It would hardly have been possible for any one to be as fond of the
little girl as her father was; but it may be truly said that she
had a very good friend in old seine-maker Ola.
This is the way they came to be friends: Glory Goldie had taken to
setting out fishing-poles in the brook for the small salmon-trout
that abounded there. She had better luck with her fishing than any
one would have expected, and the very first day she brought home a
couple of spindly fishes.
She was elated over her success, as can be imagined, and received
praise from her mother for being able to provide food for the
family, when she was only a little girl of eight. To encourage the
child, Katrina let her cleanse and fry the fish. Jan ate of it and
declared he had never tasted the like of that fish, which was the
plain truth. For the fish was so bony and dry and burnt that the
little girl herself could scarcely swallow a morsel of it.
But for all that the little girl was just as enthusiastic over her
fishing. She got up every morning at the ionic time that Jan did
and hurried off to the brook, a basket on her arm, and carrying in
a little tin box the worms to bait her hooks. Thus equipped, she
went off to the brook, which came gushing down the rocky steep in
numerous falls and rapids, between which were short stretches of
dark still water and places where the stream ran, clear and
transparent, over a bed of sand and smooth stones.
Think of it! After the first week she had no luck with the fishing.
The worms were gone from all the hooks, but no fish had fastened
there. She shifted her tackle from rapid to still water, from still
water to rippling falls, and she changed her hooks--but with no
better results.
She asked the boys at Börje's and at Eric's if they were not the
ones who got up with the lark and carried off her fish. But a
question like that the boys would not deign to answer. For no boy
would stoop to take fish from the brook, when he had the whole of
Dove Lake to fish in. It was all right for little girls, who were
not allowed to go down to the lake, to run about hunting fish in
the woods, they said.
Despite the superior airs of the boys, the little girl only
half-believed them. "Surely someone must take the fish off my
hooks!" she said to herself. Hers were real hooks, too, and not
just bent pins. And in order to satisfy herself she arose one
morning before Jan or Katrina were awake, and ran over to the
brook. When near to the stream she slackened her pace, taking very
short cautious steps so as not to slip on the stones or to rustle
the bushes. Then, all at once her, whole body became numb. For at
the edge of the brook, on the very spot where she had set out her
poles the morning before, stood a fish thief tampering with her
lines. It was not one of the boys, as she had supposed, but a grown
man, who was just then bending over the water, drawing up a fish.
Little Glory Goldie was never afraid. She rushed right up to the
thief and caught him in the act.
"So you're the one who comes here and takes my fish!" she said.
"It's a good thing I've run across you at last so we can put a stop
to this stealing."
The man then raised his head, and now Glory Goldie saw his face. It
was the old seine-maker, who was one of their neighbours.
"Yes, I know this is your tackle," the man admitted, without
getting angry or excited, as most folks do when taken to task for
wrongdoing.
"But how can you take what isn't yours?" asked the puzzled
youngster.
The man looked straight at her; she never forgot that look; she
seemed to be peering into two open and empty caverns at the back of
which were a pair of half-dead eyes, beyond reflecting either joy
or grief.
"Well, you see, I'm aware that you get what you require from your
parents and that you fish only for the fun of it, while at my home
we are starving."
The little girl flushed. Now she felt ashamed.
The seine-maker said nothing further, but picked up his cap (it had
dropped from his head while he was bending over the fishing-poles)
and went his way. Nor did Glory Goldie speak. A couple of fish lay
floundering on the ground, but she did not take them up; when she
had stood a while looking at them, she kicked them back into the
water.
All that day the little girl felt displeased with herself, without
knowing why. For indeed it was not she who had done wrong. She
could not get the seine-maker out of her thoughts. The old man was
said to have been rich at one time; he had once owned seven big
farmsteads, each in itself worth as much as Eric of Falla's farm.
But in some unaccountable way he had disposed of his property and
was now quite penniless.
However, the next morning Glory Goldie went over to the brook the
same as usual. This time no one had touched her hooks, for now
there was a fish at the end of every line. She released the fishes
from the hooks and laid them in her basket; but instead of going
home with her catch she went straight to the seine-maker's cabin.
When the little girl came along with her basket the old man was out
in the yard, cutting wood. She stood at the stile a moment,
watching him, before stepping over. He looked pitifully poor and
ragged. Even her father had never appeared so shabby.
The little girl had heard that some well-do-to people had offered
the seine-maker a home for life, but in preference he had gone to
live with his daughter-in-law, who made her home here in the
Ashdales, so as to help her in any way that he could; she had many
children, and her husband, who had deserted her, was now supposed
to be dead.
"To-day there was fish on the hooks!" shouted the little girl from
the stile.
"You don't tell me!" said the seine-maker. "But that was well."
"I'll gladly give you all the fish I catch," she told him, "if I'm
only allowed to do the fishing myself." So saying, she went up to
the seine-maker and emptied the contents of her basket on the
ground, expecting of course that he would be pleased and would
praise her, just as her father--who was always pleased with
everything she said or did--had always done. But the seine maker
took this attention with his usual calm indifference.
"You keep what's yours," he said. "We're so used to going hungry
here that we can get on without your few little fishes."
There was something out of the common about this poor old man and
Glory Goldie was anxious to win his approval.
"You may take the fish of and stick the worms on the hooks, if you
like," said she, "and you can have all the tackle and everything."
"Thanks," returned the old man. "But I'll not deprive you of your
pleasure."
Glory Goldie was determined not to go until she had thought out a
way of satisfying him.
"Would you like me to come and call for you every morning," she
asked him, "so that we could draw up the lines together and divide
the catch--you to get half, and I half?"
Then the old man stopped chopping and rested on his axe. He turned
his strange, half-dead eyes toward the child, and the shadow of a
smile crossed his face.
"Ah, now you put out the right bait!" he said. "That proposition
I'll not say no to."