- Project Runeberg -  Ivar or the Skjuts-Boy /
18

(1852) [MARC] Author: Emilie Flygare-Carlén Translator: Alex L. Krause
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Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Chapter III. The Pony.

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The bitter and insulting injustice of the officer’s treatment
was what particularly rankled in Ivar’s frank and honest heart.
Of his future life generally, he had not, of course, any clear idea
as yet, neither how he was to live, or what he was going to do;
but a fresh train of ideas had arisen in his innermost soul, and it
appeared to him that this night had opened a new epoch in his
existence.

It was not until, by accident, that his hand touched the pony,
trembling with cold, that he awoke from his meditations. He
threw a branch upon the heap, and, slowly advancing, muttered,
"For that which I have vowed here, by word and thought, Ivar
always keeps his word, says my mother."

It was about four o’clock in the morning when the boy, after
a five-hours’ wandering, arrived with his fatigued companion at
the stable which belonged to his father’s cottage. After he had
conducted his horse into the stable, he threw over him his large
woollen blanket, cleared from the manger the pieces of cut-straw,
and after having given the horse a bundle of fresh hay, he
ascended into the hay loft to repose himself for a few hours.

There was no light in the house, and for this reason he did
not enter it, that he might not disturb his mother; he would
also be nearer his horse, and would willingly miss the warm
hearth-fire to be near at hand should the pony require his care.

Exhausted with the fatigues of a day’s labour in the forest
and a night on the road, Ivar soon fell into profound slumber,
dreaming now of his trusty pony, now of the coarse-mannered
courier, against whom he now used his fists right heartily; and
at a peculiarly well-directed blow, he broke forth in a joyful cry,
and in the midst of lais great triumph, the deceitful vision
vanished. Ivar awoke, rubbed his eyes with the skirts of his
coat, and discovered that it only had been a dream. His bed in
the hay-loft, in the meantime, reminded him of his pony, and at
the first thought of his favourite he sprang to his feet, and
hastily descended to repair his involuntary neglect. But think

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