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Updated: June 9, 2025
It was simply this: when the news was spread throughout the parish that Jan of Ruffluck had come back just in time to be buried with Katrina they had all felt that there was something singularly touching and miraculous about this, which made them want to come and see the old couple reunited in death. And of course no one dreamed that the same thought would occur to so many others.
But after that day there had been no more happiness for him, and she had never been quite contented either. She strove to hold this face before her eyes. It did her good. There rose up in her such a strong wave of tenderness as she looked at it! That face only wished her well. It was not something to be feared. This was just the old kind-hearted Jan of Ruffluck.
Anyway, she looked more amiable and serene than she had appeared in a long while. "You're an old simpleton," she told him. "I wonder what other women would say if they had a husband like you? But still it's a comfort to know that you don't want to go away from me." Jan Anderson of Ruffluck was not invited to the funeral of Björn Hindrickson of Loby.
The evening before Glory Goldie of Ruffluck left for Stockholm Jan discovered no end of things that had to be attended to all at once. He had no sooner got home from his work than he must betake himself to the forest to gather firewood, whereupon he set about fixing a broken board in the gate that had been hanging loose a whole year.
"I am not very well acquainted in this district," said the senator, "but I gather that this must be the place in the Ashdales that is called Ruffluck Croft." It was of course. Every one nodded in the affirmative, but no one was able to utter an audible word. They wondered that Katrina had the presence of mind to nudge Börje, and make him get up and give his chair to the senator.
The Ruffluck folk, as well as every one else, found the room uncommonly light, although it was as dim at the back as if a dark-gray wall had been raised there making the room appear smaller than it was. And in this semi-darkness could be dimly seen a group of women with babes in arms that had to be trundled, and fed, and tended in every way.
It seemed extraordinary to many that Glory Goldie of Ruffluck should have to stand at the Borg pier day after day, watching for one who never came. Glory Goldie did not stand there waiting on fine light summer days either! She was on the pier in bleak and stormy November and in dark and cold December.
His head sank back as if he were about to swoon. How dear of the little girl! he thought. It was for this he had waited the whole time yet how, how could he ever bear to let her go away from him? Jan of Ruffluck walked along the forest road where he and his womenfolk, happy and content, had passed on the way home from church a few hours earlier.
But at that moment he knew what it was that had quickened the heart in him. Moreover he was beginning to perceive what had been amiss with him all his life, and that he whose heart does not respond to either joy or sorrow can hardly be called human. The following day Jan of Ruffluck Croft stood waiting for hours on the doorstep of his hut, with the little girl in his arms.
He had just begun to unfold the rich promises which God has made to those who honour father and mother, when Jan of Ruffluck arose. "There is some one standing outside the door who is afraid to come in," said Jan. "Go see what the matter is, Börje," said the pastor. "You're nearest the door." Börje rose at once, opened the door, and glanced up and down the entry.
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