When the long line of carts and wagons had pa.s.sed through the village, it turned in on a forest road. Here the Jerusalem-farers noticed for the first time that they were being shadowed by two persons whom they did not seem to know. While still in the village, they had been so engrossed in their leave-takings that they had not seen the strange vehicle in which the two unknown people sat; but in the wood their attention was drawn to it.

Sometimes it would drive past all the other carts and lead the procession; then again it would take the side of the road and let the other teams go by. It was an ordinary wagon, the kind commonly used for carting; therefore, it was impossible to tell to whom it belonged. Nor did any one recognize the horse.

It was driven by an old man, who was much bent, and had wrinkled hands and a long white beard. Certainly none of them knew who he was. But by his side sat a woman whom they somehow felt they knew.

No one could see her face, for her head was covered with a black shawl, both sides of which she held together so closely that not even her eyes were seen. Many tried to guess from her figure and size who she was, but no two guessed alike.

Gunhild said at once, "It's my mother," and Israel Toma.s.son's wife declared that it was her sister. There was scarcely a person among them but had his or her own notion as to who it was. Tims Halvor thought it was old Eva Gunnersdotter.

The strange cart accompanied them all the way, but not once did the woman draw the shawl back from her face. To some of the h.e.l.lgumists she became a person they loved, to others one they feared, but to most of them she was some one whom they had deserted.

Wherever the road was wide enough to allow of it, the strange cart would drive past the whole line of wagons, and then pull to one side until they had all gone by. At such times the unknown woman would turn toward the travellers, and watch them from behind her drawn shawl; but she made no sign to any of them, so that no one could really say for certain who she was. She followed all the way to the railway station. There they expected to see her face; but when they got down and began to look around for her--she was gone.

When the procession of carts and wagons pa.s.sed along the countryside, no one was seen cutting gra.s.s, or raking hay, or stacking hay. That morning all work had been suspended, and every one was either standing at the roadside in their Sunday clothes or driving to see the travellers off; some went with them six miles, some twelve, a few accompanied them all the way to the railway station.

Throughout the entire length and breadth of the parish only one man was seen at work. That man was Hok Matts Ericsson. Nor was he mowing gra.s.s-that he regarded as only child's play. He was clearing away stones from his land, just as he had done in his youth, when preparing his newly acquired acres for cultivation.

Gabriel, as he drove along, could see his father from the road. Hok Matts was out in the grove prying up stones with his crowbar, and piling them on to a stone hedge. He never once looked up from his work, but went right on digging and lugging stones, some of which were so big that Gabriel thought they were enough to break his back--and afterward throwing them up on to the hedge with a force that caused them to splinter, and made sparks fly. Gabriel, who was driving one of the goods wagons, let his horse look out for itself for a long time while his eyes were turned toward his father.

Old Hok Matts worked on' and on, toiling and slaving exactly as he had done when his son was a little lad, and he strove to develop his property. Grief had taken a firm hold on Hok Matts; yet he went on digging and prying up larger and larger stones, and piling them on the hedge.

Soon after the procession had pa.s.sed, a violent thunderstorm came up. Everybody ran for cover, and Hok Matts, too, thought of doing the same; then he changed his mind. He dared not leave off working.

At noon his daughter came to the door and called to him to come to dinner. Hok Matts was not very hungry; still, he felt that he might need a bite to eat. He did not go in, however, for he was afraid to stop his work.

His wife had gone with Gabriel to the railway station. On her return, late in the evening, she stopped to tell her husband that now their son had gone, but he would not leave off an instant to hear what she had to say.

The neighbours noticed how Hok Matts worked that day. They came out to watch him, and after looking on a while, they went in and reported that he was still there, that he had been at it the whole day without a break.

Evening came, but the light lingered a while, and Hok Matts kept right on working. He felt that if he were to leave off while still able to drag a foot, his grief would overpower him.

By and by his wife came back again, and stood watching him. The grove was now almost clear of stones, and the hedge quite high enough, but still the little old man went on lugging stones that were more fit for a giant to handle. Now and then a neighbour would come over to see if he was still at it; but no one spoke to him.

Then darkness fell. They could no longer see him, but they could hear him--could hear the dull thud of stone against stone as he went on building the wall.

Then at last as he raised the crowbar it slipped from his hands, and when he stooped to pick it up he fell; and before he could think, he was asleep.

Some time afterward he roused himself sufficiently to get to the house. He said nothing, he did not even attempt to undress, but simply threw himself down on a wooden bench and dropped off to sleep.

The Jerusalem-farers had at last reached the railway station which was newly built in a big clearing in the middle of the forest.

There was no town, nor were there any fields or gardens, but everything had been planned on a grand scale in the expectation that an important railway community would some day spring up in this wilderness.

Round the station itself the ground was levelled; there was a broad stone platform, with roomy baggage sheds and no end of gravel drives. A couple of stores and workshops, a photographic studio, and a hotel had already been put up around the gravelled square, but the remainder of the clearing was nothing but unbroken stubble land.

The Dal River also flowed past here. It came with a wild and angry rush from the dark woods, and dashed foamingly onward in a cascade of falls. The Jerusalem-farers could hardly credit that this was a part of the broad, majestic river they had crossed in the morning.

Here no smiling valley met their gaze; on all sides the view was obstructed by dark fir-clad heights.

When the little children who were going with their parents to Jerusalem were lifted out of the carts in this desolate-looking place, they became uneasy and began to cry. Before, they had been very happy in the thought of travelling to Jerusalem. Of course they had cried a good deal when leaving their homes, but down at the station they became quite disconsolate.

Their elders were busy unloading their goods from the wagons and stowing them away in a baggage car. They all helped, so that no one had any time to look after the children, and see what they were up to.

The youngsters meanwhile got together, and held council as to what they should do.

After a bit the older children took the little ones by the hand and walked away from the station, two by two-a big child and a little child. They went the same way they had come across the sea of sand, through the stubble ground, over the river and into the dark forest.

Suddenly, one of the women happened to think of the children, and opened a food basket to give them something to eat. She called to them, but got no answer. They had disappeared from sight. Two of the men went to look for them. Following the tracks which the many little feet had left in the sand, they went on into the woods, where they caught sight of the youngsters, marching along in line, two by two, a big child and a little child. When the men called to them they did not stop, but kept right on.

The men ran to overtake them. Then the children tried to run away, but the smaller ones could not keep up; they stumbled and fell.

Then all of them stood still--wretchedly unhappy, and crying as if their little hearts would break.

"But, children, where are you going?" asked one of the men.

Whereupon the littlest ones set up a loud wail, and the eldest boy answered:

"We don't want to go to Jerusalem; we want to go home."

And for a long time, even after the children had been brought back to the station, and were seated in the railway carriage, they still went on whimpering and crying: "We don't want to go to Jerusalem; we want to go home."