But suddenly, almost in an hour, the summer came. The fish returned with opulence. The ice receded with muttered curses. The streams fell down from it, the harvest grew, and there was a song on every happy lip.
It was their last harvest. For, when it was gathered, and the winds were become chill, they hastened into the boats and out to sea, that they might have their winter’s fish before the glacier came back.
All went who could, but Christof and Christine, who, though yearning to go, were commanded to remain and care for blind Agra and simple Lars, the old and the maimed and the little children.
“For, Brother in the Lord,” said the priest, when he had doffed his vestments and put on his smock, “we may not return, and thy charge is, therefore, greater than ours. Behold, I adjure thee, that thou care for them well.”
And Christof answered that he would. Whereupon the priest put his arms about his shoulders and kissed his forehead, in their simple way, and said:
“As thou doest unto them, so will the Lord to thee. We trust in thee.”
Christof again answered with assent. For always on their going forth was this charge committed to some one.
But there was something greater yet.
“And, more than all,” charged the priest, with solemn affection, “we leave thee and Christine, that there may be successors in our land; that the graves may be kept; that until, in the time of God, this land shall be blotted from the earth by the ice, there shall be lips to praise Him, and souls to pray to Him. Life is a hard thing here, yea! But it would not be so if God had not so ordained it. Therefore are we God’s children, therefore do we obey him. For had He no purpose in keeping us here, He would have found for us another land. Dost thou believe this?”
“All this I believe,” said Christof.