ame a moment of silence, after which the innkeeper was heard
to say, not exactly loudly, but with a clearness that made every
word carry: "I bid thirty-six thousand, not that I think the place
is worth that much, but I can't bear the thought of its becoming a
corporation property."

Immediately after there was a noise as of some one striking a table
with his fist, and the manager of the Company was heard to shout:
"I bid forty thousand, and more than that Karin and Halvor are not
likely to get."

Mother Stina, who had turned as white as a sheet, got up and went
back to the yard. It was dreary enough out there, but not as
insufferable as sitting in the close room listening to the haggling.

The sale of linen was over; the auctioneer had again changed his
place, and was about to cry out the old family silverware--the
heavy silver jugs inlaid with gold coin, and the beakers bearing
inscriptions from the seventeenth century. When he held up the
first jug, Ingmar started forward as if to stop the sale, but
restrained himself at once, and went back to his place.

A few minutes later an old peasant came bearing the silver jug,
which he respectfully deposited at Ingmar's feet. "You must keep
this as a souvenir of all that by right should have been yours," he
said.

Again a tremor passed through Ingmar's body; his lips quivered,
and he tried to say something.

"You needn't say anything now," said the old peasant. "That will
keep till another time." He withdrew a few paces, then suddenly
turned back. "I hear that folks are saying you could take over the
farm if you cared to. It would be the greatest service you could
render this parish."

There were a number of old servants living at the farm, who had
been there from early youth. Now that old age had overtaken them
they still stayed on, and over these hung a pall of uncertainty
such as had not touched the others. They feared that under a new
master they would be turned out of their old home to become
beggars. Or, whatever happened, they knew in their hearts that no
stranger would care for them as their old master and mistress had
done. These poor old pensioners wandered restlessly about the
farmyard all day long. Seeing them shrink past, frail and helpless,
with a look of hopeless appeal in their weak, watery eyes, every
one felt sorry for them.

Finally one old man, who was nearly a hundred, hobbled up to
Ingmar, and sat down on the ground quite close to him. It seem