Jan Anderson of Ruffluck was not invited to the funeral of Björn
Hindrickson of Loby.
But he understood, of course, that the family of the departed had
not been quite certain that he would care to claim kinship with
them now that he had risen to such glory and honour; possibly they
feared it might upset their arrangements if so exalted a personage
as Johannes of Portugallia were to attend the funeral.
The immediate relatives of the late Björn Hindrickson naturally
wished to ride in the first carriage, where by rights place should
have been made for him who was an emperor. They knew, to be sure,
that he was not over particular about the things which seem to
count for so much with most folks. It would never have occurred to
him to stand in the way of those who like to sit in the place of
honour at special functions. Therefore, rather than cause any ill
feeling, he remained away from the house of mourning during the
early forenoon, before the funeral procession had started, and went
direct to the church. Not until the bells had begun tolling and the
long procession had broken up on church ground did he take his
place among his relatives.
When they saw Jan there they all looked a little astonished; but
now he was so accustomed to seeing folks surprised at his
condescension that he took it as a matter of course. No doubt they
would have liked to place him at the head of the line, but then it
was too late to do so, as they were already moving toward the
churchyard.
After the burial service, when he accompanied the funeral party to
the church and seated himself on the mourners' bench, they appeared
to be slightly embarrassed. However, there was no time to comment
upon his having placed himself among them instead of occupying his
usual high seat, in the gentry's gallery--as the opening hymn had
just begun.
At the close of the service, when the conveyances belonging to the
funeral party drove up onto the knoll, Jan went out and climbed
into the hearse, where he sat down upon the dais on which the
coffin rested on the drive to the churchyard. As the big wagon
would now be going back empty, he knew that here he would not be
taking up some other person's place. The daughter and son-in-law of
the late Björn Hindrickson walked back and forth at the side of the
hearse and looked at him. They regretted no doubt that they could
not ask him to ride in one of the first carriages. Nor did he wish
to incommode any one. He was what he was in any case.
During the drive to Loby he could not help thinking of the time
when he and Glory Goldie had called upon their rich relatives. This
time, however, it was all so different! Who was great and respected
now? and who was conferring an honour upon his kinsfolk by seeking
them out?
As the carriages drew up in turn before the house of mourning, the
occupants stepped out and were conducted into the large waiting-room
on the ground floor where they removed their wraps. Two neighbours
of the Hindricksons, who acted as host and hostess, then invited
the more prominent persons among the guests to step upstairs, where
dinner was served.
It was a difficult task having to single out those who were to sit
at the first table. For at so large a funeral gathering it was
impossible to make room for all the guests at one sitting. The
table had to be cleared and set three or four times.
Some people would have regarded it as an inexcusable oversight had
they not been asked to sit at the first table. As for him who had
risen to the exalted station of Emperor, he could be exceedingly
obliging in many ways, but to be allowed to sit at the first table
was a right which he must not forgo; otherwise folks might think he
did not know it was his prerogative to come before all others. It
did not matter so much his not being among the very first to be
requested to step upstairs. It was self-evident that he should dine
with the pastor and the gentry; so he felt no uneasiness on that
score.
He sat all by himself on a corner bench, quite silent. Here nobody
came up to chat with him about the Empress, and he seemed a bit
dejected. When he left home Katrina had begged him not to come to
this funeral, because the folks at this farm were of too good stock
to cringe to either kings or emperors. It looked now as if she were
right about it. For old peasants who have lived on the same farm
from time immemorial consider themselves the superiors of the
titled aristocracy.
It was a slow proceeding bringing together those who were to be at
the first table. The host and hostess moved about a long while
seeking the highest worthies, but somehow they failed to come up to
him.
Not far from the Emperor sat a couple of old spinsters, chatting,
who had not the least expectation of being called up then. They
were speaking of Linnart, son of the late Björn Hindrickson, saying
it was well that he had come home in time for a reconciliation with
his father.
Not that there had been any actual enmity between father and son,
but it happened that some thirty years earlier, when the son was
two and twenty and wanted to marry, he had asked the old man to let
him take over the management of the farm, so that he could be his
own master. This Björn had flatly refused to do. He wanted the son
to stay at home and go on working under him and then to take over
the property when the old man was no more. "No," was the son's
answer. "I'll not stay at home and be your servant even though you
are my father. I prefer to go out in the world and make a home for
myself, for I must be as good a man as you are, or the feeling of
comradeship between us will soon end." "That can end at any time,
if you choose to go your own ways," Björn Hindrickson told him.
Then the son had gone up into the wilderness northeast of Dove
Lake, and had settled in the wildest and least populated region,
where he broke ground for a farm of his own. His land lay in Bro
parish, and he was never again seen in Svartsjö. Not in thirty
years had his parents laid eyes on him. But a week ago, when old
Björn was nearing the end, he had come home.
This was good news to Jan of Ruffluck. The Sunday before, when
Katrina got back from church and told him that Björn was dying, he
immediately asked whether the son had been sent for. But it seems
he had not. Katrina had heard that Björn's wife had begged and
implored the old man to let her send for their son and that he
would not hear of it. He wanted to die in peace, he said.
But Jan was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. The thought
of Linnart away out in the wilds, knowing nothing of his father's
grave condition had caused him to disregard old Björn's wishes and
go tell the son himself. He had heard nothing as to the outcome
until now, and he was so interested in what the two old spinsters
were saying, that he quite forgot to think about either the first
or the second table.
When the son returned he and the father were as nice as could be to
each other. The old man laughed at the son's attire. "So you've
come in your working clothes," he said. "I suppose I should have
dressed up, since it's Sunday," Linnart replied. "But we've had so
much rain up our way this summer and I had thought of hauling in
some oats to-day." "Did you manage to get in any?" the old man
asked him. "I got one wagon loaded, but that I left standing in the
field when word came that you were sick. I hurried away at once,
without stopping to change my clothes." "Who told you about it?"
the father inquired. "Some man I've never seen before," replied the
son. "It didn't occur to me to ask him who he was. He looked like a
little old beggarman." "You must find that man and thank him from
me," old Björn then said. "Him you must honour wherever you meet
him. He has meant well by us." The father and son were so happy
over their reconciliation that it was as if death had brought them
joy instead of grief.
Jan winced when he heard that Linnart Hindrickson had called him a
beggar. But he understood of course that it was simply because he
had not worn his imperial cap or carried his stick when he went up
to the forest. This brought him back to his present dilemma. Surely
he had waited long enough! He should have been called by this time.
This would never do!
He rose at once, resolutely crossed the room into the hallway,
climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the big dining-hall. He
saw at a glance that the dinner was already on; every place at the
large horseshoe table was occupied and the first course had been
served. Then it was not meant that he should be among the elect,
for there sat the pastor, the sexton, the lieutenant from Lövdala
and his lady--there sat every one who should be there, except
himself.
One of the young girls who passed around the food rushed over to
Jan the instant he appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing
here, Jan?" she said in a low voice. "Go down with you!"
"But my good hostess!" Jan protested, "Emperor Johannes of
Portugallia should be present at the first sitting."
"Oh, shut up, Jan!" said the girl. "This is not the proper time to
come with your nonsense. Go down, and you'll get something to eat
when your turn comes."
It so happened that Jan entertained a greater regard for this
particular household than for any other in the parish; therefore it
would have been very gratifying to him to be received here in a
manner befitting his station. A strange feeling of despondency came
over him as he stood down by the door, cap in hand; he felt that
all his imperial grandeur was falling from him. Then, in the middle
of this sore predicament, he heard Linnart Hindrickson exclaim:
"Why, there stands the fellow who came to me last Sunday and told
me that father was sick!"
"What are you saying?" questioned the mother. "But are you certain
as to that?"
"Of course I am. It can't be any one but he. I've seen him before
to-day, but I didn't recognize him in that queer get-up. However I
see now that he's the man."
"If he is our man, he mustn't be allowed to stand down by the door,
like a beggar," said the old housewife. "In that case, we must make
room for him at the table. Him we owe both honour and thanks, for
it was he who sent comfort to Björn in his last hours, while to me
he has brought the only consolation that can lighten my sorrow in
the loss of a husband like mine."
And room was made, too, though the table seemed to be crowded
enough already.
Jan was placed at the centre of the horseshoe, directly opposite
the pastor. He could not have wished for anything better. At first
he seemed a little dazed. He could not comprehend why they should
make such fuss over him just because he had run a few miles into
the woods with a message for Linnart Hindrickson. Suddenly he
understood, and all became clear to him: it was the Emperor they
wished to honour; they had gone about it in this way so that no one
should feel slighted or put out. It couldn't be explained in any
other way. For he had always been kind and good-natured and helpful,
yet never before had he been honoured or fêted in the least degree
for that.