The frosty panes shone almost as white as marble in the moonlight, which printed the whole of a pale window on the door panel in the lower, unlighted end of the sitting-room.
Jörgen raised his head, covered with coarse, yellow hair, from his book. It was the second time he had heard them, far away on the hill; but, like the sentinels of Haakon Adelstensfostre at the beacon, of whom he was just reading, he did not dare to jump up from his reading and give the alarm until he was sure.
"I think there are bells on the road," he gently remarked, "far off."
But, notwithstanding he pretended that he was deeply absorbed in the esthetic depths of _Hermoder_, the captain also sat with open ears.
"The trader's bells--they are so dull and low," Jörgen put in again.
"If you disturb me again, Jörgen, you shall hear the bells about your own ears."
The trader, Öjseth, was the last one the captain could think of wishing to see at the farm. He kept writing and writing after those paltry thirty dollars of his, as if he believed he would lose them. "Hm! hm!" He grew somewhat red in the face, and read on, determined not to see the man before he was standing in the room.
The bells plainly stopped before the door.
"If you move off the spot, boy, I'll break your arms and legs in pieces!" foamed the captain, now red as copper. "Sit--sit still and read!"
He intended also to sit still himself. That scoundrel of a trader--he should fasten his horse himself at the doorsteps, and help himself as he could.
"Hold your tongue!" said the captain in a murderous deep bass, and with a pair of eyes fixed on his son as if he could eat him.
A pull on his forelock and a box on the ears sent him across the floor.
The truth of his martyrdom was established in the same moment, because the short, square form of the military doctor appeared in the door.
His fur coat was all unbuttoned, and the tip of his long scarf trailed behind him on the threshold. He held his watch out: "What time is it?"
"Now, then, may the devil take your body and soul to hell, where you long ago belonged, if it isn't you, Rist!"
"And here I go and lick Jörgen for--well, well, boy, you shall be excused from your lesson and can ask for syrup on your porridge this evening. Go out to Ma, and tell her Rist is here."