Growth of the Soil, Knut Hamsun [best self help books to read txt] 📗

over a new leaf⁠—he would sell his place, and very likely make a good thing out of it⁠—and pay what he owed at the store!

Oh, but Brede would sell out anyhow, even at a loss; what was the good of a farm for him? He was homesick for the village again, the easy gossiping life there, and the little shop⁠—it suited him better than settling down here to work, and trying to forget the world outside. Could he ever forget the Christmas trees and parties, or the national feastings on Constitution Day, or the bazaars held in the meeting-rooms? He loved to talk with his kind, to exchange news and views, but who was there to talk with here? Inger up at Sellanraa had seemed to be one of his sort for a while, but then she had changed⁠—there was no getting a word out of her now. And besides, she had been in prison; and for a man in his position⁠—no, it would never do.

No, he had made a mistake in ever leaving the village; it was throwing himself away. He noted with envy that the Lensmand had got another assistant, and the doctor another man to drive for him; he had run away from the people who needed him, and now that he was no longer there, they managed without him. But the men who had taken his place⁠—they were no earthly good, of course. Properly speaking, he, Brede, ought to be fetched back to the village in triumph!

Then there was Barbro⁠—why had he backed up the idea of getting her to go as help to Sellanraa? Well, that was after talking over things with his wife. If all went well, it might mean a good future for the girl, perhaps a future of a sort for all of them. All very well to be housekeeper for two young clerks in Bergen, but who could say what she would get out of that in the long run? Barbro was a pretty girl, and liked to look well; there might be a better chance for her here, after all. For there were two sons at Sellanraa.

But when Brede saw that this plan would never come to anything, he hit on another. After all, there was no great catch in marrying into Inger’s lot⁠—Inger who had been in prison. And there were other lads to be thought of besides those two Sellanraa boys⁠—there was Axel Ström, for instance. He had a farm and a hut of his own, he was a man who scraped and saved and little by little managed to get hold of a bit of livestock and suchlike, but with no wife, and no woman to help him. “Well, I don’t mind telling you, if you take Barbro, she’ll be all the help you’ll need,” said Brede to him. “Look, here’s her picture; you can see.”

And after a week or so, came Barbro. Axel was in the midst of his haymaking, and had to do his mowing by day and haymaking by night, and all by himself⁠—and then came Barbro! It was a godsend. Barbro soon showed she was not afraid of work; she washed clothes and cleaned things, cooked and milked and helped in the hayfield⁠—helped to carry in the hay, she did. Axel determined to give her good wages, and not lose by it.

She was not merely a photograph of a fine lady here. Barbro was straight and thin, spoke somewhat hoarsely, showed sense and experience in various ways⁠—she was not a child. Axel wondered what made her so thin and haggard in the face. “I’d know you by your looks,” he said; “but you’re not like the photograph.”

“That’s only the journey,” she said, “and living in town air all that time.”

And indeed, she very soon grew plump and well-looking again. “Take my word for it,” said Barbro, “it pulls you down a bit, a journey like that, and living in town like that.” She hinted also at the temptations of life in Bergen⁠—one had to be careful there. But while they sat talking, she begged him to take in a paper⁠—a Bergen newspaper⁠—so that she could read a bit and see the news of the world. She had got accustomed to reading, and theatres and music, and it was so dull in a place like this.

Axel was pleased with the results of his summer help, and took in a paper. He also bore with the frequent visits of the Brede family, who were constantly dropping in at his place and eating and drinking. He was anxious to show that he appreciated this servant-girl of his. And what could be nicer and homelier than when Barbro sat there of a Sunday evening twanging the strings of a guitar and singing a little with her hoarse voice? Axel was touched by it all, by the pretty, strange songs, by the mere fact that someone really sat there singing on his poor half-baked farm.

True, in the course of the summer he learned to know other sides of Barbro’s character, but on the whole, he was content. She had her fancies, and could answer hastily at times; was somewhat over-quick to answer back. That Saturday evening, for instance, when Axel himself had to go down to the village to get some things, it was wrong of Barbro to run away from the hut and the animals and leave the place to itself. They had a few words over that. And where had she been? Only to her home, to Breidablik, but still⁠ ⁠… When Axel came back to the hut that night, Barbro was not there; he looked to the animals, got himself something to eat, and turned in. Towards morning Barbro came. “I only wanted to see what it was like to step on a wooden floor again,” she said, somewhat scornfully. And Axel could find nothing much to say to that, seeing that he had as yet but a turf hut with a floor of beaten earth.