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

Come to light? Of course it had; how could it be helped? The place was no longer a desert, with never a soul for miles; and, moreover, Oline was there. What had Oline to do with it? Ho! and, to make things worse, Brede Olsen had made an enemy of her himself. No means of getting round Oline now; here she was on the spot, and could worm things out of Axel a bit at a time. ’Twas just such underhand work she lived for; ay, lived by, in some degree. And here was the very thing for her⁠—trust Oline for scenting it out! Truth to tell, Oline was grown too old now to keep house and tend cattle at Maaneland; she ought to have given it up. But how could she? How could she leave a place where a fine, deep mystery lay simply waiting to be brought to light? She managed the winter’s work; ay, she got through the summer, too, and it was a marvel of strength she gained from the mere thought of being able one day to show up a daughter of Brede himself. The snow was not gone from the fields that spring before Oline began poking about. She found the little green mound by the stream, and saw at once that the turf had been laid down in squares. She had even had the luck to come upon Axel one day standing by the little grave, and treading it down. So Axel knew all about it! And Oline nodded her grey head⁠—ay, it was her turn now!

Not but Axel was a kindly man enough to live with, but miserly; counted his cheeses, and kept good note of every tuft of wool; Oline could not do as she liked with things, not by a long way. And then that matter of the accident last year, when she had saved him⁠—if Axel had been the right sort, he would have given her the credit for it all, and acknowledged his debt to her alone. But not a bit of it⁠—Axel still held to the division he had made on the spot. Ay, he would say, if Oline hadn’t happened to come along, he would have had to lie out there in the cold all night; but Brede, he’d been a good help too, on the way home. And that was all the thanks she got! Oline was full of indignation⁠—surely the Lord Almighty must turn away His face from His creatures! How easy it would have been for Axel to lead out a cow from its stall, and bring it to her and say: “Here’s a cow for you, Oline.” But no. Not a word of it.

Well, let him wait⁠—wait and see if it might not come to cost him more than the worth of a cow in the end!

All through that summer, Oline kept a lookout for every passerby, and whispered to them and nodded and confided things to them in secret. “But never a word I’ve said,” so she charged them every time. Oline went down to the village, too, more than once. And now there were rumours and talk of things about the place, ay, drifting like a fog, settling on faces and getting into ears; even the children going to school at Breidablik began nodding secrets among themselves. And at last the Lensmand had to take it up; had to bestir himself and report it, and ask for instructions. Then he came up with a book to write in and an assistant to help him; came up to Maaneland one day and investigated things and wrote things down, and went back again. But three weeks after, he came up once more, investigating and writing down again, and this time, he opened a little green mound by the stream, and took out the body of a child. Oline was an invaluable help to him; and in return he had to answer a host of questions she put. Among other things, he said yes, it might perhaps come to having Axel arrested too. At that, Oline clasped her hands in dismay at all the wickedness she had got mixed up with here, and only wished she were out of the place, far away from it all. “But the girl,” she whispered, “what about Barbro herself?”

“The girl Barbro,” said the Lensmand, “she’s under arrest now in Bergen. The law must take its course,” said he. And he took the little body and went back again to the village.⁠ ⁠…

Little wonder, then, that Axel Ström was anxious. He had spoken out to the Lensmand and denied nothing; he was in part responsible for the coming of the child at all, and in addition, he had dug a grave for it. And now he was asking Geissler what he had better do next. Would he have to go in to the town, to a new and worse examination, and be tortured there?

Geissler was not the man he had been⁠—no; and the long story had wearied him, he seemed duller now, whatever might be the cause. He was not the bright and confident soul he had been that morning. He looked at his watch, got up, and said:

“This’ll want thinking over. I’ll go into it thoroughly and let you know before I leave.”

And Geissler went off.

He came back to Sellanraa that evening, had a little supper, and went to bed. Slept till late next morning, slept, rested thoroughly; he was tired, no doubt, after his meeting with the Swedish mine-owners. Not till two days after did he make ready to leave. He was his lordly self again by then, paid liberally for his keep, and gave little Rebecca a shining Krone.

He made a speech to Isak, and said: “It doesn’t matter in the least if nothing came of the deal this time, it’ll come all right later on. For the present, I’m going to stop the working up there and leave it