It was the day after the meeting of the Hellgumists, and a
Saturday. A blizzard was raging. The pastor, who had been called to
the bedside of a sick person who lived way up at the north end of
the great forest, was driving homeward late in the evening under
great difficulties. His horse sank deep in the snowdrifts, and the
sledge was time after time on the point of being upset. Both the
pastor and his hired man were continually getting out to kick away
the snow for a path. Happily it was not very dark. The moon came
rolling out from behind the snow clouds, big and full, shedding its
silvery light upon the ground. Glancing upward, the pastor noticed
that the air was thick with whirling and flying snowflakes.
In some places they made their way quite easily. There were short
stretches of road where the flying snow had not settled, and others
where the snow was deep, but loose and even. The really troublesome
thing was trying to get over the ground where the drifts were piled
so high that one could not even look over them, and where they were
obliged to turn from the road, and to drive across fields and
hedges, at the risk of being dumped into a ditch or having the
horse spiked on a fence rail.
Both the pastor and his servant spoke with much concern of the
drift which always, after a heavy snow, was banked against a high
boarding close to the Ingmar Farm. "If we can only clear that we
are as good as at home," they said.
The pastor remembered how often he had asked Big Ingmar to remove
the high boarding that was the cause of so much snow drifting
toward that particular spot. But nothing had ever been done about
it. Even though everything else on the Ingmar Farm had undergone
changes, certainly those old boards were never disturbed.
At last they were within sight of the farm. And, sure enough, there
was the snowdrift in its usual place, as high as a wall and as hard
as a rock! Here there was no possibility of their turning to one
side; they had no choice but to drive right over it. The thing
looked impossible, so the servant asked whether he hadn't better go
down to the farm and get some help. But to this the pastor would
not consent. He had not exchanged a word with either Karin or
Halvor in upward of five years, and the thought of meeting old
friends with whom one is no longer on speaking terms, was no more
pleasant to him than it is to most people.
So up the drift the horse had to mount. The icy crust held until
the animal had reached the top, then it gave way and the horse
suddenly disappeared from sight, as if into a grave, while the two
men sat gazing down helplessly. One of the traces had snapped; so
they could not have gone farther even if they had been able to get
the horse out of the drift.
A few minutes later the pastor stepped into the living-room at the
Ingmar Farm. A blazing log fire was burning on the hearth. The
housewife sat at one side of the fireplace spinning fine carded
wool; behind her were the maids, seated in a long row, spinning
flax. The men had taken possession of the other side of the
fireplace. They had just come in from their work; some were
resting, others, to pass the time, had taken up some light work,
such as whittling sticks, sharpening rakes, and making axe handles.
When the pastor told of his mishap, they all bestirred themselves,
and the menservants went out to dig the horse out of the drift.
Halvor led the pastor up to the table, and asked him to sit down.
Karin sent the maids into the kitchen to make fresh coffee and to
prepare a special supper. Then she took the pastor's big fur coat
and hung it in front of the fire to dry, lighted the hanging lamp,
and moved her spinning wheel up to the table, so that she could
talk with the menfolk.
"I couldn't have had a better welcome had Big Ingmar himself
been alive," thought the pastor.
Halvor talked at length about the weather and the state of the
roads, then he asked the clergyman if he had got a good price for
his grain, and if he had succeeded in getting certain repairs made
that he had been wanting for such a long time. Karin then asked
after the pastor's wife, and hoped that there had been some
improvement in her health of late.
At that point the pastor's man came in and reported that the horse
had been dug out, the trace mended, and that all was in readiness
to start. But Karin and Halvor pressed the pastor to stay to
supper, and would not take no for an answer.
The coffee tray was brought in. On it were the large silver coffee
urn and the precious old silver sugar bowl, which was never used
save at such high functions as weddings and funerals, and there
were three big silver cake baskets full of fresh rusks and cookies.
The pastor's small, round eyes grew big with astonishment; he sat
as if in a trance, afraid of being awakened.
Halvor showed the pastor the skin of an elk, which had been shot in
the woods on the Ingmar Farm. The skin was then spread out upon the
floor. The pastor declared that he had never seen a larger or more
beautiful hide. Then Karin went up to Halvor and whispered in his
ear. Immediately Halvor turned to the clergyman, and asked him to
accept the skin as a gift.
Karin bustled back and forth, between the table and the cupboard,
and brought out some choice old silverware. She had spread a fine
hemstitched cloth on the table, which she was dressing as if for a
grand party. She poured milk and unfermented beer into huge silver
jugs.
When they had finished supper, the pastor excused himself, and rose
to go. Halvor Halvorsson and two of his hired men went with him to
open a way through the drifts, steadying the sledge whenever it was
about to upset, and never leaving him till he was safe within his
own dooryard.
The parson was thinking how pleasant it was to renew old
friendships, as he bade Halvor a hearty good-bye. Halvor stood
feeling for something in his pocket. Presently he pulled out a slip
of folded paper. He wondered whether the pastor would mind taking
it now. It was an announcement which was to be read after the
service in the morning. If the pastor would be good enough to take
it, it would save him the bother of sending it to the church by a
special messenger.
When the pastor had gone inside, he lighted the lamp, unfolded the
paper, and read:
"In consequence of the owner's contemplated removal to Jerusalem,
the Ingmar Farm is offered for sale--"
He read no farther. "Well, well, so now it has come upon us," he
murmured, as if speaking of a storm. "This is what I've been
expecting for many a long year!"