Chapter III: The Yule Goat Bleats

1

Next day Per Anders dragged himself up, when it was getting late, but he was not worth much. He went out time and again to see to the boys, stood bare-headed and blue with cold, and fell foul of them: had they stopped the threshing already? At Juvik they always worked on to Thomas-mass Day, they knew that, didn’t they? “Don’t starve the crofters,” he said, “but keep them at it.--Tomorrow or next day we take the pigs, don’t forget that, it’s a silly way to let it bide any longer.” And all at once he asked if they’d remembered to water the horses. Then he crawled in, old and shrunken; from behind he looked quite done for.

“I almost think that’s the last time the old man will get me by the hair,” said Jens, when he had gone.

Per smiled and agreed, he was all complaisance today. Good child all over, as Jens said.

Per Anders went and sat down beside Ane, who had her hands full of needlework.--“You mustn’t bear me ill will, Ane,” he said at last; “for making you go _twice_ west to the crofts. You know, you haven’t broken your back with charity, Ane, in your time. Oh, I know, they deserve a beating more than a feeding. They’re always the same, the lazy dogs. But I don’t know. It feels so good; for oneself, I mean. When you’re getting old and thin-blooded--you’re getting older too, Ane. Up to now,” he said, smiling to himself--“up to now it was I that was the older of us two.” Then he thought of something else: “He he! Fire warning! What kind of vermin’s that?”

Ane looked up from under her kerchief: Faith, he hadn’t far to go now; strange how time passed.

“But, you see, a poor devil must have something to believe in,” he said, and then he left her.

In the evening he came after her to the door of the byre; she was there looking after the beasts that were being fattened. He passed his hand several times over the neck of the big wether: “Feel here, Ane, come and feel. He’s just ready.” He wouldn’t give in till she had felt. “Well, what do you say, Ane?”--“Oh, ay.”--“Won’t he make a grand wether for a funeral ale? I couldn’t wish myself a better.”

“Such talk!” sniffed Ane and shut the byre door, and then they trudged back. She saw how it irked him to walk. He noticed that and grumbled: “Foot-gear nowadays, it’s just trash. Nothing but heels. No ‘Low heel and deep tread,’ said Old Per Juvika, and that was a good saying!”

As he said that, he slipped on the ice and came down sitting. “Now you’ll have your laugh all the same, won’t you?” he thought to himself, looking at her.

Ane Juvika never laughed, except when somebody took a tumble, but then she made up for it. She laughed now till she was black in the face, and thought it was very sinful of her. Per Anders got on his feet again; she offered to help him, but he shook her off. It was the first time he had felt hurt by her laughter.

In the evening he sought out Per, who was up in the loft at work on a new bed. Per Anders seated himself on the carpenter’s bench, right in his way. He looked up at the roof-beams, over which lay a pile of boards and other unused wood. He cleared his throat.

“Suppose it should happen, Per, that I dropped off one of these days--but, mind you, I don’t mean to--then you’re to take those boards for my coffin. Remember that.” He pointed them out, they were stout deal boards. “For I mean to have boards that’ll last for a bit. I was a fool to lend out my coffin--it’s not right to have to trust to others to make a coffin for you. But you’re not much of a bungler, you’ll manage it, I dare say. Make her strong, Per!”

He talked on for a while about this and that, then slipped off the bench and out. At the door he turned; there was something he wanted to say, but he couldn’t call to mind what it was.

That night he sat on the edge of his bed looking at Per; this went on for a good while. He was breathing heavily, and his face was perplexed and miserable; it looked as if he was talking to himself. Then he climbed down and crept into bed. Per fancied he heard him mutter something about Jens.

They all went to bed early that evening, for they were tired after the night before, besides which the boys had to be up early to go to the mill. They had put the home mill out of gear in the autumn--that was the first thing to go wrong at Juvik, said Per Anders--and now they had to go right up the sound to Björland with their corn.

Jens had gone out to the stable, and Per sat listening on the edge of his bed: wasn’t he ever coming in? Per did not take his clothes off; after a bit he went into the kitchen for a drink of water, and then he took a turn to the stable. The horses had nearly finished their feed, and Jens was gone. “This evening again ...” muttered Per, and then he went in.

It was a starry night and calm, with a cold air from the east; the bogs shone white and fine, and the forest wound about the slopes like a mourning-band.

Valborg lay awake, but pretended to be asleep. She knew what was the trouble; and, besides, she was not used to interfering with Per. She knew him so little. Especially when his brother was in it, he never opened his lips to her. But now he spoke, standing in the dark over by the stove:

“He’s off to the crofts tonight again!”

Oh, they couldn’t be so sure of that, she demurred.

Oh yes, it was sure enough, he persisted. And all at once he hissed through his teeth:

“Wenching! Wenching!--You ought to be _flogged_, lad, upon my soul you ought!”

He went into the closet once or twice, to hear how his father was.

The old man lay in a broken, troubled sleep, coughing and tossing off and on; he was struggling with something he wanted to say.

Hadn’t he better come to bed? Valborg ventured.

Oh yes, he was coming. “Just you lie down and go to sleep,” he charged her.

When he heard she was asleep he lay down beside her with his clothes on, outside the coverlet. He stayed awake. The tall clock stood there ticking in its case, one-two, one-two, and the old man fought for breath in the closet. One thing Per could never make out, and that was whether his mother was asleep. Ay, or how much she knew or didn’t know.

It was long past midnight when at last he heard Jens at the outer door--he opened it gently and stole into the passage. By that time Per was there too, just as quietly.

The brothers knew each other in the dark; they stood face to face, as though holding each other fast with their eyes. Per closed the door well behind him. He seemed to notice that Jens was not scoffing now.

“Where have you been now, eh?” he asked in a low voice.

There was no answer.

“Haven’t you any shame at all?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Oh yes, Jens, it is. You know that.”

Again Jens said nothing, made to go upstairs. Per stood in his way:

“You may as well know it, Jens; if you bring home one of those from the crofts--then _I_ shan’t be staying long at Juvik.”

He could see how Jens took it: as if a branch had struck him across the mouth. For this was the last thing he looked for.

“No--no,” said Jens. “But as far as that goes--there’s no fear of that, just.”

“Faw, it makes me sick!” said Per. He went back into the room.

“Ay, spit it out, then it’ll blow over,” said Jens, as he went up to the loft.

“For sure, it’s wrong of him to carry on like this,” said Valborg; she was so glad she hardly knew what she was saying.

“Oh, Jens--you needn’t worry about him. He’ll pull himself straight again. _He_ knows what he’s about. He wasn’t born yesterday, you needn’t think it.--If he only would.”

Valborg could feel how he was trembling when at last he came to bed.

Jens stretched himself in his bed and yawned: “Tomorrow we’ll have God’s fine weather again, for all this!”

2

And so they had: clear sky and smooth water, and the Juvik brothers rowed to the mill.

Jens was his usual self; he was always in good humour away from home. He whistled or sang all the time, and now and again he mimicked one or other of the neighbours. He knew all the folk of the parish, and for every farm they passed there was one he could tell a story about. Between whiles he made a spurt, and he was strong as a horse.

Per said nothing. He might be angry with Jens now and again; but he never felt easy unless they got on well. He was glad Jens thought no more of what he had said last night. For the last thing he wanted was to be forced to leave Juvik; or to see Jens do so. The oars, as they creaked in the rowlocks, sang in his ears: “Don’t let him go! Don’t let him go!”

And all of a sudden Jens spoke out, straight from his heart:

“Take us one by one, Per, we’re two wretched creatures. But put us together and we’re a pair of stout fellows, we are that; both in good and in evil!”

Per did not answer, but Jens felt that he put more back into his rowing; they simply lifted the boat on their oars.

But Per was not so cheerful, as it happened. There was something in his mind--something new and strange: “The elder shall serve the younger.” Or, rather, he saw quite clearly what he had to do. For who should take the lead, if not he? But Jens was a queer brother to have.

“Now I’ve got it. And now it’s gone”--it slipped out before he knew what he was saying.

Jens wanted to know what it was. “It’s nothing, really. But I get thinking about things sometimes.”--“Ay, that’s natural,” said Jens.--“I can hear so plainly what they’re saying to me. But it isn’t so straight ahead.”--“No, we’re not rowing so straight either!” said Jens. After that he kept his mouth shut and there was nothing more to be got out of him....

There was a crowd at the mill, so they had to hang about waiting a long time and a bit more; and the Juvik boat gave the miller some work to do, she didn’t carry empty sacks, the saying was. On the way home they met the sou’-wester, and pretty stiff it was, so they had to turn back; for it’s no good holding on in bad weather with a boat-load of flour. “And mind you, it’s unspent weather, this,” said Jens; “it’s going to hold for a while.” It didn’t take them long to agree about this, and then they went into the shop and had a quartern apiece--one might just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, they said. There were several more who treated themselves to a quartern, and real good stuff it was, so it came about that they drank a skinful. Before Jens knew what he was doing, he lost his temper; there was a grin on him, but he hit out--the others did the same, and then he boiled over, he wouldn’t stand _that!_--he knocked them down one after another. He was known as the Juvik Bear, and they shouldn’t call him that for nothing. This time, though, they’d have grassed him, there were too many of them; but then it was Per’s turn to fly into a rage, he turned purple in the face, seized his ax, and dashed in. At that a good spirit seemed to come over them, it swept away their liquor and all the rest of their truculence, as they said afterwards--for what could they do against an ax and a drunken wolf?--The end of it was that Per and Jens had another quartern, and then they buried themselves in the hay somewhere and went to sleep.

When they woke up, the wind had dropped; it was evening, and the Juvik men started to row home. For it occurred to them, wasn’t it close on Christmas?

Darkness came and settled among the fells. The sea was black and smooth. A strangely still evening, the strokes of their oars called to the rocks and the rocks answered; the mountains rose black above them. The moon was in its first quarter, white and thin, its light fell only on the mountain tops to the northward, a yellowish gleam, as though it shone on a graveyard. They rowed and rowed. They had nothing to talk about, and that makes a heavy passenger in the boat sometimes.--Farm and croft they passed, lying along the shore without a sign of life. Here and there the moonlight fell on the grey face of a rock, on a frightened grey house or two that had awakened to so strange a day; then came patches of snow and again the black mountains.

Night came on. Never before had they rowed like this in the depth of night. Then all at once came a cry from the mountain side, the very ground opened and said “Hoo!”

“Horned owl!” said Jens.

Per brightened up, it did him good to hear somebody speak at last, and then he put his hand to his mouth and answered: “Hoo-ooh!” so that the rocks rang. He was a master at mocking the horned owl, had once lured him right up to the houses that way, and now he took it up at once and answered farther down the cliff. It went on merrily for a time, they rowed and hooted, and he followed them with his cries. But they soon began to shiver in their clothes, for now he was close above them, they couldn’t see him, but he sang louder and wilder than any bird they knew of. They answered from bravado--“We’ll teach you to sing dirges, damn you!” cried Jens, and his voice didn’t sound just right.

Then he came and perched on the top of their mast. A great black patch came sailing down through the air, without a sound, like the wraith of a dead man; a big head with bat’s wings.

“Haoo!” he sang out of his great open beak; they could hear how big and ugly a mouth it was.

“That there--that’s no bird,” said Per, and he spat calmly.

“Go back to hell, where you come from!” screamed Jens, shaking the rigging.

Blackie spread his wings, but sat still. He was even more uncanny now that he was silent.

Jens took an oar and waved it in the air. It was no use. Now he hooted again, in a _human voice!_ Per couldn’t help it, he answered. Then came a cold sneering laugh, as you might hear from a madman possessed of the devil.

And now there was an answer from among the hills, up on the Black Rock at home, a long and lusty fleering, enough to make your hair stand on end. The one on the mast took wing and flew to the crag--now they were two in the boat and two up there! And now came the cry, just as they were waiting for it: “Per and Jens!” it cried; “Per and Jens!”

The men rowed on in silence. They made fast the boat to a stone on the hard at home, heaved the kedge over the stern, and went their way.

But then Jens turned round and rapped out an oath that they were not going to _do_ this, no; the sacks were going up, if he had to carry them all himself.--“I was just thinking the same,” said Per. The way they did it was that Jens stood in the water with his sea-boots pulled high and passed sack after sack to Per, and Per dumped them against the boat-house wall; it went like chaff before a gale. But while they were about it they might as well carry the flour into the boat-house, and then they hauled up the boat.

They were now as calm as could be, took the food-box and the milk-pail and went.

“He must have been the same one that was after the Skarsvoe fellows one time,” said Jens--he didn’t really care what it was, but he stopped and listened to the eastward.

“If only one could tell--what that kind of thing _means_,” muttered Per. “But anyhow--if I’m thirsty, I’m going to drink, and if I’m wild, I’m going to hit out; I don’t ask anybody’s leave!”--he felt he was burning hot, and he walked on. “For if anybody has anything to say to me, let him come and say it in plain words.” The Skarsvoe fellows, ay, they got a scare that cured them; but they didn’t count for much anyway, there wasn’t much life in them.

But what was that? There was somebody going up the road in front of them, a little old man, round-shouldered and shrunken; but he left them behind, disappeared in the darkness up the hill.

“Hm, hm!” said Per. “Is that the way it’s going?”

“Father can’t have long now,” said Jens. For it wasn’t meant for them, this time.

They stepped out for home.

But Per Anders lay asleep in the closet, a little uneasy and short of breath, but otherwise he didn’t look badly.

“Tomorrow he’ll be on his feet again,” said Jens; he came out with a light heart.

Per followed him. “If only I knew what he wanted with me, that bird,” he was thinking; for a bird he was and nothing else, but why couldn’t he have stayed at home?

3

Per Anders did not get up next day. They soon saw what way it was going.

Jens and Per showed no sign. When they were alone together Jens made fun of what had happened the night before: It _hadn’t_ really happened, not a bit of it, that thing on the mast was all a lie--a stray horned owl at the worst!--Yes? said Per; he hadn’t thought it anything else. But Jens was smiling wherever he went: Per couldn’t fool him. He came upon him time after time, standing lost in thought. “There he stands as if someone had pulled his cap over his eyes, he doesn’t see a thing but black darkness; and he thinks he must get to the bottom of that! Well, I’m a lucky man, I am!” He said the same to Per when he joined him in the smithy: “I’m a lucky man, I am, Per!”--he planted his fists firmly on the bench.--“Yes?” Per looked up. He had never doubted it. “But what about a man who doesn’t know whether he’s to go forward or backward?” he said, looking down at his work. “Hears that something’s talking to him, and yet can’t hear a word.”--Jens was already outside.

As Per was going into the house he ran into a woman with a pail in her hand. He looked at her. She must be from the other side of the fiord. His face stiffened, as it always did before a beggar. He called to Valborg in the kitchen, and she came out. “Here’s one with a pail,” he said. “You’ll have to throw her something, to stop her begging.” He was there again when the woman came round the corner: “Isn’t he with you, your husband? Well, then tell him to come to the smithy.” The man came; it was the wood thief they had chased. “Where have you got your bag?” asked Per. The man fumbled with his jacket and pulled it out. “Come on”--and Per went to the storehouse. He filled the man’s bag and slung it on his neck: it was all he could do to stand under it. Per turned away, looking as if he was pretty angry, and the other had no chance to say thanks. Then Per came back; he was laughing with his eyes screwed up: “If you come stealing wood any more, you’ll get beaten. You rowed like a man, last time you were out.”

Meanwhile the Christmas work went on as usual, the pigs bled, the beer fermented, everything was ready that had to be ready, and then there was washing of both clothes and bodies. And winter came, real whitest winter with moonlight and good going for sledges. A load dropped from the shoulders of each, one could breathe again like a new man. The earth about one had turned friendly, and the sea too put on a bright look, even the cold gave its bite for old times’ sake. The night was not much to wrestle with any longer, it could not get in; a God’s word if one had to go out, a scrap of prayer before one went to sleep, that was all you needed.

The old man lay asleep most of the time. Then all at once he would be wide awake, asking after the boys and what they were about, whether the wood was brought in, or had they forgotten to water the horses. At other times he started up from his doze and fought and panted; it was so hard to get his breath, he was angry about it, couldn’t make it out, it must be a spite! “It’s stopping all my works!” he wailed. Then Ane had to come in and put him straight. “I’m not going to die in the middle of Christmas, am I?” he said. On the morning of Christmas Eve he asked if they had sent out the fresh-killed meat. Oh yes, they had been to this place and that. Ah, but had they been to Aasel’s? They looked at each other, but then Valborg answered: “Yes, Per’s just going.” Then he raised himself in bed: “God bless you, even if you’re lying. You mean well, Valborg.”--And Per had to go.

On Christmas Eve Per Anders was better. He didn’t get as far as the bath-house, but Per had to fetch the razor and shave him, and he got a new shirt on, and then he sat up in bed and ate his dinner, while the others were at table; for he declared he couldn’t miss the halibut, nor the porridge either. “Christmas is Christmas, even if it’s to be my last,” he added. He had two big Christmas candles beside him, and Little Anders knelt at his bedside and ate his porridge. “Oh ay,” he said to the boy; “now it’ll soon be all over; with me. And with your father too. Then it’ll be your turn, youngster. Eat away now; and let me hear there’s to be a man of you. Are you afraid of the Yule goat, eh?”--Oh no, Anders wasn’t afraid just then.

But when he appeared, the boy was properly frightened; a long, yellow face came in front of the window, and it bleated enough to make his flesh creep; it was a monstrous ugly beast and it upset others besides Anders; the maids jumped out of their chairs and screamed, caught hold of the nearest thing; and one of them snatched up the boy and held him fast, a great stout wench with a pale little youngster in her arms.

“Jens!” called Per Anders from his bed. He called a second time, in a tone that brought Jens slouching in.--“None of your child’s tricks with me!” he warned him. “For if you’re not scared now, you’re going to be; don’t forget that, Jens. For you’re not so much of a man as you think you are. Oh no, don’t you believe it. It sounded like a death call for me.”

He got no sleep that night, the food had done him no good. The others did not sleep either; they sat up and kept the watch-night, as the custom was. But Per was by his father’s bedside most of the time.

The old man was now going rapidly downhill, and this was not the last night Per had to spend in the closet. Time after time they thought the end was at hand. Ane hardly got a wink of sleep, she was always with Per Anders, and he obeyed her like a child. “Lie down now,” she said; “there, that’s it; now you’ll soon be better.”--“Shall I?” he answered, surprised and happy. But it wasn’t long before she had to come back. Per bent over him: “You must see that mother needs some sleep too.”--“Does she now?--ay, ay. But shan’t I be well again soon, heh?” He couldn’t bear the others to see how ill he was. “You mind your own business and I’ll look after mine,” he said to Per.

One day in the holidays he was talking about wanting to see his daughters. “What’s become of the children?” he asked as he lay dozing. Once or twice he thought they were there, and chatted with them off and on. “You’re in a bad way, Little Ane,” he said. “You didn’t make much of it. Ay, ay, ay! I know all about that. But it’s no good: you must mind yourself!--Is that you, Aasel? Just you drive your squirrel off to the woods and come and stay here--do you think you have enough meal to last you through the winter, heh?”--Then he turned to Ane, calm and collected: “You’ll have to send for the girls; it’s such a comfort to have them all here together, a house full of them.”

Messages were sent both to Haaberg and to the Wick, and on New Year’s Day they came. It was like a regular feast at Juvik.--Aasel had all her little boys with her, the husband brought her to the hard and rowed home again; Ane came just at the same time, alone in a skiff. It took her a little while to notice Aasel, and then she wasn’t any too friendly.

Per Anders had been in a bad way, his chest pained him so he could hardly keep from crying out; he said nothing about it, but he was hot and flushed and not always in his right senses.

When at last he saw it was Ane who had come, he tried to sit up in bed; but that was more than he could do. When Aasel came up with her children, he brushed the sleep from his eyes as it were, smiled feebly at the light, as a man does who has overslept himself, and then he greeted them one by one, in a calm, firm voice, beginning with Aasel and going down: “So _that’s_ Anders! and that’s Per, is it? and this one’s Jens?--goodness me, what a lot of Juvikings!”

He tried to talk to them, but had to give it up. They could hear how his chest cut short all his words. He let his eyes dwell on them again; then he looked into the living-room, where Jens and Per sat playing three-card loo.

It was a white day, and the strong light shone through the windows upon the walls and all the faces, it brought a feeling of bright winter air over fresh snow. The floor was newly scoured and strewed with juniper, the walls bright, but familiar, with shelves and crockery and cupboards, friendly faces for all who belonged here.

It was still both in the closet and in the room. It seemed so long since they had been gathered together here, all of them. Only the clock ventured to go as usual; there was nothing to stop her, she was old at it.

At last the mistress bethought herself that her guests didn’t live on Christmas brandy alone, they must have food. Jens got up and went out. Then Ane Haaberg came back to the sick-bed, her face shining with solemnity and self-satisfaction, blinking her eyes and drawing in her breath. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took her father’s hand.

“Now, father, you’re not to be afraid any more for me. I shan’t--do anything wrong!”

He pressed her hand, muttered something like thanks.

“No, for I’m not allowed to--to make an oath, from what they tell me. Not I, but the others, they tell me. So you don’t have to worry.”

Per Anders turned his eyes upon her. Turned them away again. Then he shook his head, very slightly.

“Ay, for it’s _redoubtable!_” said Ane.

He turned on his side, groaning a little, for he was in great pain, and began to stroke the head of Anders, who was by his bedside most of the time.

“Ah, Anders, Anders, I believe you’ll do well some day. Though I don’t think you’re going to be master of Juvik either. And maybe you’ll have a hard life of it, poor boy.” He was looking far beyond Anders, and there was a strange, far-away mist in his eyes.

Then he lay back again, had a fit of coughing, and struggled with his chest. Ane, the daughter, came with some medicine, wanted him to take it. He waved her away: medicine had never passed his lips!

When the fit was over he lay smiling. “Sit down here, Aasel,” he said. “It’s no trouble for me, you see, for luck’s always been with me--it’s no trouble to die, you know, if it’s given you to die in moonlight and clear weather. I know it now: it isn’t all nonsense either.--And wasn’t it luck, too, that we made a drop in the still before Christmas? Luck’s always been with me, she daren’t be anything else.”

He slept again and did not wake till next day. They were up all night, the two daughters; but Ane was tired and slept most of the time, and so did her mother. He talked and wandered in his sleep, and sometimes he laughed; it was uncanny to listen to, and Aasel said afterwards that she was all of a creep when he was at his worst. About midnight he lay listening, took hold of the side of the bed, and raised himself: “Listen to that ugly goat, how he bleats! Oh no, child, you don’t scare me, you don’t!”--The moon shone in so brightly that the walls were a-sparkle; it was so profoundly still and yellow outside, worse than the blackest darkness.

Just as they were starting for home next day, Ane and Aasel, he tried to collect himself and looked about him:

“What’s become of you, children? Come a wee bit nearer. One is left so lonely at the last. Left lying all by oneself.--I’ve come away from the folks round about. Left them behind in the dark. Let them stay there. Come here, I say!”--They were all standing round the bed.

He looked from Per to Valborg: “Ay, ay, Per. Ay, ay, Valborg. You’ll have to help each other along. Juvik’s a tough job. And--Per’s a tough job too. It all looks so queer to me. You must be kind to him all the same, Valborg. If _you’re_ too weak, then I don’t know....”

Then he turned away from Per, wouldn’t look at him any more. He was losing ground fast.

“Oh no, there’s nobody here that’s able for Juvik. The family’s gone to pieces, to my thinking.”

They guessed how it looked to him: they were not worth much, any of them, and it’s hard to leave things like that.

“Aasel, where have you got to?” She bent down over him. “Ah, there you are!” he smiled like a little child and felt for her hands. “You must keep plenty of pigs and goats at Juvik, when you get so far. And then you’ll have to drain the bog properly, that’ll be something to keep them busy, your little men. And--er--then you must be good to Jens and Beret, it won’t be so easy for them. That’s all. Right now--I take my staff.”

He was asleep almost before he had finished speaking. Jens twisted his face into a little grin and went out.

Ane and Aasel said good-bye and went their ways. They would soon come back; they meant to look in again before he passed away.

4

It was not to be. The next night, towards morning, it was all over. Most of the time he was talking, perhaps it was because he had never talked too much before; but his talk was to himself, and there was not much to be made of it. His mind was full of the old-time men; it sounded as if he _was_ first one, then another of them.

He was Big Per, the one who drove the Ommundstrand man and his horse through the ice; next minute he was Bear Anders: “Have you the pluck to stay out all night by yourself waiting for the bear?” Then he lay for a while sighing.--“That’s Greedy Per, that is,” he said. “Ah well, every little helps; if it only comes the right way; bless me, yes. Herring nets? What of it! I take everything that’s adrift in the fiord. If you’re _going_ to steal, son, you don’t need to stand shilly-shallying, you must take it as if it belonged to you. But now I’m a rich man--and it’s to heaven I ought to be going. I know what I’ll do: I’ll take all the stuff back! That’s a man’s work, that: restoring stolen goods! Quiet there in the boat-house, I tell you--do you think I’m afraid of the dark?--No, boy, that’s father, that is. That’s Anders himself. Beat his wife, ay, who else should beat her? Tell me that! Now I’ve paced the bounds, now we’ve rounded off Juvik--and now I’m drunk, and now I’ll give them all a licking; I’m not drunk more than once a year, am I?--he he he! That’s old Per Anders, that one, you can see that, can’t you? Both Per and Anders, ay. Oh, I’m looking at you, folk. I’m listening to you. Lord save us, how small and scared you are! Ay, there’s danger, don’t you hear the goat? It’s me he’s bleating for, and you jump out of your skins. Don’t you hear the racket over in the old house? Don’t you hear somebody moving about outside here? There’s a black fellow down in the boat-house. What did I see in the boat-house? Nothing to do with you, children. You can’t stand the like of that. But I tell you, they’d had their fling with him, a lot of those old Juvikings. For _he’s_ a mighty one, he is; it’s no shame to get out of the way of that fellow.--It’s all _gann_, I tell you!” he cried all of a sudden--“I’ll stand up to it, you’ll see!

“But you, Per, you’re nothing but a child. You and Jens, you hardly make one able-bodied man, the two of you together. A wee scrap of unbelief, ay, is that anything to boast of? Are you clearing a trail through the darkness, the same as I’ve done? Ha ha ha!”

The maids were afraid to go to bed that night. They sat in the living-room and slept. For they heard the bleating outside. They heard the rumpus over in the old house. Ane’s face was hidden away in her kerchief; she was reading a verse of a hymn, or maybe it was the Lord’s Prayer itself.

Then he started up, listening: “D’ye hear the goat?” But he lay back again, with a smile: “Pooh! it’s naught but the ladder and the birch. They won’t scare me!”

There was something ugly outside the house, they could tell that. And there was a wicked one riding on the roof. It was a night of doom.

Per Anders had a dire fit of coughing and rattling of the throat; then he said: “Come now, Ane. Give me my staff.”

“Pray to the Lord, pray to the Lord!” she whispered anxiously.

“M-m. If I never prayed to him before, why--”

That was the last he said. Ane opened the door, that the soul might depart, and then she arranged the corpse in the way it should be. She caught sight of the boy Anders, standing in the doorway. Valborg was aware of him at the same moment, and they both asked: “What is it you’re staring at, Anders?”

The boy pointed to the foot of the bed: “What was that man that was standing there?”

“There?” They looked at each other; their knees gave way under them. Valborg took the boy and put him to bed.

Jens and Per were standing outside the house awhile after. They didn’t know whether to go to bed or what they should do; they didn’t seem to know anything. They didn’t find anything to say either. They just looked at the moon.

The clouds came sailing from the east, making westward for the sea. They overtook the moon, which was going the same way, wrapped him round, and wanted to take him with them. Then he turned about and made for the east, dead against them, full speed ahead. He had a smile on his yellow face, but east he would go, that was his whole object in life.