She could see that the Hellgumists were uneasy because Halvor had called them together on a week day.  They feared that he was going to tell them of more desertions from their ranks.  They glanced anxiously at one another, with a look of distrust in their eyes that seemed to say:  “How long will you hold out?  And you—­and you?”

“We might as well stop right now,” they thought, “and break up the Society at once.  After all, sudden death would be easier than slowly wasting away.”

Alas! that this little community with its gospel of peace, this blissful life of unity and brotherly love which had meant so much to all of them, that this should now be doomed.

As these disheartened people walked along toward the farm the sparkling winter sun rolled merrily on across the blue sky.  From the glistening snow rose a refreshing coolness, which should have put life and courage into them; while from the fir-clad hills encircling the parish, there fell a soothing peace and stillness.

At last they were at the Ingmar Farm.

In the living-room of the farmhouse, close to the ceiling, hung an old picture which had been painted by some local artist a hundred years before their time.  It represented a city surrounded by a high wall, above which could be seen the roofs and gables of many buildings, some of which were red farmhouses with turf roofs.  Others were white manor houses with slate roofs.  Others, again, showed massive copper-plated towers, after the manner of the Kistine Church at Falun.  Outside the city wall were promenading gentlemen, in kneebreeches and buckled shoes, who carried Bengal canes.  A coach was seen driving out of the gateway of the town, in which were seated ladies in powdered wigs and wearing Watteau hats.  Beyond the wall were trees, with a profusion of dark green foliage; and on the ground, between patches of tall, waving grass, ran little shimmering brooklets.  At the bottom of the picture was painted in large, ornate letters:  “This is God’s Holy City Jerusalem.”

The old canvas being hung like that, so close to the ceiling, it seldom attracted any notice.  Most of the people who visited the Ingmar Farm did not even know of its being there.

But that day it was enframed in a wreath of green whortleberry twigs, so that it instantly caught the eye of the caller.  Eva Gunnersdotter saw it at once, and remarked under her breath:  “Aha!  Now the folks on the Ingmar Farm know that we must perish.  That’s why they want us to turn our eyes toward the Heavenly City.”

Karin and Halvor came forward to greet her, looking even more gloomy and low spirited than the other Hellgumists.  “It’s plain they know now that the end is near,” she thought.

Eva Gunnersdotter, being the oldest person present, was placed at the head of the long table.  In front of her lay an opened letter, with American stamps on the envelope.

“Another letter has come from our dear brother Hellgum,” said Halvor.  “This is why I have called the brothers and sisters together.”