THE DAILY ROUND
Yes, the daily work was now in full swing at Lövdala, and every morning
and evening the nine spinning-wheels in the kitchen whirred and hummed
as loud as any windmill. And in full daylight there was no dawdling
either, for the time had to be used for sewing and weaving. For a
while it almost seemed as though the Pastor’s wife had forgotten that
Little-Maid was in the house. She had not set her to work nor given her
any duties except to sweep the kitchen parlour and to keep the fire
mended. But on the very day that the Ensign went, Fru Raklitz came
to the kitchen door and beckoned to her to come into the best room.
Little-Maid got up at once, but she was terrified, almost beyond words,
of sitting alone with her mistress. Her feeling towards her was no
ordinary dislike, but something that sent cold shudders down her back
every time she set eyes on her.
Little-Maid had never before been so terrified of any human being, and
she had her own ideas as to the reason of it all. For she could never
forget that there was something peculiar about the Pastor’s wife. No
one else had snow-white hair with such a young face, and it was not
natural either for any female creature to speak with a voice as loud as
a roaring torrent, nor would any ordinary mortal be capable of causing
so much annoyance and unhappiness. She thought pretty often, too, of
what her mother had told her of the Black Lake and the three things
that stayed behind when the water dried up. Mamsell Maia Lisa wouldn’t
hear a word of it, but Little-Maid knew well enough what the third
thing was, and that they had had to do with it in Lövdala more than
once already.
If the Pastor’s daughter would not talk of it, there were others in
the house who could and would. Little-Maid only had to creep away of
an evening to the servants’ room where Long-Bengt and Old Bengta, his
mother, and Merry Maia, his wife, sat gossiping round the fire. Then
Old Bengta used to tell how the “water-spirit” of Black Lake felt
homeless when everything had dried up, for it was not to be expected
that such a fine lady would be content with the poor little Black Lake
stream that trickled away from the old bed of the waters, and that she
tried at once to sneak into one or other of the houses round. And she
had managed to creep in once or twice, but in other places they had
guessed who she was and made a clean sweep of her before she succeeded
in doing any mischief.
Merry Maia told a tale of a son of Herr Olavus the first Svartsjö
pastor, who one spring night had gone down to the Black Lake brook and
been drowned. It was as plain as daylight that the “water-spirit” had
bewitched him, or else he could not possibly have come to grief in a
drop of water like that.
Long-Bengt used to talk of the morning when he and the Vetter-lads had
been mowing hay on the South field. The two boys and he had seen in a
second who it was coming out of the grass. And all her clothes dripping
wet! Why, that surely was sign enough of what sort of creature she
might be! And her eyes, too, as wild as any troll’s! None of the three
had the slightest doubt as to who the present wife of the Svartsjö
Pastor really was, and all three were equally sure that they would
never see the last of her until she had ruined the Parsonage and all in
it.
Little-Maid shared their belief, at any rate, in the evenings or when
it was dark. In daylight it was harder to think that the homeless
“water-spirit” of Svartsjö was really living at Lövdala, and busying
herself with spinning and weaving. But even then her doubts were strong
enough to make Little-Maid shudder every time she saw her.
However, there was no help for it; when the Pastor’s wife came to the
kitchen door she had to follow her through the next room, where Mamsell
Maia Lisa sat embroidering a sheet, into the best parlour, a beautiful,
large room, furnished in birchwood with gilt inlays and blue-striped
carpets on the floor. There were two windows in the room; in one stood
a tall green lily, in the other a little work-table. The lid was
open, and she could see the many little compartments where lay reels
of thread, balls of silk, wax and needle-book, sampler and rolls of
ribbon, finger-shields, crochet-hooks, and many another handy little
thing. The Pastor’s wife showed her everything there was and made her
guess what they were used for. Indeed, she was so pleasant with her
that she even tried to laugh when the child guessed wrong, although the
corners of her mouth looked as if they rebelled against such unusual
exercise. The more friendly she became, the more firmly Little-Maid
set her mouth, and the more watchful grew her bright eyes. Suppose the
Pastor’s wife was thinking of coaxing her into saying something that
might be dangerous for Mamsell Maia Lisa?
But there did not seem to be any evil design this time. The Pastor’s
wife sat down at the work-table and gave Little-Maid a seat at her
side. She was to learn to sew now, for the Pastor’s wife had promised
her mother to give her a good training. To begin with, she showed her
how to set about threading a needle. Of course, that is generally a
difficult task for small fingers, but Little-Maid passed the thread
through the eye at her very first attempt. The Pastor’s wife was really
amazed at such quick work. If she could manage everything else as
easily, they might make a grand sewer of her! Then the Pastor’s wife
gave her a little bit of material to practise on, and showed her how to
make a knot and push her needle in and out of the cloth. Little-Maid
heard her instructions in silence, took the piece of stuff, held it
over her first finger and made stitch after stitch as though there was
nothing difficult in it at all. Well, to be sure! How astonished Fru
Raklitz was! She had never seen such a thing before. But Little-Maid’s
gravity could hold out no longer and she shook with laughter. At last
the Pastor’s wife began to understand. Had Little-Maid learnt to sew
before she came to Lövdala?
“No,” she answered, “not a stitch before I came here.”
“Well, then, someone here must have taught you--Mamsell Maia Lisa
perhaps?”
Little-Maid was terrified at the mere mention of Mamsell Maia Lisa, and
hastened to say that Fru Beata in the brewhouse-room had shown her how.
“How glad I am to hear that,” said the Pastor’s wife. “Who would have
thought she could sew with such hands as hers?”
“Sew indeed,” exclaimed Little-Maid; “why, no one in the house can sew
like Fru Beata.”
“Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” answered Fru Raklitz. “We’ll go
down now to Fru Beata and thank her for teaching you so well.”
And off she started with Little-Maid, but she did not take the direct
road to the brewhouse wing, but went roundabout, away past the stable
and dairy. Fru Beata used to sit all day long at a window from which
she could see everything coming from the main building, but she had no
view on the dairy side. When the Pastor’s wife and Little-Maid had
reached the steep stairway that zigzagged up the outside wall, Fru
Raklitz asked her to run on in front. It was so easy for young legs,
and she herself would manage nicely after her. So on ran Little-Maid
and clattered up the steps so that no one could hear that anyone else
was creeping up as well.
Fru Beata always sat with her hands folded when the Pastor’s wife came
to see her, and always used to say how hard it was no longer to be fit
for any work, for in her time she too had been a fine worker, although
of course not so capable as Anna Maria Raklitz. No doubt the Pastor’s
wife had been sorry for her. How long the day must be for anyone
compelled to sit and not able to do a hand’s turn in all the world’s
work!
But now, as the Pastor’s wife came in, Fru Beata was sitting
embroidering a sheet so diligently that her arm rose and fell as
quickly as the wings of a bird in full flight. When Fru Beata caught
sight of the Pastor’s wife she made a movement as if to put away her
sewing. But when she noticed that her visitor had already seen it
she went on with the work. The Pastor’s wife came up to her and was
overjoyed beyond words to find her at her work-table. What a good thing
her gout was so much better that she could work again, and might she
see what she was doing, for she had heard that Fru Beata was such a
beautiful sewer that her stitches were as regular as a row of pearls.
“But how strange,” continued the Pastor’s wife, as she bent lower and
lower over the piece of work. “I seem to know this sheet. Surely,
it is one of the pair that I gave Maia Lisa to-day to finish before
to-morrow. Perhaps her Grandmother is kind enough to help her with
one of them. Well, I have no objection to that; oh, dear, no, not the
least, but I think you ought to let me know, so that I may give Maia
Lisa enough to do. For if she only has to embroider one sheet instead
of two she will indeed lead a life of idleness.”
Fru Beata sat with the work in her hand, quite unable to answer, for
her lower jaw, and indeed her whole head, was trembling as though
someone were standing behind her chair shaking her. The Pastor’s wife
turned to go. She could see Grandmother was busy, so she would not
hinder her any longer; no doubt she did not need company so much now
when she was well enough to work. Fru Beata stammered out something
about excessive work for young folk spoiling both life and health.
“You know perfectly well yourself that Maia Lisa has not too much to do
to find strength to sit up reading half the night. I do not think young
people take any harm from having to work, but what does harm them is to
creep behind backs, shuffle out of duties, and learn to deceive.”
With this, off Raklitz went, and Fru Beata could not say a word of
defence before the door shut behind her. But the stairway she had to go
down was steep and slippery, so that there was no making haste. And
meantime Fru Beata had managed to regain her self-control, and just as
Fru Anna Maria reached the lowest step, the old lady opened the door
and “Stepmother!” she cried after her, in a voice loud enough to be
heard all over the house and garden. Nor did she wait for any answer,
but went straight back into her room and shot the bolts so that she
should not be taken by surprise again.
The Pastor’s wife did not seem in the least concerned as to what Fru
Beata had called out. Indeed, she was in excellent spirits, and as
she went up the slope to the main building she told Little-Maid very
calmly to go into the best parlour and set to her sewing. She herself
would come directly she had said a few words to Mamsell Maia Lisa.
Little-Maid pressed her lips firmly together and, though she answered
never a word, she had much the same look about her as that Christmas
Day when she had a tussle with the storm-wind. When they reached the
porch she did not go into the best parlour, as she had been told, but
turned off towards the kitchen door. The Pastor’s wife asked where she
was off to. Had she not heard that she was to go on with her sewing?
Little-Maid answered in a low voice that it was no longer necessary.
“Why not necessary? Do you think you are so clever already that you
have nothing more to learn?”
No, Little-Maid had not thought that. But she did not need to learn
any more than she knew already, because she was going back home to
Koltorp. And she stepped up to the Pastor’s wife with outstretched
hand. She would be glad to thank her and say good-bye at the same time.
“But, my dear child,” said Fru Raklitz, “I really don’t understand. Why
have you got to leave?”
Little-Maid stepped back as if to be out of reach whilst she was
giving her explanation. “Mother was nursemaid at Lövdala and loves the
Pastor’s daughter. And when mother was here last Christmas she told
me that if Mamsell Maia Lisa had anything more to put up with on my
account, I was not to stop, but go straight home.”
When Little-Maid had said this she drew back along the wall until she
reached the corner by the kitchen door, and there she stood and waited
for whatever might come. The red spots flared out on Raklitz’s cheeks
and she stepped up to Little-Maid with uplifted hand. Little-Maid
crouched down with a cold glitter in her bright eyes. She knew she was
going to be beaten, but she was so filled with hatred that she did
not feel afraid, but was, instead, almost pleased that they had come
to open strife. But something happened now that she would never have
dreamt of. The Pastor’s wife did not even box her ears, but restrained
herself at the last moment and said, with a forced smile:
“My dear child, you look like a cat getting ready to fly at a dog. But
you needn’t worry. I am not going to beat you for being faithful to
those you serve. That is just what I like, and I promise you Maia Lisa
shall not hear a word of what I have found out to-day. And now we will
both go into the best parlour and never give it another thought.”
Little-Maid felt quite dizzy. There was something under all this that
she did not understand. But she was so glad to be able to stay at the
Parsonage that she did not set her wits to work to guess the riddle.
When they were at the work-table, however, there was no sewing done,
for the Pastor’s wife opened a drawer that was hidden under all the
others and took out first an A B C book and then paper, a quill pen
and a bottle of ink. Little-Maid thought she was going to examine
her in reading and writing. That was not her object, however, but
she began to tell how when she was young she was so busy helping her
mother with the smaller children that she had never been able to learn
to read and write. But since she had married the Pastor she had found
it very troublesome not to know how; so now would Little-Maid be her
schoolmistress? That had been in her mind when she had got her to come
to Lövdala at Christmas, but they had not had any spare time till now.
Little-Maid was delighted, and at once said she would help her as much
as she could. So the matter was settled, and the Pastor’s wife begged
Little-Maid not to tell anyone that she was teaching her to read. She
was afraid folk would laugh at her, so they must pretend that she was
teaching Little-Maid how to sew, and that was the reason why she was
to come into the best parlour for an hour every morning.
Well, surely there could not be any harm in that.
And Fru Raklitz said that she was very pleased about it, for
Little-Maid must see how unpleasant it was for the wife of a Pastor not
to be able to write. She had a letter she wanted to send off that very
day if only she could manage it. Perhaps Little-Maid was clever enough
to write down on paper the words she dictated. Little-Maid agreed in a
moment. She put up the leaf of a table, spread out her paper, drew the
cork out of the ink bottle, and sat down to write at her mistress’s
dictation.