Chapter VII: “but Deliver Us From Evil!”

1

It was getting on for Christmas, two or three years later. Per was crossing the farm-yard from the penthouse, where the boys were stacking peat. Valborg came out of the storehouse, where she had been for bread. A crofter wife stole round the corner with her bag, and Per saw it was empty.

Ay, said Valborg--but what was one to do? _She_ didn’t know what became of the corn and meal, but it went: they couldn’t keep a thing. If the porridge meal lasted out the winter they might think themselves lucky. And what about seed-corn? Four bushels of barley, that wasn’t much for Haaberg. But as for meal--

Oh--they’d have to miss a few spoonfuls this winter. There was no sense in eating one’s fill every day, was there?

That was the usual way, when they talked to each other. They couldn’t be serious or sensible any more, it seemed. They wondered at each other, but it was just as if they were standing back to back, they never got to know anything.

Valborg went in. Per took a turn behind the byre, and there stood the woman with her bag.--“What’s the matter with you?” he asked--“are you out of meal? Come on with your bag, quick.” He tossed it out to her again, as though there was only a mite in it: “Here you are! Now away home with you.”

Valborg was right: they were getting too many of that sort now, and the stores were shrinking badly; they’d have to say _no_, in all conscience! But Per didn’t like it, it smacked of poverty. He laughed heartily when the little boys gave warning: “Here comes another with a bag!” and he was quite ready to set the dog on them before they reached the farm; but it was another story when once they were there. And it _was_ hard times for the small men; hard enough for other folk.

The first summer Per and Valborg were at Haaberg they had the great frost year. May set in with blazing heat, so that the cattle were nearly maddened by the gad-fly. In the course of the summer it froze time after time, and worst of all at Haaberg.--“Well, there it is,” was all Per said. “You don’t pull down the barn for one bad year.”--“As long as it’s only one,” said Valborg. “But isn’t it strange that it should come just this year?”--“Hm!” said Per, and then he turned away. He could turn away like this, so that it made you feel you weren’t there. He didn’t mean a scrap of harm by it. For Valborg was not one to make a howl. It was true, it had gone badly with her before now: she had twice had a miscarriage. The first time before they left Juvik--she had felt the move so sadly; the second time was this summer, and then it had nearly carried her off--it must have been a bad year in this too; it had been too dry. She took it as a warning, or whatever it might be.

And you must never expect too much of womenfolk when the food runs short, said Per to himself; and with that he put the matter aside and went back to his work. For he himself was not to be put out: here he was, and here he was going to stay; _they_ would have it so. And here was a good place to be. “Here we have our job before us, stones and water enough to keep us busy for a hundred years,” he would often say to Anders. And a rich and friendly soil, when once she got to know you.

Per was making himself a new sledge for carrying stones. But now he stopped to listen: the crofters were so lazy at their threshing today. One stroke today and another tomorrow, he laughed. He flung down his tools and went into the barn to let them see him. They had been let off their rent money the last two years, but that hadn’t made them any livelier, just; and work they _must_, he’d let them know who was the master.

At that moment Valborg came and asked him to go into the house: a stranger was there. Who? Oh, he’d soon see. She could tell by his face it was Jens he thought of. That often happened. But it was not Jens, it was _Brandy Mærit_. She was a woman who went from farm to farm distilling for folk, and at the same time she brought round the gossip. For a couple of years she had had nothing to do, they had hardly seen her; but today she slipped in and sat down as if she had been sent for.

She took a pinch of snuff and talked about the weather and the crops and much else. _There_ they had had cattle sickness, whether it was Lapp _gann_ or other ill work; _there_ they looked to be starving to death. And this one was in a decline and would soon be done, ay, and another had brought up _blood!_ But the worst of all was on the other side of the fiord, over by the Black Rock: there a white one had been seen and heard, crying out that he wanted to come into Christian ground. She sneezed and told her tales, till the whole room was full of grisliness: it was a black time, a strange dog slept under every bed almost.

Valborg was only half listening; she had heard all this before. But her heart misgave her badly, and she had her eye on Per now and again. She couldn’t make him out at all; he took in Mærit’s tales so greedily. At last she could keep silence no longer: Had _he_ bidden Mærit come here?

“To be sure!” he answered, but only in joke, and then he turned to Mærit and asked for more ghost stories.

Valborg went straight to the storehouse. And sure enough--the barley-bin was empty! Four bushels of barley they had taken, and now of course it was in the brewhouse, to be turned into Christmas brandy. She went in again. She didn’t say a word.

And now the still was going; Mærit distilled, and Mærit cleared, all as quietly as a magic spell, and then they had the brandy there, the clear and fiery drink. “Now I’ve cleared it, and now _I’m_ clear,” she said, and with that she dropped into a corner and slept like a stone. She was as full as a vat. Mærit never tasted a drop of her own brewing, according to herself; one can get full on less than that, she said, and folk thought that fair enough.

It was late at night, and soon every soul in the house was asleep. Only Per was still up.

Outside it was a cold, clear night. The Pleiads twinkled over the roof of the barn; the moon threw blue shadows on the snow behind the houses; north and south and wherever one looked there was moonlight and shadow and clear sky. In such semblance the night would come before one: a great, calm face, two great eyes. When they were upon one it was a small thing to be a man. What was it they saw?

It was a dim little pane he was looking through. He put his hands behind his neck and stood thus. He was not thinking, he hardly ever did that any more. For the man who sells himself to thinking sells himself to an evil power. He simply stood there. He wondered, though, if he hadn’t a mind to brace himself with a drop of drink and then go out and shake them all up--a Juviking would do that, and he was one.

Then he noticed that Valborg was lying awake in the bed. He stretched himself, yawned, and looked into the corner where Mærit lay--how was he to get her out of this?

“And now I’ve cleared it, and now _I’m_ clear,” he said. “Ay ay, we made a whole lot.”

“You’re standing there like Johnny Head-in-air, aren’t you?” said Valborg.

He turned round to her, screwing up his eyes quizzically, as one sometimes does at a child: Was she afraid for him? That he should break out and go on the drink at Christmas?

To that she made no answer.

“Or is it the corn that’s keeping you awake? That’s more like it. What if you let the corn go to blazes, the same as I do? You’ll see how light-hearted you’ll be.”

“But that you should go and do a thing like that. That’s what I can’t get over.”

He turned half round to Mærit again. “Look at her there,” he said merrily. “_She’s_ not lying awake. Ugly, ay! The Lord’s been pretty close-fisted with her; but she doesn’t seem to think that’s her affair, it’s worse for them that have to look at her. Shall I take and carry her up to the loft?--What if a black dog came and sniffed at her, eh? Then she’d be _clear_.”

“I believe--I believe you’re drunk too, aren’t you?”

“Oh no.” Now he crossed the room to the bed. She saw he was quite sober.

“I know, Per, I know. You’re just the same as you always were. No matter what you do.”

He stared at her. All at once the room seemed to go round with him; could he be drunk after all?

“What’s the matter now?”

Valborg struggled hard with it. Till now she had known nothing at all about Per, and then _that_ had been such a great thing. Now she seemed to know everything about him, and now _this_ was the greatest thing she had.

“No, it wasn’t anything special exactly. Only it struck me so--that we have something _against_ us?”

She gave him a frightened glance and looked away again; she could not believe she had really said it.

He began to undress.--“Go to sleep now, wife,” he said. She said no more, and there was silence in the room; no other sound than Mærit, snoring away in her corner by the stove. The fire was going out, and the candle guttered and flickered, soon it would be out too. The moon threw pale green patches on the wall.--“Ay,” said Per--he had been sitting awhile on the edge of the bed, and now he felt how still it was--what might be the truth of it he didn’t know.--“But here we’re going to stay, that I do know. No matter who planted us here. No matter who he may be.”

Now the candle went out; Per pinched the wick, and then he went to the water-tub and drank.

You could hear the sighing of the fiord, when you listened; it lay in the moonlight, beset by the land and the cold. An icy air went through the room. Per rallied her with a smile:

“But look, you’re not the same woman since we left Juvik. You’d give up all just for that!”

“Nonsense! I know you did right in that, Per. But I’m thinking of one thing. And you’re thinking of the same.”

“Heh? What’s that?”

“And Lord knows--what harm it may bring us.”

“Oh, kiss the cat! Is it Morten Aune? Tomorrow night I’ll take my gun and go across and shoot him.”

She said nothing for a moment, and then it came, and from deep within her, he could hear:

“You’re not to say such things. You’re no Juviking, Per, after all. And you were never meant to be, either.”

He felt shamed for the moment, but then he laughed and crept under the bed-clothes:

“Mercy on us! How you do open your heart!”

He muttered it once more, to himself, and yawned again: “Open your heart as wide as a lion’s jaw.”

“The parson ought to be able to do something for it,” she said. “For if we’re to suffer for it all our days, why--”

“There, now you can drop it!”

2

Twice in the course of the winter Per rowed over to Valvær,[5] but came home empty-handed. He did not say what business he had there, nor did anyone ask him. When spring was coming on he was there again, and this time he brought back two sacks of Bergen corn.

[5] A _vær_ is a fishing-station.

He just stood and looked at Valborg a moment, and she didn’t know if he was talking to her or only to himself, but anyhow she agreed with him: they should have some, those who were in need. They came creeping up day after day with their empty sacks, trying to find Valborg, and Per was right, they looked so lamentable shuffling off home again without a scrap. It was never long before the boys would be crying: “Here comes another bag-woman!”

“What do you think we’re going to sow this year?” Valborg was wondering as she ladled out the porridge one day. She was not far from saying it aloud. The farm-servants were sitting at the table.

“Ah, the Lord only knows!” said Per all at once. He had said grace and was on his way out.

Valborg turned hot, for he must have read what was on the tip of her tongue.

“At Juvik they still have heaps of corn, I’m told.” She said this next day, when she came to the stable door for a pail, and Per stood there mending a harness. She did not expect an answer, and none came either.

That day Per drove east to Paalsness and bought two bushels of seed-corn. Ane measured it out to him and full measure she gave: the Haaberg land was to have all that, she told him. “Ay, that it shall,” muttered Per, “even if there’s a whole row of begging women standing by.” And when he came home he took the bag over his shoulder and went to work as if he had stolen it.

The same day Aasel came rowing across the fiord by herself. It was Valborg she wanted.

“You’ll have to come down to the beach,” was all she said.

Valborg took off her apron, put on her clogs, and came.

No, said Aasel, she’d have to put on shoes this time--the laughter was twitching at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Valborg did so, and then they went off. In the boat lay two sacks of corn.--“But somebody’s been at it,” said Aasel, letting her eyes stray up to the crofts. “Ah, well; they pilfer and pluck, a bit here and a bit there, as father used to say.

“You take one and I’ll take the other!” she gave Valborg a merry look.

“Here goes!” and with that she took the sack on her shoulders and went off, Aasel after with hers.

There were two bushels in each, and the road was long and stony; Haaberg kept moving farther and farther away, but at last they had them up to the storehouse.

“Blest if I don’t think there’s two more bag-women coming!” said Petter, the smaller boy, plucking at his father.

Per glanced down the road for a second and turned back to his work.

“Now we’ll steep the seed-corn straight away,” said Aasel.

“I dare say that’ll be safest.” Valborg gave a little laugh, on one side of her face. They stood getting their breath after the effort and looked at each other: a pretty sound pair, weren’t they? Valborg’s eyes twinkled:

“Won’t he pull a long face, your old man, when he finds there’s been a thief at the corn-bin.”

“Not likely. His face is too round for that. And he’s too easy. As for that--why, Mikkal--”

Valborg laughed. She had a loud and hearty laugh when she chose to use it; you thought of a clear stream of water when she laughed. But she was serious again directly: It was what she had always said, you jogged along from day to day.

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about,” said Aasel, as she was leaving. “But it’ll have to wait till another time.”

Valborg flushed slightly: perhaps she knew what it was. For there were many things they ought to talk about.

“But deliver us from evil!” she would say for her part. And that might carry you over the day.

She said the same to Per that evening. “From _evil_, ay,” he laughed; “well, you ought to say that twice; then maybe it’ll carry you over two days.”

The soil got the corn it wanted, and with that much else was as it should be. It was a marvel how it sprouted. “Black is the soil, and she means me well,” said Per. “And just you wait till I’ve had time to turn round.”

He had an old oddity on the farm, named Steffen, a legacy from Ane; Steffen Big-Shoes his rascally boys called him, for he had such big feet--they declared they had bespoken his big toe-nails to make into horn spoons. He was a faithful worker, and Per fell to talking with him now and again, quite naturally; there were not many the old man cared to speak to.--“We’ll make a farm of Haaberg, Steffen,” he said to him.--“Haaberg _is_ a farm,” growled the other.--“When we’ve shifted the big stone there, and got rid of the water.”--“Ah, I’m not so sure.”--“Why not?”--“He’s an old hand here, that stone. Before your time.”--“Ay, but he’s not going to be much older, above ground. He’s coming down, he is.”--“Don’t you touch him, child. Don’t you touch him. Mark what I say!”

Per was amused at this. The more one talked with folk, the more one grew over their heads.

He came back to this chat several times that summer, but Steffen was not to be moved. That stone, what harm had he done? And the water? Hadn’t they any rights nowadays, these things? “We’ll have a fine harvest at Haaberg _this year_. We will that. But--can you tell what next year will bring you, eh?”

“Superstitious nonsense,” scoffed Per.--“Ay, maybe, maybe not--it’s an old world this. There’s Iver Brudal, look at him now.”--“What about him?”--“Oh, nothing. Only that he got under a stone. Ay. The stone sucked him under--and it wasn’t any pebble that _he_ tried to shift. They dug him out half dead. He’s learnt now to leave a thing or two in peace. ‘Peace on earth,’ it says. Said so in old parson’s time anyway.”

Per laughed. He laughed rarely, but he had a good laugh at Steffen and his stones, scouted them well; and it put heart into him. He had often had a feeling that he was rowing alone in the dark, he couldn’t deny it, and he had been scared away from Juvik as if a whole flock of black-winged birds were after him. But when he came to think, it was incredible what a fair-haired and unbelieving Juviking he had made of himself again. And even if Jens had been here--but never mind that, nobody missed _him_ any more.--“It’s easy enough, Steffen, when you have your enemy right in front of you like that; when you can look him in the face. And at a pinch, you know, you can say like the womenfolk--like the folk here round about the church: ‘But deliver us from evil!’ they say; _that_ ought to help a hit, oughtn’t it?” But Steffen was surly and glum, and it took Per a long time to coax him back into a good humour. The only thing was, it gave one such a fresh taste in the mouth to rub a fellow-creature the wrong way now and again.

And then he had these boys of his about him. They wouldn’t behave themselves. “It’s eating and beating with them all the time,” sighed Valborg; “and then you get nothing but sauce and contrariness.”--“Ah, but here’s birch-twigs enough,” said Per; “and you’ve got to have somebody to work off your temper on.” But he was often moody: what would become of them? what was there in them? All the same, they made him happy. He was no longer alone.

One night when he was down at the store and had been given a drink, he shook his fist at the roof-beams:

“Heh, boy! It’ll take something to make me pray like the womenfolk!”

3

Per stood watching Steffen Big-Shoes and the other farmhand covering in the drain. This was a new fashion in those parts; they had had nothing but open drains till now. Steffen came from the south, and he knew how it should be done. He felt like a real craftsman over this, wouldn’t even notice the master today; the lad offered him stone after stone, but not a bit of it! ’twas never the right one: “Those two for the sides and that one on top; that’s the way we do it in the south!”

Per looked at him, in calm self-confidence. Steffen’s head was small and round, with black hair; forehead there was not much of, but the lower part of his face was big and bony: the eyes small and feeble, but full of wisdom when they were sorting out stones; his back was made for slavery. Per looked closely at his legs: they were short and crooked, with long, flat feet--that fellow could never run very fast. Per looked at his own, went over his whole frame. He could still jump his own height, he could run races with his horse; could hunt folk into the sea, if it came to that, he said to himself with a smile.

Now he went away, to his own job. He was at work on the big stone farther down the field. As he walked he raised his eyes and looked around with such a high heart: this was what he had been looking forward to all his days; it was for this he had come here. It did not occur to him that he had had his doubts now and again; that was Valborg and she had time to believe what she liked.

It was harvest already, and the corn was in stooks; the first clear evenings had come. Fine weather this was and no mistake. The land to the southward changed its shape as he looked at it, hills and mountains came to meet him, glens and crags stood out in light and shade, and all that was farther off vanished away, far into the sky and the evening; the land parted asunder before him. And the moon was already up, the pools sparkled gaily with a cold glitter; presently it would freeze. Let it freeze, he muttered, hunching his shoulders contentedly, as a man does when he feels well.

Here was the fellow he wanted. He had already dug the pit for him. The stone had waked up, as it were, was getting uneasy. He had tufts of beard all over his face and was full of little eyes. Now Per could hear his voice, a hoary, moss-grown voice like Steffen’s, muttering at him: “There’s room for all sorts in a fellow like me.” Per was ready to believe it. Likely enough the little people had their home here, and now he was going to wreck it for them; he had seen one of them here last year, he ran from that stone over there to the heap of stones at the bottom of the field, ran like mad, so that his sheath-knife wagged up and down behind him. Per thrust his crowbar right in the face of the stone: “Huff, boy!” Then he jumped into the hole and began to dig. It was a bit risky, for the pit was deep and narrow, and of course the stone was only watching its chance. Per made himself a sort of stairway in the farther wall, so if the pixies took it into their heads to roll the stone down too soon, they wouldn’t gain much by it.

He gave a little start on finding there was someone by. It was only Anders, who had come and wanted to help. He often came like that, with spade or pick, though he was really a mother’s child and hung about the house. “Here comes Lame Andrias,” the boy announced. Per looked up and about, and sure enough, there he came.

Lame Andrias was a half-Lapp, and married to a Lapp wench, as far as folk knew; he haunted the farms, begging, a little limping wretch, smooth and mild, but dangerous enough for all that--there was not a hair on his head and they never saw him wear a cap either; and he thanked and blessed you whether you gave or not. He was still a young man, you might say, and a merry soul. Lame he was and to spare, but he laughed and made light of it: why, look, if one leg’s too short, the other’s so much longer that it’s quits; and it’s fine for running on rough ground, the short foot trips so lightly over tufts and stones, _a-i a-i a-i oh!_

Now he came limping straight across the field and stopped beside Per. Per could hardly bear the sight of him, he was like the others in that and a bit more: he gave a jump as soon as he saw him; and why was he always so meek and mild, this Lapp rascal? And why did he never wear a cap on his bald skull? What was it he wanted?

He brought many kind greetings from Juvik, he said. Juvik was a fine place; and fine people there. He gossiped and babbled, buttered Per well, it seemed to him, with soft and slimy words, of the Juvik folk and Haaberg and many other things.--“Go home and feed your lice!” Per growled from down below. Anders stood looking the Lapp up and down.

“Can you _gann?_” he asked all at once.

“Pray God to keep you from such talk, my dear! _Gann_, that’s the same as praying to the Ugly Man!”

Per had come out of the hole to get the crowbar. Before he knew what he was doing he caught the Lapp by the collar and hoisted him out of the way: “Go to hell and don’t ever come back again!” he warned him.

The Lapp shrieked at him: He brought greetings from the Black Rock, and from Morten Aune, and from Daaret and her brat, and--from brother Jens and--and--he he he ho! He roared like a devil squeezed in a doorway, thought Per; it gave him cold shivers. He was on him in a twinkling and heaved him away.

Andrias limped off eastward as fast as he could manage and didn’t let a sound out of him till he was almost under cover of the wood. Then he turned and laughed: “_A-i a-i a-i oh!_”

Per crowed a little too, and then he set about shifting the stone. The old fellow settled into his bed with a long, hoarse sigh; he was too old to protest. The dust rose all about him, and, sure enough, he took Per with him!

“No, wait a bit!” said Per, as he scrambled out again--“I don’t want to lie here and rot!--They weren’t sharp enough this time,” he added.

Then he was going to fill up the hole from the heap of small stones. “That’ll make it shallow for ploughing,” said Anders. “What if you dumped them in the flax-dam yonder?”--“Now you’re saying something,” said Per; and so they did it. Per took the biggest stones and carried them, Anders came with the others. At last Per took to chucking them in anyhow, and Anders did the same. Per went at it till the sweat poured off him, the stones flew across like shavings. Ah, but it was good to feel one had a little tot of strength left.

But all at once he felt something odd, just as he was flinging a stone: as if somebody took hold of him. As if somebody drew a finger right across his stomach, a warm and kind finger, but it was just as if he came in two, his legs gave way under him and he felt queer all over. He picked up another stone, for this made him angry, but there was no more strength in him, he couldn’t throw it.

As it happened, the flax-dam was now filled in, so they were quit of both hole and stone, and Anders had to go home and see to the sheep, which were apt to stray into the wilds at nightfall.

Per stayed behind, putting the stones straight in the moonlight. As long as he didn’t stretch himself, there was not much pain in his stomach; only he turned so cold and queer. “Must I really believe I’ve ruptured something?” He felt himself well over, though he would rather have let be. Oh yes, there was something wrong inside--he sat down. Now he felt cold in the face and empty about the chaps, like a thief that is caught in the act. “Am I going to be a cripple now, no use at all?” he growled; “what the devil’s the good of that? Up to now--no Juvik man’s ever ruptured himself,” he fretted. And then, just _now?_--Oh, damn it, he’d soon be sound again; in a few months--a few days.

He got up. Then he felt distinctly that someone aimed a blow at him. “Heh?” he said and turned round. There! again he felt the wind of a blow. He hissed furiously through his teeth, like Jens when he fought:

“Muckworms! Beggarly crofters! Don’t touch me, I warn you!”

The moon shone steadfastly, and pools and wheel-ruts gave back its beams; it sounded as if the moonlight were playing with the stooks of corn, they shrank with a faint rustle. Black shadows to every stone, and deep night under every mountain. Not a soul about. For whom, then, was the moon shining?

Per roused himself sharply, took his spade, and went home. He walked stiffly, with clenched teeth, like a drunken man trying to walk straight; he wondered if a man had ever walked as quietly as he did now. As he went homeward it dawned on him why they should want to have a horseshoe on their prizing bar when they quarried stone; he had shod _his_ with any old piece of iron. Had no steel on him either, not so much as his sheath-knife. He came slowly up to the farm; just a little quickly round the corner, a little smartly through the door; not many a one could do the like of that, he was sure.

He could take no food at supper, and he asked the man to see to the horses.

Next day he did nothing but potter about at home. It was rarely that Valborg asked him to lend her a hand, but that day she wanted his help to carry a tub full of washing out to the well. Per came and took hold, but he couldn’t do it. “I hurt one of my hands last night,” he said.--“Take hold with the other then!” said she.--“And my back too, I tell you!” he cried so that the walls rang.--“Oho!” she said calmly. She had never heard him like this since the time they came here. And with that she carried out the tub alone.

He freshened up the old cross over the byre, when nobody was looking; he nailed up a horseshoe over the stable door. And he hid the blade of a knife in the bed, down at the bottom. He did it with a grin on his face, looking very artful.

Anders had seen it all, and now he wanted to know: was it a cure for runes and _gann_, that kind of thing? And when he was given no answer: did it keep off the little people maybe?

“Pish!” said Per. “But it’s what they do at Haaberg. Every farm has its own ways, you see.”

Was he ill? the boy asked later, and Valborg asked the same.--Oh, he had a kind of twinge about the body, just a little rheumatism in one hip--in his back, he meant.

They were not laughing when they asked him, that was sure. No, but if a woman gets to know that her man is ailing, that he’s disabled ever so little, then it’s all up with you. Ay, then it’s all up.

4

There was a funeral at Paalsness. Andrias was no more. Ane had found him lying at the bottom of the steps, and he was already gone. They found them like that, sometimes. It was hard to say what it _was_.

It was late autumn and a black frost. They had put plenty of pine-branches in the cart to steady the coffin, and they drove as gently as they could, but still it jolted and rattled in an ugly way; Ane bit her lips white when they came to the worst places. Otherwise she took it very patiently, did Ane; she had never looked for anything but adversity.

Folk talked kindly to her, for she was one of those you have to talk to. And they talked among themselves, when they were back from church. Paalsness had been such a model house since they were married. They were so well suited. She saved, and he helped her. She sighed, and he tried to do the same. She looked as if all the world was against her, and he did his best to back her up. A godsend he had thought of leaving her something: he had spoken to his nephew about it only a little before he died; he must have had a warning.

“Ay, a warning,” sighed Ane. She had put her thumb through the crust cutting bread two days running, so that it left a round hole!--Ay, then one _knew!_ they sighed all round the room.

Per Haaberg cleared his throat and joined in. They were talking about warnings, he said. They were talking about _foreshadowing_.--They had already been to table, and Per had shown himself a different man, for they had such mighty good beer at this funeral, double strength! Now he stood in the middle of the room and found he was full of pluck, not a bit like himself. He had never got drunk before, but either he was drunk now, or--he was going to be. The others were not dumb either, the room was in a buzz around him, a big party of decent folk, were they talking of warnings? Ay, warnings! Signs and wonders! Why, there’s a whole swarm of them all about us, you’ve only got to look and you’ll see them. Ay; what happened to him last year when he went out sowing?--he went against the wind, the proper way, but still it was just as if someone took the corn out of his fist and slung it all over the place--he had no business to sow a single grain that day. And then this autumn, before he ruptured himself, he saw a great light in the sky which suddenly split across; ay, and once he thought the land split up before his eyes, the mountains in the south--

Had he ruptured himself?

Per blinked his eyes, they were dazzled by all these candles, and there he saw Valborg, staring at him.

“What are you grinning at, wife?” his cheeks were red as fire. Ay, he’d hurt himself a bit, across the stomach, reaching clumsily after a stone, but now he was as sound as a bell again, a new man! He hurried on to something else: One day he’d heard the church-bell right away at Haaberg, against the wind. That was when Andrias was fey. And now this autumn, had they noticed it? there were two stars in the eastern heavens, one right under the other, hanging like a heavy weight from it; oh, there were scores of signs all round them, and if they heeded them--

--then they wouldn’t go astray, no! said Valborg, laughing loud and harshly. Warnings of what _had_ happened!

Hm, said Per. He turned away, muttering something to himself.

Their tongues had all ceased to wag the moment Per began, for it was such a surprise that he should stand there and tell them that; but now they were going again all round the room, the folk split up into little self-satisfied groups, chatting away to their hearts’ content, that was what a festive gathering meant to them. Per only heard the buzz of voices, and here and there a word:

The screech-owl, they were saying; what were you to think about her? Crows and magpies, that was another story, they flew round the house and stole. The screech-owl didn’t want anything--then what did she come out for? She was an evil bird.

Even Mikkal from Juvik had found his tongue now, he chatted away so that he didn’t know himself. “I was never hard put to it, only once: I was coming from the mill with a boat full of sacks, and the gale it blew and ’twas dark night and snowing thick, and the boat she was leaky and the baler was too small, and a swollen finger I had and a pain in my bowels; I didn’t hardly know--”

Per cleared his throat and straightened himself. He shook off a heavy spite that was riding him, so he thought. He was no different from the rest, was not going to be either, he was one in the crowd, a note in the song, ay! Juviking? Juviking be hanged! “Just you wait till I get back my health!”--he turned to Aasel--“Take your time and you shall see! The Juvikings, they went _that_ way. I go _this_. And what became of them, after all? Did they leave any trail behind them?”

He stood in silence awhile. The talk and the crowd drew him. He believed what they believed; he let himself sink so placidly into the midst of them.--Damn it all, one must have something or other to believe in, surely? Heh? But now let them come with a bucket, he was thirsty!

But they were not listening to him, someone had come in who made folk stare. A fine gentleman, in fur coat and Lapp boots. Now Per saw the man’s dial--his face dropped, his cheeks slackened and turned grey, but his eyes seemed to be nailed fast. He took a step forward:

“It’s not true! It can’t be you, curse me if it is!”

But it was, all the same, it was Jens; he came forward and greeted him, and then he went round and shook hands with everybody. Per chanced to look at Valborg. She didn’t turn pale, didn’t show a sign, only that she was a little slow in putting out her hand.

Jens talked loud and frankly: He had come all the way from the north, ay, all the way from Finmark, a fine trip it had been, and they had sailed like men. It chanced there was an _opportunity_, and so he thought he’d take it and have a look at the south again, visit his old haunts, as you might say, ha ha ha! And blest if he hadn’t come just at the right time, from the look of it! Ay, ay, a swig of beer--here’s a good year to everybody!

He seemed to have brought the breeze in with him, a little more and he’d have blown them all down. That was not a way to come storming in among folk, but one mustn’t forget he had come from far away; strange oaths he had, and was like a stranger all over; welcome home to him!

When he had got through his greetings and had something to eat, there was not much more in him. Why, yes, a trader he had been, and was one still; and he was bound for the north again; but there was no go left in him, he just sat with a half sneer on his face and looked round at the folk; now and again he scratched his beard.

His face was overgrown with a curly red beard, otherwise he was his old self, Per saw that at once. All the same he couldn’t get it into his head that it was Jens. Just like that he was in old days too, only Per had never seen it. Hadn’t seen that his eyes were so shifty, that his cheeks were so big and fierce, or that his chin was so much too small.--“Old blood in him,” he muttered all at once. “And he’s my own brother.” He went out.

It was blowing outside, as usual at Paalsness; a worse hole for a gale off the land was not to be found. Youngsters used to ask their mother: “What’s the wind doing when he doesn’t blow?” And their mother always answered: “Then he’s at Paalsness tearing down houses.” “But the houses are still standing,” thought Per. “If a house falls down at Paalsness, it’s because it hasn’t the wind to lean against.”--The land-breeze swept round the corner, roaring like the surf upon the beach, dashing against the wall time after time and shaking the whole house. “Go at it!” said Per.--Stars twinkled all over the sky, big and restless; they must be embers the wind was blowing into a flame; as long as it didn’t blow them down--that would make it too hot on earth, he laughed. Per stood bare-headed in the wind. So his father used to stand, he remembered. And now Jens had come home, that was so. “Didn’t I stand at the door one evening and see him come, the very image of him, a great white bull coming straight out of the wood? But what am I talking about--”

He put his hands behind his head. At that moment he felt that the Haaberg farm had become a meaningless burden on his back. The same as being a Juviking. No, he would go in again to the others. He’d go in to them as often as he could, they were good people. It couldn’t be such a mighty big thing, to keep to oneself all one’s days and believe nothing?--A stout heart, that was good enough, but for his part he’d rather be the man he was. “And don’t come trying to interfere with me, I warn you!”

Per came in briskly. He did not look in Jens’s direction. Nor did Jens look about for him. They both drank, and so did everyone else. When it began to get into Jens’s head, he woke up again, and he didn’t stop till he had put life into the whole room: they must have a dance. They had thought of that, many of them, and it was not long before they were dancing so that the whole house shook.

Per did not dance. He stood in the doorway and looked on. He had never seen a man so wild and merry as Jens when he was dancing; it was not the face of a reasonable man, that: the Juviking had flown off the handle! The Juviking--there was only the outside of him left, and that was ugly.--“And we’re not brothers, I’ll swear!” he said.

The Haaberg folk did not go home till the next day, and then Jens came and joined them.

“How are things at Juvik?” asked Valborg.

Jens looked at her. He thought a moment, and then went on talking to Per. He had a tough hide.

Valborg faced Per, hands on hips, when they were alone. She had not squared up to him like this before, she was so broad and so freckled, so strong and handsome; she looked straight at him. “One fine day she’ll go for me, with tooth and nail,” he thought. “When she sees I’m down enough.” And the very instant the thought struck him, he felt how it would go; he saw so sadly far ahead.

What was to be done now? she asked him.--Done now?--Ay. So that they could get him to take his wife and child and be off.

She was right, thought Per. There was not a man in the parish who had disgraced himself so deeply as Jens. Married the servant. And ran from his farm. It was bad; and Per had never given it much thought. But when he turned it over, he bristled up against her and the parish and the whole disgraceful business.

“I’ll have to talk to him,” he muttered.--“Yes, I’ll be bound you’ll do that!” she sneered.--“No, likely enough I’ll let be!”

5

He let be. A fortnight had gone by, and Jens was still at Haaberg. He lent a hand now and again on the farm, but most of the time he loafed about, went out walking in his fur coat, looked in on this or that acquaintance; they could all see what a big man he had become. They talked of it to Per: my word, how grand that Jens had grown; they’d find their match now, both parson and sheriff--he’d soon be going north again, wouldn’t he?

Yes, he was going directly. He was only waiting for an _opportunity_.--Oh ay, an _opportunity_. It was no small fry that waited for the like of that. They didn’t say it to be spiteful, Per could see that. They had forgotten both Daaret and Juvik. So that same fur coat had done its work, he guessed.

Per kept on at the work of clearing stones. There was not much snow, but he drove his sledge over the bare ground and took it out of his horses. They were grand nags to get work out of. He himself had to go cautiously about it, draw in his stomach, and save himself all he could when he picked up a stone. It was worse still with his food. He took his meals as before, there was no getting out of that, but they did him no good.

Valborg kept her eye on him. She cooked the lightest food she knew of, and kept thinking what she ought to do. At last she spoke to Jens. She did it, though it was as little to her taste as spoilt victuals.--“I don’t know,” she said--“he doesn’t seem quite right, Per doesn’t.”--“Per?”--“Ay, he’s strained himself over a stone, it’s my belief. He’s ruptured himself.”

Jens pricked up his ears when Valborg spoke to him, for it happened so seldom.--“Heh! isn’t he more of a man than that? Ruptured himself? I warrant no Juviking has ever done that before. Then it’s good-bye to the whole lot of us--and a pleasant journey!”

Valborg bit her lip hard.--“It was that Lame Andrias he fell foul of; happened to handle him a bit roughly; next day he got this. But if one could only keep him off the heavy work?”

Jens put down the gun he was playing with. Then he got out an old jacket and went off into the fields.

“I say, man, you’ll have to let me take a spell of that!” he sang out. “I get so deadly sick of having nothing to do--you go home and chop wood for your wife.”

Per looked at Jens, with a searching and wondering eye. Jens looked this way and that; then he broke into a laugh, for Per had seen right through him.

He might lend a hand at loading the sledge, said Per.

All right. And then they started to race. Each tried to find a stone bigger than the other and pitch it on to the sledge in workmanlike fashion, it was just like old days. At last Jens saw how this would end. Per was pale as a corpse; he clenched his teeth and ground them.

“Huff, no!” said Jens. “I can’t keep this up. We’ll try tomorrow.”

“As you please,” said Per.

Jens sauntered off home, and Per came on with the load. He still _walked_, it was no worse than that.

Presently Anders came up; he had been down on the pond skating. Per told him to get home and carry in the evening wood. “Quick!” he hissed, and the boy drew back, long in the face with wonder. But it was too late. Per bent over the stones and vomited. Anders stood by and saw it.--“Blood!” he whispered, and drew in his breath through his teeth as if he had fallen into cold water. Then he took to his heels and ran home.

What was the matter with _him?_ his mother wanted to know.--Nothing.--Was it his father maybe?--“Ay. He brought up blood!” the boy turned sharp round and ran out of the door. Valborg sat down. She sat quietly down, with her hands in her lap. She was alone in the room. There she sat looking into the fire until someone came in.

It was Jens. Valborg rose hastily; she could hardly bear the sight of him now. He came in jabbering louder than ever: “Do you know, Valborg, we’ve got the Swedes over us now, I was talking to the sheriff himself; it’s as clear as day: this Karl Johan is King over Fredrikstein and the whole of Norway, what? Shame on him, say I!”

Valborg turned round to him. She had been considering.--Wouldn’t it be better if he went over to Juvik soon, to look after his wife and child?--“Ay, you’re saying something there.”--“For we can’t expect anything but misfortune and calamity in the family the way things are now. And the one who has to suffer for it hardest is the one that’s least to blame.”

Jens went up to the fire and stirred it. He had a mocking smile on his face: “They’ve sold the farm from me, I’m told.” Valborg went on as if she hadn’t heard him: “And another thing, Jens. How was it with Morten Aune and the Black Rock and that? Now you must answer me. For it’s high time; Per--the Lord knows how it is with him--he may not last much longer! Don’t stand there sniggering at me, this isn’t any joke! Are we to have black vengeance hanging over us, just for your sake?--you ought to be ashamed of yourself! For if that’s it, what’s the use of trying to be honest, what’s the use of praying to one above?”

Jens winked one eye.--“You relish letting me hear all this, I can see that. But you’re right in one thing: we’re going downhill. And--maybe Per’s in a bad way, I can’t tell.” He laughed to himself: “And he’s the one, you see, who wants to know all about everything. Pulls his cap over his eyes and can’t see a scrap for thinking--he’s going to get to the bottom of this!”

Valborg came a step nearer.--So then he knew well enough what he had to do. Acknowledge his wife and child like an honest man. His eyes shifted hither and thither, like a thief’s, she thought, but still she had the whip-hand of him, and this time she must win.--“I felt it in me when your father died, that the best days were done. It was all so _queer_. But I believe things might take a turn, if you’d only do your duty. Then Per could--do his. He’d have to go to the parson and tell him about Morten and that; then I hardly think the Lord would be one to kick against us; I feel it in me that the evil powers would have to give in.”

“Ay, ay,” said Jens, and it was just like a good man speaking. He went out again.

Next day Per had to keep his bed, and the day after too. Valborg kept him there with a gentle hand; he had become like a little child and obeyed her without a word. Then came a time when he was up and about. He never spoke of his illness.

Jens and he sat in the chimney-corner of an evening, and sometimes they talked to each other a little, especially when someone else was by. Jens told of his adventures in Finmark, brought out one thing after another that came into his mind; wild and reckless doings, and scarcely the half of them could be true. They got worse and worse the oftener he told them; he carried them round among the neighbours too; but Per thought there was meat and drink in these lies, it did him good to share in them. He could sit and dream of them in the daytime, one by one: he and Jens, with knife and bottle, in an unknown land! They carried all before them!

But then he was back at Haaberg. One evening when they were alone he said: “That I should be hindered in my work like this! Have you _seen_ the level below the houses, Jens? And all the rest? Haaberg--it follows me about wherever I go, like a cow. It asks a thousand things of me. Ay, and the houses: I’ve such a mind to pull them down straight away, build a kitchen and put in proper windows; I’m sitting on hot coals.”--“Ay,” said Jens, “it’s pleasant to sit here and think it all out.”--“Ah, but to _do_ it, that would beat all.”--“Hm, that’s as may be,” thought Jens. “I for my part--” he yawned and stretched himself, looked at Per mockingly: “Here we sit, you and I. Isn’t that so? And we’re just as far on, both of us. Especially you,” he added.

It was dark indoors. The fire blazed up now and then and threw its gleam on them: on Per, sitting with his cheeks in his hands; his face was white, and when he blinked, his ailment seemed to suck down his eyelids; on Jens, sitting there bearded and hard-bitten, but his face thawed every time the fire fell upon it. All at once he muttered to himself, looking sideways at Per:

“No, I wouldn’t have stayed there anyway--at Juvik. But it’s true,” he added, “that no matter where a man wanders, he’s just as homeless. That’s the way of it, I reckon.”

“It was something anyhow that you had it in you to want to come home. I suppose it’s as they say: that we only look backwards. But I was so dead set on _trying_. Even if I had the Ugly One himself against me!”

Per had a fit of shivers as soon as he had said it. The darkness deepened and clung about him. He felt he had said a word too much.

A little while after, when he had to go outside, he found the truth of it. He walked right into him. It was in the doorway of the cattle-shed, he was feeling his way in the dark, and then he got hold of him. It was like taking hold of a thick, shaggy stick. He was frightened, and he was furious, and so he hit out and tried to hold him fast. But then he was gone; he could only hear him rustling away in the darkness, and he gave a little cough; Per saw a tiny gleaming pig’s eye staring at him. He went in for a lantern: there was not a thing in the byre door that he could have come against, the bare walls stood and grinned at him.

Not till late at night did the terror come upon Per. Valborg was asleep, and all the others were asleep. He shook her and woke her up.--“Is that you?” she said. “Yes, it’s me.” And under his breath he prayed, as fervently as he could: “But deliver us from Evil!” And, shame to say, it calmed him marvellously. Man was nothing but a worm against the powers of darkness, he could see that. At any rate when one was broken in health; then one had to have something to lean upon.

6

Jens took a few days to know himself, he was getting so meek and kind-hearted. He would have to do something. Then he came and told them, both Per and Valborg: he would go across the fiord, to Juvik. For _he_ didn’t want to bring vengeance and misfortune upon anyone. And when Valborg had gone he said it straight out: “I suppose I’ll have to take my poor wretch of a wife, such as she is, and the youngster, with me when I go. I’ve brought shame and trouble enough on you as it is. A fellow like me, who doesn’t shrink from deserting his father’s farm--that may seem enough, to most men. And while I’m there I may as well take a look at the Black Rock. See if I can’t get Morten to lie still. If I promise him myself, or some other titbit. Will you come too, Per?”

The blood rushed into Per’s cheeks. He had a burning desire to go, as in old days, when Jens hit upon something. But it soon faded, and he sat there pale and dazed, a broken man. “I don’t hold with such foolishness,” he said.

No, and perhaps he ought to be in _bed_ now, with that weight hanging about his feet? thought Jens.

At that moment he caught sight of Anders in the doorway.--“I’ll go with you!” he said, and said it so that his father could not forbid him.--“That’s right!” said Jens. “Just what I expected. Will you trust the boy with me, Per?”

Per did not answer, and Anders went. Jens turned in the doorway and looked at Per with a crafty grin:

“If we come through this with a whole skin, the game’s won. And then we shall be back tonight.”

It was a long day, and a long night. Quite early in the evening it grew pitch dark, and so still that you didn’t feel a breath of wind. There was no bearing it indoors, and outside it was not much better. Then came the snow, blotting out land and sea, and now you could feel that the gale hung waiting behind the calm, like a dangerous man behind an unlocked door.

Late in the evening the storm burst, with full force. He handled the old Haaberg house roughly, and there was a bleak note in his voice. He was not out for any good.

Per was feeling bad, he had to turn in. He admitted to himself how it was, but to Valborg he said there was nothing to sit up for.--“Don’t you have any fear for Anders. We’ve faced Lapp _gann_ and other devilry before now--just you wait and see!”

Valborg did not listen to him and said not a word. She was pale as a whitewashed wall.

At last she came to bed. They lay a long, long time.

“I can feel plain enough that the boy’s on the water now,” said Per. “But you’re not to let that trouble you.”

He got up, went to the door, and stood, half dressed, in the snow, came in again; then he made up the fire. Valborg lay still in the bed.

“Do you think--that we’ll never see him again?” he asked all at once. “Can’t you answer me, Valborg?”

“If only one knew--what the answer was!”

Per settled himself by the fire. Valborg sat up in bed. They found that time was not moving, and they didn’t expect it to move either. They could hear Anders every instant, his voice was all over the house, so clear and fresh. “If I come back, I shall come tonight,” he said. Per leaned forward sobbing aloud with his hands before his face: “Oh, yes, yes! You’ll come, won’t you? You can’t do anything else.”

Then they came, both he and Jens. There was a clatter outside the house and the door was flung open violently; now they were in the passage, and Jens was full. It was not the first time he had come home like that. He cursed loud and lustily, stumbled against the wall, lay there and was busy for a while, and then he yelled: “Heh! do you spew up good drink, you dirty scut? Up with you, Jens!” With that he crawled to his feet and Anders helped him upstairs--now they were singing, both of them--so Anders was drunk too.

Next day they slept till late and came down from the loft together.--“You heard us _come_, didn’t you?” said Jens. “For come we did, damme, though I had to go on all fours right up from the beach! They had such a mighty lot of liquor at Juvik; God forgive me, I forgot what I’d gone for. Well, we settled the Black Rock fellow all the same. We lay there a good spell and defied him to show himself. No. Then we asked if he’d like to be put in hallowed earth, if he ‘thirsted for the churchyard.’ Not a word--he’s not there, bless you! We offered to change places with him; oh, no, not a bit. Well, yes, then there was the storm, but that seemed to come from another quarter. And home we came, as I’m telling you; we had him beat!”

Jens was just swinging round to go out. Then something checked him. It was Valborg. She had put down her work, and her cheeks were blazing.

“Now you’ll get out of this, I tell you.” She was calm, dangerously calm, as she said it. But it didn’t bite on him. “You may run away from your wife for all I care, and disgrace the whole lot of us; but I’ll tell you _one_ thing: you shan’t stay another night in _this_ house!” She turned and looked at Per: “For we have children, if we haven’t anything else.”

“You’re saying something,” said Jens; he was as dry as a grindstone. “As soon as they’re here with the sloop and we get a fair wind. I’ll take my gear and go east to Paalsness tonight then--it’s so pleasant to have a roof over your head at night-time.”

Valborg had gone out, closing the door quietly behind her. Per said nothing, and Jens was not so unkind as to look at him. He put on his fur boots and fur coat, got his trunk, and then he held out his hand:

“May you live long and prosper, Per, and thanks for all--er--and thanks for all, ay--and good-bye!”

He went round saying good-bye; Valborg he found out of doors, and took her boldly by the hand; he was in fine fettle.

Per did not see him out; he stayed sitting where he was.

The men went back to the barn, and the maids went out to their work. Only themselves were left indoors.

Then Per got up. He stood staring down at the floor for a moment, snorting and breathing hard through his nose; his shoulders went higher and higher.--In old days they had their own way of dealing with the like of this, he said to himself. He pierced Valborg with his eye--she stood there as though waiting for it.

“Who told you to give orders here?”

“Orders?”

“I’m asking that, ay.”

“Somebody has to give orders when there’s a call for it.”

“Call?” He came threateningly close to her.

She laughed in his face: “What’s gone wrong with you, man?”

Then he went white all over his face, as if he had torn open a fatal wound. But the next moment he flushed deeply, his face was ugly and unrecognizable. He caught her by the hair and slung her head this way and that. At first Valborg let him do it, but presently she resisted, her body rebelled against it, her neck grew stiff as a post. She said, so low that nobody might hear:

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Per!”

“Ashamed?” He let go of her. His face was flecked with red and white.

“Ay.--And besides--you ought to take some care of yourself, now.”

“Take care of myself--heh! Is that it? Do you think they took care of themselves in old days? A man’s got to be master in his own house, I should think--it’s for _you_ to take care of yourself!”

“Well, whoever it is that’s master--the one that has the sense will have to use it, and give the orders too!” she shouted it at him; and now her feelings were too much for her, the tears welled up, but that was what she least wanted; and besides she caught sight of Anders outside the window, he had stopped and looked in. “Fie, for shame, Per!” she sobbed.

Then he seized her, flung her against the wall so that the whole room shook, and fell to beating her. He knew quite well what he was doing; a cold growl went all through him:

“It’s got to be. It’s got to be!”

When he had finished, it was all he could do to reach the bench. He did not know if she had resisted, but it had taken all his strength, he had damaged himself so that the room swam before him. Valborg went out. Not till then did he notice Anders or hear what he said. “Father!” he had cried, and now he came and stood facing him, banged his fist on the table, red in the face like a furious Juviking:

“Fie, for shame, father!” His voice broke, but he went at it again: “Just you try another time to lift your hand to mother, then devil take me--”

Per smiled. He was not equal to getting up and giving the young hound a thrashing, and so his face smiled of itself, did the wisest thing it could.--“Go out and chop some wood, you,” he said. Presently he went on, but he was speaking to himself now:

“If it had been one of the old fellows. He’d have taught the woman to keep her place, pretty near!”

“Not mother--I won’t have it! And if you do, I’ll go straight for you!” Anders was trembling all over, and now he made for the door.

Per was alone in the room. But he heard Anders outside, talking to his mother now:

“You hear what I say, mother: you’ve got to obey father!”

“Not after this, child. Get out of my way.”

When Valborg came in, she made as though Per was not in the room. Per felt he had lost.

But that youngster had given him a surprise. Who would have believed he had such guts in him already? And Evil, there’s no one can deliver us from that; it’s bound to come, whatever’s in store for us.