CHAPTER XVII

THE WATER SPIRITS IN LÖVDALA

Felax stood in the porch, barking and howling all night long. Little-Maid had never heard him do the like before, and not a wink could she sleep. No doubt Mamsell Maia Lisa was lying awake too, much as she needed a good night’s rest whilst she was so delicate. Little-Maid felt she must try to quiet the dog. So she threw on her skirt and jacket and slipped through the kitchen into the hall. Before she had managed to turn all the locks and pull back the bolts on the front door the dog had stopped, but she went out all the same to coax him in. It was strange she could not see him. She was certain he had been in the porch all night, but now, when she had had the trouble of getting up, of course he was gone. She went right out to the steps and called and called, but there was not a sign of him anywhere.

It was a beautiful night. The sky was covered with tiny white clouds lying in wreaths and circles as though they were playing some graceful games when nobody was looking. The sun had not yet managed to climb up above the mountain, but for all that it was broad daylight. It was not the least chilly, but so soft and mild that she did not feel cold although she had come out with bare feet. The row of six great rowans standing before the dairy, with their intermingling branches looking like a green wall, were in full bloom. The great clusters of white blossom brightened up the green background like stars shining in their beauty on the darkness of a wintry sky.

Perhaps it was only in contrast to the fresh green of the early spring, but Little-Maid thought the houses round about looked one and all so old and dilapidated.

She looked at the loft over the stable, at the semicircular windows of the dairy peeping out from under the blackened thatch, and at the crooked brewhouse door. It all looked so sad in the beautiful spring night as though it were sighing over its age. She looked at the men’s house with its stone foundations, and at the barn standing on its wooden posts, at the many gates now all closed and fastened, and at the long rows of fences.

They were so old that they all hung awry, and leant this way and that. The roof beams were bent, the walls grey with green moss growing in their crannies. It was the first time that Little-Maid had thought that the house with all belonging to it was old and needed repair or even building afresh. But such thoughts only come in the spring when trees, bushes, and fields are all decked out in their fresh green garments. Perhaps for houses too there is something corresponding to winter and spring, although they may not follow in such quick succession as for trees and bushes. It would be spring for a house, when young people came to it, pulled down all that was old and built it up anew. And winter, when the young folk grew old and what they had built was worn out and longing for fresh young strength to pull down once more and put up afresh. It was strange, thought Little-Maid, that such ideas should come into her mind. But then the night was strange too, so warm and close and full of mystery. She almost felt afraid and was going to hurry in, when she remembered the dog again.

As she looked round on all sides to find out where he had got to, she thought she saw something moving on the grass plot under the rowan trees. Now Little-Maid had lived in the depths of the dark forest and gone errands for her mother both early and late, but she had never either seen, or expected to see, anything out of the ordinary. Mother had always said she need not be afraid, she was not the kind to meet either ghost or troll. All the same she saw something remarkable now, without a shadow of doubt. She was a little taken aback, but not so easily frightened as that. Besides, there was nothing to be afraid of, only some little people dancing.

There were just two, a gentleman and lady, both about as tall as a six-year-old child, but very slim and delicately made. They were both dressed as nobles of the highest rank, in black velvet with lace and gold braid. The gentleman had a three-cornered hat, a sword at his side, a silk-embroidered coat, and buckles on his shoes. The lady wore very full, short skirts, red stockings, a large hat with feathers, and carried a fan in her hand. They did nothing but dance. He took her hand and with uplifted arms they tripped forward a little way, then turned and tripped back again. They parted, then met again, bowed, and last of all threw their arms round each other and waltzed in a circle.

Little-Maid was absolutely certain that it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. How pleasant it was to watch them as they simply flew over the grass. No human beings could dance like that, but these dancers seemed light as air itself. Their faces looked like the finest china, and they had tiny hands and feet. How sweet and delicate they were to be sure!

She really could not tear herself away as long as they kept on dancing, so there she stood, wondering why they were so gay and dancing so merrily just on that night. Well, perhaps it was not so much to be wondered at. No doubt they were the good tomtes of Lövdala, and were delighted that things had gone back to the good old ways since Raklitz had run away. When Little-Maid saw the dance she was more than ever inclined to believe the truth of what Long-Bengt had said. He was the last to see Raklitz. He had met her late on Saturday evening down in the Black Lake meadows. She was looking very wild, just as she had done when he had first seen her, and he insisted--indeed said he would swear in any court of law--that he had seen her go down into the waters of the Black Lake brook. Perhaps then the good little people were glad that the cruel, deceitful “water-spirit” had lost her power over Lövdala.

What masters of dancing they were to be sure! Why did other people lie sleeping in the light nights instead of dancing on the green grass? Why were other folk not so gay and happy? Why oppressed with so many cares that they could not forget?

Little-Maid heard a dull thud in the house as of something heavy falling, and ran back into the hall. There she stood listening, but could hear nothing more. Still she was certain the noise had come from the west room where the Pastor used to sit. She hurried with all the speed she could to the Pastor’s daughter and begged her to get up, for the Pastor was certainly not well.

Mamsell Maia Lisa hastily threw on some clothes as she asked Little-Maid what had happened. Little-Maid hurriedly told her how she had been standing watching the two dancers when she had heard a heavy fall.

The Pastor’s daughter turned deathly pale. “Those two never come except when Lövdala is to have a new master,” she said; “but I do not think anyone has ever seen them dancing before.”

She had only managed to get on one shoe, but she left off dressing and hurried to the west room.

There lay the Pastor motionless, full length upon the floor. “What is it, dear Father, what is it?” said the Pastor’s daughter as she bent down over him.

In a second she looked up to Little-Maid who had come with her. “Dear Father is dead,” she said. “We must say our thanks to him now, it may be he is not too far away to hear us.”

She kissed his hand very tenderly and whispered a few words into his ear. Then Little-Maid had to kiss his hand too. Then the Pastor’s daughter got up and looked round as if to see what had happened at the last. He had been sitting at his writing, for his pen was still wet. No doubt he had felt ill whilst he was working, and when he had risen to go to the bell and call for help he had fallen to the ground. His sermon lay on the table half written, and the last lines of trembling, broken characters straggled across the page. The Pastor’s daughter read them in a low voice: “When the labourer’s task is ended he longs for rest, and rejoices that a better man is to take his place.”

And the tears came pouring from her eyes as she said: “I know now why they were dancing for dear Father. They knew he longed to go. They knew he wanted to be free.”