CHAPTER V

THE PASTOR OF SVARTSJÖ

Early on New Year’s Eve the Pastor popped his head in at the kitchen door. What had they done with little Stormwind? He hadn’t seen her out with her toboggan on the hill. Surely they didn’t mean to keep her sitting indoors from morning to night like the other womenfolk.

It was Little-Maid he was asking for. On her very first day in Lövdala he had taken her with him to the tool-house and looked out a sleigh for her. And every morning since he had come to remind her to go out and coast.

At the same time he used to take the opportunity of teasing the housekeeper and maids a little by asking them if they really preferred sitting shut up in the kitchen all day.

But this time he quickly got his answer that the child had meant to go out as usual, but her mother had just come to see her. So Little-Maid had taken her to the dairy to look at the cows.

The Pastor stepped back and shut the door. He stood still for a minute or two thinking, then turned his steps to the dairy.

The kitchen-folk followed him with their eyes as he went. He looked old and weak after his illness in the autumn, but it was an understood thing that he must speak to everyone who came to the house, so it was some time before he could get as far as Marit of Koltorp. To begin with, Long-Bengt called out to him that a man had just brought a sick horse to ask if the Pastor knew of any remedy. And as soon as he had attended to the horse, up came two peasants who had to divide an inheritance and wanted him to say how much each ought to have, so that they need not take the matter into court. And it took a good hour before he could settle the matter sufficiently to offer them a drink to seal their agreement.

Meanwhile Little-Maid was sitting in a dark corner of the dairy talking to her mother, each of them on a milking-stool, and Little-Lad on his sister’s lap. He had been so pleased to see her again that there was no getting him away.

Mother and her little son had stayed on a few days at Nugord, but now they were going home and had taken the longer road past Lövdala to see how Little-Maid was getting on.

Little-Maid had surely never before felt such happiness as when she saw her mother step into the kitchen, coming as she did in the very nick of time to help her in her great trouble.

When they got down to the dairy Mother had, first of all, to say what she thought of the new tale of Snow-White that Little-Maid had been lying listening to for the last two nights. Was it possible that the Pastor’s daughter had been talking of herself?

When Little-Maid had told it all as well as she could, her Mother was silent for a long time, but at last she said: “I expect they did not think you were wise enough to understand what they said. But as you were, you must just show you are wise enough too, not to repeat it.”

But that was not all. Little-Maid had something else upon her mind as well. Yesterday morning the Pastor’s wife had come to her and asked so gently and kindly if she was happy, or if she felt homesick. No, indeed, of course she was happy and so comfortable. And she did so love the hens.

“Oh, yes,” laughed the Pastor’s wife; “and is there no one else you love besides the hens?”

Indeed, yes; Little-Maid loved the Pastor’s daughter as well.

And the Pastor’s wife had laughed again. Why was it that she loved Mamsell Maia Lisa?

“Because she talked so beautifully.”

“Well now,” said the Pastor’s wife. “Can you understand how she knows all she tells you?”

“I expect she finds it in the books that she sits reading at night,” was Little-Maid’s answer.

“Oh, she sits reading at night, does she?” asked the Pastor’s wife in the same gentle tone. “Then I suppose she has a candle.”

“She reads by some light, I know,” answered Little-Maid.

Now that night no sooner had the Pastor’s daughter and Little-Maid got into bed than the Pastor’s wife came in as usual and took away their candle.

But when the house was quiet, the Pastor’s daughter got up and fetched the tallow candle which she had hidden in the great grandfather clock, crept out into the kitchen, blew up the embers in the grate to get a light and sat down to read. She had a brother away in Upsala who used to write verses and send them to her, for he knew she was desperately fond of such things. And to-night she was learning them by heart. She must have been reading something very beautiful for she did not hear the door open, and never lifted her head until the Pastor’s wife stood over her and stretched out her hand to take the light from the candlestick.

“I suppose you want to bring us all to the poorhouse,” said her stepmother, “sitting here burning a light all night. Where did you get it from?”

“It is not dear Mother’s candle,” said the Pastor’s daughter.

“Whoever it belongs to, I’ll see to it that you don’t sit here bringing us to poverty,” said her stepmother. “I’ll teach you to waste the candles, I can tell you.”

With this she went away, but soon came back with a great piece of linen over her arm.

“Since you like sitting up at night,” she said, “you can at any rate make yourself useful. See to it that this sheet is seamed up by to-morrow morning.”

And then she did go, but her stepdaughter had to sit up all night over her sewing.

And someone else had no sleep either, and that was Little-Maid, who lay there reproaching herself for having ever said that the Pastor’s daughter used to sit up reading at night.

And this was why she had been so glad to see her mother.

She could picture no greater misfortune than that Mamsell Maia Lisa should get to know what she had done, and she begged her mother to take her home. She could not stay at the Parsonage.

Mother reminded her how comfortable she was, but Little-Maid did not mind being cold and hungry if only she could get away before the Pastor’s daughter was angry with her. But Mother insisted she should stay. “Raklitza shan’t go on domineering like this long,” she said. “I will speak to the Pastor myself. I have known him many a long day and I think he’ll believe me.”

At that moment Little-Lad pointed to the door. “There’s someone standing there,” he said.

Little-Maid and her mother turned round at once. There stood the Pastor in the shadow a few paces from them, leaning motionless against the wall. They were so terrified that they did not venture to get up and say good morning. When had he come and how much had he heard?

“Marit, come along with your milking-stool,” he said in a weak voice.

She hurried up with the little stool, and he sank down on it.

“Don’t fetch anyone,” said the Pastor; “it is only a giddy turn; you know I have had them all my life.”

They stood helpless before him. Marit of Koltorp was astounded to see how old he had grown. She had not noticed it so much at her brother’s Christmas dinner, but now she saw how thin and shrunken he looked.

“It isn’t dangerous,” he went on; “but it comes pretty often nowadays. You see, Marit, I am about done for.”

Very soon after he got up. “Don’t say anything about it up at the house,” he said, as he went out of the dairy with bent head and faltering steps.