Settlers of the Marsh Read Online Free PDF

nearing the horizon.
    Hand-shaking. Leave-taking …
    He looked on. He was not concerned. This, too, was a foreign crowd: he had nothing in common with them.
    Slowly all went away, till nobody was left but Nelson and he. They, too, made preparation to leave; but Mrs. Lund protested.
    â€œYou’ll stay for supper. You’ll have moonlight for the way back.”
    And she began to bustle about, clearing the table and shaking down the fire in the stove which was an ancient range, battered and footless, propped up on bricks.
    Nelson had sunk back in his chair, an old cradle-rocker, covered with damask which had once been pink; steel-springs and horse-hair protruded through its rents.
    For another quarter of an hour there was coming and going outside.
    Mrs. Lund turned to Niels where he stood behind the stove, in the shadows. “That’s the way,” she said in the tone of polite explanation, “it’s with us every Sunday.”
    â€œAnd many a week-day, too,” Olga added smiling.
    â€œNot that way,” Mrs. Lund protested, pushing her sleeves up above her elbows and baring powerful fore arms. “You see,
    Mr. Lindstedt, most of these people come for their mail on Sundays. On week-days nobody has the time.” She stepped to the door and, opening it called in a strident falsetto which could have been heard from half a mile away, “Bob-beee!”
    â€œYes,” the boy answered with startling nearness from just around the corner.
    â€œAttend to your chores, boy,” she said. “Get wood in and snow. And do the feeding.”
    Olga rose. “I’ll do the feeding.”
    â€œNo,” Mrs. Lund forbade briefly, “not to-night.”
    The girl acquiesced with a smile.
    â€œYou get the bacon,” her mother went on …
    Thus, in the rising dusk, the preparations went forward.
    â€œWhere’s daddy?” Mrs. Lund asked suddenly, straightening from the stove.
    â€œHere, mamma,” the voice of the man replied from the darkest corner where he lay reclining in a large wicker chair which was unravelling in a dozen places.
    â€œGo and help Bobby,” she said.
    â€œAll right, mamma,” he agreed, raising himself painfully. Then he groped his way along the wall.
    â€œOne day,” Mrs. Lund went on, addressing Niels, “we are going to have everything as it should be. A large, good house; a hot-bed for the garden; real, up-to-date stables; and … everything. And the children are going to learn something. We want Bobby to go to college …”
    Niels looked at her. Since she had spoken in Swedish, he had understood.
    But suddenly he understood far more than the mere words. He understood that this woman knew she was at the end of her life and that life had not kept faith with her. Her voice was only half that with which we tell of a marvellous dream; half it was a passionate protest against the squalour surrounding her: it reared a triumphant vision above the ruins of reality. It was the cry of despair which says, It shall not be so!
    Niels was unable to answer. He felt as if he should step over to her and lay his hand on her shoulder to show that he understood. But he knew, if he did so, she would break down and cry.
    His eye wandered from her to Nelson and Olga sitting close together and conversing in whispers.
    Not knowing what to do, in the intensity of the feeling that had swept over him, he went to the window and looked out into the rising dark.
    To his surprise he saw Mr. Lund walking about on the yard without groping his way. His step was uncertain; his back was bent; but on it he carried an enormous bundle of coarse, dried rushes, for litter or feed: and he had no trouble in finding his way.
    This sight sobered Niels. Somehow he felt it incumbent upon him to say something.
    â€œIt is a beautiful country,” he ventured.
    â€œIn summer,” Mrs. Lund said. “You should see it in summer, Mr. Lindstedt. The flowers and