“For that I will come no more here.”
“Yes, thou wilt.”
“I will come no more.”
Peter was much troubled. Angry as he was, grief at Snorro’s defection was deeper than any other feeling. For nearly twenty years he had relied on him. Besides the inconvenience to the business, the loss of faith was bitter. But he said no more at that time. When Margaret was in her home, Snorro would be easier to manage. More as a conciliatory measure with him, than as kindness to his offending daughter, he said, “First of all, however, take a load of tea, and sugar and flour, and such things as will be needed; thou knowest them. Take what thou wishes, and all thou wishes; then, thou canst not say evil of me.”
“When did I say evil of thee, only to thy face? Michael Snorro hath but one tongue. It knows not how to slander or to lie. Pay me my wages, and I will go, and speak to thee no more.”
“Do what I said and come back to me in three days; then we will settle this trouble between us;” saying which, Peter went into his counting house, and Snorro went to work with all his will and strength to get Margaret’s house ready for her.
But though he hired three men to help him, it was the evening of the second day before she could remove to it. It was a different homecoming from her previous one in that dwelling. Then all had been in exquisitely spotless order, and Jan had turned and kissed her at the open door. This night every thing was in confusion. Snorro had carried all her belongings into the house, but they were unpacked and unarranged. Still he had done a great deal. A large fire was burning, the kettle boiling on the hearth, and on the little round table before it he had put bread and milk and such things as would be necessary for a first meal. Then, with an innate delicacy he had gone away, fully understanding that at the first Margaret would wish to be quite alone.
She stood a minute and looked around. Then she opened the box in which her china and silver were packed. In half an hour the tea-table was spread. She even made a kind of festival of the occasion by giving little Jan the preserved fruit he loved with his bread. It seemed to her as if food had never tasted so good before. She was again at her own table; at her own fireside! Her own roof covered 227 her! There was no one to gloom at her or make her feel uncomfortable. Work, poverty, all things, now seemed possible and bearable.