"Do not reject me, father," she said, "I will never desert you."
These words made her defenders waver, and the old man saw his opportunity.
"Bring hither the catechism," he said in a commanding voice.
The fourteen-year-old Greta stepped forward as was the custom on sacred days, and read aloud:
"Ye servants obey your temporal masters with fear and trembling, in the simplicity of your hearts! Ye servants be submissive to your masters in all fear, not only the mild and good, but also the unworthy!"
These words, thus uttered at the right time, did not fail in their effect.
In these times the power and authority of father and master were at their zenith, and were not only by word, but in deed, a power by "God's mercy." The words of obedience heard from childhood, the old man's commanding tone, and Meri's example of ready submission to her father's authority, all combined to tone down the hot tempers of the rebels. They took their places at the table without another word. Only old Larsson stood sad and hesitating with his hand on the door-latch.
Suddenly the door was opened, and a stranger entered.
The new-comer was a soldier, in a broad-brimmed hat, decorated with a gracefully fastened eagle's plume. He wore a waistcoat of yellow wool, short top-boots, bore a cudgel in his hand, and a long sword hung at his side.
"By St. Lucifer," he said joyfully, "I have come at the right time. God's peace, peasants, make room at the table; I am as hungry as a monk during mass, and I am not able to go to the vicarage on this damned heath. Have you any ale?"