i." She held out the green wreath joyfully.

"For Mikolai?" The woman stared at the wreath. For Mikolai! She had to
restrain herself from screaming. It would not only be of use to welcome
the living, such wreaths are made for the dead too. She shivered and
rubbed her cold hands together, as she cried, "I feel chilled," and
then, running past Rosa, who was grieved that her mother took so little
notice of her beautiful wreath, she hurried upstairs and locked herself
into her room. She would not see nor hearken to anybody. And still she
listened to every sound downstairs, and would have liked to see what
the poultry were doing. Had the beautiful white hen fallen down
already, stiff, with outstretched legs?

[Pg 169]

Her longing drew her to the window, from whence she cast a covert
glance from behind the curtain. But she saw neither hen nor cock. Had
they been able to run away? Where were they now?

The shades of evening grew heavier and heavier; soon the farm lay in
complete darkness, and the woman could distinguish nothing. Her eyes
smarted as she stepped back from the window. She felt tired to death.

Then she heard her husband call to Marianna, as he came in from the
fields, to bring him something to eat and drink. That drove her on.
Yes, he should have something to eat and drink--but from her hand.

"Hi, where are you all? Sophia, Rosa, there's a postcard," shouted Mr.
Tiralla.

Doors banged. Then a jubilant cry was heard from Rosa. "He's coming,
he's coming. Mikolai is coming to-morrow afternoon."

To-morrow? Already? The listening woman shuddered with terror; it must
be done then. Putting her trembling hands into her pocket, she got hold
of a little box, and in the little box was----

Clenching her teeth together she went downstairs. She wanted to go into
the yard, but whilst flitting through the passage she heard her husband
and Rosa talking together in the sitting-room.

"Where's your mother?" Mr. Tiralla was asking. Call her; she's to come.
"I'm so happy."

"She won't come," answered Rosa timidly.

"Why not?"

"Because she has locked herself into her room. Oh, father, I believe
she's not well."

"Well or not well," shouted Mr. Tiralla--he banged the table, and Rosa
began crying--"to the devil with [Pg 170] her if she doesn't come down.
I've had enough of it now She's to come down at once. _Psia krew!_"

H'm, his son's arrival had evidently given him courage; how would he
otherwise have dared be