“Now, thou wilt do well enough, Jan, only thou must keep quiet body and mind.”
“Tell no one I am here. Thou wilt do that for me? Yes, thou wilt. Let them think I am at the bottom of the Troll Rock—for God’s sake.”
“I will tell no one, Jan. Thou art safe here; be at perfect rest about that matter.”
Of course the minister thought Jan had committed some crime. It was natural for every one to suspect Jan of doing wrong. But the 135 fact that he had been sent so obviously to save him was, in the doctor’s mind, an evidence of the divine interest in the youth which he was glad to share. He had been appointed his preserver, and already he loved him. He fully trusted Hamish, but he thought it well to say to him:
“We will speak to no one of our row to the Troll Rock, Hamish.”
“Does Hamish ever talk, master?”
“No, thou art a wise man; but here there is more to guide than I yet understand.”
“Look nor word of mine shall hinder it.”
For four days the doctor stayed near Jan, and never left his house. “I will be quiet and let the news find me,” he thought. It came into the manse kitchen in various forms. Hamish received every version of the story with that grave shake of the head which fits so admirably every requirement of sympathy. “It was all a great pity,” was his most lengthy comment; but then Hamish never exceeded half a dozen words on any subject.
On the fourth evening, which was Saturday, Peter Fae sent this message to the minister: “Wilt thou come down to my store for the 136 good of a wretched soul?” It was then getting late, and Peter stood in his shop-door alone. He pointed to Michael Snorro, who sat in a corner on some seal-skins in a stupor of grief.