She gave the man a savage look, amazed at his not yielding to her mute entreaties.

“Surely you must understand that I cannot go on living under the shame of knowing that he lets the bailiff serve executions upon poor people and take from them their only cow or a couple of sheep!  Can’t you see that this thing will never come right?  Why don’t you go, and let me put an end to it all!”

Brita, under the man’s gaze, gradually became quieter in her mind, and in a little while she began to cry softly.  She was touched by his sitting there and protecting her against herself.

As soon as the man saw that Brita was weeping, he rose and went toward the door.  When he was on the doorstep, he turned and again looked straight into her eyes, and said in a deep voice:  “Do thyself no harm, for the time is nearing when thou shalt live in righteousness.”

Then he went his way.  She could hear his heavy footsteps as he walked, down the road.  Brita ran into the little room, took down the rope, and carried the stepladder back into the shop.  Then she dropped down on a box, where she sat quietly musing for two full hours.  She felt, somehow, that for a long time she had wandered in a darkness so thick that she could not see her hand before her.  She had lost her way and knew not whither she had strayed, and with every step she had been afraid of sinking into a quagmire or stumbling headlong into an abyss.  Now some one had called to her not to go any farther, but to sit down and wait for the break of day.  She was glad that she would not have to continue her perilous wanderings; now she sat quietly waiting for the dawn.

***

Strong Ingmar had a daughter who was called Anna Lisa.  She had lived in Chicago for a number of years, and had married there a Swede named John Hellgum, who was the leader of a little band of religionists with a faith and doctrine of their own.  The day after the memorable dance night at Strong Ingmar’s, Anna Lisa and her husband had come home to pay a visit to her old father.

Hellgum passed his time taking long walks about the parish.  He struck up an acquaintance with all whom he met on the way.  He talked with them at first of commonplace things; but just before parting with a person, he would always place his large hand upon his or her shoulder, and speak a few words of comfort or warning.

Strong Ingmar saw very little of his son-in-law, for that summer the old man and young Ingmar, who had now gone back to the Ingmar Farm to live, were hard at work daytimes putting up a sawmill below the rapids.  It was a proud day for Strong Ingmar when the sawmill was ready and the first log had been turned into white planks by the buzzing saws.