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"You're right about its being a good offer," the old man agreed, "but he says that he has already made a deal else where." "I wonder if he has really considered what it is that he's losing?" said Sven Persson, and walked on.
His first service was with a rich miner named Anders Persson, in whose barn he threshed grain for several days. But his fellow threshers soon saw that he was not accustomed to the work and his general manner did not seem that of a common farm-hand, while one of the women caught the glimpse of a silk collar under his coarse jacket.
The man on the throne, undoubtedly the Hertug Persson, sported a magnificent white beard and shoulder length hair, his nose was round and red, his eyes blue and watery. He nibbled at a krenoj impaled delicately on a two-tined iron fork. "Tell me," the Hertug shouted suddenly, "why you should not be killed at once?"
"'It certainly is silver, said the minister. 'Don't think that I would deceive you. You should not be afraid of being glad. "'Glad! said Pers Persson, 'should I be glad? I thought it was fool's gold, so it seemed better to take a certainty for an uncertainty. I sold my share in the mine to Olaf Svard for one hundred dollars.
And only a moment before he had been so elated over the good news he had to tell his friends. "When the minister had gone a short distance, he met Isræls Pers Persson walking along the road. He appeared as usual and the minister was glad that their good fortune had not turned his head. He would immediately gladden him with the news that he was now a rich man. "'Good-day! said the minister.
"'Do you come now from Falun? "'Yes, and I can tell you that things turned out better than we thought. The mineralogist said that it was silver ore. "Pers Persson looked as if the earth had opened to engulf him. 'What is it you say? Is it silver? "'Yes, we shall all be rich men now and able to live as royalty. "'Oh, is it silver? repeated Pers Persson, in still greater dejection.
"He is thinking of a hound that raises a hare and allows some one else to catch it," remarked the innkeeper's son, insinuatingly. Karin turned blood red, but refilled the coffee cups. "Berger Sven Persson and the rest of you will have to be satisfied with plain coffee," she said. "We no longer serve spirits to any one on this farm." "Nor do I at my home," said the magistrate approvingly.
To be sure, he would claim the lion's share of the blood-money, but something was better than nothing. The sheriff came soon enough with a score of armed men. But Arendt Persson had not reckoned with his honest wife. She guessed his errand and let Gustav down from the window to the rear gate, where she had a sleigh and team in waiting.
In the best room at the Ingmars sat Berger Sven Persson and two other men, drinking coffee. Ingmar Ingmarsson, who still lived at the schoolhouse, was at home over Sunday. He sat at table with them and acted as host, for Karin had excused herself, saying she had some work to do in the kitchen, as the maids had gone down to the mission house to hear the schoolmaster preach.
"Do you call this revenge, Ingmar?" asked Gertrude, in dismay. "What else should I call it? Why didn't you bring me this money at once?" "I wanted to wait until the day of your wedding." "If you had only come before, I'm sure I could have bought back the farm from Berger Sven Persson, and then I would have married you." "Yes, I knew that." "And yet you come on my wedding day, when it's too late!"
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