“Diogenes!” said Christian, “many thanks! That cynic has always seemed to me a conceited fool. In any event, if he was really a philosopher, and wished to prove to the men of his time that it is possible to be happy and free without material comforts, he forgot the fundamental principle of his doctrine: namely, that no one can be free and happy without some useful employment; a truth that belongs to every age. To limit yourself to the bare necessities of life, so as to devote time and strength to a generous task, cannot be called a sacrifice; it is conquering your own self-respect, securing the peace of your soul. But, without this aim, stoicism is mere foolishness; the doctrine that people should do nothing but amuse themselves, is certainly much more sensible and agreeable.”
While talking thus, our hunters came in sight of the rustic abode where they were expected. It fitted in so well with the natural terraces of the mountain, that, but for the smoke escaping from the chimney, it would have been difficult to distinguish it at any distance.
“You are about to see a very worthy man,” said the major to Christian, “a type of Dalecarlian simplicity and pride. There is, however, a very disagreeable person in his house, but perhaps we shall not see her to-day.”
“So much the worse!” answered Christian; “I am curious about all the people, as well as about all the things in this strange country. Who is this disagreeable person?”
“A sister of the danneman, an old woman, either an idiot or crazy, who is said to have been beautiful in former years, and about whom they tell all sorts of queer stories. It is said that she had a child by Baron Olaus, and that the baroness, his wife (the same whom he now wears in a ring), out of retrospective jealousy, had the child carried off and destroyed. This may be the cause of the poor woman’s unsettled mind. However, I can’t guarantee the truth of the story, and I feel very little interest in a creature who could allow herself to be vanquished by the charms of the Snow Man. She is sometimes very tiresome with her songs and sayings, and then again she is either invisible or mute. I hope this will be the case to-day. But here we are. Go in quickly and warm yourself, while the corporal and lieutenant unpack our provisions.”
The danneman, Joë Bœtsoi, was standing at his threshold. He was a fine man, of some forty-five years, with hard features, contrasting strangely with his kindly and straightforward expression. He was dressed with great neatness, and he came forward rather slowly, with his hat on his head, an air of simple dignity, and his hand extended.
“Welcome!” he said to the major; “thy friends are mine.” The Dalecarlian peasant addresses every one, even the king himself, in the second person.
He turned immediately to the other young men, and shook hands with Christian, Osburn, and the corporal.
“I was expecting you,” he said, “and yet you must not expect to find much in my house in the way of food. You know, Major Larrson, that the country is poor; but all that I have is at the disposition of yourself and friends.”
“Don’t put yourself out at all, Danneman Bœtsoi,” replied the major; “if I had come alone, I should have asked for some of your gruel and bier; but, since I have brought three of my friends with me, I laid in a stock of provisions beforehand, so as not to cause you any inconvenience.”