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Sellanraa is no longer a desolate spot in in the waste; human beings live here seven of them, counting great and small. But in the little time the haymaking lasted there came a stranger or so, folk wanting to see the mowing-machine. Brede Olsen was first, of course, but Axel Ström came, too, and other neighbours from lower down ay, from right down in the village.
Now what had he done that for? A sudden impulse to do just that thing; perhaps he had done it to hide his embarrassment. They started off again, and all three of them walked a bit of the way. They came to a new farm. "What's that there?" asked Inger. "'Tis Brede's place, that he's bought." "Brede?" "Breidablik, he calls it. There's wide moorland, but the timber's poor."
The next morning I believe I was the earliest visitor who in modern times has troubled the serenity of the Chateau de la Brede. A mist one of the first of the falling year lay white and dense upon the land. It was a fine-weather mist, such as in the opinion of the wine-grower helps to ripen the grapes.
Now what I ask of you, and I don't want you to take it as in no ways personal, is hev you your merridge-license with you?" "No," we heard the voice of Mr. Brede reply. "Have you yours?" I think it was a chance shot; but it told all the same. Biggle and I looked at each other; and Mr. Jacobus, on the other side of the grape-trellis, looked at I don't know what and was as silent as we were.
Brede looked after them with an injured air. If he had felt a glimmer of hope for the moment, it was gone now; fate was against him, nothing ever went right. Well for Brede that he was not easily cast down; he looked after the men as they rode away, and said at last: "Wish you a pleasant journey!" And that was all.
"All in God's hands," he says to himself seems like he can talk all godly and pious when he will. Getting dark, ay; but a man can die without the light of a lamp. He feels all soft and good now, and of sheer humility he smiles, foolishly and kindly, at the snowstorm round; 'tis God's own snow, an innocent thing! Ay, he might even forgive Brede, and never say a word....
Brede's wife, careless and light-hearted as himself, for all the fulness of her in front, has begun selling coffee at a table. She finds it amusing to play at shop, and smiles; and when Brede himself comes up for some coffee, she tells him jestingly that he must pay for it like the rest. And Brede actually takes out his lean purse and pays. "There's a wife for you," he says to the others.
"Ay, 'tis strange to think of leaving a place where you've lived and toiled and grown fond of. But what's a man to do when it's fated so to be?" "Maybe 'twill be better for you after," says Isak comfortingly. "Why," says Brede, grasping at it himself, "to tell the truth, I think it will. I'm not regretting it, not a bit.
Yes, Brede had samples. But couldn't they just as well go up and look at the places at once? It wasn't far. Samples oh, sacks of them, whole packing-cases full. No, he had not brought them with him, they were at home he could run down and fetch them. But it would be quicker just to run up into the hills and fetch some more, if they would only wait. The men shook their heads and went on their way.
Brede arrived with her children; she had a cottage to herself, as in previous summers. So she must be rich and fashionable, this Mrs. Brede, since she had a cottage to herself. She was a charming lady, and her little daughters were well-grown, handsome children. They curtsied to me, making me feel, I don't know why, as though they were giving me flowers. A strange feeling.
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