Emperor of Portugallia — 12 - October the First - The Dream Begins
The first day of October Jan lay on the bed the whole afternoon, fully dressed, his face turned to the wall, and nobody could get a word out of him.
In the forenoon he and Katrina had been down to the pier to meet the little girl.
Not that Glory Goldie had written them to say she was coming, for indeed she had not!
It was only that Jan had figured out that it could not be otherwise.
This was the first of October, the day the money must be paid to Lars Gunnarson, so of course Glory Goldie would come.
He had not expected her home earlier.
He knew she would have to remain in Stockholm as long as she could in order to lay by all that money; but that she should be away any longer he never supposed.
Even if she had not succeeded in scraping together the money, that was no reason why she should be away after the first of October.
That morning while Jan had stood on the pier waiting, he had said to himself: "When the little girl sees us from the boat she'll put on a sad face, and the moment she lands she'll tell us she has not been able to raise the money.
When she says that Katrina and I will pretend to take her at her word and I'll say that can't understand how she dared come home when she knew that all Katrina and I cared about was the money."
He was sure that before they were away from the pier she would go down in her pocket, bring up a well-filled purse, and turn it over to them.
Then, while Katrina counted the bank notes, he would only stand and look at Glory Goldie.
The little girl would then see that all in the world he cared about was to have her back, and she would tell him he was just as big a simpleton now as when she went away.
Thus had Jan pictured to himself Glory Goldie's homecoming.
But his dream did not come true.
That day he and Katrina did not have a long wait at the pier.
The boat arrived on time, but it was so overladen with passengers and freight bound for the Broby Fair that at first glance they were unable to tell whether or not the little girl was on board.
Jan had expected that she would be the first to come tripping down the gangplank; but only a couple of men came ashore.
Then Jan attempted to look for her on the boat; but he could get nowhere for the crush.
All the same he felt so positive she was there that when the deck hands began to draw in the gangplank he shouted to the captain not to let the boat leave as there was another person to come ashore here.
The captain questioned the purser, who assured him there were no more passengers for Svartsjö.
Then the boat pulled out and Katrina and Jan had to go home by themselves, and the moment they were inside the hut Jan cast himself down on the bed--so weary and disheartened that he did not know how he would ever be able to get up again.
The Ashdales folk who had seen the father and mother return from the pier without Glory Goldie were greatly concerned.
One after the other, the neighbours dropped in at Ruffluck to find out how matters stood with them.
Was it true that Glory Goldie had not come on the boat?
They inquired.
And was it true that they had received no letter or message from her during the whole month of September?
Jan answered not a word to all their queries.
It mattered not who came in--he lay still.
Katrina had to enlighten the neighbours as best she could.
They thought Jan lay on the bed because he was in despair of losing the hut.
They could think what they liked for all of him.
Katrina wept and wailed, and once inside the friends felt they must remain, if only out of pity for her, and to give what little comfort they could.
It was not likely that Lars Gunnarson would take the house from them, they said.
The old mistress of Falla would never let that happen.
She had always shown herself to be a just and upright person.
Besides, the day was not over yet, and Glory Goldie might still be heard from.
To be sure it would be nothing short of marvellous if she had succeeded in earning 200 rix-dollars in less than three months' time: but then, that girl always had such good luck.
They discussed the chances for and against.
Katrina informed them that Glory Goldie had earned nothing whatever the first weeks, that she had taken lodgings with a family from Svartsjö, now living in Stockholm, where she had been obliged to pay for her keep.
And then one day she had had the good fortune to meet in the street the merchant who had given her the red dress, and he had found a place for her.
Would it not be reasonable to suppose that the merchant had also raised the money for her?
That was not altogether impossible.
"No, it was not impossible," said Katrina, "but since the girl has neither come herself nor written it's plain she has failed."
Every one in the hut grew more anxious and apprehensive for every moment that passed.
They all felt that some dire misfortune would soon fall upon those who lived there.
When the tension was becoming unbearable the door opened once more and a man who was seldom seen in the Ashdales came in.
The instant this man entered it became as still in the hut as on a winter night in the forest, and every one's eyes save Jan's alone turned toward him.
Jan did not stir, although Katrina whispered to him that Senator Carl Carlson of Storvik had just come in.
The senator held in his hand a roll of papers and every one took for granted that he had been sent here by the new owner of Falla, to notify the Ruffluck folk of what must befall them, now that they could not meet Lars Gunnarson's claim.
Carl Carlson wore his usual magisterial mien and no one could guess how heavily the blow he had come to deal would fall.
He went up and shook hands, first with Katrina, then with the others, and each one in turn rose as he came to them; the only one who did not rise was Jan.
"I am not very well acquainted in this district," said the senator, "but I gather that this must be the place in the Ashdales that is called Ruffluck Croft."
It was of course.
Every one nodded in the affirmative, but no one was able to utter an audible word.
They wondered that Katrina had the presence of mind to nudge Börje, and make him get up and give his chair to the senator.
After drawing the chair up to the table the senator laid the roll of papers down, then he took out his snuff box and placed it beside the papers, whereupon he removed his spectacles from their case and wiped them with his big blue-and-white checkered handkerchief.
After these preliminaries he glanced round the room, looking from one person to the other.
Those who sat there were persons of such little importance he did not even know them by name.
"I wish to speak with Jan Anderson of Ruffluck," he said.
"That's him over there," volunteered the seine-maker, pointing at the bed.
"Is he sick?"
inquired the senator.
"Oh, no!
Oh, no!"
replied half a dozen at the same time.
"And he isn't drunk, either," added Börje.
"Nor is he asleep," said the seine-maker.
"He has walked so far to-day he's all tired out," said Katrina, thinking it best to explain the matter in that way.
At the same time she bent down over her husband and tried to persuade him to rise.
But Jan lay still.
"Does he understand what I'm saying?"
asked the senator.
"Yes indeed," they all assured him.
"Perhaps he's not expecting any glad tidings, seeing it's Senator Carl Carlson who is paying him a call."
This from the seine-maker.
The senator turned his head and stared at the seine-maker.
"Ol' Bengtsa of Lusterby has not always been so afraid of meeting Carl Carlson of Storvik," he observed in a mild voice.
Turning toward the table again, he took up a letter.
Every one was dumbfounded.
The senator had actually spoken in a friendly tone.
He could almost be said to have smiled.
"The fact is," he began, "a couple of days ago I received a communication from a person who calls herself Glory Goldie Sunnycastle, daughter of Jan of Ruffluck, in which she says she left home some months ago to try to earn two-hundred rix-dollars, which sum her parents have to pay to Lars Gunnarson of Falla on the first day of October in order to obtain full rights of ownership to the land on which their hut stands."
Here the senator paused a moment so that his hearers would be able to follow him.
"And now she sends the money to me," he continued, "with the request that I come down to the Ashdales and see that this matter is properly settled with the new owner of Falla; so that he won't be able to play any new trick later on."
"That girl has got some sense in her head," the senator remarked as he folded the letter.
"She turns to me from the start.
If all did as she has done there would be less cheating and injustice in this parish."
Before the close of that remark Jan was sitting on the edge of the bed.
"But the girl?
Where is she?"
he asked.
"And now I'd like to know," the senator proceeded, taking no notice of Jan's question, "whether the parents are in accord with the daughter and authorize me to close--" "But the girl, the girl?"
Jan struck in.
"Where is she?"
"Where she is?"
said the senator, looking in the letter to see.
"She says it was impossible for her to earn all this money in just two or three months, but she has found a place with a kind lady, who advanced her the money, and now she will have to stay with the lady until she has made it good."
"Then she's not coming home?"
Jan asked.
"No, not for the present, as I understand it," replied the senator.
Again Jan lay down on the bed and turned his face to the wall.
What did he care for the hut and all that?
What was the good of his going on living, when his little girl was not coming back?
THE DREAM BEGINS
The first few weeks after the senator's call Jan was unable to do a stroke of work: he just lay abed and grieved.
Every morning he rose and put on his clothes, intending to go to his work; but before he was outside the door he felt so weak and weary that all he could do was to go back to bed.
Katrina tried to be patient with Jan, for she understood that pining, like any other sickness, had to run its course.
Yet she could not help wondering how long it would be before Jan's intense yearning for Glory Goldie subsided.
"Perhaps he'll be lying round like this till Christmas!"
she thought.
"Or possibly the whole winter?"
And this might have been the case, too, had not the old seine-maker dropped in at Ruffluck one evening and been asked to stay for coffee.
The seine-maker, like most persons whose thoughts are far away and who do not keep in touch with what happens immediately about them, was always taciturn.
But when his coffee had been poured and he had emptied it into his saucer, to let it cool, it struck him that he ought to say something.
"To-day there's bound to be a letter from Glory Goldie," he said.
"I feel it in my bones."
"We had greetings from her only a fortnight ago in her letter to the senator," Katrina reminded him.
The seine-maker blew into his saucer a couple of times before saying anything more.
Whereupon he again found it expedient to bridge a long silence with a word or so.
"Maybe some blessing has come to the girl, and it has given her something to write about."
"What kind of blessing might that be?"
scouted Katrina.
"When you've got to drudge as a servant, one day is as humdrum as another."
The seine-maker bit off a corner of a sugar-lump and gulped his coffee.
When he had finished an appalling stillness fell upon the room.
"It might be that Glory Goldie met some person in the street," he blurted out, his half-dead eyes vacantly staring at space.
He seemed not to know what he was saying.
Katrina did not think it necessary to respond; so replenished his cup without speaking.
"Maybe the person she met was an old lady who had difficulty in walking," the seine-maker went on in the same offhand manner, "and maybe she stumbled and fell when Glory Goldie came along."
"Would that be anything to write about?"
asked Katrina, weary of this senseless talk.
"But suppose Glory Goldie stopped and helped the old lady up?"
pursued the seine-maker, "and she was so thankful to the girl for helping her that she opened her purse and gave her all of ten rix-dollars--wouldn't that be worth telling?"
"Why certainly," said Katrina, "if it were true.
But this is just something you're making up."
"It is well, sometimes, to be able to indulge in little thought feasts," contended the seine-maker, "they are often more satisfying than the real ones."
"You've tried both kinds," returned Katrina, "so you ought to know."
The seine-maker went his way directly, and Katrina gave no further thought to his story.
As for Jan, he took it at first as idle chatter.
But lying abed, with nothing to take up his mind, presently he began to wonder if there was not some hidden meaning back of the seine-maker's words.
The old man's tone sounded a bit peculiar when he spoke of the letter.
Would he have sat there and made up such a long story only for talk's sake?
Perhaps he had heard something.
Perhaps Glory Goldie had written to him?
It was quite possible that something so great had come to the little girl that she dared not send direct word to her parents, and wrote instead to the seine-maker, asking him to prepare them.
"He'll come again to-morrow," thought Jan, "and then we'll hear all about it."
But for some reason the seine-maker did not come back the next day, nor the day after.
By the third day Jan had become so impatient to see his old friend that he got up and went over to his cabin, to find out whether there was anything in what he had said.
The old man was sitting alone mending a drag-net when Jan came in.
He was so crippled from rheumatism, he said, he had been unable to leave the house for several days.
Jan did not want to ask him outright if he had received a letter from Glory Goldie.
He thought he would attain his object more easily by approaching it in the indirect way the other had taken.
So he said: "I've been thinking of what you told us about Glory Goldie the last time you were at our place."
The seine-maker looked up from his work, puzzled.
It was some little time before he comprehended what Jan alluded to.
"Why, that was just a little whimsey of mine," he returned presently.
Then Jan went very close to the old man.
"Anyhow it was something pleasant to listen to," he said.
"You might have told us more, perhaps, if Katrina hadn't been so mistrustful?"
"Oh, yes," replied the seine-maker.
"This is the sort of amusement one can afford to indulge in down here, in the Ashdales."
"I have thought," continued Jan, emboldened by the encouragement, "that maybe the story didn't end with the old lady giving Glory Goldie the ten rix-dollars.
Perhaps she also invited the girl to come to see her?"
"Maybe she did," said the seine-maker.
"Maybe she's so rich that she owns a whole stone house?"
"That was a happy thought, friend Jan!"
"And maybe the rich old lady will pay Glory Goldie's debt?"
Jan began, but stopped short, because the old man's daughter-in-law had just come in, and of course he did not care to let her into the secret.
"So you're out to-day, Jan," observed the daughter-in-law.
"I'm glad you're feeling better."
"For that I have to thank my good friend Ol' Bengtsa!"
said Jan, with an air of mystery.
"He's the one who has cured me."
Jan said good-bye, and left at once.
For a long while the seine-maker sat gazing out after him.
"I don't know what he can have meant by saying that I have cured him," the old man remarked to his daughter-in-law.
"It can't be that he's--?
No, no!"
