The doctor was a widower, childless, and lived alone at the trading station, keeping only a girl to look after the house. And many stories were current as to the doctor and his housekeepers. Most of them left after a short time in the house, some of them going out of the country altogether, after which nothing was heard of them. It was also said that he drank in secret, and some believed him to be out of his mind. In any case, it was not a place for a respectable girl.
Ormarr was thinking hard as he rode along.
“She ought to stand the test,” he muttered to himself. “And who knows—perhaps it might be the very thing. A chance that might not come again....”
He found a pretext for entering into conversation with the doctor, and, slackening his pace by imperceptible degrees, managed to fall behind with him, in rear of the party.
It was not long before he had elicited from the doctor the confession that his latest housekeeper had indeed left him.
Ormarr laughed. “You’ve had quite a number of housekeepers these last few years.”
“Yes,” answered the other. “It is more and more difficult to find a respectable woman, and what I am to do now, I do not know. Do without, I suppose.”
“I hope it is not as bad as all that,” said Ormarr. “The work is not so very hard, I take it, and there are generally plenty of girls willing enough to take an easy post. I have an idea, by the way, that the widow there would like her daughter to go out into the world a little; if you like, I could speak to her about it.”
Then they changed the subject, and, whipping up their horses, rejoined the rest.
Later in the day Ormarr spoke to the widow.
“The doctor is in want of a housekeeper,” he said. “What do you think?—would Snebiorg like to undertake the work?”
“Bagga—housekeeper at the doctor’s?” she said harshly. “Never! Never as long as I live!”
“You know well enough what is said about him.”
“True,” Ormarr returned. “I know his weakness where women are concerned, but I have never heard of his ever having gone to extremes. He is too soft and good-natured for that—certainly, he is no rogue. I do not think there is anything to fear. And you can, of course, rely on your daughter herself.”
“I suppose I must do as you wish,” she said at length. “But I shall hold you responsible if any harm comes of it.”