He threw down his pickets and branches and hurried through the birch grove into the dense fir woods, where he had not gone far before he discovered what was amiss.  Up there was a big, treacherous marsh.  A cow belonging to the Falla folk had gone down in a quagmire and Jan saw at once that it was the best cow they had on the farm, one for which Lars Gunnarson had been offered two hundred rix-dollars.  She had sunk deep in the mire and was now so terrified that she lay quite still and sent forth only feeble and intermittant bellowings.  It was plain that she had struggled desperately for she was covered with mud clear to her horns, and round about her the green moss-tufts had been torn up.  She had bellowed so loud that Jan thought every one in Ashdales must have heard her, yet no one but himself had come up to the marsh.  He did not tarry a second, but ran straight to the farm for help.

It was slow work setting poles in the marsh, laying out boards and slipping ropes under the cow, to draw her up by.  For when the men reached her she had sunk to her back, so that only her head was above the mire.  After they had finally dragged her back onto firm ground and carted her home to Falla the housewife invited all who had worked over the animal to come inside for coffee.

No one had been so zealous in the rescue work as had Jan of Ruffluck.  But for him the cow would have been lost.  And just think!  She was a cow worth at least two hundred rix-dollars.

To Jan this seemed a rare stroke of luck.  Surely the new master and mistress could not fail to recognize so great a service.  Something of a similar nature once happened in the old master’s time.  Then it was a horse that had been impaled on a picket fence.  The one who found the horse and had it carted home received from Eric of Falla a reward of ten rix-dollars; And that despite the fact that the beast was so badly injured that Eric had to shoot it.

But the cow was alive and in nowise harmed.  So Jan pictured himself going on the morrow to the sexton, or to some other person who could write, to ask him to write to Glory Goldie and tell her to come home.

When Jan came into the living-room at Falla he naturally drew himself up a bit.  The old housewife was pouring coffee and he did not wonder at it when she handed him his cup before even Lars Gunnarson had been served.  Then, while they were all having their coffee, every one spoke of how well Jan had done, that is, every one but the farmer and his wife; not a word of praise came from them.

But now that Jan felt so confident his hard times were over and his luck was coming back, it was easy for him to find grounds for comfort.  It might be that Lars was silent because he wished to make what he would say all the more impressive.  But he was certainly withholding his thanks a distressingly long while.

The situation had become embarrassing.  The others had stopped talking and looked a little uncomfortable.  When the old mistress went round to refill the coffee cups some of the men hesitated; Jan among them.