The reddish clouds drove each other over the tops of the trees, and the western sky glowed as the red sun fell, predicting a storm tomorrow.
The forest was hissing, and the high hongs swayed, but they stood so densely on both sides of the road that they gave protection to everyone who went there.
The light-weight, high-speed horse-drawn buggies wandered agilely along the road. The Västrafors vicar, Edgar Sander, sat on the wheel as wide-bodied and large that hardly any of his slender Brita’s daughters would fit alongside him. But there was room for it and she enjoyed the trip. He was always happy to go to the Black Arrow, especially when his father was in the guise, because he gave that bad animal a bad deal, but never so that he could not control it. The Black Arrow was better than usual on this journey, as the forest was full of miraculous sounds of the storm.
Father and daughter came from the Bergshamra factory, where Västankoski roared wildly and whitewashed. There had been a sewing club, and Brita had been there with her father instead of the mother who had a cold. Brita did not like to sit down in the sewing clubs and felt that she was now just as liberated as the Black Arrow, which never enjoyed being in a stranger.
Soon Lågarn’s water sparkled from behind the trees, a storm that melted it into white whitewash, and the evening sun threw its color on its sparkling surface. Just where it goes down to Lake Lågarn and where the road bridge goes across the river is the Fors, Doctor’s House.
Sander arrested a horse, who stopped reluctantly, making unnecessary business to run again.
– Run in, Brita, and see if Uncle Bentick is at home and ask him for some drops on his mother’s cough. It was bad last night.
With one jump, Brita was on the wheel and ran in. She went through the dining room and knocked on the next door.
It was answered: in! and Brita opened the door. There, Dr. Bentick sat at his desk at the desk with a magnifying glass with cough boils. She turned over her eyeglasses over Britain.
– Are we there? he said and nodded, but did not try to stand up to the nineteen-year worth of British.
– Dad asks if Uncle gives some drops to his mother. She coughs so.
– Cough? How long has he been coughing?
– A few days. He colds on Friday and never cares about himself, so it was worse at night.
– Is that so. And there aren’t others who watch out for him?
– I wouldn’t have to try to get my mother to look after herself, she doesn’t obey me, Brita explained.
The doctor laughed at his apparent dissatisfaction with his mother’s disobedience.
– Are we running right here due to drops?
– No, Dad and I are on the way back from Bergshamra. Father is sitting on a stroller.
After hearing it, Dr. Bentick got up and went out with Britan.
At his desk, he usually sat carelessly bowed, but when he tolerated straightening, he became long and handsome. His great but neglected and unused power was visible in his being.
– Good day, dear friend! It’s always fun to see your daydream!
So he greeted the souls.
Sander looked radically at him.
– Did you sit by the glass now?
– No, at the magnifying glass – once. I counted the tubercles bass – the little idols that I hope I can drive out of Sept-Ann. Maybe it will work better if you read spells in addition to it.
Sander splashed.
– About Sept-Ann, – Do you mean Pekka’s young wife? Is he doing so badly?
Doctor nodded.
– It was a short fortune! sighed Sander. I waited a lot for her influence on her husband. He was a good person.
– Was it? Of course he is still one.
– But he’s gonna die.
– I’m lucky! I didn’t say so. He has tubercles, but he can be saved. I’m delivering him to a sanatorium.
– I’ll go past and go down there, ”Sander said.
The doctor put his hand on his arm with the most gesturing gestures.
– No word about tubercles for him! Otherwise it!
“The truth is always the best,” said Sander, and faced the doctor with a strong look.
– Sometimes it may be wise not to say it, and while you are in the room, you are good and leave it without saying it.
– What right do you have to command me? asked Sander rigidly.
– Right of my office.
– I also have the right to my office.
Both were equally steep, both as determined to control each other as to prevent one’s self-directed attempts.
Brita stood next to some amusement, partly frightened and wondered how the matter would end. Feminine inventively, he grabbed the speech to separate them.
– How’s Mom’s coughing up, Uncle Bentick?
– So drops, really! We always get into trouble, you and me, said Dr. and let Sander’s arm.
The usual look returned to her face and she looked at her friend playfully.
– How’s your wife doing?
– Such an irritating cough, as you know. Common colds.
We both slept badly last night.
– Well, I’ll give him some drops to get you to sleep, Doctor said he was so uninformed about his words that Sander didn’t notice it.
When Brita had received the vial and jumped into the stroller, the Black Arrow finally got off to run. It almost flew forward.
The doctor stood bare at his gate, looking after them.
– Get Sander! Unless he rushes on one day, it’s a miracle. Now, of course, she rushes straight to her shoe and breaks the times of their luck before it is needed. I’m a fool who chattered. It would have been better if I had sat at my glass, so I would not have been tempted to boast of my research.
And shaking his head, he went in, put the magnifying glass aside, and shuffled the glass instead. –
* * * * *
– The storm is rising, Dad.
– The right storm always makes it better.
– It feels open.
– We’ll drive it soon. But take that warp if you are cold.
– Cold! said Brita as being hurt by such suspicion.
Satisfied glimpses appeared on the father’s face. He liked it.
Then they came to the plain that ran along the shore of the lake. In lower areas it would not have been thought of as a plateau, so small it was, but in this wooded mountain landscape it made a remarkable difference.
As the father had promised, it was soon over the plateau, and soon the strollers were protected by the forest.
– I think we are going to Borg, I have a thing for the younger Clareus, said Sander when they came to a remote road that was off the big road.
The Black Arrow did not want to get out of the way, because he didn’t take home where his mind was doing. But in vain it tried to push its will against the will of its master. It had to obey and obey, but very badly.
– Go, go! said Sander and whispered a little bit of a horse that popped out with some kind of rage of despair and almost ran up the steep road.
There was an old manor house on Mäki, with a wide view over
Lågarn across the road and across forests and forest lakes.
a two-storey wooden building painted yellow brick ceiling folded alaisine in the attic with its large and two small samankuosista and color flank flanked by three linden trees varjoamaa side of the yard, which was painted green with seesaws and board passageways between the buildings.
To this yard, the buggies were now spinning up as a bark of the dog’s bark and stopped at the stairs of a large building.
Kaaro and Netta stopped barking as soon as Brita had jumped from the wheel and had become convinced that he was a friend of the house. They jumped around the ghosts around him, seemingly apologizing for their barking.
Brita patted them, arranged her hair and looked at the yard, where the storm spun yellow leaves on the sand. Then he hurried in.
Sander tied his horse to the tree when he did not intend to stay so long that it would cost him to take it to the stables. Being good toward all who did their work well, he took a bunch off of carts involved in the grass and threw it in front of the black arrow. But the horse was still injured by being forced to deviate from the outskirts to be bound here again, waiting for it to warp his ears, waved his head and seemed willing to say he didn’t want to eat.
Sander laughed, patted it hard on the plates and went in.
When Sander came to a place to look for someone, he had never had the same question as to ask, whoever was looking for what he was looking for. Now he had a thing for the son of the house, a candidate for Uno Clareu. As a result, he did not go to the captain’s room to the lowest floor but directly to the attic floor of the room where Uno lived.
After completing his degree in philosophy, Uno had left his studies to surrender completely to his writing. She had already written poetry, lashes, and short stories with her success, that she had risen to her head – and put it on the bike, her father said. Now he was doing a great dramatic work and in order to be completely disturbed with his spirits he had come home to Borg and asked to get to the southern end room in the attic, because it was so separate, and then the attic rooms had a special atmosphere, he thought.
Now, to this poem of poetry, you headed for the art of blind and deaf vicious Sander, a heavy step.
But he couldn’t find what he was looking for in the room. Instead, he met Captain Clareus, who was comfortably lying in a wicker chair with a second chair, a diaper on a round stomach, a book in his hand, and a cigar in his mouth.
The captain had a very supernatural appearance, a smooth shaved jaw, short-edged greyish whiskers, an expression of playfulness around the mouth, a carefree look in the dark blue eyes, still under black eyeballs.
He was glad to see Sander and made the move as if to get up, but that wasn’t really meant and ended up putting his hand out and pushing a nearby chair.
– Sit and talk and take the cigar.
He pointed his hand to the cigar cage on the table.
– Where’s Uno? asked Sander immediately.
– He’s not here as you see. I also look forward to telling him that this book, which he has borrowed for me to cultivate me, is just a lorua. Sit down, brother dear! He’s coming soon, he’s been out for a long time.
But Sander stood still.
– I have a thing for her, I would like to have it delivered tonight.
– He won’t come home sooner because you stand, so sit down. I have never seen anyone standing so persistent as you. Sit down, otherwise I’m nervous.
– Where’s Uno? What is he doing for so long? asked Sander.
He always became impatient when he had to wait.
– You think, I suppose. And I sincerely hope the storm will push his thoughts. He claims to have been like a lock in the recent times, and it has made him so bad that he prefers to make a round to meet him.
– Why does he spend his time on the frenzy of plays? He should take something more useful. There you hardly do the right thing to let him walk here lazy.
– I don’t let her laze, the captain replied with a happy yawn. That’s what my euckey does. And what will I do then? You know what God wants, what God wants.
“That’s what I don’t know at all,” Sander said, rejecting what was very amusing to the captain. But what is now Uno will come, so I have come to present to him a useful activity.
– Or soi Edge your land with inky hands or rocks to wrestle with you? asked the captain, referring to the bodily work done by the powerful vicar for his rest when the time of the soul was left.
– I usually assemble my former ripper children once a month for an evening party. Now I want her to have a presentation for them on Thursday.
– Then where? asked the captain, taking the cigar out of his mouth, to be amazed.
– For example about poetry.
The captain’s mouth and eyes grew more and more.
– About Poetry? And you, who only do godly doctrine and bodily work, do you like that?
– I’m not so one-sided. I want all power to be taken into account in the service of good. I am interested in educating people in different fields. If Uno can make others aware of the information he has, he will benefit from them. I want to give him that opportunity.
That energetic man who could not see the untapped power without immediately considering the benefits of producing it walked back and forth on the floor. The captain chuckled his cigar while watching his friend in a good-looking ruin.
Both of them were happy to do good to each, but the other made it from the principle, contrary to their natural selfish tendency, one from the natural goodness.
Suddenly, the door opened, and Uno Clareus came in.
She stopped reluctantly surprised to see people in her room. He had rushed home with a renewed inspiration in a full flame to deepen his writing. He could not curb his impatience or bother to cover it, it was visible in every aspect of his lively face.
A more unattractive moment could not have been chosen by Sander to present his case, and if he had had half as much human knowledge as perseverance, he would have postponed his case for another time, but he did not scream at his head.
After hearing what it was, Uno fiercely shook his head.
– I’ve never liked the presentation and can’t agree to it, he replied sharply.
– Someone should be the first time, said the vicar.
– Why so? I never intend to keep presentations, the least of poetry for rabbits.
Uno was so impatient that he forgot to be polite.
Sander was angry with the opposition.
“You should be grateful for the opportunity you have, when you can benefit,” he said.
– I have a job, and it’s a writer, Uno said with great straightness. That gentle young man’s proud self-conscious movement, a young man with red-faced young faces, whose whiskers were still a downy hawk, crouched a hilarious smile on the captain’s lips. But as usual, Sander did not notice the shadow of comic.
“One who knows how to write should be able to speak,” said Sander, who had not given up on his business yet.
– The one who knows how to walk, should know how to fly, admitted the captain got up.
He gave the blanket a drop on the floor and a stretcher along the hawk.
– Uno, do what I ask you to do? asked Sander.
Uno was distracted by such stubbornness, which did not leave him alone.
– I don’t want to talk about poetry, I just want poems. Otherwise, I do not have time to think about presentations, I am being caught at work that ties me completely and I can not and I can not and I will not degrade myself.
From this answer, Sanderink had to understand that more cries were unnecessary. But he was very angry because he could never tolerate people retreating from what he considered to be their duty.
The captain looked amused from one to the other.
– Come on, he said, grabbing Sander’s arm. I see from Uno that his writer is as persistent as your power, and he explodes unless we leave him alone. Can’t you ask me to hold a presentation? I can speak constructively. For example, war.
He tried not to draw his friend towards the door. Sander reluctantly followed.
– Is that really your last word? he asked Uno.
– Yes, she replied, looking so eager to stay alone, as if she wanted to shoot both of them out.
To their great satisfaction, they really did.
Uno straightened the feelings of liberation and shook his half-furious fists toward the door. Then he sat down at the desk, picked up his screenplay, and soon became more involved in his work, illuminating the artistic half-length of the forehead.