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He hurried out to the shed, slipped on his overalls, and disappeared with the milking pails. Mrs. Ericson came in, wearing a clean white apron, her black hair shining from the application of a wet brush. "Good morning, Mother. Can't I make the fire for you?" "No, thank you, Nils. It's no trouble to make a cob fire, and I like to manage the kitchen stove myself" Mrs.
Clara laughed. "I don't usually get in anybody's way." Nils followed her down the stairs and to the far corner of the cellar, where a basement window let in a stream of light. From a swinging shelf Clara selected several glass jars, each labeled in Johanna's careful hand. Nils took up a brown flask. "What's this? It looks good." "It is. It's some French brandy father gave me when I was married.
But the good folk were nevertheless inclined to attribute a higher authority to him; and would desist from vice or folly for his sake, when they would not for their own sake. It was odd, indeed: this Wise Nils, the fiddler, became a great man in the valley, and his renown went abroad and brought him visitors, seeking his counsel, from distant parishes.
It happened about this time that the old schoolmaster died, and in his will it was found that he had bequeathed his fiddle to Nils. He had very little else to leave, poor fellow; but if he had been a Croesus he could not have given his favorite pupil anything that would have delighted him more. Nils played now early and late, except when he was in the woods with his father.
Still Nils kept on making good resolutions and breaking them, and then piecing them together again and breaking them anew. If it had not been for his desire to see the Hulder and the Nixy, and making them promise the fulfilment of the three wishes, he would have given up the struggle, and resigned himself to being a bad boy because he was born so.
The Sun rolled into a cave, where the walls were bedecked with ice, and Nils Holgersson wanted to follow, but farther than the opening of the cave he dared not venture, for in there he saw something dreadful. Far back in the cave sat an old witch with an ice body, hair of icicles, and a mantle of snow! At her feet lay three black wolves, who rose and opened their jaws when the Sun approached.
She was all irresponsible in her words, going, perhaps, further than she meant. But she was changed out of knowledge to us all, and spoiled and shameless now. Fru Falkenberg shameless! Nay, perhaps not; who could say? Yet she was not ashamed to come out in the kitchen of an evening and say nice things to Nils about how young and strong he was.
Dis time you haf to drink, and Clara she haf to, so she show she not jealous. So, we all drink to your girl. You not tell her name, eh? No-no-no, I no make you tell. She pretty, eh? She make good sweetheart? I bet!" Joe winked and lifted his glass. "How soon you get married?" Nils screwed up his eyes. "That I don't know. When she says." Joe threw out his chest. "Das-a way boys talks.
He does it of his own will; I don't like a boy to be too handy about the house." "He seems like a nice kid." "He's very obedient." Nils smiled a little in the dark. It was just as well to shift the line of conversation. "What are you knitting there, Mother?" "Baby stockings. The boys keep me busy." Mrs. Ericson chuckled and clicked her needles. "How many grandchildren have you?"
Little Hans could scarcely be blamed for loving his father better; for love is largely dependent upon habit, and Nils had been his constant companion since he was a year old. A bitter sense of loneliness and loss overcame the poor wife as she stood on the river-bank pleading with her child, and finding that she annoyed instead of moving him.
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