“A few, one or two that were worth working if one had the money to put into them. Some millionaire or other owns what there are, and those Swedes who spent everything they had to buy themselves a hole in the ground, they work for him and live as best they can.”
“Why didn’t they all go back to Sweden again?” Hugh inquired.
“They were too proud,” said Oscar. “Would it be easy, do you think, after your whole village had turned out to do you honor, after your gateway had been dressed with wreaths and branches and all your neighbors had come in to wish you good-by and good luck and to envy you a little, in a friendly way, for your boldness and spirit in going to America to make your fortune, would it be easy to go back and say you were ruined? No, one and all of them went stubbornly to work and never a complaint went back to the Old Country.”
He could not understand what all this had to do with Oscar’s living on a lonely hilltop in the forest.
“Linda and I often talked the whole matter over,” Oscar went on, “and wondered what could be done, but we never saw a way. Then one day, when I had been hunting, I came as far as this valley which Jake had just begun trying to hold; it was then I saw suddenly whence help could come. There are only rocky bits of ground to be tilled near Rudolm, but here is land, and prosperity for all even though it will not come in a single day. I thought it out as I lay by my campfire that night, and in the morning I could hardly get home quickly enough to tell them of my plan.”
Hugh had moved close up to him to make sure of missing no single word. He was beginning to see the reasons for some of the things he had noticed in Rudolm, the tiny houses, the narrow fields, the heavy sad faces. He thought of the road, “Oscar’s road,” that went to the top of the first hill, and stopped.
“It was hard to make them heed, for they had been deceived once, but in the end they began to listen. The first step needed was to build a road through the forest so that the new valley should not be buried beyond the reach of the world. We got together a little money, the men came with their horses, their axes and picks and, at the summer Festival, with laughing and singing and a few tears too, so great a plan did it seem to some, we began to push our way into the wilderness. But the labor was harder than they thought and the men began to be discouraged and to quarrel and to mutter among themselves, ‘That mad Oscar Dansk, he and his father, they were both dreamers of dreams.’ So the work went slower and slower until we came at last to the top of the hill.