+THE TWO FAIR HEADS+
The terrace at Selambshof was adorned with two small ship’s-guns on
gun-carriages of decayed oak. They were spiked with pine-needles and
twigs, and it was long since a birthday salute had been fired with them.
Laura sat astride of one of these, swinging her legs lazily and catching
maple-blossoms in her hat. It was a fine day in the beginning of June,
and with each breeze there rained down over the old cannon golden green
maple blossoms, and the pools glistened after the night’s rain.
Sometimes it almost looked as if an idyl could exist even in the
presence of the sham Gothic of Selambshof.
The sun gently warmed the fair down on Laura’s neck. She kept behind the
house today, because she had put up her hair for the first time, though
only for fun, of course. She thought it would be jolly to see what sort
of a face Herman would make. He would probably appear in the avenue
soon.
Otherwise it was rather empty at Selambshof this summer. Peter was laid
up with measles. And there was not even Hedvig to quarrel with. She had
been sent away to an old aunt in Sala. Usually she had sat and sulked in
a corner since the day when she behaved so idiotically to Brundin. It
was impossible to get her down into the garden, for she was frightened
to approach the bailiff’s quarters. And when into the bargain old
Kristin died she became so refractory that old Hermansson had to send
her away.
Not that Laura understood the reason. But when she sat lonely like this
and looked at the shadows of the leaves dancing and jumping about and
overtaking each other down on the gravel, it amused her to think of that
story. And then suddenly Laura thought of Herman again. Why was he
really so anxious to be alone with her lately? Herman was not like his
old self, no—there was something strange about him.
There he was already in the avenue!
Yes, there was Herman Hermansson coming up, with his schoolcap on the
back of his head and swinging a stick. He tried to look quite
unconcerned and indifferent. But he did not succeed, because secretly he
stole anxious glances on all sides, and even his whistle sounded somehow
shy, humble and supplicating.
Laura’s little woman’s heart beat happily and she felt a gay and
mischievous wish to play a little with old Hermansson’s tall, fine boy.
So she hurried into the kitchen before he had caught sight of her.
There sat Miss Isaksson, the new housekeeper. She was tall, pale, and
thin, and she held the coffee grinder in one hand and a fat novel in the
other. And she ground and read and nodded her head sadly to herself.
Laura peeped out of the window.
“Do they get married?” she giggled.
“I won’t look at the end,” sighed Miss Isaksson, “but it is a sad book,
so they will probably both die.”
Now Herman was on the terrace. He glanced shyly round him and had a
guilty look. Laura was enjoying herself and did not hurry. She had a
vague feeling of superiority over both Herman and poor, thin Miss
Isaksson. At last she was pleased to emerge on the steps with an air of
marked indifference and boredom.
Herman jumped up as if someone had commanded “attention!” He certainly
did not dare to make any comment on Laura’s having put her hair up, for
that only increased his shyness and diffidence.
“Will you come fishing with me for a bit, Laura?”
“What! fishing?”
“Do, please, only for a short time.”
“Well, perhaps I will, if Stellan comes too.”
It was always the same, Stellan had to be there too, and so Herman was
forced against his will to go and persuade that young lordling, who lay
in a tattered old hammock in the park, staring at his toes, to join
them. Only after a long discussion did he lazily get out of the hammock.
At last three floats bobbed about on the half-clear, glittering,
greenish June water which can look so warm and inviting from the shore
and is yet so icy cold when you venture in.
Stellan had the first bite.
“What rotten fish! Not worth while getting dirty for!”
He was in a bad temper. It irritated him that Herman could find any
pleasure in putting on worms for that fat Laura.
Now it was Herman’s turn. His float dived deep down without his noticing
it; he was so absorbed in Laura. And when at last he awoke he pulled so
violently that the roach got free and the hook caught in Laura’s hat.
Then Laura scolded him and Stellan shrugged his shoulders.
“Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” he said in a cold, mocking voice.
This formula had a crushing effect. Once when Herman had been reproved
because he did not know his history lesson he had stood up and said:
“Please sir, I was so hoarse yesterday that I could not learn my
lesson.” Since then he was always asked the unfortunate question: “Were
you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” And each time Laura laughed heartily. It
was a cause of inexpressible suffering to his proud, chivalrous nature.
Herman tried to keep up an appearance of gay indifference and to join in
the laugh of these cruel companions. But his was a poor, weak mockery of
a laugh.
They were already thoroughly tired of fishing and began to jump about on
the stones and the roots of the alder trees along the shore. This year’s
reeds were just beginning to come up between the yellow stalks of last
year’s, the dragon flies flew past like blue, silken threads in a
current of air, and dark, green beetles hovered up and down like little
balls supported by an invisible force. The day was almost too warm and
fine. They could not make up their minds to do anything—they only teased
each other and had their little quarrels. Now they are amongst the cows
in the Hökar meadow, and Herman catches sight of a starling hopping
between the hind legs of the bell-cow and incessantly flying up to catch
a fly on its udders.
“Look at that starling, Laura!” he cried, proud of the interesting
observation he had made. “Look at that starling, he is friendly with the
cow.”
“That’s nothing compared with Egypt,” snapped Stellan. “There the birds
come and pick the teeth of the crocodiles. And they keep their mouths
quite still. But of course, you haven’t heard of that.”
No, Herman had not heard of that, so probably he had been hoarse again.
Then Laura had an idea. She drew her brother aside.
“I say, Stellan, shall we get Herman to climb the oak?”
It was an enormous oak growing on a green hillock by the roadside, just
where the avenue ended.
“All right!”
They sat down on a stone in the shade. Stellan looked up at the tree
with the eyes of an expert.
“I say, Herman, that is an awfully difficult tree.”
“Not so very. If it weren’t so hot....”
“Yes, the first bit is easy. I can see that too—but further up there is
a long bit without branches.”
“Nonsense. You can swing yourself up. If it weren’t so warm....”
“Of course—you can brag—but you daren’t do it,” scoffed Laura.
“Daren’t I?”
“No, you daren’t.”
Herman jumped up, red in the face, and tore off his coat. At last he had
a chance of shining, and of dazzling the cruel one by a knightly deed.
“I’ll show you whether I dare!” he cried.
And then he began to climb. It really was a difficult tree. His fingers
were already bleeding and, ritsch! he tore one of his shirt sleeves. For
a moment he was on the point of falling down. The perspiration stood out
on his forehead and his heart beat fast. But he set his teeth and
struggled on. _She_ was standing down there admiring him.
Now he had reached the very top swaying in the wind. Breathless he
pushed away a branch in order to be seen and to enjoy his triumph.
But the stone was empty. Nobody was visible.
“Laura,” he called, “Laura, do you see that I was not afraid?”
No answer. Down below everything was green, silent and empty. Above,
abandoned, covered with dirt from the wet bark, Herman was sitting up
among the whispering, swaying masses of leaves. His hands were aching,
and he had an unpleasant sensation in his stomach. Most of all he would
like to throw himself down and break his neck in order to punish a hard
and unfeeling world.
He resisted this temptation, however, and climbed down with moderate
care; he put on his coat and walked home in order to grind at the
subjects in which he had failed in his examination last spring. You
could see even by his back that he was deeply hurt and had nothing left
but duty to live for.
But Laura stepped out from behind one of the trees in the avenue where
she had been hiding with Stellan. She smiled and danced and her voice
rang out clear and mocking in the mellow summer air:
“Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman? Were you hoarse yesterday?”
Herman did not answer. Only his back stiffened still more and he took
still longer steps. And then he disappeared behind the willows by the
wash house.
The next day Laura again sat astride the gun catching maple blossoms in
her hat and looking down the avenue now and then, ready to begin the
jolly game over again.
But that was not to be. Herman did not come. It was almost dinner time
and still Herman did not come. “I see, he is sulking,” thought Laura.
“Well, let him!” And with her nose in the air she hopped away to the
lean Miss Isaksson and borrowed a big novel.
But Stellan was lying in the hammock like a fish in a net and yawned and
became more and more sleepy and bad-tempered. At last he climbed out,
however, opened the gate with a kick, without taking his hands out of
his pockets, and slipped down to the jetty where the washing and rinsing
was done, and where Selambshof’s rotten old rowing boat lay hopelessly
water-logged and simply could not be made water tight.
“What an establishment this Selambshof! What a dilapidated, dull,
impossible, old place!”
And just at this moment the special steamer with the usual Stonehill
party for the summer arrived. He could see little Percy in white sailor
trousers walking along the pier.
Stonehill lay on the other shore opposite Selambshof. It was an awfully
fine place with a big globe mirror and white plaster statues and
coloured glass windows round the verandahs, as was the fashion in the
villas of the well-to-do at that time. And there were temples and
hothouses with peaches and grapes, for Percy’s mother was awfully rich.
His father had got his money by smuggling during the war in America. But
now he was dead.
Stellan kicked angrily at what was left above water of the old rowing
boat. How could he get across to Stonehill now?
It was only last summer that he had made the acquaintance of the “china
doll.” He called Percy Hill “china doll” because he looked so brittle
and so fine. That summer he had also had plenty of fun on the lake with
Manne von Strelert at Kolsnäs, for Manne never wanted to be at home
because his tutor was there. Stellan thought this was a pity, because
there was nothing he admired so much as the horses at Kolsnäs. But Manne
was so obstinate! And there was added spice in their excursions on the
lake since they had noticed the boy in white stealing behind the rose
hedge and the fine, high fence at Stonehill, and gazing enviously at
them. In order to tease him they used to hover about the Stonehill
landing stage. One day Manne called out:
“Won’t you come out on the lake with us?”
“I’m not allowed.”
“Come out on the landing stage, then.”
“Mother is afraid I might tumble in.”
“What have you got a sailor’s suit on for, then?”
The boy could not answer. He was a prisoner of the roses. He was a poor
little land sailor, and the two sunburnt sailors jeered at him
mercilessly.
“You’re a beastly coward,” called Manne. “I have ridden the legs off a
horse and I have thrashed my tutor. You are a beastly coward.”
Then the boy in white stepped out on to the stage.
“My name is Percy,” he said with a wan, little smile, “and I am not a
coward.”
Then he climbed into Stellan’s boat.
“Now, let us see who can splash the other most!” cried Manne, and Percy
was wet through at once.
“Now you will be spanked when you get home.”
Percy’s face looked troubled.
“No, but I shall have to go to bed. And then the doctor will come, of
course.”
At this stage in their acquaintance Stellan suddenly checked Manne’s
arrogance and changed his tactics. He had suddenly come to think of all
the fine things visible through the railings round Stonehill.
“Take off your coat and spread it out on the seat and it will soon dry,”
he said.
Percy obeyed. After a moment’s reflection Stellan continued, “So you
never get a thrashing?”
“No,” said Percy with something of a sigh.
“Must you go without your dinner, then?”
“Without dinner?” asked Percy astonished, “they stuff me with food.”
This somehow appealed to Stellan.
“Perhaps you are allowed to eat as much as you like in the hothouses,”
he mumbled, almost shyly.
“Of course,” answered Percy with indifference.
“May I come with you some time?”
“Yes, come tomorrow, both of you, and we’ll have fruit juice and
biscuits first, and then go into the hothouses.”
It was in this way Stellan penetrated beyond the high, white fence round
Stonehill. From the beginning he tried to imitate the aristocratic
indifference of the “china doll” to all the good things to eat. Except,
of course, when he thought nobody was looking, and then he gobbled up
all he could. Worldly wisdom and fine manners are all very well, but we
are only human after all....
Yes, all this had happened the year before. Now he was cut off from all
that splendour, because of the rotten old boat, and the gardener’s
tarred punt he was ashamed to go in.
Stellan was already walking away from the pier, where the water
glittered and beat so mockingly against the wet boards, when it suddenly
struck him that at Ekbacken old Hermansson had a smart little craft that
was decorated every Sunday with a fine display of streamers in the stem,
and a flag in the stern.
“I was beastly stupid, yesterday,” he thought, “beastly stupid,” and his
usual expression, the cool, half-sneer returned.
Stellan stole cautiously across the park so as not to be seen or have
Laura on his heels. From the bend in the avenue he got a good view of
Ekbacken. And he stopped a moment, impressed by the sight. It seemed as
if he were looking at Ekbacken for the first time. An expression of
amazing cunning came into Stellan’s face, as he passed in through the
red wooden gateway. Already his thoughts travelled far, far beyond to
old Hermansson’s fine, little boat.
Ekbacken Sawmill and Shipyard was a fine, old business that ran itself.
Trustworthy, leisurely, old workers stalked about on the timber rafts
inside the boom, and there were steady, old, grey sailors who had sailed
in all the seas of the world and were caulking old brigs and barges. And
inside in the office sat the book-keeper Lundbom, with eyeglasses and a
leather shade, writing out bills to a lot of good and safe customers,
who paid in cash and not with miserable acceptances. There also sat old
Hermansson reading his paper. There was such a blessed peace that he had
smoked half his cigar and the ash was still on it.
He looked up at Stellan with an expression of fatherly benevolence.
“Good-morning, my dear boy. You are looking for Herman, I suppose, but
he is at his lessons now. Yes, that’s what happens when you flunk. Come
along now, and let us have a talk.”
Stellan asked for nothing better. They went over to the house in a
pretty oak wood just by the road to town. On the other side spread soft,
billowing, green fields set with old, brown barns. This land also
belonged to Ekbacken, but was let to tobacco growers. On the town side
the estate was sheltered by some stony hillocks with a few pines here
and there, behind which, however, some high, bare walls had entirely
shot up and threatened to destroy the idyl.
The house itself was an old, but well-preserved one story house, long
and low, where everything from the door handles to the brass doors of
the Marieberg earthenware stoves was radiantly clean and polished.
“Why have I not been to Ekbacken more often?” thought Stellan.
Old Hermansson talked about school and praised Herman because he had
worked hard, which praise the young man listened to with an open
countenance. It opened up further vistas to him. Cleverly he manœuvred
the conversation in the direction he wanted. School and school friends,
of course! There was Manne at Kolsnäs. He was a jolly decent fellow. And
his father, who was a chamberlain to the King, could come and go at
court just as he pleased. And they had footmen and horses and everything
else. It really was strange that Herman did not see more of Manne. Manne
liked Herman awfully. He had told Stellan so—and fancy what fun it would
be for Manne to look at all the boats in the yard. And Percy Hill.
Didn’t Mr. Hermansson know him and how tremendously rich he was. And
Percy was so awfully generous and kind and obedient. Mr. Hermansson
would certainly like him....
It became clearer and clearer to Stellan. It was as if he could look
straight through old Hermansson and discover his little vanity. Victory
seemed already secure, when at last he got out his real purpose. It
would soon be his birthday. He had been so often in Manne’s and Percy’s
houses that he was really ashamed and wanted most awfully to invite them
to something in return. But he could not do so at home, as Mr.
Hermansson would understand. There was poor father who was nothing for
strangers to look at. And besides, Peter had measles. So wouldn’t it be
nice if Mr. Hermansson would be so awfully kind as to let him have a
little party here at Ekbacken, where everything was so fine and elegant.
And as to the cost, well, his mother had left Stellan something and he
might use that.
“Nonsense, my boy,” beamed old Hermansson, “I will give a little dinner
for you with pleasure.”
Then Stellan rushed into Herman and slapped him on the back:
“I say, you’re not angry still, are you? We’ll stick together—what?”
Herman, in the loneliness of his heart, was not the one to reject a word
of reconciliation.
Next day they rigged out old Hermansson’s little lugger. For many years
it had done nothing but lie by the pier and look smart, for old
Hermansson was rather afraid of the lake, even though he was owner of a
shipyard. But now, as I have already mentioned, the boat was fitted out.
It was also the result of Stellan’s diabolical powers of persuasion that
the boys were permitted to sail the boat. Herman had never dreamt of
such happiness. They started at once for Stonehill and Kolsnäs and
conveyed the invitation for the birthday party at Ekbacken.
* * * * *
At home at Selambshof Laura sank into ever deeper and deeper
reflections. Herman no longer came up the avenue. And Stellan was also
away most of the time. Our young lady felt lonely and very bored.
Whenever she did get hold of Stellan he only shrugged his shoulders and
looked contemptuous. And he always managed to get away without her
discovering where he went.
But one fine day when she was sitting on the landing stage, there came a
smart, white sailing boat gliding past. At the foresail-sheet sat
Herman. But astern Stellan was lounging like a prince, his head against
the tiller and his feet up against the gunwale. When he caught sight of
Laura on the landing stage he put about so that Herman should not notice
her. And Laura was so dumbfounded and furious that she did not call out
to them. She roamed about on the shore and felt deserted, cheated of her
fun. To crown all she saw Stellan try on an absolutely new, black suit
with long trousers which had been sent from town.
“What are you getting a new suit for?”
“I’m giving a dinner,” said Stellan carelessly.
“Where? Here?”
“No! At Herman’s. My birthday’s coming.”
“I suppose I am to come too?”
“No, it’s a men’s dinner, you see, ta-ta!” With that he pushed Laura out
of the room. The new suit was the logical result of Stellan’s diplomacy.
Hang it all, you can’t very well appear in anything when you have such
smart guests.
But Laura threw herself down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She
did not cry—but she wanted to tear her face. “How stupid I have been,”
she thought, “goodness, how stupid I have been!”
Next morning she got up early. It was not yet nine o’clock when she came
dancing into her guardian’s room at Ekbacken as he sat shaving with
deliberate and methodical dignity. She shone like a little sunbeam, and
had a bunch of the brightest wild flowers in her hand. Then she ran
about for a vase and placed it between the washbasin and the soap dish,
so that nobody could mistake the object of her attention.
“How awfully good of you, uncle, to give a dinner for Stellan.”
“And of course, you would love to come,” muttered her guardian through
the lather.
“Rather, as it is Stellan’s birthday. But there are to be only boys?”
“Yes, but we ought to have a hostess, even though it is a men’s dinner.”
Laura suddenly grew serious, terribly serious.
“Oh, but my old red frock is worn out, and besides the sleeves are too
short.”
“But supposing you came to town with me one day and bought a new
frock....”
Laura jumped up in his lap and kissed him in the middle of the lather:
“Oh, thank you, dear darling. But don’t tell Stellan and Herman!”
Thus it came about that when at last that birthday dinner came off and
the boys had already been down to look at the sawmill and had been
climbing in the shrouds of the old brigs and had been chatting with the
jolly old tars—who should be standing on the front steps to receive them
like an amiable hostess but Laura, dressed in a brand new silk frock,
almost down to her ankles and full of bows and frills.
For a moment Stellan frowned, but his face soon lit up with involuntary
approval. At least one didn’t need to feel ashamed of the girl.
But Herman grew quite red in the face and was unable to get out a sound,
but stole in without daring to look at her. She was altogether too
lovely.
It was quite a smart dinner. Old Hermansson offered wine and even made a
little speech for the young people. Speechmaking was his weakness.
While the others were going out into the garden for coffee, Laura seized
the opportunity and gave Herman a kiss behind a door—a swift, fugitive,
little kiss on the cheek. But for Herman it was as if the doors of
Paradise had been suddenly flung open. He sat there mute amidst the
chatter and laughter, and revelled in the wonderful thought that the
girl in the silk frock, the beautiful Laura, had kissed him.
And Laura also paused in drinking her coffee and munching her sweets and
remembered how his cheek had burnt her lips. It really was rather
pleasant to kiss. Neither did it cost anything—possibly just the
contrary....
They carefully avoided speaking to each other and they could not for the
world have looked each other in the eyes.
After this Stellan and Laura detached themselves more and more from
their brothers and sisters and came more and more frequently to Herman’s
house. They both felt that the sombre and shabby Selambshof was not
their chosen field. No! Ekbacken was quite different—here you escaped
the sight of your father sitting about in his dull fashion. From here
intercourse with Stonehill and Kolsnäs was easiest. Here, with their
guardian, they had the exciting and pleasurable feeling of being at the
heart of things. They felt already, those two fair heads, that it was
Ekbacken that was to be their stepping stone to success in the world.
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