The Emperor of Portugallia

THE LETTER

One morning when Glory Goldie had been gone about a fortnight, Jan was out in the pasture nearest the big forest, mending a wattled fence. He was so close to the woods that he could hear the murmur of the pines and see the grouse hen walking about under the trees, scratching for food-along line of grouse chicks trailing after her.

Jan had nearly finished his work when he heard a loud bellowing from the wooded heights! It sounded so weird and awful he began to be alarmed. He stood still a moment and listened. Soon he heard it again. Then he knew it was nothing to be afraid of, but on the contrary, it seemed to be a cry for help.

He threw down his pickets and branches and hurried through the birch grove into the dense fir woods, where he had not gone far before he discovered what was amiss. Up there was a big, treacherous marsh. A cow belonging to the Falla folk had gone down in a quagmire and Jan saw at once that it was the best cow they had on the farm, one for which Lars Gunnarson had been offered two hundred rix-dollars. She had sunk deep in the mire and was now so terrified that she lay quite still and sent forth only feeble and intermittant bellowings. It was plain that she had struggled desperately for she was covered with mud clear to her horns, and round about her the green moss-tufts had been torn up. She had bellowed so loud that Jan thought every one in Ashdales must have heard her, yet no one but himself had come up to the marsh. He did not tarry a second, but ran straight to the farm for help.

It was slow work setting poles in the marsh, laying out boards and slipping ropes under the cow, to draw her up by. For when the men reached her she had sunk to her back, so that only her head was above the mire. After they had finally dragged her back onto firm ground and carted her home to Falla the housewife invited all who had worked over the animal to come inside for coffee.

No one had been so zealous in the rescue work as had Jan of

Ruffluck. But for him the cow would have been lost. And just think!

She was a cow worth at least two hundred rix-dollars.

To Jan this seemed a rare stroke of luck. Surely the new master and mistress could not fail to recognize so great a service. Something of a similar nature once happened in the old master's time. Then it was a horse that had been impaled on a picket fence. The one who found the horse and had it carted home received from Eric of Falla a reward of ten rix-dollars; And that despite the fact that the beast was so badly injured that Eric had to shoot it.

But the cow was alive and in nowise harmed. So Jan pictured himself going on the morrow to the sexton, or to some other person who could write, to ask him to write to Glory Goldie and tell her to come home.

When Jan came into the living-room at Falla he naturally drew himself up a bit. The old housewife was pouring coffee and he did not wonder at it when she handed him his cup before even Lars Gunnarson had been served. Then, while they were all having their coffee, every one spoke of how well Jan had done, that is, every one but the farmer and his wife; not a word of praise came from them.

But now that Jan felt so confident his hard times were over and his luck was coming back, it was easy for him to find grounds for comfort. It might be that Lars was silent because he wished to make what he would say all the more impressive. But he was certainly withholding his thanks a distressingly long while.

The situation had become embarrassing. The others had stopped talking and looked a little uncomfortable. When the old mistress went round to refill the coffee cups some of the men hesitated; Jan among them.

"Oh, have another wee drop, Jan!" she said. "If you hadn't been so quick to act we would have lost a cow that's worth her two hundred rix-dollars."

This was followed by a dead silence, and now every one's eyes turned toward the man of the house. All were waiting for some expression of appreciation from him.

Lars cleared his throat two or three times, as if to give added weight to what he was about to say.

"It strikes me there's something queer about this whole business," he began. "You all know that Jan owes two hundred rix-dollars and you also know that last spring I was offered just that sum for the cow. It seems to fit in altogether too well with Jan's case that the cow should have gone down in the marsh to-day and that he should have rescued her."

Lars paused and again cleared his throat. Jan rose and moved toward him; but neither he nor any of the others had an answer ready.

"I don't know how Jan happened to be the one who heard the cow bellowing up in the marsh," pursued Lars. "Perhaps he was nearer the scene when the mishap occurred than he would have us think. Maybe he saw a possibility of getting out of debt and deliberately drove the cow – "

Jan brought his fist down on the table with a crash that made the cups jump in their saucers.

"You judge others by yourself, you!" he said, "That's the sort of thing you might do, but not I. You must know that I can see through your tricks. One day last winter you – "

But just when Jan was on the point of saying something that could only have ended in an irreparable break between himself and his employer, the old housewife tipped him by the coat sleeve.

"Look out, Jan!" said she.

Jan did so. Then he saw Katrina coming toward the house with a letter in her hand.

That was surely the letter from Glory Goldie which they had been longing for every day since her departure. Katrina, knowing how happy Jan would be to get this, had come straight over with it the moment it arrived.

Jan glanced about him, bewildered. Many ugly words were on the tip of his tongue, but now he had no time to give vent to them. What did he care about being revenged on Lars Gunnarson? Why should he bother to defend himself? The letter drew him away with a power that was irresistible. He was out of the house and with Katrina before the people inside had recovered from their dread of what he might have hurled at his employer in the way of accusation.

AUGUST DÄR NOL

One evening, when Glory Goldie had been gone about a month, August Där Nol came down to the Ashdales. August and Glory had been comrades at the Östanby school and had been confirmed the same summer.

A fine, manly lad was August Där Nol, and a favourite with every one. His parents were people of means and no one had a brighter or more assured future to look forward to than had he. Having been absent from home for six months, he had only learned on his return that Glory Goldie had gone away in order to earn money to save her old home. It was his mother who told him of this, and before she had finished talking he snatched up his cap and rushed out, never pausing until he had reached the gate at Ruffluck Croft; there he stopped and looked toward the hut.

Katrina saw August standing there and made a pretext of going to the well for water in order to speak to him; but the lad did not appear to see her, so Katrina immediately went back into the house.

Then in a little while Jan came down from the forest with an armful of wood, and when August saw him coming he stepped to one side until he, too, had gone in; then he went back to the gate.

Presently the window of the hut swung open, disclosing Jan seated at one side of the window-table smoking his pipe, and Katrina at the other side, knitting.

"Well, Katrina dear," said Jan, "now we're having a real cosy evening. There's only one thing I wish for."

"I wish for a hundred things!" sighed Katrina, "and if I could have them all I'd still be unsatisfied."

"But I only wish the seine-maker, or somebody else who can read, would drop in and read us Glory Goldie's letter."

"You've had that letter read to you so many times since you got it that you ought to know it by heart."

"That may be true enough," returned Jan, "but still it always does me good to hear it read, for then I feel as though the little girl herself were standing and talking to me, and I seem to see her eyes beam on me as I listen to her words."

"I wouldn't mind hearing it again, myself," said Katrina, glancing out through the open window. "But on a fine light evening like this we can't expect folks to come to our hut."

"It would be better to me than the taste of white bread with coffee to hear Glory Goldie's letter read while I'm sitting here smoking," declared Jan, "but I'm sure every one in the Ashdales has grown tired of being asked to read the letter over and over, and now I don't know who to turn to."

The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the door opened, and in walked August Där Nol. Jan started in surprise.

"Bless me! Here you come, my dear August, just when wanted." After Jan had shaken hands with the caller and pulled up a chair for him he said: "I've got a letter I'd like you to read to us. It's from an old schoolmate of yours. Maybe you'd be interested to hear how she's getting on?"

August Där Nol took the letter and read it aloud, lingering over each word as if drinking it in. When he had finished, Jan remarked:

"How wonderfully well you read, my dear August! I've never heard Goldie's words sound as beautiful as from your lips. Would you do me the favour to read the letter once more?"

Then the boy read the letter for the second time, with the same deep feeling. It was as if he had come with a thirst-parched throat to a spring of pure water. When he had read to the end he carefully folded the letter and smoothed it over with his hand. As he was about to return it to Jan, it occurred to him the letter had not been properly folded and he must do it over. That done, he sat very silent. Jan tried to start a conversation, but failed. Finally the boy rose to go.

"It's so nice to get a little help sometimes," said Jan. "Now I have another favour to ask of you. We don't know just what to do with Glory Goldie's kitten. It will have to be put out of the way, I suppose, as we can't afford to keep it; but I can't bear the thought of that, nor has Katrina the heart to drown it. We've talked of asking some stranger to take it."

August Där Nol stammered a few words, which could scarcely be heard.

"You can put the kitten in a basket, Katrina," Jan said to his wife, "then August will take it along, so that we'll not have to see it again."

Katrina then picked up a little kitten that lay asleep on the bed, placed it in an old basket around which she wrapped a cloth, and then turned it over to the boy.

"I'm glad to be rid of this kitten," said Jan. "It's wee happy and Playful – too much like Glory Goldie herself. It's best to have it out of the way."

Young Där Nol, without a word, went toward the door; but suddenly he turned back, took Jan's hand, and pressed it.

"Thanks!" he said in a choked voice. "You have given me more than you yourself know."

"Don't imagine it, my dear August Där Nol!" Jan said to himself when the boy had gone. "This is something I understand about. I know what I've given you, and I know who has taught me to know."

OCTOBER THE FIRST

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?