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"Better yet, brothers," cried Lars Larsson, now her most loyal supporter; "she sits upon the throne of the kings; let her be proclaimed King of Sweden." And so it was done. And with their wavering loyalty kindled into a sudden flame, the States of Sweden "gave a mighty shout" and cried as one man, "Hail, Christina, King of Sweden!"
"I do not know; there is the parish tailor, who has already spoken to Magde about it " "The parish tailor! Aha!" "And Captain Larsson who owns a sloop, offered Ragnar two barrels of rye flour if he would speak a good word to me about him." "Two barrels of rye flour as a bribe! And your brother's reply?"
"And there's the stone house in Mora over the cellar where Margit Larsson hid him when the Danish soldiers were close on his track," added Birger. "The inscription says:
The next day came a royal lackey with a big red book and a letter for Clement, and in the letter it said that the book was from the King. After that the little old man, Clement Larsson, was lightheaded for several days, and it was impossible to get a sensible word out of him. When a week had gone by, he went to the superintendent and gave in his notice. He simply had to go home.
This was nearly all that had been said. Suddenly the eldest of the dairy girls looked up from her work and said laughingly: "There's no need of our sitting here so silent to-night, for we have two story-tellers with us. One is Clement Larsson, who sits beside me, and the other is Bernhard from Sunnasjö, who stands back there gazing toward Black's Ridge.
The peasants, with merry chatter and banter, carried water and wood and all that had been brought in the carts into the larger cabin. Presently smoke rose from the chimney and then the dairymaids, the shepherd boy, and the men squatted upon a flat rock and ate their supper. Gorgo, the eagle, was certain that he should find Clement Larsson among those who were off for the forest.
However, none of the geese was hurt; but just there, above the boat, Prettywing opened her bill and dropped Thumbietot into the sea. A few years ago, at Skansen the great park just outside of Stockholm where they have collected so many wonderful things there lived a little old man, named Clement Larsson.
On the subject of home arts and handicrafts Larsson has emphatic ideas and urges on his compatriots the desirability of preserving their national types. "Take care of your true self while time is," he says, "again become a plain and worthy people.
"Those of us who have furnished the money to build and run this mission should be consulted before any new preacher is allowed to speak." By that time Krister Larsson had become aroused and was on his feet again. "I recall to mind that when we built this hall we were all agreed that it should be a free-for-all meetinghouse and not a church where only one man is allowed to preach the Word."
Gunhild, the daughter of Councillor Clementsson, lifted up her hands in ecstasy, and tears streamed down her face. "I, too, am going," she cried. "God's voice calls me." Whereupon Krister Larsson and his wife said, almost in the same breath: "It cries into my ear that I must go. I can hear God's voice calling me!"
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