THE PASTOR OF SVARTSJÖ
Early on New Year’s Eve the Pastor popped his head in at the kitchen
door. What had they done with little Stormwind? He hadn’t seen her out
with her toboggan on the hill. Surely they didn’t mean to keep her
sitting indoors from morning to night like the other womenfolk.
It was Little-Maid he was asking for. On her very first day in Lövdala
he had taken her with him to the tool-house and looked out a sleigh for
her. And every morning since he had come to remind her to go out and
coast.
At the same time he used to take the opportunity of teasing the
housekeeper and maids a little by asking them if they really preferred
sitting shut up in the kitchen all day.
But this time he quickly got his answer that the child had meant to go
out as usual, but her mother had just come to see her. So Little-Maid
had taken her to the dairy to look at the cows.
The Pastor stepped back and shut the door. He stood still for a minute
or two thinking, then turned his steps to the dairy.
The kitchen-folk followed him with their eyes as he went. He looked
old and weak after his illness in the autumn, but it was an understood
thing that he must speak to everyone who came to the house, so it was
some time before he could get as far as Marit of Koltorp. To begin
with, Long-Bengt called out to him that a man had just brought a
sick horse to ask if the Pastor knew of any remedy. And as soon as
he had attended to the horse, up came two peasants who had to divide
an inheritance and wanted him to say how much each ought to have, so
that they need not take the matter into court. And it took a good hour
before he could settle the matter sufficiently to offer them a drink to
seal their agreement.
Meanwhile Little-Maid was sitting in a dark corner of the dairy talking
to her mother, each of them on a milking-stool, and Little-Lad on his
sister’s lap. He had been so pleased to see her again that there was no
getting him away.
Mother and her little son had stayed on a few days at Nugord, but now
they were going home and had taken the longer road past Lövdala to see
how Little-Maid was getting on.
Little-Maid had surely never before felt such happiness as when she saw
her mother step into the kitchen, coming as she did in the very nick of
time to help her in her great trouble.
When they got down to the dairy Mother had, first of all, to say what
she thought of the new tale of Snow-White that Little-Maid had been
lying listening to for the last two nights. Was it possible that the
Pastor’s daughter had been talking of herself?
When Little-Maid had told it all as well as she could, her Mother was
silent for a long time, but at last she said: “I expect they did not
think you were wise enough to understand what they said. But as you
were, you must just show you are wise enough too, not to repeat it.”
But that was not all. Little-Maid had something else upon her mind as
well. Yesterday morning the Pastor’s wife had come to her and asked
so gently and kindly if she was happy, or if she felt homesick. No,
indeed, of course she was happy and so comfortable. And she did so love
the hens.
“Oh, yes,” laughed the Pastor’s wife; “and is there no one else you
love besides the hens?”
Indeed, yes; Little-Maid loved the Pastor’s daughter as well.
And the Pastor’s wife had laughed again. Why was it that she loved
Mamsell Maia Lisa?
“Because she talked so beautifully.”
“Well now,” said the Pastor’s wife. “Can you understand how she knows
all she tells you?”
“I expect she finds it in the books that she sits reading at night,”
was Little-Maid’s answer.
“Oh, she sits reading at night, does she?” asked the Pastor’s wife in
the same gentle tone. “Then I suppose she has a candle.”
“She reads by some light, I know,” answered Little-Maid.
Now that night no sooner had the Pastor’s daughter and Little-Maid got
into bed than the Pastor’s wife came in as usual and took away their
candle.
But when the house was quiet, the Pastor’s daughter got up and fetched
the tallow candle which she had hidden in the great grandfather clock,
crept out into the kitchen, blew up the embers in the grate to get a
light and sat down to read. She had a brother away in Upsala who used
to write verses and send them to her, for he knew she was desperately
fond of such things. And to-night she was learning them by heart.
She must have been reading something very beautiful for she did not
hear the door open, and never lifted her head until the Pastor’s wife
stood over her and stretched out her hand to take the light from the
candlestick.
“I suppose you want to bring us all to the poorhouse,” said her
stepmother, “sitting here burning a light all night. Where did you get
it from?”
“It is not dear Mother’s candle,” said the Pastor’s daughter.
“Whoever it belongs to, I’ll see to it that you don’t sit here bringing
us to poverty,” said her stepmother. “I’ll teach you to waste the
candles, I can tell you.”
With this she went away, but soon came back with a great piece of linen
over her arm.
“Since you like sitting up at night,” she said, “you can at any rate
make yourself useful. See to it that this sheet is seamed up by
to-morrow morning.”
And then she did go, but her stepdaughter had to sit up all night over
her sewing.
And someone else had no sleep either, and that was Little-Maid, who
lay there reproaching herself for having ever said that the Pastor’s
daughter used to sit up reading at night.
And this was why she had been so glad to see her mother.
She could picture no greater misfortune than that Mamsell Maia Lisa
should get to know what she had done, and she begged her mother to take
her home. She could not stay at the Parsonage.
Mother reminded her how comfortable she was, but Little-Maid did not
mind being cold and hungry if only she could get away before the
Pastor’s daughter was angry with her. But Mother insisted she should
stay. “Raklitza shan’t go on domineering like this long,” she said. “I
will speak to the Pastor myself. I have known him many a long day and I
think he’ll believe me.”
At that moment Little-Lad pointed to the door. “There’s someone
standing there,” he said.
Little-Maid and her mother turned round at once. There stood the Pastor
in the shadow a few paces from them, leaning motionless against the
wall. They were so terrified that they did not venture to get up and
say good morning. When had he come and how much had he heard?
“Marit, come along with your milking-stool,” he said in a weak voice.
She hurried up with the little stool, and he sank down on it.
“Don’t fetch anyone,” said the Pastor; “it is only a giddy turn; you
know I have had them all my life.”
They stood helpless before him. Marit of Koltorp was astounded to see
how old he had grown. She had not noticed it so much at her brother’s
Christmas dinner, but now she saw how thin and shrunken he looked.
“It isn’t dangerous,” he went on; “but it comes pretty often nowadays.
You see, Marit, I am about done for.”
Very soon after he got up. “Don’t say anything about it up at the
house,” he said, as he went out of the dairy with bent head and
faltering steps.