II

More visitors arrive, and the house-party goes on. We farm-hands are

busy measuring, ploughing, and sowing; some of the fields are sprouting

green already after our work--a joy to see.

But we've difficulties here and there, and that with Captain Falkenberg

himself. “He's lost all thought and care for his own good,” says Nils.

And indeed an evil spirit must have got hold of him; he was half-drunk

most of the time, and seemed to think of little else beyond playing the

genial host. For nearly a week past, he and his guests had played upside

down with day and night. But what with the noise and rioting after dark

the beasts in stable and shed could get no rest; the maids, too, were

kept up at all hours, and, what was more, the young gentlemen would come

over to their quarters at night and sit on their beds talking, just to

see them undressed.

We working hands had no part in this, of course, but many a time we felt

shamed instead of proud to work on Captain Falkenberg's estate. Nils got

hold of a temperance badge and wore it in the front of his blouse.

One day the Captain came out to me in the fields and ordered me to get

out the carriage and fetch two new visitors from the station. It was in

the middle of the afternoon; apparently he had just got up. But he put

me in an awkward position here--why had he not gone to Nils? It struck

me that he was perhaps, after all, a little shy of Nils with his

temperance badge.

The Captain must have guessed my difficulty, for he smiled and said:

“Thinking what Nils might say? Well, perhaps I'd better talk to him

first.”

But I wouldn't for worlds have sent the Captain over to Nils just then,

for Nils was still ploughing with visitors' horses, and had asked me to

give him warning if I saw danger ahead. I took out my handkerchief to

wipe my face, and waved a little; Nils saw it, and slipped his team

at once. What would he do now, I wondered? But Nils was not easily

dismayed; he came straight in with his horses, though it was in the

middle of a working spell.

If only I could hold the Captain here a bit while he got in! Nils

realizes there is no time to be lost--he is already unfastening the

harness on the way.

Suddenly the Captain looks at me, and asks:

“Well, have you lost your tongue?”

“'Twas Nils,” I answer then. “Something gone wrong, it looks like; he's

taken the horses out.”

“Well, and what then?”

“Nay, I was only thinking....”

But there I stopped. Devil take it, was I to stand there playing the

hypocrite? Here was my chance to put in a word for Nils; the next round

he would have to manage alone.

“It's the spring season now,” I said, “and there's green showing already

where we're done. But there's a deal more to do yet, and we....”

“Well, and what then--what then?”

“There's two and a half acres here, and Nils with hard on three acres of

corn land; perhaps Captain might give it another thought.”

At that the Captain swung on his heel and left me without a word.

“That's my dismissal,” I thought to myself. But I walked up after him

with my cart and team, ready to do as he had said.

I was in no fear now about Nils; he was close up to the stables by now.

The Captain beckoned to him, but without avail. Then “Halt!” he cried,

military fashion; but Nils was deaf.

When we reached the stables the horses were back in their places

already. The Captain was stiff and stern as ever, but I fancied he had

been thinking matters over a little on the way.

“What have you brought the horses in for now?” he asked.

“Plough was working loose,” answered Nils. “I brought them in just while

I'm setting it to rights again; it won't take very long.”

The Captain raps out his order:

“I want a man to drive to the station.”

Nils glances at me, and says half to himself:

“H'm! So that's it? A nice time for that sort of thing.”

“What's that you're muttering about?”

“There's two of us and a lad,” says Nils, “for the season's work this

spring. 'Tis none so much as leaves any to spare.”

But the Captain must have had some inkling as to the two brown horses

Nils had been in such a hurry to get in; he goes round patting the

animals in turn, to see which of them are warm. Then he comes back to

us, wiping his fingers with his handkerchief.

“Do you go ploughing with other people's horses, Nils?”

Pause.

“I'll not have it here; you understand?”

“H'm! No,” says Nils submissively. Then suddenly he flares up: “We've

more need of horses this spring than any season ever at Øvrebø: we're

taking up more ground than ever before. And here were these strange

cattle standing here day after day eating and eating, and doing never so

much as the worth of the water they drank. So I took them out for a bit

of a spell now and then, just enough to keep them in trim.”

“I'll have no more of it. You hear what I say?” repeated the Captain

shortly.

Pause.

“Didn't you say one of the Captain's plough horses was ailing

yesterday?” I put in.

Nils was quick to seize his chance.

“Ay. So it was. Standing all a-tremble in its box. I couldn't have taken

it out anyway.”

The Captain looked me coldly up and down.

“What are you standing here for?” he asked sharply.

“Captain said I was to drive to the station.”

“Well, then, be off and get ready.”

But Nils took him up on the instant.

“That can't be done.”

“Bravo, Nils!” said I to myself. The lad was thoroughly in the right,

and he looked it, sturdily holding his own. And as for the horses,

our own had been sorely overdone with the long season's work, and the

strange cattle stood there eating their heads off and spoiling for want

of exercise.

“Can't be done?” said the Captain, astounded. “What do you mean?”

“If Captain takes away the help I've got, then I've finished here,

that's all,” says Nils.

The Captain walked to the stable door and looked out, biting his

moustache and thinking hard. Then he asked over his shoulder:

“And you can't spare the lad, either?”

“No,” said Nils; “he's the harrowing to do.”

This was our first real encounter with the Captain, and we had our way.

There were some little troubles again later on, but he soon gave in.

“I want a case fetched from the station,” he said one day. “Can the boy

go in for it?”

“The boy's as ill to spare as a man for us now,” said Nils. “If he's to

drive in to the station now, he won't be back till late tomorrow; that's

a day and a half lost.”

“Bravo!” I said to myself again. Nils had spoken to me before about that

case at the station; it was a new consignment of liquor; the maids had

heard about it.

There was some more talk this way and that. The Captain frowned; he had

never known a busy season last so long before. Nils lost his temper, and

said at last: “If you take the boy off his field work, then I go.” And

then he did as he and I had agreed beforehand, and asked me straight

out:

“Will you go, too?”

“Yes,” said I.

At that the Captain gave way, and said with a smile: “Conspiracy, I see.

But I don't mind saying you're right in a way. And you're good fellows

to work.”

But the Captain saw but little of our work, and little pleasure it gave

him. He looked out now and again, no doubt, over his fields, and saw how

much was ploughed and sown, but that was all. But we farm-hands worked

our hardest, and all for the good of our master; that was our way.

Ay, that was our way, no doubt.

But maybe now and again we might have just a thought of question as to

that zeal of ours, whether it was so noble after all. Nils was a man

from the village who was anxious to get his field work done at least

as quickly as any of his neighbours; his honour was at stake. And I

followed him. Ay, even when he put on that temperance badge, it was,

perhaps, as much as anything to get the Captain sober enough to see the

fine work we had done. And here again I was with him. Moreover, I

had perhaps a hope that Fruen, that Fru Falkenberg at least, might

understand what good souls we were. I doubt I was no better than to

reckon so.

The first time I saw Fru Falkenberg close to was one afternoon as I

was going out of the kitchen. She came walking across the courtyard, a

slender, bareheaded figure. I raised my cap and looked at her; her face

was strangely young and innocent to see. And with perfect indifference

she answered my “_Goddag_,” and passed on.

It could not be all over for good between the Captain and his wife. I

based this view upon the following grounds:

Ragnhild, the parlour-maid, was her mistress's friend and trusted spy.

She noted things on Fruen's behalf, went last to bed, listened on the

stairs, made a few swift, noiseless steps when she was outside and

somebody called. She was a handsome girl, with very bright eyes, and

fine and warm-blooded into the bargain. One evening I came on her just

by the summer-house, where she stood sniffing at the lilacs; she started

as I came up, pointed warningly towards the summer-house, and ran off

with her tongue between her teeth.

The Captain was aware of Ragnhild's doings, and once said to his wife

so all might hear--he was drunk, no doubt, and annoyed at something or

other:

“That Ragnhild's an underhanded creature; I'd be glad to be rid of her.”

Fruen answered:

“It's not the first time you've wanted to get Ragnhild out of the way;

Heaven knows what for! She's the best maid we've ever had.”

“For that particular purpose, I dare say,” he retorted.

This set me thinking. Fruen was perhaps crafty enough to keep this girl

spying, simply to make it seem as if she cared at all what her husband

did. Then people could imagine that Fruen, poor thing, went about

secretly longing for him, and being constantly disappointed and wronged.

And then, of course, who could blame her if she did the like in return,

and went her own way? Heaven knows if that was the way of it!

One day later on the Captain changed his tactics. He had not managed to

free himself from Ragnhild's watchfulness; she was still there, to be

close at hand when he was talking to Elisabet in some corner, or making

towards the summer-house late in the evening to sit there with some one

undisturbed. So he tried another way, and began making himself agreeable

to that same Ragnhild. Oho! 'twas a woman's wit--no doubt, 'twas

Elisabet--had put him up to that!

We were sitting at the long dining-table in the kitchen, Nils and I and

the lad; Fruen was there, and the maids were busy with their own work.

Then in comes the Captain from the house with a brush in his hand.

“Give my coat a bit of a brush, d'you mind?” says he to Ragnhild.

She obeyed. When she had finished, he thanked her, saying: “Thank you,

my child.”

Fruen looked a little surprised, and, a moment after, sent her maid

upstairs for something. The Captain looked after her as she went, and

said:

“Wonderfully bright eyes that girl has, to be sure.”

I glanced across at Fruen. Her eyes were blazing, her cheeks flushed, as

she moved to leave the room. But in the doorway she turned, and now

her face was pale. She seemed to have formed her resolution already.

Speaking over her shoulder, she said to her husband:

“I shouldn't be surprised if Ragnhild's eyes were a little too bright.”

“Eh?” says the Captain, in surprise.

“Yes,” says Fruen, with a slight laugh, nodding over towards the table

where we sat. “She's getting a little too friendly with the men out

here.”

Silence.

“So perhaps she'd better go,” Fruen went on.

It was incomparable audacity on Fruen's part, of course, to say such a

thing to our face, but we could not protest; we saw she was only using

us to serve her need.

When we got outside, Nils said angrily:

“I'm not sure but I'd better go back and say a word or two myself about

that.”

But I dissuaded him, saying it was not worth troubling about.

A few days passed. Again the Captain found an opportunity of paying

barefaced compliments to Ragnhild: “... with a figure like yours,” he

said.

And the tone of everything about the house now--badly changed from of

old. Gone down, grown poorer year by year, no doubt, drunken

guests doing their share to help, and idleness and indifference and

childlessness for the rest.

In the evening, Ragnhild came to me and told me she was given notice;

Fruen had made some reference to me, and that was all.

Once more a piece of underhand work. Fruen knew well I should not be

long on the place; why not make me the scapegoat? She was determined to

upset her husband's calculations, that was the matter.

Ragnhild, by the way, took it to heart a good deal, and sobbed and

dabbed her eyes. But after a while she comforted herself with the

thought that, as soon as I was gone, Fruen would take back her dismissal

and let her stay. I, for my part, was inwardly sure that Fruen would do

nothing of the kind.

Yes, the Captain and Elisabet might be content: the troublesome

parlour-maid was to be sent packing, surely enough.

* * * * *

But who was to know? I might be out in my reckoning after all. New

happenings set me questioning anew; ay, forced me to alter my judgment

once again. 'Tis a sorely difficult thing to judge the truth of

humankind.

I learned now, beyond doubt, that Fru Falkenberg was truly and honestly

jealous of her husband; not merely pretending to be, as so by way of

covering her own devious ways. Far, indeed, from any pretence here.

True, she did not really believe for a moment that he was interested

in her maid. But it suited her purpose to pretend she did; in her

extremity, she would use any means that came to hand. She had blushed

during that scene in the kitchen; yes, indeed, but that was a sudden and

natural indignation at her husband's ill-chosen words, nothing more.

But she had no objections to her husband's imagining she was jealous of

the girl. This was just what she wanted. Her meaning was clear enough.

I'm jealous again, yes; you can see it's all the same as before with me:

here I am! Fru Falkenberg was better than I had thought. For many years

now the pair had slipped farther and farther from each other through

indifference, partly perhaps towards the last, in defiance; now she

would take the first step and show that she cared for him still. That

was it, yes. But, in face of the one she feared most of all, she would

not show her jealousy for worlds--and that was Elisabet, this dangerous

friend of hers who was so many years younger than herself.

Yes, that was the way of it.

And the Captain? Was he moved at all to see his wife flush at his words

to her maid? Maybe a shadow of memory from the old days, a tingle of

wonder, a gladness. But he said no word. Maybe he was grown prouder and

more obstinate with the years that had passed. It might well seem so

from his looks.

Then it was there came the happenings I spoke of.