“The minister up there thinks,” says Gösta, musingly, “that he will be a rich man, an exceedingly rich man. No one who is poor can struggle against evil. And so he begins to hoard.”
“If he had not hoarded he would have drunk,” answers the old man; “he sees so much misery.”
“Or he would become dull and lazy, and lose all strength. It is dangerous for him who is not born there to come thither.”
“He has to harden himself to hoard. He pretends at first; then it becomes a habit.”
“He has to be hard both to himself and to others,” continues Gösta; “it is hard to amass. He must endure hate and scorn; he must go cold and hungry and harden his heart: it almost seems as if he had forgotten why he began to hoard.”
The Broby clergyman looked startled at him. He wondered if Gösta sat there and made a fool of him. But Gösta was only eager and earnest. It was as if he was speaking of his own life.
“It was so with me,” says the old man quietly.
“But God watches over him,” interrupts Gösta. “He wakes in him the thoughts of his youth when he has amassed enough. He gives the minister a sign when His people need him.”
“But if the minister does not obey the sign, Gösta Berling?”
“He cannot withstand it,” says Gösta, and smiles. “He is so moved by the thought of the warm cottages which he will help the poor to build.”