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Margarita Celsing
The Major’s wife returned to the Löfsjö
district a few days before Christmas, but it was
not till Christmas Eve she came to Ekeby. She had
been ill during all the journey. She had inflammation
of the lungs and high fever, still no one had
ever seen her happier or heard more kindly words
from her lips.
The daughter of the Broby parson, who had been
staying with her since October at the foundry at
Alfdal, sat by her side in the sledge and would
willingly have hastened the journey, but she could
not prevent the old lady from stopping the horses
and calling up each passer-by to ask for news.
“How is it with you here in Löfsjö?” she asked.
“All goes well with us,” was the answer. “Better
times are coming. The crazy parson at Ekeby and
his wife are helping us.”
“A good time has come,” said another. “Sintram
is gone. The Ekeby cavaliers work; the Broby
parson’s money was found in the steeple of Bro church.
There was enough to raise again the glory and
honor of Ekeby and to supply bread to the hungry.”
“Our old Rector has awakened to new life and
strength,” said a third. “Every Sunday he tells us
about the coming of God’s kingdom. Who would
sin any more? The millennium approaches.”
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