The night of the dance at Strong Ingmar's, Tims Halvor was away from home, and his wife, Karin, slept alone in the little chamber off the living-room. In the night Karin had a frightful dream. She dreamt that Elof was alive and was holding a big revel. She could hear him in the next room clinking glasses, laughing loudly, and singing ribald songs. She thought, in the dream, that Elof and his boon companions were getting noisier and noisier, and at last it sounded as though they were trying to break up both tables and chairs. Then Karin became so frightened that she awoke. But even after she had awakened the noise continued. The earth shook, the windows rattled, the tiles on the roof were loosened, and the old pear trees at the gables lashed the house with their stout branches. It was as if Judgment Day had come.

Just when the noise was at its height a window pane was sprung, and the shattered glass fell jingling against the floor. A violent gust of wind rushed through the room, and then Karin thought she heard a laugh quite close to her ear--the same kind of laugh that she had heard in the dream. She fancied she was about to die. Never had she felt such a sense of terror; her heart stopped, and her whole body became numb and cold as ice.

All at once the noise died down, and Karin, as it were, came back to life. The raw night wind came sweeping into the room; so after a little Karin decided to get up and stuff something into the broken window pane. As she stepped out of the bed, her legs gave way, and she found that she could not walk. She did not cry for help, but quietly laid down again. "I'll surely be able to walk when I feel more composed," she thought. In a few moments she made another attempt. This time, too, her legs failed her, and she fell prone on the floor beside the bed.

In the morning, when people were astir in the house, the doctor was called in. He was at a loss to understand what had come over Karin. She did not appear to be ill, nor was she paralyzed. He was of the opinion that her trouble had been brought on by fright.

"You'll soon be all right again," he assured her. Karin listened to the doctor, but said nothing. She felt certain that Elof had been in the room during the night, and that he was the cause of her trouble. She also had the feeling that she would never recover from this shock.

All that morning she sat up in bed, and brooded. She tried to reason out why God had let this trial come upon her. She examined her conscience thoroughly, but could not discover that she had committed any special sin that merited such a terrible punishment. "God is unjust to me," she thought.

In the afternoon she was taken to Storm's mission house, where at that time a lay preacher named Dagson led the meetings. She hoped that he could tell her why she had been punished in this way.

Dagson was a popular speaker, and never had he had so many hearers as on that afternoon. My, but what a gathering of people down at the mission house! And no one talked of anything but what had happened in the night at Strong Ingmar's hut. The whole community was in a state of terror, and had turned out in full force, in order to hear the Word of God preached with a force that would annihilate their fears. Hardly a quarter of the people could get inside; but windows and doors were wide open, and Dagson had such a powerful voice that he could be heard even by those on the outside. Of course he knew what had occurred, and what the people wanted to hear. He opened his address with a terror-striking word picture of hell and the prince of darkness. He reminded them of the evil one who skulks about in the dark to capture souls, who lays the snares of sin and sets the traps of vice. The people shuddered. They seemed to see a world full of devils, tempting and enticing them to destruction. Everything was a sin and a danger. They were wandering among pitfalls, hunted and tormented like the wild beasts of the forest. When Dagson talked in this strain, his voice pierced the room like a blasting wind, and his words were like tongues of fire.

All who heard Dagson's sermon likened it to a roaring torrent of flame. With all this talk about demons and fire and smoke, they had the same feeling as when trapped in a burning forest--when the fire creeps along the moss upon which you are treading, and smoke clouds fill the air you breathe, and the heat singes your hair, while the roar of the fire fills your ears, and flying sparks set fire to your clothing.

Thus did Dagson drive the people through flame and smoke and desolation. They had fire in front of them, fire behind them, and fire to left and right of them, and saw only destruction ahead of them. Yet, after taking them through all these horrors, he finally led them to a green spot in the forest, where it was peaceful and cool and safe. In the centre of a flowery meadow sat Jesus, with His arms outstretched toward the fleeing and hunted men and women who cast themselves at His feet. Now all danger was past, and they suffered no further distress nor persecution.

Dagson spoke as he himself felt. If he could only lay himself down at Jesus' feet, a sense of great peace and serenity would come to him, and he had no more fear of the snares of the world.

After the service there was great emotional excitement. Many persons rushed up to the speaker and thanked him, with tears streaming down their faces. They told him that his words had awakened them to a true faith in God. But all this time Karin sat unmoved. When Dagson had finished speaking, she raised her heavy eyelids and looked up at him, as if reproaching him for not having given her anything. Just then some one outside cried in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire congregation:

"Woe, woe, woe to those who give stones for bread! Woe, woe, woe to those who give stones for bread!"

Whereupon everybody rushed out, curious to see who it was that had spoken those words, and Karin was left sitting there in her helplessness. Presently members of her own household came back, and told her that the person who had cried out like that was a tall, dark stranger. He and a pretty, fair-haired woman had been seen coming down the road, in a cart, during the service. They had stopped to listen, and just as they were about to drive on, the man had risen up and spoken. Some folks thought they knew the woman. They said she was one of Strong Ingmar's daughters--one of those who had gone to America and married there. The man was evidently her husband. Of course it is not so easy to recognize a person whom one has known as a young girl in the ordinary peasant costume, when she comes back a grown woman dressed up in city clothes.

Karin and the stranger were evidently of the same mind regarding Dagson. Karin never went to the mission house again. But later in the summer, when a Baptist layman came to the parish, baptizing and exhorting, she went to hear him, and when the Salvation Army began to hold meetings in the village, she also attended one of these.

The parish was in the throes of a great religious upheaval. At all the meetings there were awakenings and conversions. The people seemed to find what they had been seeking. Yet among all those whom Karin had heard preach, not one could give her any consolation.

***

A blacksmith named Birger Larsson had a smithy close by the highroad. His shop was small and dark, with a low door, and an aperture in place of a window. Birger Larsson made common knives, mended locks, put tires on wheels and on sled runners. When there was nothing else to be done, he forged nails.

One evening, in the summer, there was a rush of work at the smithy. At one anvil stood Birger Larsson flattening the heads of nails; his eldest son was at another anvil forging iron rods and cutting off pins. A second son was blowing the bellows, a third carried coal to the forge, turned the iron, and, when at white heat, brought it to the smiths. The fourth son, who was not more than seven years old, gathered up the finished nails and threw them into a trough filled with water, afterward bunching and tying them.

While they were all hard at work a stranger came up and stationed himself in the doorway. He was a tall, swarthy-looking man, and he had to bend almost double to look in. Birger Larsson glanced up from his work to see what the man wanted.

"I hope you don't mind my looking in, although I have no special errand here," said the stranger. "I was a blacksmith myself in my younger days, and can never pass by a smithy without first stopping to glance in at the work."

Birger Larsson noticed that the man had large, sinewy hands--regular blacksmith's hands. He at once began to question him as to who he was and whence he came. The man answered pleasantly, but without disclosing his identity. Birger thought him clever and likable, and after showing him around the shop, he went outside with him and began to brag about his sons. He had seen hard times, he said, before the boys were big enough to help with the work; but now that all of them were able to lend a hand, everything went well. "In a few years I expect to be a rich man," he declared.

The stranger smiled a little at that and said he was pleased to hear that Birger's sons were so helpful to him. Placing his heavy hand on Birger's shoulder, and looking him square in the eyes, he said: "Since you have had such good aid from your sons in a material way, I suppose you also let them help you in the things that pertain to the spirit?" Birger stared stupidly. "I see that this is a new thought to you," the stranger added. "Ponder it till we meet again." Then he went on his way smiling, and Birger Larsson, scratching his head, returned to his work. But the stranger's query haunted his mind for several days. "I wonder what made him say that?" he mused. "There must be something back of it all that I don't understand."

***

The day after the stranger had talked with Birger Larsson an extraordinary thing took place at Tims Halvor's old shop, which since his marriage to Karin had been turned over to his brother-in-law, Bullet Gunner. Gunner was away at the time, and, in his absence, Brita Ingmarsson tended the shop. Brita was named after her mother, Big Ingmar's handsome wife, whose good looks she had inherited. Moreover, she had the distinction of being the prettiest girl ever born and reared on the Ingmar Farm. Although she bore no outward resemblance to the old Ingmars, she was, nevertheless, quite as conscientious and upright as any of them.

When Gunner was absent Brita always ran the business in her own way. Whenever old Corporal Felt would come stumbling in, tipsy and shaky, and ask for a bottle of beer, Brita would give him a blunt "No," and when poor Kolbjörn's Lena came and wanted to buy a fine brooch, Brita sent her home with several pounds of rye meal. The peasant woman who dropped in to buy some light flimsy fabric was told to go home and weave suitable and durable cloth on her own loom. And no children dared come into the shop to spend their poor coppers for candy and raisins when Brita was in charge there.

That day Brita had not many customers. So for hours and hours she sat quite alone, staring into vacancy, despair burning in her eyes. By and by she got up and took out a rope; then she moved a little stepladder from the shop into the back room. After that she made a loop in one end of the rope, and fastened the other end to a hook in the ceiling. Just as she was about to slip her head into the noose, she happened to look down.

At that moment the door opened and in walked a tall, dark man. He had evidently entered the shop without her having heard him, and on finding no one in attendance, had stepped behind the counter and opened the door to the next room.

Brita quietly came down from the ladder. The man did not speak, but withdrew into the shop, Brita slowly following him. She had never seen the man before. She noticed that he had black curly hair, throat whiskers, keen eyes, and big, sinewy hands. He was well dressed, but his bearing was that of a labourer. After seating himself on a rickety chair near the door, he began to stare hard at Brita.

By that time Brita was again standing behind the counter. She did not ask him what he wanted; she only wished he would go away. The man just stared and stared, never once taking his eyes off her. Brita felt that she was being held by his gaze, and could not move. Presently she grew impatient, and said, in her mind: "What's the use of your sitting there watching me? Can't you understand that I'm going to do what I want to do, anyhow, as soon as I'm left alone? If this were only something that could be helped," Brita argued mentally, "I wouldn't mind your hindering me, but it can't be remedied now."

All the while the man sat gazing intently at her.

"Let me say to you that we Ingmars are not fitted to be shopkeepers," Brita continued in her thoughts. "You don't know how happy we were, Gunner and I, till he took up with this business. Folks certainly warned me against marrying him; they didn't like him, on account of his black hair, his piercing eyes, and his sharp tongue. But we two were fond of each other, you see, and there was never a cross word between us till Gunner took over the shop. But since then all has not been well. I want him to conduct the business in my way. I can't abide his selling wine and beer to drunkards, and it seems to me that he ought to encourage people in buying only such things as are useful and necessary; but Gunner thinks this a ridiculous notion. Neither of us will give in to the other, so we are forever wrangling, and now he doesn't care for me any more."

She gave the man a savage look, amazed at his not yielding to her mute entreaties.

"Surely you must understand that I cannot go on living under the shame of knowing that he lets the bailiff serve executions upon poor people and take from them their only cow or a couple of sheep! Can't you see that this thing will never come right? Why don't you go, and let me put an end to it all!"

Brita, under the man's gaze, gradually became quieter in her mind, and in a little while she began to cry softly. She was touched by his sitting there and protecting her against herself.

As soon as the man saw that Brita was weeping, he rose and went toward the door. When he was on the doorstep, he turned and again looked straight into her eyes, and said in a deep voice: "Do thyself no harm, for the time is nearing when thou shalt live in righteousness."

Then he went his way. She could hear his heavy footsteps as he walked, down the road. Brita ran into the little room, took down the rope, and carried the stepladder back into the shop. Then she dropped down on a box, where she sat quietly musing for two full hours. She felt, somehow, that for a long time she had wandered in a darkness so thick that she could not see her hand before her. She had lost her way and knew not whither she had strayed, and with every step she had been afraid of sinking into a quagmire or stumbling headlong into an abyss. Now some one had called to her not to go any farther, but to sit down and wait for the break of day. She was glad that she would not have to continue her perilous wanderings; now she sat quietly waiting for the dawn.

***

Strong Ingmar had a daughter who was called Anna Lisa. She had lived in Chicago for a number of years, and had married there a Swede named John Hellgum, who was the leader of a little band of religionists with a faith and doctrine of their own. The day after the memorable dance night at Strong Ingmar's, Anna Lisa and her husband had come home to pay a visit to her old father.

Hellgum passed his time taking long walks about the parish. He struck up an acquaintance with all whom he met on the way. He talked with them at first of commonplace things; but just before parting with a person, he would always place his large hand upon his or her shoulder, and speak a few words of comfort or warning.

Strong Ingmar saw very little of his son-in-law, for that summer the old man and young Ingmar, who had now gone back to the Ingmar Farm to live, were hard at work daytimes putting up a sawmill below the rapids. It was a proud day for Strong Ingmar when the sawmill was ready and the first log had been turned into white planks by the buzzing saws.

One evening on his way home from work, the old man met Anna Lisa on the road. She looked frightened, and wanted to run away. Strong Ingmar, seeing this, quickened his pace, thinking all was not well at home. When he reached his but he stopped short, frowning. As far back as he could remember, a certain rosebush had been growing outside the door. It had been the apple of his eye. He had never allowed any one to pluck a rose or a leaf from that bush. Strong Ingmar had always guarded the bush very tenderly, because he believed it sheltered elves and fairies. But now it had been cut down. Of course it was his son-in-law, the preacher, who had done this, as the sight of the bush had always been an eyesore to him.

Strong Ingmar had his axe with him, and his grip on the handle tightened as he entered the hut. Inside sat Hellgum with an open Bible before him. He raised his eyes and gave the old man a piercing look, then went on with his reading; this time aloud:

"Even as ye think, we will be as the heathen, as the families of the countries, to serve wood and stone, it shall not be at all as ye think. As I live, saith the Lord God, surely with a mighty hand, and with stretched-out arm, and with fury poured out, will I rule over you--"

Without a word Strong Ingmar turned and walked out of the house. That night he slept in the barn. The following day he and Ingmar Ingmarsson set out for the forest to burn charcoal and fell timber. They were to be gone the whole winter.

On two or three occasions Hellgum had spoken at prayer meetings and outlined his teaching, which he maintained was the only true Christianity. But Hellgum, who was not as eloquent a speaker as Dagson, had made no converts. Those who had met him outside and had only heard him say a few telling words, expected great things from him; but when he tried to deliver a lengthy address he became heavy, prosy, and tiresome.

***

Toward the close of summer Karin became utterly despondent over her condition. She rarely spoke. All day long she sat motionless in her chair. She went to hear no more preachers, but stayed at home, brooding over her misfortune. Once in a while she would repeat to Halvor her father's old saying about the Ingmars not having anything to fear so long as they walked in the ways of God. Now she had come to the conclusion that there was no truth even in that.

Halvor, not knowing what to do, on one occasion suggested that she talk with the newest preacher, but Karin declared that she would never again look to a parson for help.

One Sunday, toward the end of August, Karin sat at the window in the living-room. A Sabbath stillness rested over the farm, and she could hardly keep awake. Her head kept sinking nearer and nearer her breast, and presently she dropped into a doze.

She was suddenly awakened by the sound of a voice just outside her window. She could not see who the speaker was, but the voice was strong and deep. A more beautiful voice she had never heard.

"I know, Halvor, that it doesn't seem reasonable to you that a poor, uneducated blacksmith should have found the truth, when so many learned men have failed," said the voice.

"I don't see how you can be so sure of that," Halvor questioned.

"It's Hellgum talking to Halvor," thought Karin, trying to close the window, which she was unable to reach.

"It has been said, as you know," Hellgum went on, "that if somebody strikes us on one cheek we must turn the other cheek also, and that we should not resist evil, and other things of the same sort; all of which none of us can live up to. Why, people would rob you of your house and home, they'd steal your potatoes and carry off your grain, if you failed to protect what was yours. I guess they'd take the whole Ingmar Farm from you."

"Maybe you're right," Halvor admitted.

"Well, then, I suppose Christ didn't mean anything when He said all that; He was just talking into the air, eh?"

"I don't know what you're driving at!" said Halvor.

"Now here's something to set you thinking," Hellgum continued. "We are supposed to be very far advanced in our Christianity. There's no one nowadays who steals, no one who commits murder or wrongs the widow and the fatherless, and of course no one hates or persecutes his neighbour any more, and it wouldn't occur to any of us, who have such a good religion, to do any wrong!"

"There are many things that aren't just as they ought to be," drawled Halvor. He sounded sleepy, and anything but interested.

"Now if you had a threshing machine that wouldn't work, you'd find out what was wrong with it. You wouldn't give yourself any rest till you had discovered wherein it was faulty. But when you see that it is simply impossible to get people to lead a Christian life, shouldn't you try to find out whether there is anything the matter with Christianity itself?"

"I can't believe there are any flaws in the teachings of Jesus," said Halvor.

"No, they were unquestionably sound from the start; but it may be that they have become a little rusty, as it were, from neglect. In any perfect mechanism, if a cog happens to slip--only one tiny little cog--instantly the whole machinery stops!"

He paused a moment as if searching for words and proofs.

"Now let me tell you what happened to me a few years ago," he resumed. "I then tried for the first time in my life to really live by the teachings. Do you know what the result was? I was at that time working in a factory. When my fellow-workmen found out what manner of man I was, they let me do a good share of their work in addition to my own. In thanks they took the job away from me by conniving to throw the blame on me for a theft committed by one of them. I was arrested, of course, and sent to the penitentiary."

"One doesn't ordinarily run across such bad people," returned Halvor indifferently.

"Then said I to myself: It wouldn't be very hard to be a Christian if one were only alone on this earth, and there were no fellow humans to be reckoned with. I must confess that I really enjoyed being in prison, for there I was allowed to lead a righteous life, undisturbed and unmolested. But after a time I began to think that this trying to be good in solitude was about as effective as the automatic turning of a mill when there's no corn in the grinder. Inasmuch as God had seen fit to place so many people in the world," I reasoned, "it must have been done with the idea that they should be a help and a comfort to one another, and not a menace. It occurred tome, finally, that Satan must have taken something away from the Bible, so that Christianity should go to smash."

"But surely he never had the power to do that," said Halvor.

"Yes; he has taken out this precept: Ye who would lead a Christian life must seek help among your fellowmen."

Halvor did not venture a reply, but Karin nodded approvingly. She had listened very carefully, and had not missed a word.

"As soon as I was released from prison," Hellgum continued, "I went to see an old friend, and asked him to help me lead a righteous life. And, mind, when we were two about it, at once it became easier. Soon a third party joined with us, then a fourth, and it became easier and easier. Now there are thirty of us who live together in a house in Chicago. All our interests are common interests; we share and share alike. We watch over each other's lives, and the way of righteousness lies before us, smooth and even. We are able to deal with one another in a Christly manner, for one brother does not abuse the kindness of another, nor trample him down in his humility."

As Halvor remained silent, Hellgum spoke on convincingly: "You know, of course, that he who wishes to do something big always allies himself with others who help him. Now you couldn't run this farm by yourself. If you wanted to start a factory, you'd have to organize a company to coöperate with you, and if you wanted to build a railway, just think how many helpers you'd have to take on!

"But the most difficult work in the world is to live a Christian life; yet that you would accomplish single-handed and without the support of others. Or maybe you don't even try to do so, since you know beforehand that it can't be done. But we--I and those who have joined me back there in Chicago--have found a way. Our little community is in truth the New Jerusalem come down from Heaven. You may know it by these signs: the gifts of the Spirit which descended upon the early Christians, have also fallen upon us. There are some among us who hear the Voice of God, others who prophesy, and others, again, who heal the sick--"

"Can you heal the sick?" Halvor broke in eagerly.

"Yes," answered Hellgum. "I can heal those who have faith in me."

"It's rather hard to believe something different from what one was taught as a child," said Halvor thoughtfully.

"Nevertheless, I feel certain, Halvor, that very soon you will give your full support to the upbuilding of the New Jerusalem," Hellgum declared.

Then came a moment of silence, after which Karin heard Hellgum say good-bye.

Presently Halvor went into the house. On seeing Karin seated by the open window, he remarked: "You must have heard all that Hellgum said."

"Yes," she replied.

"Did you hear him say that he could heal any one who had faith in him?"

Karin reddened a little. She had liked what Hellgum said better than anything she had heard that summer. There was something sound and practical about his teaching which appealed to her common sense. Here were works and service and no mere emotionalism, which meant nothing to her. However, she would not admit this, for she had made up her mind to have no further dealings with preachers. So she said to Halvor: "My father's faith is good enough for me."

***

A fortnight later Karin was again seated in the living-room. Autumn had just set in; the wind howled round the house and a fire crackled on the hearth. There was nobody in the room but herself and her baby daughter, who was almost a year old and had just learned to walk. The child was sitting on the floor at her mother's feet, playing.

As Karin sat watching the child, the door opened, and in came a tall, dark man, with keen eyes and large sinewy hands. Before Karin had heard him say a word, she guessed that it was Hellgum.

After passing the time of day, the man asked after Halvor. He learned that Karin's husband had gone to a town meeting, and was expected home shortly. Hellgum sat down. Now and then he glanced over at Karin, and after a little he said:

"I've been told that you are ill."

"I have not been able to walk for the past six months," Karin replied.

"I have been thinking of coming here to pray for you," volunteered the preacher.

Karin closed her eyes and retired within herself.

"You have perhaps heard that by the Grace of God I am able to heal the sick?"

The woman opened her eyes and sent him a look of distrust. "I'm much obliged to you for thinking of me," she said, "but it isn't likely that you can help me, as I'm not the kind that changes faith easily."

"Possibly God will help you, anyhow, since you have always tried to live an upright life."

"I'm afraid I don't stand well enough in the sight of God to expect help from Him in this matter."

In a little while Hellgum asked her if she had looked within to get at the cause of this affliction. "Has Mother Karin ever asked herself why this affliction has been visited upon her?"

Karin made no reply; again she seemed to retire within herself.

"Something tells me that God has done this that His Name might be glorified," said Hellgum.

At that Karin grew angry and two bright red spots appeared in her cheeks. She thought it very presumptuous in Hellgum to think this illness had come upon her simply to give him an opportunity to perform a miracle.

Presently the preacher got up and went over to Karin. Placing his heavy hand on her head, he asked: "Do you want me to pray for you?"

Karin immediately felt a current of life and health shoot through her body, but she was so offended at the man for his obtrusiveness that she pushed away his hand and raised her own as if to strike him. Her indignation was beyond words.

Hellgum withdrew toward the door. "One should not reject the help which God sends, but accept it thankfully."

"That's true," Karin returned. "Whatever God sends one is obliged to accept."

"Mark well what I say to you! This day shall salvation come unto this house," the man proclaimed.

Karin did not answer.

"Think of me when you receive the help!" he said. The next instant he was gone.

Karin sat bolt upright in her chair, the red spots still burning in her cheeks. "Am I to have no peace even in my own house?" she muttered. "It's singular how many there are nowadays who think themselves sent of God."

Suddenly Karin's little girl got up and toddled toward the fireplace. The bright blaze had attracted the child, who, shrieking with delight, was making for it as fast as her tiny feet could carry her.

Karin called to her to come back, but the child paid no heed to her; at that moment she was trying to clamber up into the fireplace. After tumbling down a couple of times, she finally managed to get upon the hearth, where the fire blazed.

"God help me! God help me!" cried Karin. Then she began to shout for help, although she knew there was no one near.

The little girl bent laughingly over the fire. Suddenly a burning ember rolled out and fell on her little yellow frock. Instantly Karin sprang to her feet, rushed over to the fireplace, and snatched the child in her arms. Not until she had brushed away all the sparks from the child's dress, and had made sure that her baby was unharmed, did she realize what had happened to herself. She was actually on her feet; she had been walking again, and would always be able to walk!

Karin experienced the greatest mental shake-up she had ever felt in her life, and at the same time the greatest sense of happiness. She had the feeling that she was under God's special care and protection, and that God Himself had sent a holy man to her house to strengthen her and to heal her.

***

That autumn Hellgum often stood on the little porch of Strong Ingmar's cottage, looking out across the landscape. The country round about was growing more beautiful every day: the ground was now a golden brown, and all the leafy trees had turned either a bright red or a bright yellow. Here and there loomed stretches of woodland that shimmered in the breeze like a billowy sea of gold. Against the shadowy background of the fir-clad hills could be seen splashes of yellow; they were the leaf trees that had strayed in among the pines and spruces and taken root there.

As an humble gray hut, when ablaze, gives out light and brilliancy, thus did this humble Swedish landscape flame into a marvel of splendour. Everything was so wondrously golden, exactly as one might imagine that a landscape on the surface of the sun would look.

Hellgum was thinking, as he viewed this scene, that a time was coming when God would let the land reflect the brightness of His Glory, and when the seeds of Truth which had been sawn during the summer would yield golden harvests of righteousness.

Then, to and behold, one evening Tims Halvor came over to the croft and invited Hellgum and his wife to come with him to the Ingmar Farm!

On arriving they found everything in holiday order; around the house all the old dry birch leaves had been cleared away; farm implements and carts, which at other times were scattered about the yard, had now been put out of sight.

"They must be having a number of visitors here," thought Anna Lisa. Just then Halvor opened the front door, and they stepped inside.

The living-room was full of people who were seated upon benches all along the walls, solemnly expectant. Hellgum noticed that they were the leading people of the parish. The first persons he recognized were Ljung Björn Olofsson and his wife, Martha Ingmarsson; also Bullet Gunner and his wife. Then he saw Krister Larsson and Israel Tomasson with their wives, all of whom were members of the Ingmar family. Presently he saw Hök Matts Ericsson and his son Gabriel, the councillor's daughter Gunhild, and several persons besides. Altogether there were about twenty people present.

When Hellgum and Anna Lisa had gone round and shaken hands with every one, Tims Halvor said:

"We who are assembled here have been thinking over the things Hellgum has said to us during the summer. Most of us belong to an old family whose wish it has ever been to walk in the ways of God. If Hellgum can help us do this, we are ready to follow him."

The next day the news spread like wildfire throughout the parish that a new religious sect had sprung up on the Ingmar Farm, which was supposed to embody the only correct and true principles of Christianity.

In the spring, soon after the snow had disappeared, young Ingmar and Strong Ingmar returned to the village to start the sawmill. They had been up in the forest the whole winter cutting timber and making charcoal. And when Ingmar got back to the lowlands he fell like a bear that had just crawled out from its lair. He could hardly accustom himself to the glaring sunlight of an open sky, and blinked as if the light hurt him. The roaring of the rapids and the sound of human voices seemed almost intolerable to him, and all the noises on the farm were a veritable torture to his ears. At the same time he was glad; heaven knows he did not show it, either in speech or manner, but that spring he felt as young as the fresh shoots on the birches.

Oh, but it seemed good to him to sleep once more in a comfortable bed, and to eat properly cooked food! And then to be at home with Karin, who looked after his comfort as tenderly as a mother! She had ordered new clothes for him; and she had a way of coming in from the kitchen and handing him some dainty or other, as if he were still a little boy. And what wonderful things had happened at home while he was up in the forest! Ingmar had heard only a few vague rumours about Hellgum's teachings; but now Karin and Halvor told him of the great happiness that had come to them, and of how they and their friends were trying to help one another to walk in the ways of God.

"We are sure you will want to join us," said Karin.

Ingmar replied that maybe he would, but that he must think it over first.

"All winter I longed for you to come home and share our bliss," the sister went on, "for now we no longer live upon earth, but in 'The New Jerusalem which is come down from Heaven!'"

Ingmar said he was glad to hear that Hellgum was still in the neighbourhood. The summer before the preacher had often dropped in at the mill to chat with Ingmar, and the two had become good friends. Ingmar thought him the finest chap he had ever met. Never had he come across any one who was so much of a man, so firm in his convictions, and so sure of himself. Sometimes, when there had been a great rush of work at the mill, Hellgum had pulled off his coat and given them a lift. Ingmar had been amazed at the man's cleverness; he had never seen any one who was so quick at his work. Just then Hellgum happened to be away for a few days, but was Expected back shortly.

"Once you've talked with Hellgum, I think that you will join us," Karin said. Ingmar thought so, too, although he felt a little reluctant about accepting anything which had not been approved by his father.

"But wasn't it father himself who taught us that we must always walk in the ways of God?" argued Karin.

Everything seemed to be so bright and so promising! Ingmar had never dreamed that it would be so delightful to get back among people once more. There was only one thing wanting: no one ever spoke of the schoolmaster and his wife, or of Gertrude, which was most disquieting to him. He had not seen Gertrude for a whole year. In the summer he had never been without news of her; for then hardly a day went by that some one did not speak of the Storms. He thought that perhaps this silence regarding his old friends was accidental. When one feels timid about asking questions, and when no one voluntarily speaks of that which one longs above everything to hear about, it is mighty provoking, to say the least.

But if young Ingmar seemed to be happy and content, the same could not be said of Strong Ingmar. The old man had of late become sullen and taciturn and difficult to get on with.

"I believe you are homesick for the forest," Ingmar said to him one afternoon as they sat on separate logs eating their sandwiches.

"God knows I am!" the old man burst forth. "I only wish I had never come back at all!"

"Why, what's gone wrong at home?"

"How can you ask! You must know as well as I that Hellgum has been raising the deuce around here."

Ingmar answered that, on the contrary, he had heard that Hellgum had become a big man.

"Yes, he has grown so big and strong that he's been able to upset the whole parish," Strong Ingmar sneered.

It seemed strange to Ingmar that the old man never evinced a particle of affection for any of his own kin. He cared for nobody and for nothing save the Ingmarssons and the Ingmar Farm. Therefore Ingmar felt that he must stand up for the son-in-law.

"I think his doctrine a good one," he said.

"Oh, you do, do you?" snapped the old man; and he gave him a withering look. "Do you think Big Ingmar would have thought so?"

Ingmar replied that his father would have upheld any one who worked for righteousness.

"It's your belief, then, that Big Ingmar would have approved of calling all persons who do not belong to Hellgum's band devils and anti-Christs, and that he would have refused to associate with his old friends because they held to their old faith?"

"I hardly think that such people as Hellgum and Halvor and Karin would behave in that way," said Ingmar.

"Just you try to oppose them once, and you'll soon hear what they think of you!"

Ingmar cut off a big corner of his sandwich and stuffed his mouth full, so he would not have to talk. It irritated him to see Strong Ingmar in such bad humour.

"Heigho, hum! It's a queer world," sighed the old man. "Here you sit, the son of Big Ingmar, with nothing to say, while my Anna Lisa and her husband are living on the fat of your land. The best people in the parish bow and scrape to them, and every day they're being fêted, here, there, and everywhere."

Ingmar kept on munching and swallowing. There was nothing he could say. Strong Ingmar, however, went at him again.

"Yes, it's a fine doctrine that Hellgum is spreading! That's why half the parish has gone over to him. No one has ever had such absolute influence over the people, not even Strong Ingmar himself. He separates children from their parents by preaching that those who are of his fold must not live among sinners. Hellgum need only beckon, and brother leaves brother, friend leaves friend, and the lover deserts his betrothed. He has used his power to create strife and dissension in every household. Of course, Big Ingmar would have been pleased to death with that sort of thing! Doubtless he would have backed Hellgum up in all this! I can just picture him doing it!"

Ingmar looked up and down; he wanted to get away. He knew, to be sure, that the old man had been drawing heavily on his imagination, but all the same this talk depressed him.

"I don't deny that Hellgum has done wonders," he modified. "The way in which he manages to hold his people together, and the way he can get those who formerly would have nothing to do with each other to live on friendly terms, is certainly remarkable. And look how he takes from the rich to give to the poor, and how he makes each person protect the other's welfare. I'm only sorry for those on the outside, who are called children of the devil and are not allowed in the game. But, of course, you don't feel that way."

Ingmar was thoroughly put out with the old man for speaking so disparagingly of Hellgum.

"There used to be such peace and harmony in this parish!" the old man rattled on. "But that's all past and gone. In Big Ingmar's time we lived in such unity that we had the name of being the friendliest people in all Dalecarlia. Now there are angels bucking against devils, and sheep against goats."

"If we could only get the saws going," thought Ingmar, "I wouldn't have to hear any more of this talk!"

"It won't be long either till it's all over between you and me," Strong Ingmar continued. "For if you join Hellgum's angels it isn't likely that they will let you associate with me."

With an oath Ingmar jumped to his feet. "If you go on talking in this strain it may turn out just as you say," he warned. "You may as well understand, once for all, that it is of no use your trying to turn me against my own people, or against Hellgum, who is the grandest man I know."

That silenced the old man. In a little while he left his work, saying that he was going down to the village to see his friend Corporal Felt. He had not talked with a sensible person for a long time, he declared.

Ingmar was glad to have him go. Naturally, when a person has been away from home for a long time he does not care to be told unpleasant things, but wants every one around him to be bright and cheerful.

At five the next morning Ingmar got down to the mill, but Strong Ingmar was there ahead of him.

"To-day you can see Hellgum," the old man began. "He and Anna Lisa got back late last night. I think they must have hurried home from their round of feasts in order to convert you."

"So you're at it again!" scowled Ingmar. The old man's words had been ringing in his ears all night, and he could not help wondering who was in the right. But now he did not want to listen to any more talk against his relatives. The old man held his peace for a time; presently he began to chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" Ingmar demanded, his hand on the sluice gate ready to set the sawmill going.

"I was just thinking of the schoolmaster's Gertrude."

"What about her?"

"They said down at the village yesterday that she was the only person who had any influence over Hellgum--"

"What's Gertrude got to do with Hellgum?"

Ingmar, meanwhile, had not opened the sluice gate, for with the saws going he could not have heard a word. The old man eyed him questioningly. Ingmar smiled a little. "You always manage somehow to have your own way," he said.

"It was that silly goose, Gunhild, Councillor Clementsson's daughter, who--"

"She's no silly goose!" Ingmar broke in.

"Oh, call it anything you like, but she happened to be at the Ingmar Farm when this new sect was founded. As soon as she got home, she informed her parents that she had accepted the only true faith, and that she would there fore have to leave them and make her home at the Ingmar Farm. Her parents asked her, of course, why she wanted to leave home. So she'd be able to lead a righteous life, she up and told them. But they seemed to think that could be done just as effectively at home with them. Oh, no, that wouldn't be possible, she declared, unless one could live with those who were of the same faith. Her father then asked her if all of them were going to live on the Ingmar Farm. No, only herself; the others had true Christians in their own homes. Now Clementsson is a pretty good sort, as you know, and both he and his wife tried to reason with Gunhild in all kindness, but she stood firm. At last her father became so exasperated that he just took her and locked her up in her room, telling her she'd have to stay there till this crazy fit had passed."

"I thought you were going to tell me about Gertrude," Ingmar reminded him.

"I'll get round to her by and by, if you'll only have patience. I may as well tell you at once that early the next morning, while Gertrude and Mother Stina were sitting in the kitchen spinning, Mrs. Clementsson called to see them. When they saw her they became alarmed. She, who was usually so happy and light of heart, now looked as if she'd been crying her eyes out. 'What's the matter? What has happened? And why do you look so forlorn?' they asked. Then Mother Clementsson answered that when one has lost one's dearest treasure, one can't very well look cheerful. I'd like to give them a good beating!" said the old man.

"Who?" asked Ingmar.

"Why, Hellgum and Anna Lisa. They marched themselves down to Clementsson's in the night and kidnapped Gunhild."

A cry of amazement escaped Ingmar.

"I'm beginning to think my Anna Lisa is married to a brigand!" said the old man. "In the middle of the night they came and tapped on Gunhild's window, and asked her why she wasn't at the Ingmar Farm. She told them about her parents having locked her in. "'Twas Satan who made 'em do it,' said Hellgum. All this her father and mother overheard."

"Did they really?"

"Yes, they slept in the next room, and the door between was partly open; so they heard all that Hellgum said to entice their daughter."

"But they could have sent him away."

"They felt that Gunhild should decide for herself. How could they think she would want to leave them, after all they had done for her? They lay there expecting her to say that she would never desert her old parents."

"Did she go?"

"Yes, Hellgum wouldn't budge till the girl went along with them. When Clementsson and his wife realized that she couldn't resist Hellgum, they let her go. Some folks are like that, you see. In the morning the mother regretted it, and begged the father to drive down to the Ingmar Farm and get their daughter. 'No indeed!' he said, 'I'll do nothing of the sort, and what's more, I never want to set eyes on her again unless she comes home of her own accord.' Then Mrs. Clementsson hurried down to the school to see if Gertrude wouldn't go and talk to Gunhild."

"Did Gertrude go?"

"Yes; she tried to reason with Gunhild, but Gunhild wouldn't listen."

"I have not seen Gunhild at our house," said Ingmar thoughtfully.

"No, for now she is back with her parents. It seems that when Gertrude left Gunhild she met Hellgum. 'There stands the one who is to blame for all this,' she thought, and then she went straight up to him, and gave him a tongue lashing. She wouldn't have minded striking him."

"Oh, Gertrude can talk all right," said Ingmar approvingly.

"She told Hellgum that he had behaved like a heathen warrior and not as a Christian preacher, in skulking about like that in the night and abducting a young girl."

"What did Hellgum say to that?"

"He stood quietly listening for a while; then he said as meek as you please that she was right, he had acted in haste. And in the afternoon he took Gunhild back to her parents and made everything right again."

Ingmar glanced up at the old man with a smile. "Gertrude is splendid," he said, "and Hellgum is a fine fellow, even if he is a little eccentric."

"So that's the way you take it, eh? I thought you would wonder why Hellgum had given in like that to Gertrude."

Ingmar did not reply to this.

After a moment's reflection the old man began again. "There are many in the village who want to know on which side you stand."

"I don't see as it matters which party I belong to."

"Let me remind you of one thing," said the old man: "In this parish we are accustomed to having somebody that we can look up to as a leader. But now that Big Ingmar is gone, and the schoolmaster has lost his power over the people, while the pastor, as you know, was never any good at ruling, they run after Hellgum, and they're going to follow him just as long as you choose to remain in the background."

Ingmar's hands dropped; he looked quite worn out. "But I don't know who is in the right," he protested.

"The people are looking to you for deliverance from Hellgum. You may be sure that we were spared a lot of unpleasantness by being away from home all winter. It must have been something dreadful in the beginning, before people had got used to this converting craze and to being called devils and hellhounds. But the worst of all was when the converted children started in to preach!"

"You don't mean to tell me that even the children preached," said Ingmar doubtingly.

"Oh, yes!" the old man returned. "Hellgum told them that they should serve the Lord instead of playing, so they started in to convert their elders. They lay in ambush along the roadside, and pounced upon innocent passers-by with such ravings as these: 'Aren't you going to begin the fight against the devil? Shall you continue to live in sin?'"

Young Ingmar did not want to believe what Strong Ingmar was recounting. "Old man Felt must have put all that into your head," he concluded.

"By the way, this was what I wanted to tell you," said Strong Ingmar: "Felt is done for, too! When I think that all this mischief has been hatched on the Ingmar Farm, I feel ashamed to look people in the face."

"Have they wronged Felt in any way?" asked Ingmar.

"It was the work of those youngsters, drat them! One evening, when they had nothing else to do, they took it into their heads to go and convert Felt, for of course they had heard that he was a great sinner."

"But in the old days all the children were as afraid of Felt as they were of witches and trolls," Ingmar reminded.

"Oh, these youngsters were scared, too, but they must have had their hearts set upon doing something very heroic. So one evening, as Felt sat stirring his evening porridge, they stormed his cabin. When they opened the door and saw the old Corporal, with his bristling moustaches, his broken nose, and his game eye, sitting before the fire, they were terribly frightened, and two of the littlest ones ran away. The dozen or so that went in knelt in a circle around the old man, and began to sing and pray."

"And didn't he drive them out?" asked Ingmar.

"If only he had!" sighed the old man. "I don't know what had come over the Corporal. The poor wretch must have been sitting there brooding over the loneliness and desolation of his old age. And then I suppose it was because those who had come to him were children. The fact that children had always been afraid of him must have been a source of grief to the old man; and when he saw all those baby faces, with their upturned eyes filled with shining tears, he was powerless. The children were only waiting for him to rush at them and strike them. Although they kept right on singing and praying, they were ready to cut and run the instant he made a move. Presently a pair of them noticed that Felt's face was beginning to twitch. 'Now he'll go for us,' they thought, getting up to flee. But the old man blinked his one good eye, and a tear rolled down his cheek. 'Hallelujah!' the youngsters shouted, and now, as I've already told you, it's all up with Felt. Now he does nothing but run about to meetings, and fasts and prays, and fancies he hears the voice of God."

"I don't see anything hurtful in all that," said Ingmar. "Felt was killing himself with drink when the Hellgumists took him into camp."

"Well, you've got so many friends to lose that a little thing like this wouldn't matter to you. No doubt you would have liked it if the children had succeeded in converting the schoolmaster."

"I can't imagine those poor little kids trying to tackle Storm!" Ingmar was dumfounded. What Strong Ingmar had said about the parish being turned upside down must be true after all, he thought.

"But they did, though," Strong Ingmar replied. "One evening, as Storm was sitting in the classroom writing, a score of them came in and began preaching to him."

"And what did Storm do?" asked Ingmar, unable to keep from laughing.

"He was so astounded at first that he couldn't say or do a thing. But, as luck would have it, Hellgum had arrived a few moments before and was in the kitchen talking with Gertrude."

"Was Hellgum with Gertrude?"

"Yes; Hellgum and Gertrude have been friends ever since the day that he acted upon her advice in the little matter with Gunhild. When Gertrude heard the racket in the schoolroom, she said: 'You're just in time to see something new, Hellgum. It would seem that henceforth the children are to instruct the schoolmaster.' Then Hellgum laughed, for he comprehended that this sort of thing was ludicrous. He promptly drove the children out, and abolished the nuisance."

Ingmar noticed that the old man was eying him in a peculiar way; it was as if a hunter were looking at a wounded bear and wondering whether he should give it another shot.

"I don't know what you expect of me," said Ingmar.

"What could I expect of you, who are only a boy! Why, you haven't a penny to your name. All you've got in the world are your two empty hands."

"I verily believe you want me to throttle Hellgum!"

"They said down at the village that this would soon blow over if you could only induce Hellgum to leave these parts."

"Whenever a new religious sect springs up there's always strife and dissension," said Ingmar. "So this is nothing out of the common."

"All the same, this will be a good way for you to show people what sort of stuff you're made of," the old man persisted.

Ingmar turned away and set the saws going. He would have liked above everything to ask how Gertrude was getting along, and whether she had already joined the Hellgumists; but he was too proud to betray his fears.

At eight o'clock he went home to his breakfast. As usual, the table was heaped with tempting dishes, and both Halvor and Karin were especially nice to him. Seeing them so kind and gentle, he could not believe a word of Strong Ingmar's chatter. He felt light of heart once more, and positive that the old man had exaggerated. In a little while his anxiety about Gertrude returned, with a force so overwhelming that it took away his appetite, and he could not touch his food. Suddenly he turned to Karin and said abruptly:

"Have you seen anything of the Storms lately?"

"No!" replied Karin stiffly. "I don't care to associate with such ungodly people."

Here was an answer that set Ingmar thinking. He wondered whether he had better speak or be silent. If he were to speak it might end in a break with his family; at the same time he did not want them to think that he up held them in matters that were altogether wrong. "I have never seen any signs of ungodliness about the schoolmaster's folks," he retorted. "And yet I have lived with them for four years."

The very thought that had occurred to Ingmar the moment before, now came to Karin. She, too, wondered whether she should or should not speak. But she felt that she would have to hold to the truth, even if it hurt Ingmar; therefore she said that if people would not hearken to the voice of God, one could not help but think them ungodly.

Then Halvor joined in. "The question of the children is a vital one," he said. "They should be given the right kind of training."

"Storm has trained the entire parish, and you, too, Halvor," Ingmar reminded him.

"But he has not taught us how to live rightly," said Karin.

"It seems to me that you have always tried to do that, Karin."

"Let me tell you how it was to live by the old teaching. It was like trying to walk upon a round beam: one minute you were up, the next you were down. But when I let my fellow-Christians take me by the hand and support me, I can tread the straight and narrow path of Righteousness without stumbling."

"I dare say," Ingmar smiled; "but that's too easy."

"Even so, it's quite difficult enough, but no longer impossible."

"But what about the Storms?"

"Those who belong with us took their children out of the school. You see we didn't want the children to absorb any of the old teaching."

"What did the schoolmaster say to that?"

"He said it was against the law to take children away from school, and promptly sent a constable over to Israel Tomasson's and Krister Larsson's to fetch their children."

"And now you are not on friendly terms with the Storms?"

"We simply keep to ourselves."

"You seem to be at odds with every one."

"We only keep away from those who would tempt us to sin."

As the three went on talking, they lowered their voices. They were all very fearful of every word they let drop, for they felt that the conversation had taken a painful turn.

"But I can give you greetings from Gertrude," said Karin, trying to assume a more cheerful tone. "Hellgum had many talks with her last winter; he says that she expects to join us this evening."

Ingmar's lips began to quiver. It was as if he had been going about blindfolded all day, expecting to be shot, and now the shot had come; the bullet had pierced his heart.

"So she wants to become one of you!" he murmured faintly. "Many things can happen here while one is up in the dark forest." Ingmar seemed to think that all this time Hellgum had been ingratiating himself with Gertrude, and had laid snares to catch her. "But what's to become of me?" he asked suddenly. And there was a strange, helpless appeal in his voice.

"You must embrace our faith," said Halvor decisively. "Hellgum is back now, and if he talks to you once, you'll soon become converted."

"But maybe I don't care to be converted!"

Halvor and Karin stared at Ingmar in speechless amazement.

"Maybe I don't want any faith but my father's."

"Don't say anything until you have had a talk with Hellgum," begged Karin.

"But if I don't join you I suppose you won't want me to remain under your roof?" said Ingmar, rising. As they did not reply, it seemed to him that all at once he had been cut off from everything. Then he pulled himself together and looked more determined. "Now I want to know what you're going to do about the sawmill!" he demanded, thinking it was best to have this matter settled once for all.

Halvor and Karin exchanged glances; both were afraid of committing themselves.

"You know, Ingmar, that there is no one in the world who is more dear to us than you," said Halvor.

"Yes, yes; but what about the sawmill?" Ingmar insisted.

"The principal thing is to get all your timber sawed."

At Halvor's evasive reply, Ingmar drew his own conclusions. "Maybe Hellgum wants to run the sawmill, too?"

Karin and Halvor were perplexed at Ingmar's show of temper; since telling him that about Gertrude, they could not seem to get anywhere near him.

"Let Hellgum talk to you," pleaded Karin.

"Oh, I'll let him talk to me," said Ingmar, "but first I'd like to know just where I stand."

"Surely, Ingmar, you must know that we wish you well!"

"But Hellgum is to run the sawmill?"

"We must find some suitable employment for Hellgum so that he may remain in his own country. We have been thinking that possibly you and he might become business partners, provided you accept the only true faith. Hellgum is a good worker." This from Halvor.

"Since when have you been afraid to speak plainly, Halvor?" said Ingmar. "All I want to know is whether Hellgum is to have the sawmill."

"He is to have it if you resist God," Halvor declared.

"I'm obliged to you for telling me what a good stroke of business it would be for me to adopt your faith."

"You know well enough it wasn't meant in that way," said Karin reprovingly.

"I understand quite well what you mean," returned Ingmar. "I'm to lose Gertrude and the sawmill and the old home unless I go over to the Hellgumists." Then Ingmar turned suddenly and walked out of the house.

Once outside, the thought came to him that he might as well end this suspense, and find out at once where he stood with Gertrude. So he went straight down to the school-house. When Ingmar opened the gate a mild spring rain was falling. In the schoolmaster's beautiful garden all things had started sprouting and budding. The ground was turning green so rapidly that one could almost see the grass growing. Gertrude was standing on the steps watching the rain, and two large bird-cherry bushes, thick with newly sprung leaves, spread their branches over her. Ingmar paused a moment, astonished at finding everything down here so lovely and peaceful. He was already beginning to feel less disquieted. Gertrude had not yet seen him. He closed the gate very gently, then went toward her. When he was quite close he stopped and gazed at her in rapt wonder. When he had last seen her she was hardly more than a child, but in one short year she had developed into a dignified and beautiful young lady. She was now tall and slender and quite grown up, her head was finely poised on a graceful neck; her skin was soft and fair, shading into a fresh pink about the cheeks; her eyes were deep and thoughtful, and her mouth, around which mischief and merriment had once played, now expressed seriousness and wistful longing.

On seeing Gertrude so changed, a sense of supreme happiness came to Ingmar. A peaceful stillness pervaded his whole being; it was as though he were in the presence of something great and holy. It was all so beautiful that he wanted to go down on his knees and thank God.

But when Gertrude saw Ingmar she suddenly stiffened, her eyebrows contracted, and between her eyes there appeared the shadow of a wrinkle. He saw at once that she did not like his being there, and it cut him to the quick. "They want to take her from me," he thought; "they have already taken her from me." The feeling of Sabbath peace vanished, and the old fear and anxiety returned. Waving all ceremony, he asked Gertrude if it was true that she intended to join Hellgum and his followers. She answered that it was. Then Ingmar asked her if she had considered that the Hellgumists would not allow her to associate with persons who did not think as they did. Gertrude quietly answered that she had carefully considered this matter.

"Have you the consent of your father and mother?" asked Ingmar.

"No," she replied; "they know nothing as yet."

"But, Gertrude--"

"Hush, Ingmar! I must do this to find peace. God compels me."

"No," he cried, "not God, but--"

Gertrude suddenly turned toward him.

Then Ingmar told her that he would never join the Hellgumists. "If you go over to them, that will part us for ever."

Gertrude looked at him as much as to say that she did not see how this could affect her.

"Don't do it, Gertrude!" he implored.

"You mustn't think that I'm acting heedlessly, for I have given this matter very serious thought."

"Then think it over once more before you act."

Gertrude turned from him impatiently.

"You should also think it over for Hellgum's sake," said Ingmar with rising anger, seizing her by the arm.

She shook off his hand. "Are you out of your senses, Ingmar?" she gasped.

"Yes," he answered; "these doings of Hellgum are driving me mad. They must be stopped!"

"What must be stopped?"

"You'll find out before long."

Gertrude shrugged her shoulders.

"Good-bye, Gertrude!" he said in a choking voice. "And remember what I tell you. You will never join the Hellgumists!"

"What do you intend to do, Ingmar?" asked the girl, for she was beginning to feel uneasy.

"Good-bye, Gertrude, and think of what I have said!" Ingmar shouted back, for by that time he was halfway down the gravel walk.

Then he went on his way. "If I were only as wise as my father!" he mused. "But what can I do? I'm about to lose all that is dearest to me, and I see no way of preventing it." There was one thing, however, of which Ingmar was certain: if all this misery was to be forced upon him, Hellgum should not escape with his skin.

He went down to Strong Ingmar's but in the hope of meeting the preacher. When he got to the door, he caught the sound of loud and angry voices. There seemed to be a number of visitors inside, so he turned back at once. As he walked away he heard a man say in angry tones: "We are three brothers who have come a long way to call you to account, John Hellgum, for what has befallen our younger brother. Two years ago he went over to America, where he joined your community. The other day we received a letter telling us that he had gone out of his mind, brooding over your teaching."

Then Ingmar hurried away. Apparently there were others besides himself who had cause for complaint against Hellgum, and they were all of them equally helpless.

He went down to the sawmill, which had already been set going by Strong Ingmar. Above the buzzing noise of the saws and the roar of the rapids he heard a shriek; but he paid no special heed to it. He had no thought for anything save his strong hatred of Hellgum. He was going over in his mind all that this man had robbed him of: Gertrude and Karin, his home and his business.

Again he seemed to hear a cry. It occurred to him that possibly a quarrel had arisen between Hellgum and the strangers. "There would be no harm done if they were to beat the life out of him," he thought.

Then he heard a loud shout for help. Ingmar dropped his work and went rushing up the hill. The nearer he approached the hut the plainer he heard Hellgum's cries of distress, and when he finally reached the cabin it seemed as if the very earth around it shook from the scuffling and struggling inside.

He cautiously opened the door and tiptoed in. Over against the wall stood Hellgum defending himself with an axe. The three strangers-- all of them big, powerful men--were attacking him with clubs. They carried no guns, so it was evident that they had come simply to give Hellgum a sound thrashing. But because he had put up a good fight, they were so enraged that they went at him with intent to kill. They hardly noticed Ingmar; they regarded him as nothing but a lank gawk of a boy who had just happened in.

For a moment Ingmar stood quietly looking on. To him it was like a dream, wherein the thing one desires most suddenly appears without one's knowing whence or how it came about. Now and again Hellgum cried for help.

"Surely you can't think I'm such a fool as to help you!" Ingmar said in his mind.

Suddenly one of the men dealt Hellgum a terrific blow on the head that made him let go his hold on the axe and fall to the floor. Then the others threw down their clubs, drew their knives, and cast themselves upon him. Instantly a thought flashed across Ingmar's mind. There was an old saying about the folk of his family, to the effect that every one of them was destined at some time or other during his lifetime to commit a dastardly and wrong deed. Was it his turn now, he wondered?

All at once one of the assailants felt himself in the grip of a pair of strong arms that lifted him off his feet and threw him bodily out of the house; the second one had hardly time to think of rising before the same thing happened to him; and the third, who had managed to scramble to his feet, got a blow that sent him headlong after the others.

After Ingmar had thrown them all out, he went and stood in the doorway. "Don't you want to come back?" he challenged laughingly. He would not have minded their attacking him; testing his strength was good sport.

The three brothers seemed quite ready to renew the fight, when one of them shouted that they had better take to their heels he had seen a figure coming along the path behind the elms. They were furiously disappointed at not having finished Hellgum, and, as they turned to go, one of them ran back, pounced upon Ingmar, and stabbed him in the neck.

"That's for meddling with our affair!" he shouted.

Ingmar sank down, and the man ran off, with a taunting laugh.

A few minutes later Karin came along and found Ingmar sitting on the doorstep with a wound in his neck, and inside she discovered Hellgum, who by that time had got to his feet again and was now leaning against the wall, axe in hand and his face covered with blood. Karin had not seen the fleeing men; she supposed that Ingmar was the one who had attacked Hellgum and wounded him. She was so horrified that her knees shook. "No, no!" she thought, "it can't be possible that any one in our family is a murderer." Then she recalled the story of her mother. "That accounts for it," she muttered, and hurried past Ingmar over to Hellgum.

"Ingmar first!" cried Hellgum.

"The murderer should not be helped before his victim," said Karin.

"Ingmar first! Ingmar first!" Hellgum kept shouting. He was so excited that he raised his axe against her. "He has fought the would-be murderers and saved my life!" he said.

When Karin finally understood, and turned to help Ingmar, he was gone. She saw him stagger across the yard, and ran after him, calling, "Ingmar! Ingmar!"

Ingmar went on without even turning his head. But she soon caught up with him. Placing her hand on his arm, she said:

"Stop, Ingmar, and let me bind up your wound!"

He shook off her hand and went ahead like a blind man, following neither road nor bypath. The blood from his open wound trickled down underneath his clothes into one of his shoes. With every step that he made, blood was pressed out of the shoe, leaving a red track on the ground.

Karin followed him, wringing her hands. "Stop, Ingmar, stop!" she implored. "Where are you going? Stop, I say!"

Ingmar wandered on, straight into the wood, where there was no one to succor him. Karin kept her eyes fixed on his shoe, which was oozing blood. Every second the footprints were becoming redder and redder.

"He's going into the forest to lie down and bleed to death!" thought Karin. "God bless you, Ingmar, for helping Hellgum!" she said gently. "It took a man's courage to do that, and a man's strength, too!"

Ingmar tramped straight ahead, paying no heed whatever to his sister. Then Karin ran past him and planted herself in his way. He stepped aside without so much as glancing at her. "Go and help Hellgum!" he muttered.

"Let me explain, Ingmar! Halvor and I were very sorry for what we said to you this morning, and I was just on' my way to Hellgum to let him know that, whichever way it turned out, you were to keep the sawmill."

"Now you can give it to Hellgum," was Ingmar's answer. He walked on, stumbling over stones and tree stumps.

Karin kept close behind, trying her best to conciliate him. "Can't you forgive me for my mistake of a moment in thinking you had fought with Hellgum? I could hardly have thought differently."

"You were very ready to believe your own brother a murderer," Ingmar retorted, without giving her a look. He still walked on. When the grass blades he had trampled down came up again, blood dripped from them. It was only after Karin had noticed the peculiar way in which Ingmar had spoken Hellgum's name, that she began to realize how he hated the preacher. At the same time she saw what a big thing he had done.

"Every one will be singing your praises for what you did to-day, Ingmar; it will be known far and wide," she said. "You don't want to die and miss all the honours, do you?"

Ingmar laughed scornfully. Then he turned toward her a face that was pale and haggard. "Why don't you go home, Karin?" he said. "I know well enough whom you would prefer to help." His steps became more and more uncertain, and now, where he had walked, there was a continuous streak of blood on the ground.

Karin was about beside herself at the sight of all this blood. The great love which she had always felt or Ingmar kindled with new ardour. Now she was proud of her brother, and thought him a stout branch of the good old family tree.

"Oh, Ingmar!" she cried, "you'll have to answer before God and your fellowmen if you go on spilling your life's blood in this way. You know, if there is anything I can do to make you want to live, you have only to speak."

Ingmar halted, and put his arm around the stem of a tree to hold himself up. Then, with a cynical laugh, he said: "Perhaps you'll send Hellgum back to America?"

Karin stood looking down at the pool of blood that was forming around Ingmar's left foot, pondering over the thing her brother wanted her to do. Could it be that he expected her to leave the beautiful Garden of Paradise where she had lived all winter, and go back to the wretched world of sin she had come out of?

Ingmar turned round squarely; his face was waxen, the skin across his temples was tightly drawn, and his nose was like that of a dead person; but his under lip protruded with a determination that he had never before shown, and the set look about the mouth was sharply defined. It was not likely that he would modify his demand.

"I don't think that Hellgum and I can live in the same parish," he said, "but it's plain enough that I must make way for him."

"No," cried Karin quickly, "if you will only let me care for you, so that your life may be spared to us, I promise you that I will see that Hellgum goes away. God will surely find us another shepherd," thought Karin, "but for the time being it seems best to let Ingmar have his way."

After she had staunched the wound, she helped Ingmar home and put him to bed. He was not badly wounded. All he needed was to rest quietly for a few days. He lay abed in a room upstairs, and Karin tended him and watched over him like a baby.

The first day Ingmar was delirious, and lived over all that had happened to him in the morning. Karin soon discovered that Hellgum and the sawmill were not the only things that had caused him anxiety. By evening his mind was clear and tranquil; then Karin said to him: "There is some one who wishes to speak to you."

Ingmar replied that he felt too tired to talk to any one.

"But I think this will do you good."

Directly afterward Gertrude came into the room. She looked quite solemn and troubled. Ingmar had been fond of Gertrude even in the old days, when she was full of fun, and provoking. But at that time something within him had always fought against his love. But now Gertrude had passed through a trying year of longing and unrest, which had wrought such a wonderful change in her that Ingmar felt an uncontrollable longing to win her. When Gertrude came over to the bed, Ingmar put his hand up to his eyes.

"Don't you want to see me?" she asked.

Ingmar shook his head. He was like a wilful child.

"I only want to say a few words to you," said Gertrude.

"I suppose you've come to tell me that you have joined the Hellgumists?"

Then Gertrude knelt down beside the bed and lifted his hand from his eyes. "There is something which you don't know, Ingmar," she whispered.

He looked inquiringly at her, but did not speak. Gertrude blushed and hesitated. Finally she said:

"Last year, just as you were leaving us, I had begun to care for you in the right way."

Ingmar coloured to the roots of his hair, and a look of joy came into his eyes; but immediately he became grave and distrustful again.

"I have missed you so, Ingmar!" she murmured.

He smiled doubtingly, but patted her hand a little as thanks for her wanting to be kind to him.

"And you never once came back to see me," she said reproachfully. "It was as if I no longer existed for you."

"I didn't want to see you again until I was a well-to-do man and could propose to you," said Ingmar, as if this were a self-evident matter.

"But I thought you had forgotten me!" Gertrude's eyes filled up. "You don't know what a terrible year it has been. Hellgum has been very kind, and has tried to comfort me. He said my heart would be at rest if I would give it wholly to God."

Ingmar now looked at her with a newborn hope in his gaze.

"I was so frightened when you came this morning," she confessed, "I felt that I couldn't resist you, and that the old struggle would begin anew."

Ingmar's face was beaming.

"But this evening, when I heard about your having helped the one man whom you hated, I couldn't hold out any longer." Gertrude grew scarlet. "I felt somehow that I had not the strength to do a thing that would part me from you." Then she bowed her head over Ingmar's hand, and kissed it.

And it seemed to Ingmar as if great bells were ringing in a holy day. Within reigned Sabbath peace and stillness, while love, honey sweet, rested upon his lips, filling his whole being with a blissful solace.

LOSS OF "L'UNIVERS"

One misty night in the summer of 1880--about two years before the schoolmaster's mission house was built and Hellgum's return from America--the great French liner _L'Univers_ was steaming across the Atlantic, from New York and bound for Havre.

It was about four o'clock in the morning and all the passengers, as well as most of the crew, were asleep in their berths. The big decks were entirely empty of people.

Just then, at the break of day, an old French sailor lay twisting and turning in his hammock, unable to rest. There was quite a sea on, and the ship's timbers creaked incessantly; but it was certainly not this that kept him from falling asleep. He and his mates occupied a large but exceedingly low compartment between decks. It was lighted by a couple of lanterns, so that he could see the gray hammocks, which hung in close rows, slowly swinging to and fro with their slumbering occupants. Now and again a strong gust of wind swept in through one of the hatches, which was so searchingly cold and damp that it brought to his mind's eye a vivid picture of the vast sea around him, rolling its grayish green waves beneath its veil of mists.

"There's nothing like the sea!" thought the old sailor.

As he lay there musing, all at once everything became strangely still around him, he heard neither the churning of the propeller, nor the rattling of the rudder chains, nor the lapping of the waves, nor the whistling of the wind, nor any other sound. It seemed to him that the ship had suddenly gone to the bottom, and that he and his mates would never be shrouded or laid in their coffins, but must remain hanging in their gray hammocks in the depths of the sea till the Day of Judgment.

Before, he had always dreaded the thought that his end might be a watery grave, but now the idea of it was pleasing to him. He was glad it was the moving and transparent water that covered him, and not the heavy, black, suffocating mould of the churchyard. "There's nothing like the sea," he thought again.

Then he fell to thinking of something that made him uneasy. He wondered whether his lying at the bottom of the ocean without having received Extreme Unction would not be bad for his soul; he began to fear that now his soul would never be able to find its way up to Heaven.

At that moment his eye caught a faint glimmer of light coming from the forecastle. He raised himself, and leaned over the side of the hammock to see what it was. Presently he saw two persons coming, each of whom was carrying a lighted candle. He bent still farther forward so as to see who they were. The hammocks were hung so close together and so near to the floor that any one wanting to pass through the room, without pushing or knocking against those who were sleeping there, would have to crawl on hands and knees. The old seaman wondered who the persons could be that were able to pass in this crowded place. He soon discovered that they were two diminutive acolytes, in surplice and cassock, each bearing a lighted candle.

The sailor was not at all surprised. It seemed only natural that such little folk should be able to walk with burning candles under hammocks. "I wonder if there is a priest with them?" he said. Immediately he heard the tinkling sound of a little bell, and saw some one following them. However, it was no priest, but an old woman who was not much bigger than the boys.

The old woman looked familiar to him. "It must be mother," he thought. "I've never seen any one as tiny as mother, and surely no one but mother could be coming along so softly and quietly without waking people."

He noticed that his mother wore over her black dress a long white linen surplice, edged with a wide border of lace, such as is worn by priests. In her hand she held the large missal with the gold cross which he had seen hundreds of times lying on the altar in the church at home.

The little acolytes now placed their candles at the side of his hammock and knelt down, each swinging a censer. The old sailor caught the sweet odour of burning incense, saw blue clouds ascend, and heard the rhythmical click, click of the censer chains. In the meantime, his mother had opened the big book and was reading the prayers for the dead. Now it seemed good to him to be lying at the bottom of the sea--much better than being in the churchyard. He stretched himself in the hammock, and for a long time he could hear his mother's voice mumbling Latin words. The smoke of the incense curled round him as he listened to the even click, click of the moving censers.

Then it all ceased. The acolytes took up their candles and walked away, followed by his mother, who suddenly closed the book with a bang. He saw all three disappear beneath the gray hammocks.

The instant they had gone the silence was at an end. He heard the breathing of his comrades, the timbers creaked, the wind whistled, and the waves swish-swashed against the ship. Then he knew that he was still among the living, and on top of the sea.

"Jesu Maria! What can be the meaning of the things I have seen this night?" he asked himself.

Ten minutes later _L'Univers_ was struck amidships. It was as if the steamer had been cut in two.

"This was what I expected," thought the old seaman.

During the terrible confusion that ensued while the other sailors, only half awake, rolled out of their hammocks, he carefully dressed himself in his best clothes. He had had a foretaste of death which was sweet and mild, and it seemed to him that the sea had already claimed him as its own.

***

A little cabin boy lay sleeping in the deckhouse near the dining salon when the collision occurred. Startled by the shock, he sat up in his bunk, half dazed, and wondering what had happened. Just over his head there was a small porthole, through which he peered. All he could see was fog and some shadowy gray object which had, as it were, sprung from the fog. He seemed to see monstrous gray wings. A mammoth bird must have swooped down on the ship, he thought. The steamer rolled and heeled as the huge monster went at it with claws and beak and flapping wings.

The little cabin boy thought he would die from fright. In a second he was wide awake. Then he discovered that a large sailing vessel had collided with the steamer. He saw great sails and a strange deck, where men in oilskin coats were rushing about in mad terror. The wind freshened, and the sails became as taut as drums. The masts bulged, while the yards snapped with a succession of reports that sounded like pistol shots. A great three-master, which in the dense fog had sailed straight into _L'Univers_, had somehow got her bowsprit wedged into the side of the liner, and could not free herself. The passenger steamer listed considerably, but its propellers went right on working, so that now both ships moved along together.

"Lord God!" exclaimed the cabin boy as he rushed out on deck, "that poor boat has run into us, and now it will surely sink!"

It never occurred to him that the steamer could be imperilled, big and fine as she was. The officers came hurrying up; but when they saw it was only a sailing vessel that had collided with their ship, they felt quite safe, and with the utmost confidence took the necessary steps for getting the boats clear of each other.

The little cabin boy stood on the deck barelegged, his shirt fluttering in the wind, and beckoned to the unhappy men on the sailing vessel to come over to the steamer and save themselves. At first no one seemed to take any notice of him, but presently a big man with a red beard began motioning to him.

"Come over here, boy!" the man shouted, running to the side of the vessel. "The steamer is sinking!"

The little boy had not the faintest notion of going over to the sailing vessel. He shouted as loud as he could that the people on the doomed boat should come over to _L'Univers_, and save their lives.

While the other men on the three-master were working with poles and boat hooks to free their vessel from the steamer, the man with the red beard could think of nothing but the little cabin boy, for whom he had evidently conceived an extraordinary pity. He put his hands to his mouth, trumpet-like, and called: "Come over here, come over here!"

The little lad looked forlorn and cold, standing on the deck in his thin shirt. He stamped his foot and shook his fist at the men on the other boat, because they would not mind him and board the steamer. A huge greyhound like _L'Univers_, with six hundred passengers and a crew of two hundred men, couldn't possibly go down, he reasoned. And, of course, he could see that both the captain and the sailors were just as calm as he was.

Of a sudden the man with the red beard seized a boat hook, thrust it out toward the boy, got him by the shirt, and tried to pull him on to the other ship. The boy was dragged as far as the ship's railing, but there he managed to free himself of the hook. He was not going to let himself be dragged over to a strange vessel that was doomed.

Immediately afterward another crash was heard. The bowsprit of the three-master had snapped, and the two ships were now clear of each other. As the liner steamed ahead, the boy saw the big broken bowsprit dangling in the bow of the other vessel, and he also saw great clouds of sails drop down upon the crew.

The liner proceeded on her course at full speed, and the sailing vessel was soon lost to sight in the fog. The last thing the boy saw was the men trying to get out from under the mass of sails. Thereupon the vessel disappeared as completely as if it had slipped in behind a great wall. "It has already gone down," thought the lad. And now he stood listening for distress calls.

Then a rough and powerful voice was heard to shout across to the steamer: "Save your passengers! Put out your boats!"

Again there was silence, and again the boy listened for distress calls. Then the voice was heard as if from far away: "Pray to God, for you are lost!"

At that moment an old sailor stepped up to the captain. "We have a big hole amidships; we are going down," he said, quietly and impressively.

***

Soon after the nature of the accident had become known on the steamer, a little lady appeared on deck. She had come from one of the first-class cabins with certain and determined step. She was dressed from top to toe, and her bonnet strings were tied in a natty bowknot. She was a little old lady, with crimped hair, round, owlish-looking eyes, and a florid complexion.

During the short time the voyage had lasted she had managed to become acquainted with every one on board. Everybody knew that her name was Miss Hoggs, and she had told them all--the crew as well as passengers--time and again, that she was never afraid. She didn't see why she need have any fear, she would have to die at one time or another, she had said, and whether it happened soon or late was immaterial to her. Nor was she afraid now; she had gone up on deck simply to see if anything interesting or exciting was going on there.

The first thing she saw was two sailors darting past with wild, terrified faces. Stewards, half dressed, came running out from their quarters to go down and waken the passengers and get them on deck. An old sailor came up with an armful of life belts, which he tossed on the deck. A little cabin boy in his shirt was crouching in a corner, sobbing and shrieking that he was going to die. The captain was on his bridge, and Miss Hoggs heard him give orders to stop the engines and to man the lifeboats.

Engineers and stokers came rushing up the grimy ladder leading from the engine room, shouting that the water had already reached the fires. Miss Hoggs had hardly been on deck a moment before it was thronged with steerage passengers, who had come up in a body, shrieking that they would have to hurry and make for the boats, otherwise none but the first and second class passengers would be saved.

As the excitement and confusion increased, Miss Hoggs began to realize that they were in actual danger; so she quietly slipped away to the upper deck, where several life-boats hung in their davits, just outside the railing. Up here there was not a soul, and Miss Hoggs, without being seen, climbed over the railing and scrambled into one of the boats suspended above the watery abyss. As soon as she was well inside, she congratulated herself upon her wisdom and foresight. That was the advantage of having a clear and cool head, she thought. She knew that when once the boat was lowered there would be a wild scramble for it; the crush in the gangway and on the companion ladder would be something awful. Again and again she congratulated herself on having thought of getting into the boat beforehand.

Miss Hoggs's boat was hung far aft, but by leaning over the edge of it she could see the companion ladder. Then she saw that a boat had been manned, and that people were getting into it. Suddenly a terrible cry went up. Some one in the excitement had fallen overboard. This must have frightened the others, for cries arose from all sides of the ship, and the passengers heedlessly crowded the gangway, pushing and fighting their way toward the ladder. In the struggle many of them went overboard. A few persons, who saw that it would be impossible to get to the ladder, jumped into the sea, thinking they would swim to the boat. Just then the lifeboat, already loaded to its full capacity, rowed away. The people that were in it drew their knives and threatened to cut of the fingers of any one who attempted to get inside.

Miss Hoggs saw one boat after another launched. She also saw one boat after another capsize under the weight of those who hurled themselves down into them.

The lifeboats near to hers were .lowered, but for some unaccountable reason no one had touched the one in which she was seated. "Thank God they are leaving my boat alone till the worst is over," she thought.

And Miss Hoggs heard and saw dreadful things. It seemed to her that she was suspended over a hell. She could not see the deck itself, but from the sounds that reached her, she gathered that a frightful struggle was taking place there. She heard pistol shots and saw blue smoke clouds rise in the air.

At last there came a moment when everything was hushed. "This would be the right time to lower my boat," thought Miss Hoggs. She was not at all afraid, but sat back with perfect composure until the steamer began to settle. Then, for the first time, it dawned on Miss Hoggs that _L'Univers_ was sinking, and that her boat had been forgotten.

***

On board the steamer was a young American matron, a Mrs. Gordon, who was on her way to Europe to visit her parents, who for some years had been living in Paris. She had her two little boys with her, and all three were asleep in their cabin when the accident occurred. The mother was immediately awakened, and soon managed to get the children partly dressed; then throwing a cloak over her night robe, she went out into the narrow passageway between the cabins.

The passage was full of people who had rushed out from their staterooms to hurry on deck. Here it was not difficult to pass; but in the companionway there was a terrible crush. She saw people pushing and crowding, with no thought of any one but themselves, as more than a hundred persons, all at one time, tried to rush up. The young American woman stood holding her two children by the hand. She looked longingly up the stairway, wondering how she could manage to press through the throng with her little ones. The people fought and struggled, thinking only of themselves. No one even noticed her.

Mrs. Gordon glanced anxiously about in the hope of finding some one who would take one of the boys and carry him to the deck, while she herself took the other. But she saw no one she dared approach. The men came dashing past, dressed every which way. Some were wrapped in blankets, others had on ulsters over their nightshirts, and many of them carried canes. When she saw the desperate look in the eyes of these men, she felt that it would not be safe to speak to them.

Of the women, on the other hand, she had no fear; but there was not one, even among them, to whom she would dare entrust her child. They were all out of their senses, and could not have comprehended what she wanted of them. She stood regarding them, wondering whether there might not be one, perhaps, who had a bit of reason left. But seeing them rush wildly past--some hugging the flowers they had received on their departure from New York, others shrieking and wringing their hands--she knew it was useless to appeal to such frenzied people. Finally, she attempted to stop a young man who had been her neighbour at table, and had shown her marked attention.

"Oh, Mr. Martens--"

The man glowered at her with the same fixed savage stare that she had seen in the eyes of the other men. He raised his cane threateningly, and had she tried to detain him, he would have struck her.

The next moment she heard a howl, which was hardly a howl, but rather an angry murmur, as when a strong and sweeping wind becomes bottled up in a narrow passage. It came from the people on the companionway, whose progress had been suddenly impeded.

A cripple had been borne part way up the stairs--a man who was so entirely helpless that he had to be carried to and from the table. He was a large, heavy man, and his valet had with the greatest difficulty managed to bear him on his back halfway up the stairs, where he had paused to take breath. In the meantime, the pressure from behind had become so tremendous that it had forced him to his knees; and he and his master were taking up the whole width of the stairway, thus creating an impassable obstruction.

Presently Mrs. Gordon saw a big, rough-looking man bend down, lift up the cripple, and throw him over the banister. She also marked that, horrible as was this spectacle, no one seemed to be either shocked or moved by it. For nobody thought of anything save to rush ahead. It was as if a stone lying in the road had been picked up and tossed into the ditch--nothing more.

The young American mother saw that among these people there was no hope of being saved; she and her children were doomed.

***

There were a young bride and groom on board who were on their honeymoon. Their cabin was far down in the body of the ship, and they had slept so soundly that they had not even heard the collision. Nor was there much commotion in their part of the boat afterward. And as no one had thought of calling them, they were still asleep when every one else was on deck fighting for the lifeboats. But they woke when the propeller, which the whole night had been revolving directly under their heads, suddenly stopped. The husband hurriedly drew on a garment or two, and ran out to see what was up. In a few minutes he returned. He carefully closed the cabin door after him before uttering a word. Then he said:

"The ship is sinking."

At the same time he sat down, and when his wife would have rushed out, he begged her to remain with him.

"The boats have all gone," he said. "Most of the passengers have been drowned, and those who are still on the ship are now up on deck, fighting desperately for rafts and life belts." He told her that in the gangway he was obliged to step over a woman who had been trampled to death, and that he had heard the cries of the doomed on all sides. "There's no chance of our being saved, so don't go out! Let us die together!"

The young bride felt that he was right, and resignedly sat down beside him.

"You wouldn't like to see all those people struggling and fighting," he said. "Since we've got to die anyway, let us at least have a peaceful death."

She knew that it was no more than right that she should stay there with him the few short moments of life still left to them. Had she not promised to give him a whole life time of devotion?

"I had hoped," he went on, "that after we had been married many, many years, you would be sitting by me when I lay on my deathbed, and I would thank you for a long and happy life partnership."

At that moment she saw a thin streak of water trickling in through the crack under the door. This was too much for her. She threw up her arms in despair. "I can't!" she cried. "Let me go! I can't stay shut in here waiting for death. I love you, but I can't do it!"

She rushed out just as the ship heeled over before going down.

***

Young Mrs. Gordon was lying in the water, the steamer had sunk, her children were lost, and she herself had been deep under the sea. She had then come to the surface for the third time and knew that in another moment she would be sinking again, and that that would mean death.

Then her mind no longer dwelt upon her husband or children, or upon anything else of this earth. She thought only of lifting up her soul to God. And her soul rose like a liberated prisoner. Her spirit, rejoicing in the thought of casting off the heavy shackles of human existence, jubilantly prepared to ascend to its real home. "Is death so easy?" she mused.

As that thought came to her the medley of confusing noises around her--the surging of the waves, the murmur of the wind, the shrieks of the drowning, and the noises made by the colliding of the various objects that were drifting around on the water--all seemed to resolve themselves into words in the same way as shapeless clouds sometimes form themselves into pictures. And this was what she heard:

"It is a fact that death is easy, but to live, that is the difficult thing!"

"Ah, so it is!" she thought, and wondered what was needed to make living as easy as dying.

Round about her the shipwrecked people fought and struggled for the floating wreckage and the overturned boats. But amid the mad cries and curses, again the noises resolved themselves into clear and powerful words:

"That which is needed to make life as easy as death is UNITY, UNITY, UNITY."

It seemed to her that the Lord of all the earth had converted these noises into a speaking tube, through which He himself had answered her.

While the words that had been spoken were still ringing in her ears, she was rescued. She had been drawn up into a small boat in which there were only three persons besides herself--a brawny old sailor dressed in his best, an elderly woman with round, owlish eyes, and a poor little heartbroken boy, who had on nothing but a torn shirt.

***

Late in the afternoon of the following day a Norwegian ship sailed along the great banks of Newfoundland in the direction of the fishing grounds. The sky was clear, and the sea was like a mirror. The vessel could make but little headway. All the sails were set so as to catch the last breaths of the dying breeze.

The sea looked very beautiful. It was a clear blue and smooth as glass, but where the faintest breeze passed over it, it was a silvery white.

When the afternoon stillness had continued for a while, the ship's crew sighted a dark object floating on the water. Gradually it came nearer, and soon they discovered that it was a human body. As it was being carried by the current past the ship, they could tell by the clothing that it was the body of a sailor. It was lying on its back, with eyes wide open, and with a look of peace on its face. Evidently the body had not been long enough in the water to become disfigured. It was as if the sailor were complacently letting himself be rocked by the tiny rippling wavelets.

When the sailors turned their gaze in the opposite direction, they let out a cry. Before they could turn their faces, another body appeared on the surface close to the bow of the boat. They came near passing over it, but at the last moment it was washed away by the swell. Now they all rushed to the side of the ship and looked down. This time they saw the body of a child, a daintily dressed little girl. "Dear, dear!" said the sailors, drying their eyes. "The poor little kiddie!"

As the body of the little girl drifted past it seemed as if the child were looking up at them. And there was such a serious expression in its wistful eyes-as if it were out upon some very urgent errand. Immediately after, one of the sailors shouted that he saw another body, and the same thing was said by one who was looking in an opposite direction. All at once they saw five bodies, they saw ten, and then there were so many they could not count them.

The ship moved slowly on among all these dead people, who surrounded the vessel as if they wanted something. Some came floating in large groups; they looked like driftwood that had been carried away from land; but they were just a mass of dead bodies.

The sailors stood aghast, afraid to move. They could hardly believe that what they saw was real. All at once they seemed to see an island rising up out of the sea. From a distance it looked like land, but, on coming nearer, they saw hundreds of bodies floating close together, and surrounding the vessel on all sides. They moved with the ship, as if wanting to make the voyage across the water in its company. Then the skipper turned the rudder, so as to coax a little wind into the sails; but it did not help much. The sails hung limp, and the dead bodies continued to follow.

The sailors turned ashen, and silence fell upon them. The ship had so little headway that she could not seem to get clear of the dead. They were fearful lest it should go on like this the whole night. Then a Swedish seaman stood up in the bow and repeated the Lord's Prayer. Thereupon, he began to sing a hymn. When he had got half through the hymn the sun went down, and the evening breeze came along and carried the ship away from the region of the dead.

An old woman came out from her little log cabin in the woods. Although it was only a week day, she was dressed in her best, as if for church. After locking her door she put the key in its usual place, under the stoop.

When the old woman had gone a few paces, she turned round to look at her cabin, which appeared very small and very gray under the shadow of the towering snow-clad fir trees. She glanced at her humble home with an affectionate gaze. "Many a happy day have I spent in that little old hut!" she mused solemnly. "Ah me! The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away."

Then she went on her way, down the forest road. She was very old and exceeding fragile, but she was one of those who hold themselves erect and firm, however much old age may try to bend them. She had a sweet face and soft white hair. She looked so mild and gentle that it was surprising to hear her speak with a voice that was as strident and solemn as that of some old evangelist.

She had a long tramp ahead of her, for she was going down to the Ingmar Farm to a meeting of the Hellgumists. Old Eva Gunnersdotter was one of the most zealous converts to Hellgum's teachings. "Ah, those were glorious times," she mumbled to herself as she trudged on, "in the beginning when half the parish had gone over to Hellgum! Who would have thought that so many were going to backslide, and that after five years there would be hardly more than a score of us left--not counting the children, of course!"

Her thoughts went back to the time when she, who for many years had lived in solitude in the heart of the forest, forgotten by every one, all at once had found a lot of brothers and sisters who came to her in her loneliness, who never forgot to clear a path to her cabin after a big snowfall, and who always kept her little shed well filled with dry firewood--and all without her having to ask for it. She recalled to mind the time when Karin, daughter of Ingmar, and her sisters, and many more of the best people in the parish, used to come and hold love feasts in her little gray cabin.

"Alas, that so many should have abandoned the only true way of salvation!" she sighed. "Now retribution will come upon us. Next summer we must all perish because so few among us have heard the call, and because those who have heard it have not continued steadfast."

The old woman then fell to pondering over Hellgum's letters, those letters which the Hellgumists regarded as Apostolic writings and read aloud at all their meetings, as the Bible is read in the churches. "There was a time when Hellgum was as milk and honey to us," she reflected. "Then he commanded us to be kind and tolerant toward the unconverted, and to show gentle forbearance toward those who had fallen away; he taught the rich that in their works of charity they must treat the just and the unjust alike. But lately he has been as wormwood and gall. He writes about nothing but trials and punishments."

The old woman had now reached the edge of the forest, from where she could look down over the village. It was a lovely day in February. The snow had spread its white purity over the whole district; all the trees were deep in their winter sleep, and not a breath of wind stirred. But she was thinking that all this beautiful country, wrapped in peaceful slumber, would soon be awakened only to be consumed by a rain of fire and brimstone. Everything that was now lying under a cover of snow, she seemed to see enveloped in flame.

"He hasn't put it into plain words," thought the old woman, "but he keeps writing all the while about a sore trial. Mercy me! Who could wonder at it if this parish were to be punished as was Sodom, and overthrown like Babylon!"

As Eva Gunnersdotter wandered through the village, she could not look up at a single house without picturing to herself how the coming earthquake would shake it and crumble it into dust and ashes. And when she met people along the way, she thought of how the monsters of hell would soon hunt and devour them.

"Ah, here comes the schoolmaster's Gertrude!" she remarked to herself as she saw a pretty young girl coming down the road. "Her eyes sparkle like sunbeams on the snow. She feels happy now because she expects to be married in the fall to young Ingmar Ingmarsson. I see she has a bundle of thread tucked under her arm. She is going to weave table covers and bed hangings for her new home. But before that weaving is done, destruction will be upon us."

The old woman cast dark glances about her. She could see that the village had grown and developed into an astonishing thing of beauty, but she thought that all these pretty white-and-yellow houses, with their fancy gables and their big bowed windows, would collapse the same as her humble gray cabin, where moss grew in the cracks between the logs, and the windows were only holes in the wall. When she reached the heart of the town, she stopped short and struck her cane hard against the pavement. A sudden feeling of indignation had seized her. "Woe, woe!" she cried, in so loud a voice that people in the street paused and looked round. "Yea, in all these houses live such as have rejected the Gospel of Christ and cling to the enemy's teaching. Why didn't they listen to the call and turn away from their sins? On their account we must all perish. God's hand strikes heavily. It strikes both the just and the unjust."

When she had crossed the river she was overtaken by some of the other Hellgumists. They were Corporal Felt and Bullet Gunner and his wife, Brita. Shortly afterward, they were joined by Hök Matts Ericsson, his son Gabriel, and Gunhild, the daughter of Councilman Clementsson.

All these people in their gayly coloured national costumes made a pretty picture walking along the snow-covered road. But to the mind of Eva Gunnersdotter, they were only doomed prisoners being led to the place of execution, like cattle driven to slaughter.

The Hellgumists looked quite dejected. They walked along, their eyes on the ground, as if weighed down by a terrible load of discouragement. They had all expected that the Celestial Kingdom would suddenly spread over the whole earth, and that they would live to see the day when the New Jerusalem should come down from the clouds of heaven. But now that they had become so few in number, and could not help seeing that theirs was a forlorn hope, it was as if something within them had snapped. They moved slowly and with dragging steps. Now and then a sigh would escape them, but they seemed to have nothing to say to each other. For this had been a matter of supreme earnest with them. They had staked their all upon it, and had lost.

"Why do they look so down-in-the-mouth?" wondered the old woman. "They don't seem to believe the worst, and don't want to understand what Hellgum writes. I've tried to explain his words to them, but they won't even listen to me. Alas! those who live on the lowlands, under an open sky, can never understand what it is to be afraid. They don't think the same thoughts as do those of us who live in the solitude of the dark forest."

She could see that the Hellgumists were uneasy because Halvor had called them together on a week day. They feared that he was going to tell them of more desertions from their ranks. They glanced anxiously at one another, with a look of distrust in their eyes that seemed to say: "How long will you hold out? And you--and you?"

"We might as well stop right now," they thought, "and break up the Society at once. After all, sudden death would be easier than slowly wasting away."

Alas! that this little community with its gospel of peace, this blissful life of unity and brotherly love which had meant so much to all of them, that this should now be doomed.

As these disheartened people walked along toward the farm the sparkling winter sun rolled merrily on across the blue sky. From the glistening snow rose a refreshing coolness, which should have put life and courage into them; while from the fir-clad hills encircling the parish, there fell a soothing peace and stillness.

At last they were at the Ingmar Farm.

In the living-room of the farmhouse, close to the ceiling, hung an old picture which had been painted by some local artist a hundred years before their time. It represented a city surrounded by a high wall, above which could be seen the roofs and gables of many buildings, some of which were red farmhouses with turf roofs. Others were white manor houses with slate roofs. Others, again, showed massive copper-plated towers, after the manner of the Kistine Church at Falun. Outside the city wall were promenading gentlemen, in kneebreeches and buckled shoes, who carried Bengal canes. A coach was seen driving out of the gateway of the town, in which were seated ladies in powdered wigs and wearing Watteau hats. Beyond the wall were trees, with a profusion of dark green foliage; and on the ground, between patches of tall, waving grass, ran little shimmering brooklets. At the bottom of the picture was painted in large, ornate letters: "This is God's Holy City Jerusalem."

The old canvas being hung like that, so close to the ceiling, it seldom attracted any notice. Most of the people who visited the Ingmar Farm did not even know of its being there.

But that day it was enframed in a wreath of green whortleberry twigs, so that it instantly caught the eye of the caller. Eva Gunnersdotter saw it at once, and remarked under her breath: "Aha! Now the folks on the Ingmar Farm know that we must perish. That's why they want us to turn our eyes toward the Heavenly City."

Karin and Halvor came forward to greet her, looking even more gloomy and low spirited than the other Hellgumists. "It's plain they know now that the end is near," she thought.

Eva Gunnersdotter, being the oldest person present, was placed at the head of the long table. In front of her lay an opened letter, with American stamps on the envelope.

"Another letter has come from our dear brother Hellgum," said Halvor. "This is why I have called the brothers and sisters together."

"I gather that you must think this a very important document, Halvor," said Bullet Gunner, thoughtfully.

"I do," replied Halvor. "Now we shall learn what Hellgum meant when he wrote in his last letter that a great trial of our faith was before us."

"I don't think that any of us will be afraid to suffer in the Lord's cause," Gunner assured him.

All the Hellgumists had not yet arrived, and there was a long wait before the last one finally made his appearance. Old Eva Gunnersdotter, with her far-sighted eyes, meanwhile sat gazing at Hellgum's letter. She was reminded of the letter with the seven seals, in Revelation, and fancied that the instant any human hand should touch that letter, the Angel of Destruction would come flying down from Heaven.

She raised her eyes and glanced up at the Jerusalem picture. "Yes, yes," she mumbled, "of course I want to go to that city whose gates are of gold and whose walls are of crystal!" And she began reading to herself: "'And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones. The first foundation was jasper; the second, sapphire; the third, a chalcedony; the fourth, an emerald; the fifth, sardonyx; the sixth, sardius; the seventh, chrysolite; the eighth, beryl; the ninth, a topaz; the tenth, a chrysoprasus; the eleventh, a jacinth; the twelfth, an amethyst."'

The old woman was so deep in her precious Book of Revelation that she started as if she had been caught napping when Halvor went over to that end of the table where the letter lay.

"We will open our meeting with a hymn," Halvor announced. "Let us all join in singing number two hundred and forty-four." And the Hellgumists sang in unison, "Jerusalem, my happy home."

Eva Gunnersdotter heaved a sigh of relief because the dreaded moment had been put off for a little. "Alack-a-day! that a doddering old woman like me should be so afraid to die," she thought, half ashamed of her weakness.

At the close of the hymn Halvor took up the letter and began unfolding it. Whereupon the Spirit moved Eva Gunnersdotter to arise and offer up a lengthy prayer for grace to receive in a proper spirit the message contained therein. Halvor, with the letter in his hand, stood quietly waiting till she had finished. Then he began reading it in a tone he might have used had he been delivering a sermon:

"My dear brothers and sisters, peace be with you.

"Hitherto I had thought that I and you, who have embraced my teaching, were alone in this our faith. But, praise be to God! here in Chicago we have found brethren who are likeminded, who think and act in accordance with the principles.

"For be it known unto you that here, in Chicago, there lived in the early eighties a man by the name of Edward Gordon. He and his wife were God-fearing people. They were sorely grieved at seeing so much distress in the world, and prayed God that grace might be given them to help the sorrowing ones.

"It so happened that the wife of Edward Gordon had to make a long voyage across the sea, where she suffered shipwreck and was cast upon the waters. When she found herself in the most extreme peril, the Voice of God spoke to her. And the Voice of God commanded her to teach mankind to live in unity.

"And the woman was saved from the sea and the peril of death, and she returned to her husband and told him about the message from God. 'This is a great command our Lord hath given unto us--that we should live in unity--and we must follow it. So great is this message that in all the world there is but one spot worthy of receiving it. Let us, therefore, gather our friends together and go with them to Jerusalem, that we may proclaim God's holy commandment from the Mount of Zion.'

"Then Edward Gordon and his wife, together with thirty others who wanted to obey the Lord's last holy commandment, set out for Jerusalem, where all of them are now living in concord under one roof. They share with one another all their worldly goods, and serve one another, each protecting the other's welfare.

"And they have taken into their home the children of the poor, and they nurse the sick, they care for the aged, and succour all who appeal to them for aid, without expecting either money or gifts in return.

"But they do not preach in the churches or on street corners, for they say, 'It is our works that shall speak for us.'

"But the people who heard of their way of living said of them: 'They must be fools and fanatics.' And those who decried them the loudest were the Christians who had come to Palestine to convert Jews and Mohammedans, by preaching and teaching. And they said: 'What sort of persons are these who do not preach? No doubt they have come hither to lead an evil life and to indulge their sinful lusts among the heathen.'

"And they raised a cry against these good people that travelled across the seas all the way to their own country. But amongst those who had settled in Jerusalem there was a rich widow, with her two half-grown children. She had left a brother in her native land, to whom every one was saying, 'How can you allow your sister to live among those dreadful people, who are so loose lived? They are nothing but idlers who live upon her bounty.' So the brother began legal proceedings against the sister, in order to compel her to send her children back to America to be reared there.

"And on account of these proceedings, the widow, with her children, returned to Chicago, accompanied by Edward Gordon and his wife. At that time they had been living in Jerusalem fourteen years.

"When they came back from that far country, the newspapers had much to say of them; and some called them lunatics and some said they were impostors."

When Halvor had read thus far, he paused a moment, and presently repeated the substance of what he had read in his own words, so that everybody would understand it. After which, he went on reading:

"But there is in Chicago a home of which you have heard. And the occupants of this home are people who try to serve God in spirit and in truth, who share all things in common, and watch over each other's lives.

"We who live in this home read something in a newspaper about these 'lunatics' who had come back from Jerusalem, and said among ourselves, 'These people are of our faith; they are banded together to work for righteousness, the same as ourselves. We would like to meet these persons who share our ideals.'

"And we wrote and asked them to come to see us, and those who had come back from Jerusalem accepted the invitation and called; and we compared our teachings with theirs, and found that our principles of faith were the same. 'It is by the grace of God that we have found each other,' we said.

"They told us of the glories of the Holy City, that city which lies resplendent on its white mountain, and we deemed them fortunate in that they had been privileged to tread the paths our Saviour had trod.

"Then one of our own brethren said: 'Why shouldn't we go along with you to Jerusalem?'

"They answered: 'You must not accompany us thither, for God's Holy City is full of strife and dissension, of want and sickness, of hate and poverty.'

"Instantly another of our brethren cried: 'Mayhap God has sent you to us because it is His meaning that we shall go with you to that far country, to help you fight all this?'

"Then one and all of us heard the voice of the Spirit in our hearts say, 'Yea, this is My will!'

"Then we asked them whether they would be willing to receive us into their fold, although we were poor and unlettered. And they answered that they would.

"Then we determined to become brethren in the fullest sense. And they accepted our faith, and we theirs--and all the while the Spirit was upon us, and we were filled with a great gladness. And we said: 'Now we know that God loves us, since He sends us to that land where once He sent His own Son. And now we know that our teaching is the right teaching, inasmuch as God wants it proclaimed from his holy mountain Zion.'

"And then a third member of our own household said: 'And there are our brothers and sisters at home in Sweden.' So we told the brethren from Jerusalem that there were more of us than they saw here; that we also had some brothers and sisters in Sweden. We said: 'They are being sorely tried in their fight for righteousness, many of them have fallen away, and the few who have remained steadfast are obliged to live among unbelievers.'

"Then the travellers from Jerusalem answered: 'Let your brothers and sisters in Sweden follow us to Jerusalem, and share our holy work.'

"At first we were pleased at the thought of your following us, and living with us at Jerusalem, in peace and harmony. But afterward we began to feel troubled, and said: 'They will never leave their fine farms and old occupations.'

"And the Jerusalem travellers answered: 'Fields and meadows we cannot offer them, but they will be allowed to wander along the pathways where Jesus' feet have trod.'

"But we were still doubtful and said to them, 'They will never journey to a strange land where no one understands their speech.'

"And the travellers from Jerusalem answered: 'They will understand what the stones of Palestine have to tell them about their Saviour.'

"We said: 'They will never divide their property with strangers and become poor as beggars; nor will they renounce their authority, for they are the leading people of their own parish.'

"The travellers from Jerusalem answered: 'We have neither power nor worldly possessions to offer them; but we invite them to become participants in the sufferings of Christ their Redeemer.'

"When that was said, we were again filled with gladness, and felt that you would come. And now, my dear brothers and sisters, when you have read this, do not talk it over among yourselves, but be still and listen. And whatever the Spirit bids you do, that do."

Halvor folded the letter, saying, "Now we must do as Hellgum writes; we must be still, and listen."

There was a long silence in the living-room at the Ingmar Farm.

Old Eva Gunnersdotter was as silent as were the others, waiting for the Voice of God to speak to her. She interpreted it all in her own way. "Why, of course," she thought, "Hellgum wants us to go to Jerusalem so that we may escape the great destruction. The Lord would save us from the flood of brimstone, and preserve us from the rain of fire; and those of us who are righteous will hear the Voice of God warning us to flee the wrath to come."

It never for a moment occurred to the old woman that it could be a sacrifice for any one to leave his home and his native land, when it came to a question of this sort. It never entered her mind that any one could doubt the wisdom of leaving his native woodlands, his smiling river, and his fertile fields. Some of the Hellgumists thought with fear and trepidation of their having to change their manner of living, of renouncing fatherland, parents, friends, and relatives; but not she. To her it simply meant that God wanted to spare them as He had once spared Noah and Lot. Were they not being called to a life of supernal glory in God's Holy City? It was to her as if Hellgum had written that they would be bodily taken up into heaven, like the prophet Elijah.

They were all sitting with closed eyes, deep in meditation. Some were suffering such intense mental agony that cold sweat broke out on their foreheads. "Ah, this is indeed the trial which Hellgum foretold!" they sighed.

The sun was at the horizon, and shot its piercing rays into the room. The crimson glow from the setting sun cast a blood-red glare upon the many blanched faces. Finally Martha Ingmarsson, the wife of Ljung Björn Olofsson, slipped down from her chair on to her knees. Then, one after another, they all went down on their knees. All at once several of them drew a deep breath, and a smile lighted up their faces.

Then Karin, daughter of Ingmar, said in a tone of wonderment: "I hear God's voice calling me!"

Gunhild, the daughter of Councillor Clementsson, lifted up her hands in ecstasy, and tears streamed down her face. "I, too, am going," she cried. "God's voice calls me."

Whereupon Krister Larsson and his wife said, almost in the same breath: "It cries into my ear that I must go. I can hear God's voice calling me!"

The call came to one after another, and with it all anguish of mind and all feeling of regret vanished. A great sense of joy had come to them. They thought no more of their farms or their relatives; they were thinking only of how their little colony would branch out and blossom anew, and of the wonder of having been called to the Holy City.

The call had now come to most of them. But it had not yet reached Halvor Halvorsson; he was wrestling in anguished prayer, thinking God would not call him as He had called the others. "He sees that I love my fields and meadows more than His word," he said to himself. "I am unworthy."

Karin then went up to Halvor and laid her hand upon his brow. "You must be still, Halvor, and listen in silence."

Halvor wrung his hands so hard that the joints of his fingers cracked. "Perhaps God does not deem me worthy to go," he said.

"Yes, Halvor, you will be let go, but you must be still," said Karin. She knelt down beside him and put her arm around him. "Now listen quietly, Halvor, and without fear."

In a few moments the tense look was gone from his face. "I hear I hear something far, far away," he whispered.

"It is the harps of angels announcing the presence of the Lord," said the wife. "Be quite still now, Halvor." Then she nestled very close to him--something she had never done before in the presence of others.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Now I have heard it. It spoke so loudly that it was as thunder in my ears. 'You shall go to my Holy City, Jerusalem,' it said. Have you all heard it in the same way?"

"Yes, yes," they cried, "we have all heard it."

But now old Eva Gunnersdotter began to wail. "I have heard nothing. I can't go along with you. I'm like Lot's wife, and may not flee the wrath to come, but must be left behind. Here I must stay and be turned into a pillar of salt."

She wept from despair, and the Hellgumists all gathered round to pray with her. Still she heard nothing. And her despair became a thing of terror. "I can't hear anything!" she groaned. "But you've got to take me along. You shan't leave me to perish in the lake of fire!"

"You must wait, Eva," said the Hellgumists. "The call may come. It will surely come, either to-night or in the morning."

"You don't answer me," cried the old woman, "you don't tell what I want to know. Maybe you don't intend to take me along if no call comes to me!"

"It will come, it will come!" the Hellgumists shouted.

"You don't answer me!" screamed the old woman in a frenzy.

"Dear Eva, we can't take you along if God doesn't call you!" the Hellgumists protested. "But the call will come, never fear."

Then the old dame suddenly rose from her kneeling attitude, straightened her rickety old body, and brought her cane down on the floor with a thud. "You people mean to go away and leave me to perish!" she thundered. "Yes, yes, yes, you mean to go and let me perish!" She had become furiously angry, and once more they saw before them Eva Gunnersdotter as she had been in her younger days-- strong and passionate and fiery.

"I want nothing more to do with you!" she shrieked. "I don't want to be saved by you. Fie upon you! You would abandon wife and children, father and mother, to save yourselves. Fie! You're a parcel of idiots to be leaving your good farms. You're a lot of misguided fools running after false prophets, that's what you are! It's upon you that fire and brimstone will rain. It is you who must perish. But we who remain at home, we shall live."

At dusk, on this same beautiful February day, two young lovers stood talking together in the road. The youth had just driven down from the forest with a big log, which was so heavy that the horse could hardly pull it. All the same he had driven in a roundabout way so that the log might be hauled through the village and past the big white schoolhouse.

The horse had been halted in front of the school, and a young woman had come out to have a look at the log. She couldn't seem to say enough in praise of it--how long and thick it was, and how straight, and what a lovely tan bark it had, and how firm the wood was, and how flawless!

The young man then told her very impressively that it had been grown on a moor far north of Olaf's Peak, and when he had felled it, and how long it had been lying in the forest to dry out. He told her exactly how many inches it measured, both in circumference and diameter.

"But, Ingmar," she said, "it is only the first!"

Pleased as she was, the thought that Ingmar had been five years getting down the first bit of timber toward the building of their new home made her feel uneasy. But Ingmar seemed to think that all difficulties had now been met.

"Just you wait, Gertrude!" he said. "If I can only get the timber hauled while the roads are passable, we'll soon have the house up."

It was turning bitterly cold. The horse stood there all of a shiver, shaking its head and stamping its hoofs, its mane and forelock white with hoar frost. But the youth and the maid did not feel the cold. They kept themselves warm by building their house, in imagination, from cellar to attic. When they had got the house done, they set about to furnish it.

"We'll put the sofa over against the long wall here in the living-room," Ingmar decided.

"But I don't know that we've got any sofa," said Gertrude.

The young man bit his lip. He had not meant to tell her, until some time later, that he had a sofa in readiness at the cabinetmaker's shop; but now he had unwittingly let out the secret.

Then Gertrude, too, came out with something which she had kept from him for five years. She told him that she had made up hair into ornaments and had woven fancy ribbons for sale, and with the money she had earned in this way she had bought all sorts of household things--pots and pans, platters and dishes, sheets and pillow slips, table covers and rugs.

Ingmar was so pleased over what Gertrude had accomplished that he could not seem to commend her enough. In the middle of his praises he broke off abruptly and gazed at her in speechless adoration. He thought it was too good to be true that anything so sweet and so beautiful would some day be his very own.

"Why do you look at me so strangely?" asked the girl.

"I'm just thinking that the best of it all is that you will be mine."

Gertrude could not say anything, but she ran her hand caressingly over the big log which was to form a portion of the wall of that house in which she and Ingmar were to live. She felt that protection and love were in store for her, for the man she was going to marry was good and wise, noble and faithful.

Just then an old woman passed by. She walked rapidly, muttering to herself, as if terribly incensed over something: "Aye, aye, their happiness shall last no longer than from daybreak to rosy dawn. When the trial comes, their faith will be broken as though it were a rope spun from moss, and their lives shall be as a long darkness."

"Surely she can't mean us!" said the young girl.

"How could that apply to us?" laughed the young man.

It was the day after the meeting of the Hellgumists, and a Saturday. A blizzard was raging. The pastor, who had been called to the bedside of a sick person who lived way up at the north end of the great forest, was driving homeward late in the evening under great difficulties. His horse sank deep in the snowdrifts, and the sledge was time after time on the point of being upset. Both the pastor and his hired man were continually getting out to kick away the snow for a path. Happily it was not very dark. The moon came rolling out from behind the snow clouds, big and full, shedding its silvery light upon the ground. Glancing upward, the pastor noticed that the air was thick with whirling and flying snowflakes.

In some places they made their way quite easily. There were short stretches of road where the flying snow had not settled, and others where the snow was deep, but loose and even. The really troublesome thing was trying to get over the ground where the drifts were piled so high that one could not even look over them, and where they were obliged to turn from the road, and to drive across fields and hedges, at the risk of being dumped into a ditch or having the horse spiked on a fence rail.

Both the pastor and his servant spoke with much concern of the drift which always, after a heavy snow, was banked against a high boarding close to the Ingmar Farm. "If we can only clear that we are as good as at home," they said.

The pastor remembered how often he had asked Big Ingmar to remove the high boarding that was the cause of so much snow drifting toward that particular spot. But nothing had ever been done about it. Even though everything else on the Ingmar Farm had undergone changes, certainly those old boards were never disturbed.

At last they were within sight of the farm. And, sure enough, there was the snowdrift in its usual place, as high as a wall and as hard as a rock! Here there was no possibility of their turning to one side; they had no choice but to drive right over it. The thing looked impossible, so the servant asked whether he hadn't better go down to the farm and get some help. But to this the pastor would not consent. He had not exchanged a word with either Karin or Halvor in upward of five years, and the thought of meeting old friends with whom one is no longer on speaking terms, was no more pleasant to him than it is to most people.

So up the drift the horse had to mount. The icy crust held until the animal had reached the top, then it gave way and the horse suddenly disappeared from sight, as if into a grave, while the two men sat gazing down helplessly. One of the traces had snapped; so they could not have gone farther even if they had been able to get the horse out of the drift.

A few minutes later the pastor stepped into the living-room at the Ingmar Farm. A blazing log fire was burning on the hearth. The housewife sat at one side of the fireplace spinning fine carded wool; behind her were the maids, seated in a long row, spinning flax. The men had taken possession of the other side of the fireplace. They had just come in from their work; some were resting, others, to pass the time, had taken up some light work, such as whittling sticks, sharpening rakes, and making axe handles.

When the pastor told of his mishap, they all bestirred themselves, and the menservants went out to dig the horse out of the drift. Halvor led the pastor up to the table, and asked him to sit down. Karin sent the maids into the kitchen to make fresh coffee and to prepare a special supper. Then she took the pastor's big fur coat and hung it in front of the fire to dry, lighted the hanging lamp, and moved her spinning wheel up to the table, so that she could talk with the menfolk.

"I couldn't have had a better welcome had Big Ingmar himself been alive," thought the pastor.

Halvor talked at length about the weather and the state of the roads, then he asked the clergyman if he had got a good price for his grain, and if he had succeeded in getting certain repairs made that he had been wanting for such a long time. Karin then asked after the pastor's wife, and hoped that there had been some improvement in her health of late.

At that point the pastor's man came in and reported that the horse had been dug out, the trace mended, and that all was in readiness to start. But Karin and Halvor pressed the pastor to stay to supper, and would not take no for an answer.

The coffee tray was brought in. On it were the large silver coffee urn and the precious old silver sugar bowl, which was never used save at such high functions as weddings and funerals, and there were three big silver cake baskets full of fresh rusks and cookies.

The pastor's small, round eyes grew big with astonishment; he sat as if in a trance, afraid of being awakened.

Halvor showed the pastor the skin of an elk, which had been shot in the woods on the Ingmar Farm. The skin was then spread out upon the floor. The pastor declared that he had never seen a larger or more beautiful hide. Then Karin went up to Halvor and whispered in his ear. Immediately Halvor turned to the clergyman, and asked him to accept the skin as a gift.

Karin bustled back and forth, between the table and the cupboard, and brought out some choice old silverware. She had spread a fine hemstitched cloth on the table, which she was dressing as if for a grand party. She poured milk and unfermented beer into huge silver jugs.

When they had finished supper, the pastor excused himself, and rose to go. Halvor Halvorsson and two of his hired men went with him to open a way through the drifts, steadying the sledge whenever it was about to upset, and never leaving him till he was safe within his own dooryard.

The parson was thinking how pleasant it was to renew old friendships, as he bade Halvor a hearty good-bye. Halvor stood feeling for something in his pocket. Presently he pulled out a slip of folded paper. He wondered whether the pastor would mind taking it now. It was an announcement which was to be read after the service in the morning. If the pastor would be good enough to take it, it would save him the bother of sending it to the church by a special messenger.

When the pastor had gone inside, he lighted the lamp, unfolded the paper, and read:

"In consequence of the owner's contemplated removal to Jerusalem, the Ingmar Farm is offered for sale--"

He read no farther. "Well, well, so now it has come upon us," he murmured, as if speaking of a storm. "This is what I've been expecting for many a long year!"

It was a beautiful day in spring. A peasant and his son were on their way to the great ironworks, which are situated close to the southern boundary of the parish. As they lived up at the north end, they had to traverse almost the entire length of the parish. They went past newly sown fields, where the grain was just beginning to spring up. They saw all the green rye fields and all the fine meadows, where the clover would soon be reddening and sending forth its sweet fragrance.

They also walked past a number of houses which were being repainted, and fitted up with new windows and glass-enclosed verandas, and past gardens where spading and planting were going on. All whom they met along the way had muddy shoes and grimy hands from working in fields and vegetable gardens, where they had been planting potatoes, setting out cabbages, and sowing turnips and carrots.

The peasant simply had to stop and ask them what kind of potatoes they were planting and just when they had sown their oats. At sight of a calf or a foal, he at once began to figure out how old it was. He calculated the number of cows they would be likely to keep at such and such a farm, and wondered how much this or that colt would fetch when broken.

The son tried time after time to turn his father's thought away from such things. "I'm thinking that you and I will soon be wandering through the valley of Sharon and the desert of Judea," he said.

The father smiled, and his face brightened for a moment. "It will indeed be a blessed privilege to walk in the footsteps of our dear Lord Jesus," he answered. But the next minute, on seeing a couple of cartloads of quicklime, his thoughts were diverted. "I say, Gabriel, who do you suppose is hauling lime? Folks say that lime as a fertilizer makes a rich crop. That will be something to feast your eyes on in the fall."

"In the fall, father!" said the son reprovingly.

"Yes, I know," returned the farmer, "that by fall I shall be dwelling in the tents of Jacob and labouring in the Lord's vineyard."

"Amen!" cried the son. "So be it. Amen!"

Then they walked on in silence for a space, watching the signs of spring. Water trickled in the ditches, and the road itself was badly broken up from the spring rains. Whichever way they looked there was work to be done. Every one wanted to turn to and help, even when crossing some field other than his own.

"To tell the truth," said the farmer thoughtfully, "I wish I had sold my property some fall, when the work was over. It's hard having to leave it all in the springtime, just when you'd like to take hold with might and main."

The son only shrugged; he knew that he would have to let the old man talk.

"It's just thirty-one years now since I, as a young man, bought a piece of waste land on the north side of this parish," said the farmer. "The ground had never been touched by a spade. Half of it was bog, the other half a mass of stones. It looked pretty bad. On that very land I worked like a slave, digging up stones until my back was ready to break. But I think I laboured even harder with the swamp, before I finally got it drained and filled in."

"Yes, you have certainly worked hard, father," the son admitted. "This is why God thinks of you, and summons you to His Holy Land."

"At first," the farmer went on, "I lived in a hovel that wasn't much better than a charcoaler's hut. It was made of unstripped logs, with only sod for a roof. I could never make that but water tight; so the rains always came in. It was mighty uncomfortable, especially at night. The cow and the horse fared no better than I; the whole of the first winter they were housed in a mud cave that was as dark as a cellar."

"Father, how can you be so attached to a place where you have suffered such hardships?"

"But only think of the joy of it when I was able to build a big barn for the animals, and when year by year my livestock increased so that I was always having to add new extensions for housing them. If I were not going to sell the place now, I should have to put a new roof on the barn. This would have been just the time to do it-- as soon as I'd finished with the sowing."

"Father, you are to do your sowing in that land where some seeds fall among thorns, some on stony ground, some by the wayside, and some on good ground."

"And the old cottage," the farmer pursued, "which I built after the first hut, I had thought of pulling down this year, to put up a fine new dwelling house. What's to be done now with all the timber that we two hauled home in the winter? It was mighty tough work getting it down. The horses were hard driven, and so were we."

The son began to feel troubled. He thought his father was slipping away from him. He feared that the old man was not going to offer his property to the Lord in the right spirit. "Well," he argued, "but what are new houses and barns as compared with the blessed privilege of living a pure life among people who are of one mind?"

"Hallelujah!" cried the father. "Don't you suppose I know that a wonderful portion has been allotted to us? Am I not on my way to the works to sell my property to the Company? When I come back this way everything will be gone, and I shall have nothing I can call mine."

The son did not reply, but he was pleased to hear that his father still held to his decision.

Presently they came to a farm beautifully situated on a hill. There was a white-painted dwelling house, with a balcony and a veranda, and round the house were tall poplars whose pretty silvery stems were swollen with sap.

"Look!" said the farmer. "That was just the sort of house I meant to have--with a veranda and a balcony and a lot of ornamental woodwork, and with just such a well-mown lawn in front. Wouldn't that have been nice, Gabriel?"

As the son said nothing, the farmer concluded that he must be tired of hearing about the farm, so he, too, lapsed into silence although his thoughts were still upon his home. He wondered how the horses would fare with their new owners, and how things in general would be run on the place. "My goodness!" he muttered under his breath, "I'm surely doing a foolish thing in selling out to a corporation! They'll go and cut down all the trees, and let the farm go to waste. It would be just like them to allow the land to become marshy again, and to let the birch woods grow down into the fields."

They had at last reached the works, where the farmer's interest was again roused. There he saw ploughs and harrows of the latest pattern, and was suddenly reminded that for a long time he had been thinking of getting a new reaper. Gazing fondly at his good-looking son, he pictured him sitting on a fine, red-painted reaper, cracking his whip over the horses, and mowing down the thick, waving grass, as a war hero mows down his enemies. And as he stepped into the office he seemed to hear the clicking noise of the reaper, the soft swish of falling grass and the shrill chirp and light flutter of frightened birds and insects.

On the desk in there lay the deed. The negotiations had been concluded, and the price settled upon; all that was needed to complete the deal was his signature.

While the deed was being read to him he sat quietly listening. He heard that there were so and so many acres of woodland, and so and so many of arable land and meadow, so and so many head of cattle, and such and such household furnishings, all of which he must turn over. His features became set.

"No," he said to himself, "it mustn't happen."

After the reading he was about to say that he had changed his mind, when his son bent down and whispered to him:

"Father, it's a choice between me and the farm, for I'm going anyway no matter what you do."

The peasant had been so completely taken up with thoughts of his farm that it had not occurred to him that his son would leave him. So Gabriel would go in any case! He could not quite make this out. He would never have thought of leaving had his son decided to remain at home. But, naturally, wherever his son went, he, too, must go.

He stepped up to the desk, where the deed was now spread out for him to sign. The manager himself handed him the pen, and pointed to the place where he was to write his name.

"Here," he said, "here's where you write your name in full--'Hök Matts Ericsson.'"

When he took the pen it flashed across his mind how, thirty-one years back, he had signed a deed whereby he had acquired a bit of barren land. He remembered that after writing his name, he had gone out to inspect his new property. Then this thought had come to him: "See what God has given you! Here you have work to keep you going a lifetime."

The manager, thinking his hesitancy was due to uncertainty as to where he should write his name, again pointed to the place.

"The name must be written there. Now write 'Hök Matts Ericsson.'"

He put the pen to the paper. "This," he mused, "I write for the sake of my faith and my soul's salvation; for the sake of my dear friends the Hellgumists, that I may be allowed to live with them in the unity of the spirit, and so as not to be left alone here when they all go."

And he wrote his first name.

"And this," he went on thinking, "I write for the sake of my son Gabriel, so I shan't have to lose the dear, good lad who has always been so kind to his old father, and to let him see that after all he is dearer to me than aught else."

And then he wrote his middle name.

"But this," he thought as he moved the pen for the third time, "why do I write this?" Then, all at once, his hand began to move, as of itself, up and down the page, leaving great black streaks upon the hateful document. "This I do because I'm an old man and must go on tilling the soil--go on plowing and sowing in the place where I have always worked and slaved."

Hök Matts Ericsson looked rather sheepish when he turned to the manager and showed him the paper.

"You'll have to excuse me, sir," he said. "It really was my intention to part with my property, but when it came to the scratch, I couldn't do it."

One day in May there was an auction sale at the Ingmar Farm, and what a perfect day it was!--quite as warm as in the summertime. The men had all discarded their long white sheepskin coats and were wearing their short jackets; the women already went about in the loose-sleeved white blouses which belonged with their summer dress.

The schoolmaster's wife was getting ready to attend the auction. Gertrude did not care to go, and Storm was too busy with his class work. When Mother Stina was all ready to start, she opened the door to the schoolroom, and nodded a good-bye to her husband. Storm was then telling the children the story of the destruction of the great city of Nineveh, and the look on his face was so stern and threatening that the poor youngsters were almost frightened to death.

Mother Stina, on her way to the Ingmar Farm, stopped whenever she came to a hawthorn in bloom, or a hillock decked with white, sweet-scented lilies of the valley.

"Where could you find anything lovelier than this," she thought, "even if you were to go as far away as Jerusalem?"

The schoolmaster's wife, like many others, had come to love the old parish more than ever since the Hellgumists had called it a second Sodom and wanted to abandon it. She plucked a few of the tiny wild flowers that grew by the roadside, and gazed at them almost tenderly. "If we were as bad as they try to make us out," she mused, "it would be an easy matter for God to destroy us. He need only let the cold continue and keep the ground covered with snow. But when our Lord allows the spring and the flowers to return, He must at least think us fit to live."

When Mother Stina finally reached the Ingmar Farm she halted and glanced round timidly. "I think I'll go back," she said to herself. "I could never standby and see this dear old home broken up." But all the same she was far too curious to find out what was to be done with the farm to turn back.

As soon as it became known that the farm was for sale, Ingmar put in a bid for it. But Ingmar had only about six thousand kroner, and Halvor had already been offered twenty-five thousand by the management of the big Bergsana sawmills and ironworks. Ingmar succeeded in borrowing enough money to enable him to offer an equally large sum. The Company then raised its bid to thirty thousand, which was more than Ingmar dared offer; for he could not think of assuming so heavy a debt. The worst of it was, that not only would the homestead by this means pass out of the hands of the Ingmars for all time--for the Company was never known to part with anything once it became its property--but moreover it was not likely that it would allow Ingmar to run the sawmill at Langfors Falls, in which case he would be deprived of his living. Then he would have to give up all thought of marrying Gertrude in the fall, as had been planned. It might even be necessary for him to go elsewhere, to seek employment.

When Mother Stina thought of this, she did not feel very pleasantly disposed toward Karin and Halvor. "I hope to goodness that Karin won't come up and speak to me!" she muttered to herself. "For if she does, I'll just have to let her know what I think of her treatment of Ingmar. After all, it's her fault that the farm does not already belong to him. I've been told that they'll need a lot of money for the journey. Just the same it seems mighty strange that Karin can have the heart to sell the old place to a corporation that would cut down all the timber and let the fields go to waste."

There was some one outside the corporation who wished to buy the place; it was the rich district judge, Berger Sven Persson. Mother Stina felt that such an arrangement would be better for Ingmar, as Sven Persson was a generous man, who would surely let him keep the sawmill. "Sven Persson will not forget that he was once a poor goose boy on this farm," she reflected; "and that it was Big Ingmar who first took him in hand and gave him a start in life."

Mother Stina did not go into the house, but remained in the yard, as did most of the people who had come to attend the sale. She sat down on a pile of boards, and began to glance about her very carefully, as one is wont to do when taking a last look at some beloved spot.

Surrounding the farmyard on three sides were ranges of outbuildings, and in the centre was a little storehouse propped on four posts. Nothing looked particularly old, with the exception of the porch with the carved moulding at the entrance to the dwelling-house, and another one, still older, with stout twisted pillars, at the entrance of the washhouse.

Mother Stina thought of all the old Ingmarssons whose feet had trod the yard. She seemed to see them coming home from their work in the evening, and gathering around the hearth, tall and somewhat bent, always afraid of intruding themselves, or of accepting more than they felt was their due.

And she thought of the industry and honesty which had always been practised on this farm. "It ought never to be allowed!" was her thought as regards the auction. "The king should be told of it!" Mother Stina took it more to heart than if it had been a question of parting with her own home.

The sale had not yet begun, but a good many people had arrived. Some had gone into the barns to look over the live stock; others remained out in the yard examining the farm implements placed there for inspection. Mother Stina on seeing a couple of peasant women come out of a cowshed grew indignant. "Just look at Mother Inga and Mother Stava!" she muttered. "Now they've been in and picked out a cow apiece. Think how they'll be going around bragging that they've got a cow of the old breed from the Ingmar Farm!"

When she saw old Crofter Nils trying to choose a plow she smiled a little scornfully.

"Crofter Nils will think himself a real farmer when he can drive a plough that Big Ingmar himself has used."

More and more people kept gathering round the things to be auctioned off. The men looked wonderingly at many of the farming tools, which were of such old-time make that it was difficult to guess what they had been used for. A few spectators had the temerity to laugh at the old sleighs some of which were from ancient times and were gorgeously painted in red and green; and the harnesses that went with them were studded with white shells, and fringed with tassels of many colours.

Mother Stina seemed to see the old Ingmarssons driving slowly in these old sleighs, going to a party or coming home from a church wedding, with a bride seated beside them. "Many good people are leaving the parish," she sighed. For to her it was as if all the old Ingmars had gone on living at the farm up to that very day, when their implements and their old carts and sleds were being hawked about.

"I wonder where Ingmar is keeping himself, and how he feels? When it seems so dreadful to me, what must it be for him?"

The weather being so fine, the auctioneer proposed that they carry out all the things that were to go under the hammer, so as to avoid any overcrowding of the rooms. So maids and farm hands carried out boxes and chests, all painted in tulips and roses, Some of them had been standing in the attic, undisturbed, for centuries. They also brought out silver jugs and old-fashioned copper kettles, spinning-wheels and carders, and all kinds of odd-looking weaving appliances. The peasant women gathered around all these old treasures, picking them up and turning them over.

Mother Stina had not intended to buy anything, when she remembered that there was supposed to be a loom here on which could be woven the finest damask, and went up to look for it. Just then a maid came out with a huge Bible, which, with its thick leather bindings and its brass clasps and mountings, was so heavy that she could hardly carry it.

Mother Stina was as astounded as if some one had struck her in the face; and went back to her seat. She knew, of course, that no one nowadays reads these old Bibles, with their obsolete and antiquated language, but just the same it seemed strange that Karin would want to sell it.

It was perhaps the very Bible the old housewife was reading when they came and told her that her husband, the great-grandfather of young Ingmar, had been killed by a bear. Everything that Mother Stina saw had something to tell her. The old silver buckles lying on the table had been taken from the trolls in Mount Klack by an Ingmar Ingmarsson. In the rickety chaise over yonder the Ingmar Ingmarsson who had lived during her childhood had driven to church. She remembered that every time he had passed by her and her mother on their way to church, the mother had nudged her and said: "Now you must curtsy, Stina, fox here comes Ingmar Ingmarsson."

She used to wonder why it was that her mother always wanted her to curtsy to Ingmar Ingmarsson; she had never been so particular when it came to the judge or the bailiff.

Afterward she was told that when her mother was a little girl and went to church with her mother, the latter had always nudged her and said: 'Now you must curtsy, Stina, for here comes Ingmar Ingmarsson."

"God knows," sighed Mother Stina, "it's not only because I had expected that Gertrude would some day have been mistress here that I grieve, but it seems to me as if the whole parish were done for."

Just then the pastor came along, looking solemn and depressed. He did not stop an instant, but went straight to the house. Mother Stina surmised that he had come to plead Ingmar's cause with Karin and Halvor.

Shortly after, the manager of the sawmills at Bergsåna arrived, and also judge Persson. The manager, who was there in the interest of the corporation, straightway went inside, but Sven Persson walked about in the yard for a while and looked at the things. Presently he stopped in front of a little old man with a big beard, who was sitting on the same pile of boards as Mother Stina.

"I don't suppose you happen to know, Strong Ingmar, whether Ingmar Ingmarsson has decided to buy the timber I offered him?"

"He says no," the old man answered, "but I shouldn't be surprised if he were to change his mind soon." At the same time he winked and jerked his thumb in the direction of Mother Stina, thus cautioning Sven Persson not to let her hear what they were talking about.

"I should think he'd be satisfied to accept my terms," said the Judge. "I don't make these offers everyday; but this I'm doing for Big Ingmar's sake."

"You're right about its being a good offer," the old man agreed, "but he says that he has already made a deal else where."

"I wonder if he has really considered what it is that he's losing?" said Sven Persson, and walked on.

Thus far none of the Ingmarsson family had been seen about the yard; but presently young Ingmar was discovered standing leaning against a wall, quite motionless, and with his eyes half closed. Now a number of people got up to go over and shake hands with him, but when they were quite close, they bethought themselves and went back to their seats.

Ingmar was deathly pale, and every one who looked at him could see that he was suffering keenly; therefore, no one ventured to speak to him. He stood so quietly that many had not even noticed that he was there. But those who had could think of nothing else. Here there was none of the merriment which usually prevails at auctions. With Ingmar standing there, hugging the wall of the old home he was about to lose, they felt no inclination to laugh or to joke.

Then came a moment for the opening of the auction. The auctioneer mounted a chair, and began to offer the first lot--an old plow.

Ingmar never moved. He was more like a statue than a human being.

"Good heavens! why can't he go away?" said the people. "He doesn't have to stay here and witness this miserable business. But the Ingmarssons never behave like other folks."

The hammer then fell for the first sale. Ingmar started as if it had caught him; but in a moment he again became motionless. But at every ring of the hammer a shudder went through him.

Two peasant women passed just in front of Mother Stina; they were talking about Ingmar.

"Think! If he had only proposed to some rich farmer's daughter he might have had enough money to buy the farm; but of course he's going to marry the schoolmaster's Gertrude," said one.

"They say that a rich and influential man has offered to give him the Ingmar Farm as a wedding present, if he will marry his daughter," said the other. "You see, they don't mind his being poor, because he belongs to such a good family."

"Anyway, there's some advantage in being the son of Big Ingmar."

"It would indeed have been a good thing if Gertrude had had a little, so that she could have given him a lift," thought Mother Stina.

When all the farming implements had been sold, the auctioneer moved over to another part of the yard, where the household linens were piled. He then bean to offer for sale home-woven fabrics--table cloths, bed linen, and hangings, holding them up so that the embroidered tulips and the various fancy weaves could be seen all over the yard.

Ingmar must have noticed the light flutter of the linen pieces as they were being held aloft, for he involuntarily glanced up. For a moment his tired eyes looked out upon the desecration, then he turned away.

"I've never seen the like of that," said a young peasant girl. "The poor boy looks as if he were dying. If he'd only go away instead of standing here tormenting himself!"

Mother Stina suddenly jumped to her feet as if to cry out that this thing must be stopped; then she sat down again. "I mustn't forget that I'm only a poor old woman," she sighed.

All at once there was a dead silence, which made Mother Stina look up. The silence was due to the sudden appearance of Karin, who had just come out from the house. Now it was quite plain what they all thought of Karin and her dealings, for as she went across the yard every one drew back. No one put out a hand to greet her, no one spoke to her; they simply stared disapprovingly.

Karin looked tired and worn, and stooped more than usual. A bright red spot appeared on both cheeks, and she looked as miserable as in the days when she had had her struggles with Elof. She had come out to find Mother Stina and ask her to go inside. "I didn't know till just now that you were here, Mother Storm," she said.

Mother Stina at first declined, but was finally persuaded.

"We want all the old antagonisms to be forgotten now that we are going away," said Karin.

While they were going toward the house Mother Stina ventured: "This must be a trying day for you, Karin."

Karin's only response was a sigh.

"I don't see how you can have the heart to sell all these old things, Karin."

"It is what one loves most that one must first and foremost sacrifice to the Lord," said Karin.

"Folks think it strange--" Mother Stina began, but Karin cut her short.

"The Lord, too, would think it strange if we held back anything we had offered in His Name."

Mother Stina bit her lip. She could not bring herself to say anything further. All the reproaches which she had meant to heap upon Karin stuck in her throat. There was an air of lofty dignity about Karin that disarmed people; therefore, no one had the courage to upbraid her. When they were on the broad step in front of the porch, Mother Stina tapped Karin on the shoulder.

"Have you noticed who is standing over there?" she asked, and pointed to Ingmar.

Karin winced a little, but was careful not to look over at her brother. "The Lord will find a way out for him," she murmured. "The Lord will surely find away out."

To all appearances the living-room was not much changed by reason of the auction, for in there the seats and cupboards and bedsteads were stationary. But shining copper utensils no longer adorned the walls, the built-in bedsteads looked bare, stripped of their coverings and hangings, and the doors of the blue-painted cupboards, which in the old days were always left standing half open, to let visitors see the great silver jugs and beakers that filled its shelves, were now closed; which meant that there was nothing inside worth showing. The only wall decoration the room boasted was the Jerusalem canvas, which on that day had a fresh wreath around it.

The large room was thronged with relatives and coreligionists of Halvor and Karin. One after another, they were conducted with much ceremony to a large, well-spread table, for refreshments.

The door to the inside room was closed. In there negotiations for the sale of the farm itself were pending. The talking was loud and heated, especially on the part of the pastor.

In the living-room, on the other hand, the people were very quiet, and when any one spoke, it was in hushed tones; for every one's thoughts were in the little room where the fate of the farm was being settled.

Mother Stina turned to Gabriel, saying: "I suppose there's no chance of Ingmar getting the farm?"

"The bidding has gone far beyond his figure by now," Gabriel replied. "The innkeeper from Karmsund is said to have offered thirty-two thousand, and the Company's bid has been raised to thirty-five. The pastor is now trying to persuade Karin and Halvor to let it go to the innkeeper rather than to the Company."

"But what about Berger Sven Persson?"

"It seems that he has not made any bid to-day."

The pastor was still talking. He was evidently pleading with some one. They could not hear what he said, but they knew that no decision had been reached or the pastor would not have gone on talking.

Then came a moment of silence, after which the innkeeper was heard to say, not exactly loudly, but with a clearness that made every word carry: "I bid thirty-six thousand, not that I think the place is worth that much, but I can't bear the thought of its becoming a corporation property."

Immediately after there was a noise as of some one striking a table with his fist, and the manager of the Company was heard to shout: "I bid forty thousand, and more than that Karin and Halvor are not likely to get."

Mother Stina, who had turned as white as a sheet, got up and went back to the yard. It was dreary enough out there, but not as insufferable as sitting in the close room listening to the haggling.

The sale of linen was over; the auctioneer had again changed his place, and was about to cry out the old family silverware--the heavy silver jugs inlaid with gold coin, and the beakers bearing inscriptions from the seventeenth century. When he held up the first jug, Ingmar started forward as if to stop the sale, but restrained himself at once, and went back to his place.

A few minutes later an old peasant came bearing the silver jug, which he respectfully deposited at Ingmar's feet. "You must keep this as a souvenir of all that by right should have been yours," he said.

Again a tremor passed through Ingmar's body; his lips quivered, and he tried to say something.

"You needn't say anything now," said the old peasant. "That will keep till another time." He withdrew a few paces, then suddenly turned back. "I hear that folks are saying you could take over the farm if you cared to. It would be the greatest service you could render this parish."

There were a number of old servants living at the farm, who had been there from early youth. Now that old age had overtaken them they still stayed on, and over these hung a pall of uncertainty such as had not touched the others. They feared that under a new master they would be turned out of their old home to become beggars. Or, whatever happened, they knew in their hearts that no stranger would care for them as their old master and mistress had done. These poor old pensioners wandered restlessly about the farmyard all day long. Seeing them shrink past, frail and helpless, with a look of hopeless appeal in their weak, watery eyes, every one felt sorry for them.

Finally one old man, who was nearly a hundred, hobbled up to Ingmar, and sat down on the ground quite close to him. It seemed to be the only place where he could be at ease, for there he remained quietly, resting his shaky old hands on the crook of his cane. And as soon as old Lisa and Cowhouse Martha saw where Pickaxe Bengt had taken refuge, they, too, came tottering up, and sat down at Ingmar's feet. They did not speak to him, but somehow they must have had a vague idea that he would be able to protect them--he who was now Ingmar Ingmarsson.

Ingmar no longer kept his eyes closed. He stood looking down at them, as if he were counting up all the years and all the trials through which they had lived, serving his people; and it seemed to him that his first duty was to see that they be allowed to live out their days in their old home. He glanced out over the yard, caught the eye of Strong Ingmar, and nodded to him, significantly.

Whereupon Strong Ingmar, without a word, went straight to the house. He passed through the living-room to the inner room, and stationed himself by the door, where he waited for an opportunity to deliver his message.

The pastor was standing in the middle of the room talking to Karin and Halvor, who were sitting as stiff and motionless as a pair of mummies. The manager from Bergsåna was at the table looking confident, for he knew that he was in a position to outbid all the others. The innkeeper from Karmsund was standing at the window, in such a fever of agitation that great beads of sweat came out on his forehead, and his hands shook. Berger Sven Persson sat on the sofa at the far end of the room, twiddling his thumbs, his hands clasped over his stomach, his big commanding face impassive.

The pastor was done talking, and Halvor glanced over at Karin for advice; but she sat as if in a trance, staring blankly at the floor.

Then Halvor turned to the pastor, and said: "Karin and I have got to consider that we are going to a strange land, and that we and the brethren must live on the money we can get for the farm. We've been told that the fare alone to Jerusalem will cost us fifteen thousand kroner. And then, afterward, we must get a house and keep ourselves in food and clothes. So we can hardly afford to give anything away."

"It's unreasonable of you people to expect Karin and Halvor to sell the farm for a mere song, just because you don't want the Company to have it!" said the manager. "It seems to me that it would be well to accept my offer at once, if for no other reason than to put an end to all these useless arguments."

"Yes," Karin spoke up, "we'd better take the highest bid."

But the parson was not so easily beaten! When it came to a question of handling a worldly matter he always knew just what to say. Now he was the man, and not the preacher.

"I'm sure that Karin and Halvor care enough about this old farm to want to sell to some person who would keep up the property, even if they have to take a couple of thousand kroner less," he said.

Then he proceeded to tell--for Karin's special benefit--of various farms that had gone to waste after falling into the hands of corporations.

Once or twice Karin glanced up at the pastor. He wondered whether he had finally succeeded in making some impression upon her. "There must surely be a little of the pride of the old peasant matron still left in her," he thought as he went on telling of tumbledown farmhouses and underfed cattle.

He finally ended with these words: "I know perfectly well that if the corporation is fully determined to buy the Ingmar Farm, it can go on bidding against the farmers until they are forced to give up; but if Karin and Halvor want to prevent this old place from becoming a ruined corporation property, they will have to settle on a price, so that the farmers may know what to be guided by."

When the pastor made that proposition, Halvor, uneasy, glanced over at Karin, who slowly raised her eyelids.

"Certainly Halvor and I would rather sell the place to some one of our own kind. Then we could go away from here knowing that everything would continue in the old way."

"If some person outside the Company wants to give forty thousand for the property, we will be satisfied to accept that sum for it," said Halvor, knowing at last what his wife's wishes were.

When that was said, Strong Ingmar walked over to Sven Persson and whispered to him.

Judge Persson immediately arose and went up to Halvor. "Since you say you are willing to take forty thousand kroner for the farm, I'll buy it at that figure," he said.

Halvor's face began to twitch, and a lump seemed to rise in his throat; he had to swallow before he could speak. "Thank you, judge," he finally stammered. "I'm glad that I can leave the farm in such good hands!"

Judge Persson then shook hands with Karin, who was so moved that she could hardly keep back the tears.

"You may be sure, Karin, that everything here will be as of old," he said.

"Are you going to live at the farm yourself?" Karin inquired.

"No," said he, then added with great solemnity: "My youngest daughter is to be married in the summer, and she and her husband are to have the farm as a gift from me." He then turned to the pastor and thanked him.

"Well, Parson, you'll have it your own way," he said. "I never dreamed in the days when I was a poor goose boy on this place that some time it would be in my power to arrange for an Ingmar Ingmarsson to come back to the Ingmar Farm!"

The pastor and the other men all stood staring at the judge in dumb amazement, not grasping at first what was meant.

Karin left the room at once. While passing through the living-room to the yard, she drew herself up, retied her headkerchief, and smoothed out her apron. Then, with an air of solemn dignity, she went straight up to Ingmar and grasped his hand.

"Let me congratulate you, Ingmar," she said, her voice shaking with joy. "You and I have been strongly opposed to each other of late in matters of religion; but since God does not grant me the solace of having you with us, I thank Him for allowing you to become master of the old farm."

Ingmar did not speak. His hand lay limp in Karin's, and when she let it drop, he stood there looking just as unhappy as he had looked all day.

The men who had been inside at the final settlement came out now, and shook hands with Ingmar, offering their congratulations. "Good luck to you, Ingmar Ingmarsson of the Ingmar Farm!" they said.

At that a glimmer of happiness crossed Ingmar's face, and he murmured softly to himself: "Ingmar Ingmarsson of the Ingmar Farm." He was like a child that has just received a gift it has long been wishing for. But the next moment his expression changed to one of intense revolt and repugnance, as if he would have thrust the coveted prize from him.

In a flash the news had spread .all over the farm. People talked loudly and questioned eagerly; some were so pleased they wept for joy. No one listened now to the cries of the auctioneer, but everybody crowded around Ingmar to wish him happiness--peasants and gentlefolk, friends and strangers, alike.

Ingmar, standing there, surrounded by all these happy people, suddenly looked up. He then saw Mother Stina, standing a little apart from the others, her eyes fixed on him. She was very pale, and looked old and poor. As he met her gaze, she turned and walked away.

Ingmar hastily left the others and hurried after her. Then bending down to her, every muscle of his face aquiver with grief, he said in a husky voice:

"Go home to Gertrude, Mother Stina, and tell her that I have betrayed her, that I've sold myself for the farm. Tell her never to think more of such a miserable wretch as I."