The Girl from the Marsh Croft. Selma Lagerlof

not easy for her to keep back the sobs. She had not as yet gone into the cabin to see her parents. She hadn't had the courage to go in. When she trudged up the steep hill in the twilight and thought of how she must tell her parents that she was not to receive any assistance from Per Mårtensson in the rearing of her child, she began to fear all the harsh and cruel things she felt they would say to her and thought of burying herself in the swamp. And in her terror she jumped up and tried to rush past Gudmund; but he was too alert for her. "Oh, no! You sha'n't get by before I have spoken with you."

      "Only let me go!" she said, looking wildly at him.

      "You look as though you wanted to jump into the river," said he; for now she was out in the moonlight and he could see her face.

      "Well, what matters it if I did?" said Helga, throwing her head back and looking him straight in the eye. "This morning you didn't even care to have me ride on the back of your cart. No one wants to have anything to do with me! You must surely understand that it is best for a miserable creature like me to put an end to herself."

      Gudmund did not know what to do next. He wished himself far away, but he thought, also, that he could not desert a person who was in such distress. "Listen to me! Only promise that you will listen to what I have to say to you; afterwards you may go wherever you wish."

      She promised.

      "Is there anything here to sit on?"

      "The chopping-block is over yonder."

      "Then go over there and sit down and be quiet!"

      She went very obediently and seated herself.

      "And don't cry any more!" said he, for he thought he was beginning to get control over her. But he should not have said this, for immediately she buried her face in her hands and cried harder than ever.

      "Stop crying!" he said, ready to stamp his foot at her. "There are those, I dare say, who are worse off than you are."

      "No, no one can be worse off!"

      "You are young and strong. You should see how my mother fares! She is so wasted from suffering that she cannot move, but she never complains."

      "She is not abandoned by everybody, as I am."

      "You are not abandoned, either. I have spoken with my mother about you."

      There was a pause in the sobs. One heard, as it were, the great stillness of the forest, which always held its breath and waited for something wonderful. "I was to say to you that you should come down to my mother to-morrow that she might see you. Mother thinks of asking if you would care to take service with us."

      "Did she think of asking me?"

      "Yes; but she wants to see you first."

      "Does she know that—"

      "She knows as much about you as all the rest do."

      The girl leaped up with a cry of joy and wonderment, and the next moment Gudmund felt a pair of arms around his neck. He was thoroughly frightened, and his first impulse was to break loose and run; but he calmed himself and stood still. He understood that the girl was so beside herself with joy that she didn't know what she was doing. At that moment she could have hugged the worst ruffian, only to find a little sympathy in the great happiness that had come to her.

      "If she will take me into her service, I can live!" said she, burying her head on Gudmund's breast and weeping again. "You may know that I was in earnest when I wished to go down into the swamp," she said. "You deserve thanks for coming. You have saved my life." Until then Gudmund had been standing motionless, but now he felt that something tender and warm was beginning to stir within him. He raised his hand and stroked her hair. Then she started, as if awakened from a dream, and stood up straight as a rod before him. "You deserve thanks for coming," she repeated. She had become flame-red in the face, and he too reddened.

      "Well, then, you will come home to-morrow," he said, putting out his hand to say good-bye.

      "I shall never forget that you came to me to-night!" said Helga, and her great gratitude got the mastery over her shyness.

      "Oh, yes, it was well perhaps that I came," he said quite calmly, and he felt rather pleased with himself. "You will go in now, of course?"

      "Yes, now I shall go in."

      Gudmund suddenly felt himself rather pleased with Helga too—as one usually is with a person whom one has succeeded in helping. She lingered and did not want to go. "I would like to see you safely under shelter before I leave."

      "I thought they might retire before I went in."

      "No, you must go in at once, so that you can have your supper and rest yourself," said he, thinking it was agreeable to take her in hand.

      She went at once to the cabin, and he accompanied her, pleased and proud because she obeyed him.

      When she stood on the threshold, they said good-bye to each other again; but before he had gone two paces, she came after him. "Remain just outside the door until I am in. It will be easier for me if I know that you are standing without."

      "Yes," said he, "I shall stand here until you have come over the worst of it."

      Then Helga opened the cabin door, and Gudmund noticed that she left it slightly ajar. It was as if she did not wish to feel herself separated from her helper who stood without. Nor did he feel any compunction about hearing all that happened within the cabin.

      The old folks nodded pleasantly to Helga as she came in. Her mother promptly laid the child in the crib, and then went over to the cupboard and brought out a bowl of milk and a bread cake and placed them on the table.

      "There! Now sit down and eat," said she. Then she went up to the fireplace and freshened the fire. "I have kept the fire alive, so you could dry your feet and warm yourself when you came home. But eat something first! It is food that you need most."

      All the while Helga had been standing at the door. "You mustn't receive me so well, mother," she said in a low tone. "I will get no money from Per. I have renounced his help."

      "There was some one here from the Court House this evening who had been there and heard how it turned out for you," said the mother. "We know all."

      Helga was still standing by the door, looking out, as if she knew not which was in or out.

      Then the farmer put down his work, pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and cleared his throat for a speech of which he had been thinking the whole evening. "It is a fact, Helga," said he, "that mother and I have always wanted to be decent and honorable folk, but we have thought that we had been disgraced on your account. It was as though we had not taught you to distinguish between good and evil. But when we learned what you did to-day, we said to each other—mother and I—that now folks could see anyway that you have had a proper bringing up and right teaching, and we thought that perhaps we might yet be happy in you. And mother did not want that we should go to bed before you came that you might have a hearty welcome home."

III

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      Helga from the marsh croft came to Närlunda, and there all went well. She was willing and teachable and grateful for every kind word said to her. She always felt herself to be the humblest of mortals and never wanted to push herself ahead. It was not long until the household and the servants were satisfied with her.

      The first days it appeared as if Gudmund was afraid to speak to Helga. He feared that this croft girl would get notions into her head because he had come to her assistance. But these were needless worries. Helga regarded him as altogether too fine and noble for her even to raise her eyes to. Gudmund soon perceived that he did not have to keep her at a distance. She was more shy of him than of any one else.

      The autumn that Helga came to Närlunda, Gudmund paid many visits