across meadows, over ditches, and at last up rather a steep ascent wound the way to widow erikson's cottage. the path had grown rough and narrow, but the barefooted boy went over it as lightly and as unharmed as if he had been a happy bird. the boots, however, of his companion seemed a tight fit for climbing, and at last a straggling bramble that crossed the way turned up two little black points, like doors, to show the way to the untanned leather behind the bright polish. the traveller stopped, and smoothed them down in vain with her finger; the mischief was done. "this is an ugly, disagreeable path," she exclaimed, "and a long one too."
"maybe," said the boy; "but summer and winter widow erikson comes down here all alone. i don't[pg 70] believe she'd miss the service if you'd give her a bucket of red apples." the boy had evidently named his ultimatum in the way of temptation. "there's the cottage," he added, pointing to a small, reddish-brown building far up the ascent.
"give me the flower," said the stranger; "i will tell her who sent it. you go back now. you've shown me the way; i don't need you any longer. thanks! thank your mother too. here!" and she laid in the boy's hand a bit of silver that made his face shine. he bowed in his best style, which did not disturb his backbone, but brought his chin down till it touched his breast. he had taken off his cap for the performance, and his white hair fluttered in the breeze as he watched his late companion making her way up to the cottage alone. all was right, he was sure, and down he ran as fast as his feet could carry him. the precious silver was stored in the depths of his pocket, and with it he bought in imagination all sorts of treasures before he reached home to tell the success of his errand.
the traveller moved slowly as the path grew more steep, and finally walked doubtfully on as she approached the cottage. there were three or four low steps leading to the door, and there some kind of an animal[pg 71] seemed making a vain attempt to go up. as the stranger drew nearer she saw that a small woman with a short, dark skirt was bowed over, evidently washing the steps, with her back towards the path and her unexpected guest. a noise near her made the figure stand upright and turn its face towards the new-comer. one sight of the visitor prompted a series of bobbing courtesies, a wondering look in the old sun-browned face, and a folding back into a triangular form of the wet sackcloth apron, which was truly not in a presentable condition. the old woman was the first to speak. "good-day, miss—good-day!" and then there was a look of astonished inquiry.
"the pastor's wife sent you this," said the girl, holding out the beautiful rosebud she had taken from the boy.
"so like her!" said the old woman, lovingly. "she's just like that herself! god bless her! thank her for me, please—thank her for me!" and the thin, work-distorted, wrinkled hand was hastily wiped on the apron, and then stretched out to take that of the stranger for the usual expression of gratitude. "thank you, miss, for bringing it," continued the old woman, with another questioning look at her guest.[pg 72] "do you know her—do you know the curate's wife? it's likely you don't live hereabouts." the cut of the stranger's clothes was not in vogue at kulleby.
"don't you know me?" said the young woman, in a low voice.
"no, miss!" was the answer, with another courtesy.
"don't you know me, mother?" was the question that followed, while the fair face flushed with the effort those words had cost the speaker.
"it can't be my karin!" was the exclamation. there was another period of courtesying, and a long look of almost unbelieving surprise. there was no move to take this changed daughter by the hand, nor was there any such action on the part of the girl.
"i was stopping at the inn with possessionaten bilberg and his little daughter, the one i have taken care of so long. i found out you were in this neighbourhood, and so i got some one to show me the way to where you were living." she did not say that she had seen her mother at church, nor would she have liked to own, even to herself, that she was now repulsed by the appearance and manners of one to whom she was bound by the strongest of ties.
"come in," said the old woman, courtesying as to a stranger. "it's a poor place, but you are welcome."[pg 73]
a poor place it was indeed, and karin with her belongings looked there like a transplanted flower from a far country. they who had once been so near to each other seemed now to have almost no common ground on which to meet.
"i did not know how you had it, mother," said karin at last. she had been silenced by her first view of the poor room.
"it is worse than it was in norrland, when you went away, so long ago. your brother erik came home, and was wild-like, as he always was. he pulled himself down, and was sick a long while, and then he died. there was the funeral, and the doctor, and all that; and there was not much left, for of course i couldn't do a turn of work while i was nursing him."
"just like him, to take all you had!" said the daughter, indignant.
the old woman did not seem to notice the angry exclamation. a sudden light made beautiful the old face as she said: "he came round at the last, and almost like an angel. it did me good to hear him talk. i didn't mind anything when he had come round. i am sure he went to heaven when he died. he was my only boy, and i loved him!" she con[pg 74]tinued, as if she were speaking to a stranger; and then suddenly remembering who her visitor was, she added: "you would not have known him for the same. 'tell karin,' he said to me—'tell her she must forgive me. tell her to remember she'll need to have her sins forgiven some time. there's only one way.' he said so!" and there was another courtesy of apology that she was talking so to that strange young lady who said she was her daughter.
"oh dear!" said karin, looking at her watch, "i must go now. possessionaten and his little girl were out for a drive, and i did not leave any word at the inn where i was going. i will come soon again. don't feel hard to me about erik or anything. remember i did not know how you had it. they wrote me there was a cottage somewhere you could live in free, and i thought you were getting on pretty well."
"yes, i have the cottage free. the curate's wife comes from the north. he married up there, and they came to visit her folks. she heard about me, for she was there when erik died. she knew about this cottage, and nothing would do but i must come down with them; and so i did. you can't think how kind they have been to me. i've done a power of knitting since i have been here. she sees that some[pg 75]body buys my stockings. but you must go. come again," said the old woman, in strange confusion between her daughter that was ten years ago and this strange young lady who had condescended to look in upon her.
they parted without even a shake of the hand. the old woman stood at the door and watched the tall girl hurrying down the path, and felt almost as if she had been in a troubled dream.
