“We understand, of course, that this ditching would be a good thing for Mårbacka,” said their spokesman, “but it’s of no importance to us.” When he came back from the meeting he felt rather depressed. The matter of the dredging was settled for some time to come. The river could go on creating havoc. If a stray herd of cattle trampled his fields he could drive them out, but the river must be left free to choke and destroy all in its path. In the midst of these broodings on his frustrated hopes, he got up and went over to the servants’ hall to see Bengt. “It didn’t go through, Bengt, that about the river,” he said. “That’s too bad, Lieutenant!” the old man sympathized. “The Paymaster of the Regiment always said the farm would be worth twice as much if it wasn’t for Ämtan.” “I say, Bengt”--the Lieutenant lowered his voice--“there aren’t so many cats in the barn now, eh?... Perhaps we’d better let Britta keep what’s left of them.” “Just as you wish, Lieutenant.” The Lieutenant lowered his voice a bit more, as if fearful lest the walls of the old manservants’ room might hear what he said. “Where did you drown them, Bengt?” “I took ’em down to the river. I was afraid they’d come floating up and be seen, if I drowned them here in the duck pond.” “H’m, in the river--I thought so!” The Lieutenant stood reflecting a long while. Suddenly he burst out: “There’s a lot that’s queer in this world!” “Ay, there is that,” old Bengt agreed. As long as Lieutenant Lagerlöf lived he had to let the river do as it would with his fine fields. Year after year he saw it overflow its banks and spread out in innumerable lake-like ponds, from Mårbacka down through the whole dale. And every time it occurred he would tell about the red cats that sat on the gateposts the morning he drove down to the meeting. Could it be possible that they knew how badly things would go for him? And was it true that one who did violence to a cat was punished? He wondered about that to the end of his days. II THE NEW BARN LIEUTENANT LAGERLÖF wanted to have Mårbacka not only a productive and well-cared-for farm, but a beautiful place, with stately avenues of approach and extensive gardens of flowers and shrubbery on all sides of the dwelling house. Not far from the house stood the wretched old cow-barn, with its thatched roof, its small window-openings, and its weather-beaten timber walls. To be sure, there was a row of century-old sycamores, with yellow, lichen-clad trunks and a wealth of foliage, which concealed the building from view, so that the place was perhaps not so very ugly after all. Still, the Lieutenant declared he could never make Mårbacka look like a manor until that cow-house was torn down.