From a Swedish Homestead

e a small, whitewashed church? Nowhere else does one see such radiant streams of light, nowhere else is the air so devoutly quiet. The sun simply keeps watch that no one remains on th

yard at Raglanda, it spread a burning heat over the open space outside the church. Even the flint stones looked as if they might take fire as they lay and sparkled in the wheel-ruts. The short, dow

t, and on his back he had a large black leather pack. He had been walking with this burden for several hours without finding it too hot, but when he ha

it was cut short at the back, but hung over his ears, and was inclined to curl. He was tall, and strongly, but not coarsely, built; in every respect well proportioned. But what was wrong about him was his glance, which was un

he would have known that it was of no use, as he could not sell anything in any case. None of the other men from Dalarne who walked abo

utside the church and heard the singing. He was sensible enough at once to understand that he

in managing. He was not so bad but that he could go from farm to farm all through the week and attend to his bu

ixed, and the muscles o

ot accept this suggestion. He was very fond of singing, but he dared not go into the church. He was not afraid of human beings

and when he could take refuge in a churchyard all was well. One could not offer him anything better. If on his wand

ie quite near the church, which is built on a hill, but on the other side of the road; and he could not get to the

ewing. There was no question of their being able to do the man any harm, but

s not afraid that the horses would bite or kick. It was quite enough for him that they were so near that they

so that it should not flap and betray him, and he went on tiptoe as lightly as he could. When a horse raised its eyelid and looked at him, he at once stopped and curtsied. He wanted to be

ther animals than goats, and he would not have been at all afraid of horses and dogs and cats had he only been quite sure that they were not a kind of transfo

never did any harm to anyone: he who has become possessed of such fears cannot reason

ps he took in two long jumps, and when he got into the churchyard he closed

miserable, ac

rocured him a name which he did not like. Everyone who met him called him the 'Goat.' But he would not own to t

topped and curtsied, but this was not from fear: this was simply from joy at seeing these dear old friends. All at once he began to look quite gentle and mild. The

ny pretty meadows and woods which he liked still better, but there he was never left in peace. They could not by any means compare with the churchyard. And the churchyard was better than the forest, for in the forest the loneliness was so grea

rtly because he wanted company. He thought, perhaps, that the dead who had so recently been laid in

mound, and he then loosened the heavy straps that fastened it. It was a great day-a holiday. He also took off his coat. He sat down on the grass with a feeling o

as possessed by such fear as he was, one could not be too careful. But the coffin

f the pack and took out a violin and bow, and at the same time he nodded t

t the dogs at him and called him the 'Goat'; but sometimes he would play in a house where they spoke softly, and went about quietly, and did not ask him if he wante

range thing about it was that it was not the man who could play, but it was his violin that could remember some small melodies. They came forth from the violin as soon as he let the bow glide over

all these beautiful things as soon as one let the bow glide over the strings? The violin did that. It knew how it ought to be, and the Dalar man only

nes grow out of the violin like small white and many-coloured flowers. He would p

range effect. The tones had made her dream, and what she had seen in her dreams cau

home in her bed. She only thought it strange that she was still alive. A little while ago, before she fell asleep, she had been in the pangs of death. Surely, all must have been over with her long ago. She had taken leave of her adopted parents, and of her brothers and sisters, a

s lying there getting as cold as ice. She raised herself a little to pull the blankets over her. In doing so she knocked her head against the lid of the coffin, and fell back with a

tever. He began again to look at the coffin as attentively as before. He sat nodding his head, as if he would say 'Yes' to what he was himself thinking about,

began to play. But the violin would not play any longer. However gently and tenderly he drew his bow, there came forth no melody. This was

otten all its melodies, and thought only of what it could be that had knocked at the coffin-lid. That is how it is

nything bad in the coffin, would it not be better to let it out? Then th

ll, but the bed was still smaller. Why had she the sensation of her arms and legs being tied? Was it because she should lie still in the little narrow bed? It was strange that they had placed a hymn-book under her chin; they only did that with corpses. Between her fingers she had a little bouquet. Her adopted mother had cut a few sprigs from her flowering myrtle, and laid them in her hands. Ingrid was very much surprised. What had come to her adopted mother? She saw that they had given her a pillow with broad lace, and a fine hem-stitched sheet. She was very glad of that; she liked to have things nice. Still, she would rather have had a warm blanket o

rother had given her the wooden horse, and her mother had given her her white myrtle flowe

was all very difficult to understand. She could not understand that this concerned her, that it was she who had been swathed like a corpse and placed in the grave

s. This is only a vision'-and she sighed, relieved and happy. She laid herself down in he

ffin-lid before him as a screen, had there not been something like a white mist before her eyes so that she could only see things quite near her distinctly. Ingrid could not even see that there were earthen walls around her. She had taken the sun to be a large chandelier, and the shady lime-trees for a roof. The poor Dalar man stood and waited for the thing t

e his violin had spoken so prettily as to-day, he longed to sit again quietly with it. Ingrid, wh

k it is time

s head. He shook so much over his bol

was a reality, which she must try and make out. It certainly looked as if the coffin were a coffin, and the grave a grave, and that she herself a few minutes ago was nothing but a swathed and buried corpse. For the first time she was terror-stricken at what had happened to her. To think that she could

cquaintance from the parsonage; she was not in the least afraid of him. She wanted him to come close to her. She did not mind in the least that he was

e close to me!' she said

the coffin and stretch

f. If she were so anxious to have him ne

id, 'if you

uest, but she was so tightly swathed in the

me and help

t, and partly because she was afraid that she had not

d the side of the grave. He bent over her, lifted her out of the c

rds she could not understand how she had been able to do this, and that she was not afraid of him. It was part

d the coffin. What would have happened to her if he had not done this? She would have awakened to find herself imprisoned in the black coffin. She would have knocked and shouted; but who would have heard her six feet be

was dead, and he knew it was not advisable to offend anyone dead. But as soon as he could manage, he freed himself from her and went down into the grave again. He placed the l

church and discovered the horses and the carriages on the hillside. Then she began to realize ever

e out and see her. And she had nothing on but a sheet! She was almost naked. Fancy, if all these people cam

of throwing the Dalar man's fur coat round her, but she did

crazy man, who was still

ill you let me cre

pack, which contained goods enough to fill

come and

the Dalar man saw her touching

my pack?' he ask

ke angrily; she considered him to

wares somewhere or other, and let me creep into the pack, and carry me home. Oh, do do i

a word of what she said. She repeated it, but he made no sign of obeying her. She began again

d be able to make hi

did not know herself why. She had probably been so much in the company of people p

re the violin from her. He was evidently quite beside himsel

he do to get away before

of things, just as one promises chi

m you. I will lock up all the dogs when you come to th

g way. She bethought herself of th

e to the Parsonage,

cross his face. That was

ole afternoon; I will play

he violin new mel

urse I

s and southernwood that grew on them were crushed under it as if it were a roller. He dragged it to a heap of branches and wizened leaves and old wreaths lyin

an get in,

ut with his usual wares, bent down so that he nearly went on his knees, put his arms through the braces, buckled a couple of straps ac

ish was that he would walk so quickly that she could get home before the people came back from church. She could not bear

d over again. It made her think more kindly of her adopted mother than she had ever done before. But in any case she would, of course, think ki

d not afford to keep a nursemaid, she could see now that it was quite natural that she should look after her little brothers and sisters. And when her brothers and sisters were not

urely come right. Then they would love her again, as they did when she first came to them. The good old times would be sure to come back again.

r, for now she would always be glad, simply because she was alive. And if things should ever

these roads and hills. And the fragrant clover and the little birds singing and the beautiful shady trees, which had all been a source of joy for

g for the funeral feast. She soon expected the guests, and everything was nearly ready. She had just been into the bedroom to put on her black dres

at, even if one is in mourning. There was only one maid in the kitchen, and that was the one the Pas

d, 'I think anyone would be ple

ee all the fuss you make of her,'

fe, 'I don't think she wou

am not the one to say anything against

ard word from my husband for

ch trouble over the funeral, but it did not do so by any means. Her husband also reproached himself, and said that the young girl had not been treated like one of their own children, and that they had promised she should be when they adopted her; and he said it wou

difficulty in controlling her anger. She was a clever girl, who

s allowed to live in a good Parsonage, and to be educated respectably, one ought at least to give some return for it, and not always go idling about and dreaming. I should like to know w

ly through the open kitchen-door, and curtsied when he entered, but no one took any notice of him. Both the mist

nue it; she felt she was about to hear

as well she is

ust the same. In any case he soon will. And the mistress will see that now

o be got for her, that it was quite dreadful. He was so afraid that she should not get as much

, Greta will get

will have it, or I

ave much behind

dopted mother. 'I should be quite content if I cou

a bad conscience, and wants to excuse one's self. H

he slowly pushed the pack on to a table, and unfastened the braces and the straps; then he looked round to see if there were any cats or

o-day,' Lisa said; 'it is Sunday, and he know

inued to unfasten his straps. She turned round to her mist

s good to the children. I have of

with their mother,' said the Pastor's wife; 'bu

e servant; 'but the mistress can be certain that befor

stood opening his big pack. They had heard a strange noise, something like a sigh or a sob. The man was just opening

was alive; now her face was ashy-gray, there was a bluish-black shadow round her mouth, and her eyes lay deep in her head. She said nothing, but her face expre

the ground; the maid stood still for a moment, gazing at the mother and daughter,

as come for; this d

rned round to

me away. Do you hear? Take me away.

arts and carriages was coming up the avenue and into the yard. Ah,

the lids were fastened, and she was again lifted on to his back and carried away. Those who were coming