“’Well, you see, father, four years ago—­the same year that I took over the farm—­I was courting Brita of Bergskog.’  ’Let me see’—­ says father, ‘do any of our folks live at Bergskog?’ He seems to have lost all remembrance of how things are down on earth.  ’No, but they are well-to-do people, and you must surely remember that Brita’s father is a member of Parliament?’ ’Yes, of course; but you should have married one of our people, then you would have had a wife who knew about our old customs and habits.’  ’You’re right, father, and I wasn’t long finding that out!’

“Now both father and I are silent a moment; then the old man continues:  ‘She was good-looking, of course?’ ‘Yes,’ I reply.  ’She had dark hair and bright eyes and rosy cheeks.  And she was clever, too, so that mother was pleased with my choice.  All might have turned out well but, you see, the mistake of it was that she didn’t want me.’  ’It’s of no consequence what such a slip of a girl wants or doesn’t want.’  ‘But her parents forced her to say “yes."’ ’How do you know she was forced?  It’s my candid opinion that she was glad to get a rich husband like you, Ingmar Ingmarsson.’

“’Oh, no!  She was anything but glad.  All the same, the banns were published and the wedding day was fixed.  So Brita came down to the Ingmar Farm to help mother.  I say, mother is getting old and feeble.’  ‘I see nothing wrong in all that, little Ingmar,’ says father, as if to cheer me up.

“’But that year nothing seemed to thrive on the farm; the potato crop was a failure, and the cows got sick; so mother I decided it was best to put off the wedding a year.  You see, I thought it didn’t matter so much about the wedding as long as the banns had been read.  But perhaps it was old-fashioned to think that way.’

“’Had you chosen one of our kind she would have exercised patience,’ says father.  ‘Well, yes,’ I say.  ’I could see that Brita didn’t like the idea of a postponement; but, you see, I felt that I couldn’t afford a wedding just then.  There had been the funeral in the spring, and we didn’t want to take the money out of the bank.’  ‘You did quite right in waiting,’ says father.  ’But I was a little afraid that Brita would not care to have the christening come before the wedding.’  ’One must first make sure that one has the means,’ says father.

“’Every day Brita became more and more quiet and strange.  I used to wonder what was wrong with her and fancied she was homesick, for she had always loved her home and her parents.  This will blow over, I thought, when she gets used to us; she’ll soon feel at home on the Ingmar Farm.  I put up with it for a time; then, one day, I asked mother why Brita was looking so pale and wild eyed.  Mother said it was because she was with child, and she would surely be her old self again once that was over with.  I had a faint suspicion that Brita was brooding over my putting off the wedding, but I was afraid to ask her about it.  You know, father, you always said that the year I married, the house was to have a fresh coat of red paint.  That year I simply couldn’t afford it.  By next year everything will be all right, I thought then.’”