Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Drought
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Their youthful ardor to serve God and man was
upon them. They revelled in all the good works
they would perform. Gösta would be the vicar’s
assistant.
“We must get bread first,” said the old man.
“We will arrange for school teachers and get
some land-surveyors here who shall parcel out the
ground; and the people must learn to till the ground
and tend the cattle.”
“We will make roads and take up unreclaimed
ground.”
“We will build locks at the Berg rapids, so that
the way lies clear between the Löfven and the
Vänern.”
“All the riches of the forest will carry a double
blessing when the way is open to the sea.”
“Your head will be weighed down with blessings,”
cried Gösta.
The Broby parson looked up, and they read in
each other’s eyes the same fiery enthusiasm. But at
the same moment their eyes were drawn to the heap
of twigs.
“Gösta,” said the old man, “this needs the
power of a strong man, and I am dying. You see
what is killing me.”
“Get rid of it!”
“How, Gösta Berling?”
Gösta stepped close to him and looked him
sharply in the eyes. “Pray God for rain,” he said.
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