“The whole parish knows of it,” he shouted, “so it’s high time her parents were told of her doings! Jan Anderson is a decent fellow, even if he did spoil that girl of his, and I can’t bear to see him sit here day after day, week in and week out, waiting for a—”
He called the little girl of Ruffluck such a bad name that Jan would not repeat it even in his thoughts. But now that Agrippa had flung that ugly word at him in a loud voice, so that everyone on the pier heard what he said, all that Jan had kept locked within him for a whole year burst its bonds. He could no longer keep it hidden. The little girl must forgive him for betraying her secret. He said what he had to say without the least show of anger or boastfulness. With a sweep of his hand and a lofty smile, as if hardly deigning to answer, he said:
“When the Empress comes—”
“The Empress!” grinned Agrippa. “Who might that be?” Just as if he had not heard about the little girl’s elevation.
Jan of Ruffluck, unperturbed, continued in the same calm, even tone of voice:
“When the Empress Glory of Portugallia stands on the pier, with a crown of gold upon her head, and with seven kings behind her holding up her royal mantle, and seven tame lions crouched at her feet, and seven and seventy generals, with drawn swords, going before her, then we shall see, Prästberg, whether you dare say to herself what you’ve just said to me!”
When he had finished speaking he stood still a moment, noting with satisfaction how terrified they looked, all of them; then, turning on his heel, he walked away, but without hurry or flurry, of course.
The instant his back was turned there was a terrible commotion on the pier. At first he paid no attention to it, but presently, on hearing a heavy thud, he had to look back. Then he saw Agrippa lying flat on his face and August Där Nol bending over him with clenched fists.
“You cur!” cried August. “You knew well enough that he couldn’t stand hearing the truth. You can’t have any heart in your body!”
This much Jan heard, but as anything in the way of fighting or quarrelling was contrary to his nature, he went on up the hill, without mixing in the fray.
But strangely enough, when he was out of everyone’s sight an uncontrollable spell of weeping came over him. He did not know why he wept, but probably his tears were of joy at having cleared up the mystery. He felt now as if his little girl had come back to him.
The Emperor
The first Sunday in September the worshippers at Svartsjö church had a surprise in store for them.
There was a wide gallery in the church extending clear across the nave. The first row of pews in this gallery had always been occupied by the gentry—the gentlemen on the right side and the ladies on the left—as far back as can be remembered. All the seats in the church were free, so that other folk were not debarred from sitting there, if they so wished; but of course it would never have occurred to any poor cotter to ensconce himself in that row of pews.
In the old days Jan had thought the occupants of this particular bench a delight to the eye. Even now he was willing to concede that the superintendent from Doveness, the lieutenant from Lövdala, and the engineer from Borg were fine men who made a good appearance. But they were as nothing to the grandeur which folks beheld that day. For anything like a real emperor had never before been seen in the gentry’s bench.
But now there sat at the head of this bench just such a great personage, his hands resting on a long silver-mounted stick, his head crowned with a high, green leather cap, while on his waistcoat glittered two large stars, one like gold, the other like silver.
When the organ began to play the processional hymn the Emperor lifted up his voice in song. For an emperor is obliged to sing out, loud and clear, when at church, even if he cannot follow the melody or sing in tune. Folks are glad to hear him in any case.
The gentlemen at his left now and then turned and stared at him. Who could wonder at that? It was probably the first time they had had so exalted a personage among them.
He had to remove his hat, of course, for that is something which even an emperor must do when attending divine service; but he kept it on as long as possible, that all might feast their eyes on it.
And many of the worshippers who sat in the body of the church had their eyes turned up toward the gallery that Sunday. Their thoughts seemed to be on him more than on the sermon. They were perhaps a little surprised that he had become so exalted. But surely they could understand that one who was father to an empress must himself be an emperor. Anything else was impossible.
When he came out on the pine knoll at the close of the service many persons went up to him; but before he had time to speak to a soul Sexton Blackie stepped up and asked him to come along into the vestry.
The pastor was seated in the vestry, his back turned toward the door, talking with Senator Carl Carlson, when Jan and the sexton entered. He seemed to be distressed about something, for there were tears in his voice.
“These were two souls entrusted to my keeping whom I have allowed to go to ruin,” he said.
The senator tried to console him, saying: “You can’t be responsible, Pastor, for the evil that goes on in the large cities.”
But the clergyman would not be consoled. He
