The captain, with military punctuality, at seven o'clock every morning emptied the cup prepared for him and stormed out.
To-day a fierce, boisterous, icy cold blast of rain with hail and snow met him at the outer door and blew far in on the floor. The sides of the mountains were white again.
These last mornings he was accustomed to run down over the newly broken-up potato field, which was being ploughed; but in this weather--
"We must give up the field work, Ola," he announced as his resolution in the yard--"it looks as if the nags would rather have to go out with the snow-plough."
He trudged away; it was not weather to stand still in. The rain drove and pounded in showers down over the windows in the sitting-room with great ponds of water, so that it must be continually mopped up and cloths placed on the window-seats.
Ma and Thinka stood there in the gray daylight over the fruit of their common work at the loom this winter--a roller with still unbleached linen, which they measured out into tablecloths and napkins.
The door opened wide, and the captain's stout form appeared, enveloped in a dripping overcoat.
"I met a stranger down here with something for you, Thinka--wrapped up in oil-cloth. Can you guess whom it is from?"
Thinka dropped the linen, and blushing red advanced a step towards him, but immediately shook her head.
"Rejerstad, that execution-horse, had it with him on his trip up. He was to leave it here." The captain stood inspecting the package. "The sheriff's seal--Bring me the scissors."
In his officiousness, he did not give himself time to take his coat off.
"A para-sol!--A beautiful--new--" Thinka burst out. She remained standing and gazing at it.
"See the old--Hanged if the sheriff isn't making up to you, Thinka."
"Don't you see that here is 'philopena' on the seal, Jäger?" Ma put in, to afford a cover.
"I won a philopena from him--on New Year's Day, when father and I took dinner at Pastor Horn's--after church. I had entirely forgotten it," she said in a husky tone. Her eyes glanced from the floor halfway up to her parents, as she quietly went out, leaving the parasol lying on the table.
"I guess you will use your linen for a wedding outfit, Ma," said the captain, slapping his hands and swinging his hat with a flourish. "What would you say to the sheriff for a son-in-law here at Gilje?"