The cat deigned to take itself off, but not before it had given the Lieutenant a sardonic look that made him feel positively uncomfortable.
Between the stable and the road the Lieutenant had to pass through three gates. On each of the gateposts sat a red barn cat. Nor was there anything strange in that. Cats like to sit on gateposts to sun themselves and watch everything that moves on the ground below. But that morning the Lieutenant thought the cats all had a sinister look; they blinked at him as if they knew what would come of his trip. He was beginning to think Britta Lambert was right—that they were little witches and goblins in the guise of cats.
Now it is not a good omen to meet a lot of cats when one sets out on a journey, so the Lieutenant spat three times for each cat, as his mother had taught him to do, and thought no more about them during the drive. He went over in his mind the whole plan of the ditching and prepared himself to lay the proposition before the meeting clearly and convincingly.
But instantly the Lieutenant stepped inside the parish room, an unmistakable air of wariness and opposition assailed him. The peasants sat there immovable, with tight-shut faces. He began to surmise that they had changed their minds, which proved to be the case. All his arguments were overruled.
“We understand, of course, that this ditching would be a good thing for Mårbacka,” said their spokesman, “but it’s of no importance to us.”
When he came back from the meeting he felt rather depressed. The matter of the dredging was settled for some time to come. The river could go on creating havoc. If a stray herd of cattle trampled his fields he could drive them out, but the river must be left free to choke and destroy all in its path.
In the midst of these broodings on his frustrated hopes, he got up and went over to the servants’ hall to see Bengt.
“It didn’t go through, Bengt, that about the river,” he said.
“That’s too bad, Lieutenant!” the old man sympathized. “The Paymaster of the Regiment always said the farm would be worth twice as much if it wasn’t for Ämtan.”
“I say, Bengt”—the Lieutenant lowered his voice—“there aren’t so many cats in the barn now, eh?... Perhaps we’d better let Britta keep what’s left of them.”