[THE STRÖMSTAD JOURNEY]
MÅRBACKA
[I
THE NURSEMAID]
ONCE they had a nursemaid at Mårbacka who was called Back-Kaisa. She must have been all of six feet high. She had a large-featured, swarthy, stern-looking face, her hands were hard and full of cracks, in which the children’s hair would catch when she combed it, and she was heavy and mournful.
A person of that sort could hardly be said to have been especially created for the nursery, and indeed Fru Lagerlöf had deliberated a long while before engaging her. The girl had never been out to service and knew nothing of the ways of people; she had grown up on a poor backwoods croft, among the wooded hills above Mårbacka, far from any other habitation.
Probably there was no one else available, or Fru Lagerlöf would not have had her come. That the girl did not know how to make up a bed, or build a fire in a tile-stove, or prepare a bath, was understood beforehand; but she was teachable and did not mind sweeping out the nursery every day, or dusting, or washing baby-clothes. What she could not seem to learn, however, was how to get along with the little folk. She never played with them or gave them a pleasant word. She knew no sagas and no songs. It was not that she meant to be unkind, but she was so constituted that romp and frolic and laughter were hateful to her. She would have liked the children to sit quietly, each in his or her little chair, without moving or talking.
Fru Lagerlöf was at all events quite pleased with the nursemaid. As for her not knowing any stories—well, the Mårbacka children had their grandmother, who every morning as soon as she was dressed gathered the youngsters about her, and sang and narrated for them till away up to dinner-time. And they had someone, too, who played with them, for Lieutenant Lagerlöf, whenever he had a spare moment, romped with his children.
Back-Kaisa was strong, patient, and dutiful. She was a person to be depended on. When her master and mistress went off to a party, they could rest assured that she did not run out and leave the children alone in the nursery. If only she’d had a more delicate touch she would have been admirable. But hers were no gentle clutches when little arms had to go into dress-sleeves. When she washed the children the soap always got into their eyes; and when she wielded the comb they felt as if every wisp of hair were being torn from their heads.