The old mistress stopped and greeted Jan, after which the two stood and talked. She said nothing that would indicate that she had come out expressly to see him, but he felt it to be so. It flashed into his head that she wanted to speak with him about Glory Goldie, and he was rather miffed when she began to talk about something quite different.
“I wonder, Jan, if you remember the old owner of Falla, my father, who was master there before Eric came?”
“Why shouldn’t I remember him, when I was all of twelve at the time of his death?”
“He had a good son-in-law,” said the old mistress.
“He had that,” agreed Jan.
The old mistress was silent a moment, and sighed once or twice before she continued: “I want to ask your advice about something, Jan. You are not the sort that would go about tittle-tattling what I say.”
“No, I can hold my tongue.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that this year.”
New hopes arose in Jan. It would not be surprising, thought he, if Glory Goldie had turned to the old mistress of Falla and asked her to tell him and Katrina of the great thing that had come to her. For the old seine-maker had been taken down with rheumatic fever shortly after their interrupted conversation, and for weeks he had been too ill to see him. Now he was up and about again, but very feeble. The worst of it was that after his illness his memory seemed to be gone. He had waited for him to say something more about Glory Goldie’s letter, but as he had failed to do so, and could not even take a hint, he had asked him straight out. And the old man had declared he had not received any letter. To convince Jan he had pulled out the table drawer and thrown back the lid of his clothes-chest, to let him see for himself that there was no such letter.
Of course he had forgotten what he did with it, Jan concluded. So, no wonder the little girl had turned to the mistress of Falla. Pity she hadn’t done it in the first place! Now that the old mistress was hesitating so long he felt certain in his own mind that he was right. But when she again returned to the subject of her father, he was so surprised he could hardly follow her. She said:
“When father was nearing the end he summoned Eric of Falla to his bedside and thanked him for his loving care of a helpless old man in his declining years. ‘Don’t think about that, Father,’ said Eric. ‘We’re glad to have you with us just as long as you care to stay.’ That’s what Eric said. And he meant it, too!”
“He did that,” confirmed Jan. “There were no fox-tricks about him!”
“Wait, Jan!” said the mistress, “we’ll just speak of the old people for the present. Do you remember the long silver-mounted stick father used to carry?”
“Yes; both the stick and the high leather cap he always wore when he went to church.”
“So you remember the cap, too? Do you know what father did at the last? He told me to fetch him his stick and cap, and then he gave them to Eric. ‘I could have given you something that was worth more money,’ he told Eric, ‘but I am giving you these instead, for I know you would rather have something I have used.’ ”
“That was an honour well earned.” When Jan said that he noticed that the old mistress drew her shawl closer together. He was sure now she was hiding something under it—maybe a present from Glory Goldie! “She’ll get round to that in time,” he thought. “All this talk about her father is only a makeshift.”
“I have often spoken of this to my children,” the old mistress went on, “and also to Lars Gunnarson. Last spring, when Eric lay sick, I think both Lars and Anna expected that Lars would be called to the bedside, as Eric had once been called. I had brought him in the stick and cap so they’d be handy in case Eric wished to give them to Lars; but he had no such thought.”
The old mistress’s voice shook as she said that, and when she spoke again her tone sounded anxious and uncertain.
“Once, when we were alone, I asked Eric what his wishes were, and he said if I wanted to I could give the things to Lars when he was gone as he had not the strength to make speeches.”
Whereupon the mistress of Falla threw back her big shawl, and then Jan saw that she held under it a long, silver-mounted ebony stick and a stiff, high-crowned leather cap.
“Some words are too heavy for utterance,” she said with great gravity. “Answer me with just a nod, Jan, if you will. Can I give these to Lars Gunnarson?”
Jan drew back a step. This was a matter he had entirely dismissed from his mind. It seemed such a long time since Eric of Falla died he hardly remembered how it happened.
“You understand, Jan, that all I want to know is whether Lars can accept the stick and cap with the same right as Eric. You must know, as you were with him that time in the forest. It would be well for me,” she added, as Jan
