Canute Aakre tossed back his disorderly hair, his eyes darted fire, his whole frame appeared like a drawn bow.

“What sort of a blessing this is that you speak of, I have already proved.  It is of the same character as all the others which you have brought to the parish, namely, a doubtful one.  True enough you have provided us with a new church; but, too, you have filled it with a new spirit,—­and not that of love.  True, you have made us new roads,—­but also new roads to destruction, as is now plainly evident in the misfortunes of many.  True, you have lessened our taxes to the public; but, too, you have increased those to ourselves;—­prosecutions, protests, and failures are no blessing to a community.  And you dare scoff at the man in his grave whom the whole parish blesses!  You dare say he lies in our way,—­yes, very likely he lies in your way.  This is plainly to be seen; but over this grave you shall fall!  The spirit which has reigned over you, and at the same time until now over us, was not born to rule, only to serve.  The churchyard shall surely remain undisturbed; but to-day it numbers one more grave, namely, that of your popularity, which shall now be interred in it.”

Lars Hogstad rose, white as a sheet; he opened his mouth, but was unable to speak a word, and the straw fell.  After three or four vain attempts to recover it and to find utterance, he belched forth like a volcano: 

“Are these the thanks I get for all my toils and struggles?  Shall such a woman-preacher be able to direct?  Ah, then, the devil be your chairman if ever more I set my foot here!  I have kept your petty business in order until to-day; and after me it will fall into a thousand pieces; but let it go now.  Here are the ‘Records!’ (and he flung them across the table).  Out on such a company of wenches and brats! (striking the table with his fist).  Out on the whole parish, that it can see a man recompensed as I now am!”

He brought down his fist once more with such force, that the leaf of the great table sprang upward, and the inkstand with all its contents downward upon the floor, marking for coming generations the spot where Lars Hogstad, in spite of all his prudence, lost his patience and his rule.

He sprang for the door, and soon after was away from the house.  The whole audience stood fixed,—­for the power of his voice and his wrath had frightened them,—­until Canute Aakre, remembering the taunt he had received at the time of his fall, with beaming countenance, and assuming Lars’ voice, exclaimed: 

“Is this the decisive blow in the matter?”

The assembly burst into uproarious merriment.  The grave meeting closed amid laughter, talk, and high glee; only few left the place, those remaining called for drink, and made a night of thunder succeed a day of lightning.  They felt happy and independent as in old days, before the time in which the commanding spirit of Lars had cowed their souls into silent obedience.  They drank toasts to their liberty, they sang, yes, finally they danced, Canute Aakre with the vice-chairman taking lead, and all the members of the council following, and boys and girls too, while the young ones outside shouted, “hurrah!” for such a spectacle they had never before witnessed.