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wayside birches nearly killed by the drought. There
were many small signs by which he could judge—by
the smell of mash which he perceived as he
passed the cottages, by the fallen fences, by the
small amount of stacked wood near the houses—that
the people were doing badly, that the famine
had come, and they were seeking comfort in
indifference and in gin.
But perhaps it was well for him to see what he
did, for to him it was not given to see green
harvests spring up on his own fields, nor to watch the
dying embers of his own fireside, nor to feel the
soft hands of his children laid in his, nor to know
the support of a good wife. Perhaps it was well for
him, whose heart was weighed down by great sorrow,
that there were others whom he might comfort
in their poverty. Perhaps it was well for him that
it was such a bitter time of trouble, when the
hardness of nature brought want to the poorer classes,
and those whose lot in life was more fortunate were
doing their best to ruin themselves. For not in vain
had the Broby parson sat among his parishioners
like a greedy miser instead of being a good shepherd
to them, not in vain did the cavaliers reign in
waste and wantonness at Ekeby, not in vain had
Sintram instilled into them that wild belief that ruin
and death would overwhelm them all.
Captain Lennert stood on the hill at Broby,
and began to think that God perhaps had need of
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