done, and will be for all your turning. And seeing I’m come of decent
folk myself, I’ll not have you smirching my good name. When I say a
thing, I mean it. And I tell you now, I’m going away by the post-packet
the day after to-morrow; but I’m not going to have you coming down to
the quay saying good-bye, and the priest he says the same. I’ll say
good-bye to you to-day and once and for all. And thanks for the happy
hours we’ve had together--the rest I’ll try to forget.”
She swung round determinedly and walked away. Then she said, “But you
can be up in the woods just above, if you like, and wave good-bye from
there--not that I care if you do or don’t.”
“You might shake hands,” he said.
“No, I won’t. You know only too well what your right hand doeth.”
Rolandsen stood bowed and downcast. “But aren’t we to write?” he said.
“Only just a word or so?”
“I won’t write. Never on earth. You’ve said often enough it was all
over between us, and made a joke of it; but now I’m good enough, it
seems. But I know better! It’s good-bye for ever, and I wish you joy.
I’m going to Bergen, to stay with father, and you know the address if
you write. But I won’t ask you to.”
Rolandsen went up the steps to his room with a very clear sensation of
being betrothed no longer. “Curious thing,” he thought to himself, “I
was standing down there outside a moment ago.”
It was a busy day; he had to pack up the last of his samples ready to
go by the post-packet the day after to-morrow; then he had to collect
his own belongings and prepare for the moving. The all-powerful
Inspector of the Telegraphs was on the way.
Of course he would be summarily dismissed. There was nothing to be said
against him in respect of his duties, and Trader Mack, a man of great
influence, would doubtless do nothing to harm him, but for all that,
justice must be done.
There was grass in the meadows now, and the woods were in leaf; the
nights were mild and calm. The bay was deserted, all the fishing-boats
were gone, and Mack’s own vessels had sailed away to the southward with
their cargoes of herring. It was summer.
The fine days gave good attendance at the church on Sundays; crowds
of people came by land and water, and among them a few skippers from
Bergen and Haugesund, who had their craft out along the coast, drying
split fish on the rocks. They came again year after year, and grew old
in the place. They turned up at church in full dress, with bright
calico shirts and chains of hair down over their chests; some of them
even wore gold earrings, and brightened up the assembly. But the dry
weather brought news of a regrettable forest fire farther up the
fjords; summer weather was not all for the good.
Enok had entered upon his office, and was lay-helper now in earnestness
and all humility, with a kerchief over his ears. The youth of the
village found great amusement in the sight, but their elders were
inclined to be scandalised at having the choir disgraced by monkey
figures of the sort, and sent in a complaint to the priest about it.
Could not Enok manage with stuffing wadding in his ears? But Enok
explained to the priest that he could not put away the kerchief by
reason of the aches and pains that raged tumultuously within. Then
it was that ex-Lay-helper Levion set up a malicious laughter at his
supplanter Enok, and opined that it was hot enough for most these days
without tying kerchiefs round their ears.
Levion, unworthy soul, had, since his downfall, never ceased from
persecuting Enok with jealousy and ill-will. Never a night he was out
spearing flounder but he must choose his place off Enok’s shore and
beach, and spear such flounder as had been nearest Enok’s hand. And if
he chanced to need a thole-pin or a bit of wood for a baling scoop, it
was always in Enok’s fir-copse close to the water that he sought it. He
kept a constant eye on Enok himself.
It was soon noised abroad that Jomfru van Loos had broken off her
engagement, and in the depth of that disgrace was leaving the Vicarage
at once. Trader Mack felt that Rolandsen, poor fellow, was having
trouble enough over the affair, and endeavoured now himself to heal the
breach. He took down Rolandsen’s announcement with his own hands from
the gatepost, and declared that it was by no wish of his it had been
set there at all. Then he went down to the Vicarage. Mack could afford
to be tolerant now; he had already marked what a profound impression
his generous behaviour in the burglary affair had produced. People
greeted him now as respectfully as ever,--even, it seemed, with greater
esteem than before. Surely there was but one Mack on all the coast!
But his visit to the Vicarage proved of no avail. Jomfru van Loos was
moved even to tears at the thought of Mack’s coming in person, but no
one on earth should persuade her now to make it up with Rolandsen,
never! Mack gathered that it was the priest who had brought her to such
a pitch of determination.
When Jomfru van Loos went down to the boat, her master and mistress saw
her off. Both wished her a pleasant journey, and watched her get into
the boat.
“Oh, Heaven,” said Jomfru van Loos, “I know he’s up there in the woods
this minute and bitterly repenting.” And she took out her handkerchief.
The boat pushed off and glided away under long strokes.
“There he is!” cried Jomfru van Loos, half rising. She looked for a
moment as if about to wade ashore. Then she fell to waving with all her
might up towards the woods. And the boat disappeared round the point.
Rolandsen went home through the woods as he had taken to doing of
late; but coming opposite the Vicarage fence, he moved down on to
the road and followed it. Well, now all his samples were sent off,
he had nothing to do but await the result. It would not take long.
And Rolandsen snapped his fingers from sheer lightness of heart as he
walked.
A little farther on sat Olga, the parish clerk’s daughter, on a stone
by the roadside. What was she doing there? Rolandsen thought to
himself: She must be coming from the store, and waiting for somebody
here. A little later came Elise Mack. Oho! were they inseparables now?
She too sat down, and seemed to be waiting. Now was the time to delight
the ladies by appearing crushed and humbled, a very worm, thought
Rolandsen to himself. He turned off hurriedly into the wood. But the
dried twigs crackled underfoot; they could hear him. It would be a
fruitless attempt, and he gave it up. Might go down the road again, he
thought; no need to delight them overmuch. And he walked down along the
road.
But it was not so easy after all to face Elise Mack. His heart began
to beat heavily, a sudden warmth flowed through him, and he stopped.
He had gained nothing that last time, and since then a great misdeed
had been added against him. He drew off backward into the wood again.
If only he were past this clearing, the dry twigs would come to an end
and the heather begin. He took it in a few long strides, and was saved.
Suddenly he stopped; what the devil was he hopping about like this for?
He, Ove Rolandsen! He turned, and strode defiantly back across the
clearing, tramping over dry twigs as loudly as he pleased.
Coming down on to the road again, he saw the ladies still seated in the
same place. They were talking, and Elise was digging at the ground with
the point of her parasol. Rolandsen halted again. Your dare-devil sort
are ever the most cautious. “But I’m a thief,” he said to himself. “How
can I have the face to show myself? If I give a greeting, it will be
forcing them to recognise me.” And once more he drew back among the
trees. What a fool he was, to go about with such feelings--as if he had
not other things to think about! A couple of months hence he would be
rich, a man of wealth and position. In love? The devil take all such
fancies. And he turned his steps towards home.
Were they sitting there still, he wondered. He turned and stole a
glance. Frederik had joined them, and here they were all three coming
towards him. He hurried back, with his heart in his mouth. If only they
had not seen him! They stopped, and he heard Frederik Mack say, “Sh!
There’s someone in the wood.”--“Oh, it’s nothing,” answered Elise.
Like as not she said so because she had seen him, thought Rolandsen.
And the thought made him cold and bitter all at once. No, of course, he
was nothing--nothing as yet. But wait, only two months.... And anyhow,
what was she herself? A Virgin Mary cold as iron, daughter of the
Lutheran celebrity Mack of Rosengaard. _Bliv i Freden!_
There was a weathercock on the roof of the telegraph station, perched
on an iron rod. Rolandsen came home, climbed up to the roof, and bent
that iron rod with his own hands, till the cock leaned backward, as
if in the act of crowing. Let it stand so; it was only right the cock
should crow.
[Illustration]
XI
And now sets in a time of easy days for all, no fishing beyond the
little for home needs; fishing on warm, sunny nights--a pleasant task,
a pastime. Corn and potatoes growing, and meadows waving; herring
stored in every shed, and cows and goats milking full pails, and
rolling in fat themselves.
Mack and his daughter Elise have gone back home again; Frederik reigns
alone over the factory and the store. And Frederik’s rule is none of
the best; he is full of his own thoughts of the sea, and hates this
life on shore. Captain Henriksen of the coasting steamer has half
promised to get him a berth as mate on board his vessel, but it never
seems to come to anything. Then comes the question whether old Mack
will buy a steamer himself for his son to run. He talks of it, and
seems willing enough, but Frederik guesses it is more than he can do.
Frederik knows the position pretty well. He is strangely little of a
seaman by nature, a cautious and reliable youth, doing just as much of
this thing and that as is needed in his daily life. He takes after his
mother, and is not altogether the true Mack type. But that is well for
one who would get on in the world and succeed; never do too much, but
rather a little too little of everything, so it could be reckoned as
just enough. Look at Rolandsen, for instance, that extravagant madcap
with his wild fancies. A common thief among his fellows, that was what
he had come to, and lost his position into the bargain. And there he
was, going about with a burdened conscience, wearing his clothes down
thinner and thinner, and never so much as a room of his own to live
in, saving a bit of a bedroom at Børre the organ-blower’s, and that
was humble enough. That was the end of Ove Rolandsen. Børre might be
an excellent man in his way, but he was the poorest in the place, and
had least herring in his store. And seeing his daughter Pernille was a
poor, weakly creature, the organ-blower’s house was never reckoned for
much. It was not the place a man of any decent position could choose to
live in.
It was said that Rolandsen might have avoided dismissal if only he had
behaved with proper contrition towards the visiting Inspector. But
Rolandsen had simply taken it for granted that he was to be dismissed,
and had given the Inspector no opportunity of pardoning him. And old
Mack, the mediator, was not there.
But the priest was not altogether displeased with Rolandsen. “I’ve
heard he drinks less than he used to,” he said. “And I should not
regard him as altogether lost. He himself admits that it was a letter
from me that led him to confess about the burglary. It is encouraging
to see one’s work bear fruit now and again.”
Midsummer’s eve came round, and fires were lit on high places, young
men and girls from the fisher-huts gathered about the fires, fiddles
and concertinas were heard about the village. The best way was to make
only the least little fire, but heaps of smoke; damp moss and juniper
twigs were flung on the fires to make the smoke properly thick and
scented.
Rolandsen was still unabashed enough to take part in the popular
festivity; he sat on a big rock thrumming at his guitar, and singing
till the valley echoed again. When he came down and joined those about
the fire, he was seen to be as drunk as an owl, and overflowing with
magnificent speech. The same as ever; an incorrigible.
But then came Olga walking down the road. She had never a thought of
stopping here; she was but walking that way and would have passed by.
Oh, she might well have gone another way; but Olga was young, and the
music of the concertina drew her; her nostrils quivered, a fountain
of happiness was in her--she was in love. She had been to the store
earlier in the day, and Frederik Mack had said words enough for her
to understand, for all he spoke with caution. And now, perhaps he too
might be out for a walk this evening!
Fruen came down from the Vicarage; the two walked on together, talking
of no other than Frederik Mack. He was the lord of the village, and
even Fruen’s heart had bowed to him in secret; he was so nice and
careful, and kept to earth at every step. Fruen noticed at last that
Olga was overcome with shyness about something, and asked, “But, child,
what makes you so quiet? Surely you haven’t fallen in love with this
young Mack?”
“Yes,” whispered Olga, bursting into tears.
Fruen stopped, “Olga, Olga! And does he care for you?”
“I think he does.”
And at that Fruen’s eyes grew quiet and stupid-looking again, and gazed
emptily into air. “Well, well,” she said, with a smile. “Heaven bless
you, child; it will come all right, you see.” And she was kinder than
ever to Olga after that.
When they reached the Vicarage, the priest was walking up and down in
great excitement. “The woods are on fire,” he cried. “I could see it
from the window.” And he got a supply of axes and picks and men, and
manned his boat down at the waterside. It was Enok’s copse that was
burning.
But ahead of the priest and his party went ex-Lay-helper Levion. Levion
had been out seeing to his lines; he had set them as usual just off
Enok’s ground, and caught a decent batch. Then on the way back he saw
a tiny flame break out in the wood, and grow bigger and bigger. Levion
nodded a little to himself, as if he understood what a little flame
like that might mean. And then, seeing folk moving busily about round
the priest’s boathouse, he understands they have come down to help; he
heads his boat round and puts in at once, to be first on the spot. It
was beautiful to see him laying aside all enmity at once and hurrying
to his rival’s aid.
Levion puts in to shore and moves up at once to the wood; he can
hear the roar of the fire already. He takes his time, looking round
carefully at every step; presently he spies Enok coming along in the
greatest haste. Levion is seized with great excitement; he slips
behind an overhanging rock and peers out from cover. Enok comes nearer,
moving with a purpose, looking neither right nor left, but coming
straight on. Had he discovered his enemy, and was coming to seek him?
When he was quite close up, Levion gave a hail. Enok started, and came
to a halt. And in his confusion he smiled, and said:
“Here’s a fire, worse luck. There’s trouble abroad.”
The other took courage, and answered, “’Twill be the finger of God, no
doubt.”
Enok frowned. “What are you standing about here for?” he asked.
All Levion’s hatred flares up now, and he says, “Ho-ho! ’Twill be
over-hot for kerchiefs round the ears now.”
“Get away with you!” says Enok. “Like as not it was you that started
the fire.”
But Levion was blind and deaf. Enok seemed to be making towards just
that corner of the rock where Levion stood.
“Keep off!” cries Levion. “I’ve torn off one of your ears already--do
you want me to take the other?”
“Get away with you, d’you hear?” says Enok, coming closer.
Levion was choking and swallowing with anger. He cried out loud,
“Remember that day in the fjord, when I caught you pulling up my lines?
I twisted one ear off then....”
And that was why Enok went about with a kerchief round his head; he had
but one ear. And both he and Levion had very good reasons for keeping
quiet about the matter.
“You’re no better than a murderer, to speak of,” said Enok.
The priest’s boat was heard rushing in to land, and from the other side
came the roar of the fire, ever nearer. Enok writhed, and tried again
to make Levion retreat; he drew his knife--that excellent knife for
cutting things.
Levion rolled his eyes and screamed out, “As sure as you dare come
waving knives at me, there’s folk at hand already, and here they come!”
Enok put up his knife again. “What d’you want standing there anyway?”
he said. “Get away with you!”
“What are you doing here yourself, anyway?”
“What’s that to you? I’ve an errand here; some things I’ve hidden here.
And there’s the fire all close up.”
But Levion stayed defiantly, and would not move an inch. Here was the
priest coming up, and he, no doubt, could hear the two in dispute--but
what did Levion care for him now?
The boat lay to, and those on board rushed up with axe and pick.
The priest gave a brief greeting and a hasty word. “These midsummer
bonfires are dangerous, Enok; the sparks fly about all over the place.
Where had we better begin?”
Enok was at a loss for the moment; the priest had put him out, and drew
him away now, so that he could not deal with Levion further.
“Which way’s the wind?” asked the priest. “Come and show us where to
start digging.”
But Enok was desperately ill at ease; he looked round anxiously for
Levion, and answered at random.
“Do not give way so,” said the priest. “Pull yourself together, and be
a man. We must get the fire under.” And he took Enok by the arm.
Some of the men had already moved forward towards the fire, and were
digging across its path. Levion was still in his old place, breathing
hard; he kicked at a flat stone that lay in under the rock. “He won’t
have hidden anything here,” thought Levion to himself. “It was just a
lie.” But he looked down again, and, kicking away some of the earth, he
came upon a kerchief. One of Enok’s kerchiefs it was--a quondam bandage
for the earache. Levion picked it up; there was something wrapped in
it. He unfastened it, and there was money--paper money--notes, and many
of them. Furthermore, there was a document, a big white sheet. Levion
was full of curiosity. He thought at once, “Stolen money!” And he
unfolded the document and began to spell it through.
Then it was that Enok caught sight of him, and gave a hoarse cry;
breaking away from the priest, he rushed back towards Levion, knife in
hand.
“Enok, Enok!” cried the priest, making after him.
“Here is the thief!” cried Levion, as they came up.
The priest fancied Enok must have gone suddenly demented at sight of
the fire. “Put up your knife!” he called out.
Levion went on, “Here’s the burglar that stole Mack’s money.”
“What’s that you say?” asked the priest uncomprehendingly.
Enok makes a dash at his opponent, and tries to snatch the packet away.
“Get out! I’m going to hand it over to the priest,” cries Levion. “And
he can see for himself the sort of helper he’s got now.”
Enok staggered to a tree; his face was grey. The priest looks blankly
at the paper, the kerchief, and the notes; he can make nothing of it
all.
“I found it there,” says Levion, shaking all over. “He’d hidden it
under a stone. There’s Mack’s name on the paper, you can see.”
The priest examined it, growing more and more astounded as he read.
“This must be the insurance policy Mack said he had lost, surely?”
“And the money he lost as well,” said Levion.
Enok pulled himself together. “Then you must have put it there,” he
said.
The roar of the forest fire came nearer, the air was growing hotter and
hotter about them, but the three men stood still.
“I know nothing about it,” said Enok again. “It’s just a trick of
Levion’s, to do me harm.”
Said Levion, “Here’s two hundred _Daler_. Have I ever had two hundred
_Daler_ in my life? And isn’t this your kerchief? Isn’t it one you’ve
worn over your ears?”
“Yes, isn’t that so?” seconded the priest.
Enok was silent.
The priest was counting over the notes. “There are not two hundred
_Daler_ here,” he said.
“He’s spent some of it, of course,” said Levion.
But Enok stood breathing heavily. “I know nothing about it,” he said.
“But as for you, Levion, you see if I don’t remember you for this!”
The priest was utterly at a loss. If Enok were the thief, then
Rolandsen had only been making a jest of the letter he had sent him.
And what for?
The heat was growing unbearable; the three men moved down towards the
water, the fire at their heels. They were forced to get into the boat,
and then to push off away from land altogether.
“Anyhow, this is Mack’s policy,” said the priest. “We must report what
has happened. Row back home, Levion.”
Enok was annihilated, and sat staring gloomily before him. “Ay, let’s
go and report it,” he said. “That’s all I want.”
The priest gave him a troubled look. “Do you, I wonder?” he said. And
he closed his eyes in horror at the whole affair.
Enok, in his covetousness, had been too simple. He had carefully
preserved the insurance paper that he could make nothing of. It was an
imposing-looking document, with stamps on, and a great sum of money
written there; who could say but he might be able to go away some day
and sell it? It was surely too valuable to throw away.
The priest turned and looked back at the fire. Men were at work in the
woods, trees were falling, and a broad trench was spreading darkly
across. More helpers had come up to join in the work.
“The fire’ll stop of itself,” said Levion.
“Do you think so?”
“Soon as it gets to the birches it’ll stop.”
And the boat with the three men on board rowed in to the _Lensmand’s_.
[Illustration]
XII
When the priest came back that evening he had been weeping. Evil and
wrong-doing seemed to flourish all about him. He was wounded and
humbled with sorrow; now his wife could not even have the shoes she
needed so badly. Enok’s rich offering would have to be returned to the
giver, as being stolen goods. And that would leave the priest blank and
bare.
He went up to his wife at once. But even before he had passed the door
of her room, new trouble and despair came to meet him. His wife was
sewing. Garments were strewn about the floor, a fork and a dishcloth
from the kitchen lay on the bed, together with newspapers and some
crochet-work. One of her slippers was on the table. On her chest of
drawers lay a branch of birch in leaf and a big grey pebblestone.
He set about, from force of habit, putting things in order.
“You’ve no need to trouble,” said she. “I was going to put that slipper
away myself as soon as I’d done my sewing.”
“But how can you sit and work with the place in such a mess?”
At this she was offended, and made no answer.
“What do you want that stone for?” he asked.
“It’s not for anything particular. I just found it on the beach, and it
was so pretty.”
He swept up a little heap of faded grass that lay beside the mirror,
and put it in a newspaper.
“I don’t know if you want this for anything?” he asked, checking
himself.
“No, it’s no good now. It’s sorrel; I was going to use it for a salad.”
“It’s been lying here over a week,” he said. “And it’s made a stain
here on the polish.”
“There, that shows you. Polished furniture’s such a nuisance; I can’t
see any sense in it myself.”
At that he burst out into an angry laugh. His wife dropped her work and
stood up.
He could never leave her in peace, but was always worrying the life out
of her with his lack of sense. And so they drifted once more into one
of the foolish, fruitless quarrels that had been repeated at intervals
through the past four years. The priest had come up in all humility to
beg his wife’s indulgence because he could not get her the new shoes
at once, but he found it now more and more impossible to carry out his
purpose; bitterness overpowered him. Things were all wrong every way at
the Vicarage since Jomfru van Loos had left them and his wife had taken
over the housekeeping herself.
“And while I think of it, I wish you would use a little sense and
thought over things in the kitchen,” he said.
“Sense and thought? And don’t I, then? Do you mean to say things are
worse now than before?”
“I found the dust-bin full of good food yesterday.”
“If only you wouldn’t go interfering with everything....”
“I found a dish of cream from the dinner the other day.”
“Well, the maids had been at it, and I didn’t care to use it after
them.”
“I found a lot of rice as well.”
“It was the milk had turned, and spoiled it. I couldn’t help that,
could I?”
“One day I found a boiled egg, with the shell off, in the dust-bin.”
His wife was silent. Though, indeed, she could have found something to
say to that as well.