Book II

FOUNDING THE KINGDOM

I. On the Border of Utter Darkness

I

An endless plain. From Kansas—Illinois, it stretched, far into the Canadian north, God alone knows how far; from the Mississippi River to the western Rockies, miles without number.... Endless ... beginningless.

A grey waste ... an empty silence ... a boundless cold. Snow fell; snow flew; a universe of nothing but dead whiteness. Blizzards from out of the northwest raged, swooped down and stirred up a greyish-white fury, impenetrable to human eyes. As soon as these monsters tired, storms from the northeast were sure to come, bringing more snow.... “The Lord have mercy! This is awful!” said the folk, for lack of anything else to say.

Monsterlike the Plain lay there—sucked in her breath one week, and the next week blew it out again. Man she scorned; his works she would not brook.... She would know, when the time came, how to guard herself and her own against him!

But there was something she did not know. Had it not been for the tiny newcomer, who by mysterious paths had found his way into the settlement on Christmas morning, the monster might have had her way; but the newcomer made a breach in her plans—a vital breach!

Most marvellous it was, a sort of witchery. A thing so pitifully small and birdlike.... There was no substance to him, really nothing. Only a bit of tender flesh wrapped in pink silk.... But life dwelt in every fibre of it. Yet hardly life—rather the promise of it. Only a twitching and pulling; something that stretched itself out and curled up again—so fine and delicate that one was afraid to touch it with rude hands.

Beret lay in bed with the newcomer beside her.... She should have been stiff and cold long ago; she should be lying in another place, a place where those fellows who howled at night could find fresh joints to lick and gnaw.... But here she was, still in bed. The button-sized, red-tipped nose dug itself into her breast, pushed in to find a good hold, and then lay still with satisfied little gruntings. The movement hurt her, but it gladdened her heart, too; for all the world she would not have had it otherwise. Life was returning; instead of that stiff, cold horror, Beret’s body grew warmer and stronger with every day that passed. And the grunts at her side became more and more insistent.... Ah, well, she would have to shift him over, then, so that there might be peace for a moment!

... “Thank God, you have food enough for him!” said Per Hansa.... “I never saw a youngster with such an appetite!” ...

When Beret had finally awakened on that Christmas day, she had acted exactly like the old woman in the fairy tale. She lay still, peeping out at her surroundings and asking herself. “Am I still here? Is this me?” ... She could not believe it, and she would not believe it, either.... Hadn’t she finished with this place some time ago?

But here she was, after all. Daylight shone broadly through the window and lit up the room; wood crackled in the stove; the very walls Per Hansa had whitewashed—so different they were from other walls—rose before her. She saw spots that she recognized; she had had endless trouble with the spots on these white walls, and the boys always so careless.... Clothes hung beside the stove, and above it stretched diapers on a line. The smell of wet clothes drying was familiar, but she could not understand where the diapers had come from.... Neither Per Hansa nor the children were in sight.... Where could they be? A quick thought crossed her mind: surely Per Hansa would not have let And-Ongen go out without bundling her up?... There was a woman working about the stove, but Beret could not see her face. Perhaps it was Kjersti. Wasn’t she wearing Kjersti’s plaid Sunday skirt?... No, no, Beret could not understand it at all. Had Kjersti gone with her, then, when she had departed—Kjersti, who was such a good woman?...

... Beret quickly grew tired from puzzling over this unsolvable riddle. Through the haze of half-consciousness a word and a number caught her eye ... “Anno 16—” ... He had not used the big chest for her, then! Ah no! he probably had felt that he could not do without it. But it hurt her deeply to know it; she had so much wanted to lie in the old chest that she loved.

At last she sank into a doze, hovering gently on the borderline between sleep and waking.... For an instant she dropped off into unconsciousness; then she awoke with a start and felt that things were growing clearer. Everything in the house seemed to be in order. But she felt a vague, troubled curiosity to know where Per Hansa was, with And-Ongen and the boys.... Probably they had all gone over to Hans Olsa’s?... Slowly the fragments of thought were finding one another in her mind, meeting and coming together, and taking on natural shape and form. A sense of well-being swept over her, so strong and healthy that it gradually calmed her senses and carried her off into a sound sleep.

She was awakened awhile later by dreaming that she had been borne upward in the midst of something soft and warm ... in an infinitely large room.... “This cannot go on any longer,” she thought. “If I rise any farther I cannot possibly reach home by evening time. I must get back immediately. Olamand’s pants are almost worn out at the knees; I must mend them to-night or the boy will freeze to death.” ... Making a sudden exertion, Beret was instantly wide awake....

And there stood And-Ongen leaning over the bed, stroking her mother’s cheek with a cool hand and stretching up on tiptoe to get a better view of the little wrinkled red face in Beret’s arms. Store-Hans was hanging over the foot of the bed, looking at them, while his father was coming in with an armful of wood.

“What have you done with Olamand?” she asked in a natural voice, turning her head and looking about the room.

“He’s off with Henry and Sam, hunting wolf tracks,” Store-Hans hastened to answer, happy because his mother was awake again.... “Won’t you let us see Permand?”[15]

[15] _Per_, contracted from Peder;—_mand_, diminutive ending like the German _kin_; hence, _Permand_ is equivalent to _Pederkin_. _Olamand_ is formed in the same manner.

“Please let us see Permand,” begged And-Ongen; she left off stroking her mother’s face and beamed down at her.

As soon as Per Hansa had brushed the bark and splinters from his clothes he came over to Beret, took her hand, and held it silently a long time.... It was difficult for him to speak, but he managed to wish her a happy Christmas and to thank her for her gift.... He would not let her hand go, although her arm was growing tired.

No, he would not let it go.

... “Ah, Beret, Beret!... you know how to choose your time. Here you are with a great big boy at the very peep of day on Christmas morning!... Who ever heard of such a woman?” ... He spoke with a tense quietness; his eyes were nothing but tiny slits in his face, from the great strain he was under.... She knew that his heart was crying.

The knowledge brought tears to her own eyes. She lay on her back, and the tears rolled down over both temples. But she did not notice them. A sweet, heavenly peace like summer enveloped her.... Warmth and stillness.... Sunlight.... An Arctic night.... Carol of birds.... A great sea was throbbing and singing close at hand.... Ah, it was good, after all, to be alive!...

Per Hansa suddenly found himself; his voice boomed out in strong tones:

“Away from the bed, there, you brats. Can’t you see how tired mother is?”

Of that day Beret remembered little else except that she was weak and tired, that a mildness like summer seemed to remain hovering about her, that songs rose over a quiet sea, that a tender sun shone down, that everything was as it should be, that all the world was good.... During the next few days she slept and slept, and never could sleep enough. She slept so much that there was no time left for thinking. Life in the bundle at her side grew stronger, demanded its dues, and would not be denied.... It was such a joy to tend him.... Per Hansa was always kind now; his eyes were mere short lines in his face as he went about his work; the children were full of happiness; all the people in the world were so kind to her that she could only lie there and be ashamed of herself!...

II

Ah, that newcomer!... Had the Prairie been possessed of the commonest hobgoblin sense, she would have guarded herself first of all against him. But this wisdom she had not. Glorying in her great might, depending on the witchcraft that had never failed her, she lay there unconcerned. And powerful though she was, the newcomer minded her no more than she did him. Weak and insignificant, he yet bore within him the talisman to set her direst magic at naught. For he beguiled the heavy-hearted folk into laughing, and what can avail against folk who laugh—who dare to laugh in the face of a winter like this one?... That winter it was _he_ who saved people from insanity and the grave.

Beret began to worry and fuss, thinking they ought to have all the neighbours over on the thirteenth day after Christmas. Hadn’t the good neighbours cared for them throughout the holidays, and long before Christmas, too, as if they had been their own kin? But, weak as she felt, she did not know how she could manage the preparations. She mentioned this matter the first time she was up.

Per Hansa thought it a splendid idea.... Couldn’t he and the neighbour women manage the work? He went over to talk to them about it. Kjersti burst out laughing and offered to come for two weeks if they wanted her. Sörine was delighted, too. Yes, indeed, they would come, if Beret would only promise to sit still and let them do all the work.

“Oh, there was a way of insuring that,” said Per Hansa, with a roguish laugh. He had held Beret on his lap before now, and he was man enough to do it again.... “Be sure you come early, all of you!”

And so they came for dinner on the thirteenth day of Christmas, every one, and gathered in Per Hansa’s cabin. Tönseten had brought one of the bottles which Per Hansa had carried home for him a generation or two ago.... The bottle appeared suddenly on the table, and none of the others knew where it had come from. But they soon guessed the secret; for Tönseten blinked secretively, hinting that his rheumatism was not so bad this winter. Marvellous climate here in the West! Had they noticed it? He felt so much better that perhaps _he_ would dare to take a little drink, too.... Then there was food; there was coffee; there were the pipes; and much friendly chatting went on in Per Hansa’s cabin that day. Time flew; the folks sat on into the night. At dusk the men went out to do the chores, each to his own place; they worked quickly that night. About the huts lay a thick, woolly darkness, black and heavy, with snow drifting softly out of the heart of it. In their hurry to get back to Per Hansa’s, the men hardly noticed the weather.

All felt closely drawn together that night. Their chatting became singularly intimate and hearty. When the men returned, there was another bottle on the table, not more than half full. None of them had brought it, and none could guess where it had come from.

“Isn’t it remarkable,” marvelled Tönseten, “that such things can spring up out of the very ground? This is truly the Promised Land!... Ah, that is Beret’s work, now.... I know the bottle!”

As they sat there chatting through the long evening, they talked of the newcomer—and again of the newcomer—the first newcomer who had found his way to the Spring Creek settlement. Everyone was aware of the many extraordinary things connected with his arrival.... Cunningly he had chosen his time—the high and holy Christmas morn!... Besides, he had the caul on when he came.... And his father had ventured to give him that bold second name ... _Victorious_—that was not at all a human name!...

Tönseten thought that Per Hansa had been reckless and had gone too far in giving the boy that second name. Per Hansa must remember that he himself was only a human being.... Where had he been on Christmas night, for instance. That was a thing Tönseten would like to know! He wasn’t outside, and he wasn’t inside.... Tönseten had said a good many things like this to Kjersti when he had first heard about the name.

But that was one time when Tönseten should have kept still!... Kjersti had been very angry with him and let him know that it was both right and proper for an unusual child to have an unusual name. So much Tönseten could stand; but what came next was harder to swallow. Kjersti had talked herself into a fit of crying—all about how lonely it was to sit there month after month without ever having anything to give a name to! He was wise enough about other people’s children, but she hadn’t seen him do much toward getting one himself. What did he think he was made for, anyway?... Well, perhaps not, Syvert had said; and he had added, viciously: Did she suppose that _he_ could bear children?... Oh, he could talk like a fool ... he could ... she had cried, stamping her foot on the floor. He could do anything but what he ought to! He was good for nothing in the world, the weak-kneed loafer!

But that episode was forgotten. Now they sat there rejoicing over the newcomer. They all felt themselves to be shareholders in him, but they couldn’t agree over the division.... The boy undoubtedly belonged to Beret and Per Hansa—that was true enough and as it should be. But it didn’t follow from this that they possessed the sole and only rights in him. Had not Sörine and Kjersti stood by while the ship sank? Now, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they been the sponsors? Did not godmothers have a strong claim on their godchildren?... And hadn’t Hans Olsa been called out into the cold, grey Christmas morning to take upon himself the holy duties of priesthood? It was he, indeed, who had poured the baptismal water and read the words that should sound over every Christian mortal!... All this was beyond dispute, and no one grumbled over Hans Olsa’s prior right to the child.... But, just the same, protested Tönseten, it was hardly fair play, either to him or to the Solum boys. Not one of them had had a moment’s peace on Christmas night; they had just been kept wading back and forth in the snow, for the sake of that confounded baby. For his own part, he hadn’t tasted a mouthful of food all day, and hadn’t taken his trousers off all night!... Tönseten refused to be set aside; in the midst of the company, with all his friends around him, he was less afraid of Kjersti. A sudden fancy struck him—he began teasing Sörine about the name. It was in his honour, of course, that the boy had been given that second name, and not in her honour at all! But Tönseten should have been more careful in raising this issue. Sam immediately struck in, insisting that Per Hansa must have taken the name from _him_—he had _two_ names beginning with “S”!

... No, they could not agree over their claims. Nor did they fare any better when it came to determining the newcomer’s destiny.

Henry, with an idea of eventually getting rid of his job, wanted the boy to be a schoolmaster.... But no, the godmothers wouldn’t listen to the proposal. Schoolmaster! As if that were good enough for such a boy! Besides, they already had a schoolmaster. At this point Kjersti lifted up her voice and announced that he should be a minister. Then Sörine laughed and winked at her husband. Minister?... Oh, they already had a minister, too—one of a sort; the boy had been baptized quite in the proper Christian manner!... As far as she could see, the newcomer would have to be a doctor. But this proposal started Per Hansa up with a new objection. Hadn’t they doctors enough already, too?... There was Kjersti, and there was Sörine, and here he sat _himself_. Why, they had nothing but doctors!... Sam made them all laugh with his two suggestions: either a hymn writer or a general.... It must have been the latter alternative that gave Tönseten his big idea. He had been sitting there craftily pondering how he might outdo the whole of them. Now he arose, knocked the ashes from his pipe, cleared his throat mightily, and said, as if the thing were foreordained and altogether beyond dispute:

“The boy will, of course, be President! He is born in the country—everything points in that direction.”

This ridiculous fancy threw them into gales of laughter. But Hans Olsa did not join in the merriment; he remained grave and sat gazing thoughtfully at the wall. Now he stretched, and said, as soon as he could be heard:

“I think we’ll be more in need of a good governor out here, Syvert; these prairies will be a state some day.”

And there the discussion ended. All felt that at last Hans Olsa had proposed something that bore the stamp of good sense.

Neither Beret nor Per Hansa had taken part in this discussion. They sat listening to it, full of secret elation.... Beret’s cheeks burned; Per Hansa was on the point, once or twice, of putting in his oar, but managed to stop himself in time.... This was the proper occasion for him to hold his tongue.... What fun it was to hear them run on!...

III

No one knows what might have happened to them that winter if they had not had their school to fall back on.... But there it was—a great school, too, a refuge for them all.

At first it was held in the house of the Solum boys, and the plan worked out very well. But then it occurred to Sörine that they ought to find a more practical arrangement. Henry might just as well conduct his school in her house; in which case both she and Hans Olsa could benefit by the instruction. And Sam could come over, too. Both the Solum boys were pleased with the new plan.

A little later, when Beret was quite well again, Per Hansa came one day to inquire if it mightn’t be possible to move the school to _his_ house every other week—for Beret’s sake. It would be interesting for her to listen to the instruction; and, besides, both of them needed to learn English. Why couldn’t Henry teach his school just as well over there?... They all agreed that this was the thing to do.

But Tönseten, as usual, wasn’t quite satisfied with the arrangement; he felt that they weren’t being entirely fair to him. So he proposed that they should move the school to _his_ house every third week. There was plenty of food for both Henry and Sam. True enough, he had no children; but they should remember that he had fathered the school itself. Think how lonely it was for him and Kjersti to be moping in the hut all by themselves while the others every other week were enjoying company and the glory of learning!... Why not be brotherly and share the best with the worst?...

Again the new plan was agreed upon, and that became the final arrangement for holding the school.

There was little to do, either outdoors or indoors, during these days. Often the menfolk would sit in the school both morning and afternoon, and the women made a practice of attending every afternoon. They came with their handiwork, and the men with their pipes. At last the school became indispensable to all of them. The men could not bear to lose a minute of it; and as for the women, as soon as they had cleared away the dinner things they would bundle old skirts over their heads and set out in the snowstorm for the house where the school was being conducted.

Never, perhaps, was a school organized along stranger lines, or based on looser pedagogical principles; but—ah, well! It was in reality a flexible institution, with all sorts of functions. It served as primary school and grammar school, as language school—in both Norwegian and English—and religious school; in one sense it was a club; in another it was a debating society, where everything between heaven and earth became fit matter for argument; on other occasions it turned into a singing school, a coffee party, or a social centre; and sometimes, in serious moods, it took on the aspect of a devotional meeting, a solemn confessional. In these ways the school bound subtly and inseparably together the few souls who lived out there in the wilderness.... It often happened that both recitation and instruction were broken up for the children because the grown folk interrupted, became absorbed in the discussion, and usurped the whole time.

In the beginning Henry was at his wits’ end to know how to fill in the day. There were no books, and no school materials of any kind. In this pass, he resorted to the means that lay nearest at hand—story-telling. Hunting through his memory, he sought out all the tales that he had heard or read; and these he related in either Norwegian or English, making the children repeat them until they had been memorized. In this way they learned both the story and the language—such as it was. Then he proposed to set them the task of writing words and sentences. A fine plan, if they only had something to write on and something to write with.... Hans Olsa made a large wooden slate for his girl, and gave her the last remaining stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had brought from Norway.... And now that Sofie had a slate, Per Hansa’s boys must have something to write on, too. Their father took the two thickest pieces of log that he had standing behind the stove, and whittled each into an object intended to be a writing board; but Ole called his an ox yoke, because it was so heavy to carry around. For pencils they used nails and bits of charcoal.... But one day when Store-Hans went on an errand to Kjersti’s house, she had a present for him—a great bunch of folded paper bags and wrapping paper.... And in the chest she had found a small piece of pencil that Syvert had hidden there.... She supposed she would have no use for it herself, she said with a sigh, and she knew of no one she would rather give it to than Store-Hans, for he was a fine boy. She wept a little as she gave him these simple things. Store-Hans was delighted with the gift, and on this account he was for a while the aristocrat of the school.

Before the school became itinerant it had been discovered that Sam could sing. The discovery had come about in the following manner: One day Henry had completely exhausted his knowledge and ingenuity and didn’t know what to do next; suddenly he turned to his brother, who sat on the chest listening to the instruction, and ripped out:

“Let’s go east, man, and get out of here!... This is the devil’s own foolishness!”

“Why don’t you try singing with them?” Sam answered, bouncing up from the chest with the excitement of his idea.

“I’ll leave that job for you,” snapped Henry, snatching his cap and running out of the room.

And there stood Sam, looking blankly at the children, whose eyes were fixed on him with an equally blank stare. He couldn’t bear to be the object of their ridicule; there was no one else in the room; no other idea came to his rescue; and so he began to sing. He had a good voice, and found himself falling naturally into the methods by which he had been taught. It all came back to him, and because his singing was really good, the scholars caught fire at it and the new idea worked well.

Perhaps this incident saved the school at a critical time. But it did vastly more. That winter they learned to sing many songs. The children learned them, and the grown people learned them, too. There were hymns and national anthems; there were folk songs and war songs; and there were many, many love songs from their own Nordland, with not a few Swedish love ballads as well.... By the time the school had become itinerant, Sam had acquired two good assistants; for now it appeared that both Sörine and Kjersti possessed in memory a goodly store of ditties.... Everything of that nature was routed out from its hiding place and put into active use.

Tönseten became at times a troublesome listener at these functions. If, as he sat there following Henry’s instruction, he thought that he detected heresy, or if he disliked the method of teaching, he said so without mincing words. As to pedagogical methods, Tönseten was very particular. In his opinion, Henry lacked the proper and necessary cunning in formulating his questions; he put the matter too simply. What was the use of asking questions that anybody could understand?

Problems in arithmetic always had to be worked out mentally, on account of the lack of writing materials. One day as they were doing sums, Tönseten arose and informed them that now _he_ proposed to try their skill for a minute or two!... “Just take a rest for a little while, Henry!” he said. The whole neighbourhood was gathered that day in Tönseten’s sod house.

He struck a dignified pose in front of the table.

“Listen carefully now, you numskulls; here is something to try your heads on. Now then: five crows were sitting in a tree ... five, you understand!... A man came by with a gun. He shot one of them. How many were left in the tree?”

Tönseten gave them a severe look as he finished his question.

“Huh!” grunted Ole, who was the brightest student at sums, “you are only fooling!”

“_That_ is no problem,” said Sofie. “There were four crows left, of course.”

“Yes, if they were such dumb crows as you and Ola!... Now, Hans, how many were left?”

“None,” answered Hans, thoughtfully.

“Right-o! There were none left.... But say, Hans, what do you think became of the others?”

“Aw ...” drawled the boy in his deep voice, “I suppose they flew away.”

“Sure they did!... Why should they keep on sitting there?” ...

Tönseten was in a sparkling humour.

“Now we will just try another one. Listen hard now, Sofie; this one is for you. The minister had three daughters, and the deacon also had three; but when the deacon’s daughters were with the minister’s daughters, there were no more than three. How can that be explained?”

The problem was simply senseless, laughed Sofie; when there were six, there simply must be six, and no way out of it!...

“Don’t listen to him,” said Ole. “He’s only fooling!”

“Fooling!” thundered Tönseten. “It seems to me that you are doing the fooling.... Well, Hansy, you will have to go at it again!”

None of the grown people had heard this riddle before. They laughed heartily and thought it great fun. Kjersti’s knitting sank into her lap.... No doubt about it, Syvert was clever at asking questions!

“Hans,” said Tönseten, sternly, “put your brains to work!”

“I—I suppose there was only one man with daughters?” submitted Store-Hans, carefully.

“Did you ever see the like of the cleverness in that boy!... Yes; you see, the fact of it was that the minister was a deacon in his own church. Very likely there wasn’t anyone else who could serve as deacon!”

Tönseten gave Store-Hans a fatherly pat on the head.... “There’s much good stuff inside that skull of yours. I think you’ll be a minister, after all.”

And then Tönseten straightened up and turned to face Henry.... “_That’s_ the way to ask questions, Henry!” ... His face was red from his efforts; he looked ridiculously fierce as he sat down.

IV

Drifting snow and cold ... a yellow sky ... grey weather ... blizzards that lasted for days.... If it cleared off for an afternoon, the sun dogs were on constant guard. Everyone knew what that meant!...

The winter’s supply of wood which the settlers had brought home was disappearing very fast—it had vanished like snow in a warm spring thaw. Now it was almost gone.

Hans Olsa had discovered a new kind of fuel that grew more and more valuable to them as their wood supply ran low. One day as he was clearing the manger of coarse hay which the cow refused to eat it had struck him that this cast-off hay might possibly be put to a practical use. Hans Olsa was a frugal man, who tried to utilize everything that came to his hand. Why wouldn’t this hay make good kindling.... In order to avoid littering up the floor of the house, he twisted the hay into fagots before he carried it in. It made fairly good fuel, burning fast, of course, but flaring up like birch bark and giving off a fine heat.... At once he told his neighbours of the discovery, and they began to burn their hay, too.... But it had to be done sparingly; they mustn’t run the chance of a cattle famine, in case the spring should turn out to be a long, hard one. Yet these coarse hay fagots solved their fuel situation for a while.

Along in February, however, there was no way out of it—the fact confronted them that the men would have to go east to the Sioux River for a further supply of wood. The journey demanded great preparations and left little time for going to school. But it was decided that in spite of everything, Henry must keep on with his teaching. Since they couldn’t leave the women alone under any circumstances, the school served as a good excuse for keeping him at home. He would have to be the guardian of the whole settlement while they were gone.

Both Tönseten and Hans Olsa thought it impossible for Per Hansa to make such a journey with oxen at this time of the year; they advised him to join forces with them. Then they could all work together, and divide equally whatever they brought home. This sounded like good counsel, and Per Hansa made no objection to it at the time. But for a day or two he went about his work pondering deeply. Before Christmas he had made a sleigh, such as it was. One night he asked the boys to help him after school, and, taking the oxen out, he began to train them for halter-driving. Heretofore he had used only the yoke, shouting “gee” and “haw,” like everyone else in those days, who drove oxen.

He had bought his ox team in eastern Minnesota the previous winter, from a Swede who was glad to get rid of them because he wanted to buy horses instead. The Swede had bought the oxen from an Irishman in southern Iowa, and no one knew how many other owners the team had had. The Swede had called them “Tom” and “Buck,” but Per Hansa had disliked the names. Bound on a great voyage of adventure as he was, his boats had to be properly christened. So he had gone about thinking for a while, and at length had named the oxen “Sören” and “Perkel.” To Sören he had added the prefix “Old,” so that the full name of the animal was Old Sören.[16] And sometimes, when he was in his very brightest mood, he’d prefix the same adjective before the other name, too, because that sounded more affectionate. This renaming was an easy process for the oxen, perhaps because the new owner had a temperament so entirely unfamiliar to the beasts; the hide on their loins showed with startling clearness that petting had been an unknown factor in their earlier history.

[16] Both names are colloquial expressions, peculiar to the dialect of Nordland; they mean the same thing, _viz._, Old Nick.

The boys and the oxen had immediately become firm friends, Store-Hans adopting one of them as his special charge, Ole the other. They scratched the oxen’s heads, they rode them like horses, and soon the animals would come trotting after whenever they caught sight of the boys; and as they stood patiently with the children hanging around their necks, giving them a good scratching, and saying “Old Sören” to one and “Perkel” to the other, they must somehow have learned to associate this treatment with their new names, and the words must have sunk in. At any rate, the oxen always responded now when their names were called.

When Per Hansa that cold winter day took them out of the stable to teach them the new kind of driving, they were a pair of ragged and ugly-looking beasts. They stood in the snow before the sleigh and gazed dully over the white prairie, where the snow lay drifting. They didn’t know what to make of their new harnesses. All went well for a while, but presently they lurched right into a snowdrift, and stood there motionless, sticking out their tongues and licking the snow.... This would never do!... Ole shot forward and began scratching furiously; Store-Hans did the same on the other side; and when the oxen had thought it over long enough, and the commands from Per Hansa had taken on a brittle tone, they threw themselves forward into the harness and yanked the sleigh out like a feather, regardless of how deeply it had been lodged in the drift. They kept on training the oxen every day, and got a good deal of fun out of it into the bargain.... At last it had progressed so far that one evening, as they unhitched the team, Per Hansa said to the boys:

“There, they are working out splendidly.... Now, if you two were worth your salt, you would take this outfit and drive to the Pacific coast for a load of fish for your mother and me!” The boys grinned and said nothing.

But Per Hansa had determined to make the trip to the Sioux River with the oxen. That evening he was very high-spirited and happy.... As they were going to bed and Beret was sitting by the stove tending the baby for the night, she said, “I suppose you must make this trip, then?”

“Well, yes, I should say I must, if you and the newcomer aren’t to freeze stiff!” ...

Nothing more passed between them on the subject. Again Beret lay awake far into the night, turning her thoughts over in her mind.

This thing was terrible!...

V

The men delayed their trip for several days, waiting for the right sort of weather. The wind veered around uncertainly; the sleighing looked treacherous; the cold was simply fearful—it bit into whatever it could lay its hands on and would not let go.

At last came a morning which gave promise of a clear day. As the sun rose higher and higher a soft breeze began to blow, like the first breath of spring. It seemed to be the very weather they had been waiting for.... The men gathered together in a little knot to talk it over, wondering if it would be safe to chance it to-day.... Well, yes, it looked all right now, speculated Tönseten, peering into the sky and turning his quid in his cheek; but this sort of weather wasn’t exactly dependable. Somehow, it didn’t seem natural for this time of year.... “It has too sweet a face, I think!”

They had better make a start, counselled Hans Olsa. Already it was late in February; the spring thaw would soon be setting in.

“Well,” said Per Hansa, “if we have any idea of bringing a few sticks of wood home before the haying season begins, we’d better get a move on.... All the same, I agree with you, Syvert.... It looks to me like a weather-breeder. But we ought to be able to reach the Trönders’ before anything happens.”

Then they began to get ready. There were numberless things to attend to, so that it was past ten o’clock before they set out. They had not burdened themselves with provisions, knowing that they would soon come to hospitable folk; but to be on the safe side they all carried a small supply of food in their pockets.

The four teams formed quite a caravan, each with its own sleigh, trailing in single file across the white plain. Hans Olsa, who had the fastest horses, drove in the van; then came Tönseten; then Sam; while Per Hansa’s oxen, shambling along with him and his sleigh, drew up the rear.

The whole settlement was out-of-doors to see the caravan set forth. The children were dismissed from school for a little while; the grown folks left their work.... Store-Hans clenched his fists in impotent fury.... What foolishness.... What an idiotic arrangement! Here they had to sit indoors, he and his brother, in such fine weather, chewing over and over again the stories they knew by heart, while off went the men, bound for all sorts of wonderful adventures!... Father would be taking Old Maria along.... He might shoot a dozen wolves to-day!... Perhaps there would be smooth ice on the river, and a hole in the ice, and fish, and everything! And strangers to be met, and grown-up talk going.... Oh, what nonsense, to have to stay here!... His brother was in the same state of bitter revolt; that day the boys learned very little in school.

Beret had laid the baby down and gone out with the others; but just as the men were about to start she ran back into the house, her knees trembling under her.... The window faced the east and they were going eastward, but she could not bring herself to look out.... But what she felt was not exactly fear—was not the same fear that had gripped her the time before when he had left her alone.... This was a sense of powerlessness....

The caravan crept away. Sleighs and animals grew smaller and smaller; at last they were nothing but tiny black dots on the endless white expanse of the plain....

All went well with Per Hansa and the oxen. Once the heavy animals had started, they kept the track without any difficulty, and didn’t lag very far behind, either. The snow was soft, and it soon proved heavy, slow work to break the track. The three teams of horses had to take turns at it. Though the weather still looked steady, the men pushed on as fast as they could.

Some time after midday the breeze settled down into a mild south wind; the snow was growing more and more soggy under the runners; the air seemed as soft as a May day; in the whole arch of the sky not a cloud nor the trace of a cloud could be seen; the sunshine almost blinded them with its radiant brilliancy.

This lasted without change until after three o’clock.

So far everything had gone without a hitch and Per Hansa figured that in two or three hours they would sight the hills over by the Sioux River. But just then, chancing to glance back toward the western horizon, he caught sight of a black, billowy outline above the prairie, looming ominously against the sky.... Were his eyes deceiving him? He rubbed them and looked again; rubbed them harder and gazed intently at the sight.... Sure enough it was a veritable outline, the form of a low-lying dark cloud.... His heart pounded against his breast; he spoke quickly and roughly to the oxen....

The apparition was moving out there—came rushing forward and upward with uncanny speed. The outline had now become a dark, opaque mass ... it writhed and swelled with life ... it seemed to be belching up over all the sky, like sooty smoke out of a furnace. Above his head the heavens were still clear; but under the rim of the onrushing cloud a bluish-black shadow had settled on the prairie.

The south wind suddenly died in fitful gasps, leaving a chill in the air.... A weird silence had fallen.... The thing in the west was possessed of baleful life. It shot outward and upward.... Sighs as if out of a cold cavern ran before it.... In a twinkling, the day had been swallowed in gloom....

Those in the lead had stopped at the first warning. Hans Olsa had waited until Tönseten and Sam came up; when Per Hansa reached them, the three sleighs were all huddled together.

“It’s going to strike us in a minute,” said Hans Olsa, soberly. He was standing beside his sleigh, clearing the lashing-rope.

“Looks like it,” answered Per Hansa, dryly. “If we ever get out of this—!” ... He jumped out and followed Hans Olsa’s lead, clearing his own rope.

The Solum boy said nothing, but worked frantically to get his rope untangled.

“This is what we must do,” said Hans Olsa: “We’ll pass a rope from sleigh to sleigh, so that we won’t lose each other in the storm. Isn’t that right, Per Hansa?”

“Yes, yes!” His sailor instincts were all alive. “It looks as if the storm would travel the way we’re going. We’ll have to watch the wind.... Whatever you do, keep a sharp lookout for the country we know on this side of the river. If we should sail past the Trönders’, there’ll be hell to pay.... Hurry up, now. Damn the luck, that we haven’t got a compass!” The words tumbled out of Per Hansa’s mouth in a raging flood.

Each man tied his lashing-rope to the sleigh, and gave the other end to the next one behind. Per Hansa ran forward to the Solum boy:

“All ready, Sam? Are you sure your rope is fast? I don’t believe I’ll be able to keep up with you.... But listen: don’t give a thought to what lies _behind_ you! Do you hear? Hold on like hell to Syvert’s rope! It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand?... Now we must get a move on!”

Both Per Hansa and Hans Olsa—old Lofot-men that they were—had seen plenty of storms that made up fast; but nothing like this had ever before come within the range of their experience. Like lightning a giant troll had risen up in the west, ripped open his great sack of woolly fleece, and emptied the whole contents of it above their heads.

A squall of snow so thick that they could not see an arm’s length ahead of them, a sucking noise, a few angry blasts, howling in fury, then dropping away to uncertain draughts of air that wandered idly here and there, swirling the light snowfall around the sleighs. High overhead, a sharp hissing sound mingled with growls like thunder—and then the blizzard broke in all its terror....

VI

The storm howled and whined, driving the snow before it like giant breakers. A grey-black spume enveloped them, a raging cloud.... Instinctively, Per Hansa found himself peering through the murk, knitting his brows and squinting up his right eye—an old habit of his, born of the many times he had looked to see if the mast would hold!

A violent jerk came on his rope, so strong that he almost plunged forward. To save himself from being dragged off his sleigh he was forced to let go his hold.... “There goes Sam!” he muttered, grinding his teeth together.

The boat that he steered was behaving very badly; it wouldn’t answer the helm; it didn’t ride the swell like a seaworthy craft; it had no speed or power to lift itself over the rough waves. The oxen shambled and floundered along, veering before the wind; with every clumsy step they went more slowly; at last, with a great heave, they stood stock-still. Drawing their heads as far as they could into their short necks, they twitched their bodies a little, hunched their backs, and lowered their heavy rumps into the snow, to meet the force of the gale....

There they stood!

“God Almighty!” ... muttered Per Hansa into the storm. Quick as lightning the thought flashed through his mind: Run your knife into one of them, rip off his hide, wrap yourself in it, and let yourself snow under—it’s your only salvation!

No, no, Per Hansa couldn’t do that. Old Sören and Perkel had brought him and his family all the way across the plains; they had broken every inch of his fields; if he were ever to have a lordly estate, it would come about through the labor of these beasts.... And Old Sören had such kind eyes, and Perkel always came so quickly when they called him.

Per Hansa threw himself out of the sleigh and fumbled his way along the traces till he came to the oxen; he caught hold of their necks and began rubbing their foreheads. While he rubbed, he talked into their ears:

“Now, Old Sören ... now, damn you, Perkel. By God, you’ll have to be good boys!” ...

With rough caresses he swept the snow off their backs, scratched their rumps a moment, then crept back into the sleigh. Summoning all his force, he shouted in a mighty voice, “Get along now, you devils!” The whip lashed and cracked—the first time since he had bought them that he had ever struck them in real earnest.... The oxen gave a tremendous plunge ... another ... and off they careered into the heart of the storm. Per Hansa felt as if he were sliding down one huge wave after another; the boat was scudding now with terrific speed!... Still on they went, tossing and plunging, down and down!...

“Will we ever climb the next wave?” thought Per Hansa.

... Why, what in Heaven’s name was this? Something had happened very suddenly. He thought that he heard a loud crash, as if two logs had smashed violently together; through the murk he glimpsed a black object flying across the bows and disappearing astern.... Wasn’t that another? And another?... Why!... He must be passing the other teams!

“Whoa! Whoa, there!” he bellowed down the wind. “Stop!... t-r-r-r-o!” ... He was so angry that he nearly broke the lines.... “Who ever saw such devils! Stop! Whoa!” ...

But the oxen paid not the slightest attention to him. The spirit of the storm had possessed them; they tore along like mad things; whenever they struck a snowdrift, they plunged through it so furiously that the snow thrown up by their feet and the sleigh was thicker than that which fell from above. Per Hansa could do nothing but cling desperately to the sleigh.... This mad race through the inferno of the storm lasted a long time; how long he did not know, but it seemed to him as if it had gone on forever....

But finally the oxen slackened their speed; the wild gallop sank to a trot; the trot fell to a tired jog ... and then they stopped altogether. He could distinctly hear their exhausted puffing through the roar of the storm.

Per Hansa scrambled down from the sleigh again and managed to open one of the hay sacks. He tore out a handful of hay, plowed his way forward, and began to rub down the oxen with the dry wisp.... The storm was now so terrific that it was impossible to turn one’s face against it. The stinging snow drove like icy needles and broke the skin. He rubbed and rubbed, first Old Sören, then Perkel; and when his strength was gone and he could rub no longer, he struggled back to fetch the hay sack, held it under their noses, and let them eat.... He stood there holding it so long that he grew stiff with the cold and with the piercing snow that stuck in his clothes like nails.... “Hurry now, hurry now, troll-boys! God be praised, you can still wag your jaws!” he spoke in their ears.

At last he got back to the sleigh, loosened the blanket, and wrapped it close around him. He emptied the hay sack and bundled it over his head.... Then he shouted a few vigorous words of encouragement to the oxen: now they must get along—now, by God, they must show what stuff they were made of!...

But the beasts had a different notion, an idea all their own: instead of rushing off as before, they began to saunter slowly with the wind, moving forward at exactly the same speed as when they were drawing the plow on a hot summer day. Per Hansa tried every means he could think of to start them up; he fumed and swore; he coaxed them and used all kinds of pet names; he grabbed the whip and lashed them mercilessly, but everything had the same effect, or no effect at all. The oxen sauntered along, dragging him and his sleigh as unconcernedly through the storm as if they were on their way down to the creek to drink.

It had now grown pitch dark; the night pressed close about him. Snow was not falling as thickly as in the afternoon, but the cold had become intense ... it cut into his back like a heavy, dull knife; the wind had risen into a solid blast, so that he had hard work to keep his seat in the sleigh.... He sat there, huddled and freezing, and stared out into the blackness. So, this was his last journey!...

The thought only made him impatient.... God Almighty might have waited awhile longer, until they had seen how their luck would go out here and what sort of a boy Permand would turn out to be.... It was a queer thing that He should want to be so cruel to Beret—a sick woman left alone in this terrible place, so far out in the wilderness—and without the oxen, too!... A strange fate, this, I’ll be damned if it isn’t! thought Per Hansa.

... By and by he began to feel that he was really freezing. He tied the lines about his thighs and took to beating his arms. It helped his hands, but his back only grew colder; the wind cut through and through....

... It seemed to him that by this time he must have gone by the Trönders’—a long way by. The oxen wouldn’t stop until they had reached the Atlantic Ocean!... He was so cold now that his teeth chattered all the time and couldn’t stop.

... Then, after a while, the cold seemed to be letting up; the terrible sucking emptiness inside him had gone away; he felt tired and drowsy ... a good feeling....

He pulled himself furiously together and deliberately chewed his tongue to keep awake. He knew too well what this drowsy feeling meant!...

... It must not happen—it _should_ not happen! To think of Beret alone there with four youngsters!... Making a desperate effort, he flung himself out of the sleigh and staggered along beside the oxen, the lines wound securely around his arm.

... Struggling through the storm, he felt more and more disgusted with God Almighty. To take him away from Beret now would be a wicked thing, whichever way you looked at it.... What could He expect to accomplish by such a wrong?... There wasn’t a better, truer soul alive than Beret.... Was this the way God cared for His own?

“Beret, Beret,” he kept sobbing to himself. “I’m going ...”

The storm raged around him; the cold bit deeper and stronger. He staggered on in the midst of a vast darkness, beset by furious monsters, fighting a battle that seemed to be without respite and without end.... On and on he stumbled, on and on....

Strangely enough, he didn’t seem tired at all—the fight didn’t exhaust him.... What sort of a place would he get to if he kept on travelling like this a week or two?... A name occurred to him as if it had risen out of the storm—he seemed to see it shining before his eyes: _Rocky Mountains_ ... The Rocky Mountains? What a strange fancy!... Floundering through the snowdrifts, this name seemed to be broken in pieces as it ran through his mind: Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!... Rocky-ocky, rocky-ocky ... Moun-tains, moun-tains!... Then he fell down; pulling himself wearily out of the snowdrift, another thought crossed his mind.... It was all a mistake—the Rocky Mountains didn’t lie in this direction.... God! was he going stark mad?... He probably wouldn’t be able to last much longer.... How sweet it would be—what a blessed, infinite relief—to sit down here in this snowdrift and rest a little while! Only a moment ... it wouldn’t take long ... sleep would so soon overcome him.

Suddenly he was aroused by a new thought, that shook him wide awake and stirred his numbed senses: _Sam_! What had happened to Sam? They couldn’t leave him in the lurch.... Sam was a promising boy. He’d probably make a splendid citizen some day, with his fine voice and all his other good qualities.... God above, was he, Per Hansa, going to be blamed for this, too, that Sam would lose his life to-night?... If he had kept his mouth shut that evening and let them go on their way, both Sam and Henry might now have been safe and sound in eastern Minnesota with their own folks!... But perhaps those who had horses would be able to pull through, since the storm wasn’t growing any worse. If only they didn’t desert the boy!

Per Hansa was stumbling and falling a good deal now; each time he fell it was harder to get up. The lines were jammed tightly around his arm; the oxen plowed onward without a pause; he had to get up or be dragged through the snow. Neither could he loosen the lines, for his mittens were frozen stiff.... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains, Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!... Directly behind those mountains lay the Pacific Ocean.... They had no winter on that coast ... no winter, and they fished both halibut and salmon! God! no winter!... If he could only gain his way across ... across the ... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...

... The devil take it!... but this was all wrong!

Steadily onward the oxen plowed, dragging Per Hansa by the arm. Stumble and fall as he would, he had to get up again and struggle along....

... What had happened now? The oxen had stopped—were standing still. Per Hansa wasn’t being dragged forward any longer.

His first impulse was to sink down where he stood, to snatch a moment’s peace, to give up to the weariness that was overmastering him. But deep down within him a voice commanded him to keep on standing.... He followed the lines, fumbled his way forward to Perkel, flung his arm across the animal’s back, and leaned against his thigh....

What nonsense was this?... Day breaking again?... Between the heads of the two oxen a yellow eye seemed to be gleaming through the curtain of the driving snow ... a great yellow eye....

“It must be my death signal!” thought Per Hansa. “Then I’m already across the boundary line!” ...

Suddenly Old Sören gave a long-drawn bellow. The sound had scarcely died away when Perkel lifted his voice as if to second his comrade’s motion. He put such a powerful effort into that bellow that his muscles strained and his whole body contracted. The noise shook Per Hansa out of his grim revery. He felt his way along Perkel’s back until he had readied the animal’s head ... it was rammed full-tilt against a log wall!...

Here was the corner ... the corner of a house....

Per Hansa trembled so violently that he could hardly keep his feet. He saw now that the eye shining through the drifting snow was in reality the light from a small window in this log wall.... Good Heavens! Had he plowed and plunged clear through to Fillmore County?... He found his way around the house corner, came to a door, flung it open without ceremony, and stumbled in.

VII

Per Hansa saw nothing as he stumbled into the cabin. The heat of the room seemed to flow over him in a great wave, deadening all his senses. The light blinded him; he could not open his eyes beyond a narrow slit; his face was crusted with snow and ice; his eyelashes were frozen together.... But he was conscious, with a deep sense of joy and relief, that this was a safe place and that there were folk around him again—Norwegian folk, his own people... When he had first felt the build of the cornice, out there in the snowstorm, he had sensed instinctively that here lived Norwegians.... Out of the jaws of death he had walked in a single step into warmth and life and safety.... But it was easier to warm his body than to thaw out his soul. The reaction was too swift and too tremendous; he felt himself growing faint and dizzy and was barely able to stand.

“Give me something to sit down on, good folk,” he heard a faint voice saying far away. For a moment, he thought that his senses were going to leave him.... He must hurry and say what he had to say!... “You’ll find ... two oxen ... two good oxen outside.... Get them under cover at once!... I’m all right—but the oxen—!”

Some one shoved forward a chair. He felt vaguely that it must be meant for him, took hold of the back, and let himself sink down.... His frozen clothes crackled like sheets of ice, shedding a little flurry of snow.

... “There, I’m tracking up your floor!... but look after the oxen—the oxen——”

A hubbub of confused, excited voices rose around him. He felt that there must be a crowd of people in the room, but their faces were all a blank to him. A thick haze seemed to surround them, swimming before his eyes.

Then a person got up right by his side—a palpable figure confronted him. Per Hansa gave a start—the voice sounded strangely familiar.

“For the Lord’s sake! Is this you, Per Hansa?” it said. All at once Per Hansa burst into a laugh.

“Where the devil did you drop from, Syvert?... Is Sam with you?”

“Can’t you see the boy?... He’s sitting in the chair right in front of you.... Thank God, Per Hansa, you’re still alive!”

No wonder that they had failed to recognize him, no wonder that he couldn’t see, or that his voice sounded weak and strange, for his whole face was covered with a mask of hard-caked snow which had not melted yet in the heat of the room. It was firmly fastened to his eyebrows and beard; it joined his cap to his coat collar and hung down behind over his back in a white sheet. If ever there was a snow king in human form, it was Per Hansa that night as he sat thawing out in Simon Baarstad’s cabin.

Little by little his five senses came back to him; and sure enough, there they all were, his good neighbours. He knew the room well, too, and the folk who owned it.... He could see Sam plainly enough now—Sam, who could sing so well, sitting close to the stove, beside a fair young girl.... He couldn’t make out whether he was closer to the girl or to the stove. Per Hansa smiled to himself.... Ah, Sam, Sam!... No doubt about your being a good man some day!...

He listened in deep contentment while Hans Olsa related how they had driven like demons, to save their lives. They had had no idea where they were going nor what lay ahead of them; but at the last moment, when they had almost given up hope, they had gotten their bearings of the country on this side of the river and had arrived at this very spot. That had been two hours ago; it was now past nine o’clock....

Per Hansa heard them as if in a dream. The terrible trip didn’t concern him any longer. It was all over now.... Something else that was going on in the room interested him a great deal more: beside the stove stood Gurina Baarstad, handling a stewpan. She had filled it over half full of milk; when the milk began to simmer she added a goodly portion of strong, home-brewed beer.

“My dear, blessed Gurina, don’t be stingy, now!” Per Hansa teased her. The hot mixture was strong, brown, and frothy. They gave him a large bowlful; he drank and drank....

“God, if a fellow had thirteen barrels of this stuff of yours, Gurina!... You don’t happen to have another little drop in the pan?” ... She gave him a second bowlful, which he emptied as greedily as the first.... All at once, something occurred to him. He turned to ask a question.

... Had any of them seen him drive past them in the storm?

Drive past them!... “You’re talking wild, Per Hansa,” said Tönseten, with an anxious look. Per Hansa was off his base to-night!

—Certainly not—nothing wild about that! They had better take a look at Sam’s sleigh to-morrow, if they didn’t believe him. He had almost run Sam down as he shot by!... “Say, didn’t you see me, Sam?”

Well, Sam remembered that he did see something go by—something black, that flew past like a wraith of the storm. It had been just after the squall broke. He had felt a terrific jolt go over the sleigh and thought he had struck a stone.... “Was that you, Per Hansa?”

“Ha-ha! You’re damned right! That was my flying oxen passing your good-for-nothing old plugs.”

—But where, in Heaven’s name, had he been in the meanwhile?—asked everyone at once.

—Yes, they had better wonder about that!... Per Hansa was gay once more; he tipped up the bowl rakishly and tried to squeeze another drop out of it.

“If you want to know, I took a little run up to Flandreau to see if I couldn’t find a good-looking bride for Henry. I thought that was the least I could do for him, poor fellow His brother can handle such matters for himself, it seems.... Tell me, Sam, are you still as _cold_ as all that?”

Sam blushed crimson and hitched his chair away from the girl.

Later a large bowl of porridge was set out on the table for Per Hansa, a mug of hot milk beside it. He ate and ate; it seemed as if he never could get enough.... Afterward there was much cozy talk, everyone in the house joining in; they discussed all that had happened so far, and all that was going to happen.... Oh, this country had a great future! People who were willing to work could win almost anything out of it! No doubt about that at all!

At last it came time for them to retire. The members of the family lay down in their beds; the strangers slept on the floor, which had been piled deep with hay and covered with many thicknesses of clothes; all four men lay there side by side, and three of them soon slept the quiet sleep of the righteous....

But Per Hansa could not sleep; his mind was numb with weariness, yet he could not sleep. Every nerve of his body was twitching; little spasms passed over him, like ripples on the surface of a smooth, glassy sea. It was very hot in the cabin; the blanket grew so heavy that he had to throw it off. Something remained still frozen, deep down in the centre of his being.

A certain picture stood stubbornly before his mind: a sod house beset by the western storm, a hut with the wind howling around the corners; he could even hear the peculiar note that the wind always made as it sucked around one of these corners. The hut lay far, far out in the heart of the darkness. A woman was moving about there whose sad face was still full of beauty; she carried a child in her arms. Per Hansa’s weary, wide-open eyes could see exactly how she held the child.... It lay wrapped in a blanket—a red blanket with black borders.... He turned over heavily many times, trying to blot out the vision; but the woman continued to pace up and down. He felt that he must speak to her, let her know that all was well—tell her to go to bed now, so that a fellow might have a little peace....

... “God Almighty!” sighed Per Hansa. “How Beret must be worrying about me to-night!... She ought not to be so foolish. I’ve told her many times that there are no finer people in the world than these Trönders.” ... But his body kept on jerking; his mind would not let the picture go.... It must be cold in her hut to-night.... If the boys had only managed to bring enough wood into the house before the storm broke!... Surely they must have some heat, or she would not be walking the floor; it would be terrible for her in the cold.... He threshed and turned, but the picture followed him....

VIII

Along the Sioux River, both above and below Simon Baarstad’s place, there was already a considerable settlement, made up almost entirely of Trönders. For those days it was a well-organized community. Some of the folk who lived there thought of themselves as old settlers already; the first had come in ’66. Most of them had a good start now, were living in fair-sized frame houses, possessed a good deal of land under cultivation, and were making a comfortable living.

And what adventures they were able to relate about the first few years! How they had had to cross the region that is now the southern part of South Dakota and go still farther westward into Nebraska, to have their wheat ground at the mill; how the Indians had come by in large bands, both winter and summer; and all about many other remarkable things.... _Now_ there weren’t any hardships or difficulties to be met with, said the Trönders; now there were people everywhere, the country was fairly settled, and town after town had sprung up out of the prairie.

Per Hansa liked to listen to these stories. There was about them a certain flavor of genuineness and reliability, as of human experience, and at the same time something that stirred his heart and made his cheeks burn.... Surely the things that a Trönder could do were not impossible for a Helgelænding! In olden times it had never been so, and it would not prove to be so to-day, either.... “Just wait awhile!” ...

The next day was clear and still, but bitterly cold. Per Hansa, who on his first trip the previous summer had bought an acre of woodland from Baarstad on time payment, remained on his own lot, felling trees and loading his sleigh; the others went around to different places, buying what wood they could find.... The four men stayed in the settlement two whole days, and did not leave for home until the morning of the third day. By hurrying, they might have set out a day earlier, but to hurry seemed almost impossible.

No, it was hard for them to hurry. In many months they had seen few strange faces; this visit was too much fun to cut short. And the Trönders, who were a hospitable folk and had a long story to tell, would not hear of their leaving sooner.... The four were easily tempted. These were festal days; the strain of life had relaxed for a moment; and there were a thousand things to consult the Trönders about. Before they left they had ordered all the wheat and oats they would need for the spring seeding. Tönseten had even bought half a sack of barley, a fact which he carefully concealed from his comrades.... It would be soon enough to tell them when the time came, he thought. The Trönders knew how to make good beer from barley, and he had received careful instruction from Tommaas.... Just wait till fall came around!

Per Hansa, when he had finished making up his load of wood, wanted to try his luck on the river. He coaxed Baarstad until the latter consented to go with him. The two men went at it with a will, chopping their way through the thick ice, while the sweat rolled from their foreheads.

And then Trönder and Helgelænding fished together through the same hole, in the greatest comradeship and with the keenest enjoyment.[17] ... At night there was fresh fish on the table, and the two old fishermen sat eating and rejoicing while they told tales of both East and West Lofoten and forgot everything around them as they went back into the past. Per Hansa thought that Baarstad was the finest fellow he had met for many a long day, and Baarstad felt the same way about Per Hansa. For the twentieth time now he had asked him not to wait too long before he visited them again.

[17] During the winter seasons at Lofoten, the two clans, the Trönders and the Helgelændings, had from time immemorial fought many a bitter fight.

As they sat there chatting, a boy came in to speak with the girl of the family. He seemed to be in hot haste, that boy—almost as if it were a matter of life and death.

—What was going on? asked Baarstad.

—Oh, Tommaas had company at his house, and they were going to have a little fun to-night. The girl bustled about, got herself ready, and went away with him.

Then it occurred to Baarstad that they might as well go, too. He told his wife to hurry up and get ready.... “We’ll show these Helgelændings how Trönders can dance!”

Awhile later the three arrived at the Tommaas house. As they opened the door, sounds of a scraping fiddle, mingled with the loud tramping of feet, poured out into the frosty night. The house was packed full of people, both young and old.... A small lamp with a homemade shade, sitting on a log well up on the wall, tried to keep an eye on all the couples below; but the task was too heavy for such a weak glim. It had to be content with blinking down on the nearest pair.... The three newcomers found themselves quickly shoved into a corner, out of the wake of the dancers.

Per Hansa grew restless as he watched, though his restlessness was far different from that which had kept him awake the other night.... Remarkable how that fiddle sang! He had to admit that the man who played knew his business, even if he was a Trönder!...

“Well, I’ll be——!” The exclamation had jumped out of Per Hansa before he could stop it. Here came the Solum boy, swinging past him with the Baarstad girl!... “Oh yes, he’ll be a man, that Sam, if he keeps this up!” ... Another couple came rocking past—he ought to know that fellow, if he would only stop whirling around. By God! it was Tönseten, tossing along with an apple-round Trönder woman!...

“Careful now, Syvert, old man! There are rocks and breakers ahead of you! What do you think Kjersti would——”

“Shut your mouth, Per Hansa! What are you standing there moping about?” Tönseten’s face was fiery red; the dance whirled him away before he had time to say anything more.

Per Hansa began to breathe hard and fast; his eyes snapped with excitement, narrowing to little slits. Right in the midst of a flock of dancers a big head bobbed up and down, up and down, above all the others, like a buoy on a high sea.... Then Per Hansa completely forgot himself. “By all the frolicking seraphims, there’s Hans Olsa dancing the schottische!” ... Waves of spasmodic twitching passed over him, in time to the jigging tune; his eyes blinked rapidly.... He looked around for the Baarstads, saw them close at hand, and grasped Gurina’s arm.

“Come, show me how the Trönders dance that tune!”

Forgotten was everything else now. With his arm around Gurina, he manœuvred toward the centre of the floor until he had reached his neighbour’s side.... “Get out of the way, Hans Olsa! I want plenty of room to swing in!” ...

At exactly eleven o’clock the party was over; Tommaas himself commanded them to stop.... No one knew how it came about, but, strangely enough, it was Sam who brought the Baarstad girl home....

The next morning, long before daylight, the four men had left the settlement and were on their way back to Spring Creek.

IX

Sunday afternoon ... a dim, lurid day ... a pale sun flickering through the drifting snow ... an everlasting wind ... the whole prairie a foaming, storm-beaten sea.... Nothing else, to the very ends of the world.... The sun dogs were still on guard, one ahead of the sun, the other following....

The whole settlement was gathered in Tönseten’s hut that afternoon; a gloomy restlessness had taken hold of them, so that they could not stay at home. Per Hansa had bundled the newcomer up and taken him over; that completed the roll call.... Kjersti was serving potato coffee, with potato cakes; but for the coffee to-day she had fresh cow’s milk, which made it not so bad, and her store of loaf sugar wasn’t entirely gone.... Inside the hut the lurid daylight cast a pale, sickly gleam. From out the stove, with its crackling fire, bright streamers of warmer light played about the room.

A heavy mood lay on the folk—too heavy for potato coffee to dispel.... It was such a terrible, hopeless day out-of-doors ... and all the days were alike....

Under the strain of this winter the courage of the men was slowly ebbing away.... As they sat cooped up in Tönseten’s house, they were discussing the question of how this place would look in two years, or maybe in four years—or even after six years had passed. See how many had come last year—this roomful, where the year before there wasn’t a living soul! Wouldn’t it be reasonable to expect that an equal number of new settlers would turn up another year? They began to figure it out on this basis: next year _so_ many, in four years _such_ a number; until at last the country would be filled up and the folk would stretch, neighbour to neighbour, clear out to the Rocky Mountains! They foresaw the whole process and calculated correctly—but no one in that company believed in the calculation! They heard themselves speak, and listened to one another, but all realized that there was no fire in their words....

“I don’t believe Per Hansa is ready himself to swallow that story,” thought Hans Olsa, but he raised no objection.... “God save them from making mistakes in their figuring!” ran through Kjersti’s mind, as she listened in awe to Per Hansa and Syvert rolling up the total; but she was careful to throw no cold water on the dream.

... On a day like this it was impossible to believe in such fine fancies; they all felt it, deep down in their hearts.

But here came Tönseten with a question that made them forget everything else for a while. The conversation had died of its own inertia; no one could find a thought that seemed worth expressing. Then Tönseten straightened up where he sat on the chest, demanding to know what names Hans Olsa and Per Hansa intended to adopt when they took out the title deeds to their land.

“Names?”

“Yes, names!... That point would have to be settled clearly beforehand,” Tönseten explained. “When the deeds were taken out, their names would then be written into the law of the land, and thereafter would be as unchangeable as the Constitution itself!”

... But they all had been baptized! How about Tönseten himself? asked Per Hansa, irritably. He couldn’t understand why the name Peder Hansen would not be good enough even for the United States Constitution.... This snobbish fastidiousness of Syvert’s didn’t fit the case.

Tönseten bridled at once and said that sarcasm was uncalled for. He was only, in the capacity of an old American citizen, giving good advice on matters which he understood perfectly.... “That’s all!” ... And when Tönseten threw the phrase, “That’s all!” into his conversation, they knew that he was offended.... Besides, he went on stiffly, it seemed as if anyone ought to be able to understand this much: Hans Olsen and Peder Hansen—why, either a Greek or a Hebrew might bear those names! It would never occur to anyone who heard them that they were carried by Norwegian people![18] ...

[18] The practice of changing surnames has gone on extensively with the Norwegian-American. Among the common folk in Norway it is quite customary even yet for the son to take his surname from his father’s first name; the son of Hans must be Hansen or Hanson. Likewise the girl; if she is the daughter of Hans, her surname becomes _Hansdatter_ (Hans’ daughter), which she retains even after marriage. When the Norwegians became independent landowners in America their slumbering sense of the historical fitness of things awoke, and so many of them adopted the name of the place they had come from in the old country. Hence the many American names now ending in —dahl, —fjeld, —gaard, —stad, etc. As the Swedes, and the Danes, too, had so many Hansens and Olsens and Johnsons, the change was really a very practical one.

Hans Olsa laughed good-naturedly, and said with quiet humour: “Then perhaps I had better call myself Olav Trygvason.... Wasn’t there some one of that name?”

This made everyone laugh: Hans Olsa’s shaft had suddenly torn a rift in their mood of depression.

“Well, well,” chuckled Per Hansa, “if you want to be Olav Trygvason, I’ll be Peter Tordenskjold! But then we’ll have to rechristen Syvert, too ... St. Olaf or Tore Hund.[19] How would that do, Hans Olsa?... If that wouldn’t proclaim to both Jew and Gentile that we are good Norwegians, then I’m certainly up a stump!” ...

[19] Olav Trygvason, King of Norway (995–1000); St. Olaf, Norway’s martyr king (1016–1030); Peter Tordenskjold, the great naval hero (1690–1720); Tore Hund, St. Olaf’s slayer. These names are household words with every emigrant Norwegian.

They were all laughing so hard now that Tönseten had to join them in spite of himself.... Then Kjersti and Sörine took up the question; the Solum boys chimed in and expressed their opinions; while the children were busy discussing it among themselves. But Beret sat quietly rocking the baby on her lap, and said nothing.

An earnest liveliness crept into the conversation. Opinions flew thick and fast. At last Sörine spoke up resolutely, as if she had made up her mind, saying that if she had her choice she would rather be called Mrs. Vaag, from their place name in Norway, than Mrs. Olsen.

This sounded so sensible and practical that all the others had to try the idea at once, with their own place names.

“But, look here, Sörrina,” objected Per Hansa, “that wouldn’t do for my wife! Your notion would make her Mrs. Skarvholmen[20]—and that nobody shall call her! I warn you!”

[20] _Skarv_ in this compound means cormorant—a rather nasty-looking sea bird; the word is often used in an adjectival sense about a deadbeat or person of low moral qualities. _Holmen_ means the holm. Hence _Skarvholmen_—the holm of the cormorant.

“No, that certainly wouldn’t do for a Christian woman!” cried Kjersti with a hearty laugh.

“No, I suppose not,” admitted Sörine, unwilling to give up. “But how about Mrs. Holm? That seems to me both pretty and practical.... I say, Beret, shall we all turn Baptists for a while?” ... Sörine was laughing in her jolly way, immensely taken up with the idea.

Beret sat rocking the child. She had listened absently all the while, humming a quiet melody to herself. When Sörine addressed her directly she stopped singing and answered that it made little difference to her, if—she choked, and went on—if it was right for a person to take a name other than the one given in baptism.... But it made no difference to her.

Sörine grew serious over this point.

“I agree with you, Beret.... But here in this country we can’t bear our fathers’ names, anyway. It wouldn’t do for me to sign my name as Sörine Sakkarias’-Daughter!”

“No,” cried Tönseten, excitedly, “not if you want to be Hans Olsa’s wife!” ... Remarkable what a bright head sat on Sörrina’s shoulders!

This matter of names brought on a long discussion. Hans Olsa, like the others, decided that his wife had made a practical suggestion; Per Hansa found little to say, but his face had a look of quiet elation.... He must speak to Beret about this, alone and right away!... He sat there trying the name over in his mind, first on her, then on himself, finally on each of the children. As he ran them over, the radiant light in his face grew stronger.... Mrs. Holm, that sounded well; Peder Holm, that had a fine ring!... Ole Haldor Holm!... Hans Kristian Holm!... Peder Holm—no, Peder _Victorious_ Holm!... _Peder Victorious Holm_!... He rolled the name on his tongue, biting it off in three distinct parts, as if to enjoy the sound; then he got up suddenly, grasped the waistband of his trousers, and gave them a hitch.

... “Sörrina has got it right—that name is both pretty and practical. What do you say, boys—shall we adopt the plan?”

Per Hansa was plainly in a towering humour now; the note of it rang in his voice. There was no opposing him.... After that day, each of the two families in question had a pair of surnames. Among themselves they always used the old names, but among strangers they were Vaag and Holm—though Hans Olsa invariably wrote it with a “W” instead of a “V.”

* * * * *

That night Beret sat quietly by herself. The chores were long since done and they had eaten their supper. The children were in bed. They had been very noisy to-night, in their excitement over the new name that Sörine had invented for them. But now they were all asleep. Per Hansa was getting ready to go to bed; he moved about abstractedly and took a long time over everything he did. He, too, was full of excitement, thinking about the name....

Peder Victorious Holm—the words sang through his mind; he seemed to expand as he heard them. The song carried him forward into the great, imaginative future where he loved to dwell.... “Beret, please come to bed!” he begged, in a low, kindly voice. He caressed his wife affectionately, then went to the bed and lay down.

She returned the caress half-heartedly, as if reserving the better part of it. “Oh yes, I’ll come pretty soon,” she said, and remained sitting where she was.

She sat there a long time, holding the child in her lap and rocking it gently. Now and then she would open the stove door and stick in a piece of wood. Each time she left the door open a crack, so that she could stare in at the fire. Why did she have to go to bed? The night was long enough, anyway.... Well, now they had discarded the names of their fathers, soon they would be discarding other sacred things. The awful spirit that ruled the plains demanded all!... She had said nothing to-day. Why should she interfere, to spoil their pleasure?... Everything that she said, everything that she did, seemed to be wrong.... But, oh, it was a wicked thing that they were doing now! Not that it was any worse than giving the child that terrible second name to start with; for that had been almost sacrilege!... But perhaps she was mistaken, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps she was going crazy. The old fear had come back to her to-day—that was why she had kept still.... Ah, well, God Almighty had spared her again; He must have some reason for it.... Now she could repent of her sins before He took her ... He had been merciful enough to give her time for that.... But sitting here in this mood, she found it impossible to repent. She was only afraid—afraid ... a timid child in a dark room.

The fire had burned out, but she hadn’t noticed it until a draught of frosty air began to circulate through the room. All at once she shivered.... The memory of that stormy night some time ago came back to her vividly. The children had been over at Sörine’s; they had not come home and she had been unable to go and fetch them. All that night she had walked the floor—walked and walked, until she could walk no longer.... And the following two nights had been no better.... Again she was overwhelmed by the terror that had visited her at that time.... She got up hastily and ran to the bed....

But there was no sleep waiting for her....

No, Beret could not sleep. She lay tense and quiet, thinking of people she had read about, who had been driven out into the desert that they might better please God. After a while she wept silently. If He would only remove the terror that hung like a dark cloud over all this land, she would try faithfully to serve Him even here. But under the shadow of that terror she could not live much longer....

X

The days were growing longer with every one that passed, March came, and the winter seemed to be letting up a little. Per Hansa worked with a desperate energy. If the day was too short for what he was doing, he simply added a part of the night to it. And in the month of March he achieved something that is still told about in the legends of that settlement.

Every time he had visited the Trönders at Sioux River, he had heard fascinating tales about the Indians at Flandreau, where they had a large colony. Their whole winter occupation was trapping, from fall frost to spring thaw, and when spring came they would have large stocks of furs, especially muskrat, though they also trapped mink, fox, and an occasional wolf. They sold the skins wherever they could find a market, and took whatever they could get; but their best prices were no more than a fourth of what the same skins would bring in eastern Minnesota. The price of a muskrat skin was ten cents in this district—never more than ten cents; while in Austin, Minnesota, it would sell for as high as fifty cents.... A few people along the river had taken to buying furs from the Indians, and shipping them into Minnesota.

All these facts Per Hansa had heard more than once, and he brooded over them a good deal. Throughout the winter they had been constantly on his mind, but he had said nothing about it to anyone. Now March had come, there must be a great supply of furs stored up at Flandreau, and prices would be running high in Minnesota.... The railroad ran east from Worthington.... Every day he went about thinking of it; at night he slept with the idea; and all the while he grew more silent and irritable.

There were many things to consider—it wasn’t an easy matter!... The plan that was slowly forming in his mind was to go alone and trade with the Indians, making what profit he could. God knows, he needed it!... And what was to hinder? Flandreau lay only forty miles away; from there to Worthington was perhaps another ninety miles; and there at Worthington stood the train, waiting for him!... The days were growing longer; there was nothing to do at home for a while; and the weather wouldn’t be too bad for a journey.... Here were the furs; in Minnesota lay the profits. Any courageous devil could pull it off.... Peder Victorious—the name sang in his ears. Peder _Victorious_!

... But he had only five dollars in his pocket!... By taking Hans Olsa into the project there would be plenty of capital; that fellow wasn’t down to hardpan yet.... Still, he couldn’t be certain that Hans Olsa would look with favour on such a wild-goose chase. On the other hand, how could he take Hans Olsa and leave out Tönseten?... It would be a mean trick to shove him out in the cold.... And if the three of them were to join forces, one of the Solum boys would have to be in it, too—Henry, most likely, for he was much more mature than his brother.... But that would close the school.... And if everyone went, there would be a terrific protest; the women were all more or less timid and naturally didn’t want to be left alone....

No, he couldn’t seem to hit on the right solution.... But it was a thundering pity for that money to lie right at his door—and he in need of another quarter-section of land, with numberless things besides!...

The first week of March went by.

One morning Per Hansa got up a little earlier than usual and looked out at the weather.... Turning to Beret, he said that this couldn’t go on any longer, and stood waiting for her to ask what it was that couldn’t go on any longer.... But as she made no reply, he had to take up his own story. Seeding time would soon be here—and he hadn’t a penny in the world.... They needed many other things, a great many, both food and clothes.... It was time for him to think of some way of earning a few extra dollars.... He couldn’t see any other way out of it.

As Beret listened, her heart tightened with apprehension; but still she made no answer.

Then he told her about the Indian colony at Flandreau and how a fellow could easily earn a few dollars there.... In the springtime those Indians did a rousing business, so the Trönders had said!... Didn’t she think it would be a good plan for him to go up to Flandreau and look around?... It wasn’t far away.... While he was asking these questions he did not look at her. Still receiving no answer, he went on hurriedly: Didn’t she suppose she could manage with just the boys at home for a little while? The days were getting fairly long now and things were looking better all around.... His voice trailed off into silence.

Beret stared vacantly out of the window. She thought: It was true that they needed much; they needed everything that people ought to have. Most of all they needed clothes for him and the boys. She had nothing more left to patch with....

... “I suppose we’ll have to try to keep alive as long as we can....”

That made him very happy.... Wisely said! He thought so, too. And now, never fear, they were going to find a solution!...

She caught the note of suppressed excitement in his voice.... No wonder he was eager to get away! If he would only think of the fact that others felt the same desire!

... “When are you going?”

... “Well now, Beret, I hadn’t made up my mind. But if you think it’s all right, I’d better set out to-day! I’m going to take the pony that the Indian gave me. The weather looks steady enough.... You’ll have to take good care of that newcomer of ours!” ...

This last remark might better have been left unsaid, thought Beret bitterly; but still she made no answer.

Half an hour later Per Hansa took his departure.

Late at night he reached Flandreau, found his way into a hut, and so saved his life for that night.... As soon as he had fed the pony the next morning he took it along with him and poked around the village to interview the Indians. He searched every face; but the one he was looking for and hoping to find was not among them. The savages watched him curiously, returning his stares. They recognized the pony, and seemed to know who Per Hansa was, too. He noticed this quickly and felt relieved. “This scheme is going to work out all right,” he thought.... Then he followed the plan that he had formed long ago when he had first begun to think about it. Trusting wholly to his instincts, he selected out of the crowd the face that he liked best, beckoned the Indian forward, and uttered the one word, “Fur.” As he did this, he gazed inquiringly into the man’s face, but kindly, too, as if to inspire confidence in him.

The Indian understood at once. Of course he had plenty of furs! He took Per Hansa into his wigwam and showed him several bundles of fine muskrat skins....

Per Hansa laughed at his success. With the stick he carried in his hand he wrote the figures “10” in the snow, and after them the word “cents.” Then he drew an object which was meant to be a man with a bundle on his back. He pointed first to the drawing, then to the figures, and at last made a vigorous gesture toward the Indian; this amused him very much, and he couldn’t help smiling as he went through the motions. But all the honesty of his heart managed to come out in that smile, and the Indian saw it.... A long period of bargaining followed, with many gestures, and much drawing and writing to be done in the snow. The upshot of it was that he bought as many furs as he judged he would be able to carry away. He arranged them in four bundles and hung them pack-fashion over the pony’s back.... Per Hansa was still laughing when he left Flandreau.

♦ “vigourous” replaced with “vigorous”

“Well now, forward, in God’s name!” he said to himself, steering his course toward the southeast, in the general direction of a hut where lived a couple of Hallings who used cows for breaking prairie.

He was gone for a whole week on this expedition. When at last he reached home he refused to tell how far he had travelled into Minnesota, or what experiences he had met with on the way. He was worn out and disturbed; such tales had better be left untold where folks were so easily frightened.... But he had brought home many of the things they needed—and even so, there were forty dollars left in his pocket! These he gayly counted out on the table for Beret, thinking to amuse her.

He remained at home two days. On the third day he left again.... “Understand, Beret, I’ve got to go and pay the Indian for his furs!... Now, don’t expect me until you see me heave in sight!”

All together, Per Hansa made three such journeys; the last two took him only six days each; if there hadn’t been other pressing things to attend to, he probably would have made a fourth journey. When it was all over he was able to lay one hundred and forty dollars on the table for Beret; besides this, he had brought things for the house on each trip—things that he knew she went about wishing for.

He had returned from the last journey with two frozen toes. These were giving him a good deal of trouble when he and the other men were forced to make the trip to the Trönders’ for the seed.... It was necessary to get it home while the sleighing lasted; he was not even properly rested when they had to set off.

On that trip he went in company with Hans Olsa. He had a feeling that since they were going so far anyway, he ought to accomplish something besides their immediate errand. Casting his eyes around at Sioux River, he bought a one-year-old heifer from Gurina Baarstad.... The heifer was spotted red and white, and was therefore given the name of “Spotty” as soon as he reached home with her.

In all this going and coming Beret had said very little, either when he set out or when he returned. He couldn’t help feeling the strangeness of it; she had recovered from her illness long ago, and seemed quite well, as far as he could understand.... She might at least have told him that now he was getting on like a man!... She would have acted differently if she had known, for instance, how he had ridden one time until he had nearly fallen from his horse with fatigue! And once or twice he had escaped death by a pretty narrow squeak—he had thought that his time had come. But then—better not tell her such things!... If she would only say something brave and tender to him!... “Ah, well, she would probably be in better spirits when spring and fine weather set in!” ...

II The Power of Evil in High Places

I

Per Hansa and the boys sat around the table, sifting the seed; the wheat lay spread in small heaps on the white cloth. This was important work and must be done with the greatest care; every little weed seed and other foreign substance had to be gleaned out. The seed must be _clean_, so the Trönders had cautioned Per Hansa; and now he was attending to it soberly, with infinite pains. If he found a shrunken or damaged kernel, he straightway threw it out—thank you, not that! The best only for new soil!... Full kernels will make the bin bulge.... “Be careful, boys! Be careful, there! Don’t shirk your job!”

It was wonderful to be sitting here playing with these plump, precious kernels; never before had Per Hansa been so absorbed in a task of this kind, yet it made him thoughtful, too.... Here, then, was the start! These few sacks of grain would not only supply him and his family with all the wheat flour they needed for a whole year, but would raise many bright dollars as well, a great store of riches.... And more than that, seed for the next year, seed again for the year after, and thus down through all the years to come.... And always greater and greater abundance of food for the poor, the world over.... Here he sat playing with the good fairies that had the power to create a new life over this Endless Wilderness, and transform it into a habitable land for human beings. Wasn’t it wonderful?

He began to think of the possibility of selling seed next year. No doubt there would be many new settlers by then, who would stand in need of such things. If he could only afford it, he would store the whole crop—seed wheat brought high prices.... Well, he would see; a good many things might happen as time went on!...

And here he held in his hand the very promise of all these wonders which were destined to take place! He recalled how the fairy tale started: “Once upon a time....” Not much of a beginning, yet the most startling events would unfold as the story went on—strange, incredible things.... Yes, he would have to take every precaution with the seed. His face grew sober at the thought; he spoke in a low tone to the boys, repeating the admonition for the hundredth time: “Boys, look out, now! Didn’t I just tell you to be careful!” ... His wonder grew as he gazed at the kernels; there they lay, so inanimate, yet so plump and heavy, glowing with smouldering flame. It was as if each kernel had light within it—life now asleep. He thrust his hand into the sack and took out a handful of grain; it weighed like lead. As his grasp tightened, the kernels seemed to soften under the warmth of his hand; they squirmed and twisted, slipping against one another; they seemed to be charged with a delicate life that was seeking release. But when he opened his hand and stirred a finger among the grain, the kernels lay there as lifelessly as before—inert, yellowish pale, yet burning faintly with inner, golden light.... Reverently he lifted handful after handful from the table, and emptied it into the sack.

As the mild spring weather set in, a feverish restlessness seized him; the work on the seed was done and he could not stay indoors.... The chickens were laying finely now; he was finding as many as five eggs a day. They’d better begin setting the hens pretty soon; when fall came, they would have at least fifty fowl on the place!... Next minute he was over on the prairie, talking to and caressing the oxen, and feeling of their necks where the yoke would lie.... Now if the ground would only dry up! Per Hansa looked at it the first thing in the morning, and felt of it every night before he went to bed. To-day it had made fine progress. Good God—if the sun would only shine as warm to-morrow.... He dashed off to the neighbours, to see how the ground was coming on there. No, it was wetter than at his place, where the land lay higher.... I’ll bet my land is going to be the first to dry up! he told himself.

Beret hadn’t seen him in such good spirits since last spring. He walked so lightly; everything that had life he touched with a gentle hand, but talk to it he must; his voice sounded low, yet it thrilled with a vibrant energy; his eyes were drawn so narrow that they could hardly be seen. She felt a force that made her tremble, emanating from him; she tried to keep out of his way as much as she could.

And now the sun bore down on the prairie the whole livelong day. Bright and quivering in the forenoon, he swam through endless seas of blue; across the hazy afternoon he beamed caressingly; toward evening he opened wide his countenance; then the flood of light grew refulgent, only to die in splendour against a mysterious night which also had life.

As the fine weather continued, Per Hansa became more restless, but it only seemed to fill him with greater joy. Suddenly he would be up by the field. Wasn’t it dry enough yet?... He ought to have had the seeding all done by now; it was high time to begin breaking new ground.

On the 14th of April, the _Sommermaalsdag_ of his old fatherland, Per Hansa began seeding the wheat. Three times that forenoon he had been out to test the ground; the last time he made his great decision: _Now we will start_!

No sooner had he finished the noon meal than he rushed out, grabbed the seed bag that he had made for this occasion, and carried two sacks of seed up to that portion of the field where the ground was driest. He had paced off the whole field into one-acre lots, and marked each plot. One and one-half bushels of seed to the acre was the regular measure; but Simon Baarstad had told him that on really first-class breaking, provided the soil was unusually excellent, one and one-quarter bushels might do; and Per Hansa had decided to try the latter amount.

He filled the seed bag, hung it over his shoulder, and was ready. His whole body shook. He paused for an instant and glanced about the settlement.... Yes, sir, he was the first, the very first one! There was Hans Olsa hauling manure to his garden patch.... That’s smart of you, Hans Olsa!... Down to the southward he caught sight of Tönseten pottering around his yard.... So much for you!... Then he turned to look in a northerly direction.... By God, if the Solum boys hadn’t already started breaking!... Muttering, “Well, well, well,” he strode over to the edge of the field and stuck his hand into the bag.

But just at that moment both boys appeared on the dead run; they had discovered what their father was up to, and wanted to watch the show.

“Go home!” shouted Per Hansa. “Go home! Do you hear me?”

“Why can’t we stand here and watch?” the boys remonstrated, their faces gloomy with disappointment.

“Go home this instant!... I don’t want you tramping around here, carrying off this precious seed on your shoes!” ... He suddenly realized that it was very wrong of him to be so harsh with the boys in an hour like this. When he spoke again, his voice had grown kinder: “Sowing wheat is such a particular job—each kernel has to lie exactly the way it falls. Be good now, boys, and go straight home—and the first to wake up to-morrow morning shall start the dragging! I’ll see to it that one of you covers as much ground as the other—but the first to wake shall start!” ... With this promise the boys had to be content; they went off homeward in a rebellious mood.

Again Per Hansa thrust his hand into the bag and his fingers closed on the grain. He felt profoundly that the greatest moment of his life had come. Now he was about to sow wheat on his own ground! His hand tightened in the bag; he was on the point of lifting it out, when something queer happened—the kernels were running out between his fingers! He gave another grab, closing his hand still tighter; again the yellow kernels slipped through his fingers like squirming eels. Then Per Hansa threw back his head and laughed. These fellows aren’t very anxious to go into the ground after riches for me!... He ran his hand around in the bag, stroking the grain caressingly, taking great handfuls and giving them a gentle squeeze.

... And now the wheat rained down in yellow semicircles from Per Hansa’s hand; as the seed fell, the warm rays of the sun struck full across it, and seemed to wrap it in golden light.... Per Hansa restrained himself, working slowly and carefully—the seeding must be even and not too thick. But almost at once he grew very heated; his body was dripping with sweat. He couldn’t explain this for a while; it wasn’t hard work at all. Oh, well, he thought at last—that’s always the way when you tackle a job you don’t understand!

Late in the afternoon Tönseten came running up the hill, so hard that his heels seemed to be flying over his head.

“What in hell are you starting here. Per Hansa?” he demanded, breathlessly.

“Can’t you see?” laughed Per Hansa; but he hardly dared to look at his neighbour, for fear he would lose his marks.

Tönseten stared at him in amazement. “You’re plumb crazy, man, and I don’t mind telling you so!... The ground isn’t half dry enough yet for that—the soil is too cold! Why, damn it all, there’s a foot of frost in the ground!... Much good it will do you to throw away all that seed!” ... Into this last, Tönseten threw all the scorn of the man who really knows; in fact, he felt too seriously disturbed to utter another syllable; so, having done his duty and delivered his ominous message, he turned on his heel and stalked majestically away.

As long as the daylight lasted, Per Hansa kept on seeding.... After supper he sat at the table without moving; he didn’t want to get up; a pleasant feeling of languorous exhaustion had settled on him, the reaction from his excitement. And-Ongen crawled up into his lap and begged for a story, but got no response; the boys came storming in, demanding that he call them both at the same time to-morrow morning.... No, he said in a dreamy, abstracted voice, that wouldn’t do; there wasn’t any hurry; better let the sun have time to warm up the ground a bit before they covered the grain. But the bargain still held; the one who turned out first, yoked the oxen and hitched them to the drag, he was to start the dragging! “And now,” he added, rising from the table, “I’ll tell you this, boys—if we are any good at all, we’ll have the whole field seeded and dragged by the time the porridge is on the table to-morrow night!”

The next day Per Hansa worked like one possessed. Now that he had at last caught the trick with the seeding, he made fine progress. When evening fell that day he had finished his task, while the boys had done almost as well, with only the oats left to drag.... Per Hansa walked home that night in great satisfaction. Now he had turned a fine trick—he was through seeding and dragging before his neighbours had even thought of beginning the regular spring work!...

II

When Per Hansa left the house next morning to finish the dragging, the air was raw and heavy; a penetrating wind blew over the prairie, as if searching for signs of life to wither and blight; not a trace remained of the mildness and pleasantness of the previous days.

Before he had finished covering the oats, the rain began to fall; along with the rain came huge flakes of snow, floating silently down and turning to slush as they struck the ground. After a while the rain ceased, but the snow only came faster; the flakes were firmer now, and fell in a businesslike manner. Before long a veritable blizzard was raging over the whole prairie—there had hardly been anything worse that winter.

Throughout that day and the following night the storm continued with unabated fury. Early on the next morning the weather cleared; but now the cold was so intense that it nipped the skin as soon as one stuck one’s head out-of-doors. Spring seemed a thousand miles off.

That night Per Hansa did not sleep a wink. How could he sleep, with this tragedy going on? He was nothing but an old sailor; he didn’t know the least thing about farming. God Almighty! hadn’t he good reason to lie awake?... Here he had gone to work and wasted all his precious seed—had simply thrown it away, because he was foolish and hasty! And there wasn’t even a chance to extricate himself from the mess he had made! Out in the field, under the snow, lay all that priceless wheat, smothered to death and frozen as hard as flint.... He could stand the loss of the oats, perhaps—but, God! the _wheat_! Twenty-five bushels he had sacrificed, all the work gone to no purpose, and no possible way of getting a fresh supply of seed.... As he opened the door that morning, saw two feet of snow covering the ground, and felt the bitter cold stinging his face, he had an irresistible impulse to fling himself down in the snowdrift and cry like a baby!...

He turned around, came into the hut again, and lay down on the bed.... No, he didn’t want any breakfast! He shouted out the words. All the forenoon he lay silent and motionless. When noon came and he refused to eat any dinner, Beret went to the bed and asked him what was the matter. Did he feel sick? But he only turned his face to the wall, muttering hoarsely that those who felt like eating had better do so. Leave him alone; he’d be all right again—some time.... Beret began to feel concerned about him; after a while she brought him a bowl of soup, but he only sat up in bed and commenced to find fault with her like an unreasonable child.... For God’s sake, couldn’t she leave him alone? He had told her he didn’t want anything to eat, and wasn’t that enough?... Well, then ... Oh, hell!...

In the afternoon the sun shone strong and brilliant, but the cold was too intense for it to make any impression on the snow.... Per Hansa was still lying in bed; the bright sunshine outside, reflecting on the white walls of the room, seemed to sear his eyeballs; he felt that the only thing that would give him relief would be to get up, strike out wildly, and curse everything around him—for he was fighting an unseen enemy.... He had come to his great decision; he had done the seeding; he had felt clearly that it was the most momentous day of his life; but no sooner had the last kernel fallen to the ground than the very powers of heaven had stepped down to defeat him!... Powers of heaven...?

A certain image came before his eyes, and would not go away. One Sunday not very long ago, Store-Hans had sat by the table reading to his mother; Per Hansa remembered it vividly, because the words had sounded so awful to him. At last he had gotten up to look over the boy’s shoulder; Store-Hans was reading in a loud voice, throwing great emphasis into the words:

_“And the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou? Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it....”_

The words would not go away. Per Hansa fell to repeating them.... And that night as he lay wide awake, tossing restlessly on the bed, he thought that he saw a beam just inside the door of the stable ... and there was a rope.... Well, if _that fellow_ was after him, he might as well give up!... Sweat broke out on his body ... the beam and the rope beckoned him ... they seemed to call to him!...

The snow went faster than anyone would have believed; it began to settle on the day after the weather had cleared, grew soft toward evening, and the next day’s sun took all of it away. It seemed to leave very little water; within a short while the ground was drier than before.... And now came days when the warm, bright sunshine filled everything between heaven and earth. As the sun sank, he left part of his heat behind him; the nights grew soft and balmy, and stirred with mysterious life.... At length evenings so sweet and beautiful began to visit the prairie, that, as the saying is, dead men might willingly step out of their graves and walk about. But all this could not alter the fact that Per Hansa’s precious seed grain lay over there in the field, ruined by frost and snow—those marvellous, pregnant kernels, so delicate and sensitive.... Damn the luck!...

One day as Per Hansa was pottering about out-of-doors, hardly knowing which way to turn, he caught sight of Tönseten, who had commenced his seeding. Like a condemned man about to be executed Per Hansa walked over.... Tönseten is an aboriginal American, he thought, bitterly. I might as well let him polish off the damned fool of a newcomer!

But to-day Tönseten was too busy even to talk. Per Hansa didn’t feel inclined to open up the subject of his own troubles; he began on a different tack, to head the other off:

“I must say you certainly sow it even!”

Tönseten spat a prodigious distance.... “You think so?” ... But he didn’t stop for a moment; his arms continued to cut wide semicircles in the air; golden grain flew out of his hand and rained down to the ground through the warm sunlight, there to begin the mystic dream of life.

This is beautiful! thought Per Hansa.... I couldn’t sow it as even as that.

“I was a fool for not waiting to get you to do the seeding for me,” he observed.

Tönseten spat another great mouthful before he answered:

“Well, some people are bound to cut off their nose to spite their face.... But then—this is a free country, you know!” ... He walked on with measured steps, his arm sweeping in long, graceful curves; the kernels flew far and wide, catching the sunlight a moment as they fell.

Per Hansa turned abruptly, and began to walk toward home. When Tönseten noticed this, he stopped his work and called out:

“Did you want anything, Per Hansa?”

“Hell—no!”

“All right. To-day, you see, I’m a busy man!”

Per Hansa started to answer, choked, and continued to walk away. His head was in a whirl as he went on toward his own field, which seemed to be making faces at him as he drew nearer; it was indeed a forbidding countenance that he saw there, lifeless and black and bare. Reaching the field, he fell on his knees, dug into the soil, and picked up the first kernel he came across; he laid it in the palm of his left hand and turned it over and over with the forefinger of his right; the seed was black with clammy dirt, which clung tightly to it. Slowly and carefully he picked off the particles of soil—and there it lay, a pale little thing, greyish-white and dirty, the golden sheen through which he had read the fairy tale, entirely gone, the magic departed, the seed cold and dead.

Per Hansa dropped it without a word, and dug in the ground until he had found another kernel. The one he now picked up had the same lifeless color, but it was swollen and seemed about to burst open.... “This is the frost!”—he mumbled, hoarsely.—“It’s all begun to rot!” ... He rose to his feet and stood there as if chained to the spot, the very personification of gloom, gazing out over the face of his dead dream.... _“Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.”_ ... There can’t be much doubt that he’s found this place, all right—the devil salt and pickle his guts!...

III

Over on the piece of field which Per Hansa had broken, during the last few days the boys were now busy at work with the dragging. He had set them to the task early that morning, but had not yet made up his mind what to put into the field. Now he walked over to them.

One of the boys was driving; the other sat on the harrow, making grooves with his heels in the loose dirt; on each round of the field they exchanged places. They had quarrelled considerably over who could drive the straightest; now they were trying to decide this momentous question by judging the straightness of the grooves made on each round.

The boys stopped as they saw their father approaching. “Isn’t this piece four acres?” Ole demanded, boisterously. “It should be,” their father answered in a tired voice.

“All right,” beamed Ole. “If we plant potatoes in the whole piece and get a hundred and fifty bushels to the acre, we’ll have six hundred bushels in all!”

“Then we’ll sell ’em!” Store-Hans broke in, his eye snapping.

“Shut up, you! This is my idea!” Ole turned again to his father and kept on with his arithmetic: “We can’t get less than thirty cents a bushel, can we? I’ll be able to help you haul them to town. And that’ll be exactly _one hundred and eighty dollars_. Gee! What a lot!” The boy looked proudly at his father, and added with a grown-up air, “We ought to get the potatoes planted at once—that’s my opinion!”

But then Store-Hans had a great inspiration, and flashed out:

“When we get as much money as that, just for potatoes, we’ll buy a shotgun. Hurrah!”

“Stop your nonsense and get to work!” said Per Hansa, harshly. “You need a pair of pants to cover your bottom, more than you do a gun.... Move on, now, I tell you!”

On the way home that morning, Per Hansa realized one thing more clearly than ever before—unless he could find something to occupy his body and mind, and find it right away, he would go all to pieces one of these fine days.... Well, why not do as Ole suggested? Here was this piece of new field, and it had to be put to some use.... If _that fellow_ was loose around these parts, Per Hansa might as well give him a run for his money!...

The minute Per Hansa reached home he opened the root cellar and began carrying out potatoes. He took out all that he judged they could possibly spare and began to cut them up into small pieces; he was determined to have enough seed to cover the whole field.... Oh yes, no doubt this was insanely foolish, too, but, damn it all, he might as well come to ruination at once and be done with it!...

The planting kept the three of them busy for the rest of that week. When Sunday morning came, Per Hansa rose at the usual time, ate his breakfast in silence, and then went back to bed. And-Ongen crawled into bed with him and stirred up a terrible commotion; he must wake now and tell her a story. Getting no answer, she pulled his hair and pinched his cheek and tugged at his nose. The carrying-on of the child made a pleasant diversion for him in his dark mood. Beret sat by the table, reading the Bible. To his great relief, she said little these days.... As he lay there brooding he was turning over and over in his mind a new idea—mightn’t he make another trip to the Sioux River? Perhaps he could yet scare up a couple of sacks of wheat there. The seeding would be far behind-hand, that’s true; but barring any more bad luck, he would at least be able to harvest enough seed grain for another year.... But it was so late now—too late, really, to think of such a thing. Perhaps he had better go to Sioux Falls or Worthington and try to get work for the summer. Beret and the boys could easily get along without him.... No, he couldn’t quite make up his mind as to what would be best.... All the while And-Ongen was pommelling him because he wouldn’t tell her a story.

Suddenly a violent stamping of feet sounded outside; some one came running up, with another close at his heels.

Ole jerked the door open, took one leap, and landed in the middle of the floor. The boy was wild-eyed with excitement.

“Per Hansa!” he cried, calling his father by name. “The wheat is up!” Then he took another leap and stood leaning over the bed. “The wheat is up, I say!... Can’t you hear me?” ...

But now Store-Hans came storming in, all out of breath: “Father Per Hansa—the wheat is _so high_!”

“You shut up!” raged his brother. “I came first!”

“I guess I can tell it, too!” Store-Hans paid no further attention to his brother; he was standing now by the bed, measuring on his finger. “The wheat is so high, the oats about up to _here_!... Don’t you suppose we can buy a shotgun?”

Per Hansa said never a word; he got up, trembling in every limb, and put the child aside. In a moment he had left the house and rushed up to the field. There he stood spellbound, gazing at the sight spread before him. His whole body shook; tears came to his eyes, so that he found it difficult to see clearly. And well he might be surprised. Over the whole field tiny green shoots were quivering in the warm sunshine.

Store-Hans was standing now by his father’s side; he looked at him in consternation.

“Are you sick, father?”

No answer.

“Why, you’re crying!”

“You’re ... so—foolish, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa was blowing his nose violently.... _“So terribly foolish!”_ he added, softly, and straightened himself up with a new energy.

Store-Hans now began to feel reassured about his father. The boy turned to the field and spoke in a voice thrilled with delight:

“Isn’t it dandy?”

The silence continued for a while longer. But at last his father cleared his throat. “Come here, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What are you going to be when you grow up?”

“When I grow up?” repeated the boy, wonderingly. “Well, a general ... one like Grant.”

Per Hansa looked at him, a strange chuckling sound issuing from his throat:

“What about being a _minister_?... We need a minister more.”

“Oh, well,” said Store-Hans, indifferently. “I suppose I can be that, too.... Don’t you think we can get a shotgun pretty soon?”

Per Hansa was a different man when he walked home; the spring had come back to his step. Entering the house, he sat down by his wife, who was still reading the Bible, and said, abruptly:

“You’d better read us a chapter!” Then he cleared his throat and looked around the room. “No more nonsense, boys! Come here and sit down quietly while mother reads to us.”

IV

That summer many happenings took place in the settlement by Spring Creek. For those who had been here from the beginning, associations were slowly growing up outside of the day’s work. At the very last of May the Irish arrived, with many new land-seekers in their company; they all settled west by the sloughs, so as to have access to water for the cattle. The first part of June the Vossings and Sognings put into port; they, too, brought many new homesteaders with them. The latter folk all settled east of the creek, spreading eastward and southward, to bring them nearer to town. Here the soil was first class, too; and Tönseten assured them that water was no problem, if they would dig deep enough.... Water! Why, good Lord! wasn’t the whole earth surrounded by water?... Talk sense, folks, and get your houses built!... Soon one new sod house after another began to stick its head above the waving grass of the prairie.

Among the Sognings was a tall, heavily built man, with a light complexion and rather good looking, but loud spoken and given to bragging. All his words and actions had an irritating arrogance; he was always right; at times he got on everyone’s nerves, because he talked so much and with such cocksureness. Luck had been with him, it seemed; he had received a considerable inheritance from the old country; while living in Minnesota he had cleared much land, which he had been able to dispose of at a fine price; rumour had it that he was worth at least three thousand dollars in cash, besides other property; and this report he did not deny. The man had a large family; his name was Torkel Tallaksen.

Not long after the arrival of this man, Store-Hans had a fight with one of the Tallaksen boys. It came about in this way: the boys chanced to meet down by the creek one day, as they were both out chasing the cattle, Store-Hans riding his pony, the other boy a common old work horse.

“Where did you swipe that pony?” the stranger shouted, challengingly.

“I didn’t swipe it!”

“Where did you get it, then?”

“Oh, I just got it.”

“Can’t you tell?”

“Come here, if you want to know.”

The two boys dismounted, looked each other over, then sat down and fell to talking. Store-Hans was eager to inform this tenderfoot of the mighty things they had done out here; he related how the pony had come to be his, giving the story a picturesque turn whenever he saw the chance. He and his father, he told the stranger, had rescued an Indian chief—well, it was the highest chief over all the Indians out West. This chief was dying; he was _almost_ dead when they found him.... What was the matter? Well, there had been a terrible battle; the Indian had been desperately wounded—shot and left for dead.... But he and his father had cured him, and they had received this pony as a reward.

The other boy listened scornfully to the story, said “humph—humph” a good many times, and finally declared the whole thing to be a lie; people out here were such awful liars, so his father had told him!...

Store-Hans could hardly stand this accusation, for hadn’t he himself helped in restoring the Indian to life? So without further ado he pitched into the other boy and the fight was on. It proved a tough battle; clothes were torn and both combatants sneezed gore. The bloody noses didn’t matter much, for they could be washed; but it would be more serious to have to explain the tattered shirts. The boys fought it out, however; finally the newcomer had to admit that truth is truth and take back all he had said. This mollified Store-Hans; he let the other boy try the pony, and they became friends. But the same evening he had to tell the incident to his father; after the nose had been washed and properly cooled, it had taken on alarming proportions, which called for an explanation; this Per Hansa got as he sat on the woodpile, smoking his evening pipe, with Store-Hans standing near by.

All the new settlers that spring, with the exception of Torkel Tallaksen, built sod houses; but he had vaster plans in mind. He set up a tent, hitched his four horses to the breaking plow, worked like a beaver, and soon had broken a big field, considering the fact that he had just arrived. He had brought seed enough with him to plant the whole area. Rumours began to spread in the settlement about his plans; when he was done seeding he proposed to go to Worthington after lumber; both his living house and barn were to be built this summer.... Per Hansa listened to these rumours and cocked his head on one side, but made no comment.

One day just as they were sitting down to the noon meal at Per Hansa’s, Torkel Tallaksen swaggered in and asked in a loud voice if he could hire Per Hansa and the oxen to go to Worthington with him for building materials? All the other neighbours were going, too.... “You folks have been here so long now, and have got such a good start that you can afford to lend a hand to a poor devil who is just starting in! I need all the critters that can crawl, with me. I’ll pay you in either work or cash—but I prefer cash, for then it’s over with!... No, thank you, I’m not going to sit down; I just stepped in on my way to your neighbours’.... Fine fields you’ve got on this side of the creek. You ought to get a fairly decent harvest, considering.... How big is that field of yours, anyway?... Good Lord! Not more than that in a whole year?... Well, I’ll give you a tip—oxen aren’t any good; they’re too slow for the way things go nowadays.... Fine-looking house you’ve got, inside, but sod houses aren’t much better than dugouts—in some ways, really not so good.... For my part, I am through with such poor makeshifts.... Well, can I count on you, then?” ... Tallaksen referred to this trip as airily as if he were asking for a match.

“Are you going to build?” Per Hansa asked, quietly.

“You bet I am. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? If I’m to stay here, I intend to live like a human being!” ... And now he began outlining his building plans and explaining them at length.... “Oh yes, there’s a lot to do before I get everything ready; but I intend to hire plenty of help and get it done in a jiffy. See? I’ve come out here to _break prairie_, I want you to know.... If crops turn out decently this year, I’ll snap up one more quarter by fall, or perhaps two. Really”—here the man grew confidential—“I don’t see any nameable reason why a smart man couldn’t farm a whole section of land like this—or even more. Why, you’ve only got to put the plow into the level prairie!... But first of all, I want to build a decent house; the painting I’ll let go until fall.” ... His voice flowed on in such a steady stream that no one else could get in a word edgewise.

“You’re going to _paint_?” Per Hansa asked, and got up from the table abruptly. He was breathing fast.

“Paint? Why, certainly! It would never do to let a house stand unpainted in this climate. It wouldn’t look well, either.”

A look of innocent curiosity rested on Beret’s face as she listened to the great plans being unfolded before her. She seemed lost in thought, and asked in a quiet tone if it were really true that he intended to build a home like that—now, at once, this summer? It would be a fine thing, she added—and there was a note of wistful gladness in her voice—to see a real house once more. It would make the desert look brighter....

At that Torkel Tallaksen had to laugh outright; he had never seen such a houseful of moles! Here he had been explaining till he was hoarse, but apparently they hadn’t understood one word of it! What was the use of wasting more breath on them?... He turned to go.

“Well,” he said to Per Hansa in an important voice, “can I count on you for the trip?”

Per Hansa paused over his answer. They were all looking at him inquiringly when he spoke:

“It seems to me,” he began, quietly, “that you are starting from the wrong end.” Again he paused, for he found it hard to choose his words. “If you would take the money that you intend to spend in building and put it into cattle and horses and machinery, and hire help enough to run them, then the devil himself couldn’t keep up with you. In a few years you’d be the king of all of us—though God knows we’d much rather have another. But this I tell you, now”—prophetic power rang in Per Hansa’s voice—“if you start from the other end and do as you’ve been proposing, then you and I will fight—yes, you and I!—for both the scepter and the crown ... though all I’ve got now, God knows, is a pair of pants and a yoke of oxen!” ...

Torkel Tallaksen laughed overbearingly. “One doesn’t need to live in a gopher hole, in order to get ahead!... Here, too, will have to come decency and civilized living.”

The words stung Per Hansa like a whip lash; in his effort to control himself he felt in his pocket for a match, found one, and hurled it to the floor.... “We’ll get our decency and civilized living all right—even if you should go back where you came from!... And now let me tell you one thing more—it’s better to begin in a gopher hole than to end in one.” ...

Before Torkel Tallaksen was able to collect himself for a reply, Beret said, slowly, as if thinking aloud, but in a manner that compelled attention:

“Your wife certainly will have many reasons to be glad. Walls that will shut out all the unspeakable things out here ... floors that can be washed on the Sabbath eve.... I know too well that human beings should not live like beasts! After they have turned into beasts, houses don’t matter.” ...

Torkel Tallaksen looked at the woman as if he had discovered her for the first time.... Uh-huh, he nodded; here’s the common sense of this outfit!... “Right you are, and no doubt about it! I wouldn’t live like this for all the prairie land in the whole of Dakota Territory.... But now things are going to be different, if I have anything to say about it. We’re going to build houses that can stand up and be seen; people won’t need to wonder whether this is a settlement or a gopher camp!” Suddenly a fresh idea seemed to strike him: “Perhaps you’d like to help my wife weave a few carpets? She’s all the time talking about carpets, and I suppose she must have ’em.... They save the floors, too.”

“I would be glad to try,” said Beret, humbly. “One ought to help another get what she cannot have for herself.... I think it would be interesting work.”

As he listened to his wife, Per Hansa was fumbling in his pocket for another match; at last he brought it out, struck it on the table, and held it until it burned down to the end. The room was swimming before his eyes; words floated across his vision—words that he longed to use; he reached out for them, but they melted into the air; what Beret had said had driven them away.... Per Hansa sat down heavily on the chest, his face pale and drawn.

“All right—that’s settled, then!” said Torkel Tallaksen. Then he turned to Per Hansa: “We start the day after to-morrow. I’m counting on you, remember—you and the oxen.... You’ll be needing some one to haul for you pretty soon, when you once get on your feet.”

Silence fell on the room. The man stood there, waiting for an answer.

“You’d better count over again!” Per Hansa growled. Without another word he sprang up from the chest and left the house. In a gruff voice he called to the oxen. That day he kept on breaking as long as he could see. When he unhitched at last he walked in slowly from the field, stooping over in thought; he could hardly bring himself to going home. What business had he there—what earthly business?... The sod house and all it contained lay in a great darkness, yet he was drawn toward it irresistibly....

... Perhaps it was true? What she had said might be more than half right—everything here was a failure, and he himself was no good.... A thought cut him to the very quick: “That’s the reward you get for fighting and striving—she says you are no good!” ... To think that she hadn’t felt ashamed, that she had been willing to lay bare her troubles to that infernal blabberer and braggart!... Had she lost all sense of propriety?... “Oh, hell! Get up, there!” he ripped out to the oxen.

But as it transpired, Torkel Tallaksen’s great plans ran up against a snag. Tönseten didn’t care to go along unless Per Hansa went, for he was fully occupied with his own affairs. And the Solum boys were not overly enthusiastic; they were busy breaking prairie when Tallaksen came, and answered him that they would see how the others felt about it, and let him know. It finally developed that Torkel Tallaksen could engage only two men and two teams, which weren’t enough to haul home all the materials for a whole farmstead. And so, in the face of the inevitable, Torkel Tallaksen had to give up building for that summer.... Thus it happened that before the fall set in, another sod hut stuck its head above the waving grass of the prairie.

V

That summer many land seekers passed through the settlement on their way west. The arrival of a caravan was always an event of the greatest importance. How exciting they were, those little ships of the Great Plain! The prairie schooners, rigged with canvas tops which gleamed whitely in the shimmering light, first became visible as tiny specks against the eastern sky; one might almost imagine them to be sea gulls perched far, far away on an endless green meadow; but as one continued to watch, the white dots grew; they came drifting across the prairie like the day; after long waiting, they gradually floated out of the haze, distinct and clear; then, as they drew near, they proved to be veritable wagons, with horses hitched ahead, with folk and all their possessions inside, and a whole herd of cattle following behind.

The caravan would crawl slowly into the settlement and come to anchor in front of one of the sod houses; the moment it halted, people would swarm down and stretch themselves and begin to look after the teams; cattle would bellow; sheep would bleat as they ran about. Many queer races and costumes were to be seen in these caravans, and a babble of strange tongues shattered the air. Nut-brown youngsters, dressed only in a shirt and a pair of pants, would fly around between the huts, looking for other youngsters; an infant, its mother crooning softly to it, would sit securely perched in the fold of her arm; white-haired old men and women, who should have been living quietly at home, preparing for a different journey, were also to be seen in the group, running about like youngsters; the daily jogging from sky line to sky line had brightened their eyes and quickened their tongues. All were busy; each had a thousand questions to ask; every last one of them was in high spirits, though they knew no other home than the wagon and the blue skies above.... The Lord only could tell whence all these people had come and whither they were going!...

The caravan usually intended to stop only long enough for the women folk to boil coffee and get a fresh supply of water; but the starting was always delayed, for the men had so many questions to ask. Once in a while during these halts a fiddler would bring out his fiddle and play a tune or two, and then there would be dancing. Such instances were rare, but good cheer and excitement invariably accompanied these visits.

—Why not settle right here? The Spring Creek folk would ask the west-movers.... There’s plenty of good land left—nothing better to be found between here and the Pacific Ocean!

—No, not yet. They weren’t quite ready to settle; these parts looked fairly crowded.... The farther west, the better.... They guessed they would have to go on a way, though this really looked pretty good!...

And so the caravans would roll onward into the green stillness of the west. How strange—they vanished faster than they had appeared! The white sails grew smaller and smaller in the glow of the afternoon, until they had dwindled to nothing; the eye might seek them out there in the waning day, and search till it grew blurred, but all in vain—they were gone, and had left no trace!...

* * * * *

Foggy weather had now been hanging over the prairie for three whole days; a warm mist of rain mizzled continuously out of the low sky. Toward evening of the third day, the fog lifted and clear sky again appeared; the setting sun burst through the cloud banks rolling up above the western horizon, and transformed them into marvellous fairy castles.... While this was going on, over to the northeast of the Solum boys’ place a lonely wagon had crept into sight; it had almost reached the creek before anyone had noticed it, for the Solum boys were visiting among the Sognings, where there were many young people. But as Beret sat out in the yard, milking, the wagon crossed her view. When she brought in the milk, she remarked in her quiet manner that they were going to have company, at which tidings the rest of the family had to run out and see who might be coming at this time of day.

There was only one wagon, with two cows following behind; on the left side walked a brown-whiskered, stooping man—he was doing the driving; close behind him came a half-grown boy, dragging his feet heavily. The wagon at last crawled up the hill and came to a stop in Per Hansa’s yard, where the whole family stood waiting.

“I don’t suppose there are any Norwegians in this settlement. No, that would be too much to expect,” said the man in a husky, worn-out voice.

“If you’re looking for Norwegians, you have found the right place, all right! We sift the people as they pass through here—keep our own, and let the others go!” ... Per Hansa wanted to run on, for he felt in high spirits; but he checked himself, observing that the man looked as if he stood on the very brink of the grave.

—Was there any chance of putting up here for the night?

“Certainly! certainly!” cried Per Hansa, briskly, “provided they were willing to take things as they were.”

The man didn’t answer, but walked instead to the wagon and spoke to some one inside:

“Kari, now you must brace up and come down. Here we have found Norwegians at last!” As if fearing a contradiction, he added: “Ya, they are real Norwegians. I’ve talked with them.”

On top of his words there came out of the wagon, first a puny boy with a hungry face, somewhat smaller than the other boy; then a girl of about the same size, but looking much older. She helped to get down another boy, about six years old, who evidently had been sleeping and looked cross and tired. That seemed to be all.

The man stepped closer to the wagon. “Aren’t you coming, Kari?”

A groan sounded within the canvas. The girl grabbed hold of her father’s arm. “You must untie the rope! Can’t you remember _anything_?” she whispered, angrily.

“Ya, that’s right! Wait a minute till I come and help you.”

An irresistible curiosity took hold of Per Hansa; in two jumps he stood on the tongue of the wagon. The sight that met his eyes sent chills running down his spine. Inside sat a woman on a pile of clothes, with her back against a large immigrant chest; around her wrists and leading to the handles of the chest a strong rope was tied; her face was drawn and unnatural. Per Hansa trembled so violently that he had to catch hold of the wagon box, but inwardly he was swearing a steady stream. To him it looked as if the woman was crucified.

... “For God’s sake, man!” ...

The stranger paid no attention; he was pottering about and pleading: “Come down now, Kari.... Ya, all right, I’ll help you! Everything’s going to be all right—I know it will!... Can you manage to get up?” He had untied the rope, and the woman had risen to her knees.

“O God!” she sighed, putting her hands to her head.

“Please come. That’s right; I’ll help you!” pleaded the man, as if he were trying to persuade a child.

She came down unsteadily. “Is this the place, Jakob?” she asked in a bewildered way. But now Beret ran up and put her arm around her; the women looked into each other’s eyes and instantly a bond of understanding had been established. “You come with me!” urged Beret.... “O God! This isn’t the place, either!” wailed the woman; but she followed Beret submissively into the house.

“Well, well!” sighed the man as he began to unhitch the horses. “Life isn’t easy—no, it certainly isn’t.” ...

Per Hansa watched him anxiously, hardly knowing what to do. Both the boys kept close to him. Then an idea flashed through his mind: “You boys run over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him not to go to bed until I come.... No, I don’t want him here. And you two stay over there to-night. Now run along!”

Turning to the man, he asked, “Aren’t there any more in your party?”

“No, not now. We were five, you see, to begin with—five in all—but the others had to go on.... Haven’t they been by here yet? Well, they must be somewhere over to the westward.... No, life isn’t easy.” ... The man wandered on in his monotonous, blurred tone; he sounded all the time as if he were half sobbing.

“Where do you come from?” Per Hansa demanded, gruffly.

The man didn’t give a direct answer, but continued to ramble on in the same mournful way, stretching his story out interminably.... They had been wandering over the prairie for nearly six weeks.... Ya, it was a hard life. When they had started from Houston County, Minnesota, there had been five wagons in all. Strange that the others hadn’t turned up here. Where could they be? It seemed to him as if he had travelled far enough to reach the ends of the earth!... Good God, what a nightmare life was! If he had only—only known...!

“Did the others go away and _leave you_?” Per Hansa hadn’t intended to ask that question, but it had slipped out before he realized what he was saying. He wondered if there could be anything seriously wrong....

“They couldn’t possibly wait for us—couldn’t have been expected to. Everything went wrong, you see, and I didn’t know when I would be able to start again.... Turn the horses loose, John,” he said to the boy. “Take the pail and see if you can squeeze some milk out of the cows. Poor beasts, they don’t give much now!” Then he turned to Per Hansa again: “I don’t know what would have become of us if we hadn’t reached this place to-night! We’d have been in a bad hole, that I assure you! Women folk can’t bear up....” The man stopped and blew his nose.

Per Hansa dreaded what might be coming next. “You must have got off your course, since you are coming down from the north?”

The man shook his head helplessly. “To tell the truth, I don’t know where we’ve been these last few days. We couldn’t see the sun.”

“Haven’t you got a compass?”

“Compass? No! I tried to steer with a rope, but the one I had wasn’t long enough.”

“Like hell you did!” exclaimed Per Hansa, excitedly, full of a sudden new interest.

“Ya, I tried that rope idea—hitched it to the back of the wagon, and let it drag in the wet grass. But it didn’t work—I couldn’t steer straight with it. The rope was so short, and kept kinking around so much, that it didn’t leave any wake.”

“Uh-huh!” nodded Per Hansa wisely. “You must be a seafaring man, to have tried that trick!”

“No, I’m no sailor. But fisher-folk out here have told me that it’s possible to steer by a rope.... I had to try _something_.”

“Where did you cross the Sioux?”

“How do I know where I crossed it? We came to a river a long way to the east of here—that must have been the Sioux. We hunted and hunted before we could find a place shallow enough to cross.... God! this has certainly been a wandering in the desert for me!... But if Kari only gets better, I won’t complain—though I never dreamed that life could be so hard.” ...

“Is she—is she _sick_, that woman of yours?”

The man did not answer this question immediately; he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. When he spoke again, his voice had grown even more blurred and indistinct: “Physically she seems to be as well as ever—as far as I can see. She certainly hasn’t overworked since we’ve been travelling. I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.... But certain things are hard to bear—I suppose it’s worse for the mother, too—though the Lord knows it hasn’t been easy for me, either!... You see, we had to leave our youngest boy out there on the prairie....”

“_Leave_ him?” ... These were the only two words that came to Per Hansa’s mind.

“Ya, there he lies, our little boy!... I never saw a more promising man—you know what I mean—when he grew up.... But now—oh, well....”

Per Hansa felt faint in the pit of his stomach; his throat grew dry; his voice became as husky as that of the other; he came close up to him. “Tell me—how did this happen?”

The man shook his head again, in a sort of dumb despair. Then he cleared his throat and continued with great effort: “I can’t tell how it happened! Fate just willed it so. Such things are not to be explained.... The boy had been ailing for some time—we knew that, but didn’t pay much attention. We had other things to think of.... Then he began to fail fast. We were only one day’s journey this side of Jackson; so we went back. That was the time when the others left us. I don’t blame them much—it was uncertain when we could go on.... The doctor we found wasn’t a capable man—I realize it now. He spoke only English and couldn’t understand what I was saying. He had no idea what was wrong with the boy—I could see that plainly enough.... Ya, well—so we started again.... It isn’t any use to fight against Fate; that’s an old saying, and a true one, too, I guess.... Before long we saw that the boy wasn’t going to recover. So we hurried on, day and night, trying to catch our neighbours.... Well, that’s about all of it. One night he was gone—just as if you had blown out a candle. Ya, let me see—that was five nights ago.”

“Have you got him there in the wagon?” demanded Per Hansa, grabbing the man by the arm.

“No, no,” he muttered, huskily. “We buried him out there by a big stone—no coffin or anything. But Kari took the best skirt she had and wrapped it all around him—we had to do _something_, you know.... But,” he continued, suddenly straightening up, “Paul cannot lie there! As soon as I find my neighbours, I’ll go and get him. Otherwise Kari....” The man paused between the sobs that threatened to choke him. “I have had to tie her up the last few days. She insisted on getting out and going back to Paul. I don’t think she has had a wink of sleep for over a week.... It’s just as I was saying—some people can’t stand things.” ...

Per Hansa leaned heavily against the wagon. “Has she gone crazy?” he asked, hoarsely.

“She isn’t much worse than the rest of us. I don’t believe ... Kari is really a well-balanced woman ... but you can imagine how it feels, to leave a child _that_ way....”

The boy, John, had finished milking. He had put the pail down and was standing a little way off, listening to his father’s story; suddenly he threw himself on the ground, sobbing as if in convulsions.

“John! John!” admonished the father. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself—a grown-up man like you! Take the milk and carry it into the house!”

“That’s right!” echoed Per Hansa, pulling himself together. “We’d better all go in. There’s shelter here, and plenty to eat.”

Beret was bustling around the room when they entered; she had put the woman to bed, and now was tending her. “Where are the boys?” she asked.

Per Hansa told her that he had sent them to Hans Olsa’s for the night.

“That was hardly necessary; we could have made room here somehow.” Beret’s voice carried a note of keen reproach.

The man had paused at the door; now he came over to the bed, took the limp hand, and muttered: “Poor soul!... Why, I believe she’s asleep already!”

Beret came up and pushed him gently aside. “Be careful. Don’t wake her. She needs the rest.”

“Ya, I don’t doubt it—not I! She hasn’t slept for a week, you see—the poor soul!” With a loud sniff, he turned and left the room.

When supper time came the woman seemed to be engulfed in a stupefying sleep. Beret did not join the others at the supper table, but busied herself, instead, by trying to make the woman more comfortable; she loosened her clothes, took off her shoes, and washed her face in warm water; during all this the stranger never stirred. That done, Beret began to fix up sleeping quarters for the strangers, in the barn. She carried in fresh hay and brought out all the bedding she had; she herself would take care of the woman, in case she awoke and needed attention. Beret did little talking, but she went about these arrangements with a firmness and confidence that surprised her husband.

Per Hansa came in from the barn, after helping the strangers settle themselves for the night. Beret was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressing the baby for the night; she had put And-Ongen to bed beside the distracted woman.

“Did she tell you much?” he asked in a low voice.

Beret glanced toward the other bed before she answered:

“Only that she had had to leave one of her children on the way. She wasn’t able to talk connectedly.”

“It’s a terrible thing!” he said, looking away from his wife. “I think I’ll go over to Hans Olsa’s for a minute. I want to talk this matter over with him.”

“Talk it over with him?” she repeated, coldly. “I don’t suppose Hans Olsa knows everything!”

“No, of course not. But these people have got to be helped, and we can’t do it all alone.” He hesitated for a minute, as if waiting for her consent. “Well, I won’t be gone long,” he said as he went out of the door.

When he returned, an hour later, she was still sitting on the edge of the bed, with the baby asleep on her lap. They sat in silence for a long while; at last he began to undress. She waited until he was in bed, then turned the lamp low and lay down herself, but without undressing.... The lamp shed only a faint light. It was so quiet in the room that one could hear the breathing of all the others. Beret lay there listening; though the room was still, it seemed alive to her with strange movements; she forced herself to open her eyes and look around. Noticing that Per Hansa wasn’t asleep, either, she asked:

“Did you look after the boys?”

“Nothing the matter with them! They were fast asleep in Sofie’s bed.”

“You told them everything, at Hans Olsa’s?”

“Of course!”

“What did they think of it?”

Per Hansa raised himself on his elbows and glanced at the broken creature lying in the bed back of theirs. The woman, apparently, had not stirred a muscle. “It’s a bad business,” he said. “We must try to get together a coffin and find the boy. We can’t let him lie out there—that way.” ... As Beret made no answer, he briefly narrated the story that the man had told him. “The fellow is a good-for-nothing, stupid fool, I’m sure of that,” concluded Per Hansa.

She listened to him in silence. For some time she brooded over her thoughts; then in a bitter tone she suddenly burst out: “Now you can see that this kind of a life is impossible! It’s beyond human endurance.”

He had not the power to read her thoughts; he did not want to know them; to-night every nerve in his body was taut with apprehension and dismay. But he tried to say, reassuringly. “Hans Olsa and I will both go with the man, as soon as the day breaks. If we only had something to make the coffin of! The few pieces of board that I’ve got here will hardly be enough.... Now let’s go to sleep. Be sure and call me if you need anything!”

He turned over resolutely, as if determined to sleep; but she noticed that he was a long time doing it.... I wonder what’s going through his mind? she thought. She was glad to have him awake, just the same; to-night there were strange things abroad in the room....

VI

The instant the woman had climbed down from the wagon and looked into Beret’s face a curtain seemed to be drawn over all the terrible experiences of the last few weeks. She entered a cozy room where things were as they should be; she felt the warm presence of folk who had dwelt here a long time. She took in the whole room at a glance—table and benches and stools; a fire was burning in a real stove; a kettle was boiling; wet clothes were hanging on a line by the stove, giving out a pleasant, familiar odor; and there actually stood two beds, made up with clean bedding! The sense of home, of people who lived in an orderly fashion, swept over her like a warm bath. A kind hand led her to one of the beds, and there she sank down. She mumbled a few words, but soon gave it up; everything about her seemed so wonderfully pleasant; she must keep quiet, so as not to disturb the dream. The hand that helped her had such a sympathetic touch; it took a rag, dipped it in lukewarm water, and wiped her face; then it loosened her clothes and even took off her shoes. But best of all, she could stretch her back again!

... Strange that she couldn’t remember what had been going on! Had she told the woman all that she ought to know? About the makeshift coffin, and the big stone beside which they would find him? And that she would have to take a blanket with her, for the nights were chilly and Paul had very little on—only a shirt that was worn and thin?... No, she couldn’t remember anything except that she had been able to lie down and stretch her back; the warmth of the room, and the knowledge that friendly people were near her, had overcome all her senses with a sweet languor. Her body lay as if fast asleep; but away back in the inner depths of her consciousness a wee eye peeped out, half open, and saw things....

She remained in the same position until three o’clock in the morning. But then the wee bit of an eye opened wider and her senses slowly began to revive; she realized that she was lying in a strange room, where a lamp burned with a dim light. Suddenly she remembered that she had arrived here last night—but Paul was not with her.... Too bad I am so forgetful! she thought. I must hurry now before Jakob sees me, because there’s no way of stopping him—he always wants to go on!... She was fully awake now; she sat up and buttoned her clothes, then slipped quietly out of bed.

For a moment she stood perfectly still, listening; she could hear the breathing of many people; bending suddenly over the bed, she snatched up And-Ongen. She held the child tenderly in her arms and put her cheek against the warm face.... We must be careful now! she thought. With quiet movements she wrapped her skirt about the sleeping child; glancing around the room to see if all was well, she glided out like a shadow; she did not dare to close the door behind her, lest it should make a noise.... “Here is our wagon!” she murmured. “I mustn’t let Jakob see me now; he doesn’t understand; he only wants to get on!” ... Clutching the child to her breast, she started on the run, taking a direction away from the house.

Beret was awakened by a voice calling to her from a great distance; it called loudly several times. What a shame they can’t let me alone in peace, to get a little rest! she thought, drowsily. I was up so late last night and I need the sleep badly!... But the voice kept calling so persistently that after a while she sat up in bed, her mind coming back to reality; she remembered that strangers had arrived last night, that another besides herself was in deep distress. Well, she had done her best to take care of her.... She turned her head to see how the other woman was resting.

... “Heaven have mercy!” ...

* * * * *

Beret leaped frantically out of bed; in a second she had reached the side of the other bed, but no one was there. She did not notice that And-Ongen was gone, too. A cold draught rushing through the room told her that the door stood open; she hurried over to it. She seemed to recall dimly that some one had recently gone out. Hadn’t she heard it in her sleep? Beret went through the door and stood in front of the house, but did not dare to make an outcry; she listened intently, then called in a low voice; getting no answer, she ran around the house, peering hither and thither, but the grey morning light disclosed nothing.

Running back into the house, she called her husband distractedly. “She’s gone! Get up! You must hurry!”

In an instant Per Hansa was up and had tumbled into his clothes. “Run over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him to come at once! Be as quick as you can! In the meanwhile I’ll search down by the creek.”

When they came out, the first light of day was creeping up the eastern sky; a slight fog floated along the creek; the morning air was crisp and cool. Per Hansa leaped up into the seat of the wagon and scanned the prairie in every direction.... What was _that_, over there? Wasn’t it a human being standing on the top of the hill? Could she have taken that direction?... He jumped down from the wagon, and rushed around to the other side of the house, called to Beret, and pointed up the hill. Instantly they both started out on the run.

The woman did not seem in the least surprised at their coming. When Per Hansa had almost reached her, he stopped stone dead. What, in God’s name, was she carrying in her arms? His face blanched with terror. “Come here!” he shouted. In a moment he had the child in his own arms.

And-Ongen was almost awake now and had begun to whimper; things were going on around her that she could not understand; she felt cold, and father had such a queer look on his face. Sleepily she cuddled up in the fold of his left arm, her cheek against his heart, though a hard hand which seemed to be pounding against a wall was trying to wake her up again; she would just let it go on pounding all it pleased. She had to sleep some more!... But now mother was here. Hurriedly she was transferred into her mother’s arms and squeezed almost to a pancake. She had to gasp for breath; nevertheless she snuggled into her arms as closely as she could, for she felt, oh, so sleepy!... But no peace here, either! Here, too, a hand pounded against a wall. Were they tearing down the house? And-Ongen was certainly at a loss to understand all this racket in the middle of the night.... But let ’em pound!

As Beret walked homeward, carrying the child, it seemed more precious to her than the very first time when she had held it in her arms; and she experienced a wonderful blessing. Upon this night the Lord had been with them: His mighty arm had shielded them from a fearful calamity.

The other woman was still obsessed by her own troubles; she kept on hunting up there on the hill.... Wouldn’t these people help her to find Paul? She had to find him at once—He would be cold with so little on.... Now they had taken that blessed child away from her; but she didn’t wonder—that man had a bad face. She felt afraid of him.... But no time to think of such things now; Jakob would soon be coming? She began muttering to herself: “Oh, why can’t I find the stone? What has become of it? Wasn’t it somewhere here?” ...

Per Hansa went up and spoke to her, his voice sounding hoarse and unnatural. “Come with me, now! To-day Hans Olsa and I are going to find your boy.” Taking her gently by the arm, he led her back to the house.... It’s very kind of him, to help find Paul, she thought, and followed willingly.

At breakfast she sat very quiet; she ate when they bade her, but never spoke. While they were making the coffin she sat looking on, wondering why they didn’t hurry faster with the work. Couldn’t they understand that Paul was cold? A little later a handsome woman entered the house—a woman with such a kind face, who lined the coffin inside with a white cloth.... Now, that is fine of her; that’s just what a woman with such a kind face would do!... She would have liked to talk to that woman; she had something very important to confide to her; but perhaps she had better not delay her in her work—the coffin had to be lined!...

As soon as the coffin was ready, Per Hansa and Hans Olsa, along with the stranger and his wife, left the settlement to hunt for the body of the dead boy. They took quite a stock of provisions with them. On this search they were gone four days; they criss-crossed the prairie for a long way to the east, and searched high and low; but when they returned the coffin was still empty.

VII

After the return from the search the strangers stayed one more day with them. The morning they were to leave it looked dark and threatening, and Per Hansa wouldn’t hear of their setting out; but along toward noon the sky cleared and the weather appeared more settled. The man, very anxious to be on his way, had everything loaded into the wagon, and as soon as the noon meal was over they were ready to go.

But before the man got on his way Per Hansa asked him where he intended to settle.

—Well, he wasn’t positive as to the exact place. It was over somewhere toward the James River—his neighbours had told him that.

—Did he know where the James River was? Per Hansa inquired further.

—Certainly he did! How could he ask such a foolish question. The river lay off there; all he needed to do was to steer straight west. After finding the river, of course he’d have to ask. But that part of it would be quite easy....

Per Hansa shuddered, and asked no more questions.

The woman had been quite calm since their return. She kept away from the others, muttering to herself and pottering over insignificant things, much like a child at play; but she was docile and inoffensive, and did what anyone told her. A short while before noon that day she took a notion that she must change her clothes; she got up from what she was doing, washed, and went to the wagon. When she came back she had dressed herself in her best; in a way she looked all right, but made a bizarre appearance because she had put so much on.... The man seemed fairly cheerful as they started; he talked a good deal, heaping many blessings upon Per Hansa.... If he could only find his neighbours, and Kari could only forget, things would be all right in a little while. Ya, it was a hard life, but——Well, God’s blessings on Per Hansa, and many thanks! And now he must be off!... His voice was just as husky and blurred as when he came.

The wagon started creaking; the man, short and stooping, led the way; the family piled into the wagon; the two cows jogged behind.... They laid their course due west.... Banks of heavy cloud were rolled up on the western horizon—huge, fantastic forms that seemed to await them in Heaven’s derision—though they might have been only the last stragglers of the spell of bad weather just past.

After they had gone, Beret could find no peace in the house; her hand trembled; she felt faint and dizzy; every now and then she had to go out and look at the disappearing wagon; and when the hill finally shut off the view she took the youngest two children and went up there to watch. In a way she felt glad that these people were gone; at the same time she reproached herself for not having urged them to stay longer. Sitting now on the hilltop, a strong presentiment came over her that they should not have started to-day.... “That’s the way I’ve become,” she thought sadly. “Here are folk in the deepest distress, and I am only glad to send them off into direr calamities! What will they do to-night if a storm comes upon them? He is all broken up—he couldn’t have been much of a man at any time. And the poor wife insane from grief! Perhaps she will disappear forever this very night.... What misery, what an unspeakable tragedy, life is for some!” ...

Slowly, very slowly, the forlorn caravan crept off into the great, mysterious silence always hovering above the plain. To Beret, as she watched, it seemed as if the prairie were swallowing up the people, the wagon, the cows and all. At last the little caravan was merged in the very infinite itself; Beret thought she could see the wagon yet, but was not certain; it might be only a dead tuft of grass far away which the wind stirred....

She took the children and went home, walking with slow, dragging steps; she wanted to cry, and felt the need of it, but no tears came.... Per Hansa and the boys were breaking prairie; to judge from the language they used in talking to the oxen, they must be hard at it. Her loneliness was so great that she felt a physical need of bringing happiness to some living thing; as soon as she got home she took her little remaining store of rice and cooked porridge for supper; the boys were very fond of that dish.

Toward evening the air grew heavy and sultry; the cloud banks, still rolling up in the western sky, had taken on a most threatening aspect; it looked as if a thunderstorm might be coming on.

After supper Per Hansa was due to meet at Hans Olsa’s with the other neighbours, to lay plans for the trip to town which had to be made before harvesting set in. The boys asked leave to go, too—it was so much fun to be with the men.

When she had washed the supper dishes Beret went outdoors and sat down on the woodpile. A nameless apprehension tugged at her heart and would not leave her in peace; taking the two children as before, she again ascended the hill. The spell of the afternoon’s sadness was still upon her; her constant self-reproach since then had only deepened it.... Those poor folk were straying somewhere out there, under the towering clouds. Poor souls! The Lord pity the mother who had left a part of herself back east on the prairie! How could the good God permit creatures made in His image to fall into such tribulations? To people this desert would be as impossible as to empty the sea. For how could folk establish homes in an endless wilderness? Was it not the Evil One that had struck them with blindness?... Take her own case, for example: here she sat, thousands of miles from home and kindred, lost in a limitless void.... Out yonder drifted these folk, like chips on a current.... Must man perish because of his own foolishness. Where, then, was the guiding hand?... Beret was gazing at the western sky as the twilight fast gathered around her; her eyes were riveted on a certain cloud that had taken on the shape of a face, awful of mien and giantlike in proportions; the face seemed to swell out of the prairie and filled half the heavens.

She gazed a long time; now she could see the monster clearer. The face was unmistakable! There were the outlines of the nose and mouth. The eyes—deep, dark caves in the cloud—were closed. The mouth, if it were to open, would be a yawning abyss. The chin rested on the prairie.... Black and lean the whole face, but of such gigantic, menacing proportions! Wasn’t there something like a leer upon it?... And the terrible creature was spreading everywhere; she trembled so desperately that she had to take hold of the grass.

It was a strange emotion that Beret was harbouring at this moment; in reality she felt a certain morbid satisfaction—very much like a child that has been arguing with its parents, has turned out to be right, and, just as the tears are coming, cries, “Now, there, you see!” ... Here was the simple solution to the whole riddle. She had known in her heart all the time that people were never led into such deep affliction unless an evil power had been turned loose among them. And hadn’t she clearly felt that there were unspeakable things out yonder—that the great stillness was nothing but life asleep?... She sat still as death, feeling the supernatural emanations all around her. The face came closer in the dusk—didn’t she feel its cold breath upon her? When that mouth opened and began to suck, terrible things would happen!... Without daring to look again, she snatched up the children and ran blindly home.

After a while the others returned, the boys storming boisterously into the house, the father close behind; he was evidently chasing them; by the tone of his voice, she knew he was in high spirits.

“Why, Beret,” he cried gayly, as soon as he got inside, “what have you been doing to the windows—covering them up?” He was looking at her with narrow, sparkling eyes. “Beret, Beret, you’re a dear girl!” he whispered. Then he came over and fondled her—he wanted to help undress her and put her to bed....

“No, no—not _that_!” she cried, vehemently, an intense anger surging up within her. Had he no sense whatever of decency and propriety, no feeling of shame and sin?... That’s only one more proof, she thought, that the devil has us in his clutches!

After that time, Beret was conscious of the face whenever she was awake, but particularly along toward evening, as the twilight came on; then it drew closer to her and seemed alive. Even during the day she would often be aware of its presence; high noon might stand over the prairie, with the sun shedding a flood of light that fairly blinded the sight, but through and behind the light she would see it—huge and horrible it was, the eyes always closed, with only those empty, cavernlike sockets beneath the brows.

As she went about doing her work, now, she would frequently be seized by a faintness so great that she had to sit down.... How was this going to end? she asked herself. Yes, how would it end?... Vague premonitions hovered about her like shadows. Many times she was on the point of asking her husband if he saw what she did, towering above the prairie out west; but always she seemed to be tongue-tied.... Well, why mention it? Couldn’t he and the others see it perfectly well for themselves? How could they help it?... She noticed that a silence would often fall upon them when they were out-of-doors, especially in the evening. Certainly they saw it!... Every evening, now, whether Per Hansa was away or at home, she hung something over the windows—it helped shut out the fear....

At first her husband made all sorts of fun of this practice of hers; he teased her about it, as if it were a good joke, and continued to force his caresses on her, his voice low and vibrant with pent-up emotion. But as time went on he ceased laughing; the fear that possessed her had begun to affect him, too....

VIII

The month of July wore on. The small patches of fields in the Spring Creek settlement were slowly ripening and made a brave showing. Never had one seen finer fields! The grain had started to head out long ago; the kernels were already formed, tiny bodies wrapped in the most delicate green silk. With every day that passed the wheat filled out more and more; the heads grew heavy and full of milk; as soon as the breeze died down in the afternoon, they would tilt toward the setting sun and slowly drop off to sleep, only to dream of the marvellous life that was now stirring within them.

These days, Per Hansa was behaving like a good boat it a heavy sea—as long as the keel pointed the right way, he would go on. He watched his wife covering the windows at night, and felt both sad and angry; but when he saw how everything was growing on the farm—meadows and fields, cattle and youngsters—then he was filled with an exultant joy that made him momentarily forget his wife’s condition. He had a larger field than any of his neighbours, and there wasn’t a doubt that his grain was the finest—theirs was just ordinary dumb grain, while his seemed alive!... He tried to reason himself out of his serious misgivings over Beret. True enough, she didn’t act as a normal person should; yet it was nothing that wouldn’t naturally right itself with time. Perhaps he would go to work and build her a house this fall. By thunder, he’d have to see about that! The castle would have to be tackled sooner or later.... The lumberman at Worthington was a fine fellow, and Per Hansa wouldn’t be ashamed to ask him for credit. Huh! What could the man expect to do with his lumber but sell it?... Next spring he would make a big haul in his fur trade with the Indians; he’d buy every damned scalp they had in the place. And when his castle was ready it would be stranger than the devil if such a sensible girl as Beret didn’t perk up and throw off her gruesome fancies!

Everything he had planted that spring was blooming like a garden. Why, he could just _hear_ the potatoes grow! Already, as early as this, they were having new potatoes every day, while in his neighbours’ patches the plants were just beginning to blossom. The oats, too, were standing high; but the wheat—best of all was the _wheat_! The neighbours, and all the east-siders—so the folk who had settled east of the creek had come to be called—and even the Irish from over to the westward, would come to look at his wheat field and say that the sight did them good. He couldn’t understand what the Irish were saying, of course, but their joy at the sight of the wheat was written all over their faces.... Damned fine people, these Irish. Too bad he couldn’t talk with them. But he felt like showing his appreciation of their visits in some tangible way, so he would go over to the potato patch, dig into a row, and give them enough for a meal.... Good God! a man as well off as he was must lend a hand to a pack of starving devils!...

By this time Tönseten had lost the last vestige of ill-feeling toward Per Hansa for doing his own seeding; he was even willing to praise the other for having had sense enough to get the seed into the ground good and _early_. Now they would be able to cut and harvest the wheat here before the other fields had ripened.... “I tell you what, Per Hansa, that’s the most sensible thing you ever did in your life—and I ought to know what I’m talking about!” ... Tönseten’s round, fat body bristled with importance, for, of course, it would fall to him to do the reaping for these greenhorns. The Solum boys would have to teach them how to bind. Damn it, he couldn’t be expected to do everything!... Yes, Syvert Tönseten was a very busy man these days. There was the reaper to overhaul, and the harnesses to be mended; he had to keep a sharp eye on the grain, too, lest they let it stand too long. Such heavy wheat would shell easily! So he waddled back and forth between the houses of his three neighbours, invariably finding some important matter to discuss wherever he went.

Per Hansa was not running true to form these days; he who was always so easily excited and never had patience to wait when something had to be done, seemed in no hurry to start his harvesting. Every evening he would make a trip up to the field, to see how the wheat was coming on, and with each trip his mind was more at ease. “Come up with me and see how fine the wheat stands!” he would coax Beret. And Beret would usually go; she would agree absentmindedly that the grain looked fine—of course it did; but then she would always remember some task she had left undone at home and would have to hurry back before dark; she seldom seemed to have time to wait for him.

... “No, no, there’s no hurry yet with the wheat!” Per Hansa thought. When Tönseten insisted that it was time to start cutting he would argue with him: “No, Syvert brother, we’ll leave the wheat awhile yet—give her a spell longer to think it over. You’ll be able to do the reaping easily enough before the others need you. Don’t we all know that your equal in running the reaper isn’t to be found in the whole of Dakota Territory?”

Tönseten would give an embarrassed cough: “You mean perhaps in Minnesota?”

“Certainly! Wasn’t that what I said?” Whereupon both would laugh like a couple of happy boys.

But one forenoon Tönseten came over in great excitement, declaring flatly that now they would have to start cutting here—and no use talking! He had just come from Hans Olsa’s, where he’d been looking at the field; and there, too, the grain was ripening fast. This job had to be gotten out of the way right now, or where the devil would they be?

“Oh, what’s your hurry, Syvert? Don’t let’s get excited; we’ll just give her one more night for extra measure!” argued Per Hansa.

Then Tönseten grew goggle-eyed, waving his arms as he talked. “You’re a stubborn, ignorant fool, Per Hansa—I don’t mind telling you so! No, I’m damned if I do! Here we have eighty acres of grain, and I alone must do all the cutting! In all probability I’ll have to help the east-siders, too; they don’t seem to have any more brains than they need—some of ’em don’t, at least!”

“Take it easy, take it easy, Syvert! Don’t you see how nicely the wheat is filling out—just like a young girl budding into womanhood?”

At that Tönseten got mad in earnest. “You make me tired, man! You don’t know as much as the nose on your face—no, you don’t! What the devil would happen to us if all our grain came in at the same time? Just what would we _do_, I’d like to know? We couldn’t save it.... Now I’ve made up my mind: there’s to be no more damned shilly-shallying. We start this afternoon, and that’s the end of it!”

“As you say, Captain!” answered Per Hansa, meekly, his eyes twinkling.

“All right, then. I’ll tell Hans Olsa. You run over and tell the Solum boys.”

Per Hansa chuckled aloud. “Are you going to call in all of Dakota Territory to help harvest this little patch of mine?”

“Stop your joking, Per Hansa! You don’t know an earthly thing about harvesting in America—no, you don’t! You and Hans Olsa couldn’t any more take care of the binding, when I once get going, than you could fly! You don’t even know what needs to be done; you’ve never seen a job of binding in your life!... Now do as I tell you and get the Solum boys!” ... Tönseten spoke as if the welfare of the whole country were resting on his shoulders. His neighbour only laughed still harder and did as he was bid.

The moment the noon meal was over, the whole of the little settlement assembled at Per Hansa’s wheat field, men, women, and children; Beret had brought And-Ongen with her, and even carried the baby in her arms. Tönseten’s shouts and numberless commands put everyone but himself in a festive mood; he felt it to be a solemn occasion, and highly disapproved of the way they took it; but the others only laughed and joked as gayly as if they were in a bridal procession on the way to church, some bright Sunday morning. Some one would think of a funny remark, which straightway would cause some one else to make a still funnier sally; though most of it was aimed at Tönseten, his wife laughed until the tears came. But Tönseten held himself superior to their silly talk; he had matters of weight and purpose on his mind. Fools will snicker and blat! he observed to himself, working steadily on; that’s the only way one can keep ’em going. He was on his back under the machine, sweating streams, hammering away with a heavy monkey wrench, tightening one bur here and another there; now here was a place that needed oiling.... “What the devil became of the oil can? Can’t you do anything but stand there and grin? Come here and help me!”

But at last he got things so far along that he could hitch the horses to the reaper; taking the lines, he mounted to the throne.

... “Now, the Lord help us!” he muttered to himself. He wanted to give more orders, but couldn’t get a chance; the mosquitoes were bad and the horses rather uneasy, and new things kept happening all the time. With a great flourish he manœuvred the reaper over to the edge of the field, shouted loudly to the horses—and the first harvest in the settlement by Spring Creek had begun.

The machine roared fearfully as it got its belly full of the heavy grain, but kept calling for more; the horses stepped off at a lively pace and gave it what it called for. Tönseten was now intent on cutting out the first swathe; it had to be straight, and yet it couldn’t leave anything along the edge; he was too much taken up with this momentous task even to see the others. But when he had finished the fourth round of the field he felt that he was master of the situation. Stopping the machine, he called in English to Henry Solum—how was he getting along? Could he pound any sense into those idiots? Well, Kjersti had been a smart binder in her day. Why didn’t he get her to help him with the instruction?... And then, turning majestically in his seat, he addressed Per Hansa:

“If this wheat doesn’t run forty bushels to the acre, I’ll eat my own shirt! By God, I will!... Well, anyway, thirty-five....”

“You go on with the cutting, brother!” chuckled Per Hansa. “Here’s a whole army waiting for something to do!... Go on, I say. We’ll measure it up later.”

All were working; all were having a good time. For the greenhorns the binding proved to be more like work than art; they soon caught on to the trick; there were so many of them at it that the binding this afternoon went like a jolly game. When Beret finally put the baby down on the grass and began tying up bundles of wheat Kjersti felt that she had to come over and speak to her. There wasn’t any need of that, she said; the men could easily handle what had to be done. Heavens and earth—five grown men and two boys in a field no bigger than this! Beret and Sörine had better go home and get a lunch ready, Kjersti advised further; the menfolk were never happier than when they had coffee brought to them in the field. She knew them!... After a while the two women followed her advice and went home to make their preparations.

Per Hansa was in a rare mood that afternoon. Now he was binding his own wheat, his hands oily with the sap of the new-cut stems; a fine oil it was, too—he rubbed his hands together and felt a sensuous pleasure welling up within him. His body seemed to grow a little with every bundle he tied; he walked as if on springs; a strength the like of which he had never felt before ran through his muscles. How good it was to be alive! He had made a daring throw, and luck had smiled on him!... He tied the ripe, heavy bundles, gave them a twist, and there stood the shock! As he looked at them he laughed to himself joyously, stopping a second as he finished each one to draw his hands over his face.... He must handle these bundles with care—the heavy kernels might shell out.... How absurdly light-hearted and gay he felt to-day!...

The men continued working until the dew became so heavy on the wheat that the reaping machine refused to go; it was long after sundown before they quit. Tönseten felt stiff and tired, but he wasn’t announcing the fact from the house-tops. In Per Hansa’s hut stood a table heaped with many good things, though the porridge bowls predominated. Both Kjersti and Sörine had been home to do their own chores for the night, and had returned to help Beret with the supper.

The men were already seated at the table; but they waited for Per Hansa, who had his head in the big chest and was hunting for something or other. “Hold on a minute, boys, before you say grace,” came from the cavernous depths of the chest. “Haven’t you manners enough to wait for the head of the family?” ... When he finally emerged and came up to the table, he shook a bottle behind Tönseten’s ear, asking, gayly, “Did you ever hear a sweeter sound, Syvert? Can’t you just hear her _wink_ at you, my boy?” ... There was enough in the bottle for one round, and then a little drop to swallow on, before the meal started.

Tönseten cleared his throat after the drink; he was anxious to make a little speech:

“What do you plan on doing in the future, Per Hansa, if you’re going to get rich on the very first crop?... I never in my life saw such wheat! Why, the kernels are like potatoes!”

“How about yourself, then?” inquired Per Hansa in great good humour. “I like to help worthy people who are in trouble; in case you and Kjersti should run short of stockings to keep your money in, you might come to me!”

As the meal went on, the spirits of the men sitting about the table rose higher and higher, and each vied with the other in good cheer.

“Rich?” exclaimed Tönseten. “We’ll all get rich; no doubt about it!... It’s going to be hardest on Sam, poor fellow. He’ll have to spend it all in getting married to that fine Trönder girl who’s waiting for him over east by the Sioux River! Hard luck, I say!”

“Yes, sir!” drawled Sam, blushing furiously. “But if I were you, Kjersti, I wouldn’t let Syvert go to the wedding—no, I wouldn’t at all!”

“Why?” laughed Kjersti, innocently.

“Well, you see, he gets sort of strung-up when he’s turned loose among the Trönder women—not that I mean anything, you know....”

“Sam, you’re a fool!” remarked Tönseten, angrily, laying down his spoon and leaving the table.

IX

By noon the next day they had finished the wheat field. To-day Tönseten was of a different mind—there really was no great hurry; the weather kept cool, and the grain didn’t look any riper to-day than yesterday, either at his own place or at Hans Olsa’s; if this spell of cool weather should last, the wheat would profit by yet another week; but then they might prepare to harvest a crop unique in the history of wheat growing.

Tönseten felt highly well pleased with himself and the rest of the world; he had now proved his prowess before his neighbours; the field was almost finished here, and it wouldn’t do any harm to rest and visit awhile.... “Don’t fret, boys, I won’t need to hurry at all! Those four acres of oats will only be play for the afternoon!”

And Per Hansa felt very much the same way. He and the other men were sitting in the shade on the north side of the house, with their backs up against the wall, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up from the west.... What was the use of hurrying?... Per Hansa had told the Solum boys that he wouldn’t need them that afternoon, as he and Hans Olsa could easily bind the oats; but it was so pleasant to rest here and spin yarns that the boys didn’t feel like stirring until the others went to the field.

As they got up at last and returned to their work, the northwest breeze struck them full in the face with its cool, fresh fragrance; Tönseten sniffed it approvingly, declaring that if this weather kept on, he and Hans Olsa would be sure to steal a march on Per Hansa in the end; never had the Lord sent finer weather for wheat to ripen in! He chuckled and talked away, his rotund body bobbing up and down with an irresistible merriment.... “Well, boys, in my opinion the Land of Canaan didn’t have much on this country—no, I’m damned if it had! Do you suppose the children of Israel ever smelt a westerly breeze like this? Why, folks, it’s blowing honey!” ... His festive mood was still possessing him as he began to hitch up the horses; in the midst of it he had to turn around and ask them shyly, “Now, wasn’t it remarkable that I should discover just _this_ place for you?”

Hans Olsa burst into a laugh. “Yes, it surely was wonderful, Syvert!”

But Tönseten felt that this praise wasn’t enough—he wanted to carry the joke a little farther. Turning to his other neighbour, he asked with the same roguish air, “What did you say, Per Hansa?”

Per Hansa remained strangely silent; he was standing a little distance away, shading his eyes with his right hand and looking into the west; an intent, troubled expression had come over his face.

... “What in the devil?...” he muttered to himself. Off in the western sky he had caught sight of something he couldn’t understand—something that sent a nameless chill through his blood.... Could that be a storm coming on?

He hurried over to the wheat shock where Hans Olsa was sitting, pointed westward, and asked in a low voice, “Tell me, can you see anything over there?”

Hans Olsa was on his feet in an instant.... “Well, look at that!... It must be going to storm!”

Tönseten had finished hitching the horses to the reaper, and had just mounted the seat when he saw Per Hansa run over, pointing to the west. Now both his neighbours were shouting at him:

“What’s that, Syvert?”

Tönseten turned in his seat, to face a sight such as he had never seen or heard before. From out of the west layers of clouds came rolling—thin layers that rose and sank on the breeze; they had none of the look or manner of ordinary clouds; they came in waves, like the surges of the sea, and cast a glittering sheen before them as they came; they seemed to be made of some solid murky substance that threw out small sparks along its face.

The three men stood spellbound, watching the oncoming terror; their voices died in their throats; their minds were blank. The horses snorted as they, too, caught sight of it, and became very restless.

The ominous waves of cloud seemed to advance with terrific speed, breaking now and then like a huge surf, and with the deep, dull roaring sound as of a heavy undertow rolling into caverns in a mountain side.... But they were neither breakers nor foam, these waves.... It seemed more as if the unseen hand of a giant were shaking an immense tablecloth of iridescent colours!...

“For God’s sake, what——!” ... Tönseten didn’t finish; unconsciously he had been hauling so hard on the lines that the horses began backing the machine.

Just then Ole and Store-Hans came running wildly up, shouting breathlessly, “A snowstorm is coming!... _See_!”

... The next moment the first wave of the weird cloud engulfed them, spewing over them its hideous, unearthly contents. The horses became uncontrollable. “Come here and give me some help!” cried Tönseten through the eerie hail, but the others, standing like statues, heard nothing and paid no heed; the impact of the solid surge had forced them to turn their backs to the wind. Tönseten could not hold the horses; they bolted across the field, cutting a wide semicircle through the oats; not until he had the stern of his craft well into the wind could he stop them long enough to scramble down and unhitch them from the reaper.

At that moment two women came running up—Kjersti first, with her skirt thrown over her head, Sörine a little way behind, beating the air with frantic motions. The Solum boys, too, had now joined the terror-stricken little crowd. Down by the creek the grazing cows had hoisted their tails straight in the air and run for the nearest shelter; and no sooner had the horses been turned loose, than they followed suit; man and beast alike were overcome by a nameless fear.

And now from out the sky gushed down with cruel force a living, pulsating stream, striking the backs of the helpless folk like pebbles thrown by an unseen hand; but that which fell out of the heavens was not pebbles, nor raindrops, nor hail, for then it would have lain inanimate where it fell; this substance had no sooner fallen than it popped up again, crackling, and snapping—rose up and disappeared in the twinkling of an eye; it flared and flittered around them like light gone mad; it chirped and buzzed through the air; it snapped and hopped along the ground; the whole place was a weltering turmoil of raging little demons; if one looked for a moment into the wind, one saw nothing but glittering, lightninglike flashes—flashes that came and went, in the heart of a cloud made up of innumerable dark-brown clicking bodies! All the while the roaring sound continued.

“Father!” shrieked Store-Hans through the storm. “They’re little birds—they have regular wings! Look here!” ... The boy had caught one in his hand; spreading the wings and holding it out by their tips, he showed it to his father. The body of the unearthly creature had a dark-brown colour; it was about an inch in length, or perhaps a trifle longer; it was plump around the middle and tapered at both ends; on either side of its head sparkled a tiny black eye that seemed to look out with a supernatural intelligence; underneath it were long, slender legs with rusty bands around them; the wings were transparent and of a pale, light colour.

“For God’s sake, child, throw it away!” moaned Kjersti.

The boy dropped it in fright. No sooner had he let it go than there sounded a snap, a twinkling flash was seen, and the creature had merged itself with the countless legions of flickering devils which now filled all space. They whizzed by in the air; they literally covered the ground; they lit on the heads of grain, on the stubble, on everything in sight—popping and glittering, millions on millions of them.... The people watched it, stricken with fear and awe. Here was _Another One_ speaking!...

Kjersti was crying bitterly; Sörine’s kind face was deathly pale as she glanced at the men, trying to bolster up her courage; but the big frame of her husband was bent in fright and dismay. He spoke slowly and solemnly: “This must be one of the plagues mentioned in the Bible!”

“Yes! and the devil take it!” muttered Per Hansa, darkly.... “But it can’t last forever.”

To Tönseten the words of Per Hansa, in an hour like this, sounded like the sheerest blasphemy; they would surely call down upon them a still darker wrath! He turned to reprove his neighbour: “Now the Lord is taking back what he has given,” he said, impressively. “I might have guessed that I would never be permitted to harvest such wheat. That was asking too much!”

“Stop your silly gabble!” snarled Per Hansa. “Do you really suppose _He_ needs to take the bread out of your mouth?”

There was a certain consolation in Per Hansa’s outburst of angry rationalism; Kjersti ceased weeping, though it was her own husband that had been put to shame. “I believe Per Hansa is right,” she said, the sobs still choking her. “The Lord can’t have any use for our wheat. He doesn’t need bread, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t take it from us in this way!”

But her open unbelief only confirmed her husband in his position; clearing his throat, he began to take Kjersti to task: “Don’t you remember your catechism, and your Bible history. Isn’t it plainly stated that this is one of the seven plagues that fell upon Egypt? Look out for your tongue, woman, lest He send us the other six, too!... It states as plain as day that it was because the people _hardened themselves_!” ...

Tönseten would probably have gone on indefinitely expounding the Scriptures to his wife if Henry Solum hadn’t interrupted just then with a practical idea. Turning to his brother, he said, “Go fetch the horses, so we can finish this field; by to-morrow there won’t be anything left!”

Per Hansa looked at Henry and nodded approvingly; the simple practicability of the suggestion had touched the chord of action again; he jumped to his feet and walked across to the field, where the work of devastation was already in full progress. As he saw the fine, ripe grain being ruthlessly destroyed before his eyes, he felt but one impulse—to stop the inroads of these demons in any possible way. He began to jump up and down and wave his hat, stamping and yelling like one possessed. But the hosts of horrid creatures frolicking about him never so much as noticed his presence; the brown bodies whizzed by on every hand, alighting wherever they pleased, chirping wherever they went; as many as half a dozen of them would perch on a single head of grain, while the stem would be covered with them all the way to the ground; even his own body seemed to be a desirable halting place; they lit on his arms, his back, his neck—they even dared to light on his bared head and on the very hat he waved.

His utter impotence in the face of this tragedy threw him into an uncontrollable fury; he lost all restraint over himself. “You, Ola!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Run home after Old Maria, and bring the caps!”

The boy was soon back with the old musket. His father, hardly able to wait, ran to meet him and snatched the weapon out of his hands. Hurriedly putting on a cap, he settled himself in a firm foothold—for he still had sense enough to remember how hard the rifle kicked when it had been lying loaded a long time.

As Hans Olsa caught wind of what he intended to do he tried to stop it. “Don’t do that, Per Hansa! If the Lord has sent this affliction on us, then....”

Per Hansa glowered at him with a look of angry determination; then, facing squarely the hurricane of flying bodies, he fired straight into the thickest of the welter!... The awful detonation of the old, rusty muzzle-loader had a singular effect; at first, as the shattering sound died away, nothing appeared to have happened—the glittering demons flickered by as unconcernedly as before; but presently a new movement seemed to originate within the body of the main cloud; it began to heave and roll with a lifting motion; in a few minutes the cloud had left the ground and was sailing over their heads, with only an intermittent hail of bodies pelting down on them out of its lower fringe; the roaring becoming more muffled.

“Do you suppose you’ve actually driven them off?” cried Henry, breathlessly, marvelling as he watched.

“Yes, from _here_!” said Hans Olsa in the same solemn tone, as he pointed down the hill. “But see our fields ...!”

Per Hansa was still in the grip of the strange spell that had taken possession of him; he apparently did not hear what the others were saying; without looking again he hurried off to help Sam with the horses. “Let’s get the reaper started!” he cried. “No sense in sitting here like a row of dummies!”

His example roused them once more, and without further words they followed his lead; just before sundown that night they finished the oat field at Per Hansa’s. All the while fresh clouds of marauders were passing over. As soon as he could get away each man hurried to his own place; they were all terribly anxious to see how much damage had been done at home.... Couldn’t they start cutting to-morrow, even if the grain wasn’t quite ripe? they thought as they hurried on. Wouldn’t it be possible to save _something_ out of the wreck? What in God’s name could they do if the whole crop were destroyed?... Anxiety tugged at their heartstrings. Yes, what could they do?...

Ole and Store-Hans went home with Hans Olsa to bring back word as to whether it would be possible to start harvesting his field in the morning. Per Hansa walked home alone; the spell had lifted now, and the reaction had left him in a troubled, irresolute frame of mind. The things that had happened that afternoon seemed harsh and inexplicable.... To be sure, _he_ had saved his whole crop—but how and why? He had saved it—partly because of his own foolish, headstrong acts, and partly because his land chanced to lie so much higher than that of his neighbours, that it had been the first to dry out in the spring.... Well, great luck for him! But at this moment gladness and happiness were the last things that he could feel.... There were his neighbours—poor devils! Hadn’t they worked just as faithfully, hadn’t they struggled just as hard—and with a great deal more common sense than he had shown? Why should they have to suffer this terrible calamity while he went scot-free?... And there was something else that worried him desperately. Throughout the afternoon, while he had been working, vague misgivings of how it was going at home had visited him, an uneasy sense of oppression and impending disaster; he had found himself constantly watching his own house, and had every moment expected to see Beret come around the corner. But not a soul had he caught sight of in all this time, moving about down there, though the hard labour and the fiends of the air had left him scant chance to think about it till now.

As he approached the house his misgivings grew more pronounced, till suddenly they leaped into an overmastering fear which he tried to assuage by telling himself that she had kept indoors because she had not dared to leave the children, and that in doing so she had acted wisely.... The house lay in deep twilight as he drew near; there was no sign of life to be seen or heard, except the malign beings that still snapped and flared through the air; the sod hut, surrounded as it was by flowing shapes, looked like a quay thrust out into a turbulent current; in the deepening twilight, the pale, shimmering sails of the flying creatures had taken on a still more unearthly sheen; they came, flickered by, and were gone in an instant, only to give place to myriads more.

... Can she have gone over to one of the neighbours’? he wondered as he came up to the door. No, she hasn’t—the door can’t be closed from the outside.... Per Hansa gasped for breath as he knocked on the door of his own house.... He rapped harder ... called, with his voice tearing from his throat:

“Open the door, Beret!”

He found himself listening intently, his ears strained to catch the least sound; at length he thought he heard a movement inside, and a great wave of relief swept over him.

... “Thank God!” ... He waited for the door to be opened—but nothing happened; nothing more could be heard.... What can she be doing? Didn’t she hear me? What in Heaven’s name has she put in front of the door?...

Per Hansa had begun to shove against the panel.

“Open the door, I tell you!... Beret—where are you?” ...

Once more he listened; once more he caught a faint sound; but the blood pounding in his ears deafened him now. Pulling himself together, he shoved against the door with all his strength—shoved until red streaks were flashing before his eyes. The door began to give—the opening widened; at last he had pushed it wide enough to slip through.

... “_Beret_!” ... The anguish of his cry cut through the air.... “Beret!” ...

Now he stood in the middle of the room. It was absolutely dark before his eyes; he looked wildly around, but could see nothing.

... “Beret, where are you?” ...

No answer came—there was no one to be seen. But wasn’t that a sound? “Beret!” he called again, sharply. He heard it now distinctly. Was it coming from one of the beds, or over there by the door?... It was a faint, whimpering sound. He rushed to the beds and threw off the bedclothes—no one in this one, no one in that one—it must be over by the door!... He staggered back—the big chest was standing in front of the door. Who could have dragged it there?... Per Hansa flung the cover open with frantic haste. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Down in the depths of the great chest lay Beret, huddled up and holding the baby in her arms; And-Ongen was crouching at her feet—the whimpering sound had come from her.

It seemed for a moment as if he would go mad; the room swam and receded in dizzy circles.... But things had to be done. First he lifted And-Ongen out and carried her to the bed—then the baby. At last he took Beret up in his arms, slammed down the lid of the chest, and set her on it.

... “Beret, Beret!” ... he kept whispering.

All his strength seemed to leave him as he looked into her tear-swollen face; yet it wasn’t her tears that drained his heart dry—the face was that of a stranger, behind which her own face seemed to be hidden.

He gazed at her helplessly, imploringly; she returned the gaze in a fixed stare, and whispered hoarsely:

“Hasn’t the devil got you yet? He has been all around here to-day.... Put the chest back in front of the door right away! He doesn’t dare to take the chest, you see.... We must hide in it—all of us!”

“Oh, Beret!” begged Per Hansa, his very soul in the cry. Speechless and all undone, he sank down before her, threw his arms around her waist, and buried his head in her lap—as if he were a child needing comfort.

The action touched her; she began to pat his head, running her fingers through his hair and stroking his cheek.... “That’s right!” she crooned.... “Weep now, weep much and long because of your sin!... So I have done every night—not that it helps much.... Out here nobody pays attention to our tears ... it’s too open and wild ... but it does no harm to try.”

“Oh, Beret, my own girl!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, as if to hush him. She grew more loving, caressed him tenderly, bent over to lift him up to her.... “Don’t be afraid, dear boy of mine!... For ... well ... it’s always worst just before it’s over!”

Per Hansa gazed deep into her eyes; a sound of agony came from his throat; he sank down suddenly in a heap and knew nothing more....

Outside, the fiendish shapes flickered and danced in the dying glow of the day. The breeze had died down; the air seemed unaccountably lighter.

... That night the Great Prairie stretched herself voluptuously; giantlike and full of cunning, she laughed softly into the reddish moon. “Now we will see what human might may avail against us!... Now we’ll see!” ...

X

And now had begun a seemingly endless struggle between man’s fortitude in adversity, on the one hand, and the powers of evil in high places, on the other. There were signs of the scourge in the summer of ’73, but not before the following year did it assume the proportions of a plague; after that it raged with unabated fury throughout the years ’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, and part of ’78; then it disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. The devastation it wrought was terrible; it made beggars of some, and drove others insane; still others it sent wandering back to the forest lands, though they found conditions little better there, either.... But the greater number simply hung on where they were. They stayed because poverty, that most supreme of masters, had deprived them of the liberty to rise up and go away. And where would they have gone? In the name of Heaven, whither would they have fled?

In the course of time it came about that fresh inroads of settlers, just as poverty-stricken as they were, arrived to help them suffer privation and to wait for better times.... Beautiful out here on the wide prairie—yes, beautiful indeed!... The finest soil you ever dreamed of—a veritable Land of Canaan!... One caravan after another came creaking along, a single wagon dropping out to settle here, another to settle there; for it really looked wonderful, this vast expanse of level, smiling plain—the new Promised Land into which the Lord was leading His poor people from all the corners of the earth!...

But the plague of locusts proved as certain as the seasons. All that grew above the ground, with the exception of the wild grass, it would pounce upon and destroy; the grass it left untouched because it had grown here ere time was and _without the aid of man’s hand_....

Who would dare affirm that this plague was not of supernatural origin? During the spring season, and throughout the early part of the summer, the air would be as pure and clear as if it had been filtered, wrapping and caressing the body like the finest silk; the sky would be as blue as if it had been scoured and newly painted; everything planted in the ground by man would grow as if by magic, filling out with an amazing fruitfulness, as the long warm days passed in endless array, until it bent under its own burden. And then, just as the process of ripening had begun, or perhaps a little before, the plague would descend upon them, suddenly, mysteriously, disastrously! On a certain bright, sunny day, when the breeze sighed its loveliest out of the northwest, strange clouds would appear in the western sky; swiftly they would advance, floating lazily through the clear air, a sight beautiful to behold. But these clouds would be made up of innumerable dark-brown bodies with slender legs, sailing on transparent wings; in an instant the air would be filled with nameless, unclean creatures—legions on legions of them, hosts without number! Now pity the fields that the hand of man had planted with so much care! And the ruthless marauders invariably came out of the clear northwest where the afternoon glow was brightest, most marvellous; more than often toward evening, when the day was sinking to rest and all earth seemed at peace, they would come. To these wandering Norsemen, the old adage that all evil dwells below and springs from the north, was proving true again.[21]

[21] An old superstition that goes back to Norse mythology: the Kingdom of Darkness and Evil was located in the far north; the way to Hell led downward and in a northerly direction. In the practice of sorcery and witchcraft, whenever water was to be used it must always be taken from streams flowing from south to north, for such water had supernatural power.

During the summer of their first visitation, the demons left behind them evil enough to pollute a whole continent. In the plowed fields they laid tiny, frail eggs, having the appearance of fine dry sawdust; although they seemed so delicate, these eggs would lie there unharmed during the wet fall season, and all through the winter, embedded in ice and covered by many feet of snow, thawing and freezing by turns in the early spring; but when the hot sun of summer had warmed them for a while they would suddenly burst open, letting loose a host of voracious, crawling devils. This phenomenon called to mind another saying: No evil is quite so bad as that which man himself fosters. It seemed to be true enough in this case; for these little wriggling demons were not only revoltingly nasty to look at, but they also caused an even greater devastation than those which came flying on the wings of the western breeze.

Not that these others ceased coming now, because man had raised a crop of his own—God, no! It would happen for days at a time, during the height of the pest season, that one could not see clear sky. But not always did the scourge choose to descend; often the locust clouds would come drifting across the sun, very much like streamers of snow, floating lazily by for days on end; then, all of a sudden, as if overcome by their own neglect, they would swoop down, dashing and spreading out like an angry flood, slicing and shearing, cutting with greedy teeth, laying waste every foot of the field they lighted in. At last, perhaps by the time the next afternoon’s breeze had risen, they would apparently take the notion that this wasn’t a fit place to stay in; in a moment they would fly up and be gone in a great cloud, off on the search for new conquests.

Impossible to outguess them! No creatures ever acted so whimsically or showed such a lack of rational, orderly method. One field they might entirely lay waste, while they ate only a few rods into the next; a third, lying close beside the others, they might not choose to touch at all. In one field they would cut the stalks, leaving the ground strewn with a green carpet of heads; in the next they might content themselves with shearing the beard—then the grain looked like shorn sheep with the ears gone. Nor were they at all fastidious: potatoes and vegetables of all kinds, barley and oats, wheat and rye—it made no difference; or a swarm of insects might light on a wagon box, and when it lifted again the box would have been scarred by countless sharp teeth; at one place a fork with a handle of hickory might be standing in the ground, and after a few swarms had passed the surface of the handle would be rasped and chewed, a mass of loose slivers; somewhere else a garment might be laid out on the ground to dry—a swarm would light on it, and in a moment only shreds would be left; if the annihilating devils were in the proper mood, they would take anything and leave nothing.

The folk looked on helplessly, in grim despair and awe-stricken wonder; the more timid ones among them were oppressed by a growing fear, while the godless swore so that the air smelled of brimstone; the pious would assemble in homes and churches, entreating the Lord to deliver them from famine and pestilence; but the brave did not lose heart, and kept on busily inventing all sorts of devices with which to drive the demons away. Many odd expedients were tried in different places; simple-minded people would take a washtub and a rolling pin, and beat until they were tired, but never a ripple did such a din cause in the current’s steady flow.

And all the while the folk tried to comfort one another.... It will be better by-and-by, you know!... This plague must leave _some time_—it can’t go on forever!... The Sognings were a people of even temperament, not easily flustered; they bore the affliction with remarkable calmness and fortitude. Of course this thing would have to stop! They had faith to believe it—how could it well be otherwise?... And their cousins, the Vossings, would always agree with them. Yes, indeed! Why, such things always seem hardest to bear at the first—don’t we know _that_?... Some one would think of a hallowed consolation with which to comfort the others. Wasn’t it pretty bad in Egypt?—But what did the Book say? Didn’t the plague vanish there? Why, it had lasted practically no time at all!... I’ll bet my last dollar, some one else would venture, that next year everything will be all right!... And when it turned out to be just as bad the following year, the same person would be even more confident. Now, see—we’ve had this thing with us two years already—this is the end! Who ever heard of a plague lasting forever? Don’t you remember the Black Death? That finished up in half a year, didn’t it, and was never heard of again?... And even when the third summer came, and there was no let-up in the awful visitation, some bright head would remember the indisputable fact that _all good things are three_. So there!—Now let’s thank the Lord that we’re through with it at last! Just wait awhile—the soil out here is first class; if we hang on, we’re sure to make a clean sweep!... On the fourth summer the plague raged worse than ever before; but now it had begun to lose its power over the people—they feared it no longer. We’re getting used to it, they would say with a bitter laugh. It takes neither man nor beast—let’s thank God for _that_, anyway!...

III. The Glory of the Lord

I

A day in June, of quivering, vital sunlight.... The irregular shadows of fleecy clouds drifting across an endless plain.... Sun and irregular, fleecy clouds—nothing but these all day....

Over the prairie, making toward the settlement by Spring Creek, rattled an old, dilapidated cart, antique of build, in a state so wretched that it seemed ready to fall apart at the next tussock it might encounter.

The nag in front was in perfect keeping with the vehicle: long-shanked and rawboned, and so lean and lanky that one could have counted every rib. Originally its colour might have been a light grey, but now it was no longer definable: dirty grey, rusty, yellowish-brown—it might have been any one of these, or just as accurately something else. Only a few miserable hanks were left of what probably had once been a flowing mane. Above the shoulders rose a big hump; when the animal stretched out its neck, one was reminded of a dromedary. Undoubtedly it had once been an authentic horse, but that must have been a long time ago.

The man in the seat was of even more uncertain age than either horse or vehicle. He might be forty-five, or he might just as likely be sixty-five. But for his beard and stoutness, one would be inclined to guess the former figure, for the expression of his face was still youthful, the eyes bright and sparkling with something boyish in their gleam. But the beard clearly suggested a more advanced age; it stretched from ear to ear, forming a thick fringe around the chin; it was perhaps an inch long, heavy and stiff, originally blond in color, but now streaked with grey. The clothes, too, testified to the man’s advanced age; especially the coat, which seemed to be neither coat nor jacket, but something out of the ordinary—a garment of thin black cloth, loosely fitting, too long to be called a jacket, yet not long enough for a topcoat.

The horse trudged slowly on, the cart jolting and rumbling behind; the man on the seat allowed him to dawdle as much as he pleased, and hummed tunes to himself to pass the time. After a long while the sod huts by Spring Creek began almost imperceptibly to lift their heads out of the ground; and not a bit too soon, for evening was fast coming on.

A couple of frame houses, one large and square, the other smaller and with a high gable, had long been visible. They seemed strangely conspicuous in the bare, level landscape; one could not help wondering if they really belonged here in the wilderness. The man on the cart, however, apparently paid no heed to them; as the sod huts came more and more within the range of his vision, his humming gradually grew fainter and more intermittent.

“Hm ... hm.... Well, here they are. Move along now. King!” came coaxingly from out of the fringe of beard. “We must try to scratch gravel, you see, and get there before the folks go to bed. Go ’long, I tell you, go ’long!”

The sun had already set when the horse came to a standstill in front of one of the huts; the traveller did not get down.

“Anybody at home here?” he shouted in a strong voice.

Sounds of sudden movement were heard within. A stout toil-worn, red-faced man came hastily out, an equally stout but rounder woman rolled after him, both with their mouths full of food; the red-faced man was wiping his beard; both he and his wife were staring at the stranger.

“I asked if there were people here,” repeated the man, unconsciously falling into the idiom of his native tongue and using a phrase that carried a special meaning. Behind the fringe of his whiskers beamed a broad smile.

“Oh, the devil! Are you Norwegian, then?” shouted the red-faced man, jovially.

“So, so! Do you call on _that fellow_ around here?”

The man on the ground immediately grew serious; he and his wife were staring at the stranger.

“Have you any more food than you need for supper, and a place to put up a tired horse that’s been on his feet all day?”

Without waiting for an answer, the speaker threw down the lines, stepped out of the cart, stretched himself, and sighed with relief.

“My, my! How stiff one gets from all this shaking!... What’s your name, my good man?”

“My name is Syvert Tönseten. What kind of a fellow may you be?” Tönseten came close up and looked inquiringly at the stranger, who had now turned to the woman:

“Have you got any food in the house, mother?” And ignoring the man, the traveller took from his cart a large, old, and well-worn satchel, which he deposited on the ground.

“Why, yes ... of course ... if you will take what we have!” said Kjersti, slowly. There she paused; moving behind her husband, she took her hand from under her apron and gave a pull at his jacket; she had now looked the stranger over and didn’t feel altogether relieved....

Tönseten was too preoccupied with himself to notice her. “I am asking you,” he said with pompous dignity, “what kind of a fellow you are and what you are after. Are you looking for land?”

The stranger put his hands against his sides, looked straight at them, and said, impressively:

“I am a minister. As for you, my good man, you ought not to stand there swearing into the face of strangers!... Now let me ask you again: May I stop here to-night?”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tönseten, letting his breath go as if some one had hit him in the stomach.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” wailed Kjersti, awe-stricken, yet overwhelmed with joy. “Is the man crazy? Can he really be a minister?... Of course he must stop here, if he can only eat the stuff we have!”

“Don’t worry about that, mother.” He turned to her husband. “And now you and I will attend to the horse.”

Tönseten’s knees were weak from penitent zeal; he trembled with eagerness to help; he wanted to talk, but his voice failed and the words would not come. But the horse was wonderfully well cared for; he even went back a second time, after they were through, to spread another layer of straw for bedding. While they worked the minister had many questions to ask; they took their own time about coming in.

At last Tönseten ushered the minister into the hut, placed a chair at the farthest end of the table, and bade him be seated. The table now was laid with a white tablecloth, on which had been placed a superabundance of food for only one person; there were _römmekolle_ and _flatbröd_, fresh milk and boiled eggs; there were coffee and cakes; but even so, Kjersti thought it too little to offer such a distinguished visitor; now she was busy frying a couple of egg pancakes. Thank goodness, there was plenty of what she had! She had hurriedly tidied up the room; it looked cozy and comfortable inside the hut, and the minister could not refrain from expressing his admiration.

Finally he sat up to the table and began to eat, praising everything that he tasted and helping himself bountifully, like a healthy person whose hunger has been sharpened by a long fast.

Tönseten remained standing in the middle of the floor, talking with the minister; his manner was humble almost to the point of unction, his voice had taken on a tone of great solemnity. Kjersti hung in the background by the stove, where the room lay in shadow, listening closely to the conversation; she was more concerned about what her husband said than to follow the minister’s discourse—Syvert was so easily excited, poor fellow, and had so little experience in talking to people of quality! She watched the minister as he helped himself liberally to the food, and felt the blessing of it descend upon her. How kind of him to say the nice things he did about the food she had prepared!... And he chatted with them so pleasantly and naturally! No traces of sermonizing in his talk! Why, he and Syvert were just discussing ordinary everyday things—about conditions as they were around there, about crops and prospects, about the best way to run a farm.... Now and then Tönseten would turn their conversation toward the future; he was more interested in visualizing how things were going to turn out than in making a bare statement of how they actually were; _that_ was something he could enlarge upon to the minister. And the minister seemed to have much good advice; thus they ought to do with that, he said, and so with this, but differently with the other.... At length he inquired about the religious life of the people in this locality. Tönseten cleared his throat at the question, which he had been expecting, and answered emphatically that that was a subject on which he wasn’t very well posted; you couldn’t expect a common farmer to know much about such matters. And then he began hurriedly to ask the pastor which way he had come, and whether he had seen many settlers in the parts through which he had travelled. This, in turn, gave him an opportunity to tell how the country looked hereabouts when he had first arrived six years ago; he waxed so eloquent on this point that it seemed difficult for him to stop.... Kjersti realized that he was now on extremely dangerous ground!——

At last the minister had finished his meal.

“Now then, my good man, be silent, and we will thank the Lord for this day.”

“Yes, yes—of course!” ... Tönseten blew his nose vigorously; but not knowing what to do with himself next, he stuck his thumbs inside his trousers-band, and stood where he was in the middle of the floor, utterly unnerved.

Kjersti sank down on the wood-box, and wiped her eyes with her apron.... She wanted to tell her husband to sit down, but simply couldn’t screw up her courage to do it.

Placing his folded hands on the table, the minister began in a quiet way, as if addressing some one they could not see who stood very near; he seemed to be well acquainted with this unseen being, for he spoke in a low voice and very intimately, as to a dear friend who, unexpectedly, had done him a good turn. He thanked Him for the day that now was past, nevermore to return, entreating Him to cast into the ocean of grace all sins committed on this day; he prayed long and earnestly for the people out here, for the house in which he sat, and especially for the man standing there who was so prone to swear; in one way or another He must come to him and remind him constantly of what His holy law provided with respect to this grievous sin. But He must not be too severe with these poor people, for they had wandered far from home and some had gone astray, and long had they dwelt out here in the Great Wilderness, without a shepherd and without care. Truly, life had not been easy for them!... After saying amen, he remained silent for some time, with hands still folded; from the candle on the table a pale glow was thrown over his face, touching the fringe of his beard with pure silver.... Peace had fallen on the room.

Then the minister arose.

“Praise be to God, and thanks to you, good people, for this sumptuous feast!”

Tönseten again blew his nose violently; then, overcome with confusion, he wheeled about and walked out of the hut.

Kjersti sat on the wood-box, weeping with mingled emotions. The minister came over and took her by the hand. “A fine meal you prepared for me, mother, and here are my heartfelt thanks!”

“Oh, well—that’s nothing!” ... She shook her head speechlessly, but could not let go his hand.

In a moment Tönseten returned.... This would never do, he wanted to explain. He wasn’t such a bad case as the minister seemed to think. He ought to hear some of the others when they let themselves go!... But as soon as he stood in the presence of the pastor, confusion overcame him again; he merely stuttered and stammered, and found nothing to say.

The minister now opened his satchel; first of all he took out a large, fat pouch, and then an ancient pipe, which he carefully cleaned and promptly filled. “A little incense, I think, will now be blessedly enjoyable.... No, just remain seated, mother.”

II

The sleeping quarters assigned to the minister were the spare sod house, a structure which was now to be found on every farm. Clothes were hung in it, and food was stored there, as well as tools and farm implements; it might even contain a blacksmith’s shop and a carpenter’s bench, if the size of the room was sufficient; but nearly always there was a bed, made and ready for use.

But the minister seemed more anxious to visit with them than to go to bed; he smoked pipe after pipe, striking it against his toe to knock out the ashes, each time filling and lighting it anew. He asked them all about their life, and the struggle they had had since they came to this place. This was rich for Tönseten; he never tired of telling.... Finally the minister knocked out the ashes of his pipe for the last time, got up, and laid it carefully aside.

“Well, now the day is done, and a fine, blessed day it has been; the night is approaching, so let us enjoy sweet repose.... Where do you intend to put me up for the night, mother?”

Both Kjersti and Tönseten felt that they must accompany him to the other hut. There stood the bed, with a small table at its side, covered with a rose-coloured cloth; the room was small and crowded, but seemed cozy and cheerful withal.

“Oh, here it will be sweet to stretch one’s weary limbs!” exclaimed the minister, joyfully.

“What a wonderful man he is!” thought Kjersti. She began to make many excuses because they had nothing better to offer.

With a mixture of jest and earnestness the minister rebuked her for such talk; soon they were all three laughing together, and it was so pleasant that the hosts could hardly tear themselves away.

Tönseten had aged considerably in the last two years; one who had known him before that time would scarcely recognize him now. He had struggled with a bad cough for two consecutive springs; this spring it had been so violent at times that he feared the end had come; but Kjersti had finally managed to boil and dose it out of him. It had left its mark, however; he became easily tired now, and needed a lot of sleep in order to keep going.

But to-night he didn’t get much sleep; and what little there was brought no rest. Serious things to think about had suddenly come forward.... Oh, my God!...

He would have liked to stay with the minister for a private and confidential talk; but he knew that Kjersti would never go away and leave them alone. While she was clearing the table, after they had gone back to their own house, he slipped out and walked over to the other hut; but when he got there he realized that it was too late; he couldn’t talk to the minister to-night—it would never do to disturb him now.

At last they went to bed together, Tönseten and his wife. Kjersti lost consciousness almost at once; but Syvert lay awake a long while, pondering over how he might be able to gain the ear of the minister.... “To-morrow morning,” he thought, “before the minister shows up, I’ll take some wash water over to him. I’ll sit down in the doorway while he washes, where I can see if anyone is coming; then, maybe, I’ll get a chance to talk with him.... I’ll tell him everything. There’s going to be the devil to pay! Useless to try any tricks here—I can’t get out of it. His eyes are too keen—they see right through you!... But suppose Kjersti comes along while we are talking? Well, there you are! He would be likely to refer to it again when we go over to the house, and that would give the whole thing away; he’s a terror when he begins asking questions! No, this thing has always been my own worry, and it shall continue to be.... O Lord! I dread it like hell! If he could make such a fuss over that little innocent word I dropped, just speaking _naturally_, what will he say about _this_?” ... Cold sweat was standing on Tönseten’s forehead.... “No, it will probably be better to wait till he leaves; then I can go along with him a little way—get out of range of those eyes of hers.”

This decision brought him something like peace, but no sleep; for now he had to consider how to present the case in the best light possible. No sooner had he begun to think that over than the whole wretched business stood clearly before his eyes; there he lay, wide awake, staring at his great sin....

Tönseten was indeed in a terrible plight; none but himself knew how utterly heinous and desperate it was. Until last spring he hadn’t known it, either; but at that time, when he was lying prostrate and the cough was threatening to make an end of him, he had come to a full realization of the enormity of his deed; since then it had hung over him like a dark shadow, growing deeper and deeper the longer he turned it in his mind.... Just imagine a perfectly innocent man getting himself into such a fix! But had anyone, innocent or guilty, ever committed a sin like the one that lay at his door?

This minister seemed to have a lot of sense, though; perhaps he might understand that it wasn’t altogether Syvert’s fault, in a manner of speaking.... They had come to him, you see—he couldn’t get out of it. He had been legally elected, too; and one of the specified duties of his office was to do just _this thing_. Surely those who had laid down the law and forced ignorant people to perform such acts ought to be made to bear part of the blame!... Of course, he might have objected. Oh yes, that was just it—he might have refused. That was probably just what the minister would say; he felt it in his bones. Great God, what a mess!... The picture of it passed before his mind in rank and file, clearly and distinctly; he could both see and hear the actors of that hateful drama; and so he lived it over once more to the last detail, muttering to himself, and turning alternately hot and cold.

It would be just four years the coming fall since this transgression had taken place.... It had even happened on a Sunday afternoon.... Well, perhaps that wasn’t so bad. The whole crowd had come walking up toward the hut; nearly all the east-siders were in the procession, with Johannes Mörstad and his girl, Josie, in the center.... Halvor Hegg had explained their errand—Halvor, he was a pretty decent fellow. Tönseten couldn’t remember the exact words now, but their import was something like this: “You are a justice of the peace, Syvert Tönseten, and that is a very important office.” He remembered one thing distinctly, that Halvor had emphasized the word _important_. “Now, Johannes and Josie, they want to get married and live together, because Johannes, he needs help the way he is hustling; and there isn’t anyone else but you to perform the ceremony. According to law and justice, you’ll have to do it, too, as near as you can in the Christian manner; you realize that yourself.” That was the trend of Halvor’s remarks.... Tönseten groaned aloud, for he well remembered how frightened he had been when he had finally waked up to the grim fact that Halvor meant what he said. Since last spring, when he had lain there fighting with death, he had scarcely thought of anything else....

And that Sunday afternoon he had married the couple!

If he could only be sure, even, that he had done it properly according to law! But he had been unable to find the papers and instructions furnished him for such an occasion; not that they would have helped him much, for they were all in English.... The neighbours had elected him justice of the peace when they organized the town; the regulations called for such an official, and they had poked a lot of fun at him about his important office. At that time he hadn’t dreamed that it would ever call for legal or technical action, least of all for anything like _that_.... How could he, an ignorant layman, have dared to go to work deliberately and do such a sacrilegious thing! Tönseten spat on the floor and rolled over in bed; he was absolutely convinced that the heaviest sin one could commit was that of meddling in sacred matters.

... He _had_ excused himself—he _had_ tried to get out of it! He had insisted that he didn’t know how—the neighbours could testify to that!...

The worst of it was that the young people had made merry with him about it, both then and afterward; they had hurrahed for the “parson” as well as for the bridal couple, and had applauded the whole ceremony as if it were a joke.... And Johannes and Josie had moved at once into a house of their own and had lived together as man and wife ever since.... What infamy! The minister would simply have to do something about it!... Oh yes, he recalled the whole damnable business....

Why, hadn’t the two principals themselves, Johannes and Josie, stood before him without a sign of seriousness in their attitude; hadn’t they even laughed right into his face?... And he couldn’t be certain that he, too, hadn’t smiled, although he had tried hard to keep his face straight.... Then he had taken her hand and placed it in Johannes’s.... No, now let’s see, it must have been the other way around; it had been Josie, however, who had taken the notion that he wasn’t doing it right, and had insisted on changing the hands—the others had laughed and shouted fit to kill.... With that settled, in a deep silence he had pronounced these words: “Now, Johannes, you take this woman standing by your side—yes, I say, take her now, and use her decently and honorably, as is befitting good Norwegian folk!” After that he had uttered the word “amen” in a loud voice—for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else to say. And Josie had looked up brightly into his face, her eyes snapping with mischief—she was such a pretty girl and had laughed so happily.... Since then these two had lived together as man and wife—in infamy! But after all, no serious calamity had befallen them, save that the children had come so terribly close together; at any rate, they were all pretty and well shaped!... Huf! Huf!...

Tönseten turned over for the twentieth time. Oh, well, he would confess to the minister in the morning, let the chastising be ever so severe. He must be absolved of this sin! If that cough should return next winter, there was no telling what might happen!...

Since children baptized at home could be rebaptized by a minister, as if the religious ceremony had only been postponed, there was no logical reason why a matter like this couldn’t be mended!

At breakfast next morning the minister kept asking a host of questions; he inquired at length about everything that his brief survey had shown him: Who lived in this hut and who lived in that? Who had built the big houses? How had those men happened to prosper ahead of the others?

Tönseten sat at the opposite end of the table, where he was served separately. This morning he didn’t seem to have any appetite—he couldn’t relish his food.... It was astonishing how many things the minister found to ask questions about.... Throughout the breakfast Tönseten sat in the grip of a silent fear, afraid of what might come next; as soon as the meal was safely over, he found a pretext for leaving the room.

A few moments later the minister came out into the yard, with his satchel in his hand, and glanced around at the neighbourhood where he had arrived. In his wake came Kjersti, bashfully tripping out of the house; Tönseten walked restlessly about the yard, handling one thing after another, but did not approach the minister; then the latter called out to him:

... Who lived directly west of them?

... Why, that was Hans Olsa—that is to say, Hans Vaag.

... And to the north?

... That was Per Holm—or rather Per Hansa, as he was called.

The minister scrutinized closely that part of the settlement visible from where they stood; then he went on with his inquiries about the people.

... Where was the largest house?

... Did he mean the biggest room? Well, that was at Per Holm’s; he had gone ahead and built on a big scale the very spring he came out; people had thought him crazy for putting up such a sod house, but it had turned out that he wasn’t so crazy, after all.... Torkel Tallaksen was now building a grand house of lumber, that would surely be a mansion when it was finished; but it wasn’t done yet....

“Well, now, let’s get to work,” said the minister, resolutely. “First of all, my good man, I must get you to help me. Will you hurry around to all your neighbours and tell them that to-day, at two o’clock, I shall conduct divine services at the house of this man Per Holm. Everyone must be present—tell them that they have to come! And you, mother”—he turned to address Kjersti—“I think it would be a kindness of you if you were to go over and help Mrs. Holm get the house ready for the service; it need not be anything extraordinary, but the place in which the Lord’s blessings are dealt out ought at least to be clean and tidy!”

They gazed at the minister in alarm, but for a while said nothing.

“Well—poor Beret!” sighed Kjersti, compassionately.

“Beret?... So that is her name? What is the matter with the woman? Are they so very poor?”

Suddenly Tönseten forgot his reserve and spoke up emphatically: “I’ll tell you about it. This Per Hansa—that is to say, Per Holm—he has got rich out here; he has done better than anyone else, though he came here without a cent to his name. And why shouldn’t he have done well? He has plenty of help in his own family, so he never needs to hire; and besides that, good luck has followed him right along. The first year we settled, for instance, the grasshoppers came and made a clean sweep of the rest of us; but Per Hansa saved his whole crop! The same year he made a big haul with his potatoes ... why, he must have sold for a thousand that year, and nobody knows how much he has made these years on the fur trade that he’s carried on with the Indians.... He is now settled on three quarters of land!”

“Well, well! that’s fine! But what ails his wife?”

Now it was Kjersti’s turn; she shook her head sadly as she related all the distressing circumstances. Now and then Tönseten, fearing that she hadn’t made things clear enough, would put in a word. The minister prompted them with questions. After a while he had learned the whole sad story about Beret Holm.... His face clouded as he listened; it was as if the sun had suddenly darkened over a beautiful landscape, until it became drab and desolate to look upon. For a long time he stood there absorbed in thought, the two gazing at him apprehensively; they dared not speak to him in this mood. At last he said, quietly, “I think we had better arrange it this way, mother: I will go over there first, and you follow about noontime. As for you, my friend,” turning to Tönseten, “try to do your errand well! Remember that they must bring all the children requiring baptism. Don’t forget that! And tell them to be sure and bring their hymn books, too.”

The minister was now making his preparations to go to Per Hansa’s; as the distance was so short, he had decided to leave his horse.

Tönseten fussed about uneasily, delaying his errand; he assured the minister that he needn’t worry—he would get the message around to everybody in good season—it would only take a minute or two!... His red beard caught the sunlight every time he moved his head, which now kept bobbing around in a ridiculous way.

At last the minister took his departure and Tönseten was on hand to go along with him.

“Let me carry that satchel for you.... I’ll begin here on the north side and work east—that’s the shortest way.”

They walked on side by side, the minister deeply absorbed in thought; after a while Tönseten fell a little way behind.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he tried to say casually. His voice was so faint and low that the other could hardly catch it.

The minister stopped short and looked at him. Tönseten glanced this way and that; his eyes fell to the ground and he made nervous dashes here and there, as if seeking escape....

“Well?” ...

Too late now!... Tönseten took a deep breath, summoned all his courage, glanced once at the minister—then turned his head away....

“I just wanted to ask you if ... well ... if it’s possible to marry a couple who are already married? Because in that case, I’d ask them to come, too.”

“You mean, they are divorced?”

“No, indeed, not divorced! Heavens! I should say not! But maybe it wasn’t done just right, you see, when the ceremony was performed....”

“I am afraid I do not understand you.”

Tönseten spat out a huge mouthful of tobacco juice, and looked up into the sky.

“You see, it happened here,” he confessed in a desperate voice, “that we had to organize the township; so we had to have officials, you see. Well, they went ahead and elected me justice of the peace.... How could I help it, I’d like to know?... And then, you see, there wasn’t a minister to be found in all Dakota Territory—there simply wasn’t one in sight!” Tönseten waved his hand with a wild gesture, still looking off into the sky.

The minister’s face expanded into a broad smile.

“And so you had to serve as minister?”

“You’ve hit it—that’s _exactly_ what happened!... You see, this fellow, Johannes Mörstad, and his wife, they couldn’t wait any longer—they should have been married long before, for that matter. And so they pounced upon me!... I refused point blank, of course ... I have witnesses to _that_. But then, you see, I really was justice of the peace; and at last I had to give in.... That’s the worst sin of all!” ... Tönseten could only whisper now.

“And so you married them?” said the minister, slowly.

“Well, yes—I pitched in and did the best I could.... But now you’ve got to fix it up properly!” begged Tönseten.

The minister’s smile suddenly became a loud chuckle; Tönseten listened incredulously; that chuckle descended on the anxious old fellow like a warm shower; it gave him courage to glance again at his companion. So great was his thankfulness that the feeling surged through him: for that man he could gladly die!

He spat and sputtered, blowing his nose in stentorian tones; but he could not take his eyes off the other man’s face.

“Was it long ago?”

“It will be four years this coming fall.... It was the third Sunday after Trinity, to be exact. I put a mark in my hymn book.”

“You did what the law prescribed?”

“Of course I did!... Well, that is to say ... I’m only an ignorant man....”

“Are there any children?”

“Children! Don’t talk about it! There are three of them already, with a fourth well on the way. As far as that part of it is concerned,” Tönseten observed in all seriousness, “everything seems to have been done properly enough! But ... well, you’ll just have to do it over again!”

“No,” said the minister, still smiling, “that is your job, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. But tell them to bring the children with them.... And now see that you get started!”

“But wasn’t it a sacrilegious thing to do?”

“Yes, under normal conditions—undoubtedly. But at the time, as you say, conditions were far from normal out here, and you had been duly elected to perform certain official duties.... The Children of Israel wandered about in the desert; at first they used the barren desert for their house of worship, then came the tabernacle, finally the temple. And so with our people in this country. Such marrying practices as some people have here are sacrilegious and must be discontinued ... you’re right in that.”

“Do you think the Lord will ever forgive me?”

“That I truly believe He will! This probably is not the worst sin you have committed!” ...

Tönseten’s joy and relief were almost suffocating; he wiped his eyes as he gazed at the minister.... What a marvellously sensible man!...

“I’ll hurry right off and tell them!... But, please, I beg of you, don’t mention this at home. You see—well, Kjersti is not very strong.” ...

And now Tönseten was speeding along in great excitement from farm to farm, announcing to all the people that a pastor had come to them at last and that they must gather to hear him, he was such a wonderfully able man. And the farther and faster he went, the easier became the road and the more wonderful did the minister grow in his mind, a fact which he emphasized at every place he came to and enlarged upon whenever he could stop long enough to draw breath. And he forgot neither the children nor the hymn books; he even found other items to bring to their attention.... All the while he was thinking: Just imagine, even _he_ could splice a couple together so that it was all right with the Lord! Well, well, that certainly was a most remarkable thing!...

III

The minister stood in the corner next to the window, arrayed in full canonicals. The gown was threadbare and badly wrinkled, as a result of its many journeys inside the old valise; the ruff might have been whiter, perhaps; but such trifles were not noticed now, for here stood a real Norwegian minister in ruff and robe!... It was undoubtedly true, what Tönseten had said about him—he was an altogether remarkable man. The vestments which he wore seemed only to emphasize the strength of his features, whose youthful vigour, in spite of the grey-streaked beard, appeared at this solemn moment to have taken on a new glow of life.

The table, spread with a white cloth, had been placed so close to the window that the minister barely had space to stand behind it; on the table stood two homemade candles, one at either end; the candlesticks, too, were homemade, cut from two four-inch pieces of sapling, with the bark left on and painted white; at a little distance they looked like curious works of art. The candles were not yet lighted; a bible and a hymn book lay between them.

The time for the meeting had come. The people filed slowly in and took their places, settling down wherever space was available; on the beds sat women crowded close together, strung along the edge like beads; these were mostly the mothers, and behind them sat and lay the children all over the beds; on the big chest eight in all had taken their seats, running from big to little; the chest had been pulled out from the wall, so that people could sit on all four sides; the six rough benches which Per Hansa and Hans Olsa had hastily nailed together were now filled to capacity, mostly by women, young children, and older people who were not able to stay on their feet so long.

The beds stood in one corner of the room, the stove in another; in the third were the minister and the table; in the fourth, and on every available part of the floor, people were packed like sardines. As many as the room would actually hold had crowded in, eager to see the minister. But not all who had come could gain an entrance; quite a crowd had to remain outdoors: some stood along the walls; others had settled down on the grass. From those outside the house came the subdued sound of talk and laughter.

The women had dressed up in their best for the occasion, and most of the men, as well; but here and there one saw a man who had come straight from his work in the fields, his face covered with sweat and grime....

In the dense cluster of people by the door some one cleared his throat loudly; another was heard to mutter that it was a good thing they didn’t have to be particular about the floor! This latter remark caused a slight disturbance in the group; a voice laughed outright, and a couple of men tried to push the people ahead of them forward a little, so that they could clear a space to spit in.... The minister glanced up sharply, searching the crowd for the one who had spoken; the youthful look on his face changed to sternness as he rapped on the table:

“Let us have silence, good people! We will begin at once.” He raised his voice: “Those who are outside must keep perfectly quiet!”

And now a deep silence descended on the closely packed room; through this silence the sound of quiet breathing rose and fell, gently yet perceptibly, like the rise and fall of a heavy ocean swell.

The pastor read the opening prayer. Then he announced the hymn which they were to sing, and himself led the singing; a few joined in at first, one voice after another straggling along, like waves on a calm sea; but before the first stanza was ended every voice had picked up the tune and the room was vibrating to a surge of mighty song. After the hymn the minister chanted, conducting the full service just as if it had been in a real church.... How wonderful it seemed!... Before long the men had to slip their coats off, it had grown so warm in the room.

The minister preached on the coming of the Israelites into the Land of Canaan. He began by reminding his hearers of the dangers which the Children of Israel had been obliged to pass through, and of the struggles and tribulations which they had been forced to endure. He set forth what had been promised them if they would remain faithful to the heritage of their fathers and obedient to the law which the Lord had given them as their guide.

Then, in powerful strokes, he sketched the history of Israel. First of all, how had the ten tribes fared? They had been taken as prisoners to a strange country; they had remained there and had forsaken their gods; and then they had disappeared, leaving no trace, like the morning dew on the face of the Great Prairie. Where were the ten tribes now? Not a word nor a sign remained of them—not even a chance name, here or there, to indicate where they must have been! Was it not significant that a whole people could disappear so completely?... How different the story of the two-tribe peoples! They, too, had been put in chains and treated as slaves; but they had been held in bonds of loyalty to their race and to Him who had nurtured them; and they had endured and prospered. And so, at last, they had come back to rebuild the ruined walls of Zion—and from their loins had sprung the Saviour of mankind!

Then the minister shifted the scene, applying the parable to those who stood before him; they, too, had wandered in search of a Land of Canaan; from the ancient home of their race they had fared forth, far away over the ocean into a foreign country; here they had settled now, here they proposed to strike root again; and here their seed would multiply from generation to generation, ages without end. True enough, they had no hostile nations to fight against—and for that they should thank the Lord! Yet there were other battles, for the powers of darkness never rested; here were the long journeys to town, with their strong temptations; here was the force of heathendom, which constantly threatened them; and here, in all probability, would soon come wealth! Here was the endless prairie, so rich in its blessings of fertility, but also full of a great loneliness—a form of freedom which curiously affected the minds of strangers, especially those to whom the Lord had given a sad heart. Even the bravest would find it hard to face and conquer the strangeness of it all, the hopeless chill, the overwhelming might of this great solitude.

The minister was now spinning out his thoughts and holding them forth in the light for the people to see; he grew in greatness and power before their watching eyes, as he showed them their own feelings during the lonely hours. But when he even came to the grasshoppers at last, then Tönseten could no longer restrain himself; he had to make manifest his approval in some way or other. With a firm hand he pushed against the back of the person in front of him, gaining the room to spit which he greatly needed; then he looked around at the others triumphantly, as if to say: “Well, didn’t I tell you—isn’t he a wonderful minister?” ... But there was no time to waste on such thoughts now!

For now the minister was busy with their future.... Did they fully understand what the Lord had given them here—and were they sufficiently grateful to Him for it?... The minister towered high and mighty before them.... In what manner had they thought to make use of the unbounded liberty which the Lord in His mercy had granted them? Here they were about to build a new kingdom—themselves to lay the foundations, themselves to raise the whole structure from the ground up. Had they begun to realize the greatness of that glorious responsibility which He had placed on their shoulders, and did they have sense enough in their heads to thank Him for it on bended knee?... He had spread before them here an opportunity the equal of which was unknown in human history; and here it would be tested out whether they could measure up to it—whether they were sprung from good stock or not—whether they were the children of free men or slaves.... Were they not glad of the chance?... Oh, they ought to sing like the birds of the plain in the morning sunrise—and then thank God, thank Him in all humility! In truth, they had not come here out of captivity and bondage—that, too, they should bear in mind in giving thanks. But they had found here the fairest promise that the Lord God had ever given to any people....

The words came with thrilling meaning; they took on a richer glow, a brighter texture, as the minister fired to his subject.... There was one point, he cried, where they and the ancient Children of Israel paralleled each other in a striking manner. For the kingdom which they were founding here would be a work of praise, a blessing to coming generations, only in so far as they remained steadfast to the truths implanted in them as children by their fathers. There was no other foundation to build upon; indeed, what other refuge did men have?... And now he stood here in their presence on this great day, a frail messenger of the Lord, to bring them this solemn question: Would they do as the ten lost tribes of Israel did, and disappear out of the world, or would they do as the two tribes had done, and never perish among men?...

The minister’s voice had sunk low, but his words bore in upon them with irresistible power; his eyes glowed with a secret light; his cheeks burned with the flush of his inspiration; all his boyish youthfulness had gone, and in its place was speaking the authority of ripe, mature experience.

The people sat and stood about while he was preaching, hanging on every word he said. Only a few were competent to climb the ladder of reasoning that he had raised for them. The others realized that he was preaching well, and let it go at that; it gave them a simple satisfaction just to listen; they rejoiced in their hearts that such a man had come here to-day; they felt that he wished them well. And it was so fine and jolly, too, this gathering together; now there would be some excitement in the settlement.... One was thinking about the congregation that they would have to organize; another about the location of the new church; still another about the cemetery, as to where it would probably be located; and to everyone the thought came that men would be needed to manage these activities; well, they would show him that they could govern themselves, that they were a well-conducted people!... One woman had it in mind that they would of course start a ladies’ aid, now that they had a minister; and that would be great fun, with meetings and cakes and coffee and sewing and all the rest; she proposed to begin some embroidering at once! But those who had not yet been confirmed dreaded the ordeal a little, though at the same time they were glad; at any rate, there would be a change in the daily monotony, and they would of course have some fine new clothes for the confirmation!... Tönseten had fallen into deep and serious thought concerning a matter of great importance—of very great importance. He was wondering how he could manage to help the minister out in the most valuable way.... Now, when the congregation was organized, they would as a matter of course have to elect a _klokker_![22] Well, if he had been able to splice a couple so that the knot held even before the Lord, he certainly ought to be able to serve as _klokker_.... He would have to see about it later on....

[22] A church official having partly the duty of cantor and partly of sexton. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a _candidatus theologiæ_ when deemed too great a blockhead to receive ordination to the holy ministry, was often appointed _klokker_.

In the farthest corner by the stove sat a pale, delicate-featured woman, almost hidden by those in front of her. As soon as the minister began to talk she bent her head forward and a little to one side, until she had found an opening through which she could get a glimpse of his face. She listened intently to the sermon—at first with a wondering, happy look, which slowly grew skeptical and sad; all the while her eyes did not release their hold on the speaker. As the sermon progressed, the expression on her face became covert and cunning; her lips moved as if she were making objections, but no sound came.... “That! No, that shall not happen—it shall not happen!” was what the face seemed to say.... “He is playing us false ... this man ... he will lead us to something that is not good.” ...

By her side sat a man with a handsome, fair-skinned little boy in his lap; the boy had sparkling blue eyes, which flitted about from face to face, looking at everyone, laughing mischievously when the look was caught and returned.... Now and then the man laid his hand on the woman’s shoulder, as if to reassure her; then she smiled strangely; she had no time to look at him, but the smile seemed to say: “Don’t worry, he shall not deceive me.... I understand it all.... He is sly, though, isn’t he?” ...

When the hymn following the sermon had been sung, the minister said to them:

“Now, it is my advice that those who have been sitting all this time, and have the strength to stand, change places with those who have been standing; in this way we may help to bear one another’s burdens. Let the change be made with order and decency.... We shall now perform the holy act of baptism. I should appreciate it if all you grown people would remain, and thus call to mind your own sacred covenant with the Lord.... First let all unbaptized children come forward; and afterward those who have been christened at home.”

At this a considerable disturbance arose in the crowd; some people got up and pushed their way out of the door, talking in low tones as they squeezed through the throng; at the same time several who had remained outside during the sermon pushed their way in; hitherto they had heard only the voice, but now they wanted to get a glimpse of the man....

Sörine came in with a basin of water which she placed on the table, and laid a clean towel beside it.

Those who were to hold the children now took them in their arms and came forward; the sponsors stood up and looked around; there was scant room to move in the stifling crush, and several people had to go out at this moment; but little by little the disorder subsided, so that the ceremony could begin.

Most of the grown people knew the baptismal hymn by heart, and although the air was heavy and close in the crowded hut, the singing rose with great fervour. There were fourteen children who had not been baptized, one of them only three weeks old—a tiny being whose arrival had been looked for in the fond hope that it might turn out to be a baby girl, as indeed it had, and who now lay sweetly sleeping in its mother’s arms.

The first child to be baptized was four years old—a big, fat, dark-haired, hungry lump of a boy, who talked out loud and wanted to get down and run over to his mother. He didn’t seem to appreciate in the least what was about to be done for him, and aroused a good deal of merriment among the onlookers. However, the ceremony soon went on with all proper calm and decorum.... Josie, the one for whom Tönseten had performed the marriage rite, came last of all; she had three children, and had striven hard to get them ready for this service; she carried the youngest in her own arms. Tönseten regarded her and her offspring with a certain fatherly pride, and folded his hands devoutly as she came forward.

Then came three children who had been privately baptized by laymen. Sörine advanced first, holding up for his second christening the child at whose birth she had been present and for whom she had once before stood sponsor; the boy awakened in the arms of his godmother, turning two bright blue eyes toward the minister; he laughed aloud and asked Sörine who that man was with the whiskers and the long black skirt? Sörine tried by petting him to hush him up.... “He doesn’t have any pants!” said the boy, still laughing and putting his arms around her neck; those who stood near enough to overhear were doubled up with mirth.

But as the pastor asked the child’s name and she gave it, and he repeated it clearly and distinctly, so as to be heard throughout the room—“Peder Victorious, dost thou renounce—” ... something extraordinary happened. From out that pale face over in the corner came a sound of anguish. Beret rose up and pushed her way violently through the crowd, which moved aside in sudden alarm to let her pass, then closed immediately in behind her; Per Hansa tried to follow, but found it hard to make a passage through the throng, which now was crowding forward in order to get a better view; and all at once her voice, shrill and vibrant, pierced the room: “This evil deed shall not be done!” ... She was already halfway there. Some blocked her passage; others tried to silence her.... “Oh, let me go!” she cried. “This sin shall not happen! How can a man be _victorious_ out here, where the evil one gets us all!... Are you all stark mad?” Her cries were shrill and piercing; they rose with a wild tremor of anguish, striking terror into the hearts of the men who stood about, not knowing what to do; the women hid their faces and did not dare to look; some of the weaker-nerved began to weep hysterically; on one of the beds a little girl had thrown herself face downward, crying and screaming; two half-grown boys, overcome by the horror of it, silently pressed their cheeks against the sod wall; the doorway was now crowded with curious faces, one tier above another. All wanted to see what was going on.

The minister paused in the service.

“Take your wife outside, Peder Holm! The air in here is close and bad for a sick person. I will talk to her afterward.... And the rest of you—please keep quiet!”

It took some time to calm the morbid excitement. Per Hansa had finally reached Beret; he lifted her in his arms, but the people crowded around so densely that it was difficult to get through, and all the while Beret was striking out wildly, pulling and pushing in a frantic effort to escape. She foamed at the mouth.... “This is the work of the devil!” she muttered through clenched teeth.... “Now he will surely take my little boy!... God save us—we perish!”

The meeting lasted inordinately long. When the pastor was finally through he announced divine services again two weeks from the following Sunday; at that time he would return to them and conduct Communion. “There must be many of you who need to unburden your hearts before your God and Father in Heaven!” he went on impressively. “We shall begin the service here in this room, promptly at eleven o’clock.” Hesitating for a moment, he looked around at the people and a tired smile crossed his face; in a lower voice he continued: “It would not be amiss, I think, if you men were to dress up a little; to the Lord it makes no difference, but it would seem more like the Lord’s day for you, and you would be edified thereby.”

IV

After the service the people remained standing around in groups out in the yard, talking about the minister and the sermon, and discussing in low tones the sad thing that had happened that day. The latter event claimed most of their attention. Everyone felt great sympathy for this family on whom adversity had laid such a heavy hand; some thought it was very wrong for Per Hansa to keep a person like Beret at home; a tragedy might happen at any time—and then it would be too late; various incidents of this kind were recalled; some remembered also that Per Hansa himself was a hard-hearted sinner who needed serious admonition; but they were all sorry for him, just the same.

None of the people of the house were to be seen. The crowd outside stood looking around, as if waiting for something to happen; no one wanted to leave until he knew....

A few women were still inside the house; they had planned to stay and help put things in order. Among them was Sörine, still carrying the child in her arms. The women were plainly anxious and disturbed; they talked in subdued voices, and couldn’t seem to take hold of the work with any heart.

The minister had seated himself at the table, folded his hands, and laid his head upon them; thus he sat for a long while in silence; then, as if noticing the people in the room for the first time, he got up and walked over to the group of women.

“I would suggest,” he said, gently, “that you all go home. Only let some one of you who is well acquainted here remain to help; if more are needed, we will send for you.... Let me have that fine little boy awhile,” he said to Sörine.... “Of course, I think it would be better if you all came often to see her, but never more than one at a time. And never ask her how she is feeling; just take it for granted that everything is as it should be. To me, things do not look entirely hopeless here; I believe it will all come right in the end. Yes, I truly believe it.” ... He took the boy on his knee, and began to play with him.

“God grant that it might happen as he says!” sighed Kjersti.

The minister heard her.

“In His name, nothing is impossible!... Now I should leave at once, if I were you. Let the one who is best acquainted here, stay behind.”

Then the minister took the boy in his arms and went out into the yard; he approached each group standing there, talked to them quietly, and advised them to go home and keep to themselves as much as they could.... “For the word of God,” he said, “is like seed put into the ground; it must be undisturbed, if it is to germinate and bear fruit; but if it is too deeply covered, it will fail.” ...

“We were just talking about organizing a congregation, you see.” The speaker looked in astonishment at the minister. Could it be wrong to discuss that idea?

“The time for that will come later on, without a doubt.” ... The minister raised his voice.... “Now I will ask each one of you kindly to go to his own home, remain quiet the rest of the day, and think about what you have heard.”

“Well, yes—that’s probably all right, of course ... but anyhow....”

The minister turned away and went to another group; the man had to quit talking and make the best of it. But he thought to himself: this must be a funny sort of minister who hasn’t time to discuss such an important matter as organizing a congregation!

Group after group broke up and melted away; people moved slowly homeward, and soon there was no one left in the yard; the day had closed and night was fast coming on.

The minister remained outside for some time, walking about the yard, still clad in his canonical robe; the boy toddled along beside him, hanging on to the black gown as if it were a great joke, and thoroughly enjoying himself with this queer man.

At length the minister bent his steps toward the new sod stable, from which seemed to come the sound of voices and the whimpering cry of a child; he took up the boy in his arms, went over to the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. The room had no windows; it was so dark in there that as he peered about, coming straight from the twilight, he could not make out the objects clearly. He was at once aware, however, of the presence of people; he walked farther in, looking around for what he knew was there.

They were sitting on a bundle of hay—Per Hansa and Beret, she with her face pressed close against his, he with one arm about her neck and the other about her waist; And-Ongen clung to her father’s shoulder, her arms clasped tightly around his neck.

“The sweet peace of God be upon you!” said the pastor, gently, as soon as he had discovered them. “The people have all gone. And now, Mother Holm, I should like very much to have you cook us a good cup of coffee, if there is any in your house; I want to take supper with you.”

The sound of his voice startled Beret. She sat up, brushed her hair back, and looked around with a puzzled expression. She felt abashed, just like a modest person with too few clothes on who unexpectedly finds himself in the presence of others.

“Oh, is this where we are?” she muttered, bending over and covering her eyes.

“I want something to eat!” cried the boy, tearing himself from the minister as soon as he heard his mother’s voice.

She seized the child frantically and hugged him close to her; pushing her face down in the hollow of his neck, she drank and drank....

“No, no, Beret—don’t be so violent!” begged her husband. “Please be careful!”

Then she threw back her head, the pale face flushed and distorted. “Am I not to love my own child!”

The minister came up to her and laid his hand on her head.

“That’s quite right, Mother Holm! Love him all you can; but do not forget to thank Him who has given you this precious gift. There is the promise of a splendid man in that fine boy; you will surely have much joy in him!”

Beret ceased caressing the boy and sat bent over him, listening to the words of the minister. Then she rose hurriedly and smoothed down her dress; again the minister got the impression that in some curious way she felt ashamed. Without saying a word, she took a child by either hand and walked out of the stable.

Per Hansa remained sitting on the pile of hay, resting his head on one hand; his hair and beard were unkempt, and quite grizzled now; his face was deeply furrowed, as if by the marks of a ruthless hand; his whole figure seemed fearfully ravaged and broken, like a forest maple shattered by a storm.

The minister sat down beside him; he began to confess Per Hansa with all the gentleness of a sympathetic and understanding pastor.

“Now tell me everything. Two can carry what one alone cannot lift. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

Without changing his position, Per Hansa looked down at the hay, sighed, and began to talk in broken accents: “I don’t understand it myself, you see.... I only know that damnation has come down upon us.... It can’t continue much longer—I’ll probably have to _send her away_.” Again he sighed, and then became silent.

It seemed to the minister as if the sum total of human tragedy sat talking to him.... A chill had entered the dimly lighted room.

“Perhaps you are right ... otherwise, the cross might become too heavy for you to bear!”

A long pause fell.

“But she is not entirely deranged, is she?”

“Partly or entirely—what difference does it make? If the fiddle is cracked, it’s cracked....”

“Maybe so ... yes, yes....”

Still looking down at the hay, Per Hansa continued:

“I don’t know that I am guilty of any other wrong toward her than that our oldest boy came before we were married; but in that matter we were equally to blame.... And then I brought her out here. I suppose that there is where the real trouble lies.... I don’t believe she grieves much about that other affair.... No, it’s this business out here—and for the life of me I can’t see any sin in it.”

“I think I understand,” said the minister, gently.

“But is a man to refuse to go where his whole future calls, only because his wife doesn’t like it?” ... The question sprang out of Per Hansa’s soul, as if he were for the first time opening the door to many years of pent-up suffering. He turned his strong, resolute face toward the minister, begging for an answer.

“Indeed he may, my good man,” said the minister, earnestly. “But it would be better if they were both agreed upon it.”

“Agreed, yes—easy enough to say!... When the only disagreement, for instance, was that she advised waiting another year!... And it isn’t so much what she has said since we came out here.... Now. I wish you would tell me—” Per Hansa spoke softly, almost diffidently. “Suppose a husband and wife cannot agree—what, then, is he to do?”

The minister felt through the question the aching need of the man for relief and comfort.

“_Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh_,” he quoted. “There you have the Lord’s decree. But if the law applies to man, it must apply to woman as well. Between you two there has, as I understand it, been no real disagreement?”

Per Hansa shook his head; the words came with great difficulty:

“I sometimes wonder if there ever were two people who cared quite as much for each other as we do.... But that hasn’t made things any easier; you can’t lift the ocean, whether it rages in a storm or lies quiet in a flat calm.... And now, please tell me, you who are a minister and understand the Scriptures, _What is the man to do_?” Per Hansa grasped the minister by the arm, clutching hard in his terrible agitation.

“He shall humble himself before the Lord his God, and shall take up his cross to bear it with patience!” said the minister, impressively.

“Ha-ha!” Per Hansa suddenly burst out in a bitter laugh. “That’s too scanty a fare for me to live on. You’d better put that kind of talk aside.... I ask as an ignorant man, and I must have an answer that I can understand: Did I do right or did I do wrong when I brought her out here? And what should I have done instead, when I saw nothing else ahead of me in the world?”

“That time you undoubtedly did right, my good man, if what you have told me is true; a man must go whither his heart and mind lead him, unless the Lord comes and says no.... You did right that time; but since then you have let yourself sink into the mire of a great sin, as I am told. And now you grumble—like those Israelites of yore—because the Lord is leading you on paths that you do not wish to follow.... You are not willing to bear your cross with humility!”

“No, I am not; and let me tell you something more.” Per Hansa’s voice hardened. “We find other things to do out here than to carry crosses!” Then he fell silent. The minister tried to find words with which to reprove him; but in a moment Per Hansa began again—and now it was he who rebuked the minister: “My experience has been that it is mighty easy for one to talk about things he has not tried!... I have sweat blood over this thing—and now I’m no longer equal to it.... Have you ever thought what it means for a man to be in constant fear that the mother may do away with her own children—and that, besides, it may be his fault that she has fallen into that state of mind?”

When the minister finally answered, he had become all gentleness again. “No, thanks and praise to God, such affliction He has spared me!” He put one arm over Per Hansa’s shoulder. “Tell me how all this came about.”

Per Hansa sat for a while without answering; he seemed like a man trying to climb a steep hill, whose strength has given out; all at once he got up and went over to the door, standing there and looking out a long time into the darkness of the night. The minister followed him....

“There isn’t much to say about such things,” Per Hansa began. “She has never felt at home here in America.... There are some people, I know now, who never should emigrate, because, you see, they can’t take pleasure in that which is to come—they simply can’t see it!... And yet, she has never reproached me. And in spite of everything, we got along fairly well up to the time when our last child was born.... Yes, the one you baptized to-day.... Then she took a notion that she was going to die—but I didn’t understand it at the time.... She has never had the habit of fault-finding.... She struggled hard when the child was born, and we all thought she wouldn’t survive—or him, either. That’s why we had to baptize him at once. In my heedless joy, after the worst was over and things had turned out all right, I went and gave him that second name.... And then everything seemed to go to pieces!”

“That name ...?”

“Yes, the second name. It was very wrong of me, I know. I see that now.”

“What are you saying, man? Such a beautiful name!”

Per Hansa looked at him.... “Do you really mean it?”

“Of course I mean it! It is the handsomest name I can ever remember giving to any child. _Peder Victorious_—why, it sings like a beautiful melody!”

“Please tell me—is it really a human name? And wasn’t it a sacrilege on my part?” asked Per Hansa, incredulously, hardly daring yet to acknowledge his joy.

“My dear man, have you worried about that, too?”

“Have I?... Don’t mention it!... You mean that the name is all right?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the minister without hesitation. “There is nothing unusual about it, except that you have happened to find a more beautiful form than I have yet heard; the name itself is common in all languages.”

Per Hansa gazed at the minister, bringing his face close up in order to see him better in the growing dusk of the evening. Slowly his eyes began to light with a new courage; he took a deep breath, and straightened his body up for the first time in many a long day.

“I must ask you again, for I am an ignorant man: Is this really true?... And won’t you please tell her the same thing, too—as soon as you can?”

“I certainly will.... So she does not like the name?”

“No; that’s the trouble.... She believes it is an idea that the devil himself has given me in order to get us more completely in his power—but this we didn’t realize before her mind began to cloud. Now she can’t bear to hear the name; that’s why the attack came on her this afternoon, when you fastened it on the boy for good.... I was afraid, too, that something like that might happen.”

“Well, well! Is this possible? How long has she had these attacks?”

“It began with the grasshoppers.... However, she’s always had the heavy heart to fight against.... And then, those fears of hers—just utter fancies! Can you understand how a person gets possessed by fear, right on the level, solid ground?”

“You say it began with the grasshoppers?”

“Well, sir, I came home from work one evening to find a crazy woman!... She thought it was the devil himself who had cast the plague upon us—and maybe she wasn’t far wrong in that, either!... Pretty soon she began to see visions of her mother, who had been dead for some time then, though we hadn’t got the news....”

“What’s that you are saying?”

“Yes, sir, she saw her mother; and, will you believe it, she knew that her mother was dead half a year before the letter came!... Oh, you can’t imagine how bad it was!” The terrors that he had lived through seemed fairly to choke him as he remembered the awful scenes.

“She could not have actually seen a dead person! She must have been seriously deranged.”

“Yes—may God help us!—she both saw her and talked with her!... One night I lay asleep, the first summer after the grasshoppers had come. I had saved my whole crop and got it in. Suddenly I was awakened by some one talking aloud in the room. And there she was, pacing back and forth in the middle of the floor and talking to her mother, exactly as though she were sitting by her side.... I know that she saw her, I tell you; and the child—she was carrying the child in her arms!” ... Per Hansa’s breath failed him for a moment.... “‘It’s no use, mother,’ she said. ‘The boy can’t come to you with a name that Satan has tricked Per into giving him!’ Those were the very words she used. I got up, lighted a candle, and as I watched her pacing there, with the little fellow in her arms, then, at last, I saw how it was with her ... I saw it then. Until that time I had refused to believe it.... Pastor,” whispered Per Hansa, “do you know what it means to feel the skin creep up your back?” ...

“Did she try to harm the child?”

“Not then.” He shook his head. “I can’t say whether she had such thoughts or not; but she took the notion that her mother wanted the child with her.... The rest came later.” Per Hansa pulled himself together with a strong effort.... “It will be two years this summer; it happened toward evening, one day when the grasshoppers came in such numbers that it was hard to see the sky. If Sörrina, our neighbour woman, hadn’t been making us a visit, it’s hard telling ... but there she sat, holding the child.”

“The Lord show mercy unto you!”

“Well may you say it!... That afternoon, when the grasshoppers began to beat like hail against the walls, she remembered that some of the little fellow’s clothes were lying outside to dry. She ran out to get them, but when she picked them up there was nothing left but a few tatters of cloth.... Then the spell came over her in an instant, you understand. She ran into the house like a mad woman, wailing: ‘Now the devil has come for your clothes.... He’d better have you, too.... Until he gets you we will have no peace!’ ... Then she grabbed for the child!” Per Hansa groaned aloud.... “But what might have been in her mind I cannot say. I forgot to tell you,” he went on, controlling himself once more, “that the very night before, her mother was in the room with her; Beret talked with her just as plainly as I now stand here talking to you. She had got up and dressed herself, and was telling her mother all about everything, the way women do ... and, would you believe it, she wanted to cook coffee for her!... ‘We aren’t so poor as all that!’ she told her mother.”

“And how was it afterward?” the minister asked, deeply moved.

“Well, you see,” said Per Hansa, wiping his eyes, “I had to do something about it. So I persuaded her to let Sörrina take the child during the summer.”

“You got her to agree to that?”

“Yes, after a while; at first she wouldn’t hear of it, but finally she gave in. And now I don’t know whether I did right or wrong; I believe it hurt her terribly to have the little fellow gone. I saw how she wandered about the room, as if longing to care and do for him, but he was not there.... And one night after the plague came—I couldn’t lie awake every night, you know—she got up quietly and stole over to the house where he was.... She wanted to get the child. Whether she intended to do him harm or not, none of us can be sure. She told Sörrina and Hans Olsa that visitors had come from afar, asking to see the boy, and so she must have him; there wasn’t any way out of it. Yes, that’s what she said!”

“The Lord has certainly laid a heavy cross upon you! But remember, He will remove it in His own good time!... Now, tell me, how is she between these attacks?”

“Well, you see, she may be all right for months; one who had never known her well would hardly suspect that anything was wrong with her during this time; she does her work like all the rest of us. In the dead of winter, of course, when the blizzards are raging and we don’t see any other folks for weeks at a time, she has days when she seems to go all to pieces; but I hardly reckon that as the disease—that sort of thing happens to a good many of us, let me tell you!”

“What do you intend to do about it this summer?”

“This summer?” ... Per Hansa’s face was drawn with fear as he turned to the minister.... “If Satan lets his hosts loose upon us again this summer, then I don’t know what will happen!”

The minister patted him on the shoulder:

“Take no thought for the morrow! The plague cannot last forever. And remember that the Lord is always near. As the number of thy days, so shall thy strength be. And now take this advice from me: From now on keep close to her; be toward her as you were during those happy days when you first got her; let your affection warm her into the understanding that it is good to be human; and lighten her burdens in every way.... Above everything, do not take her child away from her again. You will simply have to be as watchful as you can.... And now I will perhaps stay here to-night; arrange it so that I can be alone with her awhile to-morrow.” ...

The minister gazed before him in deep thought, his heart wrung with pity and compassion. “Perhaps the Lord will allow me to reach her mind with a clarifying idea. His word is living life and can move mountains.... When I return you must take her to Communion.”

His hand was patting the shoulder on which it rested. Per Hansa wept, his sobs coming in short gasps that shook his frame; he experienced a blessing descending upon him, and his burden grew lighter. There was much more he wanted to say, but just now he could not speak....

A long pause followed; then the minister spoke again: “Let us not stand here longer in fear and darkness, talking about sad things; our bodies need nourishment.”

They walked across the yard in the quiet prairie evening, Per Hansa so happy that he could gladly have offered the minister his whole crop as it stood in all its beauty ... and he had a hundred acres seeded in, counting it near and far.

Just as they reached the door of the hut somebody rounded the corner on the run and called in a quick, scared voice, “_Father_!”

Both men jumped, so suddenly had the figure come out of the darkness.

“Is that you, Ola? What are you up to, anyway?”

“Father, come here!” The boy grasped Per Hansa by the arm and tried to pull him along. “Hans is sitting up on the Indian mound, crying and taking on! I can’t get him to come home!”

“Is he sick?”

“No!”

“What’s the matter with him, then?” The father shook the boy.

“He is afraid of mother ... you must come right away!”

The boy sped away into the darkness.

Per Hansa gave the minister a look which seemed to say: “Now you see how things are here!” ... And all the radiance that for a moment had lighted up his soul was suddenly gone out. He asked the minister to enter.... “Tell them that I and the boys will be right along.” ... Then he too disappeared.

The minister stood there for a while in deep uncertainty; at last he turned toward the door, made the sign of the cross in front of it, said a prayer, then opened it and went in.

* * * * *

... But across the fields ran Ole, and the father went after him.

“Where is he?”

“Over there!”

“You run home. I guess I can find him. Is it over there by the grave?”

“Yes ... here ...”

Ole vanished on the other side of the mound.

“Store-Hans, where are you keeping yourself?”

A smothered cry came through the darkness.

Per Hansa followed the sound and almost stumbled over a writhing form which lay on the ground; he bent over and lifted it up in his arms.

“Hansy-boy, what’s the matter?”

The father sat down with the limp, slender body of the boy in his arms, rocking and lulling it.

“Is ... is ... mother queer again?”

“No, indeed! Mother is all right, and now supper is ready.”

“Did ... did she ... kill Permand?”

Per Hansa took a firmer hold of the boy, got up, and started to run.

“Did she do it?”

The father spoke harshly:

“I don’t want to hear any more of such wicked talk! Mother is all right ... all of us are ... and now she has supper ready, and everything.” He stopped and set the boy down. “Now wipe your face—we can’t come into the house this way.” ... The father began to dry the boy’s tear-stained face. “You must wash yourself as soon as you get in the house,” he said, gently, taking the boy by the hand.

V

Nothing out of the ordinary happened that evening. When the minister came into the hut he greeted them in an even voice, “God’s peace upon this house!” Then he took off his vestments, folded them up and put them in his valise, looked around for a chair, and sat down. And now that he had removed his official garb he looked like a different man; the special odour of sanctity that had rested on him seemed to have departed; he sat there quietly, having little to say, looking like a man who has just passed through a great hardship and is very tired.... The table was set for supper; upon it had been placed one candle, and another stood on a little shelf by the stove. Sörine was still in the house, bustling about and helping with the meal; And-Ongen sat on one of the beds, playing with her baby brother, who had been washed and dressed for the night and was now ready to be put to sleep. Sörine kept talking and laughing with the children as she worked, and an air of cheerfulness had come over the room.

Beret stood by the stove, bent over, washing some pots and pans; she glanced once over her shoulder at the minister as he sat down; but very soon she had to look again. And then she did something that she often wondered at afterward: she wiped her hands, took a clean bowl from the cupboard, filled it with fresh milk, and offered it to him, saying: “Have some milk, please, to stay your hunger while you wait.”

The minister took the bowl without looking at her; he emptied it at one draught, put it down, and thanked her in a few brief words.

Almost immediately Beret grew bashful and uneasy over what she had done; in her nervousness she picked up a shirt that she was making for one of the boys, sat down by the candlelight near the stove, and began to sew as hard as she could; but she kept her face turned away from the minister.

Per Hansa and the boys came in; Sörine announced that supper was ready; the four men sat down and began the meal. The minister looked at the younger boy; his face was swollen, his eyes were red with weeping; a heavy veil seemed to hide his handsome features. At the sight of the boy the minister felt more like crying than eating; a sudden revulsion overcame him. Laying down his knife and fork, he asked for another bowl of milk, which he emptied slowly, and then waited for the others to get through. When he thought they had finished, he folded his hands on the table and began to pray to the unseen one whose presence was always near.

So quickly did he begin, that at first Per Hansa didn’t realize what was going on and was on the point of asking the minister what he said. The same thing happened to the others: Ole had just discovered that he wasn’t quite satisfied, and was reaching for another piece of bread; Sörine was about to offer them all more coffee. But Beret sat bowed over her sewing, trying to catch every word; she took a few stitches, and then the work dropped to her lap; something compelled her to turn and look at him. The light of the candle cast a reddish gleam over his face; his beard seemed more silvery than ever; the countenance was that of a good child who is tired and wants to be put to bed.... His voice was gentle and low.... He is really a fine man, thought Beret, and kept on listening....

During the summer there are at times dark days on the prairie; the rain is cold, the fog dreary and dank, sticking to one’s clothes like wool. But it may happen that toward evening, just as the day is nearly done, a curtain is suddenly drawn aside; in the western sky appears a window—not built by the hand of man—all luminous with splendour; out of it shines a radiance clearer and more glorious than anything the eye has ever beheld; all around the window night and darkness hang suspended like draperies—they too radiating a glory not of this world.... Thus was the splendour which now pervaded Per Hansa’s sod house. All had folded their hands without knowing it. Over on the bed the play continued; happy laughter arose, though it did not seem to disturb the prayer. But after a while that also quieted down.... Then Permand heard the voice of the one he had been playing with earlier in the evening; it tempted him so hard that he could not resist; clad in his little nightdress, he crawled out of the bed, toddled across the earthen floor to the minister, put both hands on the knees that rose before him, and looked up merrily into the man’s face. All who saw it felt shocked at the impropriety; they wanted to stop the child, but only feared a greater impropriety in anything they might do. Per Hansa was on the point of speaking sharply, but his voice failed; Sörine thought of snatching the child away, but only remained motionless and aghast, ... “I suppose I shall have to do it myself,” thought Beret—yet she, too, could not get up from her chair.... The child had entered a glory where no one dared to follow.... Without interrupting his flow of words, the minister lifted the boy onto his knees, folded the baby hands within his own, and went on with the prayer.... “Oh, this is too bad!” cried Beret to herself, struggling to rise. “The child’s nightshirt is dirty—he mustn’t sit there!” But still she could not get up from her chair: the one with whom the minister was talking stood too near.... The words flowed on without a pause, softly and sweetly, like the warm rain of a summer evening. It was as if the minister had much to confide to that other one; the other one seemed to be objecting, as if He hesitated to do what was asked; then the minister prayed more fervently; not that he raised his voice—the words came with the same gentleness—but he threw his whole soul into them, as if he refused on any account to give in.

At last he came to the little boy who sat there on his lap—the child he had christened that day. And it seemed almost uncanny to listen to what he said; one could hardly make out whether he was talking to the unseen being or to the boy himself; at times it sounded as if they might be one and the same.... He laid his hand tenderly on the child’s head; his eyes seemed closed, but the words had caught a new inspiration; to those who listened, it seemed a wonderful thing....

“Set him aside, O God,” the pastor prayed, “as Thou didst formerly with Thy chosen ones in times of yore!... Set him aside, and consecrate him as a true Nazarene!... Let him indeed fulfil the promise of his splendid name and become a true _victor_ here, both over himself and for the salvation of his people.... And now may Thy blessed peace rest on this house, for ever and ever ... Amen!”

He sat with closed eyes for some time, his hand still resting on the boy’s head; the others were very still. Beret trembled throughout her body; a choking feeling came over her, and at last she had to cough. She glanced down in confusion at her sewing.

“I haven’t done this right!” she thought, distractedly, trying to calm herself. She looked at the sewing again, got up to fetch the shears, and ripped out what she had been doing.

Then the minister began to play with the boy, in a natural, happy way; and in a little while they both seemed to be having great fun. But he didn’t have anything to say to the others; and they, in turn, couldn’t find anything to say to him.

But the next morning, as they sat at the breakfast table, the minister was both merry and talkative, and helped himself so liberally to the food that it was a pleasure just to see him do it. He asked many questions regarding the life and conditions in that vicinity, and showed himself so well informed about farming that Per Hansa asked, without thinking, whether he had ever been a farmer.... Then he suddenly remembered what the minister had told him to do the evening before; he got up hastily, called to the boys, and they left the house together.

The moment they were gone Beret grew very uneasy; she found her sewing again, and sat down with it in a furtive, embarrassed way. The minister could see nothing unusual about her, except that her face was so singularly childlike; this impression came mostly from the way she used her eyes; it was hard to find them, because she kept looking down in extreme bashfulness and timidity; nor could he seem to easily draw her into conversation.

He came over and stood beside her chair.

“Well, now, Mrs. Holm, I have a request to make of you. Two weeks from next Sunday I shall return; and then I plan to conduct Communion services here in your house.”

Beret was so astonished to hear these words, that she forgot herself for a moment and looked straight at him.

“Here in our sod house?”

“Yes, right here in your house, where you live every day.... Don’t you think it would be a blessing for you to come to the Lord with your sins and taste the sweetness of His mercy?” he said in a quiet voice.

“Here ...?” she asked, greatly agitated. “Oh no—that would never do—oh no!... It’s too filthy and dirty here.... There’s too much ... it’s _unclean_!” ... She stopped abruptly, blushed scarlet, and looked down into her lap again.

“No doubt there is much sin here,” resumed the minister. “That I am sure of. But the Lord will sanctify the house for us.... And now I want you to plan how nicely we can arrange it for His blessed purposes. Let us consider the matter before I leave.” He looked around the room. “The table had better be taken out—that will give us more room. That big chest we can perhaps use as the altar—that is, if your husband could fix up something for railing. We could probably find some fitting material to cover both that and the chest; perhaps you had better talk to the neighbour women about it.” ... The minister talked on as if everything were decided, with only the responsibility for its execution left in her hands.

She gave him a quick look; her cheeks were flushed.

“That is my father’s chest ... it is a nice chest, too.”

The voice had grown querulous again and bore the same childlike expression; the minister made no reply. He took her hand, thanked her briefly for her hospitality, and hurried out of the room. When he got outside his forehead was damp with perspiration. He saw Per Hansa coming in his direction, but turned away to avoid him....

When Beret sat down awhile later to dress the little boy she felt that she could sing aloud to-day—felt that she had to sing, that she could not help it. Both words and melody seemed to rise in her throat; it was the baptismal hymn that they had used the previous day, and she sang all the verses.... While she sang she handled the boy so gently ... as if she were almost afraid to touch him....

VI

There was much stir and activity all through that summer and fall of ’77; many schooners sailed across the wide prairie, and with them came always excitement. The greater number of them, however, went drifting past, pushing still farther westward into the sun glimmer; but there were others that anchored in the settlement and tied up for good. Many were there already, and sod houses grew up like ant hills.... Prospects seemed favourable here, they said, especially if one would take the time to look around. The soil was probably just as good here as farther west.... Well, why not try it here?...

The Sognings in particular were clever at hanging on to prospective settlers: “No use talking, you couldn’t find better land than this, if you searched clear to the Pacific coast! As far as _land_ is concerned, you might just as well settle here.... And this is an old settlement now, the community well organized, with schools and everything.... You can easily get help for both plowing and building.” ... The Sognings were practical folk, and good talkers, besides; and so they had elected a committee to advise all land seekers that passed through the settlement; this committee had informed itself—at least, it talked that way—about every quarter section that was not yet taken.

The grasshopper plague had raged frightfully that season, but they would probably soon be rid of it—and, thank God, it took neither man nor beast! This year, too, the hay was spared, and some of their crops had been saved from year to year; several of the farmers even had a little ready money left, after buying the absolutely necessary articles of food and clothing. The herds of live stock were growing constantly, and now the flocks of poultry, larger and larger each season, helped to pay for many of the things that one had to buy.

One fine day a strange monster came writhing westward over the prairie, from Worthington to Luverne; it was the greatest and the most memorable event that had yet happened in these parts. The monster crawled along with a terrible speed; but when it came near, it did not crawl at all; it rushed forward in tortuous windings, with an awful roar, while black, curling smoke streaked out behind it in the air. People felt that day a joy that almost frightened them; for it seemed now that all their troubles were over, that there could be no more hardships to contend with—at least, that was what the Sognings solemnly affirmed.... For now that the railway had come as far as this, it wouldn’t take long before they would see it winding its way into Sioux Falls. Indeed, if this wasn’t a place fit to live in now, where would one find it?—that the Sognings would like to know.... Good neighbours, schools, the finest kind of land, a railroad and everything—what more could anyone wish?...

That summer a number of houses went up to the westward of Spring Creek. Before the minister had come the first time, Hans Olsa had already hauled the materials for both dwelling and barn; now he was building. After the first year he had gone into stock raising; he had the largest herd in the settlement, and was doing very well—for those days.... And Tönseten, after receiving absolution for his great sin, had become all aglow with high ambitions; his prospects were bright of being elected _klokker_—perhaps deacon, too; life for him was positively glorious, just one grand song. All day his head was full of the idea that he, too, ought to build himself a respectable house. But the plan never seemed to materialize; he still lived in the old sod house. At last Kjersti would lose her temper whenever the project was mentioned. The hut was good enough, she said; besides, they had no one to build for! This latter fact, however, she didn’t refer to oftener than seemed absolutely necessary; it only made her husband sulky, and then he would call her names, like “whimpering Jane” or “weeping willow.” ... He probably wasn’t to blame, poor fellow, after all....

In the fall Henry Solum built an immense barn; he saw that Hans Olsa had done well by raising cattle, and intended to follow his example; the dwelling house could wait until he got some one to take care of it—and that might be next summer, if everything went as it should.... East of the creek, too, framed houses were rising above the sod huts. The Irish, west by the sloughs, were a little slower about building; there things made scant progress until the following year. The pest had raged worse in that locality than anywhere else, because the land lay lower. And the Irish acted with native caution. They have a wise proverb which says that a good barn may perhaps pay for a decent house, but no one has ever heard of a fine dwelling that paid for a decent barn.... These words of wisdom they believed—and put them into practice.

The new houses seemed so out of place, standing up on the open, bare prairie. Did they really belong there? They looked so defiant!... And that was exactly what the savage storm thought when he came along, winter or summer, found these unheard-of objects in his way, puffed and wheezed, took firm hold, and roared in anger. Well, perhaps he did more than that; it happened now and then that a house would be toppled over, or shattered and torn to pieces; but no matter how hard the storm raged and fumed and growled and took on about it, most of the houses remained standing, and their numbers steadily increased as the years went by. And the groves of trees which the settlers had striven so hard to plant and rear—they stretched and spread, they grew in height and breadth and richness every summer. As they grew they hid the houses, except where the driveway was to come in, when plans and visions became reality. There were settlers, even, who wooded themselves in so completely—perhaps to keep out all evil—that their houses could not be seen at all until one came inside the grove....

VII

The weather was beautiful on the Sunday of the Communion service; the pest had already begun, but only that form of it which bred in the soil there at home; nothing had come yet out of the sky. To-day a light breeze was blowing from the southwest; there was just heat enough to be comfortable; the air swept one’s face like a soft, silken veil. The young people felt like taking off their clothes; the sun quivered down through a greenish-blue haze far off in the deep sky; and over on the prairie the first meadow lark had sung that morning. Both the lark and the robin had found their way out there the second summer after the settlers came.

Several folks had arrived ahead of the appointed time, and were standing in little groups around Per Hansa’s house; most of them had walked over, but those who lived farther away had come jolting along in a lumber wagon, the load and the jolting apparently increasing together. The people were all laughing and talking together, full of life and fun; from their actions no one would have gathered that they were on their way to church.

Old Aslak Tjöme, who lived just northwest of Sam Solum, brought his wife in a wheelbarrow. She had fractured her hip on the ice that spring and was still unable to walk.... “God only knows when she’s going to get well again!” said Aslak. “It’s too bad, because even when she is well I have no more help than I need.” ... And Aslak was bringing his wife to church for this reason: he had a notion—just a notion—that if the minister would lay his hands on her she might gain faster.... Anyhow, there was no harm in trying.... Aslak, with his wife in the wheelbarrow, made a funny sight; he had rigged up a high back-rest for her and had fixed a seat in the barrow, covered with a sheepskin rug; on this she sat like a queen on her throne. On either side of the wheelbarrow he had fastened short poles, connecting them with a rope. The woman clung to the rope with one hand; in the other she held a hymn book wrapped in a white handkerchief.

Folks passing them stopped and laughed, and offered to push awhile. “Oh no, thank you!” said Aslak, merrily. “Now I can manage her alone; but it hasn’t always been thus—no, indeed!” Then he laughed again as he pushed on, and looked lovingly at her. She nodded and smiled, laughing back at him.... “You take my place and let me push awhile!” ... That gave them a good laugh together.

The minister had reached the settlement the evening before and had stayed overnight at Per Hansa’s. That morning they had been up early, had hurried through the breakfast, and immediately after had started to put the house in order for the service. It had been thoroughly cleaned and tidied up before he came. All kinds of wild flowers that were to be found on the prairie had been gathered and hung in bouquets of various sizes under the ceiling, or put into glasses and bowls that stood around in every conceivable place. There was something strange and haphazard about it, as if it had been done by children in play.... As the minister looked around, a chill hand seemed to clutch his heart....

The table had been carried outside and the big chest placed diagonally in one corner, just as he had directed on his first visit. Per Hansa had constructed a long, low bench, made up of several small benches; this ran along in front of the chest and was covered with two rugs that Sörine had brought over; the chest itself was draped with a white cloth. The minister took the paten and the chalice and placed them on the improvised altar; he also asked for the two candlesticks he had noticed the other time, and when they had been brought and fitted with candles, he set them on either end of the chest. Over the cold stove they spread another rug; yesterday the boys had stripped off a whole tubful of willow leaves; these were now brought in and scattered around on the floor.

The result was satisfactory. The minister looked around; he had scarcely spoken since he came.... “Now I am going over to the other hut to dress for the service; I shall be there until it is time to begin, and would rather not be disturbed.” ... He glanced at the wife, then at the husband, and said as he went out, “God grant to both of you a blessed Communion!”

Entering the other hut, where he had slept the previous night, the minister slowly began to put on his canonicals. His lips moved in prayer; his brow was wet with perspiration. When he had dressed he sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned his head on one hand. As he sat there, his bowed figure seemed strangely powerless and insignificant; the strength that he had so fervently prayed for at this hour, he had not received. When he finally took the books from the valise his hand trembled. His face looked pale and tired; now he felt the need of a strong faith—and when he sought it he sought in vain!...

... _In him_ the faith was lacking; of that he was painfully aware.

With a supreme effort he got up from the bed and went out into the yard.

When he reached the other house it was packed full of people; the elders had found places in the front of the room; there also sat Aslak Tjöme with his wife, the invalid woman comfortably propped up at his side; Per Hansa and his wife sat on the very first bench, right in front of the improvised altar. The minister scanned the crowd, paused for a moment, then came forward and spoke calmly to Per Hansa: “Now, when the service begins, you two will please come forward first. As soon as you have received Communion, you had better go outside, for it will be hot and stuffy in here.” Then he went from person to person, writing down the names of the communicants; at once a deep silence fell on the room.

As the text for the Communion sermon the minister had chosen _The Glory of the Lord_; rather, he had not chosen it—it had suggested itself powerfully to him on the day he had gone away after talking with Beret. He had at once recognized the fitness of the theme. And now, to-day, it had returned to him with overwhelming force; here sat people who, perhaps for many years, had had no chance, no single opportunity, to confess their sins before the Lord and receive His blessed remission. Among them was one soul, sore perplexed, that he must try to reach.... He had seen clearly on his last visit—at least, he thought he had seen—that what the woman needed above everything else was the gladness of salvation, the abiding joy that issues out of the faith and the firm conviction that life is good because the Lord Himself has ordained it all.... Until he faced her he had felt so happy over the theme.... Ah, well, perhaps the Lord would vouchsafe unto him the necessary strength ... yes, if he only could find the faith within his own soul!...

He asked the assembly to keep quiet and remain seated during the Communion service, and began the service at once.

But as he started to preach the words he wanted would not come; in those that came there seemed to be no power; to-day something had happened to him which he could not control. He heard himself speak, and it seemed like the voice of another. He could not fathom it; here he stood before a remarkable congregation, under the most inspiring circumstances; he had been given a text more wonderful than any servant of the Lord could rightly hope to find; in all ways he was better prepared to conduct Communion services to-day than he had ever been before.... And yet he could not preach ... the words would not come!...

They were failing him utterly now. Here he was preaching about the Glory of the Lord—and stuttering like a child!... “I must go a little slower and try to collect my thoughts; that may help me; perhaps it will bring the words I need.... It makes no difference if I don’t speak so loud; the people can hear me well enough, if I can only express myself simply and clearly!” ... He struggled to find the right words, the aptest illustrations; his face grew flushed with the unusual exertion; great beads of sweat stood out on it and began to roll down.... But all to no purpose....

... “If I am not careful,” he thought, “I will break down completely; I’m not saying a thing that is worth while!” ... And he spoke even more slowly, making long pauses between his sentences, so that it sounded like a sort of conversation—a one-sided argument against a silent adversary.... The man who had looked forward with such fervour to preaching this sermon on _The Glory of the Lord_ was making a sorry mess of it as he rambled on in disconnected phrases.

But he must keep going; he had asked the people to remain seated, and they were expecting a long discourse; to disappoint them would be a scandal.

... “The Glory of the Lord—what is it? One might suppose it to be too wonderful for us to talk about.... Nothing to that remark!” he thought, as soon as he had said it.... “Nothing but empty words about holy things!” ...

He began to enumerate all the examples from the Scriptures that he had been striving for two weeks to cull and arrange; everything calculated to show the real wonders of the Glory of the Lord:

... “Did not Adam and Eve behold the Glory of the Lord as they walked in innocence in Paradise? The Lord spake to them in the paths of the Garden; that was in the morning of time, when the world was still young and everything in it was pure and beautiful.... And Enoch who was translated that he should not see death.... Abraham and Sarah, as they saw the promise made to them fulfilled before their eyes in such a wonderful fashion.... Jacob, who fought with the Lord and wrestled with Him as man to man—what was he allowed to see?... And that man of God, up on Mount Sinai, as he stood face to face with the Lord of Hosts.... and Jonah, and all the rest?” ... The speaker toiled through the entire Old Testament and pushed his way into the New.... “What was it that the little band of disciples experienced when they sat at table with Him and He Himself brake the bread for them and handed them the cup?”

The minister paused, wiping the perspiration from his face. Every time he drew one of these word pictures for them, the idea came to him more and more forcibly: “These people, sitting here in front of me, are Sognings and Vossings; the man of the house and his wife are fisher-folk from Nordland.... How can they understand the things that happened to an alien people, living ages ago, in a distant land? The Israelites were an Oriental race; they didn’t know anything about Dakota Territory, either; they had no experience of the hardships out here!” ... He could have wept aloud in his sore distress; here he stood, an old and tried servant of God—and now he had preached himself through the whole Bible without finding the Glory of the Lord!...

... “This will never, never do!” he thought, and continued doggedly to speak in slow accents, like one who goes about looking for something while he talks aloud to himself. His eyes roamed helplessly over the rows of faces; they fixed on a fly buzzing around the room, and followed it while he talked. A little way off sat a young woman with three small children; she was a fine, bright-looking woman, tanned and burned by the sun; that must be the girl that Tönseten had married, he thought. The oldest child leaned up against her, the second lay with his head on her thigh; he seemed to be sleeping, for the minister saw only the curly head. She had the youngest child in her lap. He had been restless for a long time, and the mother had unbuttoned her clothes to nurse him. The fly buzzed and buzzed, made a turn in the air, and settled on the nose of the nursing child; the mother raised her hand and swept it away, and as she did so she drew the hand caressingly over the face of the child.

The minister kept on looking at the group.... He had talked himself into complete bankruptcy respecting all things great and beautiful, without finding a message that seemed to apply here. Now, taking a sudden shift, he began to address the little group directly before him; not that he actually pointed to the sunburnt, healthy woman who sat there watching the fly, too busy to listen to him; but he commenced to speak of the love of mother and child. And all at once he did something that he had never done before in a Communion sermon—he told a story; it was a sentimental story, too—and he had always despised sentimentality in preaching:

Once upon a time, he said, a Norwegian immigrant woman landed in New York City; her name was Kari—she was widowed and had nine children.... New York is a terribly large city. Imagine the difficulties a poor immigrant woman meets with there—one who can neither speak nor understand the language! And this woman hadn’t a single friend in all America. When she landed, and saw the great throngs of people, and looked at the whirlpool of traffic, she got terribly frightened, poor soul! She had been told that in this foreign metropolis almost anything might happen to a mother coming alone with nine children; and so she had prepared herself in her own way. Around her waist was wound a long rope; this she now unrolled, tying all nine children to it in single file, but keeping the end still securely fastened around her waist. In this fashion Kari plodded through the streets of the great city, a laughingstock to all passers-by. But just the same, she reached her destination at last, with all her nine children safe and sound!... Wasn’t that rope a fine illustration of a mother’s love?

It occurred to the minister that he had come down to very commonplace things—yet he spoke straight out, from the fulness of his heart.... The people were listening intently; the woman with three little children stopped chasing the fly; he longed to tell her to go on with her duties and not mind him.... But all at once she seemed to become his own mother, as plainly as if he had seen her in the flesh; and he remembered how she had struggled and suffered as a pioneer woman, first in Illinois, afterward in Minnesota. He was profoundly moved as he caught this reflection of her destiny; his words came faster, pouring forth without a trace of effort.... “But when such love exists between a poor pioneer woman and her plain, ordinary children, what must it not be when it rises to Divinity—the love of Him Who is the source of love itself—of Him Who cares for all life, yea, even for the worm crawling in the dust? The love of mother and child can be only an infinitesimal part of that other love; yet, small and imperfect as it is, it still carries a breath of the Divine omnipotence.... If you, pioneer mothers, have not seen the Glory of the Lord, then no preacher of the Gospel will ever be able to show it to you!... And now come forward to the altar of God and taste that He is good.... Come, with all your sins and all your sorrows.... Bring Him your trials and your grief! Love itself, eternal and boundless, is present here. He is ready and willing to lighten your burdens, just as a mother cares for her nursing child.... Come and receive freely of the abundance of grace. Come and _behold the Glory of the Lord_!” ...

The minister ended his sermon, looked at his watch, and his brows knit in a puzzled frown. How had this happened? According to the watch, he had been speaking for an hour and fifteen minutes. Could it be possible?

The people came forward, knelt down before Per Hansa’s big chest, and received an assurance so gracious and benign that they could hardly credit its reality.... Many eyes filled with tears during that hour....

The absolution took a long time. The minister looked again at his watch; he still couldn’t understand where the time had gone. In his heart he blamed himself bitterly; not only had he spoiled the Communion sermon, but he had also made it so long that no time was left for the regular sermon of the day!

And so he omitted the sermon altogether, brought the Communion service to a close, and ended with a fervent admonition to the communicants to go directly home and remain quiet for the rest of the day.... They mustn’t stop anywhere to gossip and talk!... He would return at the end of four weeks, at which time he intended to take up the question of organizing a congregation.

He refused to stop for dinner; having hastily drunk a bowl of milk, he got into his cart at once and drove off.... The cart shook and rattled; the old nag ambled along; the minister sat immersed in a deep gloom.... “Never before,” he thought, “have I failed so miserably in any service!”

VIII

It rained both Monday and Tuesday, but not so hard that Hans Olsa had to stop building. With two carpenters to help him, he made such good progress that the day was gone even before it had begun—or so it seemed to him. Which was hardly to be wondered at, because from morning till night could be heard rumbling out of the caverns of his bulky chest a continuous monotone that was seriously meant to be a song; as steady and deliberate as everything he did—as he himself was, for that matter—the vocal performance droned and rumbled on and never came to an end; and so each day proved too short, both for himself and his song.

Yes, now Hans Olsa was building himself a real house, and he sang all day at his work. And why shouldn’t he sing? This was going to be a beautiful house, larger—very much larger, in fact—than he had originally planned; it was to have a roomy kitchen, both a dining room and a parlor, with three bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs.

Concerning the matter of bedrooms on the ground floor, there had been a long-drawn argument between him and Sörine; not a serious disagreement, exactly, but—well, they had talked about it a great deal! Hans Olsa was never in the habit of saying unkind things to his wife; and Sörine always smiled, even when she was provoked; so a real quarrel between the two was hard to raise. But in this instance she held tenaciously to her idea that there must be a bedroom downstairs, no matter how many others he might build elsewhere; and that plan called for an addition to the house, which seemed a needless extravagance. And it was so unlike her—she was never known to be extravagant! So he had tried to reason the idea out of her head; but he finally had had to give it up as a bad job. And since there was no way out of building an addition, while he was about it, he thought, he might as well extend it clear across the house. Thus it had come about that there were to be two extra bedrooms downstairs.... Very unwise, a needless expense, and so utterly unlike her; but there stood the framework, all complete. Nothing to do about it now.

That Sörine was a real gift from on high no one knew better than Hans Olsa himself; and now, this particular summer, there was nothing that he would not gladly have done for her. Ever since last spring, when she had confided to him that she was with child, he had been in a state of blissful anticipation—this time he felt sure that it would be a boy. Hence the new house—hence the song. As soon as she had told him the great news he had come to the decision that _that_ event should never take place in the old sod house; and if it meant such a lot to her to get that room downstairs, she certainly should have it, no matter how unreasonable it might be.

Hans Olsa was fully aware, these days, how everything was arranging itself for his benefit, and he walked about in a state of blissful contentment and thankfulness; his herd had steadily increased from year to year; every season he got more and more land under cultivation; there must be an end to the plague some time, so all wise men said; here, where there was not a human being to be seen the year they came, large settlements were now springing up; the soil was good, the rain and the sunshine were plentiful. And now he was building a mansion for him who was coming.... How marvellous it all was!... Hans Olsa was both a sensible and a serious-minded man; but he would gladly have built two more rooms if she had asked for them, just to show his gratitude....

He had been present at the service last Sunday, had taken part in the Communion; and the longer the service had lasted the stronger and deeper had grown his felicity. He was only a common, uneducated man, and probably lacked a proper conception of the wonders the minister preached about; yet this he knew for certain, that nothing so glorious as that Communion service in Per Hansa’s sod house had he ever before experienced, and the happiness of that hour was still glowing with steady warmth in Hans Olsa’s heart.... As Per Hansa and Beret had knelt before the chest, he had looked at them, thinking of many things. Beret’s sad condition could easily be seen in her face. Ah no, when reason once leaves a person, it seldom returns!... And Per Hansa himself had become an old man long before his time: his hair and beard were grey; his face was thin and worn; not till then had Hans Olsa fully realized the terrible struggle his lifelong friend was going through. He had gazed at the kneeling couple until his large, heavy features drooped with sympathy. Could he at that moment have shared his own happiness with his friend, he would have handed it over to him without a question.

Coming home from the service that day, he had wandered about the place, pondering over an idea which he wasn’t ready to mention to his wife until he had given it more thought. But on Monday night he broached the subject to Sörine: Shouldn’t they offer to take Per Hansa’s youngest child?... Did she suppose that would be too much for her?... You see, he wasn’t any too sure about it, himself.... And now he told her all his thoughts of the previous Sunday.... What did she say—should they offer to take the child?...

Sörine laughed and asked him teasingly if he didn’t think he’d soon have enough with his own? The next instant, however, she too became serious; and now she confided in him that for a long time she had been thinking about this very same thing, herself. But she hadn’t mentioned it to Per Hansa because he knew that she was only too willing; had he wanted to bring it about, he would only have had to ask her....

They couldn’t be sure of that, her husband objected; Per Hansa knew that she was soon going to have one of her own, and he was not the kind of a man to impose on others.... He doubted very much, as a matter of fact, if Per Hansa fully realized the seriousness of Beret’s condition. Should the plague return this summer and that awful spell come over her again, there was no telling what might happen.... “Isn’t it really up to us, who can see the true state of affairs?”

Sörine gave an unexpected answer to this question: “I believe that Beret is jealous of me because I’m so fond of her little boy.... I think I’ve noticed it.”

Hans Olsa pondered this information awhile.... Perhaps his wife was right; and there were other difficulties, too.... Suppose they did take the boy. Could they be certain that he would thrive better here? And if he didn’t, where would be the gain?... And would it be fair to the parents even to suggest such a thing?... At any rate, if things came to such a pass that Per Hansa had to send Beret away—which wasn’t at all improbable—then some one would have to take the child permanently.... And just now, wouldn’t it be too great a burden for Sörine?... No, Hans Olsa couldn’t quite see his way clear....

Sörine only laughed at him.... Certainly she would undertake to be a mother to that blessed dear little boy—it would be only one more—that is, if it ever seemed necessary. But she doubted very much if Per Hansa would consent to the plan; he thought more of that boy than of any of the other children, unless she was much mistaken.... They discussed the matter at great length that evening.

IX

Wednesday afternoon of the same week a faint mist floated before the sun. A light, warm rain fell at intervals from drifting shreds of clouds. Between showers the sun peeped through the clouds to see what was going on down on the prairie; and he set the rainbow here and there as a sign that he was well pleased. There was a big blue heaven behind it all, the air very still ... beautiful weather.

Beret sat in the old sod barn which Per Hansa long since had made over into a workshop and storehouse, sewing a shirt for little Permand. The door was open and she sat where she could look out. She had sent And-Ongen to the field with some water for the boys, who were hoeing the potatoes. Per Hansa was repairing the roof of the new barn. It had been leaking there since the frost went out of the ground last spring, because the willow poles used for supports had not been heavy enough. She could not see him from where she sat, but she could hear him working.

“Yes,” she sighed, looking up from her sewing, “he can manage his work all right. I only wish I could do mine as well.” ... Her face carried the same childlike expression that the minister had noticed, her eyes had the same dreamy, far-away stare; they seemed to be seeing something she did not want to behold, looking for something that would never happen; hence the strange sadness that always shone through them.

She felt perfectly happy, however, but felt so tired and drowsy; it had been this way every day now since that remarkable man had placed his hand on her and in his prophetic voice had assured her that from this time forth she was released from the bonds of Satan.... That any man could have such power!... Yet she knew positively now that he hadn’t been deceiving her, because burden after burden had been lifted from her soul—she felt so light that she could almost float in the air.... But after a while this drowsiness had come on. She could not imagine what ailed her; she slept well at night, and yet was so sleepy during the day that it was a constant struggle to keep awake; to-day she had lain down right after eating and had fallen asleep immediately.

... A blessed man he was, indeed.... And the way he had got them to sing! She had to smile as she remembered it.... Just imagine! he had made them sing exactly the same hymns here in this sod house as the people sang in the churches in Norway—yet no harm had befallen the house on that account.... Melodies were yet hanging throughout the room; yesterday while at work she had heard them everywhere. She had even caught one up and followed it—had sung until Per Hansa came rushing in, to ask her what was the matter; he had looked at her so queerly.... He ought not to get frightened just because she sang!

As she recalled the incident now, snatches of the song came back to her again, and she began humming.... No, no—this would never do! She might scare some one again—people seemed so easily frightened here.... This had turned out to be a rather hard piece of sewing, but the child was going to look fine in his new shirt.... Would she be able to hear him in the other hut when he woke up?... Well, he had a pretty good voice!...

... Surely, now, mother will stop asking for him when she hears he is going to be a minister!... The smile on her childlike face broadened and lighted up.... A minister in the family—I, the mother of a servant of God—why, that is exactly as it is in the Bible!... Her hands trembled as stitch followed stitch. But thoughts were crowding rapidly on her now; she laid down her sewing.

... When mother comes—and she can be expected at any time now—I shall tell her all that has happened here lately. And then I shall say: “You would never have become the grandmother of a minister if I had remained in Norway. Such miracles do not happen there.” ... But very likely she’ll not believe what I tell her.... Beret’s expression became thoughtful and troubled; she rested her hands idly in her lap.... Then I must tell her that now we have a church, right here in our house. At that she’ll only laugh and shake her head, and she’ll probably say: “Now, Beret, you don’t know what you are talking about!” That’s just what she’ll say.... But I will have to answer: “Now, mother, I certainly do. Listen to me: We have a real church. There is an altar with candles on it, and the altar is father’s _big chest_!” ... That will astonish her still more.... “Beret, my child,” she’ll say, “you are too foolish—you must guard your speech. One doesn’t say everything that comes into one’s head, you know!” ... But then I’ll show her how Syvert and Kjersti, Hans Olsa and Sörine and all the rest, knelt down before the chest and there partook of the Glory of the Lord. I shall describe it all.... She knows Hans Olsa and Sörine—she will believe them.... I must show her just where the chest stood.... Let me see if I can remember the exact words he used:—“the gracious forgiveness of all thy sins.” ... Yes, he said _all_ ... _all_ ... I am sure of that ... I remember it distinctly....

For some time Beret sat deeply absorbed in her thoughts, her sewing in her lap, her hands resting on it without motion.... Mother will sit by the stove, just as she always has done when she has been here. “Well,” she’ll ask, “are you sure now, Beret, that he is going to be a minister? Don’t draw hasty conclusions—you’ve always been so impulsive!” That’s exactly what she’ll say.... Then I must answer: “Yes, mother, you needn’t doubt it any longer; for I myself sat here and heard how this wonderful man argued about it with the Lord—and how he got his way, too. And both Per Hansa and Sörine heard it also. You can ask them if you don’t believe me.” ... Then mother will look at me in her kind way, for a long, long time. At last she’ll say: “Well, if God can use him, it certainly isn’t proper for me to want him; though I would like to have some one of yours with me. But now you must take good care of him, my child!” ... “Yes, mother, how can I help it? How can I ever forget that he is to go out into the world to give of the Glory of the Lord to the children of men?” ... Then mother will get up to go.... I must say to her: “Don’t forget to greet father! You might just as well tell him all this, about his big chest.” ...

Beret’s face had gradually grown very serious. But the sound of heavy steps in the yard brought her out of her reveries. Some one stopped at the barn, and then went in; in a moment she heard the voice of Per Hansa.... What can they want of him now?... Hm, hm—it’s Per Hansa this, and Per Hansa that! First one comes and takes him away, and then another; they never leave him a minute in peace! Can’t they understand that I need him at home?... And he is so easily talked around—he can’t say no to anyone.... I suppose it’s some more hauling—and then he’ll be gone for a long time....

She picked up her work again, but the sewing failed to claim her attention.... It took a long while over that errand. Who could it be?

Putting the work away, Beret stepped quickly out of the door, stealthily crossed the yard to the side of the new barn, and pressed herself close to the wall.... Oh, this was Hans Olsa! It was all right, then—he certainly didn’t need any more hauling.

She was straightening up to return, when something arrested her—kind words spoken slowly in a deep voice..... Hush! hush! They ought not to talk that way about her when she was listening!

... “Should Beret get another spell, you know what might happen—a calamity none of us could get over. We’ve all seen enough of such things.... Now, we will take the boy and care for him as though he were our own flesh and blood.... Sörrina and I have talked it over.”

Beret’s childlike features suddenly took on a peculiarly covert expression.... Ah-ha! So that’s his errand?... Hush! Hush! There is Per Hansa speaking!... His voice sounds so queer—can he have been frightened again?...

... “That’s more than good of you and Sörrina—I realize it all; but matters will have to take their own course.... She is the mother, and I can see how she clings to him.... This spring I worried a lot about what I ought to do when summer came; but now I’ve decided that she shall keep the child with her. If she doesn’t get well by having him at home, it certainly won’t make things any easier for her to have him away—that I know.... She risked her life for him once, and she shall not be bereft of the happiness of having him with her now, no matter what happens.... There’s a Destiny that rules us all—it’s bound to overtake us, whether we are here or there.”

... “Now I’m afraid you are taking too great a responsibility upon yourself,” said the other voice, slowly. “Remember what might have happened last summer when she had the spell.”

A short silence fell in the barn. Beret’s features grew tense. Bending over with a quick, fierce movement, she snatched up a piece of stake and grasped it tightly.

... “No,” came Per Hansa’s voice in meditative tones, “that’s just what none of us can say for certain. She might have escaped the attack altogether if the child had been at home.... I remember how pitiably she seemed to miss him. I’m not at all sure that isn’t what brought on the spell. Perhaps that burden, added to everything else, became too much for her.... And even if the spell had come on with him here at home, she might not have harmed him—I doubt it very much....”

As Beret drank in these words the tenseness all left her; the weapon she had seized dropped from her hand; her body straightened up; she looked about in wide-eyed wonder.... Were those church bells she heard?... But the voices were beginning again on the other side of the wall.... Hush! Hush!

... “Do you really think so?” asked Hans Olsa, seriously.

... “Well, I tell you, Hans Olsa, there’s hardly an angle to this affair that I have not considered. I’m thinking of nothing else, when I’m asleep as well as when I’m awake. And this I do know,” he added with great certainty, “that a kinder person than Beret the Lord never made; there’s nothing but kindness in her.... I’ve come to the conclusion that even in her beclouded moments she has meant no harm to the child—no matter how things may have looked to us.... When all is said and done, it’s my own fault from beginning to end.”

“O God! How beautiful these bells ring!” thought Beret.

... “Because,” Per Hansa went on, sadly, “I should not have coaxed and persuaded her to come with me out here.... Perhaps it was her misfortune that we two ever met.... You remember how it was in Nordland: We had boats that we sailed to Lofoten in, big crafts that could stand all kinds of rough weather, if properly handled; and then there were the small boats that we used for the home fishing; the last were just as fine and just as good for their own purposes as the other kind for theirs, but you couldn’t exchange them; you couldn’t sail to Lofoten with the small boats, nor fish at home in the larger ones.... For you and me, life out here is nothing; but there may be others so constructed that they don’t fit into this life at all; and yet they are finer and better souls than either one of us.... There are so many things we don’t comprehend.”

... “I certainly ought to know Beret,” remarked the other voice, thoughtfully. “We were playmates, she and I.” ...

... “I doubt that very much,” interrupted Per Hansa, “though you are an observing man. I have lived with her all these years, yet I must confess that I don’t know her.... She is a better soul than any I’ve ever met. It’s only lately that I have begun to realize all she has suffered since we came out here. The minister was probably right; no one can ever fathom the depths of a mother’s heart.... The urge within me drove me on and on, and never would I stop; for I reasoned like this, that where I found happiness others must find it as well.... But you see how things have turned out!... The finest castle on earth I was going to build her—and here we’re still living in a mole’s hole—all my dreams have been crushed in misery.... But this I’ve decided, that she shall keep the baby—though I thank you for the offer.” ... The sadness in Per Hansa’s voice had grown deeper and more profound than the grey autumn evening that falls on the bleak prairie.

... “You mustn’t feel hurt about the offer,” put in the slow voice of Hans Olsa. “We only thought it might do a little good.”

Beret listened no more; she walked away like one in a dream of happiness; she did not know where she was going nor what she did. In the southern sky floated transparent little clouds; rainbow ribbons hung down from them. She saw the rainbow’s glow; her face was transfigured; she walked on in ecstasy.... “Are there signs for us in the sky?... That is the Glory of the Lord now ... _See_!... The whole heavens are full of it!... There ... and there again ... everywhere!”

She reached the other house, came to the door, and would have gone by, but in the house a child was crying loudly. Beret stopped short and passed her hand across her face, as if trying to wake herself from a dream that possessed her; then she went quickly into the house. Over on the bed sat Permand, crying as though his heart would break. Beret hurried to the bed, threw herself down on it, took the boy in her arms, and hugged him close; she felt as if she had got back a child that had been irretrievably lost; she wept as she fondled him, while wave upon wave of gratitude welled up within her.

The boy was so astonished at his mother’s strange behaviour that he stopped crying immediately and lay quiet; then he wriggled out of her arms and threw himself on the pillow, one of his forefingers in his mouth, the other pointing out into the air, as children often will do when they don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was something so irresistibly comical about him as he lay there pointing at nothing, that a sudden surge of playfulness swept over her and she threw herself down beside him on the pillow. Then he gave her his very biggest smile, letting the finger that had been hovering in the air fall on her face. At that they both burst out laughing—she so boisterously that he withdrew the finger and gave her a frown. She stopped laughing at once, petting and fondling him until she had won him completely.

X

As Beret lay there playing with the child she was suddenly overcome with drowsiness; it seemed to her that she simply could not resist snatching a little sleep—it would feel so delicious. In a moment she had dozed off and was carried away into an infinite, glittering blue space with rainbows hung all around it. The air felt soft and warm about her. A voice, loud and clear, yet very beautiful, was speaking through the sky.... She could not have slept long, for when she awoke there sat the boy close by her side, poking a wet finger into her eyelid. She hastily raised up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes, unable to bring herself fully awake.... “My, how I must have slept!” she thought.... She gazed wide-eyed at the child beside her, and rubbed her eyes again, but could not seem to be able to connect things in her mind.... “Why, what am I thinking about?” she said, half amused. “This is my own little Permand!”

She sat up on the edge of the bed, lifted the boy tenderly, and put him down in her lap. To her own surprise, she was trembling in every limb; she felt a sudden overwhelming bashfulness, like a lover who for the first time comes close to his beloved.

“I want something to eat now!” murmured the boy in a voice that was full of well-being.

—Of course, this little fellow needs food! she thought.

The boy wriggled out of her arms and slid down to the floor.... She could hardly take her eyes away from him; she began to feel almost frightened because of all the vigorous life in that sound little body.

She hastily left the bed and started to find something for the child to eat. It was in her mind to get some milk from a shelf in the corner; but instead of going there she remained standing in the middle of the floor, looking about the room, her eyes still large with wonder.... Everything looked so strange in here to-day! What could have happened. It seemed to her that she hadn’t been here for a long time.... The child was growing impatient; he took hold of her skirt, shook it, and wanted her to hurry.... It confused her dreadfully to stand here like a stranger in her own house!... Well, anyway, there was the bowl of milk she had been looking for.... Where was the spoon, now, that she always used for skimming?... And used she not to have a special cup for the child?... And the bread—he had to have a slice of bread with his milk!... Where was the bread always kept in this house?...

Beret went searching about in her own home like a housewife who had been away on a long visit and returns a partial stranger. But the feeling of home-coming filled her with such joy, that she could only laugh at her bewilderment.... She found one thing here, another there; at last the boy had eaten his fill and was satisfied.

All at once another thought struck her; she glanced around with puzzled anxiety.... Where were the rest of the family to-day?... Surely Per Hansa was somewhere around. Hadn’t she just been talking to him?... And where could the children be keeping themselves?... It exasperated her, yet she couldn’t help laughing; here they had all been with her only a moment ago, and now she couldn’t recall the least little thing! Was she walking in her sleep, in broad daylight.... Thinking vaguely that she must try to get things cleared up, she went out of the door and looked around.

The mildness of the afternoon greeted her like a friend. She breathed in the pure air deeply, straightening her body, throwing back her arms.... What fine weather, these days!... The trees around the yard caught her eye; again she had the feeling of having just returned from a long journey. The idea! Look how big that grove is getting to be!... Over on the prairie, some distance away, rose a half-finished house. Well, that’s Hans Olsa’s. It will be fine for Sörrina to move into that new house! No matter how good care you take of a sod house, it’s never very satisfactory—dust and dirt keep falling from the ceiling all the time, especially when it gets old.... But who was that tall, stooping man coming out of the barn? Now he had greeted her quietly in a deep voice and walked on.... Beret began to be worried. Wasn’t that Hans Olsa? Didn’t she know her own neighbour?... Hearing some one still in the barn, she hurried across the yard and peered in.

“Are you in there?” she called.

A stocky, broad-shouldered man appeared in the barn door; his face was deeply furrowed; his hair and beard, heavily sprinkled with grey, were now full of dust and straw. As she looked at him she felt strangely uneasy and disturbed; but she couldn’t help giving him a bright smile:

“What in the world has happened to you, Per Hansa?”

He stood staring fixedly at her, unable to stir a muscle. No power on earth could have taken his eyes away from her face at that moment; he caught hold of the jamb of the door to steady himself.... God in heaven!—what had happened....

Beret saw his great agitation. Now her disturbance increased—her concern over him grew genuine. “Are you sick, Per Hansa?” she asked in tones of deepest sympathy, coming closer to him. “You mustn’t keep on with this work when you aren’t feeling well; there can’t be such a hurry about it, you know.”

Per Hansa cleared his throat to speak, but no words came ... he could only look at her.

She noticed his pale, haggard face, and her anxiety grew insistent. “You’ve got to quit right now!... I’ll run in and boil some milk for you!” ... She hurried off to the house, too full of her new-found solicitude to wait for an answer.

In the open door Per Hansa stood gazing at her as she went; he longed to follow her, to touch her, to talk to her, but he dared not do it.... There was a spade standing beside the door; he picked it up and set it down inside....

“No, it better not stand in here.” He picked it up again and put it back.... His eyes rested on a hammer lying on the floor—the one he had been using a moment ago. “I must remember to put that hammer away before it gets tramped into the ground.” ... Next moment he forgot all about it.... He was shaking violently from head to foot; he had to lean up against the wall.... “God be merciful! I haven’t seen her like this for many years!” ... Then he sighed wearily.... “But I don’t suppose it means anything.”

Beret came into the house, moving with purpose and confidence now, and hurried to light the fire. The boy was still sitting at the table; no sooner did he see her than he wanted more to eat. But she had no time to bother with him; she put a pan on the stove and filled it with milk.... “Poor fellow, he must have caught a cold, in all this rainy weather,” she thought. “And summer colds are hard to get rid of, unless they’re taken in time. I’d better mix some pepper with the milk.... If I could only persuade him to lie down so that I’d have a chance to cover him up and get him good and warm, I’d soon have him all right again.... Colds don’t usually last very long with him.”

As she was tidying up the bed she chanced to get a glimpse of herself in the mirror that hung on the wall behind it; she had to take a second look.... “Good gracious! What a sight I am to-day! No wonder he looked worried—he who always wants me so nice!” ... While she was waiting for the milk to simmer, she washed her face and combed her hair; that done, she opened the big chest, found her best Sunday garments, and hurriedly put them on.... Now then, she wasn’t quite so much of a scarecrow....

The milk boiled; she lifted it off the stove, went to the door, and called Per Hansa.... As a timid child enters a stranger’s house and does not dare to put aside his cap, so now Per Hansa stepped across his own threshold. Permand was still sitting by the table; his father caught sight of him there, and walking over to him, picked the boy up and sat down in his stead; then he put him on his lap and gently stroked his hair.... His voice was gone—it would not come.... All the while he was casting furtive glances at his wife; big beads of sweat stood on his forehead.

She brought him a cup of the steaming milk. “I put pepper in it; now you must get it down while it’s still hot.... Then you shall go right to bed and get good and warm!”

Without protest he did as she bade him, sipping cup after cup of the strong hot mixture; he couldn’t keep his eyes off her face.... But still he found no words to say to her; whenever he tried to speak his throat closed....

While he was drinking she came and sat down by his side, telling him innocently how topsy-turvy things had seemed to her to-day. Why, she had just lain down for a moment with the child, and when she woke up it had seemed as though she had been gone for years and a day! She laughed merrily as she told him about it.

Per Hansa listened in silence, looked at her, and drank of the hot mixture until the tears rolled down his cheeks.... She chatted on unconsciously, her voice low but full and very sweet; as he gazed at her, he saw in her face only intelligent concern—only loving solicitude—exactly like the dear Beret-girl that he used to know!... When he found it impossible to swallow another drop of the hot pepper-and-milk, she insisted that he lie down at once; if he would only take a good sweat, this cold would soon pass off. Per Hansa obeyed like a docile child, while she herself came and tucked the quilt around him.... “Now try to drop off to sleep.... Don’t worry—you’ll soon be all right.”

He turned his face to the wall, crying silently; he had clasped his hands together with a grip of iron, but soon he had to break the grip, to wipe the tears away....

He lay thus until the paroxysm had passed and he felt that he could master himself. Then he flung the covers aside, sat up suddenly on the edge of the bed, and looked intently at Beret, long and slow.... He began to believe ... and as he looked, he felt his old self returning....

“Are you getting up already?” she asked, greatly surprised. “I really think you ought to stay in bed the rest of the day.”

“Oh, well ...!” He laughed boisterously, rose to his feet, and stretched himself. “I guess I’d better hurry up and get that rickety roof fixed.... We must begin building here as soon as Hans Olsa can find time to help with the hauling!... By God, we’re not going to live like moles all our days!... That drink of yours was pretty good. Have you got a drop left?” He came forward and began pacing up and down the room.... “_God_!” ... But then he checked himself in time, caught Permand in his arms, and flung him up to the ceiling again and again, until the boy shrieked with delight.

“My, my, how funny we all are to-day!” smiled Beret as she stood there with the bowl in her hands, waiting for them to come to their senses.

IV. The Great Plain Drinks the Blood of Christian Men and Is Satisfied

I

Many and incredible are the tales the grandfathers tell from those days when the wilderness was yet untamed, and when they, unwittingly, founded the Kingdom. There was the Red Son of the Great Prairie, who hated the Palefaces with a hot hatred; stealthily he swooped down upon them, tore up and laid waste the little settlements. Great was the terror he spread; bloody the saga concerning him.

But more to be dreaded than this tribulation was the strange spell of sadness which the unbroken solitude cast upon the minds of some. Many took their own lives; asylum after asylum was filled with disordered beings who had once been human. It is hard for the eye to wander from sky line to sky line, year in and year out, without finding a resting place!...

Then, too, there were the years of pestilence—toil and travail, famine and disease. God knows how human beings could endure it all. And many did not—they lay down and died. “There is nothing to do about that,” said they who survived. “We are all destined to die—that’s certain. Some must go now; others will have to go later. It’s all the same, is it not?” The poor could find much wherewith to console themselves. And whisky was cheap in those days, and easy to get....

And on the hot summer days terrible storms might come. In the twinkling of an eye they would smash to splinters the habitations which man had built for himself, so that they resembled nothing so much as a few stray hairs on a worn-out pelt. Man have power? Breathe it not, for that is to tempt the Almighty!...

Some feared most the prairie fire. Terrible, too, it was, before people had learned how to guard against it.

Others remembered best the trips to town. They were the jolliest days, said some; no, they were the worst of all, said the others. It may be that both were right.... The oxen moved slowly—whether the distance was thirty miles or ninety made little difference. In the sod house back there, somewhere along the horizon, life got on your nerves at times. There sat a wife with a flock of starving children; she had grown very pale of late, and the mouths of the children were always open—always crying for food.... But in the town it was cheerful and pleasant. There one could get a drink; there one could talk with people who spoke with enthusiasm and certainty about the future. This was the land of promise, they said. Sometimes one met these people in the saloons; and then it was more fascinating to listen to them than to any talk about the millennium. Their words lay like embers in the mind during the whole of the interminable, jolting journey homeward, and made it less long.... It helps so much to have something pleasant to think about, say the Old.

And it was as if nothing affected people in those days. They threw themselves blindly into the Impossible, and accomplished the Unbelievable. If anyone succumbed in the struggle—and that happened often—another would come and take his place. Youth was in the race; the unknown, the untried, the unheard-of, was in the air; people caught it, were intoxicated by it, threw themselves away, and laughed at the cost. Of course it was possible—everything was possible out here. There was no such thing as the Impossible any more. The human race has not known such faith and such self-confidence since history began.... And so had been the Spirit since the day the first settlers landed on the eastern shores; it would rise and fall at intervals, would swell and surge on again with every new wave of settlers that rolled westward into the unbroken solitude.

II

They say it rained forty days and forty nights once in the old days, and that was terrible; but during the winter of 1880–81 it snowed twice forty days; that was more terrible.... Day and night the snow fell. From the 15th of October, when it began, until after the middle of April, it seldom ceased. From the four corners of the earth it flew; but of all the winds that brought it, the south wind was the worst; for that whisked and matted the flakes into huge grey discs, which fell to the ground in clinging, woolly folds.... And all winter the sun stayed in his house; he crept out only now and then to pack down the snow; that was to make room for more.... Morning after morning folk would wake up in the dead, heavy cold, and would lie in bed listening to the _ooo-h-ooo-h-ooo-h-ing_ of the wind about the corners of the house. But what was this low, muffled roar in the chimney? One would leap out of bed, dress himself hurriedly in his heaviest garments, and start to go out—only to find that some one was holding the door. It wouldn’t budge an inch. An immovable monster lay close outside. Against this monster one pushed and pushed, until one could scoop a little of the snow through the crack into the room; finally one was able to force an opening large enough for a man to work himself out and flounder up to the air. Once outside, he found himself standing in an immense flour bin, out of which whirled the whiteness, a solid cloud. Then he had to dig his way down to the house again. And tunnels had to be burrowed from house to barn, and from neighbour to neighbour, wherever the distances were not too long and where there were children who liked to play at such things.

In the late spring, when all this snow had to thaw, the floods would come, covering all the land. Once again it would be just as it had been in the days of Noah; on the roofs of houses, on the gables of barns, in wagon boxes, even, people would go sailing away. Many would perish—for there was no Ark in those days!...

The suffering was great that winter. Famine came; supplies of all kinds gave out; for no one had thought, when the first snowfall began, that winter had come. Who had ever heard of its setting in in the middle of the autumn?... And for a while not much snow did come; the fall was light in November, though the days were grey and chill; in December there was more; January began to pile and drift it up; and in February the very demon himself arrived. Some had to leave their potatoes in the ground; others could not thresh the grain; fuel, if not provided beforehand, was scarcely to be had at all; and it was impossible for anyone to get through to town to fetch what might be needed.

In the houses round about folks were grinding away at their own wheat; for little by little the flour had given out, and then they had to resort to the coffee mill. Everyone came to it—rich and poor alike. Those who had no mill of their own were forced to borrow; in some neighbourhoods there were as many as four families using one mill.

That winter Torkel Tallaksen had two newcomer boys working for their board; he also kept a hired girl; in addition to these he had a big family of his own, so that his supply of flour was soon exhausted. Now, he owned one mill, but he wasn’t satisfied with that, so he went and borrowed four more; one might as well grind enough to last for a time while one was at it, he maintained. And so they ground away at his house for two days; but at the end of that time they were all so tired of it that they refused to grind any more.

When the mills had to be returned one of the little Tallaksen boys put on his skis and started off for Tönseten’s with the one they had borrowed there. The slight thaw of the day before and the frost of the previous night had left a hard crust on the snow; in some places this would bear him up, but more often it was so thin that he broke through. Down by the creek the snowdrifts lay like mountains. Here the boy let himself go, gathered more speed than he had expected to, and went head over heels into a huge snowdrift. His skis flew one way, the mill another. When he tried to recover the mill he broke through the drift, and then both he and the mill were buried in snow. He dug himself out, began to hunt wildly for the mill, broke through again, floundered around, and at last managed to lose the mill completely. After hunting until he was tired, he had to give it up; there was nothing to do but to go to Tönseten and tell him what had happened.

“You haven’t lost the mill?” gasped Tönseten, seriously alarmed.

“No,” said the boy, laughing. He knew exactly where it was, but he just couldn’t find it.

“And you laugh at that, you young idiot!” Tönseten was so angry that he boxed the boy’s ears; then he pulled on his coat and rushed off to ask his neighbours to help him hunt for the lost treasure. It was on this occasion that he coined a saying that later became a by-word in the settlement—“Never mind your lives, boys, if you can only find the mill!”

But the greatest hardship of all for the settlers was the scarcity of fuel—no wood, no coal. In every home people sat twisting fagots of hay with which to feed the fire.

Whole herds of cattle were smothered in the snow. They disappeared during the great early storm in October, and were never seen again; when the snow was gone in the spring, they would reappear low on some hillside. After lying there for six months, they would be a horrible sight.

And the same thing happened to people: some disappeared like the cattle; others fell ill with the cough; people died needlessly, for want of a doctor’s care; they did not even have the old household remedies—nothing of any kind. And when some one died, he was laid out in what the family could spare, and put away in a snowbank—until some later day.... There would be many burials in the settlement next spring.

III

The third quarter-section which Hans Olsa owned lay near the creek, north of Solums’. This he had fenced in and was using as a pasture for a large herd. During the summer he did not need to look after the cattle at all, except to give them salt; the grass was plentiful up north and they could drink at the creek. The preceding year the herd had pastured there until late in the fall. This year he had hauled over all the straw he could spare, and had bought more where he could find it. Then he had built a shed of poles and banked it in with the straw, with the intention of wintering the cattle on that quarter. He had finished the shed before winter set in; and now that he had managed to keep the cattle there until February, he felt fairly safe; surely the winter would be over pretty soon.... But the winter had only begun!

The 7th of February dawned bleak and cold. Large, tousled snowflakes came flying out of the west, filling the whole sky with a grey, woolly blanket. As the wind stiffened steadily throughout the morning, the flakes grew smaller and finer; but for all that, they fell in a thicker cloud. By noon, heaven and earth were a swirl of drifting snow. The west wind cut in more and more savagely; it waxed to a fury at times, driving the snowflakes before it with such violence that they were pinned to the walls.... As the afternoon wore on, the weather became so bad that Hans Olsa thought it best to go over north and look after the cattle. Had he not been so familiar with the lay of the land, or had he not known how to take his bearings by the direction of the wind, he would never have been able to find the place.

Things were in pretty bad shape there. Most of the straw had been blown away from the west side of the shed. The cattle had left the open inclosure, and had sought what shelter they could find to leeward of the straw stacks on the north side. At a glance he saw that unless he could repair the shed at once and get the animals under some sort of protection, he would find himself a considerably poorer man on the morrow. So he set to work as hard as he could to carry straw and fill it in between the poles, in order to shut out the wind; that done, he spread more straw all over the floor.

It was dark by the time he had got the shed into fit condition to drive the cattle in again. In the meanwhile they had been standing behind the stacks. But now his trouble began in earnest; the moment he drove the beasts far enough away from their shelter to feel the full force of the wind, they wheeled sharply, put their noses close to the ground, and headed back for the stacks. This would never do! He waited awhile until they were quiet again, and then he led them over one by one, taking the biggest first; the smaller animals he literally picked up and carried in. These had burrowed themselves so far into the stack that it was difficult even to get them out. With the snow beating on him, and the wind constantly taking his breath away, he found this a tough job; but he kept on at it without pause, though the sweat was pouring from him in streams.

The evening was gone when he had finished. Round about him lay the night, full of a whirling menace thicker, more desperate, than he had ever seen before—a surge which the wind drove before it in roaring breakers; in the eddies around the corners it was impossible to keep one’s eyes open.... Hans Olsa stood at the door of the shed, his work done, looking out at the storm; he was so weary that every limb trembled. At last he started out mechanically, walked a few steps, but had to stop to catch his breath. Then he began to realize that in this darkness, with such a blizzard raging, he would never be able to steer a straight course home. He felt his way back to the shed, went in again, and remained standing in the door.... His mind was too exhausted to think clearly; something kept telling him that he had done well to save the cattle. If they had been left outside, there wouldn’t have been many of them alive when the storm was over. If they only had a little more straw under them, they would really be quite comfortable now.

After he had been standing there a short while a succession of slight shivers began to run through his body. He wasn’t exactly cold—it was only that his muscles wouldn’t keep quiet. Now they tautened and cramped convulsively; now they arched and slacked up like released steel springs.... “If I lie down close to the animals, I’ll easily be able to keep warm,” he thought. “Day will soon come, and then I can go home to Sörrina and the children. I suppose she’ll have sense enough to go to bed and not sit up to wait for me all night.”

He felt his way over to where the herd had snuggled together, and lay down with his back close up against a large bull. He recognized the animal by a broken horn which his hand happened to fall on. His underclothes were so wet that they stuck to his body; but the warmth of the bull soon penetrated to him, and then he felt better. He lay there thinking how fine it was that he had saved the herd. About hurrying home he needn’t worry, for all was well there....

He did not intend to go to sleep—wasn’t aware that he was dropping off, either. He merely felt a heavy drowsiness stealing over him, and surrendered himself to it for a moment. It seemed so restful after that strenuous labor. Behind him rose the sound of quiet, regular breathing—_up ... down; up ... down_—like a light undertow on a summer’s day. If only he could have such pleasant warmth in front of him, too! Involuntarily he stretched out his arms, caught hold of the first creature he came to, and raised himself up sufficiently to drag it close to him. Fearing that he might have hurt the poor thing, he began to pet it and talk to it.... Really, now, he was as comfortable as a man could expect to be on such a night—anywhere but at home. Hans Olsa settled back and curled himself up snugly between the animals.

The gusts of wind shook and tore at the frail shelter. The storm raged terribly; all evil powers were loose that night. The worst of it was that it had turned so bitterly cold. Through every crack in the shed the snow came whirling; it settled everywhere, piling itself up in little mounds, which the wind alternately levelled and raised again, as it sucked and swirled through the place.... Hans Olsa began to twitch violently; he thought that he felt some one pricking his arms and legs. Next instant he _knew_ there must be somebody there—somebody who was using both hands on him; one hand was working upward from the legs; the other from the elbow toward the shoulder. When these two hands met, he jumped—a shock seemed to go over him.... With great difficulty he heaved himself up and stood on his knees; the heavy mantle of snow slipped off him, shedding an icy shower which struck him full in the face.... Now, what was this—had he lost his feet?... And where were his hands?... With infinite pains he raised himself and stood unsteadily on his legs. Then he tried to go to the door, to look at the weather; but in a moment he was down again; at the first step he had stumbled against a living mound under the snow, which reared up wildly and then was gone in the impenetrable darkness. With each movement now, a blast of wind and snow struck his face. This happened many times.

He could not understand it—what had happened to him? He knew that he wasn’t drunk, but his legs would not carry him. And one of his arms was gone.... Well, here was the wall. He leaned against it, and stood there, panting.... What! Was his hand frozen?... He pulled the mitten off his good hand, took hold of the fingers of the other and bent them—yet he could not feel them move. He saw them bend, too—but he could not feel them.... This would have to be attended to at once! He let himself sink down, and began to rub the hand with snow—he breathed on it hard, and rubbed. Now he began to feel himself frozen through and through; his teeth were chattering; his whole body was shaking violently; well, there was no time to waste in idle thinking....

Even now he was trying to make the best of it. “As soon as this hand is all right, I’ll have to get my feet thawed out. If I don’t get that done, I’ll be a cripple for life.” ... In his usual level-headed way, he tried to pull his boots off, but couldn’t accomplish it. Then he took out his pocket knife, and ripped them both open—first one, then the other, and placed them methodically against the wall. The socks came off easily enough; these he stuck in the bosom of his shirt.

He got up and started to run in his bare feet, holding to the wall; he stumbled a good deal, but kept on with his shambling run. After a spell of this, he sat down and chafed his feet. He rubbed a long while, got up again and ran—ran as hard as he could, and then sat down again to rub anew. His mind was calm, but it worked very slowly—his thoughts seemed to be far away; he saw them in bright letters against the darkness: “I had better be careful—I’ve often seen people rub the skin from a frozen limb.... If I only had some cold water, this would be easy.” ... He pulled his socks on again, and found his boots. In one corner of the shed, he remembered, stood two crotches, which he had bound together with steel wire. He felt his way there, unfastened the wire, and wound it around his bootlegs.

Then he began to stamp up and down along the wall . . . to beat his arms ... to run. The pricking seemed to be going away, he thought ... everything seemed better . . . yet he wasn’t certain of anything at all. His thoughts were working somewhere outside himself; they stood and stared at him through the whirling drift.... “It is certain,” said something away there in the dark, “that if you stay here to-night, you’re done for.... If the wind continues steady, you ought to be able to find Henry’s fence—you know where that takes off in the direction of Per Hansa’s—you follow it from there on, and then you come to your own—that runs right to the cattle barn at home. You might as well freeze to death out there, as here.” ... “Well, well,” he assented, as if tired of arguing. “That may be right—it may be.” ... Pulling himself together, he went out of the shed and started off before the wind....

IV

That night Hans Olsa received his death blow. He stumbled into his own house in the small hours of the morning; he was then so exhausted that he could not get his clothes off unaided.... Sörine had been up all night, well-nigh crazed with fear; twice she had started to go to Per Hansa’s for help, but the storm had driven her back each time; then she had lighted a candle and placed it in the window, in hopes of its doing some good. She had fed the fire with desperate resolution, trying to face the fact that now the worst had happened and there was nothing to do about it, for Fate is inexorable.

As soon as she had got him into the house she began tending him with frantic haste. She made him drink several bowls of hot milk with black pepper in it; then she put him to bed, warmed the clothes and tucked them around him. But he lay there shivering, in spite of all she did, so that the whole bed shook. Later in the day he began to cough—a dry, rasping cough, it was, that seemed to grate on something hard as iron down in the bottom of his chest. During the night that followed he was delirious; he wanted to get up all the time and go north to look after the cattle. Sörine had all she could do to quiet him and keep him in bed. When the cough came from deep down in his lungs it seemed to scrape off flecks of rust that stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him.

Day came at last, after a long, dismal night; and then he seemed better. Between the coughing spells he talked calmly to his wife, telling her what she and Sofie had to do about the chores. He felt condemned that they should be left to do all the outside work alone. As soon as they had gone out, he tried to get out of bed and put on his clothes; but the chills grew so violent that he could not stand on his feet. He fell back on the bed....

For two full days the blizzard raged. During the forenoon of the third day the snow ceased falling and the storm abated; but the air was still grey and bitterly cold. As soon as Hans Olsa saw that the storm was really letting up, he told Sofie to put on her skis and go over to get Per Hansa. “This will never do,” he said to his wife. “For three days and nights you haven’t been out of your clothes. I may be a long time in getting over the cough.” ... He wanted to say more, but the words were lost in a paroxysm of coughing.

Per Hansa and the oldest two boys were making hay twists out in the barn when Sofie brought the first news that her father had been out in the storm the other night and was now very sick. Per Hansa immediately dropped his work and went back with her. Sörine looked worn out and very much worried. She turned her head aside when she spoke to him, saying that things didn’t look very well. Then she went to the stove, put her apron up to her eyes, and murmured again—things didn’t look very well! But Per Hansa’s coming cheered her up a little and even seemed to take away some of her anxiety. In a moment her old buoyancy had come back; she dried her eyes and asked him to follow her into the bedroom.

In a hut on the border of the Irish settlement lived an old woman who was so queer at times that she was called “Crazy Bridget.” In fact, she had brought this name with her to the settlement; Tönseten long ago had picked it up from her countrymen, and had translated it into Norwegian—he made it _Kræsi-Brita_. All the Norwegians called her that now. This Bridget had come west with her son, had taken the quarter of land next to his, and had herself put up the hut in which she now lived. Very little was known about her except that she was extremely religious, and that as a rule she spoke a language which none of the Norwegians had ever heard before, and which, apparently, few of her own people understood. She seldom visited the other settlers of her own accord; but many—especially those of her own race—came often to her for help in time of sickness. She had a great store of old-fashioned remedies, both for humans and for beasts, and she gave of them freely, without pay. Most of the Norwegians had consulted her at one time or another, in spite of the fact that they went on saying she was only a fraud. And though they said it, they all had to admit, when it came down to known cases, that she had a remarkable way with sick folks.

When Per Hansa saw how seriously ill his neighbour was he went out into the kitchen and said to Sörine that some one must go and fetch Bridget. They ought not to scorn her powers at a time like this—she might be able to help; at least, they must try every chance that offered.

Suiting the action to the word, he went for her himself. A little later the old woman came trudging over on snowshoes, carrying an odd-looking bag on her back. She warmed herself at the fire, went into the bedroom, and looked at the suffering man. Then she asked for a kettle and opened her bag; first she took out four large onions; these she cut into tiny bits and dumped into the kettle; then she opened a bottle of vile-smelling stuff and poured some of its contents on the onions; at last she set the kettle over the fire and let it boil awhile. From this mixture she made thick poultices, which she put on Hans Olsa’s back and chest; but before she put them on she took out of her pocket a small rusty crucifix, mumbled some words over it, and stuck it into the poultice which was to lie on his chest. As she fixed these applications she made the sign of the cross over his chest and back. All the while she was muttering strange words, in a language they did not understand—whether a prayer or something worse they could not say. These poultices were to be kept on for twelve hours, she explained in broken English, and hot cloths must be put over them to keep them warm. When the twelve hours were gone they must make a fresh poultice. She instructed Sörine how to make it—with onions, a cup of linseed oil, one cup of fresh milk, and some flour. They must take good care of the crucifix, she said; she would hold them responsible for it. After giving some more good advice, she wished them God’s blessing, put her bag on her back, fastened her snowshoes, and trudged away.

Both Sörine and Hans Olsa had faith in the woman and were glad that she had come.... One must try such remedies as one had....

Per Hansa was very busy that forenoon; there was much to do at his own place, and more at his neighbour’s. He had hurried home from Hans Olsa’s after going for Bridget; had called the two boys, and taken them with him at once to look after the cattle up north. Before he left he told Beret briefly how things were at their neighbour’s, and asked her to arrange her own work so that she could go over toward evening and stay there for the night. It might be late before he could get back....

At supper time Tönseten called at Per Hansa’s as he was going by. He was on his way home from the east part of the settlement, and just wanted to drop in to see how they were after the storm. When he heard the news about Hans Olsa—how he had come down with such a bad cough, that it was doubtful if he would pull through—he decided to go over at once and tell Sörine what to do. If anyone in these parts knew all there was to know about a cough, he was the man! Tönseten was in an extraordinarily bright humour that evening. He told Per Hansa not to worry, if it was nothing worse than the cough; put on his skis and started off for Hans Olsa’s.

Out in the bedroom lay the sick man, propped up by pillows; Little-Hans sat at the foot of the bed with his playthings; Sörine and the daughter had finished the chores and were now working in the kitchen; Beret sat in the bedroom, taking care that the poultices were kept hot and that the patient’s shoulders were covered up warm; she had her knitting in her hands and was singing a hymn when Tönseten came in.

On entering the room Tönseten greeted them both cheerily; but instantly he began to feel ill at ease.... No need, surely, to begin the funeral before the man was in the coffin!... He managed to hold his tongue, however. Since Beret had recovered, he couldn’t stand her. She had become so pious that if a fellow made the most innocent remark, she was sure to preach at him. And never a drop of whisky would she tolerate, either for rheumatism or for cough.... One ought to have some sense, even if one was going to be religious. Surely he who was both _klokker_ and deacon ought to be privileged to talk a little sense into her!... But such was the respect which she commanded, that even though he had thought about it for two years, he had never dared to say the first word.

To-night Tönseten could think only of how serious things looked for Hans Olsa; he went straight to the bedside, and said in a tone of voice that was meant to be cheerful: “I’m surprised at you, Hans Olsa!... What do you mean by lying here like this, _you slugabed_? And here you have the finest ski-slide the Lord ever made, clear from your housetop all the way down to my place!” ... The sick man’s face brightened as he looked into Tönseten’s merry eyes; a breath of fresh air flurried from out the red, icicled beard; the whole face bending above him radiated good humour.... “I’m glad you came, Syvert,” said Hans Olsa in a faint voice.

Tönseten now began to feel that the right atmosphere had been established; he hummed a tune, took a chair, and sat down beside the bed. Without further prelude, he started to relate what had happened to him that day.... Yesterday morning, when Kjersti had tried to make the fire, the stove wouldn’t draw and the room had filled with smoke; not being able to manage the thing, she had come and roused him. He had got up, had dressed, and had then tried to open the door, only to find that the whole house was snowed under; from the hillside to the creek stretched one huge, solid drift, and the chimney itself was packed full of snow....

Well, he had succeeded after a while in getting a hole through, so that at last they could have their morning coffee. It was simply terrible how much snow there was down his way. Yesterday he had been busy all day, making steps in the snow down to the house; these had packed fairly well during the day, but to-day they were as solid as ice.... And this morning when Kjersti had come along carrying a pail of water, she had been so unfortunate as to slip on the top step—“ha-ha!” ... She had thrown the pail into the air, her feet had shot out from under her, and she hadn’t stopped until she’d landed on her backsides in the middle of the floor!... “ha-ha-ha!” ... There she sat.... “What in Heaven’s name are you up to, Kjersti?” he had said, when he saw that she hadn’t hurt herself very much; and then he naturally had gone off into a fit of laughing. This had infuriated Kjersti; and when he saw that he’d tried his damnedest to stop—but for the life of him he couldn’t! He’d laughed and laughed, and the more he’d laughed the worse things had got; until finally she had lost her temper completely and just driven him out of the house....

Well, this is what he had done next; he had put on his skis and gone over east in the settlement—had spent the whole afternoon there—just to visit around and see how folks were getting along. At last he had dropped in to see Johannes Mörstad and his wife Josie—Josie was about to have her fifth child, you know, and was expecting it any day now; Tönseten felt compelled to keep himself posted on the intimate progress of that family. So he had sat there gossiping with them a long while, and had just been telling them what had happened at home that day, when there!—he’d burst out laughing again, and laughed so hard that they all had to join in. And this had thrown Johannes into such a good humour that he had hunted up a bottle which he was saving for the coming event, and had given Tönseten a drop or two—perhaps it was three—well, it may have been four—if one must be accurate.... All this about the stove, and the steps, and Kjersti, and about how he had had to take to his heels in order to find peace, he related in epic detail to Hans Olsa—there seemed to be need of something jolly here!... But the number of drinks he really had had, he didn’t fully reveal.

There was something so infectious about Tönseten’s good spirits that they almost coaxed Hans Olsa into a brighter mood. But then a spell of coughing came on; he choked it back and asked if Kjersti hadn’t hurt herself pretty badly?

“Oh no, boys, never you fear!” hiccoughed Tönseten, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “She’s all right, except for a few scratches here and there in the bottom—_here_ and _there_—but they’ll heal up in a little while.... Everything grows so big and fat around here, you know!” ... Tönseten went off into such another gale of laughter that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Well, well!” ... he said as soon as he could control himself, getting up to leave. “To-morrow I shall bring Kjersti over here with me. You just wait—we’ll get the cough boiled out of that chest of yours! Kjersti knows how to treat a cough, I can tell you!” ...

V

Beret had stopped her singing abruptly when Tönseten came in. As he rambled on she sat and watched his face—something made her look at him in spite of herself. She listened to his half-maudlin laughter—and it seemed to her she never had realized before how disgusting his laugh was. His breath smelled of whisky. At first she felt furious with him and wanted to order him out of the house. Didn’t the fool know that it was unseemly to talk that way at a deathbed.... But she only took her chair and moved farther off, as a child draws away from one of whom it is afraid.

When Tönseten had at last gone the air of the room seemed close and foul to Beret; filth and pollution had entered in where all should have been the serenity and holiness of a Sabbath. In a vision of startling clearness she saw how evil besmirches all life. What a degraded thing man’s life on earth had become! Here was one neighbour calling on another at the point of death; if ever there was need of godly speech, it was at this moment; and yet there had been nothing but vileness in his mouth! She felt a physical desire to cleanse the place of its corruption; folding her hands, she began to sing, soft and low:

“O Jesus, see My misery: God’s image out is blotted, And with snow-white leprosy Sin my soul has spotted.

“Once heavenly bright Thy own delight, It was—a new creation; Now, because of sin’s dread blight, Under condemnation.

“In death’s dark night, Devoid of light, It sought to find its pleasure; All in vain, since it did slight God, its greatest treasure.

“No tongue can tell How low it fell In sin’s dire degradation; By forgetting heaven and hell, It sought consolation.

“Thus it was found In darkness bound, With all its powers shattered, Led at will by Satan round, And with filth bespattered.

“O Christ, in Thee, Who cam’st to be A ransom for us given, Is our only sanctity And our way to heaven.

“Thy mercy be My only plea; Thy light my soul enlighten, That it God again may see, And life’s pathway brighten.

“Let morning rays Of Thy mild grace Upon my heart be streaming, And from death my soul thus raise By Thy love redeeming.

“O sinner’s friend, Whom thorns did lend Death’s scornful coronation, Grant me peace with God again, And with it salvation.”

She sang the whole hymn through before she got up again to change the cloths; that duty done, she went out to help Sörine and Sofie in the kitchen.

All that night Beret sat by the bedside. Though the sick man seemed no worse, the specks of rust that he raised from the depths of his chest appeared to her to be larger and more numerous. He slept little, but she didn’t wonder at that—he must have solemn things to think about now. She wanted to talk them over with him, but did not like to disturb his thoughts yet awhile. During the early part of the night they exchanged few words. But along toward morning the paroxysms of coughing became more frequent and violent; there were times when they almost choked him. Once she grew frightened and got up to hold his head; his face was turning blue as he struggled for breath; then she said, slowly: “Now I think you must prepare yourself, Hans Olsa.”

He turned his head sharply and looked at her.... “Prepare myself?” ...

“You will hardly be able to stand this very much longer.”

The big bulk of Hans Olsa lay very quiet; only his hand was moving nervously over the cover; his eyes had a questioning, startled look.... “Well ... many have got over the cough.” ....

She did not answer him. After a while he added, thoughtfully, “It will be worse for those who are left.” ...

“You ought not to say that, Hans Olsa—their time has not yet come. But remember that for you the day of grace is nearly over.” She spoke quietly and compassionately, in a tone of voice which, whenever she used it, always carried conviction by its confident faith.

For a long time Hans Olsa made no reply; he turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes. Beret stood looking at him.... “He does not like what I said. That’s how we are, we sinners. But I am glad I said it. I don’t believe he will ever get up again.”

... “Oh, well,” murmured Hans Olsa after a while. “He has had mercy on many a sinner before. I suppose there will be a little left for me, too.” ...

A great eagerness suddenly welled up in Beret’s soul.... “If only you will bring him a contrite heart! But how can one forgive the erring child who does not repent?... Woe unto you that are rich!—For ye have received your consolation.... Woe unto you that are full!—For ye shall hunger.... Woe unto you that laugh now!—For ye shall weep and mourn.... Oh no, we cannot only comfort ourselves with the belief that there is mercy enough—that it is free!” ... With firm hands, she changed the cloths again.

One severe coughing spell after another began to attack him now, and nothing more was said; but after a prolonged struggle he got his breath again; completely exhausted, he turned his face to the wall, and it looked as if he might drop off to sleep.... He lay perfectly quiet a long time.

Beret knit steadily until her hands grew tired; she wondered if she couldn’t find something to do for Sörine, took the lamp and went into the kitchen. Here she found a great pile of coarse hay stacked against the wall; she set to work at once, making twists of it for the fire. All the while she was thinking about her conversation with Hans Olsa.... “It will seem strange not to meet Hans Olsa in the hereafter—that it will. In the old country we grew up together.... They are good folk, both he and she.... And now he is starting out on his long journey—and will not pass through the heavenly gates!... His mother, Ellen, was a very God-fearing woman; his father I didn’t know, but I never heard a word against him.... Now they have waited there for him these many years; it will be hard for me to meet them some day and tell them how it all happened here.... Perhaps I will be to blame, too; I certainly haven’t done what I should.... Oh, how can he hope to get in? Not many from the Dakota prairie will ever stand in glory _there_—that I am sure of!... For here Earth takes us. What she cannot get easily she wrests by subtle force, and we do not even know it.... I see what happens in my own home.... It is awful!... Here he lay at the point of death, enjoying Tönseten’s ribaldry!... With thoughts like this, he is now to meet his God!” ...

The lamp burned low. The room was growing cold. She got up and threw some fagots into the fire, waited until it burned up briskly, then put on a couple of sticks of wood—there were not many left in the box.... “It will not be easy for Sörrina when he is gone.... But nothing else matters, if only he could reach the Heavenly Home! We can take care of things here.” ...

She went into the bedroom again, to see if she could do anything for the sick man. He was awake when she came in; his manner showed that he had been waiting for her.

“How is the weather outside?” he asked, slowly. “Would it be possible for a man to travel in it?”

“What do you say?” She came close to the bed.

“Could we try to get the doctor, do you suppose?... Others out here have had him.” ...

“We shall see when daylight comes.... But how about the minister, Hans Olsa?”

“The minister?”

“Yes—when the Lord’s hour is at hand, man’s help is of no avail; for from His wrath no man can flee!... What you need most of all is Communion, Hans Olsa!”

“Communion . . .? Well ... yes ... I suppose so . . . that is true.”

“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God,” said Beret, quietly, and looked into his face with sorrowful despair. “There is nothing but evil in us—yes, nothing! But when He comes to us in Holy Communion, laying His merciful hands benignantly upon us and assures us from out the Gates of Eternity that all our sins are forgiven—oh, there is no moment so great as this for the sin-burdened soul! Then we may rest in peace.” ...

Once more he turned his face away, gave a light cough, and looked fixedly at the wall. Beret felt intuitively that his cough was forced this time.... “How strange we are—we erring mortals! Here I stand, telling him of the truth and the light and the way. Now he is wandering in the dark—he does not know which way to go. But when I tell him, he coughs the word away!... Thus it is to be dead in the midst of life!”

He lay still awhile, and then he said, wearily, “All my life I have thought it would be blessed to come Home.”

Tears came to Beret’s eyes.... “But are you ready to journey on? Do you dare now to meet Him as you are?... Here you have lived all these years, in error and sin, and have not taken time to give Him any thoughts at all.”

“Oh no,” he sighed, heavily.... “But that isn’t so very strange, is it?”

She felt uplifted by what she had been able to say; it gave her greater courage to go on.... “That’s why you must seek Him here, before you meet Him face to face yonder!” she cried, exultantly. “Now I will pray for you.” ... Without waiting for his consent, she knelt beside the bed and began to pray earnestly, with sweet compassion vibrating through her mellow voice, that he who now lay here might be given the grace to see his sin and to repent before the door had closed.

But she had hardly begun when something stopped the prayer.... Hans Olsa had reared himself up on his elbows when she had sunk to her knees beside the bed, and had remained in this position, staring at her wide-eyed. As he heard how she pleaded for him he was seized with a sudden convulsion of coughing; he sat up frantically in bed, gasping for breath. The bedclothes fell off him, the poultices slipped down, and Beret had to leave her praying to attend to him. And when he was quiet again he asked to have his milk warmed; then he had to get up; from that he got an attack of chills, and Beret had to call Sörine to help her warm the cloths once more and tuck him in.

With the first grey light of dawn Johannes Mörstad arrived, begging and begging that Beret go with him—Josie was coming down; he had tried to get Kjersti, but she had lamed herself so badly the other day, that it was impossible for her to walk that far.... “This is certainly the work of the devil!” thought Beret. “Just now ...!” But she went out of the house full of the same great exaltation, like one whose sins had been laid bare before the whole congregation....

VI

A little while later Per Hansa dropped in to see how they were getting along. He said that he would arrange with the Solum boys to help him carry hay and water to the herd up north; that done, he would go to Gjermund Dahl’s, to get him to come and help Sörine with the chores. This evening he would come back to make a report about everything. Now he must be gone....

People were hard at work throughout the whole settlement; the weather continued threatening, and there was much to be done after the storm; hogs and cattle, as well as human beings, had to be safeguarded against another onslaught of winter. On most of the farms the outhouses were still of primitive construction, built either of sod or of poles and straw. The last storm had buried some of them entirely; from others it had stripped off the straw so completely, that the tops of the poles poking through the snowdrifts resembled nothing so much as bleached bones sticking out of the ground. Of some of the farmhouses only the roofs could be seen; of the sod huts, only the chimneys; down at Tönseten’s, the smoke came right out of a hole in the snowbank. If one wanted to go to his neighbour’s, he had to put on skis or snowshoes, and keep on top of the drifts. There were homes where no other food was left than dry corn and the little milk that the cows gave. On the outskirts of the settlement, where the latest newcomers lived, they sometimes didn’t even have that much. But the people there would borrow a sack of wheat from anybody who had one; and if they had no coffee mill in the house, they would use a mortar, or improvise one from a kettle. Folks were cheerful about helping one another in those days. What one didn’t have, he borrowed; if one got a new idea, he passed it on to his neighbours. The scarcity of fuel caused the most suffering, for hay burned like hay, even if twisted.

Tönseten was sitting in the bedroom at Hans Olsa’s when Per Hansa came back after supper. He was down-hearted and quiet to-day. Kjersti had been in bed most of the time because of the stiffness and soreness from her fall; and she was so cross, he explained, that if a fellow as much as looked at her she would bite his head off. He had had the devil to pay, with taking care of both her and himself and doing the chores besides.... As he noticed how flushed Hans Olsa’s face was and heard how he struggled for breath, he wondered if his own cough had ever been as bad as this. If this was _worse_ than he had had it three years ago, the man would never be able to throw it off.... But he kept the thought to himself.

Things had been in a bad way with Hans Olsa all that day; the coughing spells had come oftener; he had been restless and fretful; had asked first for one thing, and then for another, and was always inquiring about the weather. At that moment he happened to be quiet; when all at once he began to talk about the inevitable.... He asked both of his neighbours to help Sörine when he was gone, and to give her their best advice about running the farm, just as he would have done for them, if either one of them had been in his place.... “Per Hansa, stay with me to-night! Sörrina must have some sleep; she has had all the work to do outdoors, and needs some rest. It may take a long time with me yet—perhaps we shall need help from all of you!”

Thus it came about that Per Hansa watched with him that night. Sörine lay down in the other room, fully dressed. The door between the rooms stood open. She intended to doze only a minute and not lose herself so completely that she couldn’t jump up to help when the worst spells came on; but she had tramped about working in the snow nearly all day, and was so worn out that she soon dropped off into a sound sleep.

After all had been quiet in the house for some time, Hans Olsa looked up and asked, in a needlessly loud voice, if his wife was asleep. When no answer came from the other room, he lay still for quite a while, gazing up with his eyes fixed on space; then he began, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, to tell Per Hansa how he thought everything ought to be arranged after he was gone. He mentioned first a couple of little debts which he had in Sioux Falls; then he spoke of several of the new settlers who owed him for seed and cattle, and stipulated how much each was to pay. It transpired later that in every case he had stated less than what was owing to him.... Sörine ought to hold the farm and keep on living here; for this was the country of the future—of that he was certain. Per Hansa would hereafter have to be her chief counsellor; if he could hire an honest and capable manager for her, she and the children would get along all right.... And then there was Little-Hans—it was hard to go away and not see what this seedling of manhood would grow up into. If he showed any aptitude for his books, they would have to send him to St. Olaf College.... Or if the Lord had destined him for the ministry—But that was probably expecting too much....

He talked with great difficulty. Every now and then he had to stop for breath. Per Hansa only nodded his replies; all he could think of to say was: “Don’t worry.... Is there anything else now?... I will take care of everything.”

Little by little Per Hansa got the feeling that his friend had something on his mind; he could not tell exactly why he felt that way, but the impression grew stronger and stronger. Every time a pause came over the sick man’s talk, he expected to hear what it was. But there seemed to be nothing more. At last Hans Olsa fell silent; he was still looking straight ahead of him; but now he began to be very restless. A violent fit of coughing shook his frame. From out that great chest of his came a dreadful wheezing, grating sound, as from an old pair of leaky bellows when they are blown up hard.

When the cough had eased itself, Hans Olsa began once more his frightened groping among the things of the future; but now he spoke less coherently. After midnight he had a quiet spell when he lay as if exhausted and said nothing; but off and on he would glance at his neighbour out of the corners of his eyes; there was something unusual and urgent in the look—something that made a man afraid.... Per Hansa wondered if the end were at hand....

But suddenly the sick man began to talk again. It was hardly what Per Hansa had expected to hear. He merely raised his eyes and asked in a low voice:

“Is the snow very deep?”

“Between our farms,” said Per Hansa, “it doesn’t lie less than four feet anywhere; and it’s as deep as that on the level all over the prairie. Down near the creek, by Tönseten’s, it must be as much as twenty feet deep!... It snowed just a little, I want you to know!”

“Is it as bad as that?” ... The sick man sighed heavily, his hands fidgeting with the covers; then he repeated in a low voice: “So—is it as deep as that?”

“Was there something on your mind?”

“Then it isn’t possible to get anywhere!” ... The powerful jaws closed; drops of sweat stood out on the great, shiny face.

Per Hansa’s heart stirred with a nameless dread; he felt himself grow dizzy, but he cleared his throat and said, firmly:

“What is it that you want, Hans Olsa?... Do you want the doctor?”

The sick man turned toward him.

“Oh—it’s the minister I need!” ... Then, after a moment, he added: “But don’t you think the weather will be better in a day or two?” ...

He lay perfectly still. When he got no answer he looked up and repeated, imploringly:

“Don’t you think so?”

Per Hansa rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth across the floor. It must be very close in here ... he felt so faint. Thinking of how it was outdoors, he suddenly found himself bathed in perspiration.... God pity him who had to travel the prairie these days!

He came back to the bed.

“You feel that you must have him?”

“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God!” ... The large, kindly features were drawn and trembling, with fear of the unknown. Per Hansa could scarcely endure it to look at him; he had to lean against the back of a chair for support.... In broken words, his friend repeated: “It is terrible ... terrible ... to fall ... into His hands!” ...

“Hush, now! Hush, now, man! Don’t talk blasphemy!” cried Per Hansa. “Lie down, now.... See here ... the covers are falling off you!”

The bulky form had reared itself violently up in bed. Through a paroxysm of coughing Hans Olsa whimpered:

“Tell Sörrina to come here!”

It looked for a moment as if he were passing away in the midst of the attack. Hans Olsa himself thought so. In wild alarm, Per Hansa resorted to pounding the sick man’s back, just as one does with children when they have swallowed the wrong way. But after a while the spell gradually left him, as the others had done. He settled back, and a little later fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till morning.

The first rays of daylight woke Sörine. Her husband was already awake by that time, and seemed better. Per Hansa put on his coat and prepared to go; he had all his own work to do at home, besides Hans Olsa’s cattle up north to look after.

Hans Olsa watched him get ready, following all his movements with a pathetic sadness like that which stands in a dog’s eyes when he watches his master go away without him. Then he called him over to the bedside and asked him again what the weather was like. There was an odd little quiver in his voice as he said, almost as though he were ashamed:

“I suppose it’s still impossible to get anywhere?”

Per Hansa felt like laughing at such childishness in a grown-up man; he scarcely knew what to answer. But answer he must; so he braced himself, buttoned his big coat, put on his mittens, and said, firmly: “You ought to lie still and sleep awhile longer, Hans Olsa.... During the night you slept like a rock—and see how much better you are already.... I promise you that I’ll be back some time later in the day.”

“You don’t think it can be done?”

Nameless dread again seized Per Hansa. He stepped back and said, hastily: “Calm yourself now, Hans Olsa!... We’ll have to see about it—you understand.”

The sick man reached out toward him, caught his hand and held it tightly, with something of his old strength.... “Oh, Per Hansa!” he cried.... “There never was a man like you ...!” and fell back on the pillow, exhausted.

VII

All through the latter part of last summer and early fall Per Hansa had done a full man’s work plus a bit more; nor had he spared the boys, either. And he had hired a number of men besides. He needed all the help he could get; for there was the new house to be built, the crops to be harvested, the fall plowing that must be done, and in addition, all the other work about the farm.

But he had gone about his duties in a mood that made any task easy both for himself and for those who worked with him. His wife’s improved condition had relieved him of whole loads of worry and anxiety. During the years that her mind had been beclouded he had treated her as a father would a delicate, frail child that, by some inexcusable fault on his part, had been reduced to helplessness. So solicitous had been his watchful care over her through all these years, that this paternal attitude had become fixed with him. Even now that she was well again, it didn’t change.

Her growing religious concern didn’t alarm him; that, too, he took as a notion on the part of a frail child. He either would meet her admonitions with silence, or else laugh kindly at her eagerness, or he might throw himself into the work all the harder. The fact that she now was quite all right again, that he no longer needed to watch over her in constant dread, but that she, on the contrary, could take care of the house in a capable way and even find time to help with the outside work, was a constant source of thankfulness to him. To him she was still the delicate child that needed a father’s watchful eye. To desire her physically would be as far from his mind as the crime of incest.

Shortly before the Christmas holidays they had had a set-to over religion. She had insisted that he as the father of the family should conduct daily devotion. At this demand he had laughed, not unkindly but humorously, as if she had sprung a good joke on him.... He conducting devotion—the idea! She had become insistent; her voice was full of deep sorrowful concern over his seemingly total depravity. She had entreated him earnestly and yet so kindly that he, too, was touched. And so he had said, as one yields to an unreasonable whim of a dear child, that that he would not do, but he would be glad to have her do it, for she could read so beautifully, which was true. Feeling that it would be dangerous to his temper to argue the matter any longer, he had gone out of the house to find some work outside. From that time on she had been conducting devotion each day, but both of them had studiously avoided a new discussion, with the result that the relation between them was less frank than before; each seemed to feel the guardedness of the other.

As time passed her devotional exercises became less and less pleasing to him; at times they would get on his nerves. In the prayers she began to offer there would creep in more and more of concern for him; and little by little it got to be almost exclusively for him. As he sat there listening it sounded to him as if he were the most hardened sinner in all Christendom; he would feel ashamed before the children, would find some pretext to steal out of the house. But he couldn’t bring it across his heart to speak to her; for how can one reason with a child that is so delicate as she, he thought.

* * * * *

In the grey light of dawn Per Hansa returned from the bedside of Hans Olsa, looking like a man who had reached the end of his rope. He hung up his coat and hat and sat down at the table in the large kitchen to eat his breakfast. Off and on he glanced out of the window. While Beret brought him his food, she asked how things were over at Hans Olsa’s. At first she got very little satisfaction; his answers were short and taciturn, and he seemed engrossed in his own thoughts. He ate slowly and took a long time over the meal; all the while he kept looking out of the window.

At length he got up from the table, crossed to the stove, turned his back to it, and put his hands behind him, as though he still felt cold and needed the warmth of the fire.... “Well,” he said, meditatively, “I suppose he doesn’t expect to get over this sickness—and it’s more than likely he won’t. He just lies there and whimpers about having the minister.... There’s something uncanny about him. I can’t understand it at all.” ... These remarks were not directed at Beret; he stood looking straight ahead of him, as if thinking aloud. Beret had stopped working when she heard him; her face lighted up as she answered, with an unmistakable ring of exultation in her voice: “But I can understand it!... Now may God be near and hear his prayer! Some one must go for the minister at once.”

Per Hansa did not move; he was staring off into space. Beret crossed the floor, her hands full of dishes, and stopped directly in front of him.... “You must persuade some one to go with you. This is terrible weather!... Could you try going on horseback?”

“Huh—horseback! How you talk!”

“But it is an awful thing for a soul to be cast into hell when human beings can prevent it!”

Per Hansa seemed amused at this idea. “Well, if Hans Olsa is bound in that direction, there’ll be a good many more from here in the same boat!... He’ll land in the right place, don’t worry.”

The words sounded so blasphemous to Beret that she could not repress a shudder of horror. Greatly wrought up, she set the dishes down on the table and said, fiercely: “You know what our life has been: land and houses, and then more land, and cattle! That has been his whole concern—that’s been his very life. Now he is beginning to think about not having laid up treasures in heaven.... Can’t you understand that a human being ever becomes concerned over his sins and wants to be freed from them?”

“I suppose I don’t understand anything, do I?” said Per Hansa in a tone of disgust. “Perhaps I don’t understand, for instance—though God knows it would not be difficult for any grown person to see it—that no man could cross the prairie from here to the James River, as things are now, and come out alive—... As for Hans Olsa, the Lord will find him good enough, even without either minister or _klokker_—that I truly believe!”

“The God of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not!... Here lies one who is about to receive his sight, and we will not reach out a hand to help him!”

“Hold your tongue, Beret!” cried Per Hansa, sharply, anger at the hopelessness of the argument getting the better of him. “Do you want to drive me out into the jaws of death?”

“What horrible things you say, Per Hansa!”

“Horrible—well I Don’t you suppose the good Lord would have provided other weather if he had intended me to make this trip?”

She gave him a quick look.

“It’s possible to try, isn’t it?” she said with cold persistence. “Why can’t you get some one to go with you? You could take Indi—he is light-footed, and we could wrap things around all four legs, so that he wouldn’t sink through the snow. They say that has been done before—I’ve read about it.... Henry has a sleigh; and you could turn back at any time, if you couldn’t make it.... The Lord would forgive us then for what we couldn’t possibly do—if we had tried!”

“He had better do that right now!” growled Per Hansa, a gust of hot anger nearly choking him. Without another word he went to the stairs, called Ole and Store-Hans, and told them to get into their clothes right away. Pulling on his coat, he slammed out of the house to do the morning chores.

Beret looked at the door through which he had just disappeared.... There he leaves in a fit of temper, fuming and cussing!... She took up the morning work, her thoughts busy with many things. Before she realized it she was absorbed in what had so often been on her mind lately: What had happened to him, anyway? What had made him so different?... His warm playfulness, his affectionate tenderness—what had become of it?... Oh no, no! she caught herself, how can I be thinking of such things again! The sweet desires of the flesh are the nets of Satan.... How deeply sin has besoiled all life!... Beret went about her work with a greater determination; but her sad mood did not lift.

A hundred things were waiting for Per Hansa outside, but he was so angry that he scarcely noticed what he was about.... The world seemed upside down to-day.... That grown people couldn’t see an inch beyond their noses! Here lay Hans Olsa, driving himself out of his mind because he couldn’t have a minister—when there was no better man than himself in all Christendom!... And here was Beret insisting that he leap right into the arms of death—she who had a heart so tender that she couldn’t harm a mouse!... People could certainly twist things around in a queer way! All his life he had worked and slaved in order that she and the children might be made comfortable ... and now it was flung in his face and he was taunted with being only a blind mole who saw nothing but the hole he had burrowed himself into!... “By God, it’s a strange world we live in!” ... If this went on much longer, he would go out of his mind himself—if he wasn’t a little crazy already!... He dashed from one thing to another in a frenzy, leaving everything half done.

When the boys came out they all put on their skis and started across the snowdrifts to Hans Olsa’s north quarter. The day was bleak; a cold air was drawing in from the west. To Store-Hans, all these fields of snow were glorious; now he could skim like a bird over the drifts. Little by little Per Hansa, forgot his temper as he caught the infection of the boy’s exuberant joy.

While they were working over the cattle, Per Hansa talked in a steady stream to the boys. All this snow, he said, promised a bumper crop next summer—you could depend on that!... One of his moods of high good humour had come over him now with a rush; and as was customary with him in that frame of mind, he discussed things with the boys as if they had been grown men. He outlined at length how they could manage their place in order to have the very finest of farms. If all went well, they would build a big barn next fall; but they certainly wouldn’t be such damned idiots as to build a horse barn and cow barn separate, as that fool Torkel Tallaksen had done! It made a fine show, all right, but it was hardly practical; besides costing a good deal more, the barns were cold.... But they were going to have a real show barn, just the same—red with white cornices, because he always thought those colors looked the best.... Then he told them how he had read in the _Skandinaven_[23] that the big farmers in the East now built a track under the ridgepole, along which they hauled the hay right into the barn loft. They would have to investigate this idea, for it sounded practical.... They found plenty to do up north; they saw to it that the cattle had water and hay enough; they carried in more straw; they stuffed the cracks in the walls; and all the while they talked and worked together like three grown men. Per Hansa felt the need of throwing off the great burden that weighed him down; and for the moment he seemed to be succeeding fairly well. But at last they had finished everything that needed to be done; then the skis went on in a hurry, and off flew the boys like two great sea gulls soaring across the fiord.... No more time for talk! They struck off directly for the highest hill in sight; from there they could slide all the way down to the creek.... Wasn’t it wonderful ... all this snow!

[23] Norwegian-American newspaper published in Chicago.

Just as Per Hansa reached the yard at home Sörine was coming out of the kitchen door; she went over to the wall of the house, took a pair of skis that stood there, and put them on. He noticed that she was very thinly clad. She had a shawl over her head, but wore no other outdoor wrap. He concluded at once that she must have left home in a hurry, and feared that the worst had happened.... Was anything wrong? he asked.... No, Hans Olsa didn’t seem much worse; she thought he looked a little better. But her face was sad and she looked down as she spoke.... Bridget had been to see him again and had said there was no hope.... “And I guess there isn’t, either,” she went on. “But I had to come over and ask your advice, Per Hansa.... He said that you were going after the minister for him. And I suppose that might be a good thing to do; at any rate, he is very happy about it.... But now, of course, I see that it’s impossible to go anywhere.... Still, I was thinking that if you _did_ intend to try, it might be better to get the doctor instead.... I don’t suppose you can think of it in this weather, but I had to come over, anyway....” Not once did she look up as the obvious pleading went on.

Per Hansa glanced down at his skis. Her voice had a thin, timid sound in this piercing wind. He felt the cold himself and remembered how thinly she was clad.

“You must stay awhile and get warm before you go,” he said, quietly.

“No, I must hurry home. I know I shouldn’t have come, but—” her voice suddenly left her. In a moment it came back, and then she went on, bravely: “It is so hard to see him go, without being able to help! And then we all have a feeling that nothing is ever impossible for you—and I thought that perhaps you might find a way out of this, too!” ... All at once her pleading had taken on a frantic urgency.

“Did he ask you to come to me?”

“No—he didn’t exactly do that. But he kept wondering if you weren’t getting ready—if you wouldn’t be starting soon. I could see plainly enough that he wanted some one to come over.”

Per Hansa said nothing more, nor did he look at her again. She went away at once. When she had gone, he took off his skis, beat the snow from them, and set them up against the wall. But he did not go in immediately.... His thoughts followed her who was now walking across the snow, passed her, entered the house before her, saw his friend lying there—saw the great face staring up at him, the frightened eyes imploring him like those of a kindly dog. He stood still in his tracks a long time, gazing off into vacancy, without the will to move....

On the kitchen floor Permand was playing at threshing. When the father came in he hailed him, giving off orders like a man: “Come here and help me, you; we’ve got to get this work done before evening!” The boy’s heart and soul were in his play. Seeing that dinner was not yet ready, the father hung up his coat and hat and sat down on the floor beside his son. In a moment they were both absorbed in the play.

During the meal the two parents scarcely spoke to each other, and never once did their eyes meet. As soon as they had finished the boy came and wanted his father to play with him some more; the father willingly agreed, and soon they were hard at it again. It was a serious question as to how they could get a lot of threshing done to-day; all the while they were laughing and talking about it, making a great deal of noise.

As the mother cleared the table she kept looking at them in wonder and dismay.... Here he sat and played with the child, just as if there were nothing serious in the world for him. The day was wearing on. Didn’t he really intend to try to do anything? She could have cried aloud in her anguish! Had he become stone blind?... When she had finished washing the dishes she went to the window and stood there awhile, looking out; then she crossed to the wall where her outdoor clothes hung, and began to put them on. This attracted Per Hansa’s attention.

... Was she going out? he asked.

... Yes.... She put on one of his coats over her own wrap, then pulled his big stocking cap over her head.

He looked up a second time.

“Are you going far? You seem to be wrapping up a good deal.”

She waited a moment before she answered.

“I have to talk to Henry.... _Some one_ must go on this errand for Hans Olsa!” Her face was flushed with determination and her eyes shone with a quiet light.

Per Hansa burst into a laugh and scrambled to his feet.

“You’ll have to behave yourself now, woman,” he said, like a man trying to talk reason into a naughty child. “You ought to know that this is no weather for a woman to be out in.”

“It’s no weather for men to be out in, either, by the way it looks in here!”

He whirled on her suddenly, his face white with passion; the eyes that stared at her fiercely, burned with a lambent flame.

“God help me!” she thought. “Now he’s going to lay hands on me!... But I only spoke the truth!”

“I want no more damned nonsense about this!” he burst out, hoarsely. “If you ... if you have something to say to Henry, you’ll have to say it here in this house.... You can’t go chasing from farm to farm to-day!” ...

Before she knew it he had gone out of the kitchen.

VIII

In front of the steps stood the forward part of a sleigh, on which the boys had tried to haul hay to the house; it was a clumsy, homemade affair, so heavy that the boys couldn’t budge it after it had stood awhile, and so they had left it where it was. Per Hansa had noticed it earlier in the day, and it had angered him at the time to think that the boys were so careless.... When he came out now this object was the first thing he saw. He rushed at it; wrenched it out of the snow with a violent jerk, and flung it so hard into a drift that only one runner remained in sight.

“_There_!... God damn the thing!” he muttered.

With that passionate outburst his temper seemed suddenly to have left him; but his face was still very pale. His skis leaned up against the wall where he had placed them; he put them on and stood still for a moment, lost in thought; then, staff in hand, he started off....

In the east part of the settlement lived two Telemarking[24] boys, who had come over a couple of years before. They were skilled skismiths; last winter each one had made himself a pair with straps and staffs, the finest ever seen in this part of the country. This year they had made two trips to town on them before Christmas.... It was to these boys that Per Hansa now went. In about an hour he returned with one pair of skis on his shoulders, and another on his feet. Neither pair was his own.

[24] People from the mountain district of Telemarken, Norway.

Beret, greatly agitated by her husband’s hasty departure, walked back and forth across the kitchen floor.... “Now I have brought things to a sorry pass!” she thought. “I know I said too much—but what could I do? Some one has to go, and I had no one else to ask.” ... When she saw him returning with the skis she felt relieved.... “It’s sensible of him to go on skis; it’s the only way he can possibly get along.... I wonder who he intends to take along with him? He ought to have thought of the plan more seriously this morning; the boys and I could have managed with the chores.... I must hurry up and make him a cup of coffee; he must have something hot to drink before he leaves.... They’ll hardly get far to-day.” ... She put the coffeepot on the stove and began to set the table.... “I guess I’ll put on a tablecloth to make things nice for him.... He mustn’t think that I hold any hard feelings.” ...

The oldest two boys were busy digging a tunnel from the cow barn to the pigsty—the latter had been completely snowed under. Per Hansa went over there first; he talked to them as if he were in no hurry, and when it seemed to him that they were losing interest, he went down into the tunnel where they were.... He said that now he was going away, and that it was uncertain when he would return. Could he depend on them to look after things while he was gone?... The boys were absorbed in their task and didn’t pay much attention to what he said. Certainly he could go. They would look after everything. They went on with their work, and soon fell into a quarrel about how long it would take them to reach the pigsty.... He left the boys, took his skis, and went into the granary; there he rubbed one pair of skis with some tallow which he kept for the purpose, and put a piece of the tallow into his pocket. He also had to adjust the straps a little before he could start....

While he was doing this Peder Victorious came trudging in and announced that mother had made coffee. She said father must come in before it got cold.

“What?” ... Per Hansa’s face brightened. “Did mother really say that?”

“She said coffee was ready.”

“Oh!...”

Per Hansa had now adjusted the straps as he wanted them, and stood looking around for a rope with which to strap the other pair of skis on his back.

“Did she send you out and tell you to say that?” ...

“She said—she said—coffee was ready, she said!”

The father looked at his son. “You haven’t got enough on, Permand,” he said in a low, tender voice, stroking the boy’s cheek with his hand and running his finger down into the soft warm neck. The boy screamed when it tickled. Per Hansa laughed to hear him. “Hm—hm—cold as an icicle! Pack yourself in this minute!... So mother has the coffee ready, you say?”

He carried the boy out lovingly, set him down with a lingering touch, and went back after his skis. One pair he tied to his back; the other he put on.

The boy waited, watching him.

“Aren’t you coming, father?”

“Get into the house with you!” the father said with mock severity. “I’ll probably be along in a little while.” ... Then, as he straightened up and put on his mittens, he suddenly remembered something:

“Permand!”

“Ya?” ...

“There’s a ball of nice twine in the bedroom. Ask mother to find it and give it to you to play with.... And now you must be a good boy, and get a lot of threshing done before I come back!”

“Yes, father,” said the boy as he trotted away.

Per Hansa stood motionless, watching him until he had passed from sight inside the house. Then, with a staff in either hand, he started off.... Was that a face at the window that he saw?...

He did not look at the house again. In a moment he had passed the place where the boys were digging the tunnel; he longed to talk with them once more, but crushed the feeling down.... He struck out westward. Something tugged and pulled at his heart, trying to make him turn back; it was as if he had a bridle on and the driver were pulling hard on one of the reins. He had to bend his head forward against this unseen force in order to hold his direction.... “No—not now—not now....” he murmured, bitterly, wiping his mitten across his eyes.

In the kitchen window Beret stood watching him; her soft, kindly eyes grew large and questioning.... Wasn’t he coming in? Had Permand forgotten to tell him?... Surely, surely, he would come. She had fixed things so nicely for him.... Oh, this would never do! She must find out at once who was going with him!... She hurried to the door, flung it open, ran out on the steps, and tried to call to him—he simply mustn’t leave this way!... But he had already gone beyond the range of her voice; the westerly gusts, driving full against her, snatched her words away. Her eyes filled with tears, so that she could scarcely see him now. Furious blasts came swirling out of the grey, boundless dusk, sweeping the snow in stinging clouds, whirling it round and round, dropping it only to pick it up again. Per Hansa soon disappeared in the whirling waste.... The wind was so cold that it penetrated to the very marrow of her bones.

A little later Per Hansa turned in at Hans Olsa’s; he sat and talked with them awhile in the bedroom. Their words were few and far between. Per Hansa felt that there was nothing more for him to do here. At length he got up and said that now he was going—what sort of a trip he would have he did not know. If luck were with him, he would bring back the minister. In the meantime Hans Olsa must behave himself and rest as much as possible, for he really had nothing to worry about.... The sick man groped for Per Hansa’s hand, and did not seem to want to let it go. He acted like a child who has teased and teased until it has finally got its way....

“I didn’t dare to ask you right out,” he said, as if in explanation. “But I knew you would go as soon as it was possible—that’s always been the way with you.... Now I can sleep in comfort.” ...

Out in the kitchen Sörine sat waiting at the table; when she heard this she hurried to pour the coffee, intending to make him sit down and have a cup before he left.

“Must I have coffee here too?... No, no,” he said, jerking up his head. “I’ve had enough for to-day!” ...

With these words he went out.

He put on his skis, straightened himself up, and remained standing there for some time; as he pulled on his mittens he took one glance homeward. He could just make out the house in the dim distance. Then the whiteness all around it thickened—rose up in a cloud—seemed to be piling in. Whirls of snow flew high over the housetop—sometimes the house itself disappeared.... He sighed deeply, brushed his eyes with his mitts, and started on his way.

He took his bearings from familiar outlines of the landscape, and laid the course he thought he ought to follow.... Perhaps it wasn’t so dangerous, after all. The wind had been steady all day, had held in the same quarter, and would probably keep on.... Oh, well—here goes!...

He thought no more about his course for a while; but instead he began to wonder if he had done wrong in not going in to drink the coffee, when Beret had taken all the trouble to make it.... “Now she’ll go around feeling unhappy, just because I am so touchy; and she’ll be so melancholy that she’ll have little patience with the boys.... Such high-spirited colts need to be managed with a careful hand. She doesn’t understand that at all!” ... Thoughts of home continued to come, warm and tender; he laughed softly at them.... “You may be sure she’ll get Permand to remember me in his prayers to-night, if he doesn’t think of it himself.... It would be fun to listen to them!” ...

He moved slowly on with steady strokes, taking note of the wind at odd times. The picture would not leave him.... “It would be fun just to look in on them.... Oh, Permand, Permand! Something great must come of you—you who are so tenderly watched over!” ...

The swirling dusk grew deeper.... Darkness gathered fast.... More snow began to fall.... Whirls of it came off the tops of the drifts, circled about, and struck him full in the face.... No danger—the wind held steady.... At home all was well ... and now mother was saying her evening prayers with Permand.... Move on!—Move on!...

IX

About halfway across the stretch from Colton to the James River a cluster of low hills rear themselves out of the prairie. Here and there among them a few stray settlers had already begun to dig in.

On one of the hillsides stood an old haystack which a settler had left there when he found out that the coarse bottom hay wasn’t much good for fodder. One day during the spring after Hans Olsa had died, a troop of young boys were ranging the prairies, in search of some yearling cattle that had gone astray. They came upon the haystack, and stood transfixed. On the west side of the stack sat a man, with his back to the mouldering hay. This was in the middle of a warm day in May, yet the man had two pairs of skis along with him; one pair lay beside him on the ground, the other was tied to his back. He had a heavy stocking cap pulled well down over his forehead, and large mittens on his hands; in each hand he clutched a staff.... To the boys, it looked as though the man were sitting there resting while he waited for better skiing....

... His face was ashen and drawn. His eyes were set toward the west.

THE END

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Conquest of Canaan, The. Booth Tarkington.

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Emily of New Moon. L. M. Montgomery.

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Hopalong Cassidy Returns. Clarence E. Mulford.

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Purple Mist, The. Gladys Edson Locke.

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Red Pepper’s Patients. Grace S. Richmond.

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Red Road, The. Hugh Pendexter.

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Rider of the Golden Bar. William Patterson White.

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Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.

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Romeo in Moon Village. George Barr McCutcheon.

Rose of the World. Kathleen Norris.

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Shepherds of the Wilds. Edison Marshall.

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Sin That Was His, The. Frank L. Packard.

Singing Heart, The. Florence Ward.

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Smiling Pass. Eliot H. Robinson.

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Snowshoe Trail, The. Edison Marshall.

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Their Yesterdays. Harold Bell Wright.

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To Him That Hath. Ralph Connor.

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Treasure. Albert Payson Terhune.

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Triumph of John Kars. Ridgwell Cullum.

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Tumbleweeds. Hal G. Evarts.

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Virginia of Elk Creek Valley. Mary Ellen Chase.

Virtuous Husband, The. Freeman Tilden.

Voice of the Pack, The. Edison Marshall.

Wagon Wheel, The. William Patterson White.

Walls of Glass. Larry Barretto.

Way of an Eagle, The. Ethel M. Dell.

Way of the Strong, The. Ridgwell Cullum.

Way of These Women. E. Phillips Oppenheim.

We Must March. Honore Willsie.

West Broadway. Nina Wilcox Putnam.

Westward to Paradise. W. D. Hoffman.

West Wind. Crosbie Garstin.

West Wind Drift. George Barr McCutcheon.

Wheels Within Wheels. Carolyn Wells.

Whelps of the Wolf. George Marsh.

When a Man’s a Man. Harold Bell Wright.

Where the Waters Turn. Theodore Von Ziekursch.

Whispering Outlaw, The. George Owen Baxter.

White Wolf, The. Max Brand.

White Moll, The. Frank L. Packard.

Wild West. Bertrand W. Sinclair.

Window at the White Cat. Mary Roberts Rinehart.

Winds of Chance, The. Rex Beach.

Winning of Barbara Worth. Harold Bell Wright.

Wire Devils, The. Frank L. Packard.

Wishing Ring Man, The. Margaret Widdemer.

With Juliet in England. Grace S. Richmond.

Without Gloves. James B. Hendryx.

Woman Haters, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.

Woman of Knockaloe, The. Hall Cane.

Woman Thou Gavest Me. Hall Caine.

Women of the Family, The. Margaret Culkin Banning

Woodcarver of ’Lympus. Mary E. Waller.

Wrath to Come, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.

Wrong Mr. Wright, The. Berta Ruck.

Year of Delight, The. Margaret Widdemer.

Yellow Claw, The. Sax Rohmer.

Yellow Shadows. Sax Rohmer.

You Can’t Win. Jack Black.

You’re Only Young Once. Margaret Widdemer.

You’re Young But Once. Louise Breitenbach Clancy.

Zeppelin’s Passenger, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.

Transcriber’s Notes

1. Italicised words are indicated by _underscores_.

2. Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end of the paragraph.

3. Misspelled words have been corrected (see below). Archaic, inconsistent and alternative spellings have been left unchanged (e.g. quotations from the King James Version of the Bible). Hyphenation has not been standardised.

4. Ellipsis placement has been modified in order to facilitate text reflow. In most cases ellipses between sentences have been merged with the closing punctuation of the preceding sentence. Ellipses between words within a sentence have had spaces added before and after.

5. Thought breaks (larger gaps between paragraphs) are indicated by a row of asterisks.

6. “Edit Distance” in Corrections table below refers to the Levenshtein Distance.

Corrections:

Page Source Correction Edit distance

192 runing running 1 292 vigourous vigorous 1 ads drugdgery drudgery 1