Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Iron from Ekeby
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and the rudder themselves. They were just the rlght
men for such an undertaking. Was there a sandbank
in the Klarälfven or a reef in Vänern which
they were not familiar with? Did not the tiller and
tackle lie as lightly in their hands as a violin-bow
or a bridle? If they loved anything in the world, it
was the iron on those barges. They were as careful
of it as of the finest glass, and they spread a
tarpaulin over it. Not a scrap of it lay exposed. Those
were the heavy grey bars which were to uphold
Ekeby’s honor. Strangers should not cast their
indifferent glances upon it. Oh, Ekeby, thou land of
our delight, may thy glory shine!
Not one of the cavaliers had remained at home.
Uncle Eberhard had deserted his writing-desk, and
Cousin Kristoffer had left his chimney-corner. Even
the gentle Lövenborg was here. Not one of them
remained behind when it was a question of Ekeby’s
honor. But for Lövenborg there was no pleasure
in seeing the Klarälfven. He had not seen it for
thirty-seven years, nor entered a boat all that time.
He hated the shining surface of the lakes and the
grey rivers, for he was always reminded of dreary
things when he saw the water; but to-day he, too,
was unable to remain at home—even he must
accompany the barges to help in rescuing the honor
of Ekeby.
Thirty-seven years ago Lövenborg saw his
betrothed drowned in the Klarälfven, and since then
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