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 Bjoern 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 Loevdala 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!”

“But my good hostess!” Jan protested, “Emperor Johannes of Portugallia should be present at the first sitting.”

“Oh, shut up, Jan!” said the girl.  “This is not the proper time to come with your nonsense.  Go down, and you’ll get something to eat when your turn comes.”

It so happened that Jan entertained a greater regard for this particular household than for any other in the parish; therefore it would have been very gratifying to him to be received here in a manner befitting his station.  A strange feeling of despondency came over him as he stood down by the door, cap in hand; he felt that all his imperial grandeur was falling from him.  Then, in the middle of this sore predicament, he heard Linnart Hindrickson exclaim: 

“Why, there stands the fellow who came to me last Sunday and told me that father was sick!”

“What are you saying?” questioned the mother.  “But are you certain as to that?”

“Of course I am.  It can’t be any one but he.  I’ve seen him before to-day, but I didn’t recognize him in that queer get-up.  However I see now that he’s the man.”

“If he is our man, he mustn’t be allowed to stand down by the door, like a beggar,” said the old housewife.  “In that case, we must make room for him at the table.  Him we owe both honour and thanks, for it was he who sent comfort to Bjoern in his last hours, while to me he has brought the only consolation that can lighten my sorrow in the loss of a husband like mine.”