant, pierced the room: “This evil deed shall

not be done!” ... She was already halfway there. Some blocked her

passage; others tried to silence her.... “Oh, let me go!” she cried.

“This sin shall not happen! How can a man be _victorious_ out here,

where the evil one gets us all!... Are you all stark mad?” Her cries

were shrill and piercing; they rose with a wild tremor of anguish,

striking terror into the hearts of the men who stood about, not knowing

what to do; the women hid their faces and did not dare to look; some

of the weaker-nerved began to weep hysterically; on one of the beds a

little girl had thrown herself face downward, crying and screaming; two

half-grown boys, overcome by the horror of it, silently pressed their

cheeks against the sod wall; the doorway was now crowded with curious

faces, one tier above another. All wanted to see what was going on.

The minister paused in the service.

“Take your wife outside, Peder Holm! The air in here is close and bad

for a sick person. I will talk to her afterward.... And the rest of

you—please keep quiet!”

It took some time to calm the morbid excitement. Per Hansa had

finally reached Beret; he lifted her in his arms, but the people

crowded around so densely that it was difficult to get through, and

all the while Beret was striking out wildly, pulling and pushing in a

frantic effort to escape. She foamed at the mouth.... “This is the work

of the devil!” she muttered through clenched teeth.... “Now he will

surely take my little boy!... God save us—we perish!”

The meeting lasted inordinately long. When the pastor was finally

through he announced divine services again two weeks from the following

Sunday; at that time he would return to them and conduct Communion.

“There must be many of you who need to unburden your hearts before your

God and Father in Heaven!” he went on impressively. “We shall begin

the service here in this room, promptly at eleven o’clock.” Hesitating

for a moment, he looked around at the people and a tired smile crossed

his face; in a lower voice he continued: “It would not be amiss, I

think, if you men were to dress up a little; to the Lord it makes no

difference, but it would seem more like the Lord’s day for you, and you

would be edified thereby.”

IV

After the service the people remained standing around in groups out in

the yard, talking about the minister and the sermon, and discussing in

low tones the sad thing that had happened that day. The latter event

claimed most of their attention. Everyone felt great sympathy for this

family on whom adversity had laid such a heavy hand; some thought it

was very wrong for Per Hansa to keep a person like Beret at home; a

tragedy might happen at any time—and then it would be too late; various

incidents of this kind were recalled; some remembered also that Per

Hansa himself was a hard-hearted sinner who needed serious admonition;

but they were all sorry for him, just the same.

None of the people of the house were to be seen. The crowd outside

stood looking around, as if waiting for something to happen; no one

wanted to leave until he knew....

A few women were still inside the house; they had planned to stay and

help put things in order. Among them was Sörine, still carrying the

child in her arms. The women were plainly anxious and disturbed; they

talked in subdued voices, and couldn’t seem to take hold of the work

with any heart.

The minister had seated himself at the table, folded his hands, and

laid his head upon them; thus he sat for a long while in silence; then,

as if noticing the people in the room for the first time, he got up and

walked over to the group of women.

“I would suggest,” he said, gently, “that you all go home. Only let

some one of you who is well acquainted here remain to help; if more

are needed, we will send for you.... Let me have that fine little boy

awhile,” he said to Sörine.... “Of course, I think it would be better

if you all came often to see her, but never more than one at a time.

And never ask her how she is feeling; just take it for granted that

everything is as it should be. To me, things do not look entirely

hopeless here; I believe it will all come right in the end. Yes, I

truly believe it.” ... He took the boy on his knee, and began to play

with him.

“God grant that it might happen as he says!” sighed Kjersti.

The minister heard her.

“In His name, nothing is impossible!... Now I should leave at once, if

I were you. Let the one who is best acquainted here, stay behind.”

Then the minister took the boy in his arms and went out into the yard;

he approached each group standing there, talked to them quietly,

and advised them to go home and keep to themselves as much as they

could.... “For the word of God,” he said, “is like seed put into the

ground; it must be undisturbed, if it is to germinate and bear fruit;

but if it is too deeply covered, it will fail.” ...

“We were just talking about organizing a congregation, you see.”

The speaker looked in astonishment at the minister. Could it be wrong

to discuss that idea?

“The time for that will come later on, without a doubt.” ... The

minister raised his voice.... “Now I will ask each one of you kindly to

go to his own home, remain quiet the rest of the day, and think about

what you have heard.”

“Well, yes—that’s probably all right, of course ... but anyhow....”

The minister turned away and went to another group; the man had to

quit talking and make the best of it. But he thought to himself: this

must be a funny sort of minister who hasn’t time to discuss such an

important matter as organizing a congregation!

Group after group broke up and melted away; people moved slowly

homeward, and soon there was no one left in the yard; the day had

closed and night was fast coming on.

The minister remained outside for some time, walking about the yard,

still clad in his canonical robe; the boy toddled along beside him,

hanging on to the black gown as if it were a great joke, and thoroughly

enjoying himself with this queer man.

At length the minister bent his steps toward the new sod stable, from

which seemed to come the sound of voices and the whimpering cry of a

child; he took up the boy in his arms, went over to the door, pushed it

open, and stepped inside. The room had no windows; it was so dark in

there that as he peered about, coming straight from the twilight, he

could not make out the objects clearly. He was at once aware, however,

of the presence of people; he walked farther in, looking around for

what he knew was there.

They were sitting on a bundle of hay—Per Hansa and Beret, she with her

face pressed close against his, he with one arm about her neck and the

other about her waist; And-Ongen clung to her father’s shoulder, her

arms clasped tightly around his neck.

“The sweet peace of God be upon you!” said the pastor, gently, as soon

as he had discovered them. “The people have all gone. And now, Mother

Holm, I should like very much to have you cook us a good cup of

coffee, if there is any in your house; I want to take supper with you.”

The sound of his voice startled Beret. She sat up, brushed her hair

back, and looked around with a puzzled expression. She felt abashed,

just like a modest person with too few clothes on who unexpectedly

finds himself in the presence of others.

“Oh, is this where we are?” she muttered, bending over and covering her

eyes.

“I want something to eat!” cried the boy, tearing himself from the

minister as soon as he heard his mother’s voice.

She seized the child frantically and hugged him close to her; pushing

her face down in the hollow of his neck, she drank and drank....

“No, no, Beret—don’t be so violent!” begged her husband. “Please be

careful!”

Then she threw back her head, the pale face flushed and distorted. “Am

I not to love my own child!”

The minister came up to her and laid his hand on her head.

“That’s quite right, Mother Holm! Love him all you can; but do not

forget to thank Him who has given you this precious gift. There is the

promise of a splendid man in that fine boy; you will surely have much

joy in him!”

Beret ceased caressing the boy and sat bent over him, listening to the

words of the minister. Then she rose hurriedly and smoothed down her

dress; again the minister got the impression that in some curious way

she felt ashamed. Without saying a word, she took a child by either

hand and walked out of the stable.

Per Hansa remained sitting on the pile of hay, resting his head on one

hand; his hair and beard were unkempt, and quite grizzled now; his

face was deeply furrowed, as if by the marks of a ruthless hand; his

whole figure seemed fearfully ravaged and broken, like a forest maple

shattered by a storm.

The minister sat down beside him; he began to confess Per Hansa with

all the gentleness of a sympathetic and understanding pastor.

“Now tell me everything. Two can carry what one alone cannot lift.

Tell me everything from the beginning.”

Without changing his position, Per Hansa looked down at the hay,

sighed, and began to talk in broken accents: “I don’t understand it

myself, you see.... I only know that damnation has come down upon

us.... It can’t continue much longer—I’ll probably have to _send her

away_.” Again he sighed, and then became silent.

It seemed to the minister as if the sum total of human tragedy sat

talking to him.... A chill had entered the dimly lighted room.

“Perhaps you are right ... otherwise, the cross might become too heavy

for you to bear!”

A long pause fell.

“But she is not entirely deranged, is she?”

“Partly or entirely—what difference does it make? If the fiddle is

cracked, it’s cracked....”

“Maybe so ... yes, yes....”

Still looking down at the hay, Per Hansa continued:

“I don’t know that I am guilty of any other wrong toward her than that

our oldest boy came before we were married; but in that matter we were

equally to blame.... And then I brought her out here. I suppose that

there is where the real trouble lies.... I don’t believe she grieves

much about that other affair.... No, it’s this business out here—and

for the life of me I can’t see any sin in it.”

“I think I understand,” said the minister, gently.

“But is a man to refuse to go where his whole future calls, only

because his wife doesn’t like it?” ... The question sprang out of Per

Hansa’s soul, as if he were for the first time opening the door to many

years of pent-up suffering. He turned his strong, resolute face toward

the minister, begging for an answer.

“Indeed he may, my good man,” said the minister, earnestly. “But it

would be better if they were both agreed upon it.”

“Agreed, yes—easy enough to say!... When the only disagreement, for

instance, was that she advised waiting another year!... And it

isn’t so much what she has said since we came out here.... Now. I

wish you would tell me—” Per Hansa spoke softly, almost diffidently.

“Suppose a husband and wife cannot agree—what, then, is he to do?”

The minister felt through the question the aching need of the man for

relief and comfort.

“_Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be

joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh_,” he quoted.

“There you have the Lord’s decree. But if the law applies to man, it

must apply to woman as well. Between you two there has, as I understand

it, been no real disagreement?”

Per Hansa shook his head; the words came with great difficulty:

“I sometimes wonder if there ever were two people who cared quite

as much for each other as we do.... But that hasn’t made things any

easier; you can’t lift the ocean, whether it rages in a storm or

lies quiet in a flat calm.... And now, please tell me, you who are a

minister and understand the Scriptures, _What is the man to do_?” Per

Hansa grasped the minister by the arm, clutching hard in his terrible

agitation.

“He shall humble himself before the Lord his God, and shall take up his

cross to bear it with patience!” said the minister, impressively.

“Ha-ha!” Per Hansa suddenly burst out in a bitter laugh. “That’s too

scanty a fare for me to live on. You’d better put that kind of talk

aside.... I ask as an ignorant man, and I must have an answer that I

can understand: Did I do right or did I do wrong when I brought her

out here? And what should I have done instead, when I saw nothing else

ahead of me in the world?”

“That time you undoubtedly did right, my good man, if what you have

told me is true; a man must go whither his heart and mind lead him,

unless the Lord comes and says no.... You did right that time; but

since then you have let yourself sink into the mire of a great sin, as

I am told. And now you grumble—like those Israelites of yore—because

the Lord is leading you on paths that you do not wish to follow....

You are not willing to bear your cross with humility!”

“No, I am not; and let me tell you something more.” Per Hansa’s voice

hardened. “We find other things to do out here than to carry crosses!”

Then he fell silent. The minister tried to find words with which to

reprove him; but in a moment Per Hansa began again—and now it was he

who rebuked the minister: “My experience has been that it is mighty

easy for one to talk about things he has not tried!... I have sweat

blood over this thing—and now I’m no longer equal to it.... Have you

ever thought what it means for a man to be in constant fear that the

mother may do away with her own children—and that, besides, it may be

his fault that she has fallen into that state of mind?”

When the minister finally answered, he had become all gentleness again.

“No, thanks and praise to God, such affliction He has spared me!” He

put one arm over Per Hansa’s shoulder. “Tell me how all this came

about.”

Per Hansa sat for a while without answering; he seemed like a man

trying to climb a steep hill, whose strength has given out; all at once

he got up and went over to the door, standing there and looking out a

long time into the darkness of the night. The minister followed him....

“There isn’t much to say about such things,” Per Hansa began. “She

has never felt at home here in America.... There are some people, I

know now, who never should emigrate, because, you see, they can’t take

pleasure in that which is to come—they simply can’t see it!... And yet,

she has never reproached me. And in spite of everything, we got along

fairly well up to the time when our last child was born.... Yes, the

one you baptized to-day.... Then she took a notion that she was going

to die—but I didn’t understand it at the time.... She has never had the

habit of fault-finding.... She struggled hard when the child was born,

and we all thought she wouldn’t survive—or him, either. That’s why we

had to baptize him at once. In my heedless joy, after the worst was

over and things had turned out all right, I went and gave him that

second name.... And then everything seemed to go to pieces!”

“That name ...?”

“Yes, the second name. It was very wrong of me, I know. I see that now.”

“What are you saying, man? Such a beautiful name!”

Per Hansa looked at him.... “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I mean it! It is the handsomest name I can ever remember

giving to any child. _Peder Victorious_—why, it sings like a beautiful

melody!”

“Please tell me—is it really a human name? And wasn’t it a sacrilege

on my part?” asked Per Hansa, incredulously, hardly daring yet to

acknowledge his joy.

“My dear man, have you worried about that, too?”

“Have I?... Don’t mention it!... You mean that the name is all right?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the minister without hesitation. “There is nothing

unusual about it, except that you have happened to find a more

beautiful form than I have yet heard; the name itself is common in all

languages.”

Per Hansa gazed at the minister, bringing his face close up in order

to see him better in the growing dusk of the evening. Slowly his

eyes began to light with a new courage; he took a deep breath, and

straightened his body up for the first time in many a long day.

“I must ask you again, for I am an ignorant man: Is this really

true?... And won’t you please tell her the same thing, too—as soon as

you can?”

“I certainly will.... So she does not like the name?”

“No; that’s the trouble.... She believes it is an idea that the

devil himself has given me in order to get us more completely in his

power—but this we didn’t realize before her mind began to cloud. Now

she can’t bear to hear the name; that’s why the attack came on her this

afternoon, when you fastened it on the boy for good.... I was afraid,

too, that something like that might happen.”

“Well, well! Is this possible? How long has she had these attacks?”

“It began with the grasshoppers.... However, she’s always had the

heavy heart to fight against.... And then, those fears of hers—just

utter fancies! Can you understand how a person gets possessed by fear,

right on the level, solid ground?”

“You say it began with the grasshoppers?”

“Well, sir, I came home from work one evening to find a crazy woman!...

She thought it was the devil himself who had cast the plague upon

us—and maybe she wasn’t far wrong in that, either!... Pretty soon she

began to see visions of her mother, who had been dead for some time

then, though we hadn’t got the news....”

“What’s that you are saying?”

“Yes, sir, she saw her mother; and, will you believe it, she knew that

her mother was dead half a year before the letter came!... Oh, you

can’t imagine how bad it was!” The terrors that he had lived through

seemed fairly to choke him as he remembered the awful scenes.

“She could not have actually seen a dead person! She must have been

seriously deranged.”

“Yes—may God help us!—she both saw her and talked with her!... One

night I lay asleep, the first summer after the grasshoppers had come. I

had saved my whole crop and got it in. Suddenly I was awakened by some

one talking aloud in the room. And there she was, pacing back and forth

in the middle of the floor and talking to her mother, exactly as though

she were sitting by her side.... I know that she saw her, I tell you;

and the child—she was carrying the child in her arms!” ... Per Hansa’s

breath failed him for a moment.... “‘It’s no use, mother,’ she said.

‘The boy can’t come to you with a name that Satan has tricked Per into

giving him!’ Those were the very words she used. I got up, lighted a

candle, and as I watched her pacing there, with the little fellow in

her arms, then, at last, I saw how it was with her ... I saw it then.

Until that time I had refused to believe it.... Pastor,” whispered Per

Hansa, “do you know what it means to feel the skin creep up your back?”

...

“Did she try to harm the child?”

“Not then.” He shook his head. “I can’t say whether she had such

thoughts or not; but she took the notion that her mother wanted the

child with her.... The rest came later.” Per Hansa pulled himself

together with a strong effort.... “It will be two years this summer;

it happened toward evening, one day when the grasshoppers came in such

numbers that it was hard to see the sky. If Sörrina, our neighbour

woman, hadn’t been making us a visit, it’s hard telling ... but there

she sat, holding the child.”

“The Lord show mercy unto you!”

“Well may you say it!... That afternoon, when the grasshoppers began

to beat like hail against the walls, she remembered that some of the

little fellow’s clothes were lying outside to dry. She ran out to get

them, but when she picked them up there was nothing left but a few

tatters of cloth.... Then the spell came over her in an instant, you

understand. She ran into the house like a mad woman, wailing: ‘Now

the devil has come for your clothes.... He’d better have you, too....

Until he gets you we will have no peace!’ ... Then she grabbed for

the child!” Per Hansa groaned aloud.... “But what might have been in

her mind I cannot say. I forgot to tell you,” he went on, controlling

himself once more, “that the very night before, her mother was in the

room with her; Beret talked with her just as plainly as I now stand

here talking to you. She had got up and dressed herself, and was

telling her mother all about everything, the way women do ... and,

would you believe it, she wanted to cook coffee for her!... ‘We aren’t

so poor as all that!’ she told her mother.”

“And how was it afterward?” the minister asked, deeply moved.

“Well, you see,” said Per Hansa, wiping his eyes, “I had to do

something about it. So I persuaded her to let Sörrina take the child

during the summer.”

“You got her to agree to that?”

“Yes, after a while; at first she wouldn’t hear of it, but finally

she gave in. And now I don’t know whether I did right or wrong;

I believe it hurt her terribly to have the little fellow gone. I saw

how she wandered about the room, as if longing to care and do for

him, but he was not there.... And one night after the plague came—I

couldn’t lie awake every night, you know—she got up quietly and stole

over to the house where he was.... She wanted to get the child. Whether

she intended to do him harm or not, none of us can be sure. She told

Sörrina and Hans Olsa that visitors had come from afar, asking to see

the boy, and so she must have him; there wasn’t any way out of it. Yes,

that’s what she said!”

“The Lord has certainly laid a heavy cross upon you! But remember,

He will remove it in His own good time!... Now, tell me, how is she

between these attacks?”

“Well, you see, she may be all right for months; one who had never

known her well would hardly suspect that anything was wrong with her

during this time; she does her work like all the rest of us. In the

dead of winter, of course, when the blizzards are raging and we don’t

see any other folks for weeks at a time, she has days when she seems to

go all to pieces; but I hardly reckon that as the disease—that sort of

thing happens to a good many of us, let me tell you!”

“What do you intend to do about it this summer?”

“This summer?” ... Per Hansa’s face was drawn with fear as he turned

to the minister.... “If Satan lets his hosts loose upon us again this

summer, then I don’t know what will happen!”

The minister patted him on the shoulder:

“Take no thought for the morrow! The plague cannot last forever. And

remember that the Lord is always near. As the number of thy days, so

shall thy strength be. And now take this advice from me: From now

on keep close to her; be toward her as you were during those happy

days when you first got her; let your affection warm her into the

understanding that it is good to be human; and lighten her burdens in

every way.... Above everything, do not take her child away from her

again. You will simply have to be as watchful as you can.... And now I

will perhaps stay here to-night; arrange it so that I can be alone

with her awhile to-morrow.” ...

The minister gazed before him in deep thought, his heart wrung with

pity and compassion. “Perhaps the Lord will allow me to reach her

mind with a clarifying idea. His word is living life and can move

mountains.... When I return you must take her to Communion.”

His hand was patting the shoulder on which it rested. Per Hansa wept,

his sobs coming in short gasps that shook his frame; he experienced a

blessing descending upon him, and his burden grew lighter. There was

much more he wanted to say, but just now he could not speak....

A long pause followed; then the minister spoke again: “Let us not stand

here longer in fear and darkness, talking about sad things; our bodies

need nourishment.”

They walked across the yard in the quiet prairie evening, Per Hansa so

happy that he could gladly have offered the minister his whole crop as

it stood in all its beauty ... and he had a hundred acres seeded in,

counting it near and far.

Just as they reached the door of the hut somebody rounded the corner on

the run and called in a quick, scared voice, “_Father_!”

Both men jumped, so suddenly had the figure come out of the darkness.

“Is that you, Ola? What are you up to, anyway?”

“Father, come here!” The boy grasped Per Hansa by the arm and tried to

pull him along. “Hans is sitting up on the Indian mound, crying and

taking on! I can’t get him to come home!”

“Is he sick?”

“No!”

“What’s the matter with him, then?” The father shook the boy.

“He is afraid of mother ... you must come right away!”

The boy sped away into the darkness.

Per Hansa gave the minister a look which seemed to say: “Now you see

how things are here!” ... And all the radiance that for a moment had

lighted up his soul was suddenly gone out. He asked the minister

to enter.... “Tell them that I and the boys will be right along.” ...

Then he too disappeared.

The minister stood there for a while in deep uncertainty; at last he

turned toward the door, made the sign of the cross in front of it, said

a prayer, then opened it and went in.

* * * * *

... But across the fields ran Ole, and the father went after him.

“Where is he?”

“Over there!”

“You run home. I guess I can find him. Is it over there by the grave?”

“Yes ... here ...”

Ole vanished on the other side of the mound.

“Store-Hans, where are you keeping yourself?”

A smothered cry came through the darkness.

Per Hansa followed the sound and almost stumbled over a writhing form

which lay on the ground; he bent over and lifted it up in his arms.

“Hansy-boy, what’s the matter?”

The father sat down with the limp, slender body of the boy in his arms,

rocking and lulling it.

“Is ... is ... mother queer again?”

“No, indeed! Mother is all right, and now supper is ready.”

“Did ... did she ... kill Permand?”

Per Hansa took a firmer hold of the boy, got up, and started to run.

“Did she do it?”

The father spoke harshly:

“I don’t want to hear any more of such wicked talk! Mother is all right

... all of us are ... and now she has supper ready, and everything.” He

stopped and set the boy down. “Now wipe your face—we can’t come into

the house this way.” ... The father began to dry the boy’s tear-stained

face. “You must wash yourself as soon as you get in the house,” he

said, gently, taking the boy by the hand.

V

Nothing out of the ordinary happened that evening. When the minister

came into the hut he greeted them in an even voice, “God’s peace upon

this house!” Then he took off his vestments, folded them up and put

them in his valise, looked around for a chair, and sat down. And now

that he had removed his official garb he looked like a different man;

the special odour of sanctity that had rested on him seemed to have

departed; he sat there quietly, having little to say, looking like a

man who has just passed through a great hardship and is very tired....

The table was set for supper; upon it had been placed one candle, and

another stood on a little shelf by the stove. Sörine was still in the

house, bustling about and helping with the meal; And-Ongen sat on one

of the beds, playing with her baby brother, who had been washed and

dressed for the night and was now ready to be put to sleep. Sörine kept

talking and laughing with the children as she worked, and an air of

cheerfulness had come over the room.

Beret stood by the stove, bent over, washing some pots and pans; she

glanced once over her shoulder at the minister as he sat down; but very

soon she had to look again. And then she did something that she often

wondered at afterward: she wiped her hands, took a clean bowl from the

cupboard, filled it with fresh milk, and offered it to him, saying:

“Have some milk, please, to stay your hunger while you wait.”

The minister took the bowl without looking at her; he emptied it at one

draught, put it down, and thanked her in a few brief words.

Almost immediately Beret grew bashful and uneasy over what she had

done; in her nervousness she picked up a shirt that she was making for

one of the boys, sat down by the candlelight near the stove, and began

to sew as hard as she could; but she kept her face turned away from the

minister.

Per Hansa and the boys came in; Sörine announced that supper was ready;

the four men sat down and began the meal. The minister looked at the

younger boy; his face was swollen, his eyes were red with weeping;

a heavy veil seemed to hide his handsome features. At the sight of the

boy the minister felt more like crying than eating; a sudden revulsion

overcame him. Laying down his knife and fork, he asked for another bowl

of milk, which he emptied slowly, and then waited for the others to get

through. When he thought they had finished, he folded his hands on the

table and began to pray to the unseen one whose presence was always

near.

So quickly did he begin, that at first Per Hansa didn’t realize what

was going on and was on the point of asking the minister what he said.

The same thing happened to the others: Ole had just discovered that he

wasn’t quite satisfied, and was reaching for another piece of bread;

Sörine was about to offer them all more coffee. But Beret sat bowed

over her sewing, trying to catch every word; she took a few stitches,

and then the work dropped to her lap; something compelled her to turn

and look at him. The light of the candle cast a reddish gleam over his

face; his beard seemed more silvery than ever; the countenance was that

of a good child who is tired and wants to be put to bed.... His voice

was gentle and low.... He is really a fine man, thought Beret, and kept

on listening....

During the summer there are at times dark days on the prairie; the

rain is cold, the fog dreary and dank, sticking to one’s clothes like

wool. But it may happen that toward evening, just as the day is nearly

done, a curtain is suddenly drawn aside; in the western sky appears

a window—not built by the hand of man—all luminous with splendour;

out of it shines a radiance clearer and more glorious than anything

the eye has ever beheld; all around the window night and darkness

hang suspended like draperies—they too radiating a glory not of this

world.... Thus was the splendour which now pervaded Per Hansa’s sod

house. All had folded their hands without knowing it. Over on the bed

the play continued; happy laughter arose, though it did not seem to

disturb the prayer. But after a while that also quieted down.... Then

Permand heard the voice of the one he had been playing with earlier in

the evening; it tempted him so hard that he could not resist; clad

in his little nightdress, he crawled out of the bed, toddled across the

earthen floor to the minister, put both hands on the knees that rose

before him, and looked up merrily into the man’s face. All who saw it

felt shocked at the impropriety; they wanted to stop the child, but

only feared a greater impropriety in anything they might do. Per Hansa

was on the point of speaking sharply, but his voice failed; Sörine

thought of snatching the child away, but only remained motionless and

aghast, ... “I suppose I shall have to do it myself,” thought Beret—yet

she, too, could not get up from her chair.... The child had entered a

glory where no one dared to follow.... Without interrupting his flow

of words, the minister lifted the boy onto his knees, folded the baby

hands within his own, and went on with the prayer.... “Oh, this is

too bad!” cried Beret to herself, struggling to rise. “The child’s

nightshirt is dirty—he mustn’t sit there!” But still she could not get

up from her chair: the one with whom the minister was talking stood too

near.... The words flowed on without a pause, softly and sweetly, like

the warm rain of a summer evening. It was as if the minister had much

to confide to that other one; the other one seemed to be objecting, as

if He hesitated to do what was asked; then the minister prayed more

fervently; not that he raised his voice—the words came with the same

gentleness—but he threw his whole soul into them, as if he refused on

any account to give in.

At last he came to the little boy who sat there on his lap—the child he

had christened that day. And it seemed almost uncanny to listen to what

he said; one could hardly make out whether he was talking to the unseen

being or to the boy himself; at times it sounded as if they might be

one and the same.... He laid his hand tenderly on the child’s head;

his eyes seemed closed, but the words had caught a new inspiration; to

those who listened, it seemed a wonderful thing....

“Set him aside, O God,” the pastor prayed, “as Thou didst formerly with

Thy chosen ones in times of yore!... Set him aside, and consecrate

him as a true Nazarene!... Let him indeed fulfil the promise of his

splendid name and become a true _victor_ here, both over himself and

for the salvation of his people.... And now may Thy blessed peace rest

on this house, for ever and ever ... Amen!”

He sat with closed eyes for some time, his hand still resting on the

boy’s head; the others were very still. Beret trembled throughout her

body; a choking feeling came over her, and at last she had to cough.

She glanced down in confusion at her sewing.

“I haven’t done this right!” she thought, distractedly, trying to calm

herself. She looked at the sewing again, got up to fetch the shears,

and ripped out what she had been doing.

Then the minister began to play with the boy, in a natural, happy way;

and in a little while they both seemed to be having great fun. But he

didn’t have anything to say to the others; and they, in turn, couldn’t

find anything to say to him.

But the next morning, as they sat at the breakfast table, the minister

was both merry and talkative, and helped himself so liberally to the

food that it was a pleasure just to see him do it. He asked many

questions regarding the life and conditions in that vicinity, and

showed himself so well informed about farming that Per Hansa asked,

without thinking, whether he had ever been a farmer.... Then he

suddenly remembered what the minister had told him to do the evening

before; he got up hastily, called to the boys, and they left the house

together.

The moment they were gone Beret grew very uneasy; she found her sewing

again, and sat down with it in a furtive, embarrassed way. The minister

could see nothing unusual about her, except that her face was so

singularly childlike; this impression came mostly from the way she used

her eyes; it was hard to find them, because she kept looking down in

extreme bashfulness and timidity; nor could he seem to easily draw her

into conversation.

He came over and stood beside her chair.

“Well, now, Mrs. Holm, I have a request to make of you. Two weeks

from next Sunday I shall return; and then I plan to conduct Communion

services here in your house.”

Beret was so astonished to hear these words, that she forgot herself

for a moment and looked straight at him.

“Here in our sod house?”

“Yes, right here in your house, where you live every day.... Don’t you

think it would be a blessing for you to come to the Lord with your sins

and taste the sweetness of His mercy?” he said in a quiet voice.

“Here ...?” she asked, greatly agitated. “Oh no—that would never do—oh

no!... It’s too filthy and dirty here.... There’s too much ... it’s

_unclean_!” ... She stopped abruptly, blushed scarlet, and looked down

into her lap again.

“No doubt there is much sin here,” resumed the minister. “That I am

sure of. But the Lord will sanctify the house for us.... And now I want

you to plan how nicely we can arrange it for His blessed purposes. Let

us consider the matter before I leave.” He looked around the room.

“The table had better be taken out—that will give us more room. That

big chest we can perhaps use as the altar—that is, if your husband

could fix up something for railing. We could probably find some fitting

material to cover both that and the chest; perhaps you had better talk

to the neighbour women about it.” ... The minister talked on as if

everything were decided, with only the responsibility for its execution

left in her hands.

She gave him a quick look; her cheeks were flushed.

“That is my father’s chest ... it is a nice chest, too.”

The voice had grown querulous again and bore the same childlike

expression; the minister made no reply. He took her hand, thanked her

briefly for her hospitality, and hurried out of the room. When he got

outside his forehead was damp with perspiration. He saw Per Hansa

coming in his direction, but turned away to avoid him....

When Beret sat down awhile later to dress the little boy she felt that

she could sing aloud to-day—felt that she had to sing, that she could

not help it. Both words and melody seemed to rise in her throat; it was

the baptismal hymn that they had used the previous day, and she

sang all the verses.... While she sang she handled the boy so gently

... as if she were almost afraid to touch him....

VI

There was much stir and activity all through that summer and fall of

’77; many schooners sailed across the wide prairie, and with them came

always excitement. The greater number of them, however, went drifting

past, pushing still farther westward into the sun glimmer; but there

were others that anchored in the settlement and tied up for good. Many

were there already, and sod houses grew up like ant hills.... Prospects

seemed favourable here, they said, especially if one would take the

time to look around. The soil was probably just as good here as farther

west.... Well, why not try it here?...

The Sognings in particular were clever at hanging on to prospective

settlers: “No use talking, you couldn’t find better land than this, if

you searched clear to the Pacific coast! As far as _land_ is concerned,

you might just as well settle here.... And this is an old settlement

now, the community well organized, with schools and everything.... You

can easily get help for both plowing and building.” ... The Sognings

were practical folk, and good talkers, besides; and so they had

elected a committee to advise all land seekers that passed through the

settlement; this committee had informed itself—at least, it talked that

way—about every quarter section that was not yet taken.

The grasshopper plague had raged frightfully that season, but they

would probably soon be rid of it—and, thank God, it took neither man

nor beast! This year, too, the hay was spared, and some of their crops

had been saved from year to year; several of the farmers even had a

little ready money left, after buying the absolutely necessary articles

of food and clothing. The herds of live stock were growing constantly,

and now the flocks of poultry, larger and larger each season,

helped to pay for many of the things that one had to buy.

One fine day a strange monster came writhing westward over the prairie,

from Worthington to Luverne; it was the greatest and the most memorable

event that had yet happened in these parts. The monster crawled along

with a terrible speed; but when it came near, it did not crawl at all;

it rushed forward in tortuous windings, with an awful roar, while

black, curling smoke streaked out behind it in the air. People felt

that day a joy that almost frightened them; for it seemed now that all

their troubles were over, that there could be no more hardships to

contend with—at least, that was what the Sognings solemnly affirmed....

For now that the railway had come as far as this, it wouldn’t take long

before they would see it winding its way into Sioux Falls. Indeed, if

this wasn’t a place fit to live in now, where would one find it?—that

the Sognings would like to know.... Good neighbours, schools, the

finest kind of land, a railroad and everything—what more could anyone

wish?...

That summer a number of houses went up to the westward of Spring Creek.

Before the minister had come the first time, Hans Olsa had already

hauled the materials for both dwelling and barn; now he was building.

After the first year he had gone into stock raising; he had the largest

herd in the settlement, and was doing very well—for those days.... And

Tönseten, after receiving absolution for his great sin, had become all

aglow with high ambitions; his prospects were bright of being elected

_klokker_—perhaps deacon, too; life for him was positively glorious,

just one grand song. All day his head was full of the idea that he,

too, ought to build himself a respectable house. But the plan never

seemed to materialize; he still lived in the old sod house. At last

Kjersti would lose her temper whenever the project was mentioned. The

hut was good enough, she said; besides, they had no one to build for!

This latter fact, however, she didn’t refer to oftener than seemed

absolutely necessary; it only made her husband sulky, and then he would

call her names, like “whimpering Jane” or “weeping willow.” ... He

probably wasn’t to blame, poor fellow, after all....

In the fall Henry Solum built an immense barn; he saw that Hans Olsa

had done well by raising cattle, and intended to follow his example;

the dwelling house could wait until he got some one to take care of

it—and that might be next summer, if everything went as it should....

East of the creek, too, framed houses were rising above the sod huts.

The Irish, west by the sloughs, were a little slower about building;

there things made scant progress until the following year. The pest

had raged worse in that locality than anywhere else, because the land

lay lower. And the Irish acted with native caution. They have a wise

proverb which says that a good barn may perhaps pay for a decent house,

but no one has ever heard of a fine dwelling that paid for a decent

barn.... These words of wisdom they believed—and put them into practice.

The new houses seemed so out of place, standing up on the open, bare

prairie. Did they really belong there? They looked so defiant!... And

that was exactly what the savage storm thought when he came along,

winter or summer, found these unheard-of objects in his way, puffed

and wheezed, took firm hold, and roared in anger. Well, perhaps he did

more than that; it happened now and then that a house would be toppled

over, or shattered and torn to pieces; but no matter how hard the storm

raged and fumed and growled and took on about it, most of the houses

remained standing, and their numbers steadily increased as the years

went by. And the groves of trees which the settlers had striven so hard

to plant and rear—they stretched and spread, they grew in height and

breadth and richness every summer. As they grew they hid the houses,

except where the driveway was to come in, when plans and visions

became reality. There were settlers, even, who wooded themselves in so

completely—perhaps to keep out all evil—that their houses could not be

seen at all until one came inside the grove....

VII

The weather was beautiful on the Sunday of the Communion service; the

pest had already begun, but only that form of it which bred in the soil

there at home; nothing had come yet out of the sky. To-day a light

breeze was blowing from the southwest; there was just heat enough to

be comfortable; the air swept one’s face like a soft, silken veil. The

young people felt like taking off their clothes; the sun quivered down

through a greenish-blue haze far off in the deep sky; and over on the

prairie the first meadow lark had sung that morning. Both the lark and

the robin had found their way out there the second summer after the

settlers came.

Several folks had arrived ahead of the appointed time, and were

standing in little groups around Per Hansa’s house; most of them had

walked over, but those who lived farther away had come jolting along

in a lumber wagon, the load and the jolting apparently increasing

together. The people were all laughing and talking together, full of

life and fun; from their actions no one would have gathered that they

were on their way to church.

Old Aslak Tjöme, who lived just northwest of Sam Solum, brought his

wife in a wheelbarrow. She had fractured her hip on the ice that spring

and was still unable to walk.... “God only knows when she’s going to

get well again!” said Aslak. “It’s too bad, because even when she is

well I have no more help than I need.” ... And Aslak was bringing his

wife to church for this reason: he had a notion—just a notion—that

if the minister would lay his hands on her she might gain faster....

Anyhow, there was no harm in trying.... Aslak, with his wife in the

wheelbarrow, made a funny sight; he had rigged up a high back-rest

for her and had fixed a seat in the barrow, covered with a sheepskin

rug; on this she sat like a queen on her throne. On either side of the

wheelbarrow he had fastened short poles, connecting them with a rope.

The woman clung to the rope with one hand; in the other she held a hymn

book wrapped in a white handkerchief.

Folks passing them stopped and laughed, and offered to push awhile. “Oh

no, thank you!” said Aslak, merrily. “Now I can manage her alone; but

it hasn’t always been thus—no, indeed!” Then he laughed again as he

pushed on, and looked lovingly at her. She nodded and smiled, laughing

back at him.... “You take my place and let me push awhile!” ... That

gave them a good laugh together.

The minister had reached the settlement the evening before and had

stayed overnight at Per Hansa’s. That morning they had been up early,

had hurried through the breakfast, and immediately after had started to

put the house in order for the service. It had been thoroughly cleaned

and tidied up before he came. All kinds of wild flowers that were to be

found on the prairie had been gathered and hung in bouquets of various

sizes under the ceiling, or put into glasses and bowls that stood

around in every conceivable place. There was something strange and

haphazard about it, as if it had been done by children in play.... As

the minister looked around, a chill hand seemed to clutch his heart....

The table had been carried outside and the big chest placed diagonally

in one corner, just as he had directed on his first visit. Per Hansa

had constructed a long, low bench, made up of several small benches;

this ran along in front of the chest and was covered with two rugs

that Sörine had brought over; the chest itself was draped with a white

cloth. The minister took the paten and the chalice and placed them on

the improvised altar; he also asked for the two candlesticks he had

noticed the other time, and when they had been brought and fitted with

candles, he set them on either end of the chest. Over the cold stove

they spread another rug; yesterday the boys had stripped off a whole

tubful of willow leaves; these were now brought in and scattered around

on the floor.

The result was satisfactory. The minister looked around; he had

scarcely spoken since he came.... “Now I am going over to the other hut

to dress for the service; I shall be there until it is time to begin,

and would rather not be disturbed.” ... He glanced at the wife, then at

the husband, and said as he went out, “God grant to both of you a

blessed Communion!”

Entering the other hut, where he had slept the previous night, the

minister slowly began to put on his canonicals. His lips moved in

prayer; his brow was wet with perspiration. When he had dressed he sat

down on the edge of the bed and leaned his head on one hand. As he sat

there, his bowed figure seemed strangely powerless and insignificant;

the strength that he had so fervently prayed for at this hour, he had

not received. When he finally took the books from the valise his hand

trembled. His face looked pale and tired; now he felt the need of a

strong faith—and when he sought it he sought in vain!...

... _In him_ the faith was lacking; of that he was painfully aware.

With a supreme effort he got up from the bed and went out into the yard.

When he reached the other house it was packed full of people; the

elders had found places in the front of the room; there also sat Aslak

Tjöme with his wife, the invalid woman comfortably propped up at his

side; Per Hansa and his wife sat on the very first bench, right in

front of the improvised altar. The minister scanned the crowd, paused

for a moment, then came forward and spoke calmly to Per Hansa: “Now,

when the service begins, you two will please come forward first. As

soon as you have received Communion, you had better go outside, for it

will be hot and stuffy in here.” Then he went from person to person,

writing down the names of the communicants; at once a deep silence fell

on the room.

As the text for the Communion sermon the minister had chosen _The Glory

of the Lord_; rather, he had not chosen it—it had suggested itself

powerfully to him on the day he had gone away after talking with Beret.

He had at once recognized the fitness of the theme. And now, to-day,

it had returned to him with overwhelming force; here sat people who,

perhaps for many years, had had no chance, no single opportunity, to

confess their sins before the Lord and receive His blessed remission.

Among them was one soul, sore perplexed, that he must try to

reach.... He had seen clearly on his last visit—at least, he thought

he had seen—that what the woman needed above everything else was the

gladness of salvation, the abiding joy that issues out of the faith

and the firm conviction that life is good because the Lord Himself

has ordained it all.... Until he faced her he had felt so happy over

the theme.... Ah, well, perhaps the Lord would vouchsafe unto him the

necessary strength ... yes, if he only could find the faith within his

own soul!...

He asked the assembly to keep quiet and remain seated during the

Communion service, and began the service at once.

But as he started to preach the words he wanted would not come; in

those that came there seemed to be no power; to-day something had

happened to him which he could not control. He heard himself speak,

and it seemed like the voice of another. He could not fathom it; here

he stood before a remarkable congregation, under the most inspiring

circumstances; he had been given a text more wonderful than any servant

of the Lord could rightly hope to find; in all ways he was better

prepared to conduct Communion services to-day than he had ever been

before.... And yet he could not preach ... the words would not come!...

They were failing him utterly now. Here he was preaching about the

Glory of the Lord—and stuttering like a child!... “I must go a little

slower and try to collect my thoughts; that may help me; perhaps it

will bring the words I need.... It makes no difference if I don’t speak

so loud; the people can hear me well enough, if I can only express

myself simply and clearly!” ... He struggled to find the right words,

the aptest illustrations; his face grew flushed with the unusual

exertion; great beads of sweat stood out on it and began to roll

down.... But all to no purpose....

... “If I am not careful,” he thought, “I will break down completely;

I’m not saying a thing that is worth while!” ... And he spoke even

more slowly, making long pauses between his sentences, so that it

sounded like a sort of conversation—a one-sided argument against a

silent adversary.... The man who had looked forward with such fervour

to preaching this sermon on _The Glory of the Lord_ was making a

sorry mess of it as he rambled on in disconnected phrases.

But he must keep going; he had asked the people to remain seated, and

they were expecting a long discourse; to disappoint them would be a

scandal.

... “The Glory of the Lord—what is it? One might suppose it to be too

wonderful for us to talk about.... Nothing to that remark!” he thought,

as soon as he had said it.... “Nothing but empty words about holy

things!” ...

He began to enumerate all the examples from the Scriptures that he had

been striving for two weeks to cull and arrange; everything calculated

to show the real wonders of the Glory of the Lord:

... “Did not Adam and Eve behold the Glory of the Lord as they walked

in innocence in Paradise? The Lord spake to them in the paths of the

Garden; that was in the morning of time, when the world was still

young and everything in it was pure and beautiful.... And Enoch who

was translated that he should not see death.... Abraham and Sarah, as

they saw the promise made to them fulfilled before their eyes in such a

wonderful fashion.... Jacob, who fought with the Lord and wrestled with

Him as man to man—what was he allowed to see?... And that man of God,

up on Mount Sinai, as he stood face to face with the Lord of Hosts....

and Jonah, and all the rest?” ... The speaker toiled through the entire

Old Testament and pushed his way into the New.... “What was it that the

little band of disciples experienced when they sat at table with Him

and He Himself brake the bread for them and handed them the cup?”

The minister paused, wiping the perspiration from his face. Every

time he drew one of these word pictures for them, the idea came to

him more and more forcibly: “These people, sitting here in front of

me, are Sognings and Vossings; the man of the house and his wife are

fisher-folk from Nordland.... How can they understand the things that

happened to an alien people, living ages ago, in a distant land? The

Israelites were an Oriental race; they didn’t know anything about

Dakota Territory, either; they had no experience of the hardships out

here!” ... He could have wept aloud in his sore distress; here he

stood, an old and tried servant of God—and now he had preached himself

through the whole Bible without finding the Glory of the Lord!...

... “This will never, never do!” he thought, and continued doggedly to

speak in slow accents, like one who goes about looking for something

while he talks aloud to himself. His eyes roamed helplessly over

the rows of faces; they fixed on a fly buzzing around the room, and

followed it while he talked. A little way off sat a young woman with

three small children; she was a fine, bright-looking woman, tanned and

burned by the sun; that must be the girl that Tönseten had married, he

thought. The oldest child leaned up against her, the second lay with

his head on her thigh; he seemed to be sleeping, for the minister saw

only the curly head. She had the youngest child in her lap. He had been

restless for a long time, and the mother had unbuttoned her clothes

to nurse him. The fly buzzed and buzzed, made a turn in the air, and

settled on the nose of the nursing child; the mother raised her hand

and swept it away, and as she did so she drew the hand caressingly over

the face of the child.

The minister kept on looking at the group.... He had talked himself

into complete bankruptcy respecting all things great and beautiful,

without finding a message that seemed to apply here. Now, taking a

sudden shift, he began to address the little group directly before him;

not that he actually pointed to the sunburnt, healthy woman who sat

there watching the fly, too busy to listen to him; but he commenced to

speak of the love of mother and child. And all at once he did something

that he had never done before in a Communion sermon—he told a story; it

was a sentimental story, too—and he had always despised sentimentality

in preaching:

Once upon a time, he said, a Norwegian immigrant woman landed in New

York City; her name was Kari—she was widowed and had nine children....

New York is a terribly large city. Imagine the difficulties a

poor immigrant woman meets with there—one who can neither speak nor

understand the language! And this woman hadn’t a single friend in all

America. When she landed, and saw the great throngs of people, and

looked at the whirlpool of traffic, she got terribly frightened, poor

soul! She had been told that in this foreign metropolis almost anything

might happen to a mother coming alone with nine children; and so she

had prepared herself in her own way. Around her waist was wound a long

rope; this she now unrolled, tying all nine children to it in single

file, but keeping the end still securely fastened around her waist.

In this fashion Kari plodded through the streets of the great city, a

laughingstock to all passers-by. But just the same, she reached her

destination at last, with all her nine children safe and sound!...

Wasn’t that rope a fine illustration of a mother’s love?

It occurred to the minister that he had come down to very commonplace

things—yet he spoke straight out, from the fulness of his heart....

The people were listening intently; the woman with three little

children stopped chasing the fly; he longed to tell her to go on with

her duties and not mind him.... But all at once she seemed to become

his own mother, as plainly as if he had seen her in the flesh; and he

remembered how she had struggled and suffered as a pioneer woman, first

in Illinois, afterward in Minnesota. He was profoundly moved as he

caught this reflection of her destiny; his words came faster, pouring

forth without a trace of effort.... “But when such love exists between

a poor pioneer woman and her plain, ordinary children, what must it not

be when it rises to Divinity—the love of Him Who is the source of love

itself—of Him Who cares for all life, yea, even for the worm crawling

in the dust? The love of mother and child can be only an infinitesimal

part of that other love; yet, small and imperfect as it is, it still

carries a breath of the Divine omnipotence.... If you, pioneer mothers,

have not seen the Glory of the Lord, then no preacher of the Gospel

will ever be able to show it to you!... And now come forward to the

altar of God and taste that He is good.... Come, with all your

sins and all your sorrows.... Bring Him your trials and your grief!

Love itself, eternal and boundless, is present here. He is ready and

willing to lighten your burdens, just as a mother cares for her nursing

child.... Come and receive freely of the abundance of grace. Come and

_behold the Glory of the Lord_!” ...

The minister ended his sermon, looked at his watch, and his brows knit

in a puzzled frown. How had this happened? According to the watch, he

had been speaking for an hour and fifteen minutes. Could it be possible?

The people came forward, knelt down before Per Hansa’s big chest, and

received an assurance so gracious and benign that they could hardly

credit its reality.... Many eyes filled with tears during that hour....

The absolution took a long time. The minister looked again at his

watch; he still couldn’t understand where the time had gone. In his

heart he blamed himself bitterly; not only had he spoiled the Communion

sermon, but he had also made it so long that no time was left for the

regular sermon of the day!

And so he omitted the sermon altogether, brought the Communion service

to a close, and ended with a fervent admonition to the communicants

to go directly home and remain quiet for the rest of the day.... They

mustn’t stop anywhere to gossip and talk!... He would return at the end

of four weeks, at which time he intended to take up the question of

organizing a congregation.

He refused to stop for dinner; having hastily drunk a bowl of milk, he

got into his cart at once and drove off.... The cart shook and rattled;

the old nag ambled along; the minister sat immersed in a deep gloom....

“Never before,” he thought, “have I failed so miserably in any service!”

VIII

It rained both Monday and Tuesday, but not so hard that Hans Olsa had

to stop building. With two carpenters to help him, he made such good

progress that the day was gone even before it had begun—or so it

seemed to him. Which was hardly to be wondered at, because from morning

till night could be heard rumbling out of the caverns of his bulky

chest a continuous monotone that was seriously meant to be a song; as

steady and deliberate as everything he did—as he himself was, for that

matter—the vocal performance droned and rumbled on and never came to an

end; and so each day proved too short, both for himself and his song.

Yes, now Hans Olsa was building himself a real house, and he sang

all day at his work. And why shouldn’t he sing? This was going to

be a beautiful house, larger—very much larger, in fact—than he had

originally planned; it was to have a roomy kitchen, both a dining room

and a parlor, with three bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs.

Concerning the matter of bedrooms on the ground floor, there had been a

long-drawn argument between him and Sörine; not a serious disagreement,

exactly, but—well, they had talked about it a great deal! Hans Olsa

was never in the habit of saying unkind things to his wife; and Sörine

always smiled, even when she was provoked; so a real quarrel between

the two was hard to raise. But in this instance she held tenaciously to

her idea that there must be a bedroom downstairs, no matter how many

others he might build elsewhere; and that plan called for an addition

to the house, which seemed a needless extravagance. And it was so

unlike her—she was never known to be extravagant! So he had tried to

reason the idea out of her head; but he finally had had to give it up

as a bad job. And since there was no way out of building an addition,

while he was about it, he thought, he might as well extend it clear

across the house. Thus it had come about that there were to be two

extra bedrooms downstairs.... Very unwise, a needless expense, and

so utterly unlike her; but there stood the framework, all complete.

Nothing to do about it now.

That Sörine was a real gift from on high no one knew better than Hans

Olsa himself; and now, this particular summer, there was nothing that

he would not gladly have done for her. Ever since last spring, when

she had confided to him that she was with child, he had been in

a state of blissful anticipation—this time he felt sure that it would

be a boy. Hence the new house—hence the song. As soon as she had told

him the great news he had come to the decision that _that_ event should

never take place in the old sod house; and if it meant such a lot to

her to get that room downstairs, she certainly should have it, no

matter how unreasonable it might be.

Hans Olsa was fully aware, these days, how everything was arranging

itself for his benefit, and he walked about in a state of blissful

contentment and thankfulness; his herd had steadily increased from year

to year; every season he got more and more land under cultivation;

there must be an end to the plague some time, so all wise men said;

here, where there was not a human being to be seen the year they came,

large settlements were now springing up; the soil was good, the rain

and the sunshine were plentiful. And now he was building a mansion for

him who was coming.... How marvellous it all was!... Hans Olsa was both

a sensible and a serious-minded man; but he would gladly have built two

more rooms if she had asked for them, just to show his gratitude....

He had been present at the service last Sunday, had taken part in the

Communion; and the longer the service had lasted the stronger and

deeper had grown his felicity. He was only a common, uneducated man,

and probably lacked a proper conception of the wonders the minister

preached about; yet this he knew for certain, that nothing so glorious

as that Communion service in Per Hansa’s sod house had he ever before

experienced, and the happiness of that hour was still glowing with

steady warmth in Hans Olsa’s heart.... As Per Hansa and Beret had knelt

before the chest, he had looked at them, thinking of many things.

Beret’s sad condition could easily be seen in her face. Ah no, when

reason once leaves a person, it seldom returns!... And Per Hansa

himself had become an old man long before his time: his hair and beard

were grey; his face was thin and worn; not till then had Hans Olsa

fully realized the terrible struggle his lifelong friend was going

through. He had gazed at the kneeling couple until his large, heavy

features drooped with sympathy. Could he at that moment have shared

his own happiness with his friend, he would have handed it over to him

without a question.

Coming home from the service that day, he had wandered about the place,

pondering over an idea which he wasn’t ready to mention to his wife

until he had given it more thought. But on Monday night he broached the

subject to Sörine: Shouldn’t they offer to take Per Hansa’s youngest

child?... Did she suppose that would be too much for her?... You see,

he wasn’t any too sure about it, himself.... And now he told her all

his thoughts of the previous Sunday.... What did she say—should they

offer to take the child?...

Sörine laughed and asked him teasingly if he didn’t think he’d soon

have enough with his own? The next instant, however, she too became

serious; and now she confided in him that for a long time she had been

thinking about this very same thing, herself. But she hadn’t mentioned

it to Per Hansa because he knew that she was only too willing; had he

wanted to bring it about, he would only have had to ask her....

They couldn’t be sure of that, her husband objected; Per Hansa knew

that she was soon going to have one of her own, and he was not the kind

of a man to impose on others.... He doubted very much, as a matter of

fact, if Per Hansa fully realized the seriousness of Beret’s condition.

Should the plague return this summer and that awful spell come over her

again, there was no telling what might happen.... “Isn’t it really up

to us, who can see the true state of affairs?”

Sörine gave an unexpected answer to this question: “I believe that

Beret is jealous of me because I’m so fond of her little boy.... I

think I’ve noticed it.”

Hans Olsa pondered this information awhile.... Perhaps his wife was

right; and there were other difficulties, too.... Suppose they did

take the boy. Could they be certain that he would thrive better

here? And if he didn’t, where would be the gain?... And would it be

fair to the parents even to suggest such a thing?... At any rate, if

things came to such a pass that Per Hansa had to send Beret away—which

wasn’t at all improbable—then some one would have to take the child

permanently.... And just now, wouldn’t it be too great a burden for

Sörine?... No, Hans Olsa couldn’t quite see his way clear....

Sörine only laughed at him.... Certainly she would undertake to be a

mother to that blessed dear little boy—it would be only one more—that

is, if it ever seemed necessary. But she doubted very much if Per Hansa

would consent to the plan; he thought more of that boy than of any of

the other children, unless she was much mistaken.... They discussed the

matter at great length that evening.

IX

Wednesday afternoon of the same week a faint mist floated before the

sun. A light, warm rain fell at intervals from drifting shreds of

clouds. Between showers the sun peeped through the clouds to see what

was going on down on the prairie; and he set the rainbow here and there

as a sign that he was well pleased. There was a big blue heaven behind

it all, the air very still ... beautiful weather.

Beret sat in the old sod barn which Per Hansa long since had made over

into a workshop and storehouse, sewing a shirt for little Permand.

The door was open and she sat where she could look out. She had sent

And-Ongen to the field with some water for the boys, who were hoeing

the potatoes. Per Hansa was repairing the roof of the new barn. It had

been leaking there since the frost went out of the ground last spring,

because the willow poles used for supports had not been heavy enough.

She could not see him from where she sat, but she could hear him

working.

“Yes,” she sighed, looking up from her sewing, “he can manage his work

all right. I only wish I could do mine as well.” ... Her face carried

the same childlike expression that the minister had noticed, her

eyes had the same dreamy, far-away stare; they seemed to be seeing

something she did not want to behold, looking for something that would

never happen; hence the strange sadness that always shone through them.

She felt perfectly happy, however, but felt so tired and drowsy; it had

been this way every day now since that remarkable man had placed his

hand on her and in his prophetic voice had assured her that from this

time forth she was released from the bonds of Satan.... That any man

could have such power!... Yet she knew positively now that he hadn’t

been deceiving her, because burden after burden had been lifted from

her soul—she felt so light that she could almost float in the air....

But after a while this drowsiness had come on. She could not imagine

what ailed her; she slept well at night, and yet was so sleepy during

the day that it was a constant struggle to keep awake; to-day she had

lain down right after eating and had fallen asleep immediately.

... A blessed man he was, indeed.... And the way he had got them to

sing! She had to smile as she remembered it.... Just imagine! he had

made them sing exactly the same hymns here in this sod house as the

people sang in the churches in Norway—yet no harm had befallen the

house on that account.... Melodies were yet hanging throughout the

room; yesterday while at work she had heard them everywhere. She had

even caught one up and followed it—had sung until Per Hansa came

rushing in, to ask her what was the matter; he had looked at her so

queerly.... He ought not to get frightened just because she sang!

As she recalled the incident now, snatches of the song came back to

her again, and she began humming.... No, no—this would never do! She

might scare some one again—people seemed so easily frightened here....

This had turned out to be a rather hard piece of sewing, but the child

was going to look fine in his new shirt.... Would she be able to hear

him in the other hut when he woke up?... Well, he had a pretty good

voice!...

... Surely, now, mother will stop asking for him when she hears he

is going to be a minister!... The smile on her childlike face broadened

and lighted up.... A minister in the family—I, the mother of a servant

of God—why, that is exactly as it is in the Bible!... Her hands

trembled as stitch followed stitch. But thoughts were crowding rapidly

on her now; she laid down her sewing.

... When mother comes—and she can be expected at any time now—I shall

tell her all that has happened here lately. And then I shall say:

“You would never have become the grandmother of a minister if I had

remained in Norway. Such miracles do not happen there.” ... But very

likely she’ll not believe what I tell her.... Beret’s expression became

thoughtful and troubled; she rested her hands idly in her lap.... Then

I must tell her that now we have a church, right here in our house.

At that she’ll only laugh and shake her head, and she’ll probably

say: “Now, Beret, you don’t know what you are talking about!” That’s

just what she’ll say.... But I will have to answer: “Now, mother, I

certainly do. Listen to me: We have a real church. There is an altar

with candles on it, and the altar is father’s _big chest_!” ... That

will astonish her still more.... “Beret, my child,” she’ll say, “you

are too foolish—you must guard your speech. One doesn’t say everything

that comes into one’s head, you know!” ... But then I’ll show her how

Syvert and Kjersti, Hans Olsa and Sörine and all the rest, knelt down

before the chest and there partook of the Glory of the Lord. I shall

describe it all.... She knows Hans Olsa and Sörine—she will believe

them.... I must show her just where the chest stood.... Let me see if I

can remember the exact words he used:—“the gracious forgiveness of all

thy sins.” ... Yes, he said _all_ ... _all_ ... I am sure of that ... I

remember it distinctly....

For some time Beret sat deeply absorbed in her thoughts, her sewing

in her lap, her hands resting on it without motion.... Mother will

sit by the stove, just as she always has done when she has been here.

“Well,” she’ll ask, “are you sure now, Beret, that he is going to be

a minister? Don’t draw hasty conclusions—you’ve always been so

impulsive!” That’s exactly what she’ll say.... Then I must answer:

“Yes, mother, you needn’t doubt it any longer; for I myself sat here

and heard how this wonderful man argued about it with the Lord—and how

he got his way, too. And both Per Hansa and Sörine heard it also. You

can ask them if you don’t believe me.” ... Then mother will look at me

in her kind way, for a long, long time. At last she’ll say: “Well, if

God can use him, it certainly isn’t proper for me to want him; though

I would like to have some one of yours with me. But now you must take

good care of him, my child!” ... “Yes, mother, how can I help it? How

can I ever forget that he is to go out into the world to give of the

Glory of the Lord to the children of men?” ... Then mother will get up

to go.... I must say to her: “Don’t forget to greet father! You might

just as well tell him all this, about his big chest.” ...

Beret’s face had gradually grown very serious. But the sound of heavy

steps in the yard brought her out of her reveries. Some one stopped

at the barn, and then went in; in a moment she heard the voice of Per

Hansa.... What can they want of him now?... Hm, hm—it’s Per Hansa

this, and Per Hansa that! First one comes and takes him away, and then

another; they never leave him a minute in peace! Can’t they understand

that I need him at home?... And he is so easily talked around—he can’t

say no to anyone.... I suppose it’s some more hauling—and then he’ll be

gone for a long time....

She picked up her work again, but the sewing failed to claim her

attention.... It took a long while over that errand. Who could it be?

Putting the work away, Beret stepped quickly out of the door,

stealthily crossed the yard to the side of the new barn, and pressed

herself close to the wall.... Oh, this was Hans Olsa! It was all right,

then—he certainly didn’t need any more hauling.

She was straightening up to return, when something arrested her—kind

words spoken slowly in a deep voice..... Hush! hush! They ought

not to talk that way about her when she was listening!

... “Should Beret get another spell, you know what might happen—a

calamity none of us could get over. We’ve all seen enough of such

things.... Now, we will take the boy and care for him as though he were

our own flesh and blood.... Sörrina and I have talked it over.”

Beret’s childlike features suddenly took on a peculiarly covert

expression.... Ah-ha! So that’s his errand?... Hush! Hush! There is

Per Hansa speaking!... His voice sounds so queer—can he have been

frightened again?...

... “That’s more than good of you and Sörrina—I realize it all; but

matters will have to take their own course.... She is the mother, and

I can see how she clings to him.... This spring I worried a lot about

what I ought to do when summer came; but now I’ve decided that she

shall keep the child with her. If she doesn’t get well by having him

at home, it certainly won’t make things any easier for her to have him

away—that I know.... She risked her life for him once, and she shall

not be bereft of the happiness of having him with her now, no matter

what happens.... There’s a Destiny that rules us all—it’s bound to

overtake us, whether we are here or there.”

... “Now I’m afraid you are taking too great a responsibility upon

yourself,” said the other voice, slowly. “Remember what might have

happened last summer when she had the spell.”

A short silence fell in the barn. Beret’s features grew tense. Bending

over with a quick, fierce movement, she snatched up a piece of stake

and grasped it tightly.

... “No,” came Per Hansa’s voice in meditative tones, “that’s just

what none of us can say for certain. She might have escaped the attack

altogether if the child had been at home.... I remember how pitiably

she seemed to miss him. I’m not at all sure that isn’t what brought on

the spell. Perhaps that burden, added to everything else, became too

much for her.... And even if the spell had come on with him here

at home, she might not have harmed him—I doubt it very much....”

As Beret drank in these words the tenseness all left her; the weapon

she had seized dropped from her hand; her body straightened up; she

looked about in wide-eyed wonder.... Were those church bells she

heard?... But the voices were beginning again on the other side of the

wall.... Hush! Hush!

... “Do you really think so?” asked Hans Olsa, seriously.

... “Well, I tell you, Hans Olsa, there’s hardly an angle to this

affair that I have not considered. I’m thinking of nothing else,

when I’m asleep as well as when I’m awake. And this I do know,” he

added with great certainty, “that a kinder person than Beret the Lord

never made; there’s nothing but kindness in her.... I’ve come to the

conclusion that even in her beclouded moments she has meant no harm to

the child—no matter how things may have looked to us.... When all is

said and done, it’s my own fault from beginning to end.”

“O God! How beautiful these bells ring!” thought Beret.

... “Because,” Per Hansa went on, sadly, “I should not have coaxed

and persuaded her to come with me out here.... Perhaps it was her

misfortune that we two ever met.... You remember how it was in

Nordland: We had boats that we sailed to Lofoten in, big crafts that

could stand all kinds of rough weather, if properly handled; and then

there were the small boats that we used for the home fishing; the last

were just as fine and just as good for their own purposes as the other

kind for theirs, but you couldn’t exchange them; you couldn’t sail to

Lofoten with the small boats, nor fish at home in the larger ones....

For you and me, life out here is nothing; but there may be others so

constructed that they don’t fit into this life at all; and yet they

are finer and better souls than either one of us.... There are so many

things we don’t comprehend.”

... “I certainly ought to know Beret,” remarked the other voice,

thoughtfully. “We were playmates, she and I.” ...

... “I doubt that very much,” interrupted Per Hansa, “though you

are an observing man. I have lived with her all these years, yet I must

confess that I don’t know her.... She is a better soul than any I’ve

ever met. It’s only lately that I have begun to realize all she has

suffered since we came out here. The minister was probably right; no

one can ever fathom the depths of a mother’s heart.... The urge within

me drove me on and on, and never would I stop; for I reasoned like

this, that where I found happiness others must find it as well.... But

you see how things have turned out!... The finest castle on earth I was

going to build her—and here we’re still living in a mole’s hole—all my

dreams have been crushed in misery.... But this I’ve decided, that she

shall keep the baby—though I thank you for the offer.” ... The sadness

in Per Hansa’s voice had grown deeper and more profound than the grey

autumn evening that falls on the bleak prairie.

... “You mustn’t feel hurt about the offer,” put in the slow voice of

Hans Olsa. “We only thought it might do a little good.”

Beret listened no more; she walked away like one in a dream of

happiness; she did not know where she was going nor what she did.

In the southern sky floated transparent little clouds; rainbow

ribbons hung down from them. She saw the rainbow’s glow; her face was

transfigured; she walked on in ecstasy.... “Are there signs for us in

the sky?... That is the Glory of the Lord now ... _See_!... The whole

heavens are full of it!... There ... and there again ... everywhere!”

She reached the other house, came to the door, and would have gone by,

but in the house a child was crying loudly. Beret stopped short and

passed her hand across her face, as if trying to wake herself from a

dream that possessed her; then she went quickly into the house. Over

on the bed sat Permand, crying as though his heart would break. Beret

hurried to the bed, threw herself down on it, took the boy in her arms,

and hugged him close; she felt as if she had got back a child that had

been irretrievably lost; she wept as she fondled him, while wave

upon wave of gratitude welled up within her.

The boy was so astonished at his mother’s strange behaviour that he

stopped crying immediately and lay quiet; then he wriggled out of her

arms and threw himself on the pillow, one of his forefingers in his

mouth, the other pointing out into the air, as children often will do

when they don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was something so

irresistibly comical about him as he lay there pointing at nothing,

that a sudden surge of playfulness swept over her and she threw herself

down beside him on the pillow. Then he gave her his very biggest smile,

letting the finger that had been hovering in the air fall on her face.

At that they both burst out laughing—she so boisterously that he

withdrew the finger and gave her a frown. She stopped laughing at once,

petting and fondling him until she had won him completely.

X

As Beret lay there playing with the child she was suddenly overcome

with drowsiness; it seemed to her that she simply could not resist

snatching a little sleep—it would feel so delicious. In a moment she

had dozed off and was carried away into an infinite, glittering blue

space with rainbows hung all around it. The air felt soft and warm

about her. A voice, loud and clear, yet very beautiful, was speaking

through the sky.... She could not have slept long, for when she awoke

there sat the boy close by her side, poking a wet finger into her

eyelid. She hastily raised up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes, unable

to bring herself fully awake.... “My, how I must have slept!” she

thought.... She gazed wide-eyed at the child beside her, and rubbed

her eyes again, but could not seem to be able to connect things in her

mind.... “Why, what am I thinking about?” she said, half amused. “This

is my own little Permand!”

She sat up on the edge of the bed, lifted the boy tenderly, and put him

down in her lap. To her own surprise, she was trembling in every limb;

she felt a sudden overwhelming bashfulness, like a lover who for

the first time comes close to his beloved.

“I want something to eat now!” murmured the boy in a voice that was

full of well-being.

—Of course, this little fellow needs food! she thought.

The boy wriggled out of her arms and slid down to the floor.... She

could hardly take her eyes away from him; she began to feel almost

frightened because of all the vigorous life in that sound little body.

She hastily left the bed and started to find something for the child to

eat. It was in her mind to get some milk from a shelf in the corner;

but instead of going there she remained standing in the middle of the

floor, looking about the room, her eyes still large with wonder....

Everything looked so strange in here to-day! What could have happened.

It seemed to her that she hadn’t been here for a long time.... The

child was growing impatient; he took hold of her skirt, shook it, and

wanted her to hurry.... It confused her dreadfully to stand here like

a stranger in her own house!... Well, anyway, there was the bowl of

milk she had been looking for.... Where was the spoon, now, that she

always used for skimming?... And used she not to have a special cup for

the child?... And the bread—he had to have a slice of bread with his

milk!... Where was the bread always kept in this house?...

Beret went searching about in her own home like a housewife who had

been away on a long visit and returns a partial stranger. But the

feeling of home-coming filled her with such joy, that she could only

laugh at her bewilderment.... She found one thing here, another there;

at last the boy had eaten his fill and was satisfied.

All at once another thought struck her; she glanced around with puzzled

anxiety.... Where were the rest of the family to-day?... Surely Per

Hansa was somewhere around. Hadn’t she just been talking to him?... And

where could the children be keeping themselves?... It exasperated her,

yet she couldn’t help laughing; here they had all been with her only a

moment ago, and now she couldn’t recall the least little thing!

Was she walking in her sleep, in broad daylight.... Thinking vaguely

that she must try to get things cleared up, she went out of the door

and looked around.

The mildness of the afternoon greeted her like a friend. She breathed

in the pure air deeply, straightening her body, throwing back her

arms.... What fine weather, these days!... The trees around the yard

caught her eye; again she had the feeling of having just returned from

a long journey. The idea! Look how big that grove is getting to be!...

Over on the prairie, some distance away, rose a half-finished house.

Well, that’s Hans Olsa’s. It will be fine for Sörrina to move into that

new house! No matter how good care you take of a sod house, it’s never

very satisfactory—dust and dirt keep falling from the ceiling all the

time, especially when it gets old.... But who was that tall, stooping

man coming out of the barn? Now he had greeted her quietly in a deep

voice and walked on.... Beret began to be worried. Wasn’t that Hans

Olsa? Didn’t she know her own neighbour?... Hearing some one still in

the barn, she hurried across the yard and peered in.

“Are you in there?” she called.

A stocky, broad-shouldered man appeared in the barn door; his face was

deeply furrowed; his hair and beard, heavily sprinkled with grey, were

now full of dust and straw. As she looked at him she felt strangely

uneasy and disturbed; but she couldn’t help giving him a bright smile:

“What in the world has happened to you, Per Hansa?”

He stood staring fixedly at her, unable to stir a muscle. No power on

earth could have taken his eyes away from her face at that moment;

he caught hold of the jamb of the door to steady himself.... God in

heaven!—what had happened....

Beret saw his great agitation. Now her disturbance increased—her

concern over him grew genuine. “Are you sick, Per Hansa?” she asked

in tones of deepest sympathy, coming closer to him. “You mustn’t keep

on with this work when you aren’t feeling well; there can’t be such a

hurry about it, you know.”

Per Hansa cleared his throat to speak, but no words came ... he

could only look at her.

She noticed his pale, haggard face, and her anxiety grew insistent.

“You’ve got to quit right now!... I’ll run in and boil some milk for

you!” ... She hurried off to the house, too full of her new-found

solicitude to wait for an answer.

In the open door Per Hansa stood gazing at her as she went; he longed

to follow her, to touch her, to talk to her, but he dared not do it....

There was a spade standing beside the door; he picked it up and set it

down inside....

“No, it better not stand in here.” He picked it up again and put it

back.... His eyes rested on a hammer lying on the floor—the one he

had been using a moment ago. “I must remember to put that hammer away

before it gets tramped into the ground.” ... Next moment he forgot all

about it.... He was shaking violently from head to foot; he had to lean

up against the wall.... “God be merciful! I haven’t seen her like this

for many years!” ... Then he sighed wearily.... “But I don’t suppose it

means anything.”

Beret came into the house, moving with purpose and confidence now, and

hurried to light the fire. The boy was still sitting at the table;

no sooner did he see her than he wanted more to eat. But she had no

time to bother with him; she put a pan on the stove and filled it with

milk.... “Poor fellow, he must have caught a cold, in all this rainy

weather,” she thought. “And summer colds are hard to get rid of, unless

they’re taken in time. I’d better mix some pepper with the milk....

If I could only persuade him to lie down so that I’d have a chance to

cover him up and get him good and warm, I’d soon have him all right

again.... Colds don’t usually last very long with him.”

As she was tidying up the bed she chanced to get a glimpse of herself

in the mirror that hung on the wall behind it; she had to take a second

look.... “Good gracious! What a sight I am to-day! No wonder he looked

worried—he who always wants me so nice!” ... While she was waiting

for the milk to simmer, she washed her face and combed her hair;

that done, she opened the big chest, found her best Sunday garments,

and hurriedly put them on.... Now then, she wasn’t quite so much of a

scarecrow....

The milk boiled; she lifted it off the stove, went to the door, and

called Per Hansa.... As a timid child enters a stranger’s house and

does not dare to put aside his cap, so now Per Hansa stepped across

his own threshold. Permand was still sitting by the table; his father

caught sight of him there, and walking over to him, picked the boy

up and sat down in his stead; then he put him on his lap and gently

stroked his hair.... His voice was gone—it would not come.... All the

while he was casting furtive glances at his wife; big beads of sweat

stood on his forehead.

She brought him a cup of the steaming milk. “I put pepper in it; now

you must get it down while it’s still hot.... Then you shall go right

to bed and get good and warm!”

Without protest he did as she bade him, sipping cup after cup of the

strong hot mixture; he couldn’t keep his eyes off her face.... But

still he found no words to say to her; whenever he tried to speak his

throat closed....

While he was drinking she came and sat down by his side, telling him

innocently how topsy-turvy things had seemed to her to-day. Why, she

had just lain down for a moment with the child, and when she woke up it

had seemed as though she had been gone for years and a day! She laughed

merrily as she told him about it.

Per Hansa listened in silence, looked at her, and drank of the hot

mixture until the tears rolled down his cheeks.... She chatted on

unconsciously, her voice low but full and very sweet; as he gazed

at her, he saw in her face only intelligent concern—only loving

solicitude—exactly like the dear Beret-girl that he used to know!...

When he found it impossible to swallow another drop of the hot

pepper-and-milk, she insisted that he lie down at once; if he would

only take a good sweat, this cold would soon pass off. Per Hansa obeyed

like a docile child, while she herself came and tucked the quilt

around him.... “Now try to drop off to sleep.... Don’t worry—you’ll

soon be all right.”

He turned his face to the wall, crying silently; he had clasped his

hands together with a grip of iron, but soon he had to break the grip,

to wipe the tears away....

He lay thus until the paroxysm had passed and he felt that he could

master himself. Then he flung the covers aside, sat up suddenly on

the edge of the bed, and looked intently at Beret, long and slow....

He began to believe ... and as he looked, he felt his old self

returning....

“Are you getting up already?” she asked, greatly surprised. “I really

think you ought to stay in bed the rest of the day.”

“Oh, well ...!” He laughed boisterously, rose to his feet, and

stretched himself. “I guess I’d better hurry up and get that rickety

roof fixed.... We must begin building here as soon as Hans Olsa can

find time to help with the hauling!... By God, we’re not going to live

like moles all our days!... That drink of yours was pretty good. Have

you got a drop left?” He came forward and began pacing up and down

the room.... “_God_!” ... But then he checked himself in time, caught

Permand in his arms, and flung him up to the ceiling again and again,

until the boy shrieked with delight.

“My, my, how funny we all are to-day!” smiled Beret as she stood there

with the bowl in her hands, waiting for them to come to their senses.

IV. The Great Plain Drinks the Blood of

Christian Men and Is Satisfied

I

Many and incredible are the tales the grandfathers tell from those

days when the wilderness was yet untamed, and when they, unwittingly,

founded the Kingdom. There was the Red Son of the Great Prairie, who

hated the Palefaces with a hot hatred; stealthily he swooped down upon

them, tore up and laid waste the little settlements. Great was the

terror he spread; bloody the saga concerning him.

But more to be dreaded than this tribulation was the strange spell of

sadness which the unbroken solitude cast upon the minds of some. Many

took their own lives; asylum after asylum was filled with disordered

beings who had once been human. It is hard for the eye to wander from

sky line to sky line, year in and year out, without finding a resting

place!...

Then, too, there were the years of pestilence—toil and travail, famine

and disease. God knows how human beings could endure it all. And many

did not—they lay down and died. “There is nothing to do about that,”

said they who survived. “We are all destined to die—that’s certain.

Some must go now; others will have to go later. It’s all the same, is

it not?” The poor could find much wherewith to console themselves. And

whisky was cheap in those days, and easy to get....

And on the hot summer days terrible storms might come. In the twinkling

of an eye they would smash to splinters the habitations which man had

built for himself, so that they resembled nothing so much as a few

stray hairs on a worn-out pelt. Man have power? Breathe it not,

for that is to tempt the Almighty!...

Some feared most the prairie fire. Terrible, too, it was, before people

had learned how to guard against it.

Others remembered best the trips to town. They were the jolliest days,

said some; no, they were the worst of all, said the others. It may be

that both were right.... The oxen moved slowly—whether the distance was

thirty miles or ninety made little difference. In the sod house back

there, somewhere along the horizon, life got on your nerves at times.

There sat a wife with a flock of starving children; she had grown very

pale of late, and the mouths of the children were always open—always

crying for food.... But in the town it was cheerful and pleasant. There

one could get a drink; there one could talk with people who spoke

with enthusiasm and certainty about the future. This was the land of

promise, they said. Sometimes one met these people in the saloons; and

then it was more fascinating to listen to them than to any talk about

the millennium. Their words lay like embers in the mind during the

whole of the interminable, jolting journey homeward, and made it less

long.... It helps so much to have something pleasant to think about,

say the Old.

And it was as if nothing affected people in those days. They threw

themselves blindly into the Impossible, and accomplished the

Unbelievable. If anyone succumbed in the struggle—and that happened

often—another would come and take his place. Youth was in the race; the

unknown, the untried, the unheard-of, was in the air; people caught it,

were intoxicated by it, threw themselves away, and laughed at the cost.

Of course it was possible—everything was possible out here. There was

no such thing as the Impossible any more. The human race has not known

such faith and such self-confidence since history began.... And so had

been the Spirit since the day the first settlers landed on the eastern

shores; it would rise and fall at intervals, would swell and surge on

again with every new wave of settlers that rolled westward into the

unbroken solitude.

II

They say it rained forty days and forty nights once in the old days,

and that was terrible; but during the winter of 1880–81 it snowed twice

forty days; that was more terrible.... Day and night the snow fell.

From the 15th of October, when it began, until after the middle of

April, it seldom ceased. From the four corners of the earth it flew;

but of all the winds that brought it, the south wind was the worst; for

that whisked and matted the flakes into huge grey discs, which fell to

the ground in clinging, woolly folds.... And all winter the sun stayed

in his house; he crept out only now and then to pack down the snow;

that was to make room for more.... Morning after morning folk would

wake up in the dead, heavy cold, and would lie in bed listening to the

_ooo-h-ooo-h-ooo-h-ing_ of the wind about the corners of the house.

But what was this low, muffled roar in the chimney? One would leap out

of bed, dress himself hurriedly in his heaviest garments, and start to

go out—only to find that some one was holding the door. It wouldn’t

budge an inch. An immovable monster lay close outside. Against this

monster one pushed and pushed, until one could scoop a little of the

snow through the crack into the room; finally one was able to force an

opening large enough for a man to work himself out and flounder up to

the air. Once outside, he found himself standing in an immense flour

bin, out of which whirled the whiteness, a solid cloud. Then he had to

dig his way down to the house again. And tunnels had to be burrowed

from house to barn, and from neighbour to neighbour, wherever the

distances were not too long and where there were children who liked to

play at such things.

In the late spring, when all this snow had to thaw, the floods would

come, covering all the land. Once again it would be just as it had been

in the days of Noah; on the roofs of houses, on the gables of barns, in

wagon boxes, even, people would go sailing away. Many would perish—for

there was no Ark in those days!...

The suffering was great that winter. Famine came; supplies of

all kinds gave out; for no one had thought, when the first snowfall

began, that winter had come. Who had ever heard of its setting in in

the middle of the autumn?... And for a while not much snow did come;

the fall was light in November, though the days were grey and chill;

in December there was more; January began to pile and drift it up; and

in February the very demon himself arrived. Some had to leave their

potatoes in the ground; others could not thresh the grain; fuel, if

not provided beforehand, was scarcely to be had at all; and it was

impossible for anyone to get through to town to fetch what might be

needed.

In the houses round about folks were grinding away at their own wheat;

for little by little the flour had given out, and then they had to

resort to the coffee mill. Everyone came to it—rich and poor alike.

Those who had no mill of their own were forced to borrow; in some

neighbourhoods there were as many as four families using one mill.

That winter Torkel Tallaksen had two newcomer boys working for their

board; he also kept a hired girl; in addition to these he had a big

family of his own, so that his supply of flour was soon exhausted. Now,

he owned one mill, but he wasn’t satisfied with that, so he went and

borrowed four more; one might as well grind enough to last for a time

while one was at it, he maintained. And so they ground away at his

house for two days; but at the end of that time they were all so tired

of it that they refused to grind any more.

When the mills had to be returned one of the little Tallaksen boys

put on his skis and started off for Tönseten’s with the one they had

borrowed there. The slight thaw of the day before and the frost of the

previous night had left a hard crust on the snow; in some places this

would bear him up, but more often it was so thin that he broke through.

Down by the creek the snowdrifts lay like mountains. Here the boy let

himself go, gathered more speed than he had expected to, and went head

over heels into a huge snowdrift. His skis flew one way, the mill

another. When he tried to recover the mill he broke through the drift,

and then both he and the mill were buried in snow. He dug himself

out, began to hunt wildly for the mill, broke through again, floundered

around, and at last managed to lose the mill completely. After hunting

until he was tired, he had to give it up; there was nothing to do but

to go to Tönseten and tell him what had happened.

“You haven’t lost the mill?” gasped Tönseten, seriously alarmed.

“No,” said the boy, laughing. He knew exactly where it was, but he just

couldn’t find it.

“And you laugh at that, you young idiot!” Tönseten was so angry that he

boxed the boy’s ears; then he pulled on his coat and rushed off to ask

his neighbours to help him hunt for the lost treasure. It was on this

occasion that he coined a saying that later became a by-word in the

settlement—“Never mind your lives, boys, if you can only find the mill!”

But the greatest hardship of all for the settlers was the scarcity of

fuel—no wood, no coal. In every home people sat twisting fagots of hay

with which to feed the fire.

Whole herds of cattle were smothered in the snow. They disappeared

during the great early storm in October, and were never seen again;

when the snow was gone in the spring, they would reappear low on some

hillside. After lying there for six months, they would be a horrible

sight.

And the same thing happened to people: some disappeared like the

cattle; others fell ill with the cough; people died needlessly, for

want of a doctor’s care; they did not even have the old household

remedies—nothing of any kind. And when some one died, he was laid out

in what the family could spare, and put away in a snowbank—until some

later day.... There would be many burials in the settlement next spring.

III

The third quarter-section which Hans Olsa owned lay near the creek,

north of Solums’. This he had fenced in and was using as a pasture

for a large herd. During the summer he did not need to look after the

cattle at all, except to give them salt; the grass was plentiful

up north and they could drink at the creek. The preceding year the herd

had pastured there until late in the fall. This year he had hauled over

all the straw he could spare, and had bought more where he could find

it. Then he had built a shed of poles and banked it in with the straw,

with the intention of wintering the cattle on that quarter. He had

finished the shed before winter set in; and now that he had managed to

keep the cattle there until February, he felt fairly safe; surely the

winter would be over pretty soon.... But the winter had only begun!

The 7th of February dawned bleak and cold. Large, tousled snowflakes

came flying out of the west, filling the whole sky with a grey, woolly

blanket. As the wind stiffened steadily throughout the morning, the

flakes grew smaller and finer; but for all that, they fell in a thicker

cloud. By noon, heaven and earth were a swirl of drifting snow. The

west wind cut in more and more savagely; it waxed to a fury at times,

driving the snowflakes before it with such violence that they were

pinned to the walls.... As the afternoon wore on, the weather became so

bad that Hans Olsa thought it best to go over north and look after the

cattle. Had he not been so familiar with the lay of the land, or had

he not known how to take his bearings by the direction of the wind, he

would never have been able to find the place.

Things were in pretty bad shape there. Most of the straw had been

blown away from the west side of the shed. The cattle had left the

open inclosure, and had sought what shelter they could find to leeward

of the straw stacks on the north side. At a glance he saw that unless

he could repair the shed at once and get the animals under some sort

of protection, he would find himself a considerably poorer man on the

morrow. So he set to work as hard as he could to carry straw and fill

it in between the poles, in order to shut out the wind; that done, he

spread more straw all over the floor.

It was dark by the time he had got the shed into fit condition to drive

the cattle in again. In the meanwhile they had been standing behind

the stacks. But now his trouble began in earnest; the moment he drove

the beasts far enough away from their shelter to feel the full

force of the wind, they wheeled sharply, put their noses close to the

ground, and headed back for the stacks. This would never do! He waited

awhile until they were quiet again, and then he led them over one by

one, taking the biggest first; the smaller animals he literally picked

up and carried in. These had burrowed themselves so far into the stack

that it was difficult even to get them out. With the snow beating on

him, and the wind constantly taking his breath away, he found this a

tough job; but he kept on at it without pause, though the sweat was

pouring from him in streams.

The evening was gone when he had finished. Round about him lay the

night, full of a whirling menace thicker, more desperate, than he had

ever seen before—a surge which the wind drove before it in roaring

breakers; in the eddies around the corners it was impossible to keep

one’s eyes open.... Hans Olsa stood at the door of the shed, his

work done, looking out at the storm; he was so weary that every limb

trembled. At last he started out mechanically, walked a few steps,

but had to stop to catch his breath. Then he began to realize that in

this darkness, with such a blizzard raging, he would never be able to

steer a straight course home. He felt his way back to the shed, went in

again, and remained standing in the door.... His mind was too exhausted

to think clearly; something kept telling him that he had done well to

save the cattle. If they had been left outside, there wouldn’t have

been many of them alive when the storm was over. If they only had a

little more straw under them, they would really be quite comfortable

now.

After he had been standing there a short while a succession of slight

shivers began to run through his body. He wasn’t exactly cold—it was

only that his muscles wouldn’t keep quiet. Now they tautened and

cramped convulsively; now they arched and slacked up like released

steel springs.... “If I lie down close to the animals, I’ll easily be

able to keep warm,” he thought. “Day will soon come, and then I can

go home to Sörrina and the children. I suppose she’ll have sense

enough to go to bed and not sit up to wait for me all night.”

He felt his way over to where the herd had snuggled together, and

lay down with his back close up against a large bull. He recognized

the animal by a broken horn which his hand happened to fall on. His

underclothes were so wet that they stuck to his body; but the warmth of

the bull soon penetrated to him, and then he felt better. He lay there

thinking how fine it was that he had saved the herd. About hurrying

home he needn’t worry, for all was well there....

He did not intend to go to sleep—wasn’t aware that he was dropping

off, either. He merely felt a heavy drowsiness stealing over him, and

surrendered himself to it for a moment. It seemed so restful after

that strenuous labor. Behind him rose the sound of quiet, regular

breathing—_up ... down; up ... down_—like a light undertow on a

summer’s day. If only he could have such pleasant warmth in front of

him, too! Involuntarily he stretched out his arms, caught hold of the

first creature he came to, and raised himself up sufficiently to drag

it close to him. Fearing that he might have hurt the poor thing, he

began to pet it and talk to it.... Really, now, he was as comfortable

as a man could expect to be on such a night—anywhere but at home. Hans

Olsa settled back and curled himself up snugly between the animals.

The gusts of wind shook and tore at the frail shelter. The storm raged

terribly; all evil powers were loose that night. The worst of it was

that it had turned so bitterly cold. Through every crack in the shed

the snow came whirling; it settled everywhere, piling itself up in

little mounds, which the wind alternately levelled and raised again, as

it sucked and swirled through the place.... Hans Olsa began to twitch

violently; he thought that he felt some one pricking his arms and legs.

Next instant he _knew_ there must be somebody there—somebody who was

using both hands on him; one hand was working upward from the legs; the

other from the elbow toward the shoulder. When these two hands met, he

jumped—a shock seemed to go over him.... With great difficulty

he heaved himself up and stood on his knees; the heavy mantle of snow

slipped off him, shedding an icy shower which struck him full in the

face.... Now, what was this—had he lost his feet?... And where were his

hands?... With infinite pains he raised himself and stood unsteadily

on his legs. Then he tried to go to the door, to look at the weather;

but in a moment he was down again; at the first step he had stumbled

against a living mound under the snow, which reared up wildly and then

was gone in the impenetrable darkness. With each movement now, a blast

of wind and snow struck his face. This happened many times.

He could not understand it—what had happened to him? He knew that he

wasn’t drunk, but his legs would not carry him. And one of his arms

was gone.... Well, here was the wall. He leaned against it, and stood

there, panting.... What! Was his hand frozen?... He pulled the mitten

off his good hand, took hold of the fingers of the other and bent

them—yet he could not feel them move. He saw them bend, too—but he

could not feel them.... This would have to be attended to at once! He

let himself sink down, and began to rub the hand with snow—he breathed

on it hard, and rubbed. Now he began to feel himself frozen through

and through; his teeth were chattering; his whole body was shaking

violently; well, there was no time to waste in idle thinking....

Even now he was trying to make the best of it. “As soon as this hand

is all right, I’ll have to get my feet thawed out. If I don’t get that

done, I’ll be a cripple for life.” ... In his usual level-headed way,

he tried to pull his boots off, but couldn’t accomplish it. Then he

took out his pocket knife, and ripped them both open—first one, then

the other, and placed them methodically against the wall. The socks

came off easily enough; these he stuck in the bosom of his shirt.

He got up and started to run in his bare feet, holding to the wall;

he stumbled a good deal, but kept on with his shambling run. After a

spell of this, he sat down and chafed his feet. He rubbed a long while,

got up again and ran—ran as hard as he could, and then sat down

again to rub anew. His mind was calm, but it worked very slowly—his

thoughts seemed to be far away; he saw them in bright letters against

the darkness: “I had better be careful—I’ve often seen people rub the

skin from a frozen limb.... If I only had some cold water, this would

be easy.” ... He pulled his socks on again, and found his boots. In one

corner of the shed, he remembered, stood two crotches, which he had

bound together with steel wire. He felt his way there, unfastened the

wire, and wound it around his bootlegs.