The monk seated himself on the beggars’ bench by the door, and would have naught but cold porridge and water for his supper. Neither would he have aught of Lavrans’ proffer to have a bath made ready for him and have his clothes well washed.
Brother Edvin fidgeted and scratched himself, and laughed all over his lean, old face.
“Nay, nay,” said he, “these things bite into my proud hide better than either whips or the Gardian’s words. I have been sitting under a rock up here among the fells all summer—they gave me leave to go out into the wilderness to fast and pray, and there I sat and thought: now was I like a holy hermit indeed; and the poor folk away in Setnadal came up with food for me, and thought here they saw, in very truth, a godly and clean-living monk. Brother Edvin, they said, were there many such monks as you, we would be better men fast enough; but when we see priests and bishops and monks biting and fighting like young swine in a trough—Aye, I told them it was unchristian-like to talk so—but I liked to hear it well enough, and I sang and I prayed till the mountain rang again. Now will it be wholesome for me to feel the lice biting and fighting upon my skin, and to hear the good housewives, who would have all clean and seemly in their houses, cry out: that dirty pig of a monk can lie out in the barn well enough now ’tis summer. I am for northwards now to Nidaros for St. Olav’s Vigil, and ’twill be well for me to mark that folk are none too fain to come nigh me—”
Ulvhild woke, and Lavrans went and lifted her up and wrapped her in his cloak:
“Here is the child I spoke of, dear Father. Lay your hands upon her and pray to God for her as you prayed for the boy away north in Meldal, who we heard got his health again—”
The monk lifted Ulvhild’s chin gently and looked into her face. And then he raised one of her hands and kissed it.
“Pray rather, you and your wife, Lavrans Björgulfsön, that you be not tempted to try and bend God’s will concerning this child. Our Lord Jesus himself has set these small feet upon the path which will lead her most surely to the home of peace—I see it by your eyes, you blessed Ulvhild, you have your intercessors in our second home.”
“The boy in Meldal got well, I have heard,” said Lavrans, in a low voice.
“He was a poor widow’s only child, and there was none but the parish to feed or clothe him when his mother should be gone. And yet the woman prayed only that God might give her a fearless heart so that she might have faith. He would bring that to pass which would be best for the lad. Naught else did I do but join in that prayer of hers.”
“ ’Tis hard for her mother and for me to rest content with this,” answered Lavrans heavily. “The more that she is so fair and so good.”
“Have you seen the child at Lidstad, south in the Dale,” asked the monk. “Would you rather your daughter had been like that?”
Lavrans shuddered and pressed the child close to him.
“Think you not,” said Brother Edvin again, “that in God’s eyes we are all children he has cause to grieve for, crippled as we are with sin? And yet we deem not we are so badly off in this world.”
He went to the picture of the Virgin Mary upon the wall, and all knelt down while he said the evening prayer. It seemed to them that Brother Edvin had given them good comfort.
But, none the less, after he had gone from the room to seek his place of rest, Astrid, the head serving-wench, swept with care all parts of the floor where the monk had stood, and cast the sweepings at once into the fire.
Next morning Kristin rose early, took milk-porridge and wheat-cakes in a goodly dish of flame-grained birchwood—for she knew that the monk never touched meat—and herself bore the food out to him. But few of the folk were yet about in the houses.
Brother Edvin stood upon the bridge of the cow-house, ready for the road with staff and scrip; with a smile he thanked Kristin for her pains, and sat himself down on the grass and ate, while Kristin sat at his feet.
Her little white dog came running up, the little bells on his collar tinkling. She took him into her lap, and Brother Edvin snapped his fingers at him, threw small bits of wheat-cake into his mouth, and praised him mightily the while.
“ ’Tis a breed Queen Euphemia brought to the country,” said he. “You are passing fine here on Jörundgaard now; both in great things and small.”
Kristin flushed with pleasure. She knew already the dog was of a fine breed, and she was proud of having it; no one else in the parish had a lapdog. But she had not known it was of the same kind as the Queen’s pet dogs.
“Simon Andressön sent him to me,” said she, and pressed it to her, while it licked her face. “His name is Kortelin.”
She had thought to speak to the monk about her trouble and to pray for his counsel. But she had no longer any wish to let her mind dwell on the thoughts of the past evening. Brother Edvin was sure God would turn all things to the best for Ulvhild. And it was good of Simon to send her such a gift before even their betrothal was fixed. Arne she would not think
