When the little girl had been gone nearly eight months, who should
come stalking into the barn at Falla one fine day, while Jan stood
threshing there, but Mad Ingeborg!
Mad Ingeborg was first cousin to Jan. But as she was afraid of
Katrina he seldom saw her. It was to escape meeting Jan's wife that
she had sought him out at Falla during his work hours.
Jan was none too pleased to see Ingeborg! She was not exactly
insane, but flighty--and a terrible chatterer. He went right on
with his work, taking no notice of her.
"Stop your threshing, Jan!" she said, "so that I can tell you what
I dreamed about you last night."
"You'd better come some other time, Ingeborg," Jan suggested. "If
Lars Gunnarson hears that I'm resting from my work he'll be sure to
come over to see what's up."
"I'll be as quick as quick can be. If you remember, I was the
brightest child in our family, which doesn't give me much to brag
about, as the rest of you were a dull lot."
"You were going to tell me about a dream," Jan reminded her.
"In a minute--a minute! You mustn't be afraid. I understand--
understand: hard master now at Falla--hard master. But don't be
uneasy, for you'll not be scolded on my account. There's no danger
of that when you're with a sensible person like me."
Jan would have liked to hear what she dreamed about him, for
confident as he was of the ultimate realization of his great
expectations, he nevertheless sought assurances from all quarters.
But now Mad Ingeborg was wandering along her own thought-road and
at such times it was not easy to stop her. She went very close to
Jan, then, bending over him, her eyes shut tight, her head shaking,
the words came pouring out of her mouth.
"Don't be so scared. Do you suppose I'd be standing here talking to
you while you're threshing at Falla if I didn't know the master had
gone up to the forest and the mistress was down at the village
selling butter. 'Always keep them in mind,' says the catechism. I
know enough for that and take good care not to come round when they
can see me."
"Get out of the way, Ingeborg! Otherwise the flail might hit you."
"Think how you boys used to beat me when we were children!" she
rattled on. "Even now I have to take thrashings. But when it came
to catechism examinations, I could beat you all. 'No one can catch
Ingeborg napping,' the dean used to say. 'She always knows her
lessons.' And I'm good friends with the little misses at Lövdala
Manor. I recite the catechism for them both questions and answers--
from beginning to end. And what a memory I've got! I know the whole
Bible by heart and the hymn book, too, and all the dean's sermons.
Shall I recite something for you, or would you rather hear me sing?"
Jan said nothing whatever, but went to threshing again. Ingeborg,
undaunted, seated herself on a sheaf of straw and struck up a chant
of some twenty stanzas, then she repeated a couple of chapters from
the Bible, whereupon she got up and went out. Jan thought she had
gone for good, but in a little while she reappeared in the doorway
of the barn.
"Hold still!" she whispered. "Hold still! Now we'll say nothing but
what we were going to say. Only be still--still!"
Then up went her forefinger. Now she held her body rigid and her
eyes open. "No other thoughts, no other thoughts!" she said. "We'll
keep to the subject. Only hush your pounding!"
She waited till Jan minded her.
"You came to me last night in a dream--yes, that was it. You came
to me and I says to you like this: 'Are you out for a walk, Jan of
the Ashdales?' 'Yes,' says you, 'but now I'm Jan of the Vale of
Longings.' 'Then, well met,' says I. 'There's where I have lived
all my life.'"
Whereupon she disappeared again, and Jan, startled by her strange
words, did not immediately resume his work, but stood pondering. In
a moment or two she was there again.
"I remember now what brought me here," she told him. "I wanted to
show you my stars."
On her arm was a small covered basket bound with cord, and while
she tugged and pulled at a knot, to loosen it, she chattered like a
magpie.
"They are real stars, these. When one lives in the Vale of Longings
one isn't satisfied with the things of earth; then one is compelled
to go out and look for stars. There is no other choice. Now you,
too, will have to go in search of them."
"No, no, Ingeborg!" returned Jan. "I'll confine my search to what
is to be found on this earth."
"For goodness sake hush!" cried the woman. "You don't suppose I'm
such a fool as to go ahunting for those which remain in the
heavens, do you? I only seek the kind that have fallen. I've got
some sense, I guess!"
She opened her basket which was filled with a variety of stars she
had evidently picked up at the manors. There were tin stars and
glass stars and paper stars--ornaments from Christmas trees and
confectionery.
"They are real stars fallen from the sky," she declared. "You are
the only person I've shown them to. I'll let you have a couple
whenever you need them."
"Thanks, Ingeborg," said Jan. "When the time comes that I shall
have need of stars--which may be right soon--I don't think I'll ask
you for them."
Then at last Mad Ingeborg left.
It was some little time, however, before Jan went back to his
threshing. To him this, too, was a finger-pointing. Not that a
crack-brained person like Ingeborg could know anything of Glory
Goldie's movements; but she was one of the kind who sensed it in
the air when something extraordinary was going to happen. She could
see and hear things of which wise folk never had an inkling.