Tales of Two Countries
entered the yard, a gentleman who sat at her side stood up, and, with a
word of apology to the lady on the back seat, turned and looked forward
past the driver. Rebecca gazed at him without knowing what she was
doing.
“How lovely it is here!” cried the young man.
For the Parsonage lay on the outermost slope towards the sea, so that
the vast blue horizon suddenly burst upon you as you entered the yard.
The gentleman on the back seat leaned a little forward. “Yes, it’s
very pretty here,” he said; “I’m glad that you appreciate our peculiar
scenery, Mr. Lintzow.”
At the same moment the young man’s glance met Rebecca’s, and she
instantly lowered her eyes. But he stopped the driver, and cried, “Let
us remain here!”
“Hush!” said the older lady, with a low laugh. “This won’t do, Mr.
Lintzow; this is the Parsonage.”
“It doesn’t matter,” cried the young man, merrily, as he jumped out of
the carriage. “I say,” he shouted backward towards the other carriages,
“sha’n’t we rest here?”
“Yes, yes,” came the answer in chorus; and the merry party began at once
to alight.
But now the gentleman on the back seat rose, and said, seriously: “No,
no, my friends! this really won’t do! It’s out of the question for us
to descend upon the clergyman, whom we don’t know at all. It’s only ten
minutes’ drive to the district judge’s, and there they are in the habit
of receiving strangers.”
He was on the point of giving orders to drive on, when the Pastor
appeared in the door-way, with a friendly bow. He knew Consul Hartvig by
sight--the leading man of the town.
“If your party will make the best of things here, it will be a great
pleasure to me; and I think I may say that, so far as the view goes--”
“Oh no, my dear Pastor, you’re altogether too kind; it’s out of the
question for us to accept your kind invitation, and I must really beg
you to excuse these young madcaps,” said Mrs. Hartvig, half in despair
when she saw her youngest son, who had been seated in the last carriage,
already deep in a confidential chat with Ansgarius.
“But I assure you, Mrs. Hartvig,” answered the Pastor, smiling, “that so
pleasant an interruption of our solitude would be most welcome both to
my daughter and myself.”
Mr. Lintzow opened the carriage-door with a formal bow, Consul Hartvig
looked at his wife and she at him, the Pastor advanced and renewed his
invitation, and the end was that, with half-laughing reluctance,
they alighted and suffered the Pastor to usher them into the spacious
garden-room.
Then came renewed excuses and introductions. The party consisted of
Consul Hartvig’s children and some young friends of theirs, the picnic
having been arranged in honor of Max Lintzow, a friend of the eldest son
of the house, who was spending some days as the Consul’s guest.
“My daughter Rebecca,” said the Pastor, presenting her, “who will do the
best our humble house-keeping permits.”
“No, no, I protest, my dear Pastor,” the lively Mrs. Hartvig interrupted
him eagerly, “this is going too far! Even if this incorrigible Mr.
Lintzow and my crazy sons have succeeded in storming your house
and home, I won’t resign the last remnants of my authority. The
entertainment shall most certainly be my affair. Off you go, young men,”
she said, turning to her sons, “and unpack the carriages. And you,
my dear child, must by all means go and amuse yourself with the young
people; just leave the catering to me; I know all about that.”
And the kind-hearted woman looked with her honest gray eyes at her
host’s pretty daughter, and patted her on the cheek.
How nice that felt! There was a peculiar coziness in the touch of the
comfortable old lady’s soft hand. The tears almost rose to Rebecca’s
eyes; she stood as if she expected that the strange lady would put her
arms round her neck and whisper to her something she had long waited to
hear.
But the conversation glided on. The young people, with ever-increasing
glee, brought all sorts of strange parcels out of the carriages. Mrs.
Hartvig threw her cloak upon a chair and set about arranging things as
best she could. But the young people, always with Mr. Lintzow at their
head, seemed determined to make as much confusion as possible. Even the
Pastor was infected by their merriment, and to Rebecca’s unspeakable
astonishment she saw her own father, in complicity with Mr. Lintzow,
biding a big paper parcel under Mrs. Hartvig’s cloak.
At last the racket became too much for the old lady. “My dear Miss
Rebecca,” she exclaimed, “have you not any show-place to exhibit in
the neighborhood--the farther off the better--so that I might get these
crazy beings off my hands for a little while?”
“There’s a lovely view from the King’s Knoll; and then there’s the beach
and the sea.”
“Yes, let’s go down to the sea!” cried Max Lintzow.
“That’s just what I want,” said the old lady. “If you can relieve me of
_him_ I shall be all right, for he is the worst of them all.”
“If Miss Rebecca will lead the way, I will follow wherever she pleases,”
said the young man, with a bow.
Rebecca blushed. Nothing of that sort had ever been said to her before.
The handsome young man made her a low bow, and his words had such a ring
of sincerity. But there was no time to dwell upon this impression; the
whole merry troop were soon out of the house, through the garden, and,
with Rebecca and Lintzow at their head, making their way up to the
little height which was called the King’s Knoll.
Many years ago a number of antiquities had been dug up on the top of the
Knoll, and one of the Pastor’s predecessors in the parish had planted
some hardy trees upon the slopes. With the exception of a rowan-tree,
and a walnut-avenue in the Parsonage garden, these were the only trees
to be found for miles round on the windy slopes facing the open sea.
In spite of storms and sand-drifts, they had, in the course of time,
reached something like the height of a man, and, turning their bare and
gnarled stems to the north wind, like a bent back, they stretched
forth their long, yearning arms towards the south. Rebecca’s mother had
planted some violets among them.
“Oh, how fortunate!” cried the eldest Miss Hartvig; “here are violets!
Oh, Mr. Lintzow, do pick me a bouquet of them for this evening!”
The young man, who had been exerting himself to hit upon the right tone
in which to converse with Rebecca, fancied that the girl started at Miss
Frederica’s words.
“You are very fond of the violets?” he said, softly.
She looked up at him in surprise; how could he possibly know that?
“Don’t you think, Miss Hartvig, that it would be better to pick the
flowers just as we are starting, so that they may keep fresher?”
“As you please,” she answered, shortly.
“Let’s hope she’ll forget all about it by that time,” said Max Lintzow
to himself, under his breath.
But Rebecca heard, and wondered what pleasure he could find in
protecting her violets, instead of picking them for that handsome girl.
After they had spent some time in admiring the limitless prospect, the
party left the Knoll and took a foot-path downward towards the beach.
On the smooth, firm sand, at the very verge of the sea, the young people
strolled along, conversing gayly. Rebecca was at first quite confused.
It seemed as though these merry towns-people spoke a language she did
not understand. Sometimes she thought they laughed at nothing; and, on
the other hand, she herself often could not help laughing at their cries
of astonishment and their questions about everything they saw.
But gradually she began to feel at her ease among these good-natured,
kindly people; the youngest Miss Hartvig even put her arm around her
waist as they walked. And then Rebecca, too, thawed; she joined in their
laughter, and said what she had to say as easily and freely as any of
the others. It never occurred to her to notice that the young men, and
especially Mr. Lintzow, were chiefly taken up with her; and the little
pointed speeches which this circumstance called forth from time to time
were as meaningless for her as much of the rest of the conversation.
They amused themselves for some time with running down the shelving
beach every time the wave receded, and then rushing up again when the
next wave came. And great was the glee when one of the young men was
overtaken, or when a larger wave than usual sent its fringe of foam
right over the slope, and forced the merry party to beat a precipitate
retreat.
“Look! Mamma’s afraid that we shall be too late for the ball,” cried
Miss Hartvig, suddenly; and they now discovered that the Consul and
Mrs. Hartvig and the Pastor were standing like three windmills on the
Parsonage hill, waving with pocket handkerchiefs and napkins.
They turned their faces homeward. Rebecca took them by a short cut over
the morass, not reflecting that the ladies from the town could not jump
from tuft to tuft as she could. Miss Frederica, in her tight skirt,
jumped short, and stumbled into a muddy hole. She shrieked and cried
piteously for help, with her eyes fixed upon Lintzow.
“Look alive, Henrik!” cried Max to Hartvig junior, who was nearer at
hand; “why don’t you help your sister?”
Miss Frederica extricated herself without help, and the party proceeded.
The table was laid in the garden, along the wall of the house; and
although the spring was so young, it was warm enough in the sunshine.
When they had all found seats, Mrs. Hartvig cast a searching glance over
the table.
“Why--why--surely there’s something wanting! I’m convinced I saw the
house-keeper wrapping up a black grouse this morning. Frederica, my
dear, don’t you remember it?”
“Excuse me, mother, you know that housekeeping is not at all in my
department.”
Rebecca looked at her father, and so did Lintzow; the worthy Pastor
pulled a face upon which even Ansgarius could read a confession of
crime.
“I can’t possibly believe,” began Mrs. Hartvig, “that you, Pastor, have
been conspiring with--” And then he could not help laughing and making
a clean breast of it, amid great merriment, while the boys in triumph
produced the parcel with the game. Every one was in the best possible
humor. Consul Hartvig was delighted to find that their clerical host
could join in a joke, and the Pastor himself was in higher spirits than
he had been in for many a year.
In the course of the conversation some one happened to remark that
although the arrangements might be countrified enough, the viands were
too town-like; “No country meal is complete without thick milk.” [Note:
Milk allowed to stand until it has thickened to the consistency of
curds, and then eaten, commonly with sugar.]
Rebecca at once rose and demanded leave to bring a basin of milk; and,
paying no attention to Mrs. Hartvig’s protests, she left the table.
“Let me help you, Miss Rebecca,” cried Max, and ran after her.
“That is a lively young man,” said the Pastor.
“Yes, isn’t he?” answered the Consul, “and a deuced good business man
into the bargain. He has spent several years abroad, and now his father
has taken him into partnership.”
“He’s perhaps a little unstable,” said Mrs. Hartvig, doubtfully.
“Yes, he is indeed,” sighed Miss Frederica.
The young man followed Rebecca through the suite of rooms that led to
the dairy. At bottom, she did not like this, although the dairy was
her pride; but he joked and laughed so merrily that she could not help
joining in the laughter.
She chose a basin of milk upon the upper shelf, and stretched out her
arms to reach it.
“No, no, Miss Rebecca, it’s too high for you!” cried Max; “let me hand
it down to you.” And as he said so he laid his hand upon hers.
Rebecca hastily drew back her hand. She knew that her face had flushed,
and she almost felt as if she must burst into tears.