“You’ll live here, always?”
The Swede shook his head and the boy’s face grew older.
“No; some day, we’re going to the city––Minna and I. We’ve planned.”
Ichabod was thoughtful a minute.
“I’m a friend of yours, Ole.”
“A very good friend,” repeated the mystified Swede.
“Then, listen, and don’t forget.” The voice was vibrant, low, but the boy heard it clearly above the noise of the wagon. “Don’t do it, Ole; in God’s name, don’t do it! Stay here, you’ll be happy.” He looked the open-mouthed listener deep in the eyes. “If you ever say a 183 prayer, let it be the old one, even though it be an insult to a just God:––‘Lead us not into temptation.’ Avoid, as you would avoid death, the love of money, the fever of unrest, the desire to become greater than your fellows, the thirst to know and to taste all things, which is the spirit of the city. Live close to Nature, where all is equal and all is good; where sleep comes in the time of sleep, and work when it is day. Do that labor which comes to you at the moment, leaving to-morrow to Nature.” He crossed his long legs, and pressed his hat down over his eyes. “Accept life as Nature gives it, day by day. Don’t question, and you’ll find it good.” He repeated himself slowly. “That’s the secret. Don’t doubt, or question anything.”
In the Swede’s throat there was a rattling, which presaged speech, but it died away.
“Do you love children, Ole?” asked Ichabod, suddenly.
The boy face flushed. Ole was very young.