"But it was a silly thing to do, all the same. For it was no fault of the gulls. And they did no more than harm the dead--what's that against what was done to the living? And it was that I wanted to say to you, Sven. When I think how men deal so with men, that thousands of young lives are strewn about the sea, I can only cry for shame. "And, Sven, I know I used to look down on you before and reckon myself better than you. But I want to ask your forgiveness for that. I used to think how you and your comrades up there had done a wrong to the dead, and I myself--I've never done a single thing to help the living." "That you have, Joel," said his brother. "No," said Joel, weeping, and threw himself on his knees beside an upholstered armchair, covered with pieces of embroidery, where his brother was sitting. "I've never helped a single soul, not even father or mother, or any one. And that's why the world's so cruel as it is." "It could be better, Joel," said Sven, stroking his brother's hair. "And you can help to make it so." "It's too late now," said Ung-Joel. "Now that I've got that sight in my eyes. I'm going mad now." Sven Elversson laid one hand gently over his brother's eyes. "Try now, Joel," he said. "You cannot see anything cruel now, with my hand over your eyes." "That's true," said Ung-Joel. "There's blessing in your hand, Sven, from all the good you've done for others." "Close your eyes now, Joel," said Sven Elversson. "And just think of how we can work together and help each other from now on." And Ung-Joel closed his eyes, and in a moment he had fallen forward against his brother's knees, asleep. It was a strange day, indeed, for Sven Elversson, that day in Knapefiord. It seemed as if every living soul in the place had hit on the same thought as Ung-Joel. When his brother had been put to bed, and was quietly and healthily asleep, Sven Elversson went for a walk through the fishing village. He had gone but a little way down the smooth rocky slope when he met a woman. It was the wife of that Hjelmfeldt who had been one of the crew of the _Naiad_. As soon as she saw who it was, she came up and shook hands with him, and begged him to go in and speak to her husband. Hjelmfeldt had been one of a party that fished up a mine at the beginning of the war, with the result that he had now but one arm and two half-legs remaining. "And I said to myself," said his wife, "that if ever I came across you again, I'd ask your forgiveness for what we'd done to you. I've been thinking of them that sit making those mines and things. And if one of them heard about you, I dare say he'd think he was a fine fellow compared to you." "That may be," said Sven Elversson.