Short Fiction Selma Lagerlöf (best book club books of all time .txt) 📖

grows paler and smaller, but Maurits only stiffens and swells. There is not much chance of Anne-Marie’s turning his uncle’s head as she did his. His uncle is quite a different kind of man. His taste⁠—well, Maurits does not think much of his taste but he thinks that it would be something loud-voiced, something flashing and red which would strike Uncle. Besides, he is a confirmed old bachelor⁠—thinks women are only a bother. The most important thing is that he shall not dislike her too much. Maurits will take care of the rest. But she must not be silly. Is she crying⁠—! Oh, if she does not look better by the time they arrive, Uncle will send them off inside of a minute. She is glad for their sakes that Uncle is not as clever as Maurits. She hopes it is no sin against Maurits to think that it is good that Uncle is quite a different sort of person. For fancy, if Maurits had been Uncle, and two poor young people had come driving to him to get aid in life; then Maurits, who is so sensible, would certainly have begged them to return whence they came, and wait to get married until they had something to marry on.

Uncle, however, was decidedly terrifying in his own way. He drank, and gave great parties, where everybody was very lively, and he did not at all understand how to manage his affairs. He must know that everyone cheated him, but he was none the less cheerful. And heedless!⁠—the burgomaster had sent by Maurits some shares in an undertaking that was not prosperous; but Uncle would buy them of him, Maurits had said. Uncle did not care where he threw his money away. He had stood in town in the marketplace and tossed silver to the street boys. Playing away a couple of thousand crowns in a single night, or lighting his pipe with ten-crown notes, were among the things Uncle did.

Thus they drove on, and thus they talked while they were driving.

They arrived toward evening. Uncle’s “residence,” as he called it, did not stand by the ironworks. It lay far from all smoke and hammering, on the slope of the mountain, looking over a wide view of lakes and long hills. It was a stately building, with wooded lawns and groves of birches round about it, but few cultivated fields, for the place was a pleasure palace, not a farm.

The young people drove up an avenue lined with birches and elms. Then they drove between two low, thick rows of hedges and were about to turn up to the house.

But just where the road turned, a triumphal arch was raised, and there stood Uncle with his dependents to greet them. Downie never could have believed that Maurits would have prepared such a reception for her. Her heart grew light, and she seized his hand and pressed it in gratitude. More she could not do then, for they were just under the arch.

And there he stood, the well-known man, the ironmaster, Theodore Fristeat, big and black-bearded, and beaming with goodwill. He waved his hat and shouted hurrah, and all the people shouted hurrah, and tears rose in Anne-Marie’s eyes, although she was smiling. And of course they all had to like her from the very first moment, if only for her way of looking at Maurits. For she thought that they were all there for his sake, and she had to turn her eyes away from the whole spectacle to look at him, as he took off his hat with a sweep and bowed so beautifully and royally. Oh, such a look as she gave him! Uncle Theodore almost left off hurrahing and felt like swearing when he saw it.

No, she wished no harm to anyone on earth, but if the estate really had been Maurits’s, it would have been very suitable. It was most impressive to see him, as he stood on the steps of the porch and turned to the people to thank them. The ironmaster was stately too, but what was his manner compared to Maurits’s. He only helped her down from the carriage, and took her shawl and hat like a footman, while Maurits lifted his hat from his white brow and said: “Thank you, my children!” No, the ironmaster certainly had no manners; for as he profited by his rights as an uncle and took her in his arms, he noticed that she managed to look at Maurits while he was kissing her, and he swore, really swore quite fiercely. Downie was not accustomed to find anyone disagreeable, but it certainly would be no easy task to please Uncle Theodore.

“Tomorrow,” says uncle, “there will be a big dinner here, and a ball, but today you young people must rest after your journey. Now we will eat our supper, and then we will go to bed.”

They are escorted into a drawing-room, and there they are left alone. The ironmaster rushes out like a wind which is afraid of being shut in. Five minutes later he is rolling down the avenue in his big carriage, and the coachman is driving so that the horses seem to be lying along the ground. After another five minutes uncle is there again, and now an old lady is sitting beside him in the carriage.

And in he comes, with a kind, talkative old lady on his arm. And she takes Anne-Marie and embraces her, but Maurits she greets more stiffly. No one can take any liberties with Maurits.

However, Anne-Marie is very glad that this pleasant old lady has come. She and the ironmaster have such a merry way of joking with one another.

But when they have said good night and Anne-Marie has come into her little room, something too tiresome and provoking happens.

Uncle and Maurits are walking in the garden, and she knows that Maurits is unfolding his plans for the future. Uncle does not seem to be saying anything at all; he