“But I want something in return. You must leave him, Karen, both you and the children; for if I were to go to America, I should die in the middle of the Atlantic. Now I might perhaps get a living out of the farm all the same. But do you imagine that I’ll live there and see strangers managing the farm, if none of my own family are with me? You must live with me; do you hear, Karen?” And he fixed his red eyes upon her.
Fru Wangen looked at him quite helplessly, but after a little shook her head; and as so often before, the old man went away in a rage, threatening that he would never set his foot there again. But in a little while she heard his voice in the garden, and going on to the verandah, she saw him standing at the garden gate looking back, with trembling hands on the handle of his stick.
“You’ve thought over your answer, Karen?” he cried. “For it’s the last time I shall ask anything of you.”
She could not answer, but made a helpless motion with her hands and went in, where she sank upon a sofa and began to sob. But leave Wangen? No, people would be right then!
When Wangen came home he told her that the workmen had determined on a demonstration on the first of May, and that he had a suspicion that they intended going to Norby Farm.
It seemed to her that this pleased him, and she rose suddenly, saying: “It isn’t you, I suppose, Henry, that have thought of this, is it?”
“I? Oh, of course!” he replied, smiling a little scornfully.
“Yes, but you’ll do what you can to prevent it?”
“Goodness me, how you do take on! To tell the truth, I’m not going to prevent it. To make known their opinion in a body is the only weapon these poor working men have; and I can’t blame them for wishing to show Norby and the other money-bags what they think of them.”