He had not seen him until now since the day of the representatives’ meeting, and such a change in a man he never could have imagined.  This was no victor.  His head was becoming bald, his face was lean and contracted, his eyes hollow and bloodshot, and the giant neck presented wrinkles and cords.  At a glance he perceived what this man had endured, and was as suddenly seized with a feeling of strong pity, yes, even with a touch of the old love.  In his heart he prayed for him, and promised himself surely to seek him after service; but, ere he had opportunity, Lars had gone.  Canute resolved he would call upon him at his home that night, but his wife kept him back.

“Lars is one of the kind,” said she, “who cannot endure a debt of gratitude:  keep away from him until possibly he can in some way do you a favor, and then perhaps he will come to you.”

However, he did not come.  He appeared now and then at church, but nowhere else, and associated with no one.  On the contrary, he devoted himself to his farm and other business with an earnestness which showed a determination to make up in one year for the neglect of many; and, too, there were those who said it was necessary.

Railroad operations in the valley began very soon.  As the line was to go directly past his house, Lars remodelled the side facing the road, connecting with it an elegant verandah, for of course his residence must attract attention.  They were just engaged in this work when the rails were laid for the conveyance of gravel and timber, and a small locomotive was brought up.  It was a fine autumn evening when the first gravel train was to come down.  Lars stood on the platform of his house to hear the first signal, and see the first column of smoke; all the hands on the farm were gathered around him.  He looked out over the parish, lying in the setting sun, and felt that he was to be remembered so long as a train should roar through the fruitful valley.  A feeling of forgiveness crept into his soul.  He looked toward the churchyard, of which a part remained, with crosses bowing toward the earth, but a part had become railroad.  He was just trying to define his feelings, when, whistle went the first signal, and a while after the train came slowly along, puffing out smoke mingled with sparks, for wood was used instead of coal; the wind blew toward the house, and standing there they soon found themselves enveloped in a dense smoke; but by and by, as it cleared away, Lars saw the train working through the valley like a strong will.

He was satisfied, and entered the house as after a long day’s work.  The image of his grandfather stood before him at this moment.  This grandfather had raised the family from poverty to forehanded circumstances; true, a part of his citizen-honor had been lost, but forward he had pushed, nevertheless.  His faults were those of his time; they were to be found on the uncertain borders of the moral conceptions of that period, and are of no consideration now.  Honor to him in his grave, for he suffered and worked; peace to his ashes.  It is good to rest at last.  But he could get no rest because of his grandson’s great ambition.  He was thrown up with stone and gravel.  Pshaw! very likely he would only smile that his grandson’s work passed above his head.