asked him. "I got one wagon loaded, but that I left standing in the
field when word came that you were sick. I hurried away at once,
without stopping to change my clothes." "Who told you about it?"
the father inquired. "Some man I've never seen before," replied the
son. "It didn't occur to me to ask him who he was. He looked like a
little old beggarman." "You must find that man and thank him from
me," old Björn then said. "Him you must honour wherever you meet
him. He has meant well by us." The father and son were so happy
over their reconciliation that it was as if death had brought them
joy instead of grief.

Jan winced when he heard that Linnart Hindrickson had called him a
beggar. But he understood of course that it was simply because he
had not worn his imperial cap or carried his stick when he went up
to the forest. This brought him back to his present dilemma. Surely
he had waited long enough! He should have been called by this time.
This would never do!

He rose at once, resolutely crossed the room into the hallway,
climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the big dining-hall. He
saw at a glance that the dinner was already on; every place at the
large horseshoe table was occupied and the first course had been
served. Then it was not meant that he should be among the elect,
for there sat the pastor, the sexton, the lieutenant from Lövdala
and his lady--there sat every one who should be there, except
himself.

One of the young girls who passed around the food rushed over to
Jan the instant he appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing
here, Jan?" she said in a low voice. "Go down with you!"