Rolandsen seemed to be picking up again to a marked degree. After all the village had read his declaration, he kept to himself, and avoided people. This made a good impression; evidently the scapegrace had taken thought, and turned aside from his evil ways. But the fact was that Rolandsen had no time for sauntering idly about the roads now; he was restlessly at work in his room at nights. There were numbers of bottles, large and small, containing samples, that he had to pack up and send away by post east and west. Also, he was at the instrument early and late; it was essential to make the best of his time before he was dismissed.
His scandalous story had also reached the Vicarage, and everyone looked with commiseration upon Jomfru van Loos, whose former lover had turned out so badly. The priest himself called her into his study and talked to her gently for a long time.
Jomfru van Loos was certainly not now disposed to hold Rolandsen to his word; she would go and see him once more, and make an end of it.
She found him looking abject and miserable, but this did not soften her. “Nice things you’ve been doing,” said she.
“I hoped you would come, so I could ask pardon,” he answered.
“Pardon! Well, I never did! Look you here, Ove! I simply don’t know what to make of you. And I’ll have no more to do with you on this earth, so there. I’m not known to folk as a thief nor a rascal, but go my own honest way. And haven’t I warned you faithfully from my heart, and you’ve only gone on as bad as ever? A man already promised and betrothed, going about as a costly jewel to other womenfolk? And then to go stealing people’s money and haveto stick up a confession on a gatepost in broad daylight. I’m that shamed I don’t know what to do with myself. Don’t say a word; I know all about you. You’ve nothing to say at all but only harden your heart and shout, Hurray, my boys! And it’s all been true affection on my part, but you’ve been as a very leper towards me, and soiled my life with a disgraceful burglary. You needn’t try to say a word, and only make it worse. Praise be the Lord, there’s not a soul but says the same—how you’ve shamefully deceived me. And the priest himself says I’d better give you up and go away at once, though he’d be sorry to lose me. And it’s no good you standing there trying to hide, Ove, seeing you’re a sinner in the sight of God and man, and only worthy to be cast aside. And if I do call you Ove, after all that’s passed, I don’t mean it a bit, and you needn’t think I’m going to make it up with you, because I’m not, for I won’t have anything to do with you here or hereafter, and never be a friend of yours in all the world. For there’s nobody could have done more for you than I’ve done this long timeback, but you’ve only been overflowing with recklessness and never a thought of me, and taking advantage of me early and late. Though I’m sure it’s partly my own fault, and more’s the pity, by reason of being too lenient and overlooking this and that all the time.”
There stood Rolandsen, a wretched creature, with never a word to say for himself. He had never heard Marie van Loos so incoherent as to-day; it showed how his dire misdeed had shaken her. When she stopped speaking, she seemed thoroughly exhausted.
“I’ll turn over a new leaf,” he said.
“You? A new leaf?” Jomfru van Loos laughed bitterly. “What’s done is done, and will be for all your turning. And seeing I’m come of decent folk myself, I’ll not have you smirching my good name. When I say a thing, I mean it. And I tell you now, I’m going away by the post-packet the day after to-morrow; but I’m not going to have you coming down to the quay saying good-bye, and the priest he says the same. I’ll say good-bye to you to-day and once and for all. And thanks for the happy hourswe’ve had together—the rest I’ll try to forget.”
She swung round determinedly and walked away. Then she said, “But you can be up in the woods just above, if you like, and wave good-bye from there—not that I care if you do or don’t.”
“You might shake hands,” he said.
“No, I won’t. You know only too well what your right hand doeth.”
Rolandsen stood bowed and downcast. “But aren’t we to write?” he said. “Only just a word or so?”
“I won’t write. Never on earth. You’ve said often enough it was all over between us, and made a joke of it; but now I’m good enough, it seems. But I know better! It’s good-bye for ever, and I wish you joy. I’m going to Bergen, to stay with father, and you know the address if you write. But I won’t ask you to.”
Rolandsen went up the steps to his room with a very clear sensation of being betrothed no longer. “Curious thing,” he thought to himself, “I was standing down there outside a moment ago.”
It was a busy day; he had to pack up the last of his samples ready to go by the post-packet the day after to-morrow; then he had to collect his own belongings and prepare for the moving. The all-powerful Inspector of the Telegraphs was on the way.
Of course he would be summarily dismissed. There was nothing to be said against him in respect of his duties, and Trader Mack, a man of great influence, would doubtless do nothing to harm him, but for all that, justice must be done.
There was grass in the meadows now, and the woods were in leaf; the nights were mild and calm. The bay was deserted, all the fishing-boats were gone, and Mack’s own vessels had sailed away to the southward with their cargoes of herring. It was summer.
The fine days gave good attendance at the church on Sundays; crowds of people came by land and water, and among them a few skippers from Bergen and Haugesund, who had their craft out along the coast, drying split fish on the rocks. They came again year after year, and grew old in the place.They turned up at church in full dress, with bright calico shirts and chains of hair down over their chests; some of them even wore gold earrings, and brightened up the assembly. But the dry weather brought news of a regrettable forest fire farther up the fjords; summer weather was not all for the good.
Enok had entered upon his office, and was lay-helper now in earnestness and all humility, with a kerchief over his ears. The youth of the village found great amusement in the sight, but their elders were inclined to be scandalised at having the choir disgraced by monkey figures of the sort, and sent in a complaint to the priest about it. Could not Enok manage with stuffing wadding in his ears? But Enok explained to the priest that he could not put away the kerchief by reason of the aches and pains that raged tumultuously within. Then it was that ex-Lay-helper Levion set up a malicious laughter at his supplanter Enok, and opined that it was hot enough for most these days without tying kerchiefs round their ears.
Levion, unworthy soul, had, since his downfall, never ceased from persecuting Enok withjealousy and ill-will. Never a night he was out spearing flounder but he must choose his place off Enok’s shore and beach, and spear such flounder as had been nearest Enok’s hand. And if he chanced to need a thole-pin or a bit of wood for a baling scoop, it was always in Enok’s fir-copse close to the water that he sought it. He kept a constant eye on Enok himself.
It was soon noised abroad that Jomfru van Loos had broken off her engagement, and in the depth of that disgrace was leaving the Vicarage at once. Trader Mack felt that Rolandsen, poor fellow, was having trouble enough over the affair, and endeavoured now himself to heal the breach. He took down Rolandsen’s announcement with his own hands from the gatepost, and declared that it was by no wish of his it had been set there at all. Then he went down to the Vicarage. Mack could afford to be tolerant now; he had already marked what a profound impression his generous behaviour in the burglary affair had produced. People greeted him now as respectfully as ever,—even, it seemed, with greater esteem thanbefore. Surely there was but one Mack on all the coast!
But his visit to the Vicarage proved of no avail. Jomfru van Loos was moved even to tears at the thought of Mack’s coming in person, but no one on earth should persuade her now to make it up with Rolandsen, never! Mack gathered that it was the priest who had brought her to such a pitch of determination.
When Jomfru van Loos went down to the boat, her master and mistress saw her off. Both wished her a pleasant journey, and watched her get into the boat.
“Oh, Heaven,” said Jomfru van Loos, “I know he’s up there in the woods this minute and bitterly repenting.” And she took out her handkerchief.
The boat pushed off and glided away under long strokes.
“There he is!” cried Jomfru van Loos, half rising. She looked for a moment as if about to wade ashore. Then she fell to waving with all her might up towards the woods. And the boat disappeared round the point.
Rolandsen went home through the woods as he had taken to doing of late; but coming opposite the Vicarage fence, he moved down on to the road and followed it. Well, now all his samples were sent off, he had nothing to do but await the result. It would not take long. And Rolandsen snapped his fingers from sheer lightness of heart as he walked.
A little farther on sat Olga, the parish clerk’s daughter, on a stone by the roadside. What was she doing there? Rolandsen thought to himself: She must be coming from the store, and waiting for somebody here. A little later came Elise Mack. Oho! were they inseparables now? She too sat down, and seemed to be waiting. Now was the time to delight the ladies by appearing crushed and humbled, a very worm, thought Rolandsen to himself. He turned off hurriedly into the wood. But the dried twigs crackled underfoot; they could hear him. It would be a fruitless attempt, and he gave it up. Might go down the road again, he thought; no need to delight them overmuch. And he walked down along the road.
But it was not so easy after all to face Elise Mack. His heart began to beat heavily, a sudden warmth flowed through him, and he stopped. He had gained nothing that last time, and since then a great misdeed had been added against him. He drew off backward into the wood again. If only he were past this clearing, the dry twigs would come to an end and the heather begin. He took it in a few long strides, and was saved. Suddenly he stopped; what the devil was he hopping about like this for? He, Ove Rolandsen! He turned, and strode defiantly back across the clearing, tramping over dry twigs as loudly as he pleased.
Coming down on to the road again, he saw the ladies still seated in the same place. They were talking, and Elise was digging at the ground with the point of her parasol. Rolandsen halted again. Your dare-devil sort are ever the most cautious. “But I’m a thief,” he said to himself. “How can I have the face to show myself? If I give a greeting, it will be forcing them to recognise me.” And once more he drew back amongthe trees. What a fool he was, to go about with such feelings—as if he had not other things to think about! A couple of months hence he would be rich, a man of wealth and position. In love? The devil take all such fancies. And he turned his steps towards home.
Were they sitting there still, he wondered. He turned and stole a glance. Frederik had joined them, and here they were all three coming towards him. He hurried back, with his heart in his mouth. If only they had not seen him! They stopped, and he heard Frederik Mack say, “Sh! There’s someone in the wood.”—“Oh, it’s nothing,” answered Elise.
Like as not she said so because she had seen him, thought Rolandsen. And the thought made him cold and bitter all at once. No, of course, he was nothing—nothing as yet. But wait, only two months.... And anyhow, what was she herself? A Virgin Mary cold as iron, daughter of the Lutheran celebrity Mack of Rosengaard.Bliv i Freden!
There was a weathercock on the roof of the telegraph station, perched on an ironrod. Rolandsen came home, climbed up to the roof, and bent that iron rod with his own hands, till the cock leaned backward, as if in the act of crowing. Let it stand so; it was only right the cock should crow.
And now sets in a time of easy days for all, no fishing beyond the little for home needs; fishing on warm, sunny nights—a pleasant task, a pastime. Corn and potatoes growing, and meadows waving; herring stored in every shed, and cows and goats milking full pails, and rolling in fat themselves.
Mack and his daughter Elise have gone back home again; Frederik reigns alone over the factory and the store. And Frederik’s rule is none of the best; he is full of his own thoughts of the sea, and hates this life on shore. Captain Henriksen of the coasting steamer has half promised to get him a berth as mate on board his vessel,but it never seems to come to anything. Then comes the question whether old Mack will buy a steamer himself for his son to run. He talks of it, and seems willing enough, but Frederik guesses it is more than he can do. Frederik knows the position pretty well. He is strangely little of a seaman by nature, a cautious and reliable youth, doing just as much of this thing and that as is needed in his daily life. He takes after his mother, and is not altogether the true Mack type. But that is well for one who would get on in the world and succeed; never do too much, but rather a little too little of everything, so it could be reckoned as just enough. Look at Rolandsen, for instance, that extravagant madcap with his wild fancies. A common thief among his fellows, that was what he had come to, and lost his position into the bargain. And there he was, going about with a burdened conscience, wearing his clothes down thinner and thinner, and never so much as a room of his own to live in, saving a bit of a bedroom at Børre the organ-blower’s, and that was humble enough. That was the end of Ove Rolandsen. Børremight be an excellent man in his way, but he was the poorest in the place, and had least herring in his store. And seeing his daughter Pernille was a poor, weakly creature, the organ-blower’s house was never reckoned for much. It was not the place a man of any decent position could choose to live in.
It was said that Rolandsen might have avoided dismissal if only he had behaved with proper contrition towards the visiting Inspector. But Rolandsen had simply taken it for granted that he was to be dismissed, and had given the Inspector no opportunity of pardoning him. And old Mack, the mediator, was not there.
But the priest was not altogether displeased with Rolandsen. “I’ve heard he drinks less than he used to,” he said. “And I should not regard him as altogether lost. He himself admits that it was a letter from me that led him to confess about the burglary. It is encouraging to see one’s work bear fruit now and again.”
Midsummer’s eve came round, and fires were lit on high places, young men and girls from the fisher-huts gathered about thefires, fiddles and concertinas were heard about the village. The best way was to make only the least little fire, but heaps of smoke; damp moss and juniper twigs were flung on the fires to make the smoke properly thick and scented.
Rolandsen was still unabashed enough to take part in the popular festivity; he sat on a big rock thrumming at his guitar, and singing till the valley echoed again. When he came down and joined those about the fire, he was seen to be as drunk as an owl, and overflowing with magnificent speech. The same as ever; an incorrigible.
But then came Olga walking down the road. She had never a thought of stopping here; she was but walking that way and would have passed by. Oh, she might well have gone another way; but Olga was young, and the music of the concertina drew her; her nostrils quivered, a fountain of happiness was in her—she was in love. She had been to the store earlier in the day, and Frederik Mack had said words enough for her to understand, for all he spoke with caution. And now, perhaps he too might be out for a walk this evening!
Fruen came down from the Vicarage; the two walked on together, talking of no other than Frederik Mack. He was the lord of the village, and even Fruen’s heart had bowed to him in secret; he was so nice and careful, and kept to earth at every step. Fruen noticed at last that Olga was overcome with shyness about something, and asked, “But, child, what makes you so quiet? Surely you haven’t fallen in love with this young Mack?”
“Yes,” whispered Olga, bursting into tears.
Fruen stopped, “Olga, Olga! And does he care for you?”
“I think he does.”
And at that Fruen’s eyes grew quiet and stupid-looking again, and gazed emptily into air. “Well, well,” she said, with a smile. “Heaven bless you, child; it will come all right, you see.” And she was kinder than ever to Olga after that.
When they reached the Vicarage, the priest was walking up and down in great excitement. “The woods are on fire,” he cried. “I could see it from the window.”And he got a supply of axes and picks and men, and manned his boat down at the waterside. It was Enok’s copse that was burning.
But ahead of the priest and his party went ex-Lay-helper Levion. Levion had been out seeing to his lines; he had set them as usual just off Enok’s ground, and caught a decent batch. Then on the way back he saw a tiny flame break out in the wood, and grow bigger and bigger. Levion nodded a little to himself, as if he understood what a little flame like that might mean. And then, seeing folk moving busily about round the priest’s boathouse, he understands they have come down to help; he heads his boat round and puts in at once, to be first on the spot. It was beautiful to see him laying aside all enmity at once and hurrying to his rival’s aid.
Levion puts in to shore and moves up at once to the wood; he can hear the roar of the fire already. He takes his time, looking round carefully at every step; presently he spies Enok coming along in the greatest haste. Levion is seized with great excitement;he slips behind an overhanging rock and peers out from cover. Enok comes nearer, moving with a purpose, looking neither right nor left, but coming straight on. Had he discovered his enemy, and was coming to seek him? When he was quite close up, Levion gave a hail. Enok started, and came to a halt. And in his confusion he smiled, and said:
“Here’s a fire, worse luck. There’s trouble abroad.”
The other took courage, and answered, “’Twill be the finger of God, no doubt.”
Enok frowned. “What are you standing about here for?” he asked.
All Levion’s hatred flares up now, and he says, “Ho-ho! ’Twill be over-hot for kerchiefs round the ears now.”
“Get away with you!” says Enok. “Like as not it was you that started the fire.”
But Levion was blind and deaf. Enok seemed to be making towards just that corner of the rock where Levion stood.
“Keep off!” cries Levion. “I’ve torn off one of your ears already—do you want me to take the other?”
“Get away with you, d’you hear?” says Enok, coming closer.
Levion was choking and swallowing with anger. He cried out loud, “Remember that day in the fjord, when I caught you pulling up my lines? I twisted one ear off then....”
And that was why Enok went about with a kerchief round his head; he had but one ear. And both he and Levion had very good reasons for keeping quiet about the matter.
“You’re no better than a murderer, to speak of,” said Enok.
The priest’s boat was heard rushing in to land, and from the other side came the roar of the fire, ever nearer. Enok writhed, and tried again to make Levion retreat; he drew his knife—that excellent knife for cutting things.
Levion rolled his eyes and screamed out, “As sure as you dare come waving knives at me, there’s folk at hand already, and here they come!”
Enok put up his knife again. “What d’you want standing there anyway?” he said. “Get away with you!”
“What are you doing here yourself, anyway?”
“What’s that to you? I’ve an errand here; some things I’ve hidden here. And there’s the fire all close up.”
But Levion stayed defiantly, and would not move an inch. Here was the priest coming up, and he, no doubt, could hear the two in dispute—but what did Levion care for him now?
The boat lay to, and those on board rushed up with axe and pick. The priest gave a brief greeting and a hasty word. “These midsummer bonfires are dangerous, Enok; the sparks fly about all over the place. Where had we better begin?”
Enok was at a loss for the moment; the priest had put him out, and drew him away now, so that he could not deal with Levion further.
“Which way’s the wind?” asked the priest. “Come and show us where to start digging.”
But Enok was desperately ill at ease; he looked round anxiously for Levion, and answered at random.
“Do not give way so,” said the priest.“Pull yourself together, and be a man. We must get the fire under.” And he took Enok by the arm.
Some of the men had already moved forward towards the fire, and were digging across its path. Levion was still in his old place, breathing hard; he kicked at a flat stone that lay in under the rock. “He won’t have hidden anything here,” thought Levion to himself. “It was just a lie.” But he looked down again, and, kicking away some of the earth, he came upon a kerchief. One of Enok’s kerchiefs it was—a quondam bandage for the earache. Levion picked it up; there was something wrapped in it. He unfastened it, and there was money—paper money—notes, and many of them. Furthermore, there was a document, a big white sheet. Levion was full of curiosity. He thought at once, “Stolen money!” And he unfolded the document and began to spell it through.
Then it was that Enok caught sight of him, and gave a hoarse cry; breaking away from the priest, he rushed back towards Levion, knife in hand.
“Enok, Enok!” cried the priest, making after him.
“Here is the thief!” cried Levion, as they came up.
The priest fancied Enok must have gone suddenly demented at sight of the fire. “Put up your knife!” he called out.
Levion went on, “Here’s the burglar that stole Mack’s money.”
“What’s that you say?” asked the priest uncomprehendingly.
Enok makes a dash at his opponent, and tries to snatch the packet away.
“Get out! I’m going to hand it over to the priest,” cries Levion. “And he can see for himself the sort of helper he’s got now.”
Enok staggered to a tree; his face was grey. The priest looks blankly at the paper, the kerchief, and the notes; he can make nothing of it all.
“I found it there,” says Levion, shaking all over. “He’d hidden it under a stone. There’s Mack’s name on the paper, you can see.”
The priest examined it, growing more andmore astounded as he read. “This must be the insurance policy Mack said he had lost, surely?”
“And the money he lost as well,” said Levion.
Enok pulled himself together. “Then you must have put it there,” he said.
The roar of the forest fire came nearer, the air was growing hotter and hotter about them, but the three men stood still.
“I know nothing about it,” said Enok again. “It’s just a trick of Levion’s, to do me harm.”
Said Levion, “Here’s two hundredDaler. Have I ever had two hundredDalerin my life? And isn’t this your kerchief? Isn’t it one you’ve worn over your ears?”
“Yes, isn’t that so?” seconded the priest.
Enok was silent.
The priest was counting over the notes. “There are not two hundredDalerhere,” he said.
“He’s spent some of it, of course,” said Levion.
But Enok stood breathing heavily. “I know nothing about it,” he said. “But asfor you, Levion, you see if I don’t remember you for this!”
The priest was utterly at a loss. If Enok were the thief, then Rolandsen had only been making a jest of the letter he had sent him. And what for?
The heat was growing unbearable; the three men moved down towards the water, the fire at their heels. They were forced to get into the boat, and then to push off away from land altogether.
“Anyhow, this is Mack’s policy,” said the priest. “We must report what has happened. Row back home, Levion.”
Enok was annihilated, and sat staring gloomily before him. “Ay, let’s go and report it,” he said. “That’s all I want.”
The priest gave him a troubled look. “Do you, I wonder?” he said. And he closed his eyes in horror at the whole affair.
Enok, in his covetousness, had been too simple. He had carefully preserved the insurance paper that he could make nothing of. It was an imposing-looking document, with stamps on, and a great sum of money written there; who could say but he mightbe able to go away some day and sell it? It was surely too valuable to throw away.
The priest turned and looked back at the fire. Men were at work in the woods, trees were falling, and a broad trench was spreading darkly across. More helpers had come up to join in the work.
“The fire’ll stop of itself,” said Levion.
“Do you think so?”
“Soon as it gets to the birches it’ll stop.”
And the boat with the three men on board rowed in to theLensmand’s.
When the priest came back that evening he had been weeping. Evil and wrong-doing seemed to flourish all about him. He was wounded and humbled with sorrow; now his wife could not even have the shoes she needed so badly. Enok’s rich offering would have to be returned to the giver, as being stolen goods. And that would leave the priest blank and bare.
He went up to his wife at once. But even before he had passed the door of her room, new trouble and despair came to meet him. His wife was sewing. Garments were strewn about the floor, a fork and a dishcloth from the kitchen lay on the bed, together with newspapers and some crochet-work.One of her slippers was on the table. On her chest of drawers lay a branch of birch in leaf and a big grey pebblestone.
He set about, from force of habit, putting things in order.
“You’ve no need to trouble,” said she. “I was going to put that slipper away myself as soon as I’d done my sewing.”
“But how can you sit and work with the place in such a mess?”
At this she was offended, and made no answer.
“What do you want that stone for?” he asked.
“It’s not for anything particular. I just found it on the beach, and it was so pretty.”
He swept up a little heap of faded grass that lay beside the mirror, and put it in a newspaper.
“I don’t know if you want this for anything?” he asked, checking himself.
“No, it’s no good now. It’s sorrel; I was going to use it for a salad.”
“It’s been lying here over a week,” he said. “And it’s made a stain here on the polish.”
“There, that shows you. Polished furniture’s such a nuisance; I can’t see any sense in it myself.”
At that he burst out into an angry laugh. His wife dropped her work and stood up.
He could never leave her in peace, but was always worrying the life out of her with his lack of sense. And so they drifted once more into one of the foolish, fruitless quarrels that had been repeated at intervals through the past four years. The priest had come up in all humility to beg his wife’s indulgence because he could not get her the new shoes at once, but he found it now more and more impossible to carry out his purpose; bitterness overpowered him. Things were all wrong every way at the Vicarage since Jomfru van Loos had left them and his wife had taken over the housekeeping herself.
“And while I think of it, I wish you would use a little sense and thought over things in the kitchen,” he said.
“Sense and thought? And don’t I, then? Do you mean to say things are worse now than before?”
“I found the dust-bin full of good food yesterday.”
“If only you wouldn’t go interfering with everything....”
“I found a dish of cream from the dinner the other day.”
“Well, the maids had been at it, and I didn’t care to use it after them.”
“I found a lot of rice as well.”
“It was the milk had turned, and spoiled it. I couldn’t help that, could I?”
“One day I found a boiled egg, with the shell off, in the dust-bin.”
His wife was silent. Though, indeed, she could have found something to say to that as well.
“We’re not exactly rich enough to waste things,” said the priest. “And you know yourself we have to pay for the eggs. One day the cat was eating an omelette.”
“Only a bit that was left from dinner. But you’re all unreasonable, and that’s the truth; you ought to see a doctor for that temper of yours.”
“I’ve seen you stand holding the cat and pushing a bowl of milk under its nose.And you let the maids see it too. They laugh at you behind your back.”
“Theydon’t. It’s only you that are always nasty and ill-tempered.”
The end of it was that the priest went back to his study, and his wife was left in peace.
At breakfast next morning no one could see from her looks that she had been suffering and wretched. All her trouble seemed charmed away, and not a memory of their quarrel left. Her easy, changeable nature stood her in good stead, and helped to make her life endurable. The priest was touched once more. After all, he might as well have held his peace about these household matters; the new housekeeper would be coming soon, and should be on her way already.
“I’m sorry you’ll hardly be able to get those shoes just yet,” he said.
“No, no,” was all she said.
“Enok’s offering will have to be returned; the money was stolen.”
“What’s that you say?”
“Yes, only fancy—it was he who stole allthat money from Mack. He confessed before theLensmandyesterday.” And the priest told her the whole story.
“Then it wasn’t Rolandsen after all...” said Fruen.
“Oh, Rolandsen—he’s always in mischief some way or other. An incorrigible fellow. But, anyhow, I’m afraid your shoes will have to wait again.”
“Oh, but it doesn’t matter about the shoes.”
That was her way, always kind and unselfish to the last—a mere child. And her husband had never heard her complain about their poverty.
“If only you could wear mine,” he said, softening.
But at that she laughed heartily. “Yes, and you wear mine instead, ha-ha-ha!” And here she dropped his plate on the floor and smashed it; dropped the cold cutlet as well. “Wait a minute; I’ll fetch another plate,” she said, and hurried out.
Never a word about the damage, thought the priest; never so much as entered her head. And plates cost money.
“But you’re surely not going to eat that cutlet?” said his wife when she came in.
“Why, what else should we do with it?”
“Give it to the cat, of course.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford that sort of thing, if you can,” said he, turning gloomy again. And this might have led to a first-rate quarrel again, if she had not been wise enough to pass it over in silence. As it was, both felt suddenly out of spirits....
Next day another remarkable happening was noised abroad: Rolandsen had disappeared. On hearing the news of the find in the wood, and Enok’s confession, he had exclaimed, “The devil! It’s come too early—by a month, at least.” Børre the organ-blower had heard it. Then, later in the evening, Rolandsen was nowhere to be found, within doors or without. But Børre’s little boat, that was drawn up at the Vicarage landing-place, had disappeared, together with oars and fishing-gear and all that was in it.
Word was sent to Rosengaard at once about the discovery of the true thief, but, strangely enough, Mack seemed in no hurryto come back and take the matter up anew. Doubtless he had his reasons. Rolandsen had cheated him into paying out a reward, and he would now have to pay the same sum over again, which was by no means convenient at the moment. A true Mack, he would never think of acting less open-handedly now than before,—it was a point of honour with him,—but just at the moment he was pressed for money. Mack’s numerous and various undertakings called for considerable disbursements, and there had been no great influx of ready cash for some time past. There was his big consignment of herring still in the hands of the agents at Bergen; prices were low, and Mack was holding. He waited impatiently for the dog-days; after that, the fishing would be definitely at an end, and prices would go up. Also, the Russians were at war, and agriculture in that widespread land would be neglected; the population would need fish to help them out.
Weeks passed, and Mack failed to appear at the factory at all. There was that bakery, too, that he had promised the people at theVicarage—and what was he to say when Fruen asked him? The foundations were laid, and the ground had been levelled, but no building was being done. Once more folk began to whisper about Mack; how, like as not, he would find it awkward to get on with that bakery place. So strong was this feeling of doubt, that the baker at theLensmand’stook to drink again. He felt himself secure; a bakery could not be run up in a week; there was time at any rate for a good solid bout. The priest heard of his backsliding, and appealed to him in person, but with little effect; the man felt safe at least for the time being.
And in truth, the priest, who was ever a worker, had much on his hands just now; he spared no effort, but for all that he seemed always behindhand. And now he had lost one of his helpers, the most zealous of them all—Enok to wit. Only a couple of days after that disaster, Levion had come up once more, and showed himself extremely willing to be reinstated.
“Priest can see now, surely, there’s none could be better for the place than me.”
“H’m! You are suspected of having started that fire yourself.”
“’Tis an everlasting thief and scoundrel said that lie!” exclaimed Levion.
“Good! But anyhow, you’re not going to be helper again.”
“Who’s it to be this time, then?”
“No one. I shall manage without.”
That sort of man was the priest; strong and stiff and just in his dealings with all. And he had reason now to mortify himself without pity. The constant discomfort at home and the many difficulties of his office were striving to demoralise him and tempt him to his fall; reprehensible thoughts came into his head at times. Why, for instance, should he not make peace with Levion, who could be useful to him in many little matters by way of return? Furthermore, Mack of Rosengaard had offered his help in any deserving case of actual need. Well and good! He, the priest himself, was in greater need than any of his flock. Why not apply to Mack for help on behalf of a family in distress, and keep the help so given for himself? Then he could get that pair ofshoes for his wife. He himself needed one or two little things as well—a few books, a little philosophy; he felt himself withering up in the round of daily toil; his development was checked. Rolandsen, that glib-tongued rogue, had declared it was human beings had made God what He was, and the priest had marked the effect of that upon his own wife. He needed books from which to arm himself for the abolishment of Rolandsen as soon as opportunity arose.
Mack came at last—came, as usual, in splendour and state; his daughter Elise was with him. He called at the Vicarage at once, as a matter of courtesy; moreover, he did not in any way desire to hide away from his promise. Fruen asked about the bakery. Mack regretted that he had been unable to get the work done sooner, but there were very good reasons. It was a flat impossibility to get the building done this year; the foundations must have time to settle first. Fruen gave a little cry of disappointment, but her husband was relieved.
“That’s what the experts tell me,” saidMack. “And what can I do? If we were to build and finish now, then next spring’s thaw might shift the whole foundation several inches. And what would happen to the building above?”
“Yes, of course,” agreed the priest.
But it must not be thought that Mack was in any way discouraged; far from it. The dog-days were past, the herring fishery was at an end, and the agent in Bergen had wired that prices were going up by leaps and bounds. Mack could not help telling them the news at the Vicarage. And in return the priest was able to inform him where Rolandsen was hiding, on an island among the outer reefs, far to the west, like a wild savage. A man and woman had come up to the Vicarage and brought the news.
Mack sent off a boat at once in search.
The fact of the matter was, that Enok’s confession had taken Rolandsen all unawares. He was free now, but, on the other hand, he had not the four hundredDalerto pay Mack. And so it came about that he took the boat, with Børre’s gear and tackle, and rowed away in the silent night. He made for the outer islands, and that was a six-mile journey, part of it over open sea. He rowed all night, and looked about in the morning till he found a suitable island. Here he landed; wild birds of all sorts flew up about him.
Rolandsen was hungry; his first thought was to gather a score of gull’s eggs and make a meal. But he found the eggs all addled.Then he rowed out fishing, and had more luck. And now he lived on fish from day to day, and sang and wore the time away, and was lord of that island. When it rained, he had a first-rate shelter under an overhanging rock. He slept on a grassy patch at night, and the sun never set.
Two weeks, three weeks, passed. Rolandsen grew desperately thin from his wretched mode of life, but his eyes grew harder and harder from sheer determination, and he would not give in. His only fear was that someone might come and disturb him. A few nights back there had come a boat, a man and a woman in it—a pair out gathering down. They would have landed on the island, but Rolandsen was by no means that way inclined. He had sighted them afar off, and had time to work himself up into a fury, so that when they arrived, he made such threatening play with Børre’s tiny anchor that the couple rowed away in fright. Then Rolandsen laughed to himself, and a most uncomely fiend he was to look at, with his hollow cheeks.
One morning the birds made more noisethan usual, and Rolandsen awoke, though it was still so early as to be almost night. He sees a boat making in, already close at hand. It was always a trouble with Rolandsen that he was so slow to anger. Here was this boat coming in, and its coming highly inconvenient to him just then, but by the time he had worked up an adequate rage, the men had landed. If only they had given him time, he might have done something to stop them; might have pelted them to rags with stones from the beach.
They were two of Mack’s folk from the factory, father and son. They stepped ashore, and “Goddag!” said the older one.
“I’m not the least little pleased to see you, and I’ll do you a hurt,” said Rolandsen.
“Ho, and how’ll you do that?” said the man, with a look at his son, but not very bold for all that.
“Throttle you dead, for instance. What do you say to that little plan?”
“’Twas Mack himself that sent us to find you here.”
“Of course it was Mack himself. I know well enough what he wants.”
Then the younger man put in a word, and this was that Børre the organ-blower wanted his boat and gear.
Rolandsen shouted bitterly at that. “Børre! Is the fellow mad? And what about me then? Here am I living on a desert island; I must have a boat to get to folk, and gear to fish with, if I’m not to starve. Tell him that from me!”
“And then there was a word from the new man at the station, how there’s telegrams waiting for you there. Important.”
Rolandsen jumped. Already! He asked a question or so, which they answered, and thereafter he made no further objection, but went back with them. The younger man rowed Børre’s boat, and Rolandsen sat in the other.
There was a provision-box in the forepart of the boat, that waked in his mind impertinent hopes of food. He was on the point of asking if they had brought anything to eat with them, but restrained himself, out of sheer lordliness and pride, and tried to talk it off.
“How did Mack know I was here?”
“’Twas the news came. A man and a woman saw you here one night; you frightened them a deal.”
“Well, what did they want here anyway? And I’ve hit on a new fishing-ground there by the island. And now I’m leaving it.”
“How long’d you thought to be staying there?”
“’Tis no business of yours,” said Rolandsen sharply. His eyes were fixed on that provision-box, but he showed himself as ready to burst, out of sheer pride, and said, “It’s more than commonly ugly, that box there. Shouldn’t think anyone’d care to keep food in a thing like that. What d’you use it for?”
“If only I’d all the butter and cheese and pork and butcher’s meat’s been in that box, I’d not go hungry for years to come,” answered the man.
Rolandsen cleared his throat, and spat over the side.
“When did those telegrams come?” he asked.
“Eh, that’ll be some time back.”
Half-way across, the two boats closed in and lay alongside; father and son brought out their meal from the box, and Rolandsen looked all other ways. Said the old man, “We’ve a bite of food here, if as you’re not too proud.” And they passed the whole box across.
But Rolandsen waved it away, and answered:
“I’m fed, no more than half an hour since. As much as I could eat. That cake of bread there looks uncommonly nicely done, though. No, no, thanks; I was only looking at it ... smells nice, too....”
And Rolandsen chattered away, looking to every other side.
“We’re never short of plenty these parts, and that’s the truth,” he went on. “I’ll wager now there’s not a hut nor shed but’s got its leg of meat hung up. But there’s no need to be always eating so much; ’tis a beastly fashion.”
He writhed uncomfortably on his seat, and went on:
“How long I was going to stay there,d’you say? Why, I’d have stayed till the autumn, to see the shooting stars. I’ve a great fancy for such things; it tickles me to see whole planets go to pieces.”
“There you’re talking more than I know of.”
“Planets, man—stars. Butting into one another all across the sky. ’Tis a wild and wicked sight.”
But the men went on eating, and at last Rolandsen could contain himself no longer. “What pigs you are to eat, you two! Stuffing all that into you at once—I never saw....”
“We’ve done,” said the old man quietly enough.
The boats pushed apart, and the two men bent to their oars. Rolandsen lay back and tried to sleep.
It was afternoon when they got in, and Rolandsen went up to the station at once for his telegrams. There were encouraging messages about his invention; a high bid for the patent rights from Hamburg, and a still higher one from another firm through the bureau. And Rolandsen, in his incomprehensible fashion, must needs run off to the woods and stay there alone for quite a while before he thought of getting a bite to eat. The excess of feeling made him a boy again; he was as a child, with folded hands.