Growth of the Soil Knut Hamsun (summer books .txt) 📖

speak of it. And he’s got rid of the lad he had already. Ay, a curious man, a queer sort of man, that Aronsen, ’tis sure. Sends away his lad could be working on the place getting in winter fuel and carting hay with that horse of his, but keeps on his storeman⁠—chief clerk, he calls him. ’Tis true enough, as he says, not selling so much as a Krone all day, for he’s no stock in the place at all. And what does he want with a chief clerk, then? I doubt it’ll be just by way of looking grand and making a show, must have a man there to stand at a desk and write up things in books. Ha ha ha! ay, looks like he’s just a little bit touched that way, is Aronsen.”

The three men worked till noon, ate food from their baskets, and talked a while. They had matters of their own to talk over, matters of good and ill to folk on the land; no trifles, to them, but things to be discussed warily; they are clear-minded folk, their nerves unworn, and not flying out where they should not. It is the autumn season now, a silence in the woods all round; the hills are there, the sun is there, and at evening the moon and the stars will come; all regular and certain, full of kindliness, an embrace. Men have time to rest here, to lie in the heather, with an arm for a pillow.

Fredrik talks of Breidablik, how ’tis but little he’s got done there yet awhile.

“Nay,” says Isak, “ ’tis none so little already, I saw when I was down that way.”

This was praise from the oldest among them, the giant himself, and Fredrik might well be pleased. He asks frankly enough: “Did you think so, now? Well, it’ll be better before long. I’ve had a deal of things to hinder this year; the house to do up, being leaky and like to fall to pieces; hayloft to take down and put up again, and no sort of room in the turf hut for beasts, seeing I’d cow and heifer more than Brede he’d ever had in his time,” says Fredrik proudly.

“And you’re thriving like, up here?” asks Isak.

“Ay, I’ll not say no. And wife, she’s thriving too, why shouldn’t we? There’s good room and outlook all about; we can see up and down the road both ways. And a neat little copse by the house all pretty to look at, birch and willow⁠—I’ll plant a bit more other side of the house when I’ve time. And it’s fine to see how the bogland’s dried only since last year’s ditching⁠—’tis all a question now what’ll grow on her this year. Ay, thrive? When we’ve house and home and land and all⁠—’tis enough for the two of us surely.”

“Ho,” says Sivert slyly, “and the two of you⁠—is that all there’s ever to be?”

“Why, as to that,” says Fredrik bravely, “ ’tis like enough there’ll be more to come. And as to thriving⁠—well, the wife’s not falling off anyway, by the looks of her.”

They work on until evening, drawing up now and again to straighten their backs, and exchange a word or so.

“And so you didn’t get the tobacco?” says Sivert.

“No, that’s true. But ’twas no loss, for I’ve no use for it, anyway,” says Fredrik.

“No use for tobacco?”

“Nay. ’Twas but for to drop in at Aronsen’s like, and hear what he’d got to say.” And the two jesters laughed together at that.

On the way home, father and son talk little, as was their way; but Isak must have been thinking out something for himself; he says:

“Sivert?”

“Ay?” says Sivert again.

“Nay, ’twas nothing.”

They walk on a good ways, and Isak begins again:

“How’s he get on, then, with his trading, Aronsen, when he’s nothing to trade with?”

“Nay,” says Sivert. “But there’s not folk enough here now for him to buy for.”

“Ho, you think so? Why, I suppose ’tis so, ay, well.⁠ ⁠…”

Sivert wondered a little at this. After a while his father went on again:

“There’s but eight places now in all, but there might be more before long. More⁠ ⁠… well, I don’t know.⁠ ⁠…”

Sivert wondering more than ever⁠—what can his father be getting at? The pair of them walk on a long way in silence; they are nearly home now.

“H’m,” says Isak. “What you think Aronsen he’d ask for that place of his now?”

“Ho, that’s it!” says Sivert. “Want to buy it, do you?” he asks jestingly. But suddenly he understands what it all means: ’tis Eleseus the old man has in mind. Oh, he’s not forgotten him after all, but kept him faithfully in mind, just as his mother, only in his own way, nearer earth, and nearer to Sellanraa.

“ ’Twill be going for a reasonable price, I doubt,” says Sivert. And when Sivert says so much, his father knows the lad has read his thought. And as if in fear of having spoken out too clearly, he falls to talking of their road-mending; a good thing they had got it done at last.

For a couple of days after that, Sivert and his mother were putting their heads together and holding councils and whispering⁠—ay, they even wrote a letter. And when Saturday came round Sivert suddenly wanted to go down to the village.

“What you want to go down village again for now?” said his father in displeasure. “Wearing boots to rags.⁠ ⁠…” Oh, Isak was more bitter than need be; he knew well enough that Sivert was going to the post.

“Going to church,” says Sivert.

’Twas all he could find by way of excuse, and his father muttered: “Well, what you want to go for⁠ ⁠… ?”

But if Sivert was going to church, why, he might harness up and take little Rebecca with him. Little Rebecca, ay, surely she might have that bit of a treat for once in her life, after being so clever guarding turnips and being all ways the pearl and blessing of them all, ay, that she was. And