CHAPTER IV

SNOW-WHITE

Such a chitter-chattering was going on in the kitchen bedroom at Lövdala that Little-Maid could not possibly get a wink of sleep, although she was lying that night in a real little bed which had been moved in for her.

Mamsell Maia Lisa’s foster-sister, Anna Brogren, who had married Provost Lovstedt in Ransäter, had come on a visit and was to stay till next day. The spare room had been put ready for her, but no sooner had the Pastor and his wife gone to bed than she had come creeping downstairs again.

She had, of course, wanted to have a private talk with Mamsell Maia Lisa, and she was disappointed to see Little-Maid in bed there too. Time after time she went to look and listen if she was asleep. At last Little-Maid lay quiet as a mouse, for she was sorry to be in their way.

“She must be asleep by now,” said the Provost’s wife, as she took the candle and went once more to Little-Maid’s bed.

“No, that she isn’t,” said the Pastor’s daughter; “how can you expect it after all our chattering?”

“Perhaps we had better be quiet for a little,” suggested Anna Brogren.

They had been silent not more than two minutes when Anna Brogren felt quite sure that the child would be asleep now, and a good thing too, for she was not going to leave Lövdala until she had heard how everything had happened, even though she had to sit all night long.

“She is not asleep, that I am certain of,” answered the Pastor’s daughter. “But we will manage another way. I will tell you a tale whilst we wait. I expect you remember of old many a tale of mine.”

“I am afraid that’s just the way to wake her up,” objected Anna Brogren, “but do as you like. What tale is it to be?”

“I think I’ll tell you the story of Snow-White.”

“Oh, that one,” said Anna in no very pleased tone. “It is a long time since I last heard that.”

“You know there was once a Pastor’s wife,” began Maia Lisa, “who was so vexed that she had no children.”

“No, no, you are telling it all wrong,” said Anna Brogren. “It was surely a queen.”

“I have always heard it was a Pastor’s wife,” answered Maia Lisa, “and I cannot tell the tale in any other way.”

And she continued to tell of the Pastor’s wife who had longed for a daughter, as red as blood and as white as snow, and who died when her wish was granted.

“I think we might talk about something a little more cheerful,” said her foster-sister.

“I can understand that you have not forgotten the story,” continued the Pastor’s daughter, “and so I will not talk of little Snow-White’s childhood. You will remember that it was free from sorrow, although she was motherless, for she had a kind aunt to look after her home, a kind foster-sister, and a dear old Grandmother. But the kindest and dearest of all was her dear Father. He was her gentlest playfellow, and to him she went in all her troubles. He never would have her kept strictly like other children, but she did just as she wished. People said of course that he was spoiling her, but he would not hear a word of it.”

“Perhaps little Snow-White was too good to be spoilt,” said Anna Brogren, in a strangely grave tone.

“Never anyone was happier than Snow-White,” went on the Pastor’s daughter, “especially when her aunt left and she had to manage the house herself and look after her dear Father. For many years her only sorrow was when her foster-sister married and moved to another parish. And if at that time anyone had told her that her Father would turn against her, I think she would only have laughed aloud. How could dear Father and she ever quarrel? Not even in her dreams could she imagine such madness.”

“And certainly no one else either would have believed it could happen,” said Anna Brogren in the same serious tone as before.

“And Snow-White was never farther from thinking of such a great misfortune than one lovely morning last summer, when she went out with her Father to see the hay-crop.”

“Was that last summer?” interrupted Anna Brogren. “I thought Snow-White lived a thousand years ago.”

“I have always heard that Snow-White is still living,” said the Pastor’s daughter, “and the day she went out with her dear Father, she was just seventeen years old and he was fifty, although he scarcely looked it. He wore a peruke and no hat, his shirt-front was finely frilled, and great buckles shone on his shoes. In Snow-White’s eyes he was very handsome, for she had on her old cotton frock and big sun-bonnet, and seemed of no importance beside her Father.”

“I have always heard that nobody was so beautiful as little Snow-White,” interrupted her foster-sister, but the Pastor’s daughter went on without heeding her.

“The sun-bonnet, however, was very convenient, as it hid her face, for otherwise her dear Father, might have seen that she looked anything but pleased.

“Alas, alas! I am thinking why Snow-White was vexed at having to go out with her Father just then. She had wanted to stay at her loom and get on with her linen-weaving. But when he had come himself to the bedroom window to call her she could not possibly say ‘no’.”

“I do not believe she could ever say ‘no’ to dear Father,” said her foster-sister.

“They went past the dairy and calf-pasture, for they were on their way to the south field where Long-Bengt and the Vetter-lads were busy mowing grass. It was not far, but it always meant plenty of time to go out with her Father.

“He stopped to look at the cows and he stopped to talk to the dairymaid. When they came to the birches on the hill, he stopped again to prop up a young fir tree that had been blown down.

“But now I must tell you that Snow-White could never be cross very long when she was with dear Father. She was always so full of wonder that he was just what he was.

“And, in my opinion, Snow-White was not wrong in thinking it noble and kind of Father to stay all his life as assistant pastor in a poor little far-away parish of far-away Värmland. With his learning and irresistible eloquence, added to his dignity and charm of manner, he could surely have become a dean or a bishop if he had only been willing. Don’t you think so, too?”

“It is not easy for me to say anything about Snow-White’s Father,” said Anna Brogren. “But I should certainly think he could have risen to any post he wished.”

“I cannot be certain of Snow-White’s feelings, but I fancy she said to herself, ‘You, Snow-White, who know nothing, who are nothing, and who have seen nothing, are you not ashamed to go about in a bad temper? Just think of Father who never complains, never wants anything for himself, and always carries a bright face!’ Snow-White made excuse that she would so have liked to finish her weaving before she left home. For she had no choice but to go that summer to Loka Wells with her Grandmother. Last winter had plagued her terribly; it broke one’s heart to see how her hands suffered. All spring, Snow-White had urged her to go for a change, but she knew her Grandmother would never go without her.

“She knew she ought to ask her Father to fix a day for their journey. But she shrank from doing it. Did she not know that dear Father was sorry to lose her for six whole weeks, and put it off as long as he could?

“So she walked along making conditions with herself: if there was a fine hay-crop on the south field, so that Father was really pleased, then she would pluck up courage and speak about the journey.

“And it really looked as if she would soon have to go, for when they reached the south field the crop was an uncommonly fine one. Snow-White at once noticed how pleased dear Father was, for he began to joke with Long-Bengt, the tallest man in the parish, and say he ought to grow a little more. The grass was taller than he.

“Long-Bengt was at no loss for an answer. He said that if the Pastor was going to keep on working his land in that way, he would soon get no one to mow his grass. It was a misery to have to cut through such a wall. And the two Vetter-lads backed him up and said they would rather fight with all the West Goths in Broby fair than mow grass like that another year.

“Dear Father had to give as polite an answer back again, and they all stood round in silence, waiting for it.

“Ah, I think Snow-White will always remember Father as he stood there, so pleased and friendly in the midst of his men, pretending that he was wondering what he could answer so that it might make the better impression when it came.

“But look at that now! They never heard dear Father’s answer, for something unexpected happened and turned their thoughts in another direction.

“Whatever could it be coming towards them through the high grass? What could it be, not walking quietly, but reeling along, screaming and talking to itself?

“I am sure Snow-White had never seen anything that moved her so deeply.

“Ah, to see a woman in such a dreadful state! Her clothes wet and muddy clung tightly round her. Her hair had fallen loose from the comb and hung in wisps down her back, and, most terrible of all, there were bloodstains on both hands and face.

“Long-Bengt and the Vetter-lads turned aside and spat three times as though they had seen an evil spirit. A very little more and dear Father would have done the same.

“But suddenly Snow-White seemed to recognise the new-comer’s face, and she hastened to whisper to dear Father that it must be the lady who kept house for Countess Borg.

“Father agreed, and went up to the lady and asked her what had happened that she was coming to him so early in the morning. But she was so excited that she did not know him, but only called out that she could bear it no longer at the Countess’s, and was on her way to get help at the Parsonage.

“They took her home with them, and after a time she grew calm enough to tell them what had happened.

“The Countess had worried and plagued her until she could bear it no longer, and had run away from Borg at two o’clock in the morning.

“She had been so confused that she never thought where she was going until she was out of the house. Then she had decided to go to the Parsonage as she had heard they had kind hearts there. But the poor thing had taken a short cut over the meadows, could not get over the footbridge, but had tumbled into the brook, hit her head and destroyed her clothes. This had so upset her that she could not find the right road, but had wandered to and fro the whole morning over the pastures and cornfields.

“Now she asked so nicely for leave to stay at the Parsonage until she had dried her clothes, washed away the bloodstains, and thought a little what she should do next.

“Of course she could do that. Ah, I wonder who would have refused any human being in such distress!

“But how Snow-White and her Father blamed the Countess. Beautiful and gay as she was and yet to be so cruel to those beneath her! And it wasn’t the first time either that they had heard a like tale of her. I can tell you it was a good thing the Countess didn’t meet Snow-White that day. She would have asked her if she wasn’t ashamed of herself. This lady--now what shall I call her?”

“You can call her Mamsell Vabitz,” suggested her foster-sister.

“Well, this Mamsell Vabitz was such an excellent person and so well spoken of, that the Countess ought to have known better than to frighten her out of her wits.

“But that very same day Snow-White hit upon a plan which gave her great pleasure. She would ask Mamsell Vabitz to stay and keep house at the Parsonage whilst Grandmother and she went away for their change. If only that could be arranged, she would be sure that everything would be just as comfortable as if she were at home herself.”

“But, dear heart,” said her foster-sister, “was that your idea? I mean was it Snow-White’s?”

“Yes, indeed it was hers and no one else’s, and she was so glad that she had had such a happy thought. She asked Mamsell at once if she would stay, and she answered without hesitation that she would be glad to do her that service. But, she added, that she would like to say if she could get a post in a gentleman’s house, she should leave at once. She was a poor woman and had to put her own interests first.

“But it was not so easy to persuade dear Father. Was he to have Mamsell going about the house for six whole weeks and be compelled to sit at meals with her?

“You have no idea what a business it was before Snow-White and her Grandmother were successful. Father and Mamsell Vabitz couldn’t get on at all well together. He liked to joke and tease everybody, but Mamsell was strait-laced and serious and very mindful of her dignity.

“Snow-White generally managed to keep them apart until meal-times, but no sooner had Father sat down to table than he chose for his subject whatever he thought would tease Mamsell. Best of all he liked the talk to be about love and marriage.

“‘He was so glad,’ he said, ‘to have Mamsell in his house to give him good advice. He had long been thinking of marrying again. What would she say to Countess Borg?’

“But no sooner were the words said than Mamsell grew stiff with horror. She laid down her knife and fork on her plate and stared at him.”

Anna Brogren began to smile. “How he would enjoy that,” she said.

“Yes, dear Father was plainly in his element then. It was not every day he found anyone who did not understand his jokes. Now he declared he really could not comprehend why Mamsell should look so astonished. Did she think that the Countess would not have him? But he knew for a fact that the Countess thought him a handsome man. She always came to church every Sunday when she was at Borg, and she had told him with her own lips that she never went to hear an ugly preacher.

“It was really too funny! When Snow-White’s Father said this two bright red spots appeared on Mamsell’s cheeks. She had evidently been silent as long as she possibly could, but now she had to give vent to her anger. ‘And this man is supposed to be a Pastor and servant of God,’ she burst out.

“And Mamsell had such a coarse, rough voice. She was a little woman with a small, refined face and snow-white hair, although she was not more than forty years old. She looked as gentle as a dove, and for that very reason it was more of a shock when she began to speak.

“Now when Mamsell had in her deep, hollow voice pronounced judgment on dear Father, he began to laugh aloud. But not another word did she utter all dinner-time.”

Anna Brogren began to laugh too, but Snow-White only sighed before she went on.

“I expect I need scarcely say how Snow-White begged and prayed her Father and how really distressed she was when her entreaties were of no avail. She lived in continual anxiety lest Mamsell should run away from them as she had run away from Borg.”

“I rather fancy she stayed,” said her foster-sister.

“Yes, she stayed, and how glad Snow-White was. Mamsell even began to help in the housekeeping. She would not stay with them and do nothing, it wasn’t likely she should.

“Of course such a cook as Mamsell was not content with ordinary middle-class fare, but she made French dishes as if for a nobleman’s table. And dear Father, who for several years had been tutor in good families, lived his young days over again, when he tasted made dishes, fine pastry, and spicy sauces. It was plain he would not go short whilst Snow-White was away. It was reassuring, too, to notice that his jokes with Mamsell lost a good deal of their sharpness when she had served a really good meal.

“And it was pleasant, too, that he and Mamsell both took such an interest in gardening. He might talk as long as he liked of the botanists, Linne and Hammarby, and of the Botanical Gardens in Upsala, without Mamsell’s ever being tired of listening to him.

“Ah, no doubt it was the gardening that reconciled Father to the thought of keeping Mamsell. Otherwise he would never have done it. Snow-White had that to thank for her ease of mind when she started. She almost dared to hope that Mamsell Vabitz and dear Father would put up with one another till she came home again.

“But she was not really happy all the time she was away, for her thoughts were always at home, wondering if Father was teasing poor Mamsell.

“When Snow-White had been away two weeks, dear Father wrote her such a gay letter, full of fun from beginning to end, telling how he and Mamsell were getting on. One evening he had had a visit from Lieutenant Christian Berg and Herr Julius, and they had all played cards and sung Bellman. Next day Mamsell would not speak to him, and all the week he had had nothing for dinner but black puddings and bacon or carrots and salted herrings. But the day before he wrote, he had had grilled salmon and game pie, so that he knew he had been taken into favour again.

“Snow-White could not help laughing at dear Father’s nonsense, although that letter did not altogether reassure her. But the next was better, when he told how Long-Bengt had given out that he was now going to marry Merry Maia, his old sweetheart, and that Mamsell Vabitz had been the means of persuading him. She had kept on telling him how wrong it was to keep a woman waiting fourteen years, and at last her words had taken effect.

“It was plain that dear Father was very pleased. He did not write ‘Vabitza’ in this letter as he usually did, but Mamsell Vabitz--a sure sign that he recognised what an excellent person he had to do with. After that Snow-White got no more letters from dear Father, but only short cards to say that he was too busy to have much time for writing. Not one word did he say of Mamsell, which must mean that he had got used to her and thought no more about her than about the other servants.

“But Snow-White still felt a little uneasy, and I cannot describe how glad she was when she got into the carriage to drive home. She had written in good time to tell him when to expect them, and in the same letter had praised him for putting up with Vabitz. But now he need not have any more strangers in his home, for Snow-White would never leave him again.”

“Did she really write that?” asked her foster-sister; “she must be amused now to remember it.”

“There is a good deal that is amusing in this story,” said the Pastor’s daughter. “It is almost laughable to think how pleased Snow-White was as she drove along the road, so happy indeed, that all she met brightened up at the very sight of her. At least it was so at the beginning of her journey, but when she came nearer home, where people, even at a distance, recognised the carriage and its occupants, she thought that everyone they met was thinking of something sad enough to make their faces drawn and wrinkled.

“I tell you Snow-White grew quite puzzled. When she came to the last inns where she knew the innkeepers, she asked after dear Father, and they told her he was as active as when she went away. Yet she could hear by their tone that they knew something they would not tell. Neither would she ask. It was indeed rather sad if Mamsell had run away at last, but Snow-White was not going to spoil the joy of her home-coming by thinking about her.”

“That is ridiculous beyond words,” said her foster-sister, with a laugh, “if it were not so sad.”

“At the last stage Long-Bengt came to meet them with their own horses. And there was no doubt about it, he was strange, too. As a rule words had to be literally dragged from him, but now they came in an endless stream. And Snow-White noticed, too, that he talked about everything else, but not a word of her Father and Vabitz. And she dared not ask. If anything was wrong she would, no doubt, hear it from dear Father himself.”

“And so she knew nothing before she got home?” exclaimed her foster-sister.

“No, she knew nothing--nothing at all. And I will tell you what was the saddest part of it all for her, and that was that dear Father thought he had acted with such wonderful prudence, and expected her to be pleased at what he had done. And no wonder he did. For had she not praised Mamsell and said he ought to be happy to have such an excellent person in his house? It was her own words perhaps that had led him to think that Mamsell----

“You certainly can never understand how pleased Father was, as he stood upon his threshold to welcome her, and how pleased Vabitz was as she stood beside him. Dear Father’s only wish was to tell the great news.

“But he did not need to tell anything, for she saw it herself, knew it indeed before she got out of the carriage. And now I must tell you how upset she was. She grew so angry that she lost all self-control. Never in her life had she felt like that before. She did not indeed fly at them with cuffs and blows, much as she would have liked to do it.

“Her tongue, however, she could not control, and she said the very worst she could think of. Never would she call Vabitz ‘Mother’ was her first speech, and the second that she was no fitting wife for her Father, she who was but the daughter of a poor German trumpeter, whilst her Father could have married the best-born lady in the land. And, she continued, they knew well enough themselves that they had acted wrongly or they would never have married on the sly.

“But now Grandmother came, seized her wrist, and told her sternly to come with her to her room. She did not refuse to obey, but first she turned to Vabitz once more and told her she had curried favour with Father by her good food, and that he had only married her for her fine dishes.

“And when that was said her Grandmother got her away.”

“That was a pity,” said her foster-sister; “I think they might have let her go on.”

“No, her Grandmother carried her off, and once in her room she burst into tears. That, too, was something new, for never before had she cried like that. On and on she wept for hours before she stopped, and all the time she felt as if something which hitherto had lain asleep within her heart had now awakened and overmastered her.

“She felt convinced that some old dragon or horrible wild beast had its home in her soul. Alas, alas, in her fear of this she almost forgot the other grief, for indeed it was a sore trouble to know there was anything so unruly and dangerous in her very self! It was true she could not exactly help its being there, only she must never again let it be seen.”

“Oh, dear heart,” said her foster-sister tenderly, “had she never been angry before in her life?”

“At last she slept and forgot it all, and did not wake until next day as the sun was rising from behind the mountain and shining in her face. She lay, feeling miserable, and wondering what she should do. But she did not need to wonder long, for in a few minutes the housemaid came with a message from her mistress; she was to get up and go to her loom.

“It still wanted some minutes to four, and she had not been in the habit of getting up so early. And, although she had worked, it had only been at her own wish, not at another’s bidding. She was getting angry again when she remembered the wild creature inside and feared lest it should lift its head again.

“When she had been working at her loom a couple of hours, she could better understand how everything had happened. Vabitz had not tried to curry favour with dear Father, but had kept on telling him the truth, until he had plainly seen that she would be an invaluable help for him and his daughter. And when dear Father had seen that his daughter had not appreciated his cleverness, he was, no doubt, quite angry with her.

“At seven o’clock Snow-White was called into her Father’s room to be warned and scolded, as indeed was to be expected. But he was so terribly tactless, when he reproved her, that she nearly grew angry again. Still she did not, but begged both Vabitz and dear Father very sweetly for forgiveness as she kissed their hands. She could see how he rejoiced to have it settled and peace in his home once more.”

“And things like that can happen whilst someone else, but a few miles away, knows nothing of them,” exclaimed her foster-sister, with a tearful voice. “If only I had been there.”

“It was a good thing there was nobody there to take Snow-White’s part,” said the Pastor’s daughter. “She was glad she had been ready to make peace, for when she saw them together she understood that she was not the most unhappy.

“She was young and might get married and have a home of her own, but it was another matter with dear Father. He would never be rid of Vabitz, but must keep her to his life’s end.

“That indeed was a life in mid-winter with never a summer sun. It was not she but dear Father who was to be pitied.

“But, friendly as she wished to be, she could not help being vexed with him, when he came in a little while to her bedroom window, and asked if she would not come out for a walk. She replied that she could not possibly, for dear Mother had ordered so many yards to be woven before breakfast.

“In the first moment of irritation dear Father insisted she should come in any case, but then he bethought himself that it would scarcely do to set dear Mother’s orders on one side the very first day. So dear Father went away from the window and left Snow-White at her loom. This she had never expected, and her heart was ready to burst. She knew she had lost dear Father.”

Her voice shook with sobs and she stopped short. Anna Brogren, too, did not speak, but wept aloud.

And Little-Maid would have cried, too, if she had not been so afraid that the others would hear her.

The next night was not a scrap better for Little-Maid than the last. Anna Brogren had not gone as she intended, but had put off her journey home, and no sooner had the Pastor and his wife said good night than down she crept from the guest-chamber into the kitchen bedroom to talk to her foster-sister.

This time they did not trouble about waiting until Little-Maid was asleep. Anna said at once that she had only stayed to hear the end of the pretty tale that Maia Lisa had begun the night before. And she begged her to go on at once so that they might finish it, for she could not possibly stay over the next day.

And so the Pastor’s daughter began again.

“If I remember right,” said she, “Snow-White had not been at home more than a week before Sexton Moreus with his wife Ulla came on a visit. I cannot tell how pleased she was when they came. Everything was going smoothly between dear Mother and her, it is true, but how she had to work! She sat all day long weaving her diaper patterns until at night she went to bed with an aching back. It was a mercy when a visitor came to give her a moment’s leisure.

“Ah, dear, dear! Snow-White thought to herself that she would certainly never get dear Mother’s love of work, nor would she ever get such quick and clever fingers. Mother could weave a beautiful damask with all the animals out of the Ark worked into the border. Snow-White saw plainly enough that Mother looked upon her as a bungler, but she thought she surely must see, too, that she tried her best to please her.

“Ulla Moreus knew dear Mother from the time when she was housekeeper at Borg and understood her well. Besides, she had lately been with her mother-in-law to help at Borg with the autumn baking, so she had plenty to tell about the Countess. Snow-White noticed that dear Mother enjoyed hearing of all the mad things her ladyship had been doing lately.

“But to tell the truth, I think no one was so pleased at the visit as dear Father. Snow-White sat and watched how he threw off the great dignity he had assumed ever since his marriage, and became his old self once more. And she said to herself, ‘I cannot think how dear Father has held out lately. I have not known him since we went to the south field to see the hay-crop.’

“Snow-White knew so well that it was on her account that dear Father no longer dared to laugh or joke. He was filled with remorse that he had brought her up so badly. For he thought that she would never have broken out as she did against him and dear Mother if he had not spoilt her. But Father had made up his mind now that she should be kept in check, and had it so upon his conscience that he never dared be anything but stern and serious when she was in the room.

“Only a few months ago her Father had thought she was everything she should be, but now she was good for nothing. He would certainly never be himself again until she was a changed character.

“But when Sexton Moreus came, Father forgot his heavy burden and was just as of old. She could not help thinking that dear Father must love her very dearly. What restraint he laid upon himself every day for her sake. She was surely not so grateful to him as she ought to be!

“Dear Mother wanted to see to supper herself to show Ulla Moreus that they had never had such food in Lövdala as now. She knew that Ulla was the cleverest cook in the parish and continually went to prepare wedding and funeral feasts, so that it was worth while to make a show for her. And whilst dear Mother stood over the kitchen stove Ulla proposed that Snow-White should go down with her to Grandmother’s for a little.

“In Grandmother’s room Ulla undid a parcel that she had brought with her to amuse them. It was such a handsome present that she had got from her ladyship the Countess. How they laughed as Ulla told how high she stood in the Countess’s favour and what beautiful presents she got from her. Once she gave Ulla a lapdog which could only be fed on cream. That indeed was a generous gift to a poor Sexton’s wife who by no means always had a cow to milk.

“I fancy Ulla would have been almost sorry if the Countess had ever given her anything that was any good. How gay she was as she unpacked the last present.

“‘Look at that now,’ she said; ‘see how well provided I shall be when I drive off to peasant houses to get the wedding-feast ready.’

“The Countess thought, no doubt, that she had robbed herself when she gave Ulla her riding-dress--the English one that she had worn herself the last few years, with a black cloth habit, a tight-fitting red coat, and a small top-hat. It was of beautiful stuff and certainly not worn out, but quite ridiculous all the same. It was of such a length that Ulla could not take a step in it, and it was ludicrous beyond words to see her in the red jacket. Ulla wanted Snow-White to try it on too, and when she did both Ulla and Grandmother Beata were quite delighted. ‘There now,’ said Ulla, ‘what a pity the grand present didn’t come to you; it fits as though it were made for you.’

“Ulla put her in front of the looking-glass, puffed out her hair a little and put on the hat.

“‘Look at her,’ she said to Grandmother. ‘Isn’t she like a little noble Countess? Have you ever seen her look so sweet?’

“Ulla wouldn’t hear of her taking off the riding-dress until dear Father and Sexton Moreus had seen her in it.

“I must just say one thing. Snow-White never ought to have dressed up. She entered into it so heartily and at once thought she was someone else.

“Grandmother and Ulla bent double with laughter when she began to walk and talk like her ladyship the Countess. And Ulla again repeated that she would never forgive her if her husband did not see her, and insisted that they should go back to the house.

“Snow-White thought to herself, ‘Perhaps dear Father may not like me to dress up when he is so strict with me. Before I might do it as often as I liked, but everything is different now.’

“But as Ulla was with her she took heart and encouraged herself by thinking, ‘It will never do to let yourself be quite cowed. Dear Father is himself again to-day and he cannot find any fault with your putting on the Countess’s dress.’

“Another thought too gave her a little comfort. She believed dear Mother would not at all object to their having a little joke about her ladyship.

“When they were out on the stairway Ulla Moreus had a fresh idea. She took Snow-White away to the stable and then persuaded Long-Bengt to saddle Blackie. Blackie was small and stumpy, not much like the high riding-horses in Borg, nor was the saddle with its great stuffed seat and high wooden back very similar to the one her ladyship used.

“When Blackie was ready with Snow-White on his back, Ulla ran on and called into both kitchen and drawing-room that Countess Marta was riding down the Avenue.

“Oh, oh, what a commotion there was! Dear Mother tore off her apron so that her cuff came with it, and rushed out to the porch; dear Father sprang out, too, with his wig all on one side and stood by her side on the top step; Ulla and Sexton Moreus took their place behind them, whilst the housemaid stood curtseying on the lowest step.

“Snow-White had her riding-whip, of course, and touched up Blackie, but it was impossible to rouse him out of his jog-trot. Not that that troubled her, for she never dreamt but that her Father and Mother would recognise her at once.

“But it was too ridiculous!

“Mother had so constantly seen the red riding-habit that the Countess had worn for several years that she noticed nothing else. And no sooner had Snow-White saluted with her riding-whip and called out ‘Bonjour, Monsieur le Pasteur,’ just as the Countess used to do, than dear Mother rushed down the steps and curtseyed to the very ground itself. How can I find the right words to tell it all? Snow-White certainly knew that dear Mother was a little short-sighted and that it was quite late and dusky, but she could not possibly believe that she was not recognised. She thought ‘Dear Mother likes me to make fun of the Countess.’ She knew, of course, how angry dear Mother was with her old mistress, and it never occurred to Snow-White that she would stand and curtsey to her. And Mother’s face was aglow with joy, brighter than ever in her life before.

“Snow-White jumped from the saddle without help, just like the Countess, and threw the reins to Long-Bengt. Then she turned to dear Mother with outstretched hand and said, ‘Eh bien, Raklitz, how are you getting on in your new position?’ And just think of it! No sooner had Snow-White said this than dear Mother bent over her hand and kissed it.

“Then at last Snow-White understood that her Mother’s eyes had deceived her and that she thought the Countess had come to call on her. And in her consternation Snow-White cried out, ‘Dear Mother, it is only I!’

“Mother drew herself up and flung away her hand. She just gave one look at her stepdaughter, then turned and rushed up the steps and into the kitchen.

“Dear Father, Sexton Moreus, and Ulla came round Snow-White now and laughed at her disguise. Alack, alack! She had to keep on acting a little while, because her Father looked so amused. But her heart was like lead within her at the remembrance of that one look. She thought to herself, ‘Now I have made an enemy of dear Mother. She does not trouble about downright abuse, but she will never forgive anyone who makes a fool of her.’”

The Pastor’s daughter paused a moment as if to hear what the other thought of her tale.

“It is really something to laugh at,” said Anna Brogren, “but I cannot do it. It fills my heart with such anxiety. You had better go on at once so that I may hear what misery you--I mean Snow-White--brought upon herself.”

And so the Pastor’s daughter began again.

“I really must tell you of something funny that happened one day in the end of September. You will see, dear foster-sister, that it was nothing very important, but I think it gave Snow-White a little courage. Afterwards, whenever she remembered the incident, she used to say to herself, ‘After all, it is a good thing there is someone belonging to the house who is not afraid of Mother.’ Otherwise she would have had to confess that everyone stood a little in dread of her, her Father not excepted. She could not in the least deny that Mother was very careful of him and so attentive that he scarcely dared to move. But ah, how frightened dear Father was to say ‘no,’ when dear Mother wanted anything. That was evident every day, but never so clearly as when Mother insisted on making brandy. Everybody said that dear Father would never have allowed it if she had not begged and prayed, for he had always been against it. In former times, whenever anyone suggested it, he had answered sharply that in a Pastor’s house grain should be used for baking bread and boiling porridge, not for that fatal drink that only brought people to ruin. And he said exactly the same to dear Mother. She was not to be put off, however, and answered that if he wanted to put an end to all dram-drinking in the house she was quite agreed, but if anyway there must be brandy to offer to strangers, and for the servants, then she thought they might just as well make it themselves. It would cost only half as much, Mother said, and she worried and worried until he let her have her way.

“For the first distilling Mother borrowed a brandy vat with lid and pipe from a big house near, and as soon as it came she set to work and attended to it with the greatest care. What between soaking and fermentation she left the brewing-maid no peace and was in the brewhouse all through the process. Certainly no one could reproach Mother with sparing herself. Dear Father, on the contrary, shut himself up the whole time and did not once honour Mother by peeping in at the brewhouse door and asking for a taste of the brew. She knew well enough that he still disapproved, and she knew that if only one of the workpeople took a little too much to drink, dear Father would seize the opportunity to forbid the whole performance. So dear Mother was most particular that none of her helpers should get too many sips, and such was her authority that she managed to keep good order all the time.

“Only one little misfortune happened.

“Dear Mother had quite finished the clearing and had not much else left to do, except to draw off the brandy in casks and bottles. She had also to dispose of the lees, but they were still warm, so she put them in a bucket outside the brewhouse door to cool. No sooner had they been put down than Long-Bengt went by. The bucket pulled and pulled him, but Mother, standing in the doorway, called out: ‘Why, friend Bengt, you are surely not thinking of drinking that! It is not fit for human beings, only distiller’s wash as it is.’

“Long-Bengt put on an innocent look and went his way. He was going to the dairy, of course, and there was surely no harm in passing the brewhouse door. Sure enough he went to the dairy to fetch the hay fork that the dairymaid had lent him and started off to take it back with him to the stable. But when Long-Bengt opened the gate to the backyard, he came upon Big Billy standing with his nose between the palings sniffing away in the direction of the brewhouse. It was a fine day, so all the goats were out. But the others were on a wood pile, and Big Billy stood alone by the gate.

“No one can understand how Long-Bengt could be so clumsy, but he opened the gate so wide that Big Billy managed to push out past him. And he never even troubled to drive the creature back again as he ought to have done, but only just looked to see that the orchard gates were shut, to keep Big Billy from dear Father’s apple-trees and dear Mother’s cabbage beds. Very likely he thought it wouldn’t matter if he did get on to the lawn and crop a mouthful of grass. But you must know that Big Billy did not so much as glance at the good grass, but trotted away towards the brewhouse. He came tripping along so daintily and quietly that Mother never heard a sound, although the brewhouse door stood ajar.

“The creature had always had such refined manners. When he was thirsty, he neither lapped the water like a dog nor sucked it up like a horse, but drank so quietly that no one knew what he was about. Many a milk-can had Big Billy emptied behind the dairymaid’s back, and now he managed to sup up all the brandy lees in peace and quiet without Mother having the least idea of what was happening. But when it was all gone, Big Billy began to bleat, as he always did, for he thought mischief lost all its pleasure unless he was there to see how vexed and angry everyone was at his misdeeds. And in a moment Mother was on the threshold and saw the empty bucket.

“She seized the long, black stove-rake which always stood in the corner by the door and aimed a blow at Big Billy. But after all Billy’s days of petting, he could not possibly believe that dear Mother was angry in good earnest, so up he got on his two hind legs and danced about before her. Now Big Billy was both strong and old and it was not always a joke to tackle him. Dear Mother struck out with the rake, and those who knew his temper felt that no good would come of it. So they all came, Father, Snow-White, and the maids running out of the house to help Mother. But Big Billy was doing her no harm, only hopping to and fro, so that Father told the others not to stop his game and at the same time he called out to Mother to hurry into the brewhouse and shut the door before play had become earnest.

“But Mother paid no heed to the warning and at last managed to give Big Billy such a hard knock that he felt it. Down he came on all fours, not that that made it any better, for now he rushed into the brewhouse and used his horns to crash down every bottle and jug he could reach. And no sooner had dear Mother got in after him than he was out again.

“Now Big Billy knew that he had given Mother enough to do with picking up what he had knocked down to keep her out of the way for a little, whilst he went on with his joke. So he stood a few seconds outside the brewhouse door looking round, and then began to climb quietly up the hill to the big house.

“Big Billy generally had something grave and dignified about him, a gift by no means to be despised, for who could possibly suspect such a stately creature of even a thought of mischief? And never had he looked so splendid as now when up he went stepping slowly along, lifting each foot high and throwing his head back with his nose up in the air, as if to show off his great beard and long horns. Yet that it was not quite all in earnest was plain enough by his dancing eye and the sideward twist of his hindquarters.

“Father thought that Big Billy was off to the other goats behind the house, so he called out to Snow-White and the other womenkind to get out of the great goat’s way and not irritate him. But if that had been Big Billy’s intention, he changed his mind as he passed the porch and saw that the door had been left wide open when they had all rushed out to drive him away. And just as he was walking along with his most dignified step he gave one spring up the steps and ran into the house.

“The maids rushed after in a body to drive him out. Then he took refuge on the garret steps and when they followed him up to the garret, out he jumped through the window without troubling to look first how far it was from the ground.

“But his usual luck did not forsake him, and so it happened that he hit upon the very window which was exactly above the porch roof.

“It was a little, steep roof with a narrow ridge upon which Big Billy alighted. He could not move an inch to right or left without falling and it did not seem possible either for him to turn back into the garret again.

“‘Get in with you, Big Billy,’ cried dear Father as he shook his cane at him. But Big Billy did not budge. The maids had come out again and were in despair over what might happen to him. But Big Billy looked quite pleased. As he turned his head and winked at them, it was plain how greatly he enjoyed their terror.

“Mother had picked up her bottles and was coming, rake in hand, to chastise Big Billy. When he caught sight of her he winked more wickedly than before; evidently he hadn’t the slightest respect for dear Mother.

“Once more she struck at him with the rake and as she did it he gathered his feet together, flew through the air like an arrow and came down on the ground just in front of her.

“And no sooner was he there than he got on his hind legs and gave Mother a tap that knocked her down. Then away rushed Big Billy to the back garden, bounded over the gate and spent the next few hours dancing to his wives.

“But no one troubled about him just then. They had all rushed forward to help Mother, and the first to reach her was Snow-White. But Mother pushed her violently away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she snapped. ‘I know your feelings towards me, and can see this just pleases you. Laugh away whilst you can. I know something that will make you cry.’

“And it was true enough that Snow-White had not looked very much upset, for she had laughed so much at the great goat that she could not be serious again in a moment. But Mother’s words made her sad enough all day long.

“And my dear foster-sister will easily understand that it wasn’t this that gave Snow-White fresh courage, but a little dream that she dreamt the night after. For then Snow-White saw a great goat standing again on the porch roof, but it was no longer a real goat, but all the gaiety and good temper that had lived in this home of old, which had crept out on the roof and was up there openly defying Mother. The creature could talk too, and told Mother that she would never be able to work her will and turn this house into a hard, cold prison. There was too much of its former spirit still left in it to fight against her.

“And when Snow-White awoke she thought it had all been true and felt no longer quite so lonely in her struggle with dear Mother.”

“You may be very sure I shall take some slices of bread for Big Billy the next time I go to see Snow-White,” said Anna Brogren as the Pastor’s daughter paused for a moment.

“I am afraid the kind thought comes too late,” said her foster-sister. “For Snow-White tells me in her last letter that dear Mother has sent him to the butcher.”

“Look at that now,” said Anna Brogren thoughtfully, “look at that now! And Snow-White’s father let him be killed without a word! I tell you, I begin to think Snow-White’s stepmother will do her a mischief.”

But the Pastor’s daughter broke in with a hasty: “Oh, it is not the stepmother who hurts Snow-White. On the contrary, she says Snow-White’s one thought is to do _her_ some ill.”

“She might know better.”

“Everything goes wrong for Snow-White. I will just tell you one thing more to show you how unfortunate she is.”

“I should like to hear the whole of the tale,” said Anna Brogren, “but indeed I can see well enough that it is Snow-White who is in danger and not her stepmother.”

“There is no need to tell my dear foster-sister that it was Snow-White’s Father who had planted all the Parsonage grounds. They had to thank him for the gooseberries, the currants, the rare strawberries, the great kitchen garden and the little rose-bed to the west of the house. But the very best in dear Father’s orchard was, after all, the apple-trees. He had planted and grafted them with his own hands, and I think you might go a long way before you would see the like of the fruit they bore. Whenever Snow-White ate any of Father’s apples she always thought they tasted as though they were made of nothing but sunshine and summer warmth. Never had Snow-White seen such beautiful apples in the orchard as this summer. Such pearmains, astrachans, golden pippins, Tom Putts, codlins, reinettes and winter apples! Perhaps the trees were not so heavily laden as sometimes, but their fruit was all the finer for it. Not a single apple was worm-eaten, they were all alike big and beautiful. How transparent the skin of the Tom Putts, how golden the pippins, whilst every pearmain blushed a dark crimson and not an astrachan but had a bright rosy cheek. The apples were really such a splendid crop that they were the talk of the whole country-side. They were so big and fine that they brightened up the road and passers-by used to come down to the house and ask for leave to go into the orchard and look at them.

“But I must just say that nice and beautiful as apples are, they bring a great deal of worry. It is useless to deny that in former years a great quantity of the Parsonage apples had been stolen, but this year scarcely one was lost in this way, for Mother never wearied in her watch over them. Ever since the end of August, when the apples began to ripen, she had been in the orchard every evening on guard.

“But Mother did more than this. She protected the apples from the home people too, for she had padlocks put on the orchard gates and always kept the keys in her pocket. If she found a specially big shiny nonesuch, she might perhaps gather it for dear Father, but neither Grandmother Beata nor Snow-White ever got so much as a bite.

“Yes, indeed, in other years the apples may not have been so fine, but they had given more pleasure, for there had been no one about the house who had not eaten their fill of them. And not only that, but everyone who came to the Parsonage got a taste, and most carried home a little basketful as well. Even when the gathering-time came, not an apple was eaten, for Mother saw to the work herself. She put on gloves and plucked each apple slowly and carefully, so that they should not be pinched or bruised.

“Snow-White did indeed think it was a little hard not to have the apples whilst they still had their fresh summer flavour, but she consoled herself with the thought of how nice it would be to have them to eat all the autumn and winter. For no doubt Mother knew how to keep them so that they would not decay. But she soon learnt that dear Mother had other plans. Not for one moment had she thought of letting the Parsonage people sit and eat her apples.

“Dear Father, of course, would have liked to keep his apples in his house as he had always done, but dear Mother reckoned they could make money by them. She meant to sell all the beautiful fruit at Broby fair. And, of course, Mother had her way. She drove to the fair with two carts full of apples, and a man and maid to help her sell them.

“When she came to the market-place she put up her stall, opened her boxes and barrels and laid out the apples. Mother was not afraid of any kind of work and stood before her stall with great gloves on her hands and a thick shawl knotted round her waist to sell her fruit herself. She was not going to trust this work to anyone else. And she might well be proud of such wares as she had to offer.

“Her stall shone so with red, white, green and yellow that people crowded round just for the pleasure of looking at it. Now at the big Broby fair there were always fruit growers from the Sörmland mansions and from the country estates in Näset, but not one of them had such fine fruit as Mother.

“As soon as she was ready to sell, everyone hurried up and asked what she wanted for her apples. But Mother asked so much that they were amazed and refused to buy.

“So she had to sit there with her treasure and see how the market people bought instead from her neighbours. But she would not yield, nor lower her prices by a single farthing. She asked just double the price of anyone else. No doubt she thought she would sell them later on when the strangers had got rid of all theirs.

“Perhaps, too, Mother reckoned on something else as well. She knew well enough how much brandy was generally drunk at Broby fair, and that after twelve o’clock there was scarcely a sober man to be found, so maybe she thought that by afternoon the peasant folk wouldn’t be so careful of their money. It looked, too, as though Mother might be right. The later it grew, the more people gathered round her stall, at first, all the small boys and girls at the fair with their fingers in their mouths and such pathetic longing in their faces for the apples they had no money to buy; but afterwards grown-up people too stood hanging about, as though they could not keep their eyes off the fruit. From time to time one and another came and asked the price, but Mother stuck to her first answer and asked as much as in the morning. She was not going to sell for less, when everyone else’s apples were all gone; her turn was coming now, no doubt!

“Dear Mother saw the desire for apples in every face, and thought with every passing moment: ‘It will soon be too much for them, they only want someone to make a start.’

“But time went on and on, and even Mother must have begun to think that she would have to go home with all her apples unsold. So she determined to make a last effort and sent her maid to look for Snow-White, who was away amongst the stalls buying presents for all at home who had not been able to get to the fair.

“When Snow-White came back to Mother she ordered her to take her place for a time and sell the apples. Mother had been standing on the same spot all day long and her feet were so frozen that she felt she must move about a little.

“It was not with the best will in the world that Snow-White took her place to sell at Broby fair, but as she did not dare to say ‘No’ to Mother, she tied the shawl round her shoulders, drew on Mother’s gloves, and stood instead of her before the stall. And with many a warning to Snow-White not to lower the price for anyone who wanted to drive a bargain, nor to eat the apples herself, Mother went her way.

“But if she thought people would buy from her stepdaughter more readily than from her she was mistaken.

“Snow-White just had to stand there in the same way, guarding the apples without selling a single one. Old and young still gathered in a close ring round her, but no one offered to buy.

“Then a couple of half-tipsy young peasants came along with their sweethearts on their arms and forced their way through the crowd. They were excited and talking in loud voices and rattling their money as though it burnt their pockets. Snow-White was so frightened of them that she would have liked to run away, but she stuck to her post in the hope of at last selling something.

“But they came up to her and the first of them, without ever asking the price, straightway put his great fist over a heap of the best apples. At the same time he glanced at Snow-White and tried to look as sober and honest as possible, whilst he asked, ‘Where do these apples come from?’ Snow-White answered that they were from her own home.

“‘Yes, I have been there many a time,’ said the young fellow, ‘and I know you and your Father; a nice man the Pastor is too.’

“Snow-White gave a friendly answer, she liked him for speaking well of dear Father.

“‘I know you and he are both kind folk,’ went on the farm man; ‘kind enough to let a poor servant taste your apples without paying for them.’

“And before Snow-White knew what he was about, he had snatched a great handful of the beautiful apples and rushed off. And the sweetheart on his arm took some too as she ran after him and so did his friend and his friend’s sweetheart.

“But poor Snow-White had never dreamt of such a thing and was in utter despair that they had run off with so many apples and left no money instead. She wanted to run after them and get them back, but she did not dare, so she sent the man and maidservant who were standing behind her to catch them up. As they went she noticed the whole crowd moving close up to the stall. ‘Now they are coming to buy,’ she thought, and plucked up fresh courage.

“But not a bit of it! They never thought of such a thing, but ran up, ten at a time, and took as many apples as they could, whilst they cried out that she and her Father were far too kind to ask poor folk to pay for a couple of apples. And the little boys who had stood all day with their eyes on the shining fruit, pulled off their caps and filled them, whilst the little girls, who knew what watering mouths meant, rushed up and swept scores of apples into their aprons.

“Snow-White threw herself over the stall to protect it with her body. But what good was that? And she cried and entreated and told them how miserable they made her, but who paid any heed to her? It was not only the little boys and girls who snatched her treasure, but grown-up folk as well. And how they laughed and joked and thought it was only a little fair-day fun, as everyone who helped himself called out to her that she and her Father were far too kind to grudge them a couple of apples.

“Snow-White struck out right and left and screamed for help, but the apples were gone.

“The fair-folk cleared her stall before her eyes, overturned her boxes and barrels, and took all the fruit. There were plenty of wild good-for-nothings at the fair who came to take their part in the fun, which soon ended in fisticuffs and blows, so that Snow-White had to leave her wares to their fate and run away to escape being trampled to death.

“Just then back came Mother and found her stepdaughter robbed and weeping despairing tears of mingled fear and anger.

“Dear Mother seized her by the arm and shook her soundly. ‘You wait till we get home to-night,’ said she, ‘and I’ll teach you to give away my apples.’

“Indeed, it was no wonder that Mother was vexed, still it was hard that she should think her stepdaughter had done it on purpose.

“What a wretched home-going it was! They all sat in the carriage, Father, Mother, and Snow-White, and at first Father tried to chat away as usual. But Mother sat bolt upright in one corner with tight-shut lips and would not utter a word, whilst Snow-White did nothing but cry. Dear Father couldn’t take the loss of a few apples so much to heart and he was amused at the folk calling out that he was too kind to grudge them a couple of apples. He tried to keep up his spirits by talking to all the other homegoers as he passed them. He asked if they had got good prices for their cows, what they had given for their sheep, and if they had come across any of his apples.

“But after a while he grew strangely silent. He turned to Mother and sat for a long time looking at her, then stared straight in front of him, and his face grew all at once very old and weary.

“A little later Snow-White noticed that dear Father looked long and sadly at her, as though he was trying to read the thoughts of her inmost heart.

“Then he said, ‘You grow very like your Mother,’ and taking her hand in both of his he sat gently stroking it. It seemed as though her Father wanted to comfort and help her. Snow-White thought: ‘Dear Father understands that I did not do it on purpose. He knows I am not like that.’

“Father held her hand all the way home, but his head fell lower and lower, and when the carriage stopped at the door he sank down altogether. Nor did he stir when Mother and Snow-White got up. They thought he was dead.

“But it was not quite so bad as that, although it very nearly was.”

The Pastor’s daughter stopped a moment. Her voice shook, and she needed a little time to steady it before she could go on.

“Now you know how I am placed,” she said. “Mother can do what she will to me and I cannot complain to dear Father for fear he should have another stroke as he had when he drove home from the fair, thinking of the quarrel between us.”

“But can he not see it himself?”

“Maybe he sees, but he can do nothing. Father is supposed to be quite well again, but I know how weak he is. He has no longer a will of his own. Never again can dear Father be what he was that fine morning when he and I went together to look at the field of hay.”