"Oh, indeed! So you've been teasing him? Hey? You at the head? Hey?"
"Yes."
"Your fault, was it? Hey?" he cried.
"I found out----" here he stopped.
"Well?"
"That he--that he----" and the boy began to cry.
"Well?"
"That he goes to visit the sick."
"So you told the others? Hey? Carried tales? Hey?"
Edward dared not answer, and then the whip began to be troublesome;
both the lad's arms swung up and down, keeping time with the whip, as
if uncertain where it would fall next. He kept slipping farther and
farther away.
"Stand still!" shouted his father.
But instead the boy sprang with one bound right to the edge of the
ditch. Fiercely the father lifted his whip again; but, unintentionally,
the horse behind him received such a sharp cut that it pulled so hard
at the bridle as nearly to upset its master. Edward could not resist
the comical side of this most welcome deliverance and he burst into a
roar of laughter. But he was so startled at hearing himself laugh that
he hopped over the ditch and ran into the wood. He could not possibly
control himself as he turned away; he began to laugh again, and could
hit upon no better way of hiding it than to set up a good howl.
The father's contempt for his son was not to be described. He recovered
his temper, though, quieted the horse, and mounted again. "Come along,"
said he, quietly, pointing with his whip in the direction of the Tuft
valley.
"There will be more accounts to settle when we get there," thought the
boy to himself.
He obeyed his father's call, of course, and walked on, but at a safe
distance in front of the horse. He kept at the same distance all the
time; the horse was a quick stepper, so it was an effort.
The man in gray on the chestnut horse drove his son mercilessly on
before him, through the snow and slush, although one could clearly see
by the way he walked that his feet hurt him, and although his hands
were half-frozen--he kept putting them in his mouth--and although
he was dripping wet; his fur cap was sticking to his head like a
washed-out rag. The man in gray sat comfortably on his horse, in warm,
waterproof clothes, his whip in his hand, his eyes glistening on each
side of his hooked nose. No one who saw this little procession could
have guessed that the dearest wish of this stern-looking man was to
love the boy he was so angrily driving before him.
But in order to love anyone that person must be exactly as we would
wish--is not that the case? And supposing now the boy was not willing?
And that Kallem was not accustomed to opposition? His wife's death was
the first serious blow he had met with; it happened not very long
before this affair with the boy. Up to that time they had all lived
abroad, Kallem leading a quiet retired life with his wife, his
business, sport, and his silent books (he was a great reader), and had
never been worried or annoyed. His wife's brother took charge of the
business, which was a flourishing one, and his wife took charge of the
house, where all flourished too. Everything was managed without fear or
disturbance, and exactly as was proper, until the wife died. But
afterward!
At first neither he himself nor any of the others could realize the
unexpected change that had come over him. Some people thought that the
loss of his wife had made him mad; he himself thought that the air of
Spain was too warm; he was anxious to leave, and longed for home. The
head of the firm agreed at once. It would be a capital speculation to
move the principal house of business to Norway and just have a branch
house in Spain. And so they left--now about a year ago.
But it was the boy who, when they were still in Spain, had been the
cause of his father's first losing command of himself, and indeed the
second time too, and unfortunately also the third, fourth, fifth, sixth
time; it was always the boy. And the same thing, too, when they had
moved to Norway. Hot or cold climate, the boy was equally troublesome.
Soon there began to come complaints about him over from the school,
then from the apothecary, who was an old friend of Kallem's, and in
whose house they had lodgings; then from the courtyard, from the
neighbours, and from the wharf. But possibly other parents also heard
complaints about their sons, and perhaps people in this part of the
world were more given to complaining; of course Kallem could know
nothing about that, for he was a solitary man. But he knew that his son
was the cleverest lad in all the school; one master after the other
came and assured him of that; he knew that nothing was lacking in the
boy, neither heart nor will; but he was peculiar, indifferent to all,
and yet liked meddling in matters that did not concern him. He was both
brave and cowardly, a shameful tease, and altogether hopelessly
naughty. He would have tried the patience of an angel from heaven, to
say nothing of Kallem, who was entirely without that virtue.
This thin, slippery customer, limping on in front of him with
frightened side-glances at both horse and whip, had spoilt the peace of
his father's life. Not only had he made him feel inwardly so unsafe and
uncertain, but at times his want of power became perfect helplessness,
and on those occasions he longed to beat the boy to smithereens.
He would send for him and try both threats and entreaties. Last night,
the night of the storm, he had kept guard over him and used all his
powers of persuasion trying to talk the boy out of his shameful fright,
scolded him and tried to make it clear to him by all manner of natural
history proofs that the prophecy about the end of the world was all a
lie, an invention. The boy answered, yes, and indeed, but did not
believe a word his father said! As soon as the storm broke he was like
one crazy, out and away in the most abject state of fear.
And here he is now to-day, out on the open high road, a mile from the
town, in rain, storm, and wind, and of course without permission. First
he goes and ill-treats the best lad in the school, a little fellow whom
Kallem was really fond of and had helped with a few pence now and then
for his little mission, which he heard of from Josephine; and then on
the top of that----
"Look at him!" said he, to himself. "Deuce take the boy, if he isn't
laughing!" but he pretended not to see it.
What was that? Why, the horse behind him with "What the devil" on its
back, and the whip, and the heavy tramp, tramp in the snow and slush.
Sop-sop, sop-sop, sop-sop, sop-sop; all this grew and grew and got
larger and larger, until it became a huge monster all twisted and
shapeless.... Hurriedly the boy began thinking of other things. He
threw himself into the coal-mine in England that had been inundated,
and tried to conjure up before him the horse that had neighed so
piteously after the escaping miner lad. But no, he could not force
himself into the mine; there was nothing but the high road and
"sop-sop, sop-sop," and "What the devil" and his whip, and he himself
in front limping along with one leg and a half, he, he--e--e!
A shrill "Hey!" came from behind. The sound seemed to creep down the
boy's back like a sharp piece of ice.
Presently Store Tuft came in sight. It lay just below the hill they
were going down. There were many outhouses, most of them in a square
round the farmyard; a stream rushed noisily by on the other side where
the corn and saw-mills lay; the islands outside and the two arms of
land on either side shut in the bay so completely that the water there
was as still and quiet as a millpond, with ice in the corners; there
was a row of boathouses side by side along the bay; there were
fruit-gardens, too, most of them a good size.
The smoke rose up from the house-chimney at Store Tuft--at last! Ole's
mother must be cooking dinner for him! And hunger, grief, and longing
came over the boy, and the thought of a warm room and dry clothes, and
the remembrance of his own mother and of their home in Spain nearly
made him cry again; but then he thought that his father would say:
"Devil take him! Now he's crying again!" so he controlled himself.
He looked toward the farm with fear and trembling.
The house lay with its longest side out to the garden; it was a
two-storied wooden house, painted red, with white window-sills. They
turned up the road, the boy still in front, the father after him.
Passing the short end of the house they came into the yard; on the
other side of that lay cow-house and stable, under the same roof; these
buildings were quite new, and lay at right angles with the barn,
wood-house, and other buildings in the middle. A herd of goats stood in
this corner munching leaves, and surrounded by an incredible number of
sparrows. The whole party were collected together just outside the
barn.
The goats caught sight of the newcomers; they lifted their heads and
stretched out their necks all at the same moment, their eyes wide open,
ears standing up stiff, with the last bite immovable in their mouths,
inquisitive to the last degree. The billy-goat only kept on munching as
he looked at them, lazily satisfied. The flock of sparrows flew away
with a whirr.
Between the cattle-stable and the short end of the dwelling-house, the
father stopped and dismounted. The boy was already inside the yard, and
stood staring at the barn roof, which was broken up and being renewed,
but there were no workmen to be seen; probably they had gone off to the
herring fishery; the ladder still stood on the scaffolding, leaning
upward.
"Stop!" shouted the father, and the boy stopped and turned round; his
father was tying up his old hack to one of the grinding stones which
stood up against this short end of the dwelling-house; the lad stood
and looked on.
"Wonderful, how quiet he is now," thought the father, as he came
forward and pointed with his whip. The boy was to walk in front of him
up to the broad stone step at the entrance in the middle of the house.
And he did so. Past a sledge with railed-in seat that was standing
there; he discovered two kittens playing with each other through the
railing, the one inside, the other outside. The windows they went past
were so low that they could see right through the little room which had
windows on the other side, and through that again into the other room.
There sat Ole in a huge shirt that reached down to his feet, in front
of the hearth with his legs up; his mother stood beside him, bending
over some pots and pans. Edward had not time to see more; he stepped
over the stone and into the passage, where he was met by a strong smell
of fish, both old and new; also a smell of something else which he
could not at first make out. The father pointed on to the right; to the
left, too, there was a door, grandly painted and with a brass handle,
and he was not meant to go there. No, thought the boy, I knew that
much, too, that we were to go where there are people, and not into the
cold guest room. He put his swollen fingers on the latch and lifted it.
The fireplace was in the corner to the left, close by the door, and one
can fancy how the two in there opened their eyes! To such an extent
that curly-lock's head stretched up out of his father's wide blue linen
shirt. The mother was tall and had a delicate face; she wore a black
cap; her fair hair was puffed out down her cheeks and made her face
seem long. She turned from her pots and pans toward the two arrivals,
whom she knew both. It was a grave but friendly face. She seemed afraid
and uncertain. Just at first she did not let her eyes rest on either of
them. Ole's boots stood by the fireside; but his clothes, shirt, and
stockings were hung up to dry above on some of the many poles that
reached across from beam to beam. On the other poles were bundles of
wood and various things put up to dry. Dishes and cups stood about just
as usual on a weekday.
The room was not painted but wainscoted; on each side under the windows
there were red-painted benches. In the corner to the left, at the other
side of the window, stood a table with a bookcase above; at the end of
the table, just by the door into the smaller room, hung the clock. It
ticked as evenly and cheerily as if there had never before been
anything but peace in that room. Outside he saw the kittens in the
sledge, the one inside sticking its paw out through the railing, and
the outside one pushing its paw in; and then he saw Ole's face just in
front of him. He was smiling, was Ole, and it was because he too was
afraid. But those pots and pans! Hungry and tired as Edward was, the
pots seemed to him the best part of it all. There were potatoes in the
one which stood down, quite ready; but two pots still hung over the
fire; could it be fish in one of them? But in the other?
The mother hesitated, not knowing what to do; for they remained
standing there, the angry looking man and the boy. At last just as she
was going to ask them to sit down, or something similar, the father
began. He presumed that she knew now what had happened, hey? The boy
had come to beg pardon and to receive his punishment; it was quite
necessary, for he was a bad boy and nothing but punishing did him any
good; kindness was utterly wasted on him.
"Oh, must it be?" said the mother, mildly. She was quite frightened,
and Ole turned a bluish-white, like the shirt he had on.
"Yes, he must have a beating! Beg pardon first. Sharp's the word?"
Ole began to cry, not so Edward. Ole could not sit still; he got up, he
looked at his mother: "Mother, dear!" said he. He could not get out
another word; but his meaning was evident, his mother was to make peace
between them.
"Beg pardon!" shouted the father, and the whip became restless.
"But, mother dear!" shrieked Ole.
Then Edward had to come forward. Ole turned away; he could not look on
any longer, he was not used to that sort of thing. Edward dived and
ducked, his father after him with clanking spurs. In his fright Edward
rushed to Ole's mother with outstretched hand; she did not take it, but
Ole began to yell. So much sympathy was too much for poor Edward; he
too began to roar, as he dashed round and round the mother. There was
such a hubbub and noise that again the goats stopped their munching and
stared in, listening; the sparrows too, which had come back, flew away
over the roof.
And what happened? The sparrows showed the boy the way. Quick as
lightning, he flew past his father and out at the door, which he left
wide open behind him. They saw the goats fly on all sides, and the boy
into the scaffolding, up the ladder, and on to the roof. Directly he
got there he began to pull the ladder up after him.
"Look at him! Look at him!" screamed his father from the window. "Hey!"
and away he rushed.
As soon as his son saw him coming he dropped the ladder which fell
thundering down. Like a cat the lad ran up the rafters to the ridge of
the roof and along that, balancing himself as though he had never done
anything else all his life. He thought no more of his aching feet.
His father was in great alarm: "Take care, I say, take care there, take
care! Come away from there, and at _once!_ Come down, you young
wretch!" He ran out into the yard in his long riding-boots and
threatened him with the whip.
"I think I see myself! I shall jump right down into the yard!"
"Mad boy! Devil take him! Will you come down?"
"Yes if you'll not beat me!"
"I won't promise."
"Oh, you won't promise?" and away crept the boy farther out along the
ridge.
"Yes, yes! O you wretch! O you coward!"
"Well, have you promised?"
"Devil take your promising. Come down, can't you!"
"And you won't pull my hair either?"
"Down with you! You'll only fall up there!"
"You won't pull my hair and won't beat me, and won't do anything?"
"No, no, no! But come down directly! Look, now you're slipping! Edward,
do you hear?" shouted he.
"Well, will you keep to what you promise?"
"Oh! what don't you deserve!" and he threatened up with his whip. "Yes,
yes, I promise! But take care!"