Amrie obtained permission from the farmer to go with her brother to the next town, to make arrangement with the agent for his passage. They were astonished to find it had already been done. The village council had settled every thing, and while Dami enjoyed the privilege of poverty, its duties were exacted from him. From the deck of the ship, before it sailed into the wide sea, he must sign a certificate of his departure; not till then was the money paid.
The brother and sister returned full of sadness; they went silently into the village. Dami was oppressed with the feeling that something would happen, because he had once said so, and Barefoot was deeply grieved that her brother, at last, seemed to be thrust hastily away.
When they reached the entrance of the village, and the sign-post, upon which were the names of the village and the district, Dami said aloud, “Thou that standest here, God keep thee! Thou wilt be no longer my home, and all the people here will be no more to me than thou art.”
Barefoot wept. She determined it should be the last time till after Dami had gone. She kept her resolution, and the village people said, “Barefoot had no heart, for her eyes were dry when her brother departed!” They would have seen her weep. What were the tears that were shed in secret to them? She took care to keep strong and active. Only on the few last days, when Dami’s departure was delayed, did she neglect her usual work. She would be always with her brother. When Rose scolded her, she said only, “You are right,” and ran again to Dami. She would not lose a minute while he was there. Every hour she thought she could do something, or say something that would last him his life long; then she tormented herself that she could say only common things, and that she had so often disagreed with him.
Oh, those hours of leave-taking! How they press upon the heart; how all the past and the future is crowded together into one agonizing moment, and only one look, and one embrace, must express all!
Amrie gained time for more words. When she counted her brother’s new shirts, she said, “These are good clean shirts; keep thyself good and pure within them.” As she packed every thing into the sack upon which their father’s name was marked, she said,—“Bring this back again full of money, and we shall see how gladly they will restore to you all your rights. The farmer’s Rose, if she remains single, will spring over seven houses after thee.” When she laid her father’s axe in the great chest she said,—“Oh! how smooth the handle is, how often has our father’s hand gone over it. It seems as though I felt his hand still upon it. So, now, I have a good motto,—‘Sack and Axe,’ working and saving—with these, one becomes hearty, and healthy and happy. God protect thee! Say often to yourself, ‘Sack and Axe.’ I will also often say it. This shall be our mutual thought; our call to each other when we are far,—far apart,—till you write to me, or come to fetch me, or—as God will have it. ‘Sack and Axe.’ This contains all. All that we think, and all that we gain.”
When Dami sat in the wagon, and for the last time she gave him her hand, which she could not draw away till he started, then, in a clear voice, she cried after him,—
“Remember, ‘Sack and Axe!’” He looked back, nodded, and he was gone!
