“Just as you wish, Lieutenant.”
The Lieutenant lowered his voice a bit more, as if fearful lest the walls of the old manservants’ room might hear what he said.
“Where did you drown them, Bengt?”
“I took ’em down to the river. I was afraid they’d come floating up and be seen, if I drowned them here in the duck pond.”
“H’m, in the river—I thought so!” The Lieutenant stood reflecting a long while. Suddenly he burst out: “There’s a lot that’s queer in this world!”
“Ay, there is that,” old Bengt agreed.
As long as Lieutenant Lagerlöf lived he had to let the river do as it would with his fine fields. Year after year he saw it overflow its banks and spread out in innumerable lake-like ponds, from Mårbacka down through the whole dale. And every time it occurred he would tell about the red cats that sat on the gateposts the morning he drove down to the meeting. Could it be possible that they knew how badly things would go for him? And was it true that one who did violence to a cat was punished? He wondered about that to the end of his days.
[II
THE NEW BARN]
LIEUTENANT LAGERLÖF wanted to have Mårbacka not only a productive and well-cared-for farm, but a beautiful place, with stately avenues of approach and extensive gardens of flowers and shrubbery on all sides of the dwelling house.