Autumn had come and school was again open. One morning, when the
children were having their recess, the schoolmaster and Gertrude
went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, where Mother Stina
served them with coffee. Before they had finished their cups a
visitor arrived.
The caller was a young peasant named Halvor Halvorsson, who had
lately opened a shop in the village. He came from Tims Farm, and
was familiarly known as Tims Halvor. He was a tall, good-looking
chap who appeared to be somewhat dejected. Mother Stina asked him
also to have some coffee; so he sat down at the table, helped
himself, and began to talk to the schoolmaster.
Mother Stina sat by the window knitting; from where she was seated
she could look down the road. All at once she grew red in the face
and leaned forward to get a better view. Trying to appear
unconcerned, she said with feigned indifference: "The grand folk
seem to be out walking to-day."
Tims Halvor thought he detected a certain something in her tone
that sounded a bit peculiar, and he got up and looked out. He saw a
tall, stoop-shouldered woman and a half-grown boy coming toward the
schoolhouse.
"Unless my eyes deceive me, that's Karin, daughter of Ingmar!" said
Mother Stina.
"It's Karin all right," Tims Halvor confirmed. He said nothing
more, but turned away from the window and glanced around the room,
as if trying to discover some way of escape; but in a moment he
quietly went back to his seat.
The summer before, when Big Ingmar was still alive, Halvor had paid
court to Karin Ingmarsson. The courtship had been a long one, with
many ifs and buts on the part of her family. The old Ingmars were
not quite sure that he was good enough for Karin. It had not been
a question of money, for Halvor was well-to-do; his father,
however, had been addicted to drink, and who could say but that
this failing had been transmitted to the son. However, it was
finally decided that Halvor should have Karin. The wedding day was
fixed and they had asked to have the banns published. But before
the day set for the first reading Karin and Halvor made a journey
to Falun, to purchase the wedding ring and the prayerbook. They
were away for three days, and when they got back Karin told her
father that she could not marry Halvor. She had no fault to find
with him save that on one occasion he had taken a drop too much,
and she feared he might become like his father. Big Ingmar then
said that he would not try to influence her against her better
judgment, so Halvor was dismissed, and the engagement was off.
Halvor took it very much to heart. "You are heaping upon me shame
that will be hard to bear," he said. "What will people think if you
throw me over in this way? It isn't fair to treat a decent man like
that."
But Karin was not to be moved, and ever since Halvor had been
morose and unhappy. He could not forget the injustice that had been
done him by the Ingmarssons. And here sat Halvor, and there came
Karin! What would happen next? This much was certain: a
reconciliation was out of the question. Since the previous autumn
Karin had been married to one Elof Ersson. She and her husband
lived at the Ingmar Farm, which they had been running since the
death of Big Ingmar, in the spring. Big Ingmar had left five
daughters and one son, but the son was too young to take over the
property.
Meanwhile Karin had come in. She was only about two and twenty, but
was one of those women who never look real young. Most people
thought her exceedingly plain, for she favoured her father's family
and had their heavy eyelids, their sandy hair, and hard lines about
the mouth. But the schoolmaster and his wife were pleased to think
that she bore such a striking resemblance to the old Ingmars. When
Karin saw Halvor, her face did not change. She moved about, slowly
and quietly, and greeted each of them in turn; when she offered her
hand to Halvor, he put out his, and they barely touched each other
with the tips of their fingers. Karin always stooped a little and,
as she stood before Halvor, with head bowed, she seemed to be more
bent than usual, while Halvor looked taller and straighter than
ever.
"So Karin has really ventured out to-day?" said Mother Stina,
drawing up the pastor's chair for her.
"Yes," she answered. "It's easy walking now that the frost has set
in."
"There has been a hard frost during the night," the schoolmaster
put in.
This was followed by a dead silence, which lasted several minutes.
Presently Halvor got up, and the others started, as if suddenly
awakened from a sound sleep.
"I must get back to the shop," said Halvor.
"What's your hurry?" asked Mother Stina.
"I hope Halvor isn't going on my account," said Karin meekly.
As soon as Halvor was gone the tension was broken, and the
schoolmaster knew at once what to say. He looked at the lad Karin
had brought with her, and of whom no one had taken any notice
before. He was a little chap who could not have been much older
than Gertrude. He had a fair, soft baby face, yet there was
something about him that made him appear old for his years. It was
easy to tell to what family he belonged.
"I think Karin has brought us a new pupil," said Storm.
"This is my brother," Karin replied. "He is the present Ingmar
Ingmarsson."
"He's rather little for that name," Storm remarked.
"Yes, father died too soon!"
"He did indeed," said the schoolmaster and his wife, both in the
same breath.
"He has been attending the school in Falun," Karin explained.
"That's why he hasn't been here before."
"Aren't you going to let him go back this year, too?"
Karin dropped her eyes and a sigh escaped her. "He has the name of
being a good student," she said, evading his question.
"I'm only afraid that I can't teach him anything. He must know as
much as I do."
"Well, I guess the schoolmaster knows a good deal more than a
little chap like him." Then came another pause, after which Karin
continued: "This is not only the question of his attending school,
but I would also like to ask whether you and Mother Stina would let
the boy come here to live."
The schoolmaster and his wife looked at each other in astonishment,
but neither of them was prepared to answer.
"I fear our quarters are rather close," said Storm, presently.
"I thought that perhaps you might be willing to accept milk and
butter and eggs as part payment."
"As to that--"
"You would be doing me a great service," said the rich peasant
woman.
Mother Stina felt that Karin would never have made this singular
request had there not been some good reason for it; so she promptly
settled the matter.
"Karin need say no more. We will do all that we can for the
Ingmarssons."
"Thank you," said Karin.
The two women talked over what had best be done for Ingmar's
welfare. Meantime, Storm took the boy with him to the classroom,
and gave him a seat next to Gertrude. During the whole of the first
day Ingmar never said a word.
***
Tims Halvor did not go near the schoolhouse again for a week or
more; it was as if he were afraid of again meeting Karin there. But
one morning when it rained in torrents, and there was no likelihood
of any customers coming, he decided to run over and have a chat
with Mother Stina. He was hungry for a heart-to-heart talk with
some kindly and sympathetic person. He had been seized by a
terrible fit of the blues. "I'm no good, and no one has any respect
for me," he murmured, tormenting himself, as he had been in the
habit of doing ever since Karin had thrown him over.
He closed his shop, buttoned his storm coat, and went on his way to
the school, through wind and rain and slush. Halvor was happy to be
back once more in the friendly atmosphere of the schoolhouse, and
was still there when the recess bell rang, and Storm and the two
children came in for their coffee. All three went over to greet
him. He arose to shake hands with the schoolmaster, but when little
Ingmar put out his hand, Halvor was talking so earnestly to Mother
Stina that he seemed not to have noticed the boy. Ingmar remained
standing a moment, then he went up to the table and sat down. He
sighed several times, just as Karin had done the day she was there.
"Halvor has come to show us his new watch," said Mother Stina.
Whereupon Halvor took from his pocket a new silver watch, which he
showed to them. It was a pretty little timepiece, with a flower
design engraved on the case. The schoolmaster opened it, went into
the schoolroom for a magnifying glass, adjusted it to his eye, and
began examining the works. He seemed quite carried away as he
studied the delicate adjustment of the tiny wheels, and said he had
never seen finer workmanship. Finally he gave the watch back to
Halvor, who put it in his pocket, looking neither pleased nor
proud, as folks generally do when you praise their purchases.
Ingmar was silent during the meal, but when he had finished his
coffee, he asked Storm whether he really knew anything about
watches.
"Why, of course," returned the schoolmaster. "Don't you know that I
understand a little of everything?"
Ingmar then brought out a watch which he carried in his vest
pocket. It was a big, round, silver _turnip_ that looked ugly and
clumsy as compared with Halvor's watch. The chain to which it was
attached was also a clumsy contrivance. The case was quite plain
and dented. It was not much of a watch: it had no crystal, and the
enamel on its face was cracked.
"It has stopped," said Storm, putting the watch to his ear.
"Yes, I kn-n-ow," stammered the boy. "I was just wondering if you
didn't think it could be mended."
Storm opened it and found that all the wheels were loose. "You must
have been hammering nails with this watch," he said. "I can't do
anything with it."
"Don't you think that Eric, the clockmaker, could fix it?"
"No, no more than I. You'd better send it to Falun and have new
works put in."
"I thought so," said Ingmar, and took the watch.
"For heaven's sake, what have you been doing with it?" the
schoolmaster exclaimed.
The boy swallowed hard. "It was father's watch," he explained, "and
it got damaged like that when father was struck by the whirling
log."
Now they all grew interested.
With an effort to control his feelings, Ingmar continued: "As you
know, it happened during Holy Week, when I was at home. I was the
first person to reach father when he lay on the bank. I found him
with the watch in his hand. 'Now it's all over with me, Ingmar,' he
said. 'I'm sorry the watch is broken, for I want you to give it,
with my greetings, to some one that I have wronged.' Then he told
me who was to have the watch, and bade me take it along to Falun
and have it repaired before presenting it. But I never went back to
Falun, and now I don't know what to do about it."
The schoolmaster was wondering whether he knew of any one who was
soon going to the city, when Mother Stina turned to the boy:
"Who was to have the watch, Ingmar?" she asked.
"I don't know as I ought to tell," the boy demurred.
"Wasn't it Tims Halvor, who is sitting here?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"Then give Halvor the watch just as it is," said Mother Stina.
"That will please him best."
Ingmar obediently rose, took out the watch and rubbed it in the
sleeve of his coat, to shine it up a bit. Then he went over to
Halvor.
"Father asked me to give you this with his compliments," he said,
holding out the watch.
All this while Halvor had sat there, silent and glum. And when the
boy went over to him, he put his hand up to his eyes, as if he did
not want to look at him. Ingmar stood a long time holding out the
watch; finally, he glanced appealingly at Mother Stina.
"Blessed are the peacemakers," she said.
Then Storm put in a word. "I don't thick you could ask for a better
amend, Halvor," he said. "I've always maintained that if Ingmar
Ingmarsson had lived he would have given you full justice long
before this."
The next they saw was Halvor reaching out for the watch, almost as
if against his will. But the moment he had got it into his hand, he
put it in the inside pocket of his vest.
"There's no fear of any one taking that watch from him," said the
schoolmaster with a laugh, as he saw Halvor carefully buttoning his
coat.
And Halvor laughed, too. Presently he got up, straightened himself,
and drew a deep breath. The colour came into his cheeks, and his
eyes shone with a new-found happiness.
"Now Halvor must feel like a new man," said the schoolmaster's
wife.
Then Halvor put his hand inside his overcoat and drew out his
brand-new watch. Crossing over to Ingmar, who was again seated at
the table, he said: "Since I have taken your father's watch from
you, you must accept this one from me."
He laid the watch on the table and went out, without even saying
good-bye. The rest of the day he tramped the roads and bypaths. A
couple of peasants who had come from a distance to trade with him
hung around outside the shop from noon till evening. But no Tims
Halvor appeared.
***
Elof Ersson, the husband of Karin Ingmarsson, was the son of a
cruel and avaricious peasant, who had always treated him harshly.
As a child he had been half starved, and even after he was grown up
his father kept him under his thumb. He had to toil and slave from
morning till night, and was never allowed any pleasures. He was not
even allowed to attend the country dances like other young folk,
and he got no rest from his work even on Sundays. Nor did Elof
become his own master when he married. He had to live at the Ingmar
Farm and be under the domination of his father-in-law; and also at
the Ingmar Farm hard work and frugality were the rule of the day.
As long as Ingmar Ingmarsson lived Elof seemed quite content with
his lot, toiling and slaving with never so much as a complaint.
Folks used to say that now the Ingmarssons had got a son-in-law
after their own hearts, for Elof Ersson did not know that there was
anything else in life than just toil and drudgery.
But as soon as Big Ingmar was dead and buried, Elof began to drink
and carouse. He made the acquaintance of all the rounders in the
parish, and invited them down to the Farm, and went with them to
dance halls and taverns. He quit work altogether, and drank himself
full every day. In the space of two short months he became a poor
drunken wretch.
The first time Karin saw him in a state of intoxication she was
horrified. "This is God's judgment upon me for my treatment of
Halvor," was the thought that came to her. To the husband she said
very little in the way of rebuke or warning. She soon perceived
that he was like a blasted tree, doomed to wither and decay, and
she could not hope for either help or protection from him.
But Karin's sisters were not so wise as she was. They resented his
escapades, blushed at his ribald songs and coarse jokes, by turns
threatening and admonishing him. And although their brother-in-law
was on the whole rather good-natured, he sometimes got into a rage
and had words with them. Then Karin's only thought was how she
should get her sisters away from the house, that they might escape
the misery in which she herself had to live. In the course of the
summer she managed to marry off the two older girls, and the two
younger ones she sent to America, where they had relatives who were
well-to-do.
All the sisters received their proportion of the inheritance, which
amounted to twenty thousand kroner each. The farm had been left to
Karin, with the understanding that young Ingmar was to take it over
when he became of age.
It seemed remarkable that Karin, who was so awkward and diffident,
should have been able to send so many birds from the nest, find
mates for them, and homes. She arranged it all herself, for she
could get no help whatever from her husband, who had now become
utterly worthless.
Her greatest concern, however, was the little brother--he who was
now Ingmar Ingmarsson. The boy exasperated Karin's husband even
more than the sisters had done. He did it by actions rather than
words. One time he poured out all the corn brandy Elof had brought
home; another time the brother-in-law caught him in the act of
diluting his liquor with water.
When autumn came Karin demanded that the boy be sent back to high
school that year, as in former years, but her husband, who was also
his guardian, would not hear of it.
"Ingmar shall be a farmer, like his father and me and my father,"
said Elof. "What business has he at high school? When the winter
comes, he and I will go into the forest to put up charcoal kilns.
That will be the best kind of schooling for him. When I was his
age, I spent a whole winter working at the kiln."
As Karin could not induce him to alter his mind, she had to make
the best of it and keep Ingmar at home for the time being.
Elof then tried to win the confidence of little Ingmar. Whenever he
went anywhere he always wanted the boy to accompany him. The lad
went, of course, but unwillingly. He did not like to go with him on
his sprees. Then Elof would coax the boy, and vow that he was not
going any farther than the church or the shop. But when once he got
Ingmar in the cart, he would drive off with him, down to the
smithies at Bergsana, or the tavern in Karmsund.
Karin was glad that her husband took the boy along; it was at least
a safeguard against Elof being left in a ditch by the roadside, or
driving the horse to death.
Once, when Elof came home at eight in the morning, Ingmar was
sitting beside him in the cart, fast asleep.
"Come out here and look after the boy!" Elof shouted to Karin, "and
carry him in. The poor brat's as full as a tick, and can't walk a
step."
Karin was so shocked that she almost collapsed. She was obliged to
sit down on the steps for a moment, to recover herself, before she
could lift the boy. The minute she took hold of him she discovered
that he was not really asleep, but stiff from the cold, and
unconscious. Taking the boy in her arms, she carried him into the
bedroom, locked the door after her, and tried to bring him to.
After a while she stepped into the living-room, where Elof sat
eating his breakfast. She walked straight up to him and put her
hand on his shoulder.
"You'd better lay in a good meal while you're about it," she said,
"for if you have made my brother drink himself to death, you'll
soon have to put up with poorer fare than you're getting on the
Ingmar Farm."
"How you talk! As if a little brandy could hurt him!"
"Mark what I say! If the boy dies, you'll get twenty years in
prison, Elof."
When Karin returned to the bedroom, the boy had come out of his
stupor, but was delirious and unable to move hand or foot. He
suffered agonies.
"Do you think I'm going to die, Karin?" he moaned.
"No, dear, of course not," Karin assured him.
"I didn't know what they were giving me."
"Thank God for that!" said Karin fervently.
"If I die, write to my sisters and tell them I didn't know it was
liquor," wailed the boy.
"Yes, dear," soothed Karin.
"Really and truly I didn't know--I swear it!"
All day Ingmar lay in a raging fever. "Please don't tell father
about it!" he raved.
"Father will never know of it," she said.
"But suppose I die, then father would surely find it out, and I
would be shamed before him."
"But it wasn't your fault, child."
"Maybe father will think that I shouldn't have taken what Elof
offered me? Don't you suppose the whole parish must know that I
have been full?" he asked. "What do the hired men say, and what
does old Lisa say, and Strong Ingmar?"
"They're not saying anything," Karin replied.
"You will have to tell them how it happened. We were at the tavern
in Karmsund, where Elof and some of his pals had been drinking the
whole night. I was sitting in a corner on a bench, half asleep,
when Elof came over and roused me. 'Wake up, Ingmar,' he said very
pleasantly, 'and I'll give you something that will make you warm.
Drink this,' he urged, holding a glass to my lips. 'It's only hot
water with a little sugar in it.' I was shivering with the cold
when I awoke and, as I drank the stuff, I only noticed that it was
hot and sweet. But he had gone and mixed something strong with it!
Oh, what will father say?"
Then Karin opened the door leading to the living-room, where Elof
still lingered over his meal. She felt that it would be well for
him to hear this.
"If only father were living, Karin, if only father were living!"
"What then, Ingmar?"
"Don't you think he'd kill him?"
Elof broke into a loud laugh, and when the boy heard him, he turned
so pale with fright that Karin promptly closed the door again.
It had this good effect upon Elof, at all events: he put up no
objection when Karin decided to take the boy to Storm's school.
***
Soon after Halvor had received the watch, his shop was always full
of people. Every farmer in the parish, when in town, would stop at
Halvor's shop in order to hear the story of Big Ingmar's watch. The
peasants in their long white fur coats stood hanging over the
counter by the hour, their solemn, furrowed faces turned toward
Halvor as he talked to them. Sometimes he would take out the watch,
and show them the dented case and the cracked face.
"So it was there the blow caught him," the peasants would say. And
they seemed to see before them what had happened when Big Ingmar
was hurt. "It is a great thing for you, Halvor, to have that
watch!"
When Halvor was showing the watch he would never let it out of his
hands, but would always keep a tight grip on the chain.
One day Halvor stood talking to a group of peasants, telling them
the usual story, and at the climax the watch was of course brought
out. As it was being passed from one to the other (he holding the
chain) there fell upon all a solemn hush. In the meantime Elof had
come into the shop, but as every one's attention was riveted upon
the watch, no one had remarked his presence. Elof had also heard
the story of his father-in-law's watch, and knew at once what was
going on. He did not begrudge Halvor his souvenir; he was simply
amused at the sight of him and the others standing there looking so
solemn over nothing but an old and battered silver watch.
Elof stole quietly up behind the men, reached over, and snatched
the watch from Halvor. It was only meant in fun. He had no thought
of taking the watch only from Halvor; he just wanted to tease him a
bit.
When Halvor tried to snatch it again, Elof stepped back and held it
up, as if he were holding out a lump of sugar to a dog. Then Halvor
vaulted the counter; and he looked so angry that Elof got
frightened and, instead of standing still and handing him back the
watch, he ran for the door.
Outside were some badly worn wooden steps; Elof's foot caught in a
hole, and down he went. Halvor fell upon him, seized the watch,
then gave him several hard kicks.
"You'd better quit kicking me, and find out what's wrong with my
back," said Elof.
Halvor stopped at once, but Elof made no move to raise himself.
"Help me up," he said.
"You can help yourself when you've slept off your jag."
"I'm not full," Elof protested. "The fact is, as I started to run
down the stairs I thought I saw Big Ingmar coming toward me, to
take the watch. That's how I got such an ugly fall."
Then Halvor bent down and gave the poor wretch a lift, for his back
was broken. He had to be put into a wagon and driven home. He would
never again have the use of his legs. From that time forth Elof was
confined to his bed, a helpless cripple. But he could talk, and all
day long he kept begging for brandy. The doctor had left strict
orders with Karin not to give him any spirits, lest he drink
himself to death. Then Elof tried to get what he wanted by
shrieking and making the most hideous noises, especially at night.
He behaved like a madman, and disturbed every one's rest.
That was Karin's most trying year. Her husband sometimes tormented
her until it seemed as though she could not stand it any longer.
The very air became polluted by his vile talk and profanity, so
that the home was like a hell. Karin begged the Storms to keep
little Ingmar with them also during the holidays; she did not want
her brother to be at home with her for a day, not even at
Christmas.
All the servants at the Ingmar Farm were distantly related to the
family, and had always lived on the place. But for the feeling that
they belonged to the Ingmarssons, they could not have gone on
serving under such conditions. There were precious few nights that
they were allowed to sleep in peace. Elof was constantly hitting
upon new ways of tormenting both the servants and Karin, to make
them give in to his demands.
In this misery Karin passed a winter and a summer and another
winter.
But Karin had a retreat to which she would flee at times in order
to be alone with her thoughts. Behind the hop garden there was a
narrow seat upon which she often sat, with her elbows on her knees
and her chin resting in her hands, staring straight ahead, yet
seeing nothing. Fronting her were great stretches of cornfields,
beyond which was the forest, and in the distance the range of hills
and Mount Klack.
One evening in April she sat on her bench, feeling tired and
listless, as one often does in the springtime when the snow turns
to slush and the ground is still unwashed by spring rains. The hops
lay sleeping under a cover of fir brush. Over against the hills
hung a thick mist, such as always accompanies a thaw. The birch
tops were beginning to turn brown, but all along the skirt of the
forest there was still a deep border of snow. Spring would soon
be there in earnest, and the thought of it made her feel even more
tired. She felt that she could never live through another summer
like the last one. She thought of all the work ahead of her--sowing
and haymaking; spring baking and spring cleaning; weaving and
sewing--and wondered how she would ever get through with it all.
"I might better be dead," she sighed. "I seem to be here for no
other purpose than to prevent Elof killing himself with drink."
Suddenly she looked up, as if she had heard some one calling her.
Leaning against the hedge, looking straight at her, stood Halvor
Halvorsson. She did not know just when he had come, but apparently
he had been standing there a good while.
"I thought I should find you over here," Halvor said.
"Oh, did you?"
"I remembered how in days gone by you used to step away, and come
here to sit and brood."
"I didn't have much to brood over at that time."
"Then your troubles were mostly imaginary."
Karin mused as she looked at Halvor: "He must be thinking what a
fool I was not to have married him, who is such a handsome and
dignified man. Now he's got me where he can crow over me, and he
has come only to laugh at me."
"I've been inside talking with Elof," Halvor enlightened. "It was
really him I wanted to see."
Karin made no reply, but sat there, frigid and unresponsive, her
eyes fixed on the ground and her hands crossed, prepared to meet
all the scorn she fancied Halvor would now heap upon her.
"I said to him," Halvor continued, "that I considered myself
largely to blame for his misfortune, since it was at my place that
he got hurt." He paused a moment, as if waiting for some expression
from her, either of approval or disapproval. But Karin was silent.
"So I have asked him to come and live with me for a while. It would
at least be a change, and he could see more people than he meets
here."
Then Karin raised her eyes, but otherwise remained as motionless as
before.
"We have arranged to have him sent to my place to-morrow morning. I
know he'll come, because he thinks he can get his liquor. But, of
course, you must know, Karin, that that's out of the question. No,
indeed! It's no more to be had with me than with you. I shall
expect him to-morrow. He is to occupy the little room off the shop,
and I've promised him that I'll let his door stand open, so that he
may see all persons who come and go."
At Halvor's first words Karin wondered whether this was not
something he had made up, but gradually it dawned on her that he
was in earnest.
As a matter of fact, Karin had always imagined that Halvor had
courted her only because of her money and good connections. It had
never occurred to her that he might have loved her for herself
alone. She probably knew she was not the kind of girl that men care
for. Nor had she herself been in love, either with Halvor or Elof.
But now that Halvor had come to her in her trouble, and wanted to
help her, she was completely overwhelmed by the bigness of the man.
She marvelled that he could be so kind. She felt that surely he
must like her a little, since he had come like that, to help her.
Karin's heart began to beat violently and anxiously. She awoke to
something she had never before experienced, and wondered what it
meant. Then all at once she realized that Halvor's kindness had
thawed her frozen heart, and that love was beginning to flame up in
her. Halvor went on unfolding his plan, fearing all the while that
she might oppose him. "It's hard for Elof, too," he pleaded. "He
needs a change of scene, and he won't make as much trouble for me
as he has made for you. It will be quite different when he's got a
man to reckon with."
Karin hardly knew what she should do. She felt that she could not
make a movement or say a word without letting Halvor see that she
was in love with him; yet she knew she would have to give him some
kind of an answer.
Presently Halvor stopped talking and simply looked at her.
Then Karin rose, involuntarily went up to him, and patted him on
the hand. "God bless you, Halvor!" she said in broken tones. "God
bless you!"
Despite all her precautions, Halvor must have divined something,
for he quickly grasped her hands and drew her to him.
"No! No!" she cried in alarm, freeing herself; then she hurried
away.
***
Elof had gone to live with Halvor. All summer he lay in the little
bedroom off the shop. Halvor was not troubled with the care of him
for a great while, for in the autumn he died.
Shortly after his death Mother Stina said to Halvor: "Now you must
promise me one thing: promise me that you will exercise patience as
regards Karin."
"Of course I'll have patience," Halvor returned, wonderingly.
"She's somebody worth winning, even if one has to wait seven long
years."
But it was not so easy for Halvor to have patience, for he soon
learned that this one and that one was paying court to Karin. This
began within a fortnight of Elof's funeral.
One Sunday afternoon Halvor sat on the steps in front of his shop,
watching the people coming and going. Presently it occurred to him
that an unusual number of fine rigs were moving in the direction of
the Ingmar Farm. In the first carriage sat an inspector from
Bergsana Foundry, in the second was the son of the proprietor of
the Karmsund Inn, and last came the Magistrate Berger Sven Persson,
who was the richest man in western Dalecarlia, and a sensible and
highly esteemed man, too. He was not young, to be sure; he had been
twice married, and was now a widower for the second time.
When Halvor saw Berger Sven Persson driving by, he could not
contain himself any longer. He jumped to his feet and started down
the road; in almost no time he was over the bridge and on the side
of the river where the Ingmar Farm lay.
"I'd like to know where all those carriages have gone to," he said
to himself. He followed the wheel ruts, half running, but all the
while becoming more and more determined. "I know this is stupid of
me," he thought, remembering Mother Stina's warning. "But I'm only
going as far as the gate, to see what they're up to down there."
In the best room at the Ingmars sat Berger Sven Persson and two
other men, drinking coffee. Ingmar Ingmarsson, who still lived at
the schoolhouse, was at home over Sunday. He sat at table with them
and acted as host, for Karin had excused herself, saying she had
some work to do in the kitchen, as the maids had gone down to the
mission house to hear the schoolmaster preach.
It was deadly dull in the parlour. All the men sat drinking their
coffee without exchanging a word. The suitors were practically
strangers to one another, and all three of them were watching for
an opportunity to slip into the kitchen for a private word with
Karin.
Presently the door opened and in stepped another caller, who was
received by Ingmar, and conducted to the table.
"This is Tims Halvor Halvorsson," said Ingmar, introducing the
newcomer to Berger Sven Persson.
Sven Persson did not rise, but greeted Halvor with a sweep of the
hand, saying, somewhat facetiously:
"It is a pleasure to meet so distinguished a personage."
Ingmar noisily drew up a chair for Halvor, so that he was spared
the embarrassment of replying.
From the moment Halvor entered the room, all the suitors became
chatty and began to talk big. Each in turn praised and championed
the others. It was as if they had all agreed among themselves to
stand together until Halvor was well out of the game.
"The magistrate is driving a fine horse to-day," the inspector
began.
Berger Sven Persson took up the fun by complimenting the inspector
on having shot a bear the winter before. Then the two turned to the
innkeeper's son, and said something in praise of a house his father
was building.
Finally all three of them bragged about the wealth of Bergen Sven
Persson. They waxed eloquent, and with every word they gave Halvor
to understand that he was too lowly a man to think of pitting
himself against them. And Halvor certainly did feel very
insignificant, and bitterly regretted having come.
Just then Karin came along with fresh coffee. At sight of Halvor
she brightened for an instant; then it occurred to her that his
calling on her so soon after her husband's death looked rather bad.
"If he is in such a hurry, people will surely say that he hadn't
given Elof proper care, and that he wanted him out of the way so he
could marry me." She would rather he had waited two or three years
before coming; that would have been long enough to make folks see
that he had not been impatient for Elof's departure. "Why need he
be in such haste?" she wondered. "Surely he must know that I don't
want anyone but him."
Every one had stopped talking the moment Karin appeared, wondering
how she and Halvor would greet each other. They barely touched
hands. .At which the magistrate expressed his delight by a short
whistle, while the inspector broke into a loud guffaw. Haldor
quietly turned to him. "What are you laughing at?" he said.
The inspector was at a loss for an answer. With Karin there he did
not wish to say anything that might give offence.
"He is thinking of a hound that raises a hare and allows some one
else to catch it," remarked the innkeeper's son, insinuatingly.
Karin turned blood red, but refilled the coffee cups. "Berger Sven
Persson and the rest of you will have to be satisfied with plain
coffee," she said. "We no longer serve spirits to any one on this
farm."
"Nor do I at my home," said the magistrate approvingly.
The inspector and the innkeeper's son kept quiet; they understood
that Sven Persson had scored heavily.
The magistrate straightway began to discourse on temperance and its
salutary effects. Karin listened to him with interest, and agreed
with all that he said. Seeing that this was the kind of talk that
would appeal to her, the magistrate began to spread himself, and
delivered long-winded harangue on the curse of liquor and
drunkenness. Karin recognized all her own thoughts on the subject,
and was glad to find that they were shared by so intelligent a man
as the magistrate.
In the middle of his monologue Berger Sven Persson glanced over at
Halvor, who sat at the table, looking glum and sulky, his coffee
cup untouched.
"It's pretty rough on him," thought Berger Sven Persson,
"particularly if there's any truth in what people say about his
having given Elof a little lift on his way into the next world.
Anyway, he did Karin a good service by relieving her of that
dreadful sot." And since the magistrate seemed to think that he had
as good as won the game, he felt rather friendly toward Halvor.
Raising his cup, he said: "Here's to you, Halvor! You certainly
did Karin a good turn when you took her drunken sot of a husband
off her hands."
Halvor did not respond to the toast. He sat looking the man
straight in the eyes, and wondered how he should take this.
The inspector again burst out laughing. "Yes, yes, a good turn," he
haw-hawed, "a real good turn."
"Yes, yes, a real good turn," echoed the innkeeper's son, with a
chuckle.
Before they were done laughing, Karin had vanished like a shadow
through the kitchen door; but she could hear from the kitchen all
that was said inside. She was both sorry and distressed over
Halvor's untimely visit. It would probably result in her never
being able to marry Halvor. It was plain that the gossips were
already spreading evil reports. "I can't bear the thought of
losing him," she sighed.
For a time no sound came from the sitting-room, but presently she
heard a noise as if a chair were being pushed back. Some one had
evidently risen.
"Are you going already, Halvor?" young Ingmar was heard to say.
"Yes," Halvor replied. "I can't stop any longer. Please say good-bye
to Karin for me."
"Why don't you go into the kitchen and say it for yourself?"
"No," Halvor was heard to answer, "we two have nothing more to say
to each other."
Karin's heart began to pump hard, and thoughts came rushing into
her head, as if on wings. Now Halvor was angry at her--and no
wonder! She had hardly dared even to shake hands with him, and when
the others had scoffed at him, she never opened her mouth in his
defence, but quietly sneaked away. Now he must think she did not
care for him, and was therefore going, never to return. She could
not understand why she should have treated him so shabbily--she who
was so fond of him. Then, all at once her father's old saying came
to her: "The Ingmarssons need have no fear of men; they have only
to walk in the ways of God."
Karin hastily opened the door, and stood facing Halvor before he
could manage to leave the room.
"Are you leaving so soon, Halvor?" she asked. "I thought you were
going to stay to supper."
Halvor stood staring at Karin. She seemed to be completely changed;
her cheeks were aglow, and there was something tender and appealing
about her which he had never seen before.
"I'm going, and I'm not coming back," said Halvor. He had not
caught her meaning, apparently.
"Do stay and finish your coffee," she urged. Then she took him by
the hand and led him back to the table. She turned both white and
red, and several times she all but lost her courage. Just the same
she braved it out, although there was nothing she feared so much as
scorn and contempt. "Now he will at least see that I'm willing to
stand by him," she thought. Turning toward her guests, she said:
"Berger Sven Persson and all of you! Halvor and I have not spoken
of this matter--as I have so recently become a widow--but now it
seems best that you should all know that I would rather marry
Halvor than any one else in the world." She paused to get control
of her voice, then concluded: "Folks may say what they like about
this, but Halvor and I have done nothing wrong."
When Karin had finished speaking, she drew nearer to Halvor, as if
seeking protection against all the cruel slander that would come
now.
The men were speechless, mostly from astonishment at Karin
Ingmarsson, who looked younger and more girlish than ever before in
her life.
Then Halvor said in a voice vibrant with feeling: "Karin, when I
received your father's watch, I felt that nothing greater could
have happened to me; but this thing which you have just done
transcends everything."
Whereupon Berger Sven Persson, who was in many ways an excellent
man, arose.
"Let us all congratulate Karin and Halvor," he said, graciously,
"for every one must know that he whom Karin, daughter of Ingmar,
has chosen is a man of sterling worth."