They were now in a mellow mood, all the men in the servants’ hall. They saw, as it were before their eyes, that land where you tap rum from the rocks and pick gold off the trees.
The farm-bell rang. Rest-time was up. They must again go out into the wet and cold.
Lars of London returned to his plow, Magnus of Vienna to his; Sven of Paris, Johan of Prague, and the farmboy went back to digging potatoes, Per of Berlin betook himself home to his cottage, the stableman had to go and chop the evening’s firewood, and Olle of Maggebysäter, shouldering his sack of rye, limped off to the woods.
None of them looked as glum as they did half an hour ago. There was a little glint of light in their eyes. They all felt it was good to know of a land where rum flowed from the hills and the forests were of gold—even though it lay so far away they could never reach it.
[VIII
THE “SLOM” SEASON]
EAST of Mårbacka, beyond a wooded ridge, lies Gårdsjön, a little lake in which there is a fish we call slom. The fish is about two inches long, and so thin as to be almost transparent; but small as it is, it is edible.
In Lieutenant Lagerlöf’s time, when everything was so much better than it is now, folks used to take this fish out of the lake in countless numbers. Its spawning time was in early spring, when the ice began to break and there was open water along the shores. One could stand at the water’s edge and scoop the fish up with dippers and buckets. Certainly no one went to the bother of putting out nets for slom!
Slom was fished and peddled only at the spawning time; therefore, it was a sure sign of spring when a Gårdsjö fisherman came to the kitchen at Mårbacka with the first catch. The man, knowing he had brought a desired commodity, boldly lifted the latch (in those days there was no lock on the kitchen door) and walked in with an air of confident assurance. He did not stop just inside the door as on other occasions; without stating his errand, or even saying good-morning, he strode across the floor to the big table and deposited a small basket done up in a blue-checked cotton cloth. Then, stepping back to the door, he stood with head proudly erect, and waited for what was to follow.
If the housekeeper and the maids were the only ones in the kitchen, he could stand a long while unnoticed; for they would not permit themselves to show any signs of curiosity. But if Lieutenant Lagerlöf’s little daughters chanced to be there, they were over by the basket at a bound, eagerly untying the cover to see what was under it.