Giants in the earth

I

MANY and incredible are the tales the grandfathers tell from those days when the wilderness was yet untamed, and when they, unwittingly, founded the Kingdom. There was the Red Son of the Great Prairie, who hated the Palefaces with a hot hatred; stealthily he swooped down upon them, tore up and laid waste the little settlements. Great was the terror he spread; bloody the saga concerning him.

But more to be dreaded than this tribulation was the strange spell of sadness which the unbroken solitude cast upon the minds of some. Many took their own lives; asylum after asylum was filled with disordered beings who had once been human. It is hard for the eye to wander from sky line to sky line, year in and year out, without finding a resting place!...

Then, too, there were the years of pestilence—toil and travail, famine and disease. God knows how human beings could endure it all. And many did not—they lay down and died. “There is nothing to do about that,” said they who survived. “We are all destined to die—that’s certain. Some must go now; others will have to go later. It’s all the same, is it not?” The poor could find much wherewith to console themselves. And whisky was cheap in those days, and easy to get....

And on the hot summer days terrible storms might come. In the twinkling of an eye they would smash to splinters the habitations which man had built for himself, so that they resembled nothing so much as a few stray hairs on a worn-out pelt. Man have power? Breathe it not, for that is to tempt the Almighty!...

Some feared most the prairie fire. Terrible, too, it was, before people had learned how to guard against it.

Others remembered best the trips to town. They were the jolliest days, said some; no, they were the worst of all, said the others. It may be that both were right.... The oxen moved slowly—whether the distance was thirty miles or ninety made little difference. In the sod house back there, somewhere along the horizon, life got on your nerves at times. There sat a wife with a flock of starving children; she had grown very pale of late, and the mouths of the children were always open—always crying for food.... But in the town it was cheerful and pleasant. There one could get a drink; there one could talk with people who spoke with enthusiasm and certainty about the future. This was the land of promise, they said. Sometimes one met these people in the saloons; and then it was more fascinating to listen to them than to any talk about the millennium. Their words lay like embers in the mind during the whole of the interminable, jolting journey homeward, and made it less long.... It helps so much to have something pleasant to think about, say the Old.

And it was as if nothing affected people in those days. They threw themselves blindly into the Impossible, and accomplished the Unbelievable. If anyone succumbed in the struggle—and that happened often—another would come and take his place. Youth was in the race; the unknown, the untried, the unheard-of, was in the air; people caught it, were intoxicated by it, threw themselves away, and laughed at the cost. Of course it was possible—everything was possible out here. There was no such thing as the Impossible any more. The human race has not known such faith and such self-confidence since history began.... And so had been the Spirit since the day the first settlers landed on the eastern shores; it would rise and fall at intervals, would swell and surge on again with every new wave of settlers that rolled westward into the unbroken solitude.

They say it rained forty days and forty nights once in the old days, and that was terrible; but during the winter of 1880–81 it snowed twice forty days; that was more terrible.... Day and night the snow fell. From the 15th of October, when it began, until after the middle of April, it seldom ceased. From the four corners of the earth it flew; but of all the winds that brought it, the south wind was the worst; for that whisked and matted the flakes into huge grey discs, which fell to the ground in clinging, woolly folds.... And all winter the sun stayed in his house; he crept out only now and then to pack down the snow; that was to make room for more.... Morning after morning folk would wake up in the dead, heavy cold, and would lie in bed listening to the ooo-h-ooo-h-ooo-h-ing of the wind about the corners of the house. But what was this low, muffled roar in the chimney? One would leap out of bed, dress himself hurriedly in his heaviest garments, and start to go out—only to find that some one was holding the door. It wouldn’t budge an inch. An immovable monster lay close outside. Against this monster one pushed and pushed, until one could scoop a little of the snow through the crack into the room; finally one was able to force an opening large enough for a man to work himself out and flounder up to the air. Once outside, he found himself standing in an immense flour bin, out of which whirled the whiteness, a solid cloud. Then he had to dig his way down to the house again. And tunnels had to be burrowed from house to barn, and from neighbour to neighbour, wherever the distances were not too long and where there were children who liked to play at such things.

In the late spring, when all this snow had to thaw, the floods would come, covering all the land. Once again it would be just as it had been in the days of Noah; on the roofs of houses, on the gables of barns, in wagon boxes, even, people would go sailing away. Many would perish—for there was no Ark in those days!...

The suffering was great that winter. Famine came; supplies of all kinds gave out; for no one had thought, when the first snowfall began, that winter had come. Who had ever heard of its setting in in the middle of the autumn?... And for a while not much snow did come; the fall was light in November, though the days were grey and chill; in December there was more; January began to pile and drift it up; and in February the very demon himself arrived. Some had to leave their potatoes in the ground; others could not thresh the grain; fuel, if not provided beforehand, was scarcely to be had at all; and it was impossible for anyone to get through to town to fetch what might be needed.

In the houses round about folks were grinding away at their own wheat; for little by little the flour had given out, and then they had to resort to the coffee mill. Everyone came to it—rich and poor alike. Those who had no mill of their own were forced to borrow; in some neighbourhoods there were as many as four families using one mill.

That winter Torkel Tallaksen had two newcomer boys working for their board; he also kept a hired girl; in addition to these he had a big family of his own, so that his supply of flour was soon exhausted. Now, he owned one mill, but he wasn’t satisfied with that, so he went and borrowed four more; one might as well grind enough to last for a time while one was at it, he maintained. And so they ground away at his house for two days; but at the end of that time they were all so tired of it that they refused to grind any more.

When the mills had to be returned one of the little Tallaksen boys put on his skis and started off for Tönseten’s with the one they had borrowed there. The slight thaw of the day before and the frost of the previous night had left a hard crust on the snow; in some places this would bear him up, but more often it was so thin that he broke through. Down by the creek the snowdrifts lay like mountains. Here the boy let himself go, gathered more speed than he had expected to, and went head over heels into a huge snowdrift. His skis flew one way, the mill another. When he tried to recover the mill he broke through the drift, and then both he and the mill were buried in snow. He dug himself out, began to hunt wildly for the mill, broke through again, floundered around, and at last managed to lose the mill completely. After hunting until he was tired, he had to give it up; there was nothing to do but to go to Tönseten and tell him what had happened.

“You haven’t lost the mill?” gasped Tönseten, seriously alarmed.

“No,” said the boy, laughing. He knew exactly where it was, but he just couldn’t find it.

“And you laugh at that, you young idiot!” Tönseten was so angry that he boxed the boy’s ears; then he pulled on his coat and rushed off to ask his neighbours to help him hunt for the lost treasure. It was on this occasion that he coined a saying that later became a by-word in the settlement—“Never mind your lives, boys, if you can only find the mill!”

But the greatest hardship of all for the settlers was the scarcity of fuel—no wood, no coal. In every home people sat twisting fagots of hay with which to feed the fire.

Whole herds of cattle were smothered in the snow. They disappeared during the great early storm in October, and were never seen again; when the snow was gone in the spring, they would reappear low on some hillside. After lying there for six months, they would be a horrible sight.

And the same thing happened to people: some disappeared like the cattle; others fell ill with the cough; people died needlessly, for want of a doctor’s care; they did not even have the old household remedies—nothing of any kind. And when some one died, he was laid out in what the family could spare, and put away in a snowbank—until some later day.... There would be many burials in the settlement next spring.

III

The third quarter-section which Hans Olsa owned lay near the creek, north of Solums’. This he had fenced in and was using as a pasture for a large herd. During the summer he did not need to look after the cattle at all, except to give them salt; the grass was plentiful up north and they could drink at the creek. The preceding year the herd had pastured there until late in the fall. This year he had hauled over all the straw he could spare, and had bought more where he could find it. Then he had built a shed of poles and banked it in with the straw, with the intention of wintering the cattle on that quarter. He had finished the shed before winter set in; and now that he had managed to keep the cattle there until February, he felt fairly safe; surely the winter would be over pretty soon.... But the winter had only begun!

The 7th of February dawned bleak and cold. Large, tousled snowflakes came flying out of the west, filling the whole sky with a grey, woolly blanket. As the wind stiffened steadily throughout the morning, the flakes grew smaller and finer; but for all that, they fell in a thicker cloud. By noon, heaven and earth were a swirl of drifting snow. The west wind cut in more and more savagely; it waxed to a fury at times, driving the snowflakes before it with such violence that they were pinned to the walls.... As the afternoon wore on, the weather became so bad that Hans Olsa thought it best to go over north and look after the cattle. Had he not been so familiar with the lay of the land, or had he not known how to take his bearings by the direction of the wind, he would never have been able to find the place.

Things were in pretty bad shape there. Most of the straw had been blown away from the west side of the shed. The cattle had left the open inclosure, and had sought what shelter they could find to leeward of the straw stacks on the north side. At a glance he saw that unless he could repair the shed at once and get the animals under some sort of protection, he would find himself a considerably poorer man on the morrow. So he set to work as hard as he could to carry straw and fill it in between the poles, in order to shut out the wind; that done, he spread more straw all over the floor.

It was dark by the time he had got the shed into fit condition to drive the cattle in again. In the meanwhile they had been standing behind the stacks. But now his trouble began in earnest; the moment he drove the beasts far enough away from their shelter to feel the full force of the wind, they wheeled sharply, put their noses close to the ground, and headed back for the stacks. This would never do! He waited awhile until they were quiet again, and then he led them over one by one, taking the biggest first; the smaller animals he literally picked up and carried in. These had burrowed themselves so far into the stack that it was difficult even to get them out. With the snow beating on him, and the wind constantly taking his breath away, he found this a tough job; but he kept on at it without pause, though the sweat was pouring from him in streams.

The evening was gone when he had finished. Round about him lay the night, full of a whirling menace thicker, more desperate, than he had ever seen before—a surge which the wind drove before it in roaring breakers; in the eddies around the corners it was impossible to keep one’s eyes open.... Hans Olsa stood at the door of the shed, his work done, looking out at the storm; he was so weary that every limb trembled. At last he started out mechanically, walked a few steps, but had to stop to catch his breath. Then he began to realize that in this darkness, with such a blizzard raging, he would never be able to steer a straight course home. He felt his way back to the shed, went in again, and remained standing in the door.... His mind was too exhausted to think clearly; something kept telling him that he had done well to save the cattle. If they had been left outside, there wouldn’t have been many of them alive when the storm was over. If they only had a little more straw under them, they would really be quite comfortable now.

After he had been standing there a short while a succession of slight shivers began to run through his body. He wasn’t exactly cold—it was only that his muscles wouldn’t keep quiet. Now they tautened and cramped convulsively; now they arched and slacked up like released steel springs.... “If I lie down close to the animals, I’ll easily be able to keep warm,” he thought. “Day will soon come, and then I can go home to Sörrina and the children. I suppose she’ll have sense enough to go to bed and not sit up to wait for me all night.”

He felt his way over to where the herd had snuggled together, and lay down with his back close up against a large bull. He recognized the animal by a broken horn which his hand happened to fall on. His underclothes were so wet that they stuck to his body; but the warmth of the bull soon penetrated to him, and then he felt better. He lay there thinking how fine it was that he had saved the herd. About hurrying home he needn’t worry, for all was well there....

He did not intend to go to sleep—wasn’t aware that he was dropping off, either. He merely felt a heavy drowsiness stealing over him, and surrendered himself to it for a moment. It seemed so restful after that strenuous labor. Behind him rose the sound of quiet, regular breathing—up ... down; up ... down—like a light undertow on a summer’s day. If only he could have such pleasant warmth in front of him, too! Involuntarily he stretched out his arms, caught hold of the first creature he came to, and raised himself up sufficiently to drag it close to him. Fearing that he might have hurt the poor thing, he began to pet it and talk to it.... Really, now, he was as comfortable as a man could expect to be on such a night—anywhere but at home. Hans Olsa settled back and curled himself up snugly between the animals.

The gusts of wind shook and tore at the frail shelter. The storm raged terribly; all evil powers were loose that night. The worst of it was that it had turned so bitterly cold. Through every crack in the shed the snow came whirling; it settled everywhere, piling itself up in little mounds, which the wind alternately levelled and raised again, as it sucked and swirled through the place.... Hans Olsa began to twitch violently; he thought that he felt some one pricking his arms and legs. Next instant he knew there must be somebody there—somebody who was using both hands on him; one hand was working upward from the legs; the other from the elbow toward the shoulder. When these two hands met, he jumped—a shock seemed to go over him.... With great difficulty he heaved himself up and stood on his knees; the heavy mantle of snow slipped off him, shedding an icy shower which struck him full in the face.... Now, what was this—had he lost his feet?... And where were his hands?... With infinite pains he raised himself and stood unsteadily on his legs. Then he tried to go to the door, to look at the weather; but in a moment he was down again; at the first step he had stumbled against a living mound under the snow, which reared up wildly and then was gone in the impenetrable darkness. With each movement now, a blast of wind and snow struck his face. This happened many times.

He could not understand it—what had happened to him? He knew that he wasn’t drunk, but his legs would not carry him. And one of his arms was gone.... Well, here was the wall. He leaned against it, and stood there, panting.... What! Was his hand frozen?... He pulled the mitten off his good hand, took hold of the fingers of the other and bent them—yet he could not feel them move. He saw them bend, too—but he could not feel them.... This would have to be attended to at once! He let himself sink down, and began to rub the hand with snow—he breathed on it hard, and rubbed. Now he began to feel himself frozen through and through; his teeth were chattering; his whole body was shaking violently; well, there was no time to waste in idle thinking....

Even now he was trying to make the best of it. “As soon as this hand is all right, I’ll have to get my feet thawed out. If I don’t get that done, I’ll be a cripple for life.” ... In his usual level-headed way, he tried to pull his boots off, but couldn’t accomplish it. Then he took out his pocket knife, and ripped them both open—first one, then the other, and placed them methodically against the wall. The socks came off easily enough; these he stuck in the bosom of his shirt.

He got up and started to run in his bare feet, holding to the wall; he stumbled a good deal, but kept on with his shambling run. After a spell of this, he sat down and chafed his feet. He rubbed a long while, got up again and ran—ran as hard as he could, and then sat down again to rub anew. His mind was calm, but it worked very slowly—his thoughts seemed to be far away; he saw them in bright letters against the darkness: “I had better be careful—I’ve often seen people rub the skin from a frozen limb.... If I only had some cold water, this would be easy.” ... He pulled his socks on again, and found his boots. In one corner of the shed, he remembered, stood two crotches, which he had bound together with steel wire. He felt his way there, unfastened the wire, and wound it around his bootlegs.

Then he began to stamp up and down along the wall . . . to beat his arms ... to run. The pricking seemed to be going away, he thought ... everything seemed better . . . yet he wasn’t certain of anything at all. His thoughts were working somewhere outside himself; they stood and stared at him through the whirling drift.... “It is certain,” said something away there in the dark, “that if you stay here to-night, you’re done for.... If the wind continues steady, you ought to be able to find Henry’s fence—you know where that takes off in the direction of Per Hansa’s—you follow it from there on, and then you come to your own—that runs right to the cattle barn at home. You might as well freeze to death out there, as here.” ... “Well, well,” he assented, as if tired of arguing. “That may be right—it may be.” ... Pulling himself together, he went out of the shed and started off before the wind....

IV

That night Hans Olsa received his death blow. He stumbled into his own house in the small hours of the morning; he was then so exhausted that he could not get his clothes off unaided.... Sörine had been up all night, well-nigh crazed with fear; twice she had started to go to Per Hansa’s for help, but the storm had driven her back each time; then she had lighted a candle and placed it in the window, in hopes of its doing some good. She had fed the fire with desperate resolution, trying to face the fact that now the worst had happened and there was nothing to do about it, for Fate is inexorable.

As soon as she had got him into the house she began tending him with frantic haste. She made him drink several bowls of hot milk with black pepper in it; then she put him to bed, warmed the clothes and tucked them around him. But he lay there shivering, in spite of all she did, so that the whole bed shook. Later in the day he began to cough—a dry, rasping cough, it was, that seemed to grate on something hard as iron down in the bottom of his chest. During the night that followed he was delirious; he wanted to get up all the time and go north to look after the cattle. Sörine had all she could do to quiet him and keep him in bed. When the cough came from deep down in his lungs it seemed to scrape off flecks of rust that stuck in his throat and threatened to choke him.

Day came at last, after a long, dismal night; and then he seemed better. Between the coughing spells he talked calmly to his wife, telling her what she and Sofie had to do about the chores. He felt condemned that they should be left to do all the outside work alone. As soon as they had gone out, he tried to get out of bed and put on his clothes; but the chills grew so violent that he could not stand on his feet. He fell back on the bed....

For two full days the blizzard raged. During the forenoon of the third day the snow ceased falling and the storm abated; but the air was still grey and bitterly cold. As soon as Hans Olsa saw that the storm was really letting up, he told Sofie to put on her skis and go over to get Per Hansa. “This will never do,” he said to his wife. “For three days and nights you haven’t been out of your clothes. I may be a long time in getting over the cough.” ... He wanted to say more, but the words were lost in a paroxysm of coughing.

Per Hansa and the oldest two boys were making hay twists out in the barn when Sofie brought the first news that her father had been out in the storm the other night and was now very sick. Per Hansa immediately dropped his work and went back with her. Sörine looked worn out and very much worried. She turned her head aside when she spoke to him, saying that things didn’t look very well. Then she went to the stove, put her apron up to her eyes, and murmured again—things didn’t look very well! But Per Hansa’s coming cheered her up a little and even seemed to take away some of her anxiety. In a moment her old buoyancy had come back; she dried her eyes and asked him to follow her into the bedroom.

In a hut on the border of the Irish settlement lived an old woman who was so queer at times that she was called “Crazy Bridget.” In fact, she had brought this name with her to the settlement; Tönseten long ago had picked it up from her countrymen, and had translated it into Norwegian—he made it Kræsi-Brita. All the Norwegians called her that now. This Bridget had come west with her son, had taken the quarter of land next to his, and had herself put up the hut in which she now lived. Very little was known about her except that she was extremely religious, and that as a rule she spoke a language which none of the Norwegians had ever heard before, and which, apparently, few of her own people understood. She seldom visited the other settlers of her own accord; but many—especially those of her own race—came often to her for help in time of sickness. She had a great store of old-fashioned remedies, both for humans and for beasts, and she gave of them freely, without pay. Most of the Norwegians had consulted her at one time or another, in spite of the fact that they went on saying she was only a fraud. And though they said it, they all had to admit, when it came down to known cases, that she had a remarkable way with sick folks.

When Per Hansa saw how seriously ill his neighbour was he went out into the kitchen and said to Sörine that some one must go and fetch Bridget. They ought not to scorn her powers at a time like this—she might be able to help; at least, they must try every chance that offered.

Suiting the action to the word, he went for her himself. A little later the old woman came trudging over on snowshoes, carrying an odd-looking bag on her back. She warmed herself at the fire, went into the bedroom, and looked at the suffering man. Then she asked for a kettle and opened her bag; first she took out four large onions; these she cut into tiny bits and dumped into the kettle; then she opened a bottle of vile-smelling stuff and poured some of its contents on the onions; at last she set the kettle over the fire and let it boil awhile. From this mixture she made thick poultices, which she put on Hans Olsa’s back and chest; but before she put them on she took out of her pocket a small rusty crucifix, mumbled some words over it, and stuck it into the poultice which was to lie on his chest. As she fixed these applications she made the sign of the cross over his chest and back. All the while she was muttering strange words, in a language they did not understand—whether a prayer or something worse they could not say. These poultices were to be kept on for twelve hours, she explained in broken English, and hot cloths must be put over them to keep them warm. When the twelve hours were gone they must make a fresh poultice. She instructed Sörine how to make it—with onions, a cup of linseed oil, one cup of fresh milk, and some flour. They must take good care of the crucifix, she said; she would hold them responsible for it. After giving some more good advice, she wished them God’s blessing, put her bag on her back, fastened her snowshoes, and trudged away.

Both Sörine and Hans Olsa had faith in the woman and were glad that she had come.... One must try such remedies as one had....

Per Hansa was very busy that forenoon; there was much to do at his own place, and more at his neighbour’s. He had hurried home from Hans Olsa’s after going for Bridget; had called the two boys, and taken them with him at once to look after the cattle up north. Before he left he told Beret briefly how things were at their neighbour’s, and asked her to arrange her own work so that she could go over toward evening and stay there for the night. It might be late before he could get back....

At supper time Tönseten called at Per Hansa’s as he was going by. He was on his way home from the east part of the settlement, and just wanted to drop in to see how they were after the storm. When he heard the news about Hans Olsa—how he had come down with such a bad cough, that it was doubtful if he would pull through—he decided to go over at once and tell Sörine what to do. If anyone in these parts knew all there was to know about a cough, he was the man! Tönseten was in an extraordinarily bright humour that evening. He told Per Hansa not to worry, if it was nothing worse than the cough; put on his skis and started off for Hans Olsa’s.

Out in the bedroom lay the sick man, propped up by pillows; Little-Hans sat at the foot of the bed with his playthings; Sörine and the daughter had finished the chores and were now working in the kitchen; Beret sat in the bedroom, taking care that the poultices were kept hot and that the patient’s shoulders were covered up warm; she had her knitting in her hands and was singing a hymn when Tönseten came in.

On entering the room Tönseten greeted them both cheerily; but instantly he began to feel ill at ease.... No need, surely, to begin the funeral before the man was in the coffin!... He managed to hold his tongue, however. Since Beret had recovered, he couldn’t stand her. She had become so pious that if a fellow made the most innocent remark, she was sure to preach at him. And never a drop of whisky would she tolerate, either for rheumatism or for cough.... One ought to have some sense, even if one was going to be religious. Surely he who was both klokker and deacon ought to be privileged to talk a little sense into her!... But such was the respect which she commanded, that even though he had thought about it for two years, he had never dared to say the first word.

To-night Tönseten could think only of how serious things looked for Hans Olsa; he went straight to the bedside, and said in a tone of voice that was meant to be cheerful: “I’m surprised at you, Hans Olsa!... What do you mean by lying here like this, you slugabed? And here you have the finest ski-slide the Lord ever made, clear from your housetop all the way down to my place!” ... The sick man’s face brightened as he looked into Tönseten’s merry eyes; a breath of fresh air flurried from out the red, icicled beard; the whole face bending above him radiated good humour.... “I’m glad you came, Syvert,” said Hans Olsa in a faint voice.

Tönseten now began to feel that the right atmosphere had been established; he hummed a tune, took a chair, and sat down beside the bed. Without further prelude, he started to relate what had happened to him that day.... Yesterday morning, when Kjersti had tried to make the fire, the stove wouldn’t draw and the room had filled with smoke; not being able to manage the thing, she had come and roused him. He had got up, had dressed, and had then tried to open the door, only to find that the whole house was snowed under; from the hillside to the creek stretched one huge, solid drift, and the chimney itself was packed full of snow....

Well, he had succeeded after a while in getting a hole through, so that at last they could have their morning coffee. It was simply terrible how much snow there was down his way. Yesterday he had been busy all day, making steps in the snow down to the house; these had packed fairly well during the day, but to-day they were as solid as ice.... And this morning when Kjersti had come along carrying a pail of water, she had been so unfortunate as to slip on the top step—“ha-ha!” ... She had thrown the pail into the air, her feet had shot out from under her, and she hadn’t stopped until she’d landed on her backsides in the middle of the floor!... “ha-ha-ha!” ... There she sat.... “What in Heaven’s name are you up to, Kjersti?” he had said, when he saw that she hadn’t hurt herself very much; and then he naturally had gone off into a fit of laughing. This had infuriated Kjersti; and when he saw that he’d tried his damnedest to stop—but for the life of him he couldn’t! He’d laughed and laughed, and the more he’d laughed the worse things had got; until finally she had lost her temper completely and just driven him out of the house....

Well, this is what he had done next; he had put on his skis and gone over east in the settlement—had spent the whole afternoon there—just to visit around and see how folks were getting along. At last he had dropped in to see Johannes Mörstad and his wife Josie—Josie was about to have her fifth child, you know, and was expecting it any day now; Tönseten felt compelled to keep himself posted on the intimate progress of that family. So he had sat there gossiping with them a long while, and had just been telling them what had happened at home that day, when there!—he’d burst out laughing again, and laughed so hard that they all had to join in. And this had thrown Johannes into such a good humour that he had hunted up a bottle which he was saving for the coming event, and had given Tönseten a drop or two—perhaps it was three—well, it may have been four—if one must be accurate.... All this about the stove, and the steps, and Kjersti, and about how he had had to take to his heels in order to find peace, he related in epic detail to Hans Olsa—there seemed to be need of something jolly here!... But the number of drinks he really had had, he didn’t fully reveal.

There was something so infectious about Tönseten’s good spirits that they almost coaxed Hans Olsa into a brighter mood. But then a spell of coughing came on; he choked it back and asked if Kjersti hadn’t hurt herself pretty badly?

“Oh no, boys, never you fear!” hiccoughed Tönseten, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. “She’s all right, except for a few scratches here and there in the bottom—here and there—but they’ll heal up in a little while.... Everything grows so big and fat around here, you know!” ... Tönseten went off into such another gale of laughter that he almost fell out of his chair.

“Well, well!” ... he said as soon as he could control himself, getting up to leave. “To-morrow I shall bring Kjersti over here with me. You just wait—we’ll get the cough boiled out of that chest of yours! Kjersti knows how to treat a cough, I can tell you!” ...

Beret had stopped her singing abruptly when Tönseten came in. As he rambled on she sat and watched his face—something made her look at him in spite of herself. She listened to his half-maudlin laughter—and it seemed to her she never had realized before how disgusting his laugh was. His breath smelled of whisky. At first she felt furious with him and wanted to order him out of the house. Didn’t the fool know that it was unseemly to talk that way at a deathbed.... But she only took her chair and moved farther off, as a child draws away from one of whom it is afraid.

When Tönseten had at last gone the air of the room seemed close and foul to Beret; filth and pollution had entered in where all should have been the serenity and holiness of a Sabbath. In a vision of startling clearness she saw how evil besmirches all life. What a degraded thing man’s life on earth had become! Here was one neighbour calling on another at the point of death; if ever there was need of godly speech, it was at this moment; and yet there had been nothing but vileness in his mouth! She felt a physical desire to cleanse the place of its corruption; folding her hands, she began to sing, soft and low:

She sang the whole hymn through before she got up again to change the cloths; that duty done, she went out to help Sörine and Sofie in the kitchen.

All that night Beret sat by the bedside. Though the sick man seemed no worse, the specks of rust that he raised from the depths of his chest appeared to her to be larger and more numerous. He slept little, but she didn’t wonder at that—he must have solemn things to think about now. She wanted to talk them over with him, but did not like to disturb his thoughts yet awhile. During the early part of the night they exchanged few words. But along toward morning the paroxysms of coughing became more frequent and violent; there were times when they almost choked him. Once she grew frightened and got up to hold his head; his face was turning blue as he struggled for breath; then she said, slowly: “Now I think you must prepare yourself, Hans Olsa.”

He turned his head sharply and looked at her.... “Prepare myself?” ...

“You will hardly be able to stand this very much longer.”

The big bulk of Hans Olsa lay very quiet; only his hand was moving nervously over the cover; his eyes had a questioning, startled look.... “Well ... many have got over the cough.” ....

She did not answer him. After a while he added, thoughtfully, “It will be worse for those who are left.” ...

“You ought not to say that, Hans Olsa—their time has not yet come. But remember that for you the day of grace is nearly over.” She spoke quietly and compassionately, in a tone of voice which, whenever she used it, always carried conviction by its confident faith.

For a long time Hans Olsa made no reply; he turned his face to the wall and closed his eyes. Beret stood looking at him.... “He does not like what I said. That’s how we are, we sinners. But I am glad I said it. I don’t believe he will ever get up again.”

... “Oh, well,” murmured Hans Olsa after a while. “He has had mercy on many a sinner before. I suppose there will be a little left for me, too.” ...

A great eagerness suddenly welled up in Beret’s soul.... “If only you will bring him a contrite heart! But how can one forgive the erring child who does not repent?... Woe unto you that are rich!—For ye have received your consolation.... Woe unto you that are full!—For ye shall hunger.... Woe unto you that laugh now!—For ye shall weep and mourn.... Oh no, we cannot only comfort ourselves with the belief that there is mercy enough—that it is free!” ... With firm hands, she changed the cloths again.

One severe coughing spell after another began to attack him now, and nothing more was said; but after a prolonged struggle he got his breath again; completely exhausted, he turned his face to the wall, and it looked as if he might drop off to sleep.... He lay perfectly quiet a long time.

Beret knit steadily until her hands grew tired; she wondered if she couldn’t find something to do for Sörine, took the lamp and went into the kitchen. Here she found a great pile of coarse hay stacked against the wall; she set to work at once, making twists of it for the fire. All the while she was thinking about her conversation with Hans Olsa.... “It will seem strange not to meet Hans Olsa in the hereafter—that it will. In the old country we grew up together.... They are good folk, both he and she.... And now he is starting out on his long journey—and will not pass through the heavenly gates!... His mother, Ellen, was a very God-fearing woman; his father I didn’t know, but I never heard a word against him.... Now they have waited there for him these many years; it will be hard for me to meet them some day and tell them how it all happened here.... Perhaps I will be to blame, too; I certainly haven’t done what I should.... Oh, how can he hope to get in? Not many from the Dakota prairie will ever stand in glory there—that I am sure of!... For here Earth takes us. What she cannot get easily she wrests by subtle force, and we do not even know it.... I see what happens in my own home.... It is awful!... Here he lay at the point of death, enjoying Tönseten’s ribaldry!... With thoughts like this, he is now to meet his God!” ...

The lamp burned low. The room was growing cold. She got up and threw some fagots into the fire, waited until it burned up briskly, then put on a couple of sticks of wood—there were not many left in the box.... “It will not be easy for Sörrina when he is gone.... But nothing else matters, if only he could reach the Heavenly Home! We can take care of things here.” ...

She went into the bedroom again, to see if she could do anything for the sick man. He was awake when she came in; his manner showed that he had been waiting for her.

“How is the weather outside?” he asked, slowly. “Would it be possible for a man to travel in it?”

“What do you say?” She came close to the bed.

“Could we try to get the doctor, do you suppose?... Others out here have had him.” ...

“We shall see when daylight comes.... But how about the minister, Hans Olsa?”

“The minister?”

“Yes—when the Lord’s hour is at hand, man’s help is of no avail; for from His wrath no man can flee!... What you need most of all is Communion, Hans Olsa!”

“Communion . . .? Well ... yes ... I suppose so . . . that is true.”

“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God,” said Beret, quietly, and looked into his face with sorrowful despair. “There is nothing but evil in us—yes, nothing! But when He comes to us in Holy Communion, laying His merciful hands benignantly upon us and assures us from out the Gates of Eternity that all our sins are forgiven—oh, there is no moment so great as this for the sin-burdened soul! Then we may rest in peace.” ...

Once more he turned his face away, gave a light cough, and looked fixedly at the wall. Beret felt intuitively that his cough was forced this time.... “How strange we are—we erring mortals! Here I stand, telling him of the truth and the light and the way. Now he is wandering in the dark—he does not know which way to go. But when I tell him, he coughs the word away!... Thus it is to be dead in the midst of life!”

He lay still awhile, and then he said, wearily, “All my life I have thought it would be blessed to come Home.”

Tears came to Beret’s eyes.... “But are you ready to journey on? Do you dare now to meet Him as you are?... Here you have lived all these years, in error and sin, and have not taken time to give Him any thoughts at all.”

“Oh no,” he sighed, heavily.... “But that isn’t so very strange, is it?”

She felt uplifted by what she had been able to say; it gave her greater courage to go on.... “That’s why you must seek Him here, before you meet Him face to face yonder!” she cried, exultantly. “Now I will pray for you.” ... Without waiting for his consent, she knelt beside the bed and began to pray earnestly, with sweet compassion vibrating through her mellow voice, that he who now lay here might be given the grace to see his sin and to repent before the door had closed.

But she had hardly begun when something stopped the prayer.... Hans Olsa had reared himself up on his elbows when she had sunk to her knees beside the bed, and had remained in this position, staring at her wide-eyed. As he heard how she pleaded for him he was seized with a sudden convulsion of coughing; he sat up frantically in bed, gasping for breath. The bedclothes fell off him, the poultices slipped down, and Beret had to leave her praying to attend to him. And when he was quiet again he asked to have his milk warmed; then he had to get up; from that he got an attack of chills, and Beret had to call Sörine to help her warm the cloths once more and tuck him in.

With the first grey light of dawn Johannes Mörstad arrived, begging and begging that Beret go with him—Josie was coming down; he had tried to get Kjersti, but she had lamed herself so badly the other day, that it was impossible for her to walk that far.... “This is certainly the work of the devil!” thought Beret. “Just now ...!” But she went out of the house full of the same great exaltation, like one whose sins had been laid bare before the whole congregation....

A little while later Per Hansa dropped in to see how they were getting along. He said that he would arrange with the Solum boys to help him carry hay and water to the herd up north; that done, he would go to Gjermund Dahl’s, to get him to come and help Sörine with the chores. This evening he would come back to make a report about everything. Now he must be gone....

People were hard at work throughout the whole settlement; the weather continued threatening, and there was much to be done after the storm; hogs and cattle, as well as human beings, had to be safeguarded against another onslaught of winter. On most of the farms the outhouses were still of primitive construction, built either of sod or of poles and straw. The last storm had buried some of them entirely; from others it had stripped off the straw so completely, that the tops of the poles poking through the snowdrifts resembled nothing so much as bleached bones sticking out of the ground. Of some of the farmhouses only the roofs could be seen; of the sod huts, only the chimneys; down at Tönseten’s, the smoke came right out of a hole in the snowbank. If one wanted to go to his neighbour’s, he had to put on skis or snowshoes, and keep on top of the drifts. There were homes where no other food was left than dry corn and the little milk that the cows gave. On the outskirts of the settlement, where the latest newcomers lived, they sometimes didn’t even have that much. But the people there would borrow a sack of wheat from anybody who had one; and if they had no coffee mill in the house, they would use a mortar, or improvise one from a kettle. Folks were cheerful about helping one another in those days. What one didn’t have, he borrowed; if one got a new idea, he passed it on to his neighbours. The scarcity of fuel caused the most suffering, for hay burned like hay, even if twisted.

Tönseten was sitting in the bedroom at Hans Olsa’s when Per Hansa came back after supper. He was down-hearted and quiet to-day. Kjersti had been in bed most of the time because of the stiffness and soreness from her fall; and she was so cross, he explained, that if a fellow as much as looked at her she would bite his head off. He had had the devil to pay, with taking care of both her and himself and doing the chores besides.... As he noticed how flushed Hans Olsa’s face was and heard how he struggled for breath, he wondered if his own cough had ever been as bad as this. If this was worse than he had had it three years ago, the man would never be able to throw it off.... But he kept the thought to himself.

Things had been in a bad way with Hans Olsa all that day; the coughing spells had come oftener; he had been restless and fretful; had asked first for one thing, and then for another, and was always inquiring about the weather. At that moment he happened to be quiet; when all at once he began to talk about the inevitable.... He asked both of his neighbours to help Sörine when he was gone, and to give her their best advice about running the farm, just as he would have done for them, if either one of them had been in his place.... “Per Hansa, stay with me to-night! Sörrina must have some sleep; she has had all the work to do outdoors, and needs some rest. It may take a long time with me yet—perhaps we shall need help from all of you!”

Thus it came about that Per Hansa watched with him that night. Sörine lay down in the other room, fully dressed. The door between the rooms stood open. She intended to doze only a minute and not lose herself so completely that she couldn’t jump up to help when the worst spells came on; but she had tramped about working in the snow nearly all day, and was so worn out that she soon dropped off into a sound sleep.

After all had been quiet in the house for some time, Hans Olsa looked up and asked, in a needlessly loud voice, if his wife was asleep. When no answer came from the other room, he lay still for quite a while, gazing up with his eyes fixed on space; then he began, in a calm, matter-of-fact way, to tell Per Hansa how he thought everything ought to be arranged after he was gone. He mentioned first a couple of little debts which he had in Sioux Falls; then he spoke of several of the new settlers who owed him for seed and cattle, and stipulated how much each was to pay. It transpired later that in every case he had stated less than what was owing to him.... Sörine ought to hold the farm and keep on living here; for this was the country of the future—of that he was certain. Per Hansa would hereafter have to be her chief counsellor; if he could hire an honest and capable manager for her, she and the children would get along all right.... And then there was Little-Hans—it was hard to go away and not see what this seedling of manhood would grow up into. If he showed any aptitude for his books, they would have to send him to St. Olaf College.... Or if the Lord had destined him for the ministry—But that was probably expecting too much....

He talked with great difficulty. Every now and then he had to stop for breath. Per Hansa only nodded his replies; all he could think of to say was: “Don’t worry.... Is there anything else now?... I will take care of everything.”

Little by little Per Hansa got the feeling that his friend had something on his mind; he could not tell exactly why he felt that way, but the impression grew stronger and stronger. Every time a pause came over the sick man’s talk, he expected to hear what it was. But there seemed to be nothing more. At last Hans Olsa fell silent; he was still looking straight ahead of him; but now he began to be very restless. A violent fit of coughing shook his frame. From out that great chest of his came a dreadful wheezing, grating sound, as from an old pair of leaky bellows when they are blown up hard.

When the cough had eased itself, Hans Olsa began once more his frightened groping among the things of the future; but now he spoke less coherently. After midnight he had a quiet spell when he lay as if exhausted and said nothing; but off and on he would glance at his neighbour out of the corners of his eyes; there was something unusual and urgent in the look—something that made a man afraid.... Per Hansa wondered if the end were at hand....

But suddenly the sick man began to talk again. It was hardly what Per Hansa had expected to hear. He merely raised his eyes and asked in a low voice:

“Is the snow very deep?”

“Between our farms,” said Per Hansa, “it doesn’t lie less than four feet anywhere; and it’s as deep as that on the level all over the prairie. Down near the creek, by Tönseten’s, it must be as much as twenty feet deep!... It snowed just a little, I want you to know!”

“Is it as bad as that?” ... The sick man sighed heavily, his hands fidgeting with the covers; then he repeated in a low voice: “So—is it as deep as that?”

“Was there something on your mind?”

“Then it isn’t possible to get anywhere!” ... The powerful jaws closed; drops of sweat stood out on the great, shiny face.

Per Hansa’s heart stirred with a nameless dread; he felt himself grow dizzy, but he cleared his throat and said, firmly:

“What is it that you want, Hans Olsa?... Do you want the doctor?”

The sick man turned toward him.

“Oh—it’s the minister I need!” ... Then, after a moment, he added: “But don’t you think the weather will be better in a day or two?” ...

He lay perfectly still. When he got no answer he looked up and repeated, imploringly:

“Don’t you think so?”

Per Hansa rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth across the floor. It must be very close in here ... he felt so faint. Thinking of how it was outdoors, he suddenly found himself bathed in perspiration.... God pity him who had to travel the prairie these days!

He came back to the bed.

“You feel that you must have him?”

“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God!” ... The large, kindly features were drawn and trembling, with fear of the unknown. Per Hansa could scarcely endure it to look at him; he had to lean against the back of a chair for support.... In broken words, his friend repeated: “It is terrible ... terrible ... to fall ... into His hands!” ...

“Hush, now! Hush, now, man! Don’t talk blasphemy!” cried Per Hansa. “Lie down, now.... See here ... the covers are falling off you!”

The bulky form had reared itself violently up in bed. Through a paroxysm of coughing Hans Olsa whimpered:

“Tell Sörrina to come here!”

It looked for a moment as if he were passing away in the midst of the attack. Hans Olsa himself thought so. In wild alarm, Per Hansa resorted to pounding the sick man’s back, just as one does with children when they have swallowed the wrong way. But after a while the spell gradually left him, as the others had done. He settled back, and a little later fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till morning.

The first rays of daylight woke Sörine. Her husband was already awake by that time, and seemed better. Per Hansa put on his coat and prepared to go; he had all his own work to do at home, besides Hans Olsa’s cattle up north to look after.

Hans Olsa watched him get ready, following all his movements with a pathetic sadness like that which stands in a dog’s eyes when he watches his master go away without him. Then he called him over to the bedside and asked him again what the weather was like. There was an odd little quiver in his voice as he said, almost as though he were ashamed:

“I suppose it’s still impossible to get anywhere?”

Per Hansa felt like laughing at such childishness in a grown-up man; he scarcely knew what to answer. But answer he must; so he braced himself, buttoned his big coat, put on his mittens, and said, firmly: “You ought to lie still and sleep awhile longer, Hans Olsa.... During the night you slept like a rock—and see how much better you are already.... I promise you that I’ll be back some time later in the day.”

“You don’t think it can be done?”

Nameless dread again seized Per Hansa. He stepped back and said, hastily: “Calm yourself now, Hans Olsa!... We’ll have to see about it—you understand.”

The sick man reached out toward him, caught his hand and held it tightly, with something of his old strength.... “Oh, Per Hansa!” he cried.... “There never was a man like you ...!” and fell back on the pillow, exhausted.

VII

All through the latter part of last summer and early fall Per Hansa had done a full man’s work plus a bit more; nor had he spared the boys, either. And he had hired a number of men besides. He needed all the help he could get; for there was the new house to be built, the crops to be harvested, the fall plowing that must be done, and in addition, all the other work about the farm.

But he had gone about his duties in a mood that made any task easy both for himself and for those who worked with him. His wife’s improved condition had relieved him of whole loads of worry and anxiety. During the years that her mind had been beclouded he had treated her as a father would a delicate, frail child that, by some inexcusable fault on his part, had been reduced to helplessness. So solicitous had been his watchful care over her through all these years, that this paternal attitude had become fixed with him. Even now that she was well again, it didn’t change.

Her growing religious concern didn’t alarm him; that, too, he took as a notion on the part of a frail child. He either would meet her admonitions with silence, or else laugh kindly at her eagerness, or he might throw himself into the work all the harder. The fact that she now was quite all right again, that he no longer needed to watch over her in constant dread, but that she, on the contrary, could take care of the house in a capable way and even find time to help with the outside work, was a constant source of thankfulness to him. To him she was still the delicate child that needed a father’s watchful eye. To desire her physically would be as far from his mind as the crime of incest.

Shortly before the Christmas holidays they had had a set-to over religion. She had insisted that he as the father of the family should conduct daily devotion. At this demand he had laughed, not unkindly but humorously, as if she had sprung a good joke on him.... He conducting devotion—the idea! She had become insistent; her voice was full of deep sorrowful concern over his seemingly total depravity. She had entreated him earnestly and yet so kindly that he, too, was touched. And so he had said, as one yields to an unreasonable whim of a dear child, that that he would not do, but he would be glad to have her do it, for she could read so beautifully, which was true. Feeling that it would be dangerous to his temper to argue the matter any longer, he had gone out of the house to find some work outside. From that time on she had been conducting devotion each day, but both of them had studiously avoided a new discussion, with the result that the relation between them was less frank than before; each seemed to feel the guardedness of the other.

As time passed her devotional exercises became less and less pleasing to him; at times they would get on his nerves. In the prayers she began to offer there would creep in more and more of concern for him; and little by little it got to be almost exclusively for him. As he sat there listening it sounded to him as if he were the most hardened sinner in all Christendom; he would feel ashamed before the children, would find some pretext to steal out of the house. But he couldn’t bring it across his heart to speak to her; for how can one reason with a child that is so delicate as she, he thought.

---

In the grey light of dawn Per Hansa returned from the bedside of Hans Olsa, looking like a man who had reached the end of his rope. He hung up his coat and hat and sat down at the table in the large kitchen to eat his breakfast. Off and on he glanced out of the window. While Beret brought him his food, she asked how things were over at Hans Olsa’s. At first she got very little satisfaction; his answers were short and taciturn, and he seemed engrossed in his own thoughts. He ate slowly and took a long time over the meal; all the while he kept looking out of the window.

At length he got up from the table, crossed to the stove, turned his back to it, and put his hands behind him, as though he still felt cold and needed the warmth of the fire.... “Well,” he said, meditatively, “I suppose he doesn’t expect to get over this sickness—and it’s more than likely he won’t. He just lies there and whimpers about having the minister.... There’s something uncanny about him. I can’t understand it at all.” ... These remarks were not directed at Beret; he stood looking straight ahead of him, as if thinking aloud. Beret had stopped working when she heard him; her face lighted up as she answered, with an unmistakable ring of exultation in her voice: “But I can understand it!... Now may God be near and hear his prayer! Some one must go for the minister at once.”

Per Hansa did not move; he was staring off into space. Beret crossed the floor, her hands full of dishes, and stopped directly in front of him.... “You must persuade some one to go with you. This is terrible weather!... Could you try going on horseback?”

“Huh—horseback! How you talk!”

“But it is an awful thing for a soul to be cast into hell when human beings can prevent it!”

Per Hansa seemed amused at this idea. “Well, if Hans Olsa is bound in that direction, there’ll be a good many more from here in the same boat!... He’ll land in the right place, don’t worry.”

The words sounded so blasphemous to Beret that she could not repress a shudder of horror. Greatly wrought up, she set the dishes down on the table and said, fiercely: “You know what our life has been: land and houses, and then more land, and cattle! That has been his whole concern—that’s been his very life. Now he is beginning to think about not having laid up treasures in heaven.... Can’t you understand that a human being ever becomes concerned over his sins and wants to be freed from them?”

“I suppose I don’t understand anything, do I?” said Per Hansa in a tone of disgust. “Perhaps I don’t understand, for instance—though God knows it would not be difficult for any grown person to see it—that no man could cross the prairie from here to the James River, as things are now, and come out alive—... As for Hans Olsa, the Lord will find him good enough, even without either minister or klokker—that I truly believe!”

“The God of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not!... Here lies one who is about to receive his sight, and we will not reach out a hand to help him!”

“Hold your tongue, Beret!” cried Per Hansa, sharply, anger at the hopelessness of the argument getting the better of him. “Do you want to drive me out into the jaws of death?”

“What horrible things you say, Per Hansa!”

“Horrible—well I Don’t you suppose the good Lord would have provided other weather if he had intended me to make this trip?”

She gave him a quick look.

“It’s possible to try, isn’t it?” she said with cold persistence. “Why can’t you get some one to go with you? You could take Indi—he is light-footed, and we could wrap things around all four legs, so that he wouldn’t sink through the snow. They say that has been done before—I’ve read about it.... Henry has a sleigh; and you could turn back at any time, if you couldn’t make it.... The Lord would forgive us then for what we couldn’t possibly do—if we had tried!”

“He had better do that right now!” growled Per Hansa, a gust of hot anger nearly choking him. Without another word he went to the stairs, called Ole and Store-Hans, and told them to get into their clothes right away. Pulling on his coat, he slammed out of the house to do the morning chores.

Beret looked at the door through which he had just disappeared.... There he leaves in a fit of temper, fuming and cussing!... She took up the morning work, her thoughts busy with many things. Before she realized it she was absorbed in what had so often been on her mind lately: What had happened to him, anyway? What had made him so different?... His warm playfulness, his affectionate tenderness—what had become of it?... Oh no, no! she caught herself, how can I be thinking of such things again! The sweet desires of the flesh are the nets of Satan.... How deeply sin has besoiled all life!... Beret went about her work with a greater determination; but her sad mood did not lift.

A hundred things were waiting for Per Hansa outside, but he was so angry that he scarcely noticed what he was about.... The world seemed upside down to-day.... That grown people couldn’t see an inch beyond their noses! Here lay Hans Olsa, driving himself out of his mind because he couldn’t have a minister—when there was no better man than himself in all Christendom!... And here was Beret insisting that he leap right into the arms of death—she who had a heart so tender that she couldn’t harm a mouse!... People could certainly twist things around in a queer way! All his life he had worked and slaved in order that she and the children might be made comfortable ... and now it was flung in his face and he was taunted with being only a blind mole who saw nothing but the hole he had burrowed himself into!... “By God, it’s a strange world we live in!” ... If this went on much longer, he would go out of his mind himself—if he wasn’t a little crazy already!... He dashed from one thing to another in a frenzy, leaving everything half done.

When the boys came out they all put on their skis and started across the snowdrifts to Hans Olsa’s north quarter. The day was bleak; a cold air was drawing in from the west. To Store-Hans, all these fields of snow were glorious; now he could skim like a bird over the drifts. Little by little Per Hansa, forgot his temper as he caught the infection of the boy’s exuberant joy.

While they were working over the cattle, Per Hansa talked in a steady stream to the boys. All this snow, he said, promised a bumper crop next summer—you could depend on that!... One of his moods of high good humour had come over him now with a rush; and as was customary with him in that frame of mind, he discussed things with the boys as if they had been grown men. He outlined at length how they could manage their place in order to have the very finest of farms. If all went well, they would build a big barn next fall; but they certainly wouldn’t be such damned idiots as to build a horse barn and cow barn separate, as that fool Torkel Tallaksen had done! It made a fine show, all right, but it was hardly practical; besides costing a good deal more, the barns were cold.... But they were going to have a real show barn, just the same—red with white cornices, because he always thought those colors looked the best.... Then he told them how he had read in the Skandinaven23 that the big farmers in the East now built a track under the ridgepole, along which they hauled the hay right into the barn loft. They would have to investigate this idea, for it sounded practical.... They found plenty to do up north; they saw to it that the cattle had water and hay enough; they carried in more straw; they stuffed the cracks in the walls; and all the while they talked and worked together like three grown men. Per Hansa felt the need of throwing off the great burden that weighed him down; and for the moment he seemed to be succeeding fairly well. But at last they had finished everything that needed to be done; then the skis went on in a hurry, and off flew the boys like two great sea gulls soaring across the fiord.... No more time for talk! They struck off directly for the highest hill in sight; from there they could slide all the way down to the creek.... Wasn’t it wonderful ... all this snow!

Just as Per Hansa reached the yard at home Sörine was coming out of the kitchen door; she went over to the wall of the house, took a pair of skis that stood there, and put them on. He noticed that she was very thinly clad. She had a shawl over her head, but wore no other outdoor wrap. He concluded at once that she must have left home in a hurry, and feared that the worst had happened.... Was anything wrong? he asked.... No, Hans Olsa didn’t seem much worse; she thought he looked a little better. But her face was sad and she looked down as she spoke.... Bridget had been to see him again and had said there was no hope.... “And I guess there isn’t, either,” she went on. “But I had to come over and ask your advice, Per Hansa.... He said that you were going after the minister for him. And I suppose that might be a good thing to do; at any rate, he is very happy about it.... But now, of course, I see that it’s impossible to go anywhere.... Still, I was thinking that if you did intend to try, it might be better to get the doctor instead.... I don’t suppose you can think of it in this weather, but I had to come over, anyway....” Not once did she look up as the obvious pleading went on.

Per Hansa glanced down at his skis. Her voice had a thin, timid sound in this piercing wind. He felt the cold himself and remembered how thinly she was clad.

“You must stay awhile and get warm before you go,” he said, quietly.

“No, I must hurry home. I know I shouldn’t have come, but—” her voice suddenly left her. In a moment it came back, and then she went on, bravely: “It is so hard to see him go, without being able to help! And then we all have a feeling that nothing is ever impossible for you—and I thought that perhaps you might find a way out of this, too!” ... All at once her pleading had taken on a frantic urgency.

“Did he ask you to come to me?”

“No—he didn’t exactly do that. But he kept wondering if you weren’t getting ready—if you wouldn’t be starting soon. I could see plainly enough that he wanted some one to come over.”

Per Hansa said nothing more, nor did he look at her again. She went away at once. When she had gone, he took off his skis, beat the snow from them, and set them up against the wall. But he did not go in immediately.... His thoughts followed her who was now walking across the snow, passed her, entered the house before her, saw his friend lying there—saw the great face staring up at him, the frightened eyes imploring him like those of a kindly dog. He stood still in his tracks a long time, gazing off into vacancy, without the will to move....

On the kitchen floor Permand was playing at threshing. When the father came in he hailed him, giving off orders like a man: “Come here and help me, you; we’ve got to get this work done before evening!” The boy’s heart and soul were in his play. Seeing that dinner was not yet ready, the father hung up his coat and hat and sat down on the floor beside his son. In a moment they were both absorbed in the play.

During the meal the two parents scarcely spoke to each other, and never once did their eyes meet. As soon as they had finished the boy came and wanted his father to play with him some more; the father willingly agreed, and soon they were hard at it again. It was a serious question as to how they could get a lot of threshing done to-day; all the while they were laughing and talking about it, making a great deal of noise.

As the mother cleared the table she kept looking at them in wonder and dismay.... Here he sat and played with the child, just as if there were nothing serious in the world for him. The day was wearing on. Didn’t he really intend to try to do anything? She could have cried aloud in her anguish! Had he become stone blind?... When she had finished washing the dishes she went to the window and stood there awhile, looking out; then she crossed to the wall where her outdoor clothes hung, and began to put them on. This attracted Per Hansa’s attention.

... Was she going out? he asked.

... Yes.... She put on one of his coats over her own wrap, then pulled his big stocking cap over her head.

He looked up a second time.

“Are you going far? You seem to be wrapping up a good deal.”

She waited a moment before she answered.

“I have to talk to Henry.... Some one must go on this errand for Hans Olsa!” Her face was flushed with determination and her eyes shone with a quiet light.

Per Hansa burst into a laugh and scrambled to his feet.

“You’ll have to behave yourself now, woman,” he said, like a man trying to talk reason into a naughty child. “You ought to know that this is no weather for a woman to be out in.”

“It’s no weather for men to be out in, either, by the way it looks in here!”

He whirled on her suddenly, his face white with passion; the eyes that stared at her fiercely, burned with a lambent flame.

“God help me!” she thought. “Now he’s going to lay hands on me!... But I only spoke the truth!”

“I want no more damned nonsense about this!” he burst out, hoarsely. “If you ... if you have something to say to Henry, you’ll have to say it here in this house.... You can’t go chasing from farm to farm to-day!” ...

Before she knew it he had gone out of the kitchen.

VIII

In front of the steps stood the forward part of a sleigh, on which the boys had tried to haul hay to the house; it was a clumsy, homemade affair, so heavy that the boys couldn’t budge it after it had stood awhile, and so they had left it where it was. Per Hansa had noticed it earlier in the day, and it had angered him at the time to think that the boys were so careless.... When he came out now this object was the first thing he saw. He rushed at it; wrenched it out of the snow with a violent jerk, and flung it so hard into a drift that only one runner remained in sight.

“There!... God damn the thing!” he muttered.

With that passionate outburst his temper seemed suddenly to have left him; but his face was still very pale. His skis leaned up against the wall where he had placed them; he put them on and stood still for a moment, lost in thought; then, staff in hand, he started off....

In the east part of the settlement lived two Telemarking24 boys, who had come over a couple of years before. They were skilled skismiths; last winter each one had made himself a pair with straps and staffs, the finest ever seen in this part of the country. This year they had made two trips to town on them before Christmas.... It was to these boys that Per Hansa now went. In about an hour he returned with one pair of skis on his shoulders, and another on his feet. Neither pair was his own.

Beret, greatly agitated by her husband’s hasty departure, walked back and forth across the kitchen floor.... “Now I have brought things to a sorry pass!” she thought. “I know I said too much—but what could I do? Some one has to go, and I had no one else to ask.” ... When she saw him returning with the skis she felt relieved.... “It’s sensible of him to go on skis; it’s the only way he can possibly get along.... I wonder who he intends to take along with him? He ought to have thought of the plan more seriously this morning; the boys and I could have managed with the chores.... I must hurry up and make him a cup of coffee; he must have something hot to drink before he leaves.... They’ll hardly get far to-day.” ... She put the coffeepot on the stove and began to set the table.... “I guess I’ll put on a tablecloth to make things nice for him.... He mustn’t think that I hold any hard feelings.” ...

The oldest two boys were busy digging a tunnel from the cow barn to the pigsty—the latter had been completely snowed under. Per Hansa went over there first; he talked to them as if he were in no hurry, and when it seemed to him that they were losing interest, he went down into the tunnel where they were.... He said that now he was going away, and that it was uncertain when he would return. Could he depend on them to look after things while he was gone?... The boys were absorbed in their task and didn’t pay much attention to what he said. Certainly he could go. They would look after everything. They went on with their work, and soon fell into a quarrel about how long it would take them to reach the pigsty.... He left the boys, took his skis, and went into the granary; there he rubbed one pair of skis with some tallow which he kept for the purpose, and put a piece of the tallow into his pocket. He also had to adjust the straps a little before he could start....

While he was doing this Peder Victorious came trudging in and announced that mother had made coffee. She said father must come in before it got cold.

“What?” ... Per Hansa’s face brightened. “Did mother really say that?”

“She said coffee was ready.”

“Oh!...”

Per Hansa had now adjusted the straps as he wanted them, and stood looking around for a rope with which to strap the other pair of skis on his back.

“Did she send you out and tell you to say that?” ...

“She said—she said—coffee was ready, she said!”

The father looked at his son. “You haven’t got enough on, Permand,” he said in a low, tender voice, stroking the boy’s cheek with his hand and running his finger down into the soft warm neck. The boy screamed when it tickled. Per Hansa laughed to hear him. “Hm—hm—cold as an icicle! Pack yourself in this minute!... So mother has the coffee ready, you say?”

He carried the boy out lovingly, set him down with a lingering touch, and went back after his skis. One pair he tied to his back; the other he put on.

The boy waited, watching him.

“Aren’t you coming, father?”

“Get into the house with you!” the father said with mock severity. “I’ll probably be along in a little while.” ... Then, as he straightened up and put on his mittens, he suddenly remembered something:

“Permand!”

“Ya?” ...

“There’s a ball of nice twine in the bedroom. Ask mother to find it and give it to you to play with.... And now you must be a good boy, and get a lot of threshing done before I come back!”

“Yes, father,” said the boy as he trotted away.

Per Hansa stood motionless, watching him until he had passed from sight inside the house. Then, with a staff in either hand, he started off.... Was that a face at the window that he saw?...

He did not look at the house again. In a moment he had passed the place where the boys were digging the tunnel; he longed to talk with them once more, but crushed the feeling down.... He struck out westward. Something tugged and pulled at his heart, trying to make him turn back; it was as if he had a bridle on and the driver were pulling hard on one of the reins. He had to bend his head forward against this unseen force in order to hold his direction.... “No—not now—not now....” he murmured, bitterly, wiping his mitten across his eyes.

In the kitchen window Beret stood watching him; her soft, kindly eyes grew large and questioning.... Wasn’t he coming in? Had Permand forgotten to tell him?... Surely, surely, he would come. She had fixed things so nicely for him.... Oh, this would never do! She must find out at once who was going with him!... She hurried to the door, flung it open, ran out on the steps, and tried to call to him—he simply mustn’t leave this way!... But he had already gone beyond the range of her voice; the westerly gusts, driving full against her, snatched her words away. Her eyes filled with tears, so that she could scarcely see him now. Furious blasts came swirling out of the grey, boundless dusk, sweeping the snow in stinging clouds, whirling it round and round, dropping it only to pick it up again. Per Hansa soon disappeared in the whirling waste.... The wind was so cold that it penetrated to the very marrow of her bones.

A little later Per Hansa turned in at Hans Olsa’s; he sat and talked with them awhile in the bedroom. Their words were few and far between. Per Hansa felt that there was nothing more for him to do here. At length he got up and said that now he was going—what sort of a trip he would have he did not know. If luck were with him, he would bring back the minister. In the meantime Hans Olsa must behave himself and rest as much as possible, for he really had nothing to worry about.... The sick man groped for Per Hansa’s hand, and did not seem to want to let it go. He acted like a child who has teased and teased until it has finally got its way....

“I didn’t dare to ask you right out,” he said, as if in explanation. “But I knew you would go as soon as it was possible—that’s always been the way with you.... Now I can sleep in comfort.” ...

Out in the kitchen Sörine sat waiting at the table; when she heard this she hurried to pour the coffee, intending to make him sit down and have a cup before he left.

“Must I have coffee here too?... No, no,” he said, jerking up his head. “I’ve had enough for to-day!” ...

With these words he went out.

He put on his skis, straightened himself up, and remained standing there for some time; as he pulled on his mittens he took one glance homeward. He could just make out the house in the dim distance. Then the whiteness all around it thickened—rose up in a cloud—seemed to be piling in. Whirls of snow flew high over the housetop—sometimes the house itself disappeared.... He sighed deeply, brushed his eyes with his mitts, and started on his way.

He took his bearings from familiar outlines of the landscape, and laid the course he thought he ought to follow.... Perhaps it wasn’t so dangerous, after all. The wind had been steady all day, had held in the same quarter, and would probably keep on.... Oh, well—here goes!...

He thought no more about his course for a while; but instead he began to wonder if he had done wrong in not going in to drink the coffee, when Beret had taken all the trouble to make it.... “Now she’ll go around feeling unhappy, just because I am so touchy; and she’ll be so melancholy that she’ll have little patience with the boys.... Such high-spirited colts need to be managed with a careful hand. She doesn’t understand that at all!” ... Thoughts of home continued to come, warm and tender; he laughed softly at them.... “You may be sure she’ll get Permand to remember me in his prayers to-night, if he doesn’t think of it himself.... It would be fun to listen to them!” ...

He moved slowly on with steady strokes, taking note of the wind at odd times. The picture would not leave him.... “It would be fun just to look in on them.... Oh, Permand, Permand! Something great must come of you—you who are so tenderly watched over!” ...

The swirling dusk grew deeper.... Darkness gathered fast.... More snow began to fall.... Whirls of it came off the tops of the drifts, circled about, and struck him full in the face.... No danger—the wind held steady.... At home all was well ... and now mother was saying her evening prayers with Permand.... Move on!—Move on!...

IX

About halfway across the stretch from Colton to the James River a cluster of low hills rear themselves out of the prairie. Here and there among them a few stray settlers had already begun to dig in.

On one of the hillsides stood an old haystack which a settler had left there when he found out that the coarse bottom hay wasn’t much good for fodder. One day during the spring after Hans Olsa had died, a troop of young boys were ranging the prairies, in search of some yearling cattle that had gone astray. They came upon the haystack, and stood transfixed. On the west side of the stack sat a man, with his back to the mouldering hay. This was in the middle of a warm day in May, yet the man had two pairs of skis along with him; one pair lay beside him on the ground, the other was tied to his back. He had a heavy stocking cap pulled well down over his forehead, and large mittens on his hands; in each hand he clutched a staff.... To the boys, it looked as though the man were sitting there resting while he waited for better skiing....

... His face was ashen and drawn. His eyes were set toward the west.