CHAPTER XII.

Clifford was deeply wounded. It was all so much worse than he had expected. The injury to the boy, the injury to himself wrought by Mrs Stanhope, surpassed in reality his own vague anticipations of ill. But, as usual, he hid his feelings under his impenetrable manner, and to Knutty he only said:

"Knutty, Alan has been able to open his heart to me. And I have been able to tell him that--that I did not kill his mother."

"Oh, my dear one," she cried, "you have suffered, both of you."

"It will be all right now for him," Clifford answered.

"And for you?" she asked anxiously.

"It will be all right for me later," he said. "I am going for a long walk to think things over and pull myself together. And, Knutty, I want you to tell Miss Frensham that I thank her with my whole heart for urging the boy to come to me this morning. I cannot speak of it myself just now. But you will tell her."

Knutty watched him climb up the steep hillside, pass the different barns, and disappear into the birch-woods.

"Nã," she said, "it is the best plan for him to go and have it out by himself with Nature, which he loves, to help and sustain him."

Later on she found Katharine, and gave Clifford's last message.

"Those were his last words, kjaere," she said. "I don't grudge them to you one little bit. If you had not bewitched that boy, we should not be one single step forrader. It was all too much for me. Seventeen stone cannot bewitch any one. I know my limitations as well as my weight."

"Seventeen stone can stand solidly by like a fine old fortress," said Katharine, giving her a hug.

"That metallic beast!--that metallic beast!" Knutty exclaimed. "She is fifty times worse than poor Marianne. Marianne was merely an explosive substance. She was a pretty bad explosive substance, I will own. But she had some kind of a heart. Mrs Stanhope has only some sort of artificial clockwork contrivance. But I'd like to tear even that out. Ak, ak, how hot it is! Fat people will go to heaven when they die, I feel sure; for they've had all their roasting on earth!"

"There is thunder in the air," Katharine said, as she fanned Tante with an English newspaper. "I am sure we are in for a storm. I hope Professor Thornton will not go far. Alan is out, too. He went off with Jens a few minutes ago, down to the valley, to the Landhandleri. He has been talking to me about his mother, Knutty. We had a stroll together before breakfast, and then it was I told him that----"

Katharine paused.

"That he would never forgive himself if he were to lose his father before he had told him what his trouble had been."

Knutty put down her knitting.

"Why did you say that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Katharine answered. "It came into my head, and I felt something had to be done to help the boy through the barrier of silence at once."

"Before it was too late, you meant?" Knutty said, looking distressed.

"Yes," replied Katharine simply.

"Well," said Knutty, in her own generous way, "I am glad he knew you did it."

But they were not to be allowed to have further private conversation that afternoon; for Bedstemor, now recovered from the first shock of Bedstefar's death, came across from her own house to the Gaard. Ragnhild hurried out to the porch, and begged Fröken Knudsgaard to keep Bedstemor by her side and prevent her from making a descent on the kitchen, where already great preparations were going on for the funeral feast.

"Bedstemor is going to give trouble!" Ragnhild whispered. "Thou knowest she likes to have everything very, very grand. She wants us to do twice as much as we are doing. Ak! There she comes now. Wilt thou not keep her and talk with her? Let her tell thee again about her marriage, and how she danced her shoes through on her wedding-day."

Knutty captured Bedstemor, and the old lady sat in the porch and talked of poor Bedstefar.

"A ja," she said quaintly, "he is dead at last, poor man. He was two years dying. It seemed a long time." Then she added mysteriously:

"God has been very good to me. And I feel very happy."

"Aha, that is a good thing," said Knutty. "Nei, nei, Bedstemor, don't go and make yourself hotter in the kitchen. It is terribly hot this afternoon. Stay here with me and tell me about your wedding. Tell me the history of this old, old family. And is it true, Bedstemor, that when you were fifteen, you were carried off by the mountain-people? Tell me all about it. You can trust me. I won't breathe a word to any one."

So in this way Bedstemor was kept quiet, entertained and entertaining by speaking of herself and old days, and old ways. She told Knutty about Föderaad, the legal dues paid to the parents by the eldest son who takes over the management of the Gaard. Knutty learnt that Föderaad varied in different families; but in the Solli family it meant the possession of five cows, eight sheep, sixteen sacks of grain annually, a two-year-old calf for killing each autumn; also a pig, and a potato-field, or else the payment of 60 kroner a-year. Bedstefar's death would deprive Bedstemor of rather less than half this Föderaad; she would have three cows, five sheep, half the quantity of grain, half the value of the potato-field, and, of course, pig and calf entire; and the dower-house with all its belongings undisturbed.

But the moment arrived when Bedstemor could no longer be deterred from going into the Gaard which had once been hers, and making straight for the kitchen, in a masterful manner born of reawakened memories of ownership. Then Mor Inga came out and had a cry; but Tante patted her on the back and whispered cheering words which brought a smile to Mor Inga's tearful face.

"Ja," said Mor Inga, "thou art right, thou. One can never please one's relatives. It is stupid to expect to do so. It was a wise remark. Thou good Danish friend of mine!"

She told Tante that the old order of things was passing away, even in the more remote parts of the valley; but as Bedstefar belonged to the old order, he was to be buried according to the "gammel skik" (the old custom). But they intended to reduce the number of feast-days to the lowest number compatible with the dignity of the family and due honour to the dead--about four days; only in that case it would be necessary to show more than ordinarily lavish hospitality, so that none of the guests might feel that the family had not the means nor the desire to entertain them right royally. The kitchen had already become the scene of increased industry; and Ragnhild would soon be cooking countless jellies and innumerable fancy biscuits. No cakes were to be made; for, according to custom, the guests would bring them on the day of the funeral, or send them the day before. A sheep, an ox, and a calf were to be killed that very evening, and some one would be sent to bring back fresh Mysost from the Saeter. And two days before the burial, Jens and a fair-haired cousin Olaf would go up into the mountains to bring back a good supply of trout from the lake. Mor Inga reckoned that they would need about two hundred pounds. Then the main dwelling-house and all the brown houses would have to be thoroughly scoured and put in order.

"The guests must not see one speck of dust nor one unpolished door-handle," Mor Inga said. "For they will walk over the whole house and notice everything."

"Now remember," enjoined Knutty, as Mor Inga rose to go back to domestic difficulties, "do your best, and don't waste time trying to please any relation on earth; for it is an impossibility."

Solli passed by afterwards, and paused to say a few words to Tante. He did not often talk.

"We are in for a thunderstorm," he said. "I wish we had more water. Rain has been so scarce that we have no water with which to put the fire out, if the Gaard should be struck by lightning. There has not been such a dry season for years."

Old Kari paused a moment on her way to the house, where Bedstefar lay in sublime unconsciousness of life, the things of this world, and the bustling preparations which were being carried on for his funeral feast. He lay there decorated with scented geranium-leaves. The entrance-door of his resting-place was guarded by two young fir-trees, which Karl had cut down from the woods above. He was visited from time to time by different members of the family, and old Kari went in continually, sprinkling the ground with water, and strewing fresh sweet juniper-leaves on the floor which Bedstefar would never tread again. She held some juniper in her apron now.

"God morgen," she said, nodding to Tante. "Ak, ja! I knew Bedstefar would die yesterday. Lisaros was so restless. And there is still more trouble to come, for Fjeldros has a very sore throat!"

Then Jens and Alan came back in the gig.

"We are going to have an awful storm, Knutty," Alan said. "It is suffocating down in the valley. Where's father?"

"He went out," Knutty answered, pointing vaguely in the direction of the birch-woods.

"I'll go and meet him," Alan said.

"Don't go, Alan," Knutty said a little anxiously. "You don't know which way he will come back."

"Knutty," the boy asked shyly, "did he tell you we'd--we'd--we'd----"

"Yes," answered Knutty, with a comforting nod. "I know all about it."

"I feel quite a different fellow now," Alan said. "And father was so awfully good to me. He wasn't angry or upset or anything. And he was just splendid about mother, and--and, Knutty, I--I shall always hate myself."

"You may do that as much as you like, so long as you love him," Knutty said. "Now help me up, stakkar. I am going to take another lesson in the making of fladbröd. And Mette is beckoning to me that she is ready to begin."

As they strolled together across the courtyard to the hut where Mette was making the fladbröd, Knutty said:

"I feel ten stone lighter to-day to think that my darling icebergs have come together again. They must never drift apart any more."

"Never," said Alan eagerly; and Knutty, glancing at him out of the corner of her sharp little eyes, was satisfied that Clifford had won or was winning his son back to their old loving comradeship.

"Ah," she thought, "how unconscious the boy is of the wound he has inflicted on his father. Well, that's all right. It is only fair on the young that they should not realise the limits of their own understanding."

So they went in and watched the bright and dramatic Mette, with whom Tante had an affinity, making fladbröd for the funeral guests. She explained that she was making the best quality now: cooked potato, barley and rye, finely powdered and mixed, without water. Gaily she rolled this mystic compound until it was as thin as a sheet of paper, and she whipped it off with a flourish on to the top of the fladbröd-oven, known as a "Takke," a round, flat iron oven placed for the time being in the Peise. Then she turned it at the right moment on to its other side, and whisked it off with another flourish on to the top of a great pile of fladbröd, which looked like a ruined pillar of classic times.

"Certainly," said Tante, nodding approvingly, "thou art a true _artiste_, Mette."

"I do it best when I'm watched," said Mette, laughing. "Then I get excited."

"An _artiste_ should get excited," said Knutty.

Then Knutty learnt that there were other kinds of fladbröd, the coarsest quality being made of beans, barley, and water. And she was still acquiring accurate knowledge on this important subject, and listening delightedly to Mette's animated explanations, when a clap of thunder was heard.

"Nei da!" cried Mette, "we are in for a storm. I must go and call my poor cows home. It is nearly milking-time."

Tante found Gerda, Katharine, and Alan standing together in the courtyard.

"Here comes my Ejnar," Gerda exclaimed, as a lone figure came into view on the hillside. "I am thankful he has not strayed far. Solli says we are in for an awful storm."

"And I see some one yonder," Katharine said. "I daresay that is Professor Thornton."

But it proved to be the Sorenskriver. He hastened back to the Gaard, hurrying the loitering Ejnar on with him. Every one had now returned except Clifford. The sky grew blacker and more threatening. There was no rain. Hesitating claps of thunder were heard. Knutty, Katharine, and some of the others gathered together on the verandah, which commanded the whole view of the valley, and watched the awe-inspiring exhibition of Nature's anger. The fury of the storm broke loose. The lightning was blinding, the thunder terrific. Time after time they all thought that the Gaard must have been struck. At last the rain fell heavily and more heavily. Every one was relieved to hear it; for the turf on the roofs of all the black houses and barns was as dry as matchwood. Every one in different corners of the Gaard was keeping a look-out for Clifford.

Knutty pretended to be philosophic, and said at intervals:

"He is quite safe, I am sure. He has taken shelter somewhere. Besides, he loves a thunderstorm, the silly fellow! Isn't it ridiculous? Now, _I_ think the only pleasant place in a thunderstorm is the coal-cellar. I've found it a most consoling refuge."

And when Alan said:

"I'm getting awfully anxious about father, Knutty," she answered:

"Now, really, kjaere, don't be foolish. He can take care of himself. He was not born yesterday."

They all tried to reassure and divert the boy, all of them, including even Ejnar.

"If the Kemiker does not bring some treasure back from his long expedition," he said, "I, for one, will have nothing to say to such a contemptible wretch."

Mor Inga came to add her word of comfort.

"No doubt the Professor has taken shelter at that little lonely Saeter in the direction of F----," she said.

"He will be comfortable there; and the old woman makes an excellent cup of coffee."

The storm died down. The early evening passed into the late evening; and still Clifford did not come. Ten o'clock struck, and still he did not come. At twelve o'clock the storm broke loose again and raged with redoubled fury. Knutty, Katharine, and Alan watched together, in Knutty's room. They could not induce the boy to go to bed. He was in great distress.

"If father would only come back," he kept on saying; "if he'd only come back. If he does not come soon, I must go and look for him."

"He will not return to-night," Katharine said. "And it would be useless to go out and look for him. As Mor Inga says, he has probably taken shelter in some Saeter, and there he will stay until the morning comes. Cheer up, Alan dear. It will be all right to-morrow."

It was she who finally persuaded the boy to go to bed; and when she looked into his room ten minutes later, he was fast asleep, worn out with the emotions and anxieties of that day. Then Knutty and she watched and waited.

"I should not be feeling so miserable about my poor iceberg," Knutty said, "if he had gone off in a happier mood. But he was quite knocked over by his interview with the boy. It was all so much worse than he had anticipated. That was what I had feared."

"But you see it is past now," Katharine said, reassuring her,--"I mean, the telling of it. He will come back, strengthened and soothed; while Alan's anxiety for his father's safety will help to put things right."

"My dear, I never thought of that," Knutty exclaimed, with a faint glimmer of cheerfulness on her old face. "You leap out to those things. You're an illuminated darling. That's what you are."

Gerda came to see them.

"Ejnar is fast asleep and dreaming of 'Salix,'" she said; "but I could not sleep, Tante. I have been thinking how dreadful it would be if the Professor had been struck by lightning."

"That is what we have all been thinking, stupid one," answered Tante gravely, "but we've had the sense not to say it. Go back to bed and dream of 'Salix' too. Much better for you."

"But I came to comfort you," Gerda said "You must not send me away. Do you know, I have been thinking of that song you love so much, 'Thou who hast sorrow in thy heart.' Shall I sing to you now?"

Knutty nodded.

Gerda sang, softly, softly this Danish song:--

THOU WHO HAST SORROW IN THY HEART.

Thou, who hast sor-row in thy heart, Go out to field and copse; Let the cool winds breathe on thee To make thee strong and whole. Go o-ver hill and o-ver dale, Go by the shin-ing sea and hear-ken intent, To the tale of sad-ness in the woods, And the gen-tle an-swer of the brook.

Knutty slept.