Not that Laura understood the reason. But when she sat lonely like this and looked at the shadows of the leaves dancing and jumping about and overtaking each other down on the gravel, it amused her to think of that story. And then suddenly Laura thought of Herman again. Why was he really so anxious to be alone with her lately? Herman was not like his old self, no—there was something strange about him.
There he was already in the avenue!
Yes, there was Herman Hermansson coming up, with his schoolcap on the back of his head and swinging a stick. He tried to look quite unconcerned and indifferent. But he did not succeed, because secretly he stole anxious glances on all sides, and even his whistle sounded somehow shy, humble and supplicating.
Laura’s little woman’s heart beat happily and she felt a gay and mischievous wish to play a little with old Hermansson’s tall, fine boy. So she hurried into the kitchen before he had caught sight of her.
There sat Miss Isaksson, the new housekeeper. She was tall, pale, and thin, and she held the coffee grinder in one hand and a fat novel in the other. And she ground and read and nodded her head sadly to herself.
Laura peeped out of the window.
“Do they get married?” she giggled.
“I won’t look at the end,” sighed Miss Isaksson, “but it is a sad book, so they will probably both die.”
Now Herman was on the terrace. He glanced shyly round him and had a guilty look. Laura was enjoying herself and did not hurry. She had a vague feeling of superiority over both Herman and poor, thin Miss Isaksson. At last she was pleased to emerge on the steps with an air of marked indifference and boredom.
Herman jumped up as if someone had commanded “attention!” He certainly did not dare to make any comment on Laura’s having put her hair up, for that only increased his shyness and diffidence.
“Will you come fishing with me for a bit, Laura?”
“What! fishing?”
“Do, please, only for a short time.”
“Well, perhaps I will, if Stellan comes too.”
It was always the same, Stellan had to be there too, and so Herman was forced against his will to go and persuade that young lordling, who lay in a tattered old hammock in the park, staring at his toes, to join them. Only after a long discussion did he lazily get out of the hammock.
At last three floats bobbed about on the half-clear, glittering, greenish June water which can look so warm and inviting from the shore and is yet so icy cold when you venture in.
Stellan had the first bite.
“What rotten fish! Not worth while getting dirty for!”
He was in a bad temper. It irritated him that Herman could find any pleasure in putting on worms for that fat Laura.
Now it was Herman’s turn. His float dived deep down without his noticing it; he was so absorbed in Laura. And when at last he awoke he pulled so violently that the roach got free and the hook caught in Laura’s hat. Then Laura scolded him and Stellan shrugged his shoulders.
“Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” he said in a cold, mocking voice.
This formula had a crushing effect. Once when Herman had been reproved because he did not know his history lesson he had stood up and said: “Please sir, I was so hoarse yesterday that I could not learn my lesson.” Since then he was always asked the unfortunate question: “Were you hoarse yesterday, Herman?” And each time Laura laughed heartily. It was a cause of inexpressible suffering to his proud, chivalrous nature. Herman tried to keep up an appearance of gay indifference and to join in the laugh of these cruel companions. But his was a poor, weak mockery of a laugh.
They were already thoroughly tired of fishing and began to jump about on the stones and the roots of the alder trees along the shore. This year’s reeds were just beginning to come up between the yellow stalks of last year’s, the dragon flies flew past like blue, silken threads in a current of air, and dark, green beetles hovered up and down like little balls supported by an invisible force. The day was almost too warm and fine. They could not make up their minds to do anything—they only teased each other and had their little quarrels. Now they are amongst the cows in the Hökar meadow, and Herman catches sight of a starling hopping between the hind legs of the bell-cow and incessantly flying up to catch a fly on its udders.
“Look at that starling, Laura!” he cried, proud of the interesting observation he had made. “Look at that starling, he is friendly with the cow.”
“That’s nothing compared with Egypt,” snapped Stellan. “There the birds come and pick the teeth of the crocodiles. And they keep their mouths quite still. But of course, you haven’t heard of that.”
No, Herman had not heard of that, so probably he had been hoarse again.
Then Laura had an idea. She drew her brother aside.
“I say, Stellan, shall we get Herman to climb the oak?”
It was an enormous oak growing on a green hillock by the roadside, just where the avenue ended.
“All right!”
They sat down on a stone in the shade. Stellan looked up at the tree with the eyes of an expert.
“I say, Herman, that is an awfully difficult tree.”
“Not so very. If it weren’t so hot. …”
“Yes, the first bit is easy. I can see that too—but further up there is a long bit without branches.”
“Nonsense. You can swing yourself up. If it weren’t so warm. …”
“Of course—you can brag—but you daren’t do it,” scoffed Laura.
“Daren’t I?”
“No, you daren’t.”
Herman jumped up, red in the face, and tore off his coat. At last he had a chance
