Mr. Hersebom hung his head: without his being aware of it, two large
tears rolled down his cheeks.
"But then," he said, "this would be an entire separation. Before we
ever know whether the child will find his relations, he must be taken
from his home. It is asking too much, doctor--asking too much of my
wife. The child is happy with us. Why can he not be left alone, at
least until he is sure of a better one?"
"Happy. How do you know that he will be so when he grows older? How
can you tell whether he may not regret having been saved? Intelligent
and superior as he will be, perhaps he would be stifled with the life
which you would offer him in Noroe."
"But, doctor, this life which you disdain, is good enough for us. Why is
it not good enough for him?"
"I do not disdain it," said the doctor. "Nobody admires and honors those
who work more than I do. Do you believe, Mr. Hersebom, that I forget my
birth? My father and grandfather were fishermen like yourself, and it is
just because they were so far-seeing as to educate me, that I appreciate
the value of it, and I would assure it to a child who merits it. It is
his interest alone which guides me, I beg of you to believe."
"Ah--what do I know about it? Erik will be almost grown up when you have
made a gentleman of him, and he will not know how to use his arms. Then
if you do not find his family, which is more than possible, since twelve
years have passed since I found him, what a beautiful future we are
preparing for him! Do you not see, doctor, that a fisherman's life is a
brave one--better than any other: with a good boat under his feet and
four or five dozen of cod-fish at the end of his lines, a Norwegian
fisherman need have no fear, nor be indebted to any one. You say that
Erik would not be happy leading such a life. Permit me to believe the
contrary. I know the child well, he loves his books, but, above all, he
loves the sea. It also almost seems as if he felt that he had been
rocked upon it, and all the museums in the world would not console him
for the loss of it."
"But we have the sea around us also at Stockholm," said the doctor,
smiling--touched in spite of himself by this affectionate resistance.
"Well," said the fisherman, crossing his arms, "what do you wish to do?
what do you propose, doctor?"
"There, you see, after all, the necessity of doing something. Well this
is my proposition--Erik is twelve years old, nearly thirteen, and he
appears to be highly gifted. We will say nothing about his origin--he is
worthy of being supplied with the means of developing and utilizing his
faculties; that is all we need trouble ourselves about at present. I am
rich, and I have no children. I will undertake to furnish the means, and
give him the best masters, and all possible facilities for profiting by
their instructions. I will do this for two years. During this time I
will make inquiries, insert advertisements in the newspapers; make every
possible exertion, move heaven and earth to discover his parents. If I
do not find them in two years, we shall never do it. If his relatives
are found, they will naturally decide his future career in life. If we
do not find them, I will send Erik back to you. He will then be fifteen
years old--he will have seen something of the world. The hour will have
arrived to tell him the truth about his birth. Then aided by our advice,
and the opinions of his teachers, he can choose what path he would
prefer to follow. If he wishes to become a fisherman, I will not oppose
it. If he wishes to continue his studies, I engage to furnish the means
for him to follow any profession that he may choose. Does this seem a
reasonable proposition to you?"
"More than reasonable. It is wisdom itself issuing from your lips,
doctor," said Mr. Hersebom, overcome in spite of himself. "See what it
is to have an education!" he continued, shaking his head. "The
difficulty will be to repeat all you have said to my wife. When will you
take the child away?"
"To-morrow. I can not delay my return to Stockholm any longer."
Mr. Hersebom heaved a deep sigh, which was almost a sob.
"To-morrow! So soon!" he said. "Well, what must be, must be. I will go
and talk to my wife about it."
"Yes, do so, and consult Mr. Malarius also; you will find that he is of
my opinion."
"I do not doubt it," answered the fisherman, with a sad smile.
He shook the hand which Dr. Schwaryencrona held out to him, and went
away looking very thoughtful.
That evening before dinner the doctor again directed his steps toward
the dwelling of Mr. Hersebom. He found the family assembled round the
hearth, as they were the evening before, but not wearing the same
appearance of peaceful happiness. The father was seated the furthest
from the fire, silent, and with idle hands. Katrina, with tears in her
eyes, held Erik's hands between her own, whose cheeks were reddened by
the hope of the new destiny which seemed opening before him, but who
looked sad at leaving all whom he loved, and who did not know what
feeling he ought to yield to.
Little Vanda's face was hidden in her father's knees, and nothing could
be seen except her long braids of golden hair. Otto, also greatly
troubled at this proposed separation, sat motionless beside his brother.
"How sad and disconsolate you look!" said the doctor, stopping on the
threshold. "If Erik were about to set out on a distant and most perilous
expedition you could not show more grief. He is not going to do anything
of the kind, I assure you, my good friends. Stockholm is not at the
antipodes, and the child is not going away forever. He can write to you,
and I do not doubt that he will do so often. He is only going away to
school, like so many other boys. In two years he will return tall, and
well-informed, and accomplished, I hope. Is this anything to feel sad
about? Seriously, it is not reasonable."
Katrina arose with the natural dignity of the peasant of the North.
"Doctor," she said, "God is my witness that I am profoundly grateful to
you for what you propose to do for Erik--but we can not help feeling sad
because of his departure. Mr. Hersebom has explained to me that it is
necessary, and I submit. Do not think that I shall feel no regret."
"Mother," said Erik, "I will not go, if it causes you such pain."
"No, child," answered the worthy woman, taking him in her arms.
"Education is a benefit which we have no right to refuse you. Go, my
son, and thank the doctor who has provided it for you, and prove to him
by constant application to your studies that you appreciate his
kindness."
"There, there," said the doctor, whose glasses were dimmed by a singular
cloudiness, "let us rather speak of practical matters, that will be
better. You know, do you not, that we must set out to-morrow very early,
and that you must have everything ready. We will go by sleigh to Bergen,
and thence by railroad. Erik only needs a change of linen, I will
procure everything else that is necessary at Stockholm."
"Everything shall be ready," answered Dame Hersebom.
"Vanda," she added, with Norwegian hospitality, "the doctor is still
standing."
The little girl hurriedly pushed a large arm-chair toward him.
"I can not stay," said the doctor. "I promised my friend Malarius to
dine with him, and he is waiting for me. Little girl," he said, laying
his hand gently upon Vanda's blonde head, "I hope you do not wish me any
harm because I am taking your brother away from you?"
"No, doctor," she answered gravely. "Erik will be happier with you--he
was not intended to live in a village."
"And you, little one, will you be very unhappy without him?"
"The shore will seem deserted," she answered; "the seagulls will look
for him without finding him, the little waves will be astonished because
they no longer see him, and the house will seem empty, but Erik will be
contented, because he will have plenty of books, and he will become a
learned man."
"And his little sister will rejoice in his happiness--is it not so, my
child?" said the doctor, kissing the forehead of the little girl. "And
she will be proud of him when he returns--see we have arranged the whole
matter--but I must hurry away. Good-bye until to-morrow."
"Doctor," murmured Vanda, timidly, "I wish to ask a favor of you!"
"Speak, child."
"You are going in a sleigh, you said. I wish with my papa's and mamma's
permission to drive you to the first relay."
"Ah, ah! but I have already arranged that. Reguild, the daughter of my
overseer, should do this."
"Yes, I know it, but she is willing that I should take her place, if you
will authorize me to do so."
"Well, in that case you have only to obtain the permission of your
father and mother."
"I have done so."
"Then you have mine also, dear child," said the doctor, and he took his
departure.
The next morning when the sleigh stopped before the door of Mr. Hersebom
little Vanda held the reins according to her desire, seated upon the
front seat.
She was going to drive them to the next village, where the doctor would
procure another horse and sleigh, and thus procure relays until he
reached Bergen. This new kind of coachman always astonishes a stranger,
but it is the custom in Norway and Sweden. The men would think it a loss
of time to pursue such a calling, and it is not rare to see children of
ten or twelve years of age managing heavy equipages with perfect ease.
The doctor was already installed in the back of the sleigh, nearly
hidden by his furs. Erik took his seat beside Vanda, after having
tenderly embraced his father and brother, who contented themselves by
showing by their mute sadness the sorrow which his departure caused
them; but the good Katrina was more open in the expression of her
feelings.
"Adieu, my son!" she said, in the midst of her tears. "Never forget what
you have learned from your poor parents--be honest, and brave, and never
tell a lie. Work as hard as you can--always protect those who are weaker
than yourself--and if you do not find the happiness you merit come back
and seek it with us."
Vanda touched the horse which set out at a trot, and made the bells
ring. The air was cold, and the road as hard as glass. Just above the
horizon a pale sun began to throw his golden beams upon the snowy
landscape. In a few minutes Noroe was out of sight behind them.
CHAPTER IV.
AT STOCKHOLM.
Doctor Schwaryencrona lived in a magnificent house in Stockholm. It was
in the oldest and most aristocratic quarter of the charming capital,
which is one of the most pleasant and agreeable in Europe. Strangers
would visit it much more frequently if it were better known and more
fashionable. But tourists, unfortunately for themselves, plan their
journeys much upon the same principle as they purchase their hats.
Situated between Lake Melar and the Baltic, it is built upon eight small
islands, connected by innumerable bridges, and bordered by splendid
quays, enlivened by numerous steam-boats, which fulfill the duties of
omnibuses. The population are hardworking, gay, and contented. They are
the most hospitable, the most polite, and the best educated of any
nation in Europe. Stockholm, with its libraries, its museums, its
scientific establishments, is in fact the Athens of the North, as well
as a very important commercial center.
Erik, however, had not recovered from the sadness incident upon parting
from Vanda, who had left them at the first relay. Their parting had been
more sorrowful than would have been expected at their age, but they had
not been able to conceal their emotion.
When the carriage stopped before a large brick house, whose double
windows shone resplendently with gaslight, Erik was fairly dazzled. The
copper knocker of the door appeared to him to be of fine gold. The
vestibule, paved with marble and ornamented with statues, bronze
torches, and large Chinese-vases, completed his amazement.
A footman in livery removed his master's furs, and inquired after his
health with the affectionate cordiality which is habitual with Swedish
servants. Erik looked around him with amazement.
The sound of voices attracted his attention toward the broad oaken
staircase, covered with heavy carpet. He turned, and saw two persons
whose costumes appeared to him the height of elegance.
One was a lady with gray hair, and of medium height, who wore a dress of
black cloth, short enough to show her red stockings with yellow
clock-work, and her buckled shoes. An enormous bunch of keys attached to
a steel chain hung at her side. She carried her head high, and looked
about her with piercing eyes. This was "Fru," or Madame Greta--Maria,
the lady in charge of the doctor's house, and who was the undisputed
autocrat of the mansion in everything that pertained to the culinary or
domestic affairs. Behind her came a little girl, eleven or twelve years
old, who appeared to Erik like a fairy princess. Instead of the national
costume, the only one which he had ever seen worn by a child of that
age, she had on a dress of deep blue velvet, over which her yellow hair
was allowed to fall loosely. She wore black stockings and satin shoes; a
knot of cherry-colored ribbon was poised in her hair like a butterfly,
and gave a little color to her pale cheeks, while her large eyes shone
with a phosphorescent light.
"How delightful, uncle, to have you back again! Have you had a pleasant
journey?" she cried, clasping the doctor around the neck. She hardly
deigned to cast a glance at Erik, who stood modestly aside.
The doctor returned her caresses, and shook hands with his housekeeper,
then he made a sign for Erik to advance.
"Kajsa, and Dame Greta, I ask your friendship for Erik Hersebom, whom I
have brought from Norway with me!" he said, "and you, my boy, do not be
afraid," he said kindly. "Dame Greta is not as severe as she looks, and
you and my niece Kajsa, will soon be the best of friends, is it not so,
little girl?" he added, pinching gently the cheek of the little fairy.
Kajsa only responded by making a disdainful face.
As for the housekeeper, she did not appear very enthusiastic over the
new recruit thus presented to her notice.
"If you please, doctor," she said, with a severe air, as they ascended
the staircase, "may I ask who this child is?"
"Certainly, Dame Greta; I will tell you all about it before long. Do not
be afraid; but now, if you please, give us something to eat."
In the "matsal," or dining-room, the table was beautifully laid with
damask and crystal, and the "snorgas" was ready.
Poor Erik had never seen a table covered with a white cloth, for they
are unknown to the peasants of Norway, who hardly use plates, as they
have only recently been introduced, and many of them still eat their
fish on rounds of black bread, and find it very good. Therefore the
doctor had to repeat his invitation several times before the boy took
his seat at the table, and the awkwardness of his movements caused
"Froken," or Miss Kajsa, to cast upon him more than one ironical glance
during the repast. However, his journey had sharpened his appetite, and
this was of great assistance to him.
The "snorgas" was followed by a dinner that would have frightened a
Frenchman by its massive solidity, and would have sufficed to appease
the appetites of a battalion of infantry after a long march. Soup, fish,
home-made bread, goose stuffed with chestnuts, boiled beef, flanked with
a mountain of vegetables, a pyramid of potatoes, hard-boiled eggs by the
dozen, and a raisin pudding; all these were gallantly attacked and
dismantled.
This plentiful repast being ended, almost without a word having been
spoken, they passed into the parlor, a large wainscoted room, with six
windows draped with heavy curtains, large enough to have sufficed a
Parisian artist with hangings for the whole apartment. The doctor seated
himself in a corner by the fire, in a large leather arm-chair, Kajsa
took her place at his feet upon a footstool, whilst Erik, intimidated
and ill at ease, approached one of the windows, and would have gladly
hidden himself in its deep embrasure.
But the doctor did not leave him alone long.
"Come and warm yourself, my boy!" he said, in his sonorous voice; "and
tell us what you think of Stockholm."
"The streets are very black and very narrow, and the houses are very
high," said Erik.
"Yes, a little higher than they are in Norway," answered the doctor,
laughing.
"They prevent one from seeing the stars!" said the young boy.
"Because we are in the quarter where the nobility live," said Kajsa,
piqued by his criticisms. "When you pass the bridges the streets are
broader."
"I saw that as we rode along; but the best of them are not as wide as
that which borders the fiord of Noroe," answered Erik.
"Ah, ah!" said the doctor, "are you home-sick already?"
"No," answered Erik, resolutely. "I am too much obliged to you, dear
doctor, for having brought me. But you asked me what I thought of
Stockholm, and I had to answer."
"Noroe must be a frightful little hole," said Kajsa.
"A frightful little hole!" repeated Erik, indignantly. "Those who say
that must be without eyes. If you could only see our rocks of granite,
our mountains, our glaciers, and our forests of pine, looking so black
against the pale sky! And besides all this, the great sea; sometimes
tumultuous and terrible, and sometimes so calm as scarcely to rock one;
and then the flight of the sea-gulls, which are lost in infinitude, and
then return, to fan you with their wings. Oh, it is beautiful! Yes, far
more beautiful than a town."
"I was not speaking of the country but of the houses," said Kajsa, "they
are only peasants' cabins--are they not, uncle?"
"In these peasants' cabins, your father and grandfather as well as
myself were born, my child," answered the doctor, gravely.
Kajsa blushed and remained silent.
"They are only wooden houses, but they answer as well as any," said
Erik.
"Often in the evening while my father mends his nets, and my mother is
busy with her spinning-wheel, we three sit on a little bench, Otto,
Vanda, and I, and we repeat together the old sagas, while we watch the
shadows that play upon the ceiling; and when the wind blows outside, and
all the fishermen are safe at home, it does one good to gather around
the blazing fire. We are just as happy as if we were in a beautiful room
like this."
"This is not the best room," said Kajsa proudly. "I must show you the
grand drawing-room, it is worth seeing!"
"But there are so many books in this one," said Erik, "are there as many
in the drawing-room?"
"Books--who cares for them? There are velvet armchairs, and sofas, lace
curtains, a splendid French clock, and carpets from Turkey!"
Erik did not appear to be fascinated by this description, but cast
envious glances toward the large oaken bookcase, which filled one side
of the parlor!
"You can go and examine the books, and take any you like," said the
doctor. Erik did not wait for him to repeat this permission. He chose a
volume at once, and seating himself in a corner where there was a good
light, he was soon completely absorbed in his reading. He hardly noticed
the successive entrance of two old gentlemen, who were intimate friends
of Dr. Schwaryencrona, and who came almost every evening to play a game
of whist with him.
The first who arrived was Professor Hochstedt, a large man with cold and
stately manners, who expressed in polished terms the pleasure which he
felt at the doctor's safe return. He was scarcely seated in the
arm-chair which had long borne the name of the "professor's seat," when
a sharp ring was heard.
"It is Bredejord," exclaimed the two friends simultaneously.
The door soon opened to admit a thin sprightly little man, who entered
like a gust of wind, seized both the doctor's hands, kissed Kajsa on the
forehead affectionately, greeted the professor, and cast a glance as
keen as that of a mouse around the room.
It was the Advocate Bredejord, one of the most illustrious lawyers of
Stockholm.
"Ha! Who is this?" said he, suddenly, as he beheld Erik.
The doctor tried to explain in as few words as possible.
"What--a young fisherman, or rather a boy from Bergen--and who reads
Gibbon in English?" he asked. For he saw at a glance what the book was
which so absorbed the little peasant.
"Does that interest you, my boy?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, it is a work that I have wanted to read for a long time, the
first volume of the 'Fall of the Roman Empire,'" answered Erik, simply.
"Upon my word," exclaimed the lawyer, "it appears that the peasants of
Bergen are fond of serious reading. But are you from Bergen?" he asked.
"I am from Noroe, which is not far from there," answered Erik.
"Ah, have they usually eyes and hair as brown as yours at Noroe?"
"No, sir; my brother and sister, and all the others, are blondes like
Miss Kajsa. But they are not dressed like her," he added, laughing;
"therefore they do not look much like her."
"No; I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Bredejord. "Miss Kajsa is a
product of civilization. And what are you going to do at Stockholm, my
boy, if I am not too curious?"
"The doctor has been kind enough to offer to send me to school," said
Erik.
"Ah, ah!" said Mr. Bredejord, tapping his snuff-box with the ends of his
fingers.
His glance seemed to question the doctor about this living problem; but
the latter made a sign to him, which was almost imperceptible, not to
pursue his investigations, and he changed the conversation. They then
talked about court affairs, the city news, and all that had taken place
since the departure of the doctor. Then Dame Greta came, and opened the
card-table, and laid out the cards. Soon silence reigned, while the
three friends were absorbed in the mysteries of whist.
The doctor made pretension to being a great player, and had no mercy for
the mistakes of his partners. He exulted loudly when their errors caused
him to win, and scolded when they made him lose. After every rubber he
took pleasure in showing the delinquent where he had erred; what card he
should have led, and which he should have held back. It is generally the
habit of whist-players, but it is not always conducive to amiability,
particularly when the victims are the same every evening.
Happily for him, the doctor's two friends never lost their temper. The
professor was habitually cool, and the lawyer severely skeptical.
"You are right," the first would say gravely, in answer to the most
severe reproaches.
"My dear Schwaryencrona, you know very well you are only losing your
time lecturing me," Mr. Bredejord would say, laughing. "All my life I
have made the greatest blunders whenever I play whist, and the worst of
it is, I do not improve." What could any one do with two such hardened
sinners?
The doctor was compelled to discontinue his criticisms, but it was only
to renew them a quarter of an hour later, for he was incorrigible.
It happened, however, that this evening he lost every game, and his
consequent ill-humor made his criticisms very severe upon his two
companions, and even upon the "dummy."
But the professor coolly acknowledged his faults, and the lawyer
answered his most bitter reproaches by jokes.
"Why should I alter my play, when I win by playing badly, and you lose
by following your correct rules?" he said to the doctor.
They played until ten o'clock. Then Kajsa made the tea in a magnificent
"samovar," and served it with pretty gracefulness; then she discreetly
disappeared. Soon Dame Greta appeared, and, calling Erik, she conducted
him to the apartment which had been prepared for him. It was a pretty
little room, clean and well furnished, on the second floor.
The three friends were now left alone.
"Now, at last, you can tell us who this young fisherman from Noroe is,
who reads Gibbon in the original text?" said Mr. Bredejord, as he put
some sugar into his second cup of tea. "Or is it a forbidden subject,
which it is indiscreet for me to mention?"
"There is nothing mysterious about the matter, and I will willingly tell
you Erik's history, for I know that I can rely upon your discretion,"
answered Dr. Schwaryencrona.
"Ah! I knew that he had a history," said the lawyer, seating himself
comfortably in his arm-chair. "We will listen, dear doctor. I assure you
that your confidence will not be misplaced. I confess this youth arouses
my curiosity like a problem."
"He is, indeed, a living problem," answered the doctor, flattered by the
curiosity of his friend. "A problem which I hope to be able to solve.
But I must tell you all about it, and see if you think as I do."
The doctor settled himself comfortably, and began by telling them that
he had been struck by Erik's appearance in the school at Noroe, and by
his unusual intelligence. He had made inquiries about him, and he
related all that Mr. Malarius and Mr. Hersebom had told. He omitted none
of the details. He spoke of the buoy, of the name of "Cynthia," of the
little garments which Dame Katrina had shown him, of the coral ornament,
of the device upon it, and of the character of the letters.
"You are now in possession of all the facts as far as I have been able
to learn them," he said. "And you must bear in mind that the
extraordinary ability of the child is only a secondary phenomenon, and
largely due to the interest with which Mr. Malarius has always regarded
him, and of which he has made the best use. It was his unusual
acquirements which first drew my attention to him and led me to make
inquiries about him. But in reality this has little connection with the
questions which now occupy me, which are: where did this child come
from, and what course would it be best for me to take in order to
discover his family? We have only two facts to guide us in this search.
First: The physical indications of the race to which the child belongs.
Second: The name 'Cynthia,' which was engraved on the buoy.
"As to the first fact, there can be no doubt; the child belongs to the
Celtic race. He presents the type of a Celt in all its beauty and
purity.
"Let us pass to the second fact:
"'Cynthia' is certainly the name of the vessel to which the buoy
belonged. This name might have belonged to a German vessel, as well as
to an English one; but it was written in the Roman characters.
Therefore, the vessel was an English one--or we will say Anglo-Saxon to
be more precise. Besides, everything confirms the hypothesis, for more
than one English vessel going and coming from Inverness, or the Orkneys,
have been driven on the coast of Norway by a tempest; and you must not
forget that the little living waif could not have been floating for a
long while, since he had resisted hunger, and all the dangers of his
perilous journey. Well, now you know all, and what is your conclusion my
dear friends?"
Neither the professor nor the lawyer thought it prudent to utter a word.
"You have not been able to arrive at any conclusion," said the doctor,
in a tone which betrayed a secret triumph. "Perhaps you even think there
is a contradiction between the two facts--a child of the Celtic race--an
English Vessel. But this is simply because you have failed to bear in
mind the existence on the coast of Great Britain of a people of the
Celtic race, on her sister island, Ireland. I did not think of it at
first myself, and it prevented me from solving the problem. But when it
occurred to me, I said to myself: the child is Irish. Is this your
opinion, Hochstedt?"
If there was anything in the world the professor disliked, it was to
give a positive opinion upon any subject. It must also be confessed that
to give such an opinion in this case would have been premature. He
therefore contented himself with nodding his head, and saying:
"It is an incontestable fact that the Irish belong to the Celtic branch
of the Arian race."
This was a sufficiently safe aphorism, but Doctor Schwaryencrona asked
nothing more, and only saw in it the entire confirmation of his theory.
"You think so, yourself," he said eagerly. "The Irish were Celts, and
the child has all the characteristics of the race. The 'Cynthia' having
been an English vessel, it appears to me that we are in possession of
the necessary links, in order to find the family of the poor child. It
is in Great Britain that we must look for them. Some advertisements in
the 'Times' will probably be sufficient to put us on their tracks."
The doctor continued to enlarge upon his plan of proceeding, when he
remarked the obstinate silence of the lawyer and the slightly ironical
expression with which he listened to his conclusions.
"If you are not of my opinion, Bredejord, I wish you would say so. You
know that I do not fear to discuss the matter," he said, stopping short.
"I have nothing to say," answered Mr. Bredejord. "Hochstedt can bear
witness that I have said nothing."
"No. But I see very well that you do not share my opinion; and I am
curious to know why," said the doctor.
"Is Cynthia an English name?" he asked, with vehemence. "Yes! it was
written in Roman characters--it could not have been German. You have
heard our eminent friend, Hochstedt, affirm that the Irish are Celts.
Has the child all the characteristics of the Celtic race? You can judge
for yourself. You were struck by his appearance before I opened my mouth
about the subject. I conclude, therefore, that it is a want of
friendship for you to refuse to agree with me, and recognize the fact
that the boy belongs to an Irish family."
"Want of friendship is a strong charge," answered Mr. Bredejord, "if you
apply it to me. I can only say that I have not, as yet, expressed the
slightest opinion."
"No; but I see that you do not spare mine."
"Have I not a right?"
"But give some facts to support your theory."
"I have not said that I have formed any."
"Then it is a systematic opposition, just for the sake of contradicting
me, as you do in whist."
"Nothing is further from my thoughts, I assure you. Your reasoning
appeared to me to be too peremptory, that is all."
"In what way, if you please, I am curious to know?"
"It would take too long to tell you. Eleven o'clock is striking. I will
content myself with offering you a bet. Your copy of Pliny against my
Quintilian, that you have not judged rightly, and that the child is not
Irish."
"You know that I do not like to bet," said the doctor, softened by his
unconquerable good humor. "But I shall take so much pleasure in your
discomfiture that I accept your offer."
"Well, then it is a settled affair. How much time do you expect to take
for your researches?"
"A few months will suffice, I hope, but I have said two years to
Hersebom, in order to be sure that no efforts were wanting."
"Ah! well--I give you two years. Hochstedt shall be our witness; and
there is no ill-feeling, I hope?"
"Assuredly not, but I see your Quintilian in great danger of coming to
keep company with my Pliny," answered the doctor.
Then, after shaking hands with his two friends, he accompanied them to
the door.
CHAPTER V.
THE THIRTEEN DAYS OF CHRISTMAS.
The next day Erik began his new life at school.
Dr. Schwaryencrona first took him to his tailors, and fitted him out
with some new suits of clothes; then he introduced him to the principal
of one of the best schools in town. It was called in Swedish "Hogre
elementar larovek."
In this school were taught the ancient and modern languages, the
elementary sciences, and all that it was necessary to learn before
entering college. As in Germany and Italy, the students did not board in
the college. They lived with their families in the town, with the
professors, or wherever they could obtain comfortable accommodations.
The charges are very moderate; in fact, they have been reduced almost to
nothing. Large gymnasiums are attached to each of the higher classes,
and physical culture is as carefully attended to as the intellectual.
Erik at once gained the head of his division. He learned everything with
such extreme facility that he had a great deal of time to himself. The
doctor therefore thought that it would be better for him to utilize his
evenings by taking a course at the "Slodjskolan," the great industrial
school of Stockholm. It was an establishment especially devoted to the
practice of the sciences, particularly to making experiments in physics
and chemistry, and to geometrical constructions which are only taught
theoretically in the schools.
Doctor Schwaryencrona judged rightly that the teachings of this school,
which was one of the wonders of Stockholm, would give a new impetus to
the rapid progress which Erik was making, and he hoped for great results
from this double training.
His young -protégé-, proved worthy of the advantages which he procured
for him. He penetrated the depths of the fundamental sciences, and
instead of vague and superficial ideas, the ordinary lot of so many
pupils, he stored up a provision of just, precise, and definite facts.
The future development of these excellent principles could only be a
question of time.
Hereafter he would be able to learn without difficulty the more elevated
branches of these studies which would be required in college; in fact it
would be only play to him.
The same service which Mr. Malarius had rendered him, in teaching him
languages, history, and botany, the "Slodjskolan" now did for him by
inculcating the A, B, C, of the industrial arts; without which the best
teaching so often remains a dead letter.
Far from fatiguing Erik's brain, the multiplicity and variety of his
studies strengthened it much more than a special course of instruction
could have done.
Besides, the gymnasium was always open to him to recruit his body when
his studies were over; and here as well as in the school Erik stood
first. On holidays he never failed to pay a visit to the sea which he
loved with filial tenderness. He talked with the sailors and fishermen,
and often brought home a fine fish, which was well received by Dame
Greta.
This good woman had conceived a great affection for this new member of
the household. Erik was so gentle, and naturally so courteous and
obliging, so studious and so brave, that it was impossible to know him
and not to like him. In eight days he had become a favorite with Mr.
Bredejord and Mr. Hochstedt, as he was already with Doctor
Schwaryencrona.
The only person who treated him with coldness was Kajsa. Whether the
little fairy thought that her hitherto undisputed sovereignty in the
house was in danger, or whether she bore Erik a grudge, because of the
sarcasms which her aristocratic air toward him inspired in the doctor,
nobody knew. However, she persisted in treating him with a disdainful
coldness, which no courtesy or politeness on his part could overcome.
Her opportunities of displaying her disdain were fortunately rare, for
Erik was always either out-of-doors, or else busy in his own little
room.
Time passed in the most peaceful manner, and without any notable
incidents.
We will pass with our reader without further comment over the two years
which Erik spent at school and return to Noroe.
Christmas had returned for the second time since Erik's departure. It is
in all Central and Northern Europe the great annual festival; because it
is coincident with the dull season in nearly all industries. In Norway
especially, they prolong the festival for thirteen days.--"Tretten yule
dage" (the thirteen days of Christmas), and they make it a season of
great rejoicings. It is a time for family reunions, for dinners, and
even for weddings.
Provisions are abundant, even in the poorest dwellings. Everywhere the
greatest hospitality is the order of the day.
The "Yule ol," or Christmas beer, is drunk freely. Every visitor is
offered a bumper in a wooden cup, mounted in gold, silver, or copper,
which the poorest families possess, and which cups have been transmitted
to them from time immemorial. The visitor must empty this cup, and
exchange with his hosts the joyful wishes of the season, and for a happy
New Year.
It is also at Christmas that the servants receive their new clothes;
which are often the best part of their wages--that the cows, and sheep,
and even the birds of the air, receive a double ration, which is
exceptionally large. They say in Norway of a "poor man," that he is so
poor that he can not even give the sparrows their dinner at Christmas.
Of these thirteen traditional days, Christmas-eve is the gayest. It is
the custom for the young girls and boys to go around in bands on their
"schnee-schuhe," or snow-shoes, and stop before the houses, and sing in
chorus the old national melodies. The clear voices suddenly sounding
through the fresh night air, in the lonely valleys, with their wintery
surroundings, have an odd and charming effect. The doors are immediately
opened, the singers are invited to enter, and they offer them cake,
dried apples, and ale; and often make them dance. After this frugal
supper the joyous band depart, like a flock of gulls, to perform the
same ceremony further away. Distances are regarded as nothing, for on
their "schnee-schuhe," which are attached to their feet by leather
straps, they glide over several miles with marvelous rapidity. The
peasants of Norway also use, with these show-shoes, a strong stick, to
balance themselves, and help them along. This year the festival would be
a joyous one for the Herseboms. They were expecting Erik.
A letter from Stockholm had announced that he would arrive that evening.
Therefore Otto and Vanda could not sit still. Every moment they ran to
the door, to see if he was coming. Dame Katrina, although she reproved
them for their impatience, felt in the same way herself. Mr. Hersebom
smoked his pipe silently, and was divided in his mind between a longing
to see his adopted son, and the fear that he would not be able to keep
him with them very long.
For the fiftieth time, perhaps, Otto had gone to the door, when he gave
a shout and cried out:
"Mother! Vanda! I believe it is he!"
They all rushed to the door. In the distance, on the road which led from
Bergen, they saw a black object. It grew larger rapidly, and soon took
the shape of a young man, clothed in gray cloth, wearing a fur cap, and
carrying merrily over his shoulders a knapsack of green leather. He had
on snow-shoes, and would soon be near enough to recognize.
The traveler perceived those who were watching before the door, and
taking off his cap, he waved it around his head.
Two minutes later Erick was in the arms of Katrina, Otto, Vanda, and
even Mr. Hersebom, who had left his arm-chair and advanced to the door.
They hugged him, and almost stifled him with caresses. They went into
ecstasies over his improved appearance. Dame Katrina among them all
could not get accustomed to it.
"What--is this the dear babe that I nursed on my knees?" she cried.
"This great boy, with such a frank and resolute air, with these strong
shoulders, this elegant form, and on whose lip I can already see signs
of a mustache. Is it possible?"
The brave woman was conscious of feeling a sort of respect for her
former nursling. She was proud of him, above all for the tears of joy
which she saw in his eyes. For he also was deeply affected.
"Mother, is it really you," he exclaimed. "I can hardly believe that I
am with you all again. The two years have seemed so long to me. I have
missed you all, as I know you have missed me."
"Yes," said Mr. Hersebom, gravely. "Not a day has passed without our
having spoken of you. Morning and evening, and at meal times, it was
your name that was constantly on our lips. But you, my boy, you have not
forgotten us in the grand city? You are contented to return and see the
old country and the old house?"
"I am sure that you do not doubt it," said Erik, as he embraced them
all. "You were always in my thoughts. But above all when the wind blew a
gale. I thought of you, father. I said to myself, Where is he? Has he
returned home in safety? And in the evening I used to read the
meteorological bulletin in the doctor's newspaper, to see what kind of
weather you had had on the coast of Norway; if it was the same as on the
coast of Sweden?--and I found that you have severe storms more often
than we have in Stockholm, which come from America, and beat on our
mountains. Ah! how often I have wished that I could be with you in your
little boat to help you with the sail, and overcome all difficulties.
And on the other hand when the weather was fine it seemed to me as if I
was in prison in that great city, between the tall three-story houses.
Yes! I would have given all the world to be on the sea for one hour, and
to feel as formerly free, and joyfully exhilarated by the fresh air!"
A smile brightened the weather-beaten face of the fisherman.
"His books have not spoiled him," he said. "A joyful season and a happy
New-Year to you, my child!" he added. "Come, let us go to the table.
Dinner is only waiting for you."
When he was once more seated in his old place on the right hand of
Katrina, Erik was able to look around him, and mark the changes that two
years had made in the family. Otto was now a large, robust boy of
sixteen years of age, and who looked twenty. As for Vanda, two years had
added wonderfully to her size and beauty. Her countenance had become
more refined. Her magnificent blonde hair, which lay in heavy braids
upon her shoulders, formed around her forehead a light silvery cloud.
Modest and sweet as usual, she busied herself, almost unconsciously,
with seeing that no one wanted for anything.
"Vanda has grown to be a great girl!" said her mother, proudly. "And if
you knew, Erik, how learned she has become, how hard she has worked and
studied since you left us! She is the best scholar in the school now,
and Mr. Malarius says she is his only consolation for no longer having
you among his pupils."
"Dear Mr. Malarius! how glad I shall be to see him again," said Erik.
"So our Vanda has become so learned, has she?" he replied with interest,
while the young girl blushed up to the roots of her hair at these
maternal praises.
"She has learned to play the organ also, and Mr. Malarius says that she
has the sweetest voice of all the choir?"
"Oh, decidedly, it is a very accomplished young person whom I find on my
return," Erik said, laughing, to relieve the embarrassment of his
sister. "We must make her display all her talents to-morrow."
And without affectation he began to talk about all the good people of
Noroe, asking questions about each one; inquiring for his old
school-mates, and about all that had happened since he went away. He
asked about their fishing adventures, and all the details of their daily
life. Then on his part, he satisfied the curiosity of his family, by
giving an account of his mode of life in Stockholm; he told them about
Dame Greta, about Kajsa, and the doctor.
"That reminds me that I have a letter for you, father," he said, drawing
it out of the inside pocket of his vest. "I do not know what it
contains, but the doctor told me to take good care of it, for it was
about me."
Mr. Hersebom took the letter, and laid it on the table by his side.
"Well!" said Erik, "are you not going to read it?"
"No," answered the fisherman, laconically.
"But, since it concerns me?" persisted the young man.
"It is addressed to me," said Mr. Hersebom, holding the letter before
his eyes. "Yes, I will read it at my leisure." Filial obedience is the
basis of family government in Norway.
Erik bowed his head in acquiescence.
When they rose from the table, the three children seated themselves on
their little bench in the chimney-corner, as they had so often done
before, and began one of those confidential conversations, where each
one relates what the other is curious to know, and where they tell the
same things a hundred times.
Katrina busied herself about the room, putting everything in order;
insisting that Vanda should for once "play the lady," as she said, and
not trouble herself about household matters.
As for Mr. Hersebom, he had seated himself in his favorite arm-chair,
and was smoking his pipe in silence. It was only after he had finished
this important operation that he decided to open the doctor's letter.
He read it through without saying a single word; then he folded it up,
put it in his pocket, and smoked a second pipe, like the first, without
uttering a sound. He seemed to be absorbed in his own reflections.
Although he was never a talkative man, his silence appeared singular to
Dame Katrina. After she had finished her work, she went and seated
herself beside him, and made two or three attempts to draw him into
conversation, but she only received the most brief replies. Being thus
repulsed, she became melancholy, and the children themselves, after
talking breathlessly for some time, began to be affected by the evident
sadness of their parents.
Twenty youthful voices singing in chorus before the door suddenly
greeted their ears, and made a happy diversion. It was a merry band of
Erik's old classmates, who had conceived the pleasant idea of coming to
give him a cordial welcome home.
They hastened to invite them into the house, and offered them the
customary feast, whilst they eagerly pressed around their old friend to
express the great pleasure which they felt in seeing him again. Erik was
touched by the unexpected visit of the friends of his childhood, and was
anxious to go with them on their Christmas journey, and Vanda and Otto
also were, naturally, eager to be of the party. Dame Katrina charged
them not to go too far, but to bring their brother back early, as he
needed rest after his journey.
The door was hardly closed upon them, when she resumed her seat beside
her husband.
"Well, has the doctor discovered anything?" she asked, anxiously.
Instead of answering, Mr. Hersebom took the letter from his pocket, and
read it aloud, but not without hesitating over some words which were
strange to him:
"MY DEAR HERSEBOM," wrote the doctor, "it is now two years since
you intrusted your dear child to my care, and every day I have had
renewed pleasure in watching his progress in all the studies that
he has undertaken. His intelligence is as remarkable as his heart
is generous. Erik is truly one of nature's nobleman, and the
parents who have lost such a son, if they knew the extent of their
misfortune, would be objects of pity. But it is very doubtful
whether his parents are still living. As we agreed, I have spared
no efforts to discover them. I have written to several persons in
England who have an agency for making special researches. I have
had advertisements inserted in twenty different newspapers,
English, Irish, and Scotch. Not the least ray of light has been
thrown upon this mystery, and I have to confess that all the
information which I have succeeded in procuring has rather tended
to deepen the mystery.
"The name 'Cynthia,' I find in very common use in the English navy.
From Lloyd's office, they inform me, that there are seventeen
ships, of different tonnage, bearing this name. Some of these ships
belong to English ports, and some to Scotland and Ireland. My
supposition concerning the nationality of the child is therefore
confirmed, and it becomes more and more evident to me that Erik is
of Irish parentage. I do not know whether you agree with me on this
point, but I have already mentioned it to two of my most intimate
friends in Stockholm, and everything seems to confirm it.
"Whether this Irish family are all dead, or whether they have some
interest in remaining unknown, I have not been able to discover any
trace of them.
"Another singular circumstance, and which I also think looks still
more suspicious, is the fact that no shipwreck registered at
Lloyd's, or at any of the marine insurance companies, corresponds
with the date of the infant's arrival on your coast. Two vessels
named 'Cynthia' have been lost, it is true, during this century;
but one was in the Indian Ocean, thirty-two years ago, and the
other was in sight of Portsmouth eighteen years ago.
"We are therefore obliged to conclude that the infant was not the
victim of a shipwreck.
"Doubtless he was intentionally exposed to the mercy of the waves.
This would explain why all my inquiries have been fruitless.
"Be this as it may, after having questioned successively all the
proprietors of the vessels bearing the name of 'Cynthia,' without
obtaining any information, and after exhausting all known means of
pursuing my investigations, I have been compelled to conclude that
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