"So you never said your prayer after all?"

"No, for then Lars came in, and she told me to go. But you see, it did some good. Don't you think I am on the right way?"

Edward was not sure about it. It was clear that his admiration had received a blow. Soon after they separated.

II.

Sometimes in the higher cla.s.s of schools there reigns a spirit utterly opposed to that prevalent in the town where the school is; and it is even a rule that in certain matters the school exists under its own independent influence. One single master can often keep the pupils to his own way of thinking, just as it may depend on one or several of the boys whether there is a chivalrous spirit among them or the opposite, a spirit of obedience or one of rebellion; as a rule there is one who leads them all. It is the same, too, as regards morality; the boys become what they are according to the example set before them, and oftenest it is one or more of themselves who have the power to set this example.

Just at this time it was Anders Hegge, the _dux_ of the school, who took the lead in everything. He was the cleverest and best-read boy the school had seen since its foundation; he was to stay there a year longer than was necessary, so as to lend to the school the glory of a certain double first. The other boys were tremendously proud of him; they told admiring tales of how he had been known to catch the masters at fault, that he could choose what lessons he liked, and could come and go whenever he pleased; he did his lessons, too, mostly alone. He had a library, the shelves of which had long since covered the walls and now stood out upon the floor; there was one long shelf on each side of the sofa; it was so much talked about that the smaller boys were allowed to go up and look at it all. And there, in the middle, in front of the window, sat he smoking, in a long loose dressing-gown, a present from a married sister, a velvet cap with gold ta.s.sel, a present from an aunt (his mother's sister), and embroidered slippers, from another aunt (his father's sister). He was quite a ladies' man, lived with his mother, who was a widow, and five elderly female relatives paid for his books and his clothes, and gave him pocket-money.

He was a tall, stout fellow, with marked, regular features, showing descent from a good old family; the face would have been good-looking enough, but his eyes were too prominent and had something at once greedy and inquiring about them. It was the same with his well-made figure; the effect would have been good but that he stooped so much, just as if his back were too heavy for him, and his walk was uneven.

His hands and feet were neat, he was dainty and particular, and his tastes in general were effeminate.

He never forgot anything that had once been told him, important or not it made no difference; except, perhaps, he considered the trifling things of most importance. Few things escaped him; he had a quiet way of gaining the confidence of others, it was quite an art. He knew the history of all the great families in the whole country and in foreign countries as well; his greatest delight in life was to repeat these stories, especially when they were scandalous ones, and to sit listening greedily for new ones. If the masters had only known how the air of the school was infected and corrupted by this much-admired piece of goods, with the contents of its secret drawers, they would hardly have kept him there another year; the whole school was critical and doubting, full of slander and mean efforts to curry favor, and infected by slanderous stories.

Ever eager for news, he was always to be found in his smoking-gear, sitting among his books, and was there, too, when Edward came in that evening to tell him that he knew now where Ole went to and what he did with himself; so now he expected to get the reward! Anders got up and begged him to wait till he fetched some beer that they might enjoy themselves together.

The first gla.s.s was most delicious, a second little half gla.s.s equally so, but not till then did Edward tell his news--how Ole went to nurse the sick down in the fishing village.

Anders felt almost as small as Edward had done when he saw Ole's Bible in his box; Edward laughed heartily at him. But very soon Anders began to insinuate doubts; he suggested that Ole had invented all that so as to screen himself; there must be something more under it all; peasant boys, he said, were always so cunning, and to prove it he began telling some rather good stories from school. Edward did not at all relish this everlasting doubting, and to cut the matter short (for he was very tired) he informed the other that his father knew and approved of it, and even helped Ole with money. Of course when he heard that, Anders could doubt no longer; and yet there might be more under it, peasant boys were so very sly.

But this was too much for Edward; he started up from his seat and asked if he thought any of them told lies?

Anders sipped his beer quite calmly, rolling his prominent eyes cautiously around. "Lie" was a strange word to use; might he be allowed to ask who were the sick people Ole went to see?

Edward was not prepared for this; he had intended to tell as much as would justify his getting the reward, but not a word more. He got up from his seat again. If Anders wouldn't believe him, he might leave it alone, but he meant to have the reward.

Now it was not Anders Hegge's way to quarrel with anyone, and Edward knew that well. Of course he would give Edward the book, but first he must just listen to such a funny story about the sick people down in the fishing village. The parish doctor and his wife had been to see his mother yesterday, and someone had asked after Martha from the docks, who had not been seen for so long, whether she was still laid up from her fall in the winter? Yes, she was still laid up, but she was not in any want, for, strange to say, people sent her all she needed, and Lars brought in brandy to her every evening, and they had many a merry carouse together. She would probably not be up again for some time to come.

Edward got very red, and Anders noticed it directly; he suggested that perhaps Martha was one of those whom Ole visited.

Yes she was.

His prominent eyes widened at this piece of news. Edward saw with what eagerness he gulped it down and it made him feel as if he had been devoured and swallowed up himself. But if there is a thing that schoolboys cannot stand it is to be thought too confiding and innocent; he hastened to free himself from the most insulting insinuation that he was not able to see through Ole Tuft and his stupid ways; only fancy, he actually read the Bible to Martha!

He read the Bible to her? Again those prominent eyes opened and greedily drank it in, but he closed them at once, and was seized with laughter; he regularly shouted with laughter--and Edward with him.

Yes, he read the Bible to Martha, he read to her about the Prodigal Son, and then Edward repeated all that Martha had said. They laughed in chorus and drank up the rest of the beer. All that was pleasant and amusing in Anders showed itself when he laughed, although his laugh had a grating sound down in the throat; still it incited one to more fun, more mischief. So Edward had to tell all, and a little more than all.

As he ran home later with the grand book under his arm, he had a kind of disgusted feeling. The effects of the beer were over, he was no longer tempted to laugh, and his wounded pride was satisfied; but Ole's trusting eyes seemed to meet him everywhere, as soon as he got out in the air. He tried to put it from him, he was so dreadfully tired; he would think no more about it this evening; but to-morrow--to-morrow he would ask Anders not to speak about it.

But the next morning he overslept himself. He hurried on his clothes and rushed off, eating his bread-and-b.u.t.ter as he went along, and giving a rapid thought to "Les trois Mousquetaires," now his precious property; he longed for the afternoon to be able to read it. In school he stumbled through his lessons one by one, for he had learned nothing, and on Sat.u.r.days there was always so much. He worked on until two hours before the school closed; there was still to be French and Natural History, but to neither of these cla.s.ses did he belong--so away he flew downstairs before any of the others.

Just as he stood outside the school gates he saw Anders coming from the opposite side; he was going now to take his lesson in the upper cla.s.s.

Edward thought at once of the preceding day, and he felt anxious as to what Anders might take it into his head to tell; but at that very moment he caught sight of a monster steamer, a wreck, coming slowly in between the two piers, and all the people running by said there had never been so large a ship in the harbour before. She dragged along, hardly able to move, her masts gone, bulwarks all damaged, and the propped-up funnel all white with salt water up to the very top; was that another steamer towing her? Edward could not make out for the pier. Everyone was running that way; he ran too!

Meanwhile Anders turned in at the school gate. Just as he opened it a cla.s.s was over, and all the boys rushed down the stairs as through a long funnel, and out into the yard; it was a storm in a wizard's belly, the very house shook; first came one short, sharp yell, the first-comer's shout of delight; then a screaming of mingled voices high and low, some cracked and breaking ones toning down the whole; then a mighty shout from all together like a sea of fire shooting up to the sky, then half quenched on one side, but flaring up again on the other, then uniting in a broad glow over the whole yard.

Anders whistled softly as he came along; it was not like being in a sea of fire; it was like sailing through dangerous rocks and reefs, tossed about and dashed from one side, and tossed and dashed back again to the other; but he had an object in view; he would try cautiously to reach the stack of wood over by the neighbour's paling; there all was quiet, and he could partially screen his body up among the wood.

When he had reached this point of vantage and had looked cautiously round to see if it was safe, he gazed down on the crowd with delight; he felt a pleasurable satisfaction in knowing that he could quiet this uproar just with three or four words which he would whisper in the ear of his nearest neighbour. They would act like oil upon a raging sea, and the noise would cease as those few words were spread about.

Where was Ole? There he was, he and a big boy together; they had hold of each other by the collar and were tumbling about; the bigger of the two was trying to knock down the other, using his feet freely for many a kick. Ole's heavy boots swung round, the iron heels shining in the air; he shouted with laughter as his companion grew fiercer and wilder, but could not get him down.

Then Anders bent his head down to the boy who stood nearest him:

"Now I know what Ole Tuft does in the evenings!"

"Oh, rubbish!"

"But I do know."

"Who found it out?"

"Edward Kallem."

"Edward Kallem? And has he got the book?" asked the other, hurriedly.

"Of course he has."

"No, really? So Edward Kallem has----!"

"Edward Kallem? What about him?" put in a third, and the one who had just heard the news repeated the story. A fourth boy, a fifth, a sixth, all rushed away, crying out: "Edward Kallem has won the prize, lads!

Anders Hegge knows what Ole Tuft does in the evenings." Wherever they went the noise stopped instantaneously; all of them wanted to hear the news, and rushed across to Anders Hegge.

Hardly had a fourth part of them reached him before the remaining three-fourths, losing interest in their games, followed suit. What in all the world was the matter over by the wood-stack? why were they all running there? They crowded round Anders, and climbed up on the wood as many of them as could find room. "What's the matter?" "Edward Kallem has won the prize." "Edward Kallem?" And the noise began again, everyone asking, everyone answering--all except Ole Tuft, who remained standing just where his companion had left him.

There was a dead silence as Anders Hegge told the story; and he had a right to tell it, for he had paid for it. He told it well, in a short, dry sort of way that gave an air of double meaning to everything; he told them first where Ole went to and what he did; how he changed the straw in Martha's bed, moved and lifted her, cooked for her, and fetched medicine for her from the apothecary. Then he told them _why_ Ole did all this; he wished to be a missionary, and was practising for it down at Martha's; he read the Bible to her and made her cry; then, as soon as Ole had gone, Lars, the washerman, came in with the brandy bottle, and he and Martha had a grand carouse together on the top of the Bible reading.

At first the boys stood as quiet as mice; they had never heard the like before. They looked upon it as a sort of game, and from the way it had been told it could hardly be understood otherwise; but never before had they heard of anyone playing at being missionary and Bible-reader; it was funny, but it was something else besides--something they could not quite make out. As n.o.body laughed, Anders continued. And what made Ole do all this? Because he was ambitious and wanted to become an apostle, which was more than to be either king, emperor, or pope; Ole had told Edward Kallem that himself. But, in order to become an apostle, he had to find out "G.o.d's ways," and those ways began down at Martha's; there he meant to learn how to work miracles, to wrestle with the heathen and the wild beasts and poisonous snakes, and to calm a cyclone. Then there was a roar. But just at that moment the school-bell rang, and, shouting with laughter, the boys had only time to run past Ole back to their lessons again.

Once before in his young life had Ole Tuft gazed down into a bottomless abyss. It was on a winter's day, as he stood by his father's grave and heard the dull sound of the frozen earth falling upon the coffin; the air was thick with driving mist, and the sea was black as pitch.

Whenever he was in trouble his thoughts flew back to that day; and now it seemed as if he were standing there again, and heard the mournful church bells toll. Just as the noise on the stairs and along the pa.s.sages had ceased, the last stray loiterer gone in, the last door been shut--complete quiet suddenly--then, through this empty silence, he heard a bell, ding-dong, and in fancy saw himself at the little pine-wood church by the sh.o.r.e. How they creaked and rustled in the wind, those long-armed, leafless birches by the wall, and the ancient fir-tree at the gate; the clanging of the bells, harsh and shrill, floating in the air, and the dull thud of the earth on the coffin, made a life-long impression on him; and his mother's ceaseless weeping--she had kept it all back until now, had made no sound, neither by the sick man's bedside, nor even when he was carried away in his coffin; but now, suddenly, the tears gushed forth--ah, so bitterly.... O father, mother! Mother, father! And he, too, burst into tears.

This was sufficient reason for his not following the other boys in; he would never go back to school again. He could not face any of them after what had happened, he would have to leave the town; in a couple of hours it would be known everywhere, they would all be asking questions, and staring and laughing at him. And now, too, all his hopes and intentions for the future had been profaned; what was the use of studying any more; nor would he go to any other town, only home, home, home.

But if he stood there much longer one of them would be sent down to fetch him; he ought to get away at once. But not home to his aunt, or he would have to tell her everything; and not out by the big gates and down the princ.i.p.al street, for there were so many people who would see how he was crying. No, he must make his way to the little hiding-place that Josephine had made for him, and through which she helped him out every afternoon, so that the other boys might not see him.

The wood-stacks stood next to the neighbour's paling; but to the right leaned up against a shed into which Ole went. He loosened two boards in the wall nearest the wood-stack, crept through, and closed them behind him. This performance could not have been carried out if there had not been on the other side an open s.p.a.ce, made by an impediment of nature, in the shape of a large stone, taller than the boy, but which stood at a little distance from the wall. If the stone had not been there, the two stacks of wood would have touched each other and barred the way; but as it was, there was plenty of room at both ends of the stone as well as on the top of it. The children had made themselves little rooms here, one on each side of the stone. The most comfortable one was at the back; there they had a board to sit on, and when that was fastened at both ends in the stacks, they could pa.s.s each other in crossing it.

They had laid some planks overhead, and then wood on the top of that, so that n.o.body might suspect anything; it had been quite a piece of work for the children. It was not very light, certainly, but then that made it all the cosier. Here she would tell him tales of Spain, and he would tell her of missionaries' adventures; she told of bull-fights, but he of fights with tigers, lions, and snakes, of terrible cyclones and water-spouts, of savage monkeys and man-eaters. And by degrees his stories had eclipsed hers; they were more exciting, and then there was an object in them; she had only her recollections to look back to, but he threw himself heart and soul into all his imagination could sc.r.a.pe together. He drew such vivid, glowing pictures, till at last she was fascinated too! At first she felt her way with a few cautious questions as to whether women could be missionaries too? But he did not know; he thought it was only work for men, though they might possibly be allowed to be missionaries' wives. Then she asked if missionaries ever married.

He, taking it up as a dogmatic question, answered that he had once heard his father speak on the subject; it was at a meeting when someone had had doubts as to this missionary-marriage question, for St. Paul was the first missionary, and the greatest, too, and he certainly had not been married, and even gloried in that fact; but his father had replied that St. Paul believed that Christ was so soon to come again so he had to hurry as quickly as possible from place to place to tell that to the people so that they might be in readiness. But nowadays missionaries always lived in the same place, and therefore might be allowed to marry. He had even read about missionaries' wives who kept schools for the little black children. They had not advanced further than that, but it was easy to see she often thought about it by the questions she asked: If it were true that black children ate snails?

She did not like the idea of that at all.