Chapter VIII: The Trough of the Wave

1

It came over Per like a sweat one evening, that now he would go to Lame Andrias. It was strange he had not gone before; and just as strange that he was now on the road; he had not been out walking for two years.

He listened about him for the wind: it was here just now? No, there wasn’t a breath stirring, the air was dead still; only the clouds were on the move, they sailed eastward, were going to the mountains for the night. Per was too lightly clad, had only meant to go and sit awhile on the Knoll; but now there he was, on the road, and had gone a good way. He glanced up at a star which shot across the southern sky: that was a soul on the way to heaven. Ay, that was where it was bound for. _He_ was going east, to pitch into Lame Andrias.

Pitch into him? Well, or however it might turn out. Let it go as it may, he said. He could see the rascally Lapp already. “Mind yourself!” he said; “don’t let me get hold of you again!” Oh, he knocked him about cruelly--but what was he to do? For Andrias just laughed. Just stood there sweating spitefulness and puffing himself up.--Per was not so sure about going. For what had he to fall back upon, if this devil wouldn’t make him sound again? He slackened his pace; it almost seemed he was going on his knees to the scoundrel. No, now you must pull yourself together! And now he was his own father, old Per Anders, to the life--what would you do, Per Anders? Do you think you could live without your health?

“Devil take me!” said Per furiously, and with that he turned to go home. “Do you think I’ll ask mercy of the lousy beggar?” And he jerked his head eastward to where the Lapp lived: “Devil a bit can _he gann!_ He can’t make it good again either--all he can do is to limp about!” He went home. And now he found he had walked three miles or more, he had actually come all this way--it was uncanny how fast the time had gone.

Hale he didn’t need to be; he begged that of no man. For it was all up with him--had been for two years. And if he hadn’t humbled himself before, he was not going to do it now. The world was as grey as twilight, and full of ghosts and powers of evil; if one was to make one’s way fairly in it, one had to walk warily. He had been sitting still for two years now and had learnt that. And yet he was unafraid--that was what you might call being stout-hearted. The Juvikings, they had all been like that; one believed what one had to believe, but one didn’t cry for mercy.

Per had calmed down. There was this about health: it was so hard to do without it. If you could lure it back to you, that would be well worth while. But he didn’t care; let them keep it who had it. No doubt folk looked on him as one who had been chastised. Stupid folk are still folk, but Lord! how little sense they have. All the same, he groaned when he thought of them.

It is never still in the forest on a night of autumn. There is a rustling and a padding under all the trees, a blind and timorous faltering that gropes and gropes and gets nowhere, little straying, poverty-stricken steps, a pitiful wandering to listen to. It is the fall of the leaf. It is winter feeling its way.

Per stopped and listened to it; then he went on again. Slowly and cautiously--an ailing man. So he had been for two years now--“and that’s no bed of roses for one of our sort,” he said. Now he would have to drag himself home and be a sick man again. One chance he still had left, and that was the churchyard. The churchyard at blackest midnight, a dead man’s bone or whatever it might be, there was power in that! And there was nothing shameful in it, ’twas a cure grown-up folk might use. But Per was not so sure: he thought he would hardly come to that. They had been long enough, these two years, many a day there had been in them; but still he had never had a real mind to it. And it would be the same again. He would not lower himself for so small a thing!

All of a sudden he walked into Lame Andrias, who happened to be loitering along the Lauvset road in the dusk. The Lapp gave him a greeting, frank and free, stopped and took his time: “So you’re out walking, I see?”

Per had thought of passing on, but instead he went close up to Andrias:

“What the devil are _you_ running after, heh?”

It seemed to Per that the Lapp’s eyes stabbed through the darkness; they were black and bright, such eyes as you never see in anything _human_.

“You’d better beware!” he warned him, making his voice as low and deep as he could. But then he changed his tone, and Per himself was even more surprised than the Lapp: “Now you _shall_ tell me, was it you who took away my health?”

“Pray God, Per, to keep your mouth from such wicked talk!”

Per’s jaws were quaking, he was quaking all over; a weak and ailing man, he could hardly stand.

“Ay, ay,” he said. “Do as you please. But you shouldn’t regret it. If you made me sound again. You shouldn’t do it for nothing.”

He walked on, as soon as he had said these words; he couldn’t bear to stay any longer; faugh, what a stink! But Andrias followed him. He simpered and pleaded as blandly as could be: Per was not to think he was a _gann_ Lapp; he hadn’t learnt a word of that, wouldn’t dare to use it either, for it was uncanny work, it was hell-fire for your soul, God have mercy on us, there was no _gann_ left in the length and breadth of the land. No, but ghosts and goblins and the wee people, if you had them against you, then you’d better look out--oh, one was nothing but a crawling worm--

“To hell with you out of this, you dirty Lapp!” Per blazed out. He was walking like a giant. Sick he was, but dangerous to meddle with--“Get out of my light!” He would go home and be a sick man all his days.

It was almost as if he awoke out of a dream. He was in a sweat.

The forest and the hill-sides had been wrapt in a deep sleep. Now they quickened again, there was an awakening murmur all about one, a whispering and a snatch of song, now one heard it on this side, now on that. Now it whispered close to one’s ear, and now it called, laughing, far away. The breeze was in everything around, questioning and answering itself all through the darkness. “No!” said Per, letting it fill his lungs; “it’s not only the wind. It’s many things. There’s more alive here than wind and weather. Let it live, that wants to live; it’s not for a sick man to meddle with it. But there’s many things, and if I’d had my health--”

Haaberg lay high and still before him, with black roofs against the pale green sky; it looked so forlorn when one came from the east. And everything was asleep, as though Per did not exist. The shoulder of the mountain to the northward had taken on its night-time face, cold and lonely enough to drive one indoors; and behind it the sky had a look of death and eternity--one might be better off where one was.

But there was Anders standing out on the Knoll. “He’s been waiting for me,” thought Per.

“Have you been out walking?”

“Been taking a turn, ay.”

Per stopped and wiped the sweat off him. Anders looked the other way.

“I might give that Lame Andrias a dusting, if I catch him.” Anders said it without turning round, as he might have spat or yawned. But then he dropped his head, bashfully, and would have made off.

“That one? I’ve been having a word with him myself, child. For that matter--_he_ can’t do anything, don’t come talking nonsense to me!”

He had entered another world, the moment he saw Anders there; he scarcely noticed it, but it seemed an easy thing now to go in and take to his bed. Only it made him wonder how little Anders had been in his mind since he had been ailing; he had thought much more of Valborg, and she went on as if she didn’t see him.

2

Per was sitting out on the Knoll, next day. It was brilliant autumn weather and all the crops were well under roof. He liked to sit here in the daytime, in fine weather, like today. The Haaberg lands lay taking their ease, not yet clear of bushes and big stones and stretches of swamp, but there were broad acres and green meadows between, so rich and lush under the autumn sun, ’twas as good as a meal to see them. When he went over it like this, piece by piece, he could clean forget himself: before he knew where he was, he was clearing stones again, making the whole farm anew. “I was meant for that,” he said to himself; “Jens for pulling down, and I for turning inside out and putting it all in order.” Today it was the swampy fields that annoyed him--there the little people danced every blessed night, for sure. But he’d soon change that, and the stones would have to go--out of the way, pixies, here we come! He could already hear the sound of the plough, roaring like the breakers on the beach; oh, that was the boy to drive away the vermin.

But Per soon recalled how things were. He was done. So far he had come, but here was the flat rebuff. How it had come about was all the same to him. And now it would soon be two years since the wife took the reins. She didn’t do badly either; who’d have thought it? Valborg was not to be sneezed at. And she wouldn’t look at him, and he wouldn’t look at her; they slipped past each other as if they’d been greased. But that was another thing he had to put up with, a wife who wouldn’t take punishment!

The worst was when he was in company. It was a disgrace: a young man in the prime of life, and a Juviking to boot, who dragged himself about with a taint on him! The whole parish pointed at him--the man who had made a mess of it. That was why he kept out of their sight. And that was why he had started off east yesterday evening, he remembered that now.

All at once he plucked a lump of moss and flung it, his pain was more than he could bear, he stared before him, stiff in the face: “I’ve been going on like a Turk, and the Lord’s been like a Turk to me; that’s all I can make of it!”

Then he sat still, wagging his head.--“If only it was as simple as _that_,” he said. “But there’s a thousand things, the world is full of all sorts, it makes my head go round. A thousand things against you, and not one you can take hold of. And I _must_ have a hold of something. If I could lay my hand on this devilry, I believe I could cure myself!”

Per was a melancholy object, as he sat there. He had shrunk to a shadow, pale and sallow and lean so that nobody would have known him, his lips were blue as a dead man’s. But his eyes were the worst, sunken and bloodshot, yet they glared with a burning threat at the whole world.

But what was that? Was it the big bull that had got loose? Yes, of course, they had turned him out to grass together with the rest of the cattle, the whole herd was down in the meadow. And now he comes rushing up the road, bellowing enough to make your blood run cold; it must be womenfolk he’s after. He’s wild for them, heh!--ay, some of us are that, he he--now he’s tearing fit to shake the ground, now they can pick up their skirts and run for it. Per dragged himself farther along the mound: aha! there they came, two womenfolk, one grown up and one little girl, and the woman held up her skirt and showed him her petticoat, and it was red! A worse thing they couldn’t have done to Gustiborg, they were offensive enough to him without that, the womenfolk. But this was beyond a joke now, for she was lame, one of them, and the little girl pulled and tugged at her as hard as she could and got nowhere, and soon the bull would be on them--now he could see who they were, Ane-Marget Liness and Massi. Per jumped up, strong and light of foot as when he was a boy, picked up a stone, and started to run down the slope. “He’ll kill me, sure enough,” he said, “but that’s all one”; for there had never been so big and wild a bull in the parish. But then he could do no more, he doubled up and staggered this way and that, his feet wouldn’t carry him any farther. What in Jesu name was he to do now?

There was a shout from the summer byre, a loud, clear voice, a war-cry: “Gustiborg!” and the bull checked himself an instant and began to snort and tear up the ground--it was Anders who came running down, picking up stone after stone without losing pace; never had Per seen anything on two feet move so fast. The women stood as though transfixed, and Per too. Now the bull went for them, Per drew in his breath as if he had seen a ghastly wound; but at the same instant Anders was there. His first stone got the bull on the cheek, the next on the ear, at last one rang on his horn; but he had no more, and now the monster put his head to the ground and his horns were close to Ane-Marget. Anders made straight for him, got behind, and caught him by the tail; then came a dance like a whirlwind in flying snow. Per saw that the boy’s life was at stake, and he could do nothing to help him. He called to the women to save themselves, and at last they came to their senses, Ane-Marget limped up the hill and into the house; but Massi turned again and stayed to see what would happen. “Run and help him, can’t you!” she cried to Per; her face was white as snow, and her teeth chattered--“he’ll kill him!”

Anders has let go and cuts down the meadow, the bull after him like a red streak; now Anders reaches the heap of stones and is saved--that brute of a heap that Per had never got them to clear away. The stones rain fast, the bull halts and puts his head to one side, he daren’t open his eyes, at last one rings on his horn again, Per can hear it all that way off. The bull swings away for a second, gets another stone in a worse place, and dashes off sideways like a whipped dog. Anders after him, picks up a switch, and then they’re away west over the fields, Anders beating him lustily, ay, Per can feel it through and through--that now Anders means to drive the mischief out of him; it gives Per the same thrill to watch him--now he’s the master and means to be. The beast pulls up again and again, but as soon as he feels the switch, he starts off once more.

Now Anders comes up the hill. Per sits quivering like a wet dog. The little girl still stands there sniffling, though perhaps she doesn’t know it. As soon as Anders looks at her, she turns and goes indoors. She had white hair, and light-blue eyes which forgot to blink; a fine blue frock and red socks.

Anders sat down by his father. He was now about fourteen, and as big as many a grown man. He smiled and gave a little laugh as he wiped the sweat from his forehead: “I almost think I gave him something to go on with.” But his eyes were full of fight, there was such a keen blue in them, they searched the fields as though they had not yet found what they really wanted to tackle. Per took a long look at them, and at the boy’s face and the whole of him.

He too had once looked just like that, he felt, just as tall and supple and broad-shouldered, with the same small feet; oh, it was good when you could jump your own height standing--when you never made way for anybody! But such straightforward eyes he had surely never had; that was not to be.

And now Anders was as good as master here. Per felt how it warmed him all through, so new and unexpected--now they came and raised him to his place. Young Anders--Anders boy. For this was himself over again, however you might turn and twist it--don’t come talking to me! Now they could soon go ahead in earnest, with a new tally. Now they would have something to show, when Haaberg was all finished and to rights. “Now you can look up from your graves, Juvikings, and see if you know yourselves!” he said. “We’ll give you something hard to bite on.” It was all he could do not to hit the boy on the head with his stick, to hear how hard it sounded.

After that he was weak and shaken. Now he might go in and lie down. He had a creepy feeling--it was leaking out of him now, what they called life, ay, that was so, but it was good to sit here awhile yet. And even if he couldn’t get indoors without help, it made no difference; he wouldn’t trouble the womenfolk just yet.

The mountains faded into their finest purple for him, like a farewell, you might call it. And the autumn air sparkled invitingly wherever you looked; the sun shed gold on the wooded slopes and on the meadows, and the clouds stood still and looked at themselves in the fiord while daylight lasted; their faces shone so brightly, there was God’s peace in them. Haaberg was a good home.

“Isn’t it, Anders?”

“Oh ay. What’s that you say?”

“Haaberg. It’s good enough here?”

Anders looked at his father, turned his eyes on him calmly and firmly; then he looked away again:

“I should think so.”

There was power in those words. They could move mountains. “I should think so!” Per repeated them again and again, within himself.

Per got up, he would go in now. But he hadn’t the strength, he sank back again and lay trembling, and then he had a fit of vomiting. It was black blood that came up.

“Don’t matter a bit, Anders. ’Twill soon be time--to be laid under the sod, to the others.”

“Don’t say that, father!”

“Do you want me to go about like any other cripple? No. And now there’s no need.”

Anders helped him in. He had to carry him almost.

Per crept into bed at once.--“It’s good to stretch yourself out,” he said. The bed stood in the living-room, and there were the visitors, Ane-Marget and the little girl, and Valborg. Per lay looking at them. He did not hear much of what they said, he was in such cruel pain.--Anders had taken his place opposite, against the other wall, and there he sat and was master of the house. A tiny bit bashful he was, didn’t seem to make his eyes go the way he wanted. Oh no, Anders, bulls and the like one can deal with, but a little sprig of womanhood with fleecy hair, that’s something different. She let her eyes stray wherever they pleased and forgot to blink them, up and down all over him they went; but when they chanced to look at each other, they darted away as if they’d been burnt. Oh yes, Anders had a great mind to go outside now, somewhere behind the houses where he could be all alone--just you go, my boy, you won’t go very far. Not likely; you sit where you are, looking at your fists and at the floor. Oh ay, it’ll be for you to lay a new floor here; and she there, she’ll scrub it and scrub it with all her heart, till it’s frayed and worn out and waiting for a new one. A pair of them, ay. They wouldn’t bring her home to him from over the water; oh no, not that--it’ll be those two one autumn evening, behind the corn-stooks in moonlight and fine weather, she can’t get away, and he comes up and takes her by the arm, eh?--and then she’s powerless for life. Ay. _She_ won’t bristle up against him, that’s certain. Then there’ll be a houseful of white mops at Haaberg.--Per gave a little happy sigh as he lay.--And Petter, now he had him too in his mind’s eye: if only Valborg would put a little bit of stiffening into him, there’d be a man of Petter, no fear of that. For that matter, one might close one’s eyes straight away. Valborg’s not one to let go her hold. He grew happier and happier as he thought of her; for she had such a good face, she might be a mother for both him and them--that was really what she had come here for.

Per lay with a smile about his eyes; but his lips puckered little by little, and one wrinkle after another came into his forehead, like ridges in the sand at ebb-tide. When the pain inside tore him too violently, he braced his foot against the end of the bed and grasped the bed-clothes so that his finger-joints cracked. Then the same look came into Anders’s face, the same wrinkles tried to come into his forehead too.

3

Per did not get up any more, nor did anyone expect it. He lay there and did tolerably, he thought.

Valborg went in and out as usual. She looked after him as well as she could, but she did not look at him. Per kept his eyes on her and wondered: A devil of a woman she was, who wouldn’t take punishment. She wouldn’t have minded poisoning him, he thought, but forgive him, no, that she could not.

And what did it matter? For it was so strange when one lay as he was lying. Everything looked different. Especially now, since he had discovered Anders. “She thinks she manages us, she does,” he said to himself; “when it’s we who manage her and all the rest. We two!” he said, striking his hand on the bedstead--it was a weak and lean hand now, with no more force in it than a child’s. “But just you wait till Anders takes it into his head to strike!”

A strange gift was vouchsafed him now. He saw all things in an airy vision, both what had happened and what was to happen, thus and thus it fell out; and it was always Anders he had before him, he _was_ Anders through and through, lived in him year by year into the future.

Oh, those young scamps! They were like a treasure of silver to him. Whatever they might be up to, he knew it and took part in it; ’twas enough to heal a wound.

How well he remembered one time when they were small! The parson was out and about one day, going to visit a sick crofter. On his way home he looked in at Haaberg, and as he came out, the boys were in the yard, laughing and fooling and a bit above themselves. The parson asked them their names. “Per,” said Petter. “Paal,” said Anders. “Ah, I see, Peter and Paul, fancy that!” said the parson. Petter opened his eyes wide and looked at the sea: “Curse me if it isn’t herring the gulls are after down in the voe.”--“_What_ do you say!”--“_Curse_ me if it isn’t, that’s what I say!” The parson went back to their father in a great state, but Per just laughed. He called them in though, afterwards. “It was Anders that put me up to it,” lied Petter, looking boldly at his father. Anders stared at the floor. So _he_ got the thrashing, his back was dusted till he could only hobble. They hid themselves behind the stable, and Per could hear how they laughed. “That won’t be the last time you have to bear the brunt, Anders,” he said, as he recalled it.

And so they carried on. One night they heard a racket and a desperate shouting up in the loft. What was it? It was Steffen Big-Shoes. He used to go up there after a maid they had; she slept in the loft, and the youngsters slept there too--Steffen slept in the stables. This time he had gone up into the dark loft and got mixed up in a mass of brambles and fishing-lines and all kinds of odds and ends; an old tub had come down on his head and he thought the house was falling--he shouted for the maid with all his might, for this must be witchcraft and dirty work:

“Ele-o--Ele-o-nora, come and get me out!”

One evening at Christmas-time a beggar Lapp came tramping to the farm and asked for food. The maids were away and Valborg was in the byre. The boys promised him porridge if he would wait. Per dozed off, and when he looked up again, the Lapp sat eating porridge. When Valborg came out of the byre, the man was rolling on the floor. He had polished off a dish of raw groats. Valborg was furious, but the man begged the boys off so meekly: “They didn’t mean me any harm!”--He came off with his life, as it happened.

This kind of thing delighted Per. It was life, this, and life was a wonderful thing.

Ane sometimes came over from Paalsness, and Aasel from Juvik. Aasel had not much to say, for this was such a sad business about Per. Ane talked about her own affairs, from the time she came to the time she went away. “There’s nothing left of Ane but the drop on her nose,” said Per.--“Ah, but it’s a bright one,” said Anders.--“And it wears well,” said Petter.

The last thing Per did was to bring about an agreement between her and her husband’s heirs. He asked them to come, and he talked to them. “I tell you, if you don’t leave her in peace, I’ll come after you from the churchyard!” he said, and he gave them a look that brought them round: thus and thus it was to be.

Then he had the crofters with him one evening and told them that now it was Anders they had to deal with. And Anders was like this: if they showed themselves sensible, they’d find him so too.

He looked at Anders as he said it. It had come to this, little by little, that Anders had to be always at hand; but then he had become so open and trustworthy as he had never been before. At last Anders had to stay by him night and day. So they both wished it.

The nights were so long for Per, for his sleep was gone. A strange thing--nobody had lain like this before. For long spells he would lie listening. The night was so alive. Everything found a voice out in the darkness, and he heard each thing and distinguished it. There was first and foremost the wind, the old wind that haunted the place and swept along the walls and tried to get in. Per missed it when it was gone. There stood the houses, talking to one another. And there was the mountain, and there the sea. The earth lay on its back and sang. And the hidden waterfall talked so unweariedly, talked to the night and to itself.--Sometimes he had the stars. There they hung, those two; one just below the other. And so all over the sky; they wrote and they pointed, this way and that. Oh, Anders, it takes some skill and some patience, life does--what’s become of you, Anders? Then there was nothing but the darkness around him. That stood there waiting patiently enough--wouldn’t he come soon? Oh yes; he wouldn’t be long.

4

At last the end came. It was a moonlight night, as when his father died. Aasel had come across early in the evening, she had a sort of feeling how it was.

Towards night Per began to moan and fret, as he had often done of late: “Can’t you put rockers under my cradle, Anders? You see I’m lying here like a little child, don’t you? Can’t you carry me out into the sunshine? I’m lying in a pitch-dark cellar.” But then he plucked up courage again and was fully conscious.--“Do you think, Anders, that any of the others have lain like this and known what was coming?”--No, Anders couldn’t say. “No,” smiled Per. “None of the Juvikings has tried this. And now, Anders, now I’m busy thinking. Heh? When the body’s done for, you see, the thoughts begin. And they’re strong. Go clean through a mountain. I see everything. I see you before me like a great tree, Anders. Nothing to be uneasy about. You and I, you know!”

But as soon as Anders was out of sight, his fears came on him: “There’s such a chilly cry outside, what is it? What’s become of you, Anders? I’m lying here all by myself, on my back, can’t turn over. Every one of them--has gone and left me.”

Anders bent over him and talked him round:

“There. That’ll be better, you’ll see.”

And Per whimpered in a clear childish voice:

“Ahaha! That’s much better! But how do you think it’ll be with Jens?”

Aasel sat on the bed beside him. She was pale and strange-looking, and Per did not know her at first.--“What if we sent for the parson, Per?”

“Parson? Ay, there can’t be any harm in that.”

No, for then he could confess how it was, about Morten Aune and all that was on his mind.

On his mind? He looked about for Anders, caught his eye: “There’s nothing on my mind--is it likely?” He summoned all the strength he had left and raised himself on his elbow: “No, Aasel, I’ll tell you one thing. It was _the Lord’s hand_, child, that was against me. _The Lord’s mighty hand._ I couldn’t stand up against that, could I, Anders? I see it in the stars and in everything there is--Anders and I.” With that he turned away from her.--“No, Anders, I lie here with honour. The little people and Lapp _gann_ and all such like--they have their power. And we have ours. But if we have _Him_ against us, then we’re too weak. And now I’m to take my staff and go. For now I see nothing else before me but you. And you’re like a great wild cherry-tree, Anders, with blossom and fruit both--now we’ll make a fresh start, Anders!”

But Aasel couldn’t let him be. Her shoulders were bent, she was not far from tears--“But if you’d try to pray, Per, just the least little bit? That the Lord would forgive you everything?”

He looked at her, and from her to Anders again, more and more uneasily, till he met the boy’s eyes and was comforted.--“Ay, there’s no shame in that,” he said. Aasel was glad, and clasped his hand. But he drew it back. One could see there was something at work in him.

“No. I will not. I’d rather--suffer my punishment. We’re not that sort. Are we, Anders?--I’m best off among our own. And fair’s fair. I will die with honour, Anders! _They_ will have it so.”

There was silence in the room. Aasel got up from the bed and went and sat on a stool. Valborg was sitting by the stove. She was shaking all over, but not with terror; she hated Aasel for coming and upsetting Per like this, and now she looked at her with a cold smile: there, she could hear he was no small man! She herself had seen how small he was, and that was her joy; even so, the others didn’t come up to his shoulders.

Aasel went upstairs and lay down. They were to wake her if there was any change. Valborg lay on her bed. Hour after hour went by.--“Are you there, Anders?” asked Per from time to time.

And then he whispered, in sudden fear:

“Now you must hold on to me, Anders. I’m going now! Downhill, over the mountains--can’t you hold on to me just a little?”

He lay choking and wheezing one hour and two hours; it was an eternity. All at once he gave a little laugh:

“There’s Morten, outside. Take care Anders doesn’t come out and get you!--There--they’re knocking on the wall for me, don’t you hear it, Anders?”

“It was yourself, that’s all; you were doing it yourself.”

“Ah, was that it?”

He rallied, so strangely that Anders scarcely knew what to think.

“But what’s this, father, do you want to suck my hand?”

“Hm, no, that--that’s not it either.”

Anders stood as if he had been burnt. His father had kissed the back of his hand.

“But hold on to me now--do you think we shall get across, Anders? I’ve been down in a trough of the waves all my time--now we’re going up again--what’s become of you? _It was our kin that brought me here, Anders!_”

That was the last he said. Anders held the candle before him and waited till it flickered no more. Then he closed the mouth and laid his finger on the eyelids.

Valborg was asleep over in the other bed; she had had no proper sleep for many nights. Now she awoke and sat upright. She did but look at Anders, and he muttered something like a yes.

She sat in her bed. He over on the bench.--No, it was still outside. A still, clear night. A faint breath of wind stirred in the forest and floated away. Not a dog barked. Not a sound came from the stables. It was _the hand of the Lord_. And that brings stillness in the air. Valborg forgot that Anders was in the room.

“Now it has come,” she said. “What was so much in my mind when I came away from home.--But the Lord knows why _he_ should be struck down.”

5

Liness was again the host at this funeral ale. Broader than ever he stood at the door and received the guests, and never had he purred so benevolently over every dram, and never drunk so faithfully with each one of them. He stuck to it till he was well heated, but even so he could not raise any spirit in them. They didn’t know how to take it. “See here, men,” he said; “we’re going across now to take a look at Per; any of you that want to can come along; there’s no compulsion; if anybody don’t want to, I’ll make him.” They came dribbling quietly after him, and just as quietly they dribbled back. And they ate and they drank, and the corpse was sung out with a hymn, and the bell tolled over it, they came back and went to table again, did their duty by it, so that at the last the room was in a buzz of talk. But there was no ring in the folk, said Liness; they were like a bell without a clapper. The trouble must be that they couldn’t believe he was dead, the man whose funeral they were keeping. It was not that they were bothered about where Per had gone, as he had died before his time; no doubt he had gone where he ought to go; but what were they to say?

Next day there was a let-up, when they came to table for the last time. Then Anders seated himself at the head of the table, taking his place as the custom was in those days. He was now master of the house.

“Welcome to my table, folk!” he said. “And thanks, all of you, for seeing father off on his last journey. He ought to have had a better funeral ale; but we’ve done the best we could.”

He said it like a grown-up man. At first they looked at him with rather long faces, and his mother was upset. But as they met his eyes one by one, they settled down. He did not smile, did not turn red even; he sat with the butt of his knife planted on the table and turned a steady eye on them: they hadn’t come here to be bashful, had they? With that he fell to on the food, and they did the same. It was like a new room they were sitting in.

He stood at the door and took them all by the hand, as they went away one after another.

It grew into a little legend in the parish, this of Anders of Haaberg: he was quite a man, that boy, he was so. _He_ knew how to take his place, and he filled it. This and that he had said at his father’s funeral; it grew into a long string of good words, as it passed from man to man. Soon there was no one who remembered Per any more.