in the bowling-alley,
like distant thunder on a summer day. It belonged to the silence.
But now the uneven stones of the market-place were ground under
iron-shod heels. The noise of coarse voices thundered against the
walls of the town-hall and the church was thrown back from the
mountain, and hastened unchecked down the long street. Four
wayfarers disturbed the noonday peace.
Alas, for the sweet silence, the holiday peace of years! How
terrified they were! One could almost see them betaking themselves
in flight up the mountain slopes.
One of the noisy crew who broke into the village was Petter Nord,
the Vaermland boy, who six years before had run away, accused of
theft. Those who were with him were three longshoremen from the big
commercial town that lies only a few miles away.
How had little Petter Nord been getting on? He had been getting on
well. He had found one of the most sensible of friends and
companions.
As he ran away from the village in the dark, rainy February
morning, the polska tunes seethed and roared in his ears. And one
of them was more persistent than all the others. It was the one
they all had sung during the ring dance.
Christmas time has come,
Christmas time has come,
And after Christmas time comes Easter.
That is not true at all,
That is not true at all,
For Lent comes after Christmas feasting.
The fugitive heard it so distinctly, so distinctly. And then the
wisdom that is hidden in the old ring dance forced itself upon the
little pleasure-loving Vaermland boy, forced itself into his very
fibre, blended with every drop of blood, soaked into his brain and
marrow. It is so; that is the meaning. Between Christmas and
Easter, between the festivals of birth and death, comes life's
fasting. One shall ask nothing of life; it is a poor, miserable
fast. One shall never trust it, however it may appear. The next
moment it is gray and ugly again. It is not its fault, poor thing,
it cannot help it!
Petter Nord felt almost proud at having cheated life out of its
most profound secret.
He thought he saw the pallid Spirit of Fasting creeping about over
the earth in the shape of a beggar with Lenten twigs [Translator's
Note: In Sweden, just before Easter, bunches of birch twigs with
small feathers tied on the ends, are sold everywhere on the
streets. The origin of this custom is unknown.] in her hand. And he
heard how she hissed at him: "You h
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