One week of the month of June, 1916, had passed when Sven Elversson was constrained to make a journey to Applum, all for the sake of those same visitors. His brother, Ung-Joel, who had been at sea the last few years, sailing between Holland and the Swedish ports, had come home to Knapefiord, sick and strange in mind after having met with some of those strangers out at sea, while they were yet on their way. And he had told his young wife she must send for his brother to come and see him.
When Sven Elversson came to Ung-Joel he found him walking up and down the little room behind the kitchen, where the young couple had set all their best furniture, and which they never used as a rule. He was pale and weary, but not exactly ill. His eyes were bloodshot, and looked as if ready to close at any moment for lack of sleep, but he gave himself no rest, to sit or lie down.
"How is all with you, Ung-Joel?" asked Sven Elversson.
Ung-Joel made no answer to the question, nor did he seem in any way aware of his brother's presence. He walked up and down as before, beating the air now and again with both arms.
"The seagulls—that is the worst, you know," he said.
"If we could only do something to make him sleep," whispered his wife. "But he is afraid to lie down; he is afraid to close his eyes. Just walks up and down, up and down...."
"The seagulls—that is the worst," said Ung-Joel again, and waved his arms as before.
"Ung-Joel," said Sven Elversson, trying to bring up some old memory to turn his brother's mind from his trouble. "Do you remember when you and the fellows from the Naiad came over to Grimön that day with a snake for me to eat?"
And at that Ung-Joel stopped in his walk.
"Is that you, Sven?" he said. And the tears began to flow from his tired eyes. "It's a good thing you came. So I can ask you to forgive me, before I go mad."