“Please walk in,” said the mistress of Falla, opening the door for him, then stepping aside to let him go first.

One glance at the room told him that everything had been cleaned and tidied up in there.  The coffeepot, newly polished and full and steaming, stood at the edge of the hearth, to cool; the table, over by the window, was spread with a snow-white cover, on which were arranged dainty flowered cups and saucers belonging to the mistress of Falla.  Katrina lay on the bed and two of the women, who had come to lend a hand, stood pressed against the wall so that he should have a free and unobstructed view of all the preparations.  Directly in front of the table stood the midwife, with a bundle on her arm.

Jan could not help thinking that for once in his life he appeared to be the centre of attraction.  Katrina glanced up at him appealingly, as if wanting to ask whether he was pleased with her.  The other women, too, all turned their eyes toward him, expectantly waiting for some word of praise from him for all the trouble they had been to on his account.

However, it is not so easy to appear jubilant when one has been half frozen and out of sorts all day!  Jan could not clear his face of that Eric-of-Falla expression, and stood there without saying a word.

Then the midwife took a step forward.  The hut was so tiny that that one stride put her square in front of him, so that she could place the child in his arms.

“Now Jan shall have a peek at the li’l’ lassie She’s what I’d call a real baby!” said the midwife.

And there stood Jan, holding in his two hands something soft and warm done up in a big shawl, a corner of which had been turned back that he might see the little wrinkled face and the tiny wizzened hands.  He was wondering what the womenfolk expected him to do with that which had been thrust upon him, when he felt a sudden shock that shook both him and the child.  It had not come from any of the women and whether it had passed through the child to him or through him to the child, he could not tell.

Immediately after, the heart of him began to beat in his breast as it had never done before.  Now he was no longer cold, or sad, or worried.  Nor did he feel angry.  All was well with him.  But he could not comprehend why there was a thumping and a beating in his breast, when he had not been dancing, or running, or climbing hills.

“My good woman,” he said to the midwife, “do lay your hand here and feel of my heart!  It seems to beat so queerly.”

“Why, it’s a regular attack of the heart!” the midwife declared.  “But perhaps you’re subject to these spells?”

“No,” he assured her.  “I’ve never had one before—­not just in this way.”

“Do you feel bad?  Are you in pain?”

“Oh, no!”

Then the midwife could not make out what ailed him.  “Anyhow,” said she, “I’ll relieve you of the child.”