Christian began to laugh, and was obliged to confess that he was a very poor diplomat.
“Believe me,” he said to the danneman, “I am straightforward and sincere. Every one gives me the credit of having an honest face, and I am not accustomed, therefore, to having my word doubted. If you don’t take my thirty dalers to-day, the major will give them to you to-morrow, and that would annoy me.”
“The major will not give me anything, for I will not accept anything,” replied the danneman, with energy. “It is you, now, who are doubting me.”
Christian was obliged to resign the satisfaction of leaving his small fortune in this house, which was perhaps his mother’s refuge. The discussion, though honorable in itself, might have degenerated into a quarrel, for the danneman was feeding his ingenuous pride as a free peasant with rather too plentiful potations of brandy. Besides, the sleigh was ready, and Christian had to start. Nothing would have induced him to fail in either of his two performances, for which he was to receive a hundred dalers; a sum that would enable him to begin the new life he was dreaming about, without being indebted to anybody.
He thought the danneman intended to accompany him; but, instead of getting into the sleigh, he gave the reins to his son, enjoining him at the same time to drive carefully, and to return early.
“I hoped to have the pleasure of your company as far as Waldemora,” said Christian to the danneman.
“No!” replied the latter, “I never go to Waldemora, for my part. I should have to be carried there by force. Farewell, until we meet again.”
There was so much haughtiness and disdain in the danneman’s tone when he spoke of Waldemora, that Christian, as he shook hands with him, felt afraid that he would notice the conformation of his fingers, and that their resemblance to the baron’s, whether accidental or inherited, would destroy all their friendship; but the deformity was so slight that the danneman, with his rough hand, did not notice it at all, and several times, as his guest was driving away, he sent after him a cordial farewell.
In spite of his father’s recommendations, Olof drove his little horse to the bottom of the valley at a full gallop, while he himself stood up on the front seat of the vehicle with the reins twisted round his arms, at the risk of being hurled to a distance in case of an upset, and of having his wrists dislocated, at the very least.
[6] It is only very lately that the government in Sweden has taken measures—too late, perhaps—to check these devastations.