"Along with the rest?"

"The 'rest' is hardly yielding anything at present. That you know."

Mary began to feel ill. He knew it by her voice when she said: "We have the timber to fall back upon."

"Which cannot be felled for three years; possibly not for four, or even five? That depends entirely on its growth."

Mary knew that he was right. Why had she mentioned it? "But--ten to twelve thousand kroner a year...?"

"Is not enough in our position."

Another intermezzo. There was no pavement here. They had come to a large, open s.p.a.ce, thick with mud. Both had forgotten the dog. A fat, dirty ship-dog, also of the poodle tribe, had come on sh.o.r.e with some sailors, who were sauntering along in the same direction as Mary and Jorgen. With this welcome playfellow Jorgen's dog had joined company.

Jorgen had the greatest trouble in inducing him to come back--dirty as he already was. As soon as Mary called too, he came boldly and joyfully.

But a stroke with the cane awaited him, and called forth a howl.

"It is strange," said Mary, "that you cannot treat a nice dog kindly!"

She was thinking of his cruelty to their neighbour's old Lapland dog.

Jorgen did not answer. But as soon as he felt sure that the dog was following meekly, he said: "Does Uncle Klaus know anything about this money?"

"I do not believe that any one knows about it except ourselves. Why do you ask?"

"Because it will be our best plan to speak to Uncle Klaus."

Mary stood still, astonished. "To Uncle Klaus?"

Jorgen also stood still. They looked at each other now.

"It will be to our interest," continued Jorgen.

"With Uncle Klaus----?" Mary stared. She did not understand him.

"For the sake of the family's honour he will do a great deal," said Jorgen, giving her a quick side-glance as he moved on.

She had turned ghastly white, but she followed. "Must we confide in Uncle Klaus?" she whispered behind him. A lower depth of humiliation there could not be.

"Yes, we'll do so!" he answered encouragingly, almost gaily. "Now he will not say 'No'!"

Had this, too, entered into his calculations?

He went closer to her. "If Uncle Klaus knows nothing about the American money, we shall get more--do you see?"

How well he had thought it all out! In spite of her disgust, Mary was impressed. Jorgen was a cleverer man than she had taken him for. Once he had the opportunity to develop all his gifts, he would surprise many besides herself.

She walked along, shrinking into herself like a leaf in too dry heat.

"You will manage this with Uncle Klaus yourself?"

"I shall go back with you now, as you may suppose. You need not have come. You had only to let me know."

Her head was bent and she was trembling. His superiority robbed her of her strength and courage; his words sickened her. As on a previous occasion, one foot refused to plant itself in front of the other; she could follow no farther.

Then she heard Jorgen call: "Come here, you little devil!" The dog again! His dirty scamp of a playfellow had once more tempted him from the path of duty.

There was something peculiar about Jorgen's voice when it commanded--it was subdued and sharp at the same time. The dog recognised it, but only looked round, irresolute. Being endowed with a happy frivolity of disposition, he rushed again merrily up to his comrade and went on with the game as if nothing had been said.

Mary stood learning a lesson. It was just underneath John Ericson's statue that this happened. She looked up at the statue, looked into John Ericson's kind, thoughtful eyes, until tears filled her own. She was utterly miserable.

Jorgen was engrossed with the dog. The animal's education was conducted on the principle that he must never be allowed to have his own will when it conflicted with his master's. "Come here, you little rogue," said Jorgen ingratiatingly. The dog was so surprised that he stopped in the middle of his game. "Good dog! come along!" He made one or two joyful bounds in Jorgen's direction; he remembered the good times they had had together--perhaps such a time awaited him now. But, whatever the reason, doubt seized him--he turned back and was soon between his dirty friend's paws again, both of them sprawling in the mud.

The pa.s.sers-by stopped, amused by the animal's disobedience. This annoyed Jorgen. Mary knew it, and made an attempt to save the dog.

Standing behind Jorgen, she said softly in French: "It is not fair first to coax and then to strike." Her words only made him more obstinate.

"This is a matter you don't understand," he answered, also in French, and continued coaxing.

With the short-sighted trustfulness common to sweet-tempered puppies, the dog stopped in his game and looked at Jorgen. Jorgen, with his stick behind his back, advanced persuasively. He was furious at the laughter of the onlookers, but m.u.f.fled his rage in soft words. "Come on, old fellow, come on!"

"Don't believe him!" shouted an English sailor. But it was too late.

Jorgen had hold of one of the long ears. The dog howled; Jorgen must have pinched hard. Mary called in French: "Don't beat him!" Jorgen struck--not hard; but the terrified puppy yelled piercingly. He struck again--not hard this time either; it was done chiefly to annoy them all.

The dog howled so pitifully that Mary could not bear to look in that direction. Gazing into John Ericson's good, kind eyes, she said: "These blows have separated you and me, Jorgen!"

Instantaneously he let the dog go and stood up. He saw her eyes flame; her cheeks were white; she held herself erect and faced him--above her John Ericson's head.

A moment later, and she had turned her back on him and was walking quickly away, with light, glad steps--the dog following.

The onlookers laughed, the English sailors derisively; Jorgen started in pursuit.

But when Mary saw that the dog was following her and not him, and that the creature's eyes sought hers to learn what she intended to do, the fear she had felt before turned into wild exhilaration. Such revulsions of feeling were not uncommon with her. She clapped her hands and ran, and the dog sprang along at her side, barking. The spell was broken, the disgrace was cast from her! Farewell to Jorgen and all his ways!

"That's what we are saying, my little rescuer, eh?" The dog barked.

She looked round to see Jorgen. He dared not hurry, for the sake of appearances.

"But we two dare, don't we?" Again she clapped her hands and ran, and the dog ran with her, barking.

Then she slackened her pace, and played with him and talked to him; Jorgen was so far behind. "You ought to be called 'liberator'; but that is too long a name for a little black puppy. You shall be called John--be named after him who looked at me and gave me courage." Off she and the dog ran again. "You follow me and not him! Well done, well done!

That is what he whom you are called after did. He would have nothing to do with the slave-drivers; his friends were those who set free!"

Now they were round the corner. Jorgen was not visible. When he came to the hotel, he was told, though he had seen Mary go in, that she was not at home. He said that she had his dog. The waiter professed ignorance.

There was nothing for it but to go. He had lost both her and the dog.

Up in her room Mary asked the dog: "Will you be mine? Will you go with me, little black John?" She clapped her hands to make him bark his joyful: Yes. The question of ownership was settled thus. A letter which came from Jorgen, probably on this subject, she burned unread.

She expected him to appear at the station, at the time when the train for Norway left, to claim his property. She drove boldly up with her dog at her side, washed, combed, perfumed. Jorgen was not there.

Mary slept all night with the dog at her feet, on her travelling rug.