Part 3

As he ran home later with the grand book under his arm, he had a kind of disgusted feeling. The effects of the beer were over, he was no longer tempted to laugh, and his wounded pride was satisfied; but Ole's trusting eyes seemed to meet him everywhere, as soon as he got out in the air. He tried to put it from him, he was so dreadfully tired; he would think no more about it this evening; but to-morrow--to-morrow he would ask Anders not to speak about it.

But the next morning he overslept himself. He hurried on his clothes and rushed off, eating his bread-and-butter as he went along, and giving a rapid thought to "Les trois Mousquetaires," now his precious property; he longed for the afternoon to be able to read it. In school he stumbled through his lessons one by one, for he had learned nothing, and on Saturdays there was always so much. He worked on until two hours before the school closed; there was still to be French and Natural History, but to neither of these classes did he belong--so away he flew downstairs before any of the others.

Just as he stood outside the school gates he saw Anders coming from the opposite side; he was going now to take his lesson in the upper class. Edward thought at once of the preceding day, and he felt anxious as to what Anders might take it into his head to tell; but at that very moment he caught sight of a monster steamer, a wreck, coming slowly in between the two piers, and all the people running by said there had never been so large a ship in the harbour before. She dragged along, hardly able to move, her masts gone, bulwarks all damaged, and the propped-up funnel all white with salt water up to the very top; was that another steamer towing her? Edward could not make out for the pier. Everyone was running that way; he ran too!

Meanwhile Anders turned in at the school gate. Just as he opened it a class was over, and all the boys rushed down the stairs as through a long funnel, and out into the yard; it was a storm in a wizard's belly, the very house shook; first came one short, sharp yell, the first-comer's shout of delight; then a screaming of mingled voices high and low, some cracked and breaking ones toning down the whole; then a mighty shout from all together like a sea of fire shooting up to the sky, then half quenched on one side, but flaring up again on the other, then uniting in a broad glow over the whole yard.

Anders whistled softly as he came along; it was not like being in a sea of fire; it was like sailing through dangerous rocks and reefs, tossed about and dashed from one side, and tossed and dashed back again to the other; but he had an object in view; he would try cautiously to reach the stack of wood over by the neighbour's paling; there all was quiet, and he could partially screen his body up among the wood.

When he had reached this point of vantage and had looked cautiously round to see if it was safe, he gazed down on the crowd with delight; he felt a pleasurable satisfaction in knowing that he could quiet this uproar just with three or four words which he would whisper in the ear of his nearest neighbour. They would act like oil upon a raging sea, and the noise would cease as those few words were spread about.

Where was Ole? There he was, he and a big boy together; they had hold of each other by the collar and were tumbling about; the bigger of the two was trying to knock down the other, using his feet freely for many a kick. Ole's heavy boots swung round, the iron heels shining in the air; he shouted with laughter as his companion grew fiercer and wilder, but could not get him down.

Then Anders bent his head down to the boy who stood nearest him:

"Now I know what Ole Tuft does in the evenings!"

"Oh, rubbish!"

"But I do know."

"Who found it out?"

"Edward Kallem."

"Edward Kallem? And has he got the book?" asked the other, hurriedly.

"Of course he has."

"No, really? So Edward Kallem has----!"

"Edward Kallem? What about him?" put in a third, and the one who had just heard the news repeated the story. A fourth boy, a fifth, a sixth, all rushed away, crying out: "Edward Kallem has won the prize, lads! Anders Hegge knows what Ole Tuft does in the evenings." Wherever they went the noise stopped instantaneously; all of them wanted to hear the news, and rushed across to Anders Hegge.

Hardly had a fourth part of them reached him before the remaining three-fourths, losing interest in their games, followed suit. What in all the world was the matter over by the wood-stack? why were they all running there? They crowded round Anders, and climbed up on the wood as many of them as could find room. "What's the matter?" "Edward Kallem has won the prize." "Edward Kallem?" And the noise began again, everyone asking, everyone answering--all except Ole Tuft, who remained standing just where his companion had left him.

There was a dead silence as Anders Hegge told the story; and he had a right to tell it, for he had paid for it. He told it well, in a short, dry sort of way that gave an air of double meaning to everything; he told them first where Ole went to and what he did; how he changed the straw in Martha's bed, moved and lifted her, cooked for her, and fetched medicine for her from the apothecary. Then he told them _why_ Ole did all this; he wished to be a missionary, and was practising for it down at Martha's; he read the Bible to her and made her cry; then, as soon as Ole had gone, Lars, the washerman, came in with the brandy bottle, and he and Martha had a grand carouse together on the top of the Bible reading.

At first the boys stood as quiet as mice; they had never heard the like before. They looked upon it as a sort of game, and from the way it had been told it could hardly be understood otherwise; but never before had they heard of anyone playing at being missionary and Bible-reader; it was funny, but it was something else besides--something they could not quite make out. As nobody laughed, Anders continued. And what made Ole do all this? Because he was ambitious and wanted to become an apostle, which was more than to be either king, emperor, or pope; Ole had told Edward Kallem that himself. But, in order to become an apostle, he had to find out "God's ways," and those ways began down at Martha's; there he meant to learn how to work miracles, to wrestle with the heathen and the wild beasts and poisonous snakes, and to calm a cyclone. Then there was a roar. But just at that moment the school-bell rang, and, shouting with laughter, the boys had only time to run past Ole back to their lessons again.

Once before in his young life had Ole Tuft gazed down into a bottomless abyss. It was on a winter's day, as he stood by his father's grave and heard the dull sound of the frozen earth falling upon the coffin; the air was thick with driving mist, and the sea was black as pitch. Whenever he was in trouble his thoughts flew back to that day; and now it seemed as if he were standing there again, and heard the mournful church bells toll. Just as the noise on the stairs and along the passages had ceased, the last stray loiterer gone in, the last door been shut--complete quiet suddenly--then, through this empty silence, he heard a bell, ding-dong, and in fancy saw himself at the little pine-wood church by the shore. How they creaked and rustled in the wind, those long-armed, leafless birches by the wall, and the ancient fir-tree at the gate; the clanging of the bells, harsh and shrill, floating in the air, and the dull thud of the earth on the coffin, made a life-long impression on him; and his mother's ceaseless weeping--she had kept it all back until now, had made no sound, neither by the sick man's bedside, nor even when he was carried away in his coffin; but now, suddenly, the tears gushed forth--ah, so bitterly.... O father, mother! Mother, father! And he, too, burst into tears.

This was sufficient reason for his not following the other boys in; he would never go back to school again. He could not face any of them after what had happened, he would have to leave the town; in a couple of hours it would be known everywhere, they would all be asking questions, and staring and laughing at him. And now, too, all his hopes and intentions for the future had been profaned; what was the use of studying any more; nor would he go to any other town, only home, home, home.

But if he stood there much longer one of them would be sent down to fetch him; he ought to get away at once. But not home to his aunt, or he would have to tell her everything; and not out by the big gates and down the principal street, for there were so many people who would see how he was crying. No, he must make his way to the little hiding-place that Josephine had made for him, and through which she helped him out every afternoon, so that the other boys might not see him.

The wood-stacks stood next to the neighbour's paling; but to the right leaned up against a shed into which Ole went. He loosened two boards in the wall nearest the wood-stack, crept through, and closed them behind him. This performance could not have been carried out if there had not been on the other side an open space, made by an impediment of nature, in the shape of a large stone, taller than the boy, but which stood at a little distance from the wall. If the stone had not been there, the two stacks of wood would have touched each other and barred the way; but as it was, there was plenty of room at both ends of the stone as well as on the top of it. The children had made themselves little rooms here, one on each side of the stone. The most comfortable one was at the back; there they had a board to sit on, and when that was fastened at both ends in the stacks, they could pass each other in crossing it. They had laid some planks overhead, and then wood on the top of that, so that nobody might suspect anything; it had been quite a piece of work for the children. It was not very light, certainly, but then that made it all the cosier. Here she would tell him tales of Spain, and he would tell her of missionaries' adventures; she told of bull-fights, but he of fights with tigers, lions, and snakes, of terrible cyclones and water-spouts, of savage monkeys and man-eaters. And by degrees his stories had eclipsed hers; they were more exciting, and then there was an object in them; she had only her recollections to look back to, but he threw himself heart and soul into all his imagination could scrape together. He drew such vivid, glowing pictures, till at last she was fascinated too! At first she felt her way with a few cautious questions as to whether women could be missionaries too? But he did not know; he thought it was only work for men, though they might possibly be allowed to be missionaries' wives. Then she asked if missionaries ever married. He, taking it up as a dogmatic question, answered that he had once heard his father speak on the subject; it was at a meeting when someone had had doubts as to this missionary-marriage question, for St. Paul was the first missionary, and the greatest, too, and he certainly had not been married, and even gloried in that fact; but his father had replied that St. Paul believed that Christ was so soon to come again so he had to hurry as quickly as possible from place to place to tell that to the people so that they might be in readiness. But nowadays missionaries always lived in the same place, and therefore might be allowed to marry. He had even read about missionaries' wives who kept schools for the little black children. They had not advanced further than that, but it was easy to see she often thought about it by the questions she asked: If it were true that black children ate snails? She did not like the idea of that at all.

In this dim light, with their two heads, brown and fair, bent close together over their tales of adventures, they had in fancy sat under palm-trees amid swarms of black children, all so good and clean and converted, and there were tame tiger-cubs playing on the sand at their feet; friendly, good-natured monkeys waited upon them, elephants conveyed them carefully about, and all the food they needed hung in plenty on the trees.

And now Ole came for the last time to say farewell to this little Paradise.

Just as he raised himself to climb over the stone, he remembered that it was Saturday, and her lessons were always over on Saturdays by eleven o'clock (she took private lessons), and that she often used to sit behind the stacks during the boys' free quarter-hour. Suppose she were sitting there, and had heard all? Up he clambered onto the stone in greatest haste, and there she sat, down on the board, and looked at him! At the sight of her and as their eyes met he began sobbing again. "I want to ... go ... home," stammered he, "and never ... never come back again," and he came sliding down to her. She received him with open arms and hastened to give him her pocket-handkerchief to stuff into his mouth that his crying might not be heard. She had a good deal of knowledge as to school and play-ground ways, and knew that some one would soon be sent to look for him. He gave in, as he always did, to her superior guidance in matters of good behaviour and manners; he thought she was reminding him of that everlasting use of the pocket-handkerchief, so he began alternately to blow his nose and to cry. She seized hold of the back of his neck with one of her small but coarse girl's hands, with the other she grasped his hands with the handkerchief and forced it right into his mouth, at the same time shaking her dark-haired head warningly in his face. Then it dawned upon him! And it was high time too; for he heard his name called down in the yard, again and again on all sides. His whole body shook and trembled with his efforts to stifle his sobs; but he kept them down bravely, waiting till the boy who had been sent down to look for him had gone rushing back again. He began anew: "I ... want to ... go ... home," and a fresh burst of tears followed, he couldn't help it. So he gave her back her pocket-handkerchief with a nod and got up to pull away the wood in front of the hole in the neighbour's fence, sobbing bitterly all the time and half-alarmed at his own grief. Hardly had he pulled the wood aside before he disappeared into the hole; the seat of his trousers, polished and shiny from daily contact with the school benches, and the iron heels of his boots crept farther and farther in, till at last they vanished; he stood upright on the other side, pushed himself between the paling and the shed, and on past some old wood-work which lay there rotting, from there he sprang across to the back door, and not until he stood outside on free ground in a narrow road, did he remember that he had forgotten to say good-bye to Josephine and had never even thanked her! This addition to all his other troubles made him turn and flee from the town, and he never stopped before he, by roundabout ways, had reached the high road. It was almost as if it were his property, this well-known road by the shore.

Josephine stood still a moment gazing after the vanishing heels; but she did not wait long. She hopped upon the stone and slid down to the wall, pushed the boards aside, crept through and closed them again carefully behind her. Soon after she was seen at the apothecary's without her hat; she asked after her brother, first down in the shop where she knew he liked to be, but he was not there and he had not been in either to leave his bundle of books. Upstairs she went through all the rooms, but he was not there; then looking out of the window she saw the great foreign steamer and ten or twelve small boats around it; of course he would be there! Away she flew to the pier, unfastened their own little white-painted boat and pushed off.

She rowed until the perspiration streamed down her face, rowed and looked about her until she reached the wreck, the great green monster lying there groaning under the pumps. From afar she could see Edward up on the captain's bridge, with his books under his arm, talking to his friend Mo, the pilot.

As soon as she was within call she shouted his name; he heard her, he and all the others; they saw a brown-haired girl, without hat, red and heated with rowing, standing up in the boat, leaning on her oars, and staring up at the captain's bridge; they did not think much of it, though, and forgot her quickly. But Edward felt a sharp pang; something out of the common must have happened, and it did not take him long to get down from the captain's bridge on to the deck, across the deck and down the steamer's side, climbing over the other boats and up into hers, exclaiming, as he pushed off: "What's the matter?" He put his books down in the bottom of the boat, took the oars from her and sat down repeating: "What's the matter?"

With streaming hair, breathless and red she stood and looked at him as he turned the boat; then she moved back to a farther bench. Here she unfastened the other pair of oars and sat down behind him. He did not like to question her a third time so he rowed on silently--and then, keeping her oars on the surface of the water meanwhile, she began:

"What have you done to Ole Tuft?"

He turned pale, then red; he too stopped rowing.

"It's all up with him now at school; he has gone home, and he'll never come back any more."

"Oh, that's a lie!"--but his voice failed him, he felt she was speaking the truth. He plunged the oars into the water with all his strength and rowed with might and main.

"Indeed you had better row hard," though she herself began backing her oars; "you had better hurry after him even if you have to walk all the way to Store Tuft; if you don't, it will be a bad look-out for you both at school and at home with father. What a mean wretch you are!"

"Oh, you hold your tongue!"

"No, I shan't! and if you don't go after him at once and bring him home with you again, I'll tell father, and the head master too, I will!"

"It's you who are the mean wretch with all your gossiping and story-telling."

"You should have heard how Anders Hegge went on, and the whole school, and how they laughed at Ole, every one of them; and he poor fellow, he cried as if his heart would break, and then ran right away home. Oh, fie! fie! For shame! If you don't bring him back with you it will be bad for you."

"You stupid! Don't you see I am rowing as hard as I can?"

His finger-nails were quite white and his face streaming and he bent double each time to take a longer pull at the oars. Without another word she moved over to the bench nearest him and rowed with all her might.

As he stood up when they were nearing the pier and stretched out his hand to prevent the boat bumping against it, he said: "I have had no lunch to-day, and now I shall get no dinner either; have you any money with you that I might buy myself some biscuits?"

"Yes, a few pence I have;" she laid down her oars and looked in her pocket for the money.

"You take my books!" shouted he as he rushed up the street. Shortly after he too was out on the high road.

III.

The day had been dull, the air thick, and the clouds were driving along against a light southerly wind; it was mild, though, and had begun to thaw again; the roads were in a fearful state with snow slush and mud, especially close by the town where it had been trampled and trodden into a perfect morass.

Edward had not been walking more than ten minutes before his somewhat thin boots were wet through. Well, that did not matter, what was much worse was that he had finished his last biscuit and was by no means satisfied--not by a long way! However, even that did not matter as he would soon overtake Ole, he walked so much quicker and lighter than he did, and then he was hurrying tremendously. As soon as he reached him he would put things right again; not for an instant did he doubt that. Ole was very easily managed and he, Edward, would make all square with the other boys, it was the least he could do; he would enjoy it, too; he would get others to join him and they would have a fight.

But after he had walked a quarter of a mile[1] without seeing any traces of Ole's boots in the mud and no sign of himself either, and particularly after he had dragged on for another quarter along the most dreadful roads, his feet dripping wet, now perspiring, now cold, then half-dry, then wet again--it was threatening rain and the wind was getting up, and all nature seemed so uncomfortably lonely along the stony ridges with dark woods between each valley--then indeed his courage fell considerably.

And it seemed so strange, too, that after the first quarter of a mile he never met a soul. There were plenty of footmarks on the road both of horses, people, and dogs; they were all bent in the same direction as himself and most of them were quite fresh, but there was not a creature to be seen anywhere, not even in the farmyards, not a dog did he hear bark, nor did he see a chimney smoke; all was deserted. He passed by one empty cove after the other; they were divided by jutting out ridges of loose stones caused by landslips; on each side of these ridges lay a cove, and in every cove one or more farmyards and a brook or stream, but no people. So many times had the boy now struggled up these stony hills and gone so far along that he could see across the next field without distinguishing Ole on the high road, in fact without seeing anyone, so he began to think that he would have to trudge on, hungry and tired as he was, the whole way to Store Tuft. It was nearly a mile distant; that would keep him away so long that his father would hear of his absence, and then it would be a case of scolding and lecturing, and probably of beating and swearing as well, and the head-master would very likely look in and then it would all begin over again.... He could not help it, the tears would come. Confound Anders Hegge, with his greedy, fishy eyes and oily smile, his mocking laugh and sneaking friendliness, the story-teller, the brute! Here was he now forced to tramp along with tingling feet in all the mud, tired and done up. This then was the meaning of his fearful fright the evening before, now all was explained.

But, hang it all! who would cry about that? One must arrive some day at the journey's end, and a beating would be nothing new, tra-la-la! And he broke into a Spanish ditty and sang verse upon verse till he became quite breathless and was obliged to slacken his pace, but taking fright when he no longer heard the sound of his own voice, he began afresh and kept on singing all the way through the long valley.

He met nobody there either, only traces of cart-wheels and footmarks of old and young folk, of horses and dogs from the farms; all bound in the same direction. What could be going on? A fire? An auction? But then they would not have taken carts with them. Had there been a landslip anywhere? Or was it a wreck from yesterday's storm? Well, it was all the same to him. Just as he was crossing over the next ridge which jutted out into the bay, he caught sight for the first time of Ole's footsteps on the hill; he could see that he had walked along by the side of the road; he recognized the iron heels and the straps under each foot. The marks were quite fresh too, so Ole could not be far off. This was exciting, and he hurried on.