Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - Chapter I. The hero.
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richer fruits than during the last year, when the French and
Norwegians furnished the Swedes other emp]oyment than that of
ploughing and sowing."
"That will do my white pony right well," said Ivar, joyfully.
"Yes, if he does not break down in the meantime," replied
his father, morosely. "These overbearing gentlemen are driving
on like fools, and consider a poor skjuts-peasant as no better than
mere cattle. They think that those in the service of the crown
are permitted to do everything."
"If that is so, I must also try and get in the service of the
crown. :Do you not think also, father, it would be queer if I
should become such a noble gentleman? Then I would make
as much noise as any of them; and, as you say that they think
everything is permitted, I will repay them with interest all the
strokes my poor white pony has received."
"As long as I live and command, you shall never become a
soldier," said his father, abruptly.
"Why, was not you yourself a soldier in your youth, father?"
These words thrilled through the man’s entire form like
lightning. His nostrils distended, his brow knitted itself into
a black frown, and his jet black eye glittered as sparkling as
those of Ivar; but instead of the curious astonishment which
was expressed in the boy’s, a dark, wild hatred gleamed from the
father’s eyes, which was the more bitter, as it seemed to feed
upon itself.
"You are angy," said Ivar, in a subdued tone, observing, with
a strange look, the change that had taken place in his father’s
features.
Christopher did not answer; his eyes wandered around the
dark apartment, when the mother pushed him with her foot,
and gave him a signal to be silent.
After a few moments, the poverty-stricken family arose from
the table, and while Ivar was assisting his mother in carrying
the table utensils into the kitchen, she whispered to him –
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