Lagerlöf, Selma, 1858-1940 -- Translations into English; Short stories, Swedish -- Translations into English; Sweden -- Fiction
Gudmund was unmarried at that time and lived at home with his parents.
His father was a farm-owner. His was not a large farm and he was not
rich, but he made a good living. The son had gone to the Court House to
fetch some deeds for his father, but as there was also another purpose
in the trip, he had groomed himself carefully. He had taken the
brand-new trap with not a crack in the lacquering, had rubbed up the
harness and curried the horse until he shone like satin. He had placed a
bright red blanket on the seat beside him, and himself he had adorned
with a short hunting-jacket, a small gray felt hat, and top boots, into
which the trousers were tucked. This was no holiday attire, but he
probably knew that he looked handsome and manly.
Gudmund was seated alone in the cart when he drove from home in the
morning, but he had agreeable things to think of and the time had not
seemed long to him. When he had arrived about half-way, he came across
a poor young girl who was walking very slowly and looked as though she
were scarcely able to move her feet because of exhaustion. It was autumn
and the road was rain-soaked, and Gudmund saw how, with every step, she
sank deeper into the mud. He stopped and asked where she was going. When
he learned that she was on her way to the Court House, he invited her to
ride. She thanked him and stepped up on the back of the cart to the
narrow board where the hay sack was tied, as though she dared not touch
the red blanket beside Gudmund. Nor was it his meaning that she should
sit beside him. He didn't know who she was, but he supposed her to be
the daughter of some poor backwoodsman and thought the rear of the cart
was quite good enough for her.
When they came to a steep hill and the horse began to slow up, Gudmund
started talking. He wanted to know her name and where she was from. When
he learned that her name was Helga, and that she came from a backwoods
farm called Big Marsh, he began to feel uneasy. "Have you always lived
at home on the farm or have you been out to service?" he asked.
The past year she had been at home, but before this she had been working
out.
"Where?" asked Gudmund hastily.
He thought it was a long while before the answer was forthcoming. "At
the West Farm, with Per Mårtensson," she said finally, sinking her voice
as if she would rather not have been heard.
But Gudmund heard her. "Indeed! Then it is you who--" said he, but did
not conclude his meaning. He turned from her, and sat up straight in his
seat and said not another word to her.
Gudmund gave the horse rap upon rap and talked loudly to himself about
the wretched condition of the road and was in a very bad humor.
The girl sat still for a moment; presently Gudmund felt her hand upon
his arm. "What do you wish?" he asked without turning his head.
Oh, he was to stop, so she could jump out.
"Why so?" sneered Gudmund. "Aren't you riding comfortably?"
"Yes, thank you, but I prefer to walk."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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