"But it was a silly thing to do, all the same. For it was no fault of the gulls. And they did no more than harm the dead—what's that against what was done to the living? And it was that I wanted to say to you, Sven. When I think how men deal so with men, that thousands of young lives are strewn about the sea, I can only cry for shame.
"And, Sven, I know I used to look down on you before and reckon myself better than you. But I want to ask your forgiveness for that. I used to think how you and your comrades up there had done a wrong to the dead, and I myself—I've never done a single thing to help the living."
"That you have, Joel," said his brother.
"No," said Joel, weeping, and threw himself on his knees beside an upholstered armchair, covered with pieces of embroidery, where his brother was sitting. "I've never helped a single soul, not even father or mother, or any one. And that's why the world's so cruel as it is."
"It could be better, Joel," said Sven, stroking his brother's hair. "And you can help to make it so."
"It's too late now," said Ung-Joel. "Now that I've got that sight in my eyes. I'm going mad now."
Sven Elversson laid one hand gently over his brother's eyes.
"Try now, Joel," he said. "You cannot see anything cruel now, with my hand over your eyes."
"That's true," said Ung-Joel. "There's blessing in your hand, Sven, from all the good you've done for others."
"Close your eyes now, Joel," said Sven Elversson. "And just think of how we can work together and help each other from now on."