The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (8.1896)

The Deacon

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would change from year to year though her life remained the
same. Oh, the intense misery of an outlook so completely hope-
less ! Johanna hated her own indifference to life. Yet life under
its new conditions seemed absorbed in indifference. She was a
human being stranded ; impotent to carve her own future ; a
vegetable just sentient enough to be conscious of vegetation.
So the summer chilled into winter. Autumn is not accounted
a season in Norway. As the days shortened and grew colder,
the stove in the farm parlour was lighted, and customs assumed
their character in keeping. Card games began in the evenings,
and there were dances now and then. The first was in honour
of the sheep-shearing. The sheep, which all through the
warm weather had been fending for themselves up in the hills
were brought down to the farm, clipped, and let loose within
its boundary. Then the farm hands made merry, and with
them their master and mistress and the friends of the family.
Johanna the year before had been in her quiet way completely
happy on this joyful occasion. It was true that the deacon was
not present. His dignity he held in too lofty an estimation to
permit him to mix thus freely with the people. But Johanna
had had the impression of him about her. So she had danced
and laughed—all quite quietly, as was her manner-—and looked
fresh and light-hearted, and had assured her aunt that she had
thoroughly enjoyed herself. Perhaps most of that delicious con-
tent had been secured by her absence from Helga upon the
business of gathering the flocks upon the mountains. It was so
completely satisfying to return, knowing that he was there ;
knowing that, though upon that Saturday night in the barn he
would not be present among the merrymakers, the next morning
she would see him in church. How those Sundays were
blessed ! Only illness could deny her his presence thrice that
day,