s her own
affair. It was joy enough for him that she had come back.

THE FLIGHT

One morning, just a week from the day of Glory Goldie's homecoming,
she and her mother stood at the Borg pier, ready to depart for good
and all. Old Katrina was wearing a bonnet for the first time in her
life, and a fine cloth coat. She was going to Malmoe with her
daughter to become a fine city dame. Never more would she have to
toil for her bread. She was to sit on a sofa the whole day, with
her hands folded, and be free from worry and care for the remainder
of her life.

But despite all the promised ease and comfort, Katrina had never
felt so wretchedly unhappy as then, when standing there
on the pier. Glory Goldie, seeing that her mother looked troubled,
asked her if she was afraid of the water, and tried to assure her
there was no danger, although it was so windy that one could hardly
keep one's footing on the pier. Glory Goldie was accustomed to
seafaring and knew what she was talking about.

"These are no waves," she said to her mother. "I see of course that
there are a few little whitecaps on the water, but I wouldn't be
afraid to row across the lake in our old punt."

Glory Goldie, who did not seem to mind the gale, remained on the
pier. But Katrina, to keep from being blown to pieces, went into
the freight shed and crept into a dark corner behind a couple of
packing cases. There she intended to remain until the boat arrived,
as she had no desire to meet any of the parish folk before leaving.
At the same time she knew in her heart that what she was doing was
not right, since she was ashamed to be seen by people. She had one
consolation at least; she was not going away with Glory Goldie
because of any desire for ease and comfort, but only because her
hands were failing her. What else could she do when her fingers
were becoming so useless that she could not spin any more?

Then who should come into the shed but Sexton Blackie!

Katrina prayed God he would not see her and come up and ask her
where she was going. For how would she ever be able to tell him she
was leaving husband and home and everything!

She had tried to bring about some arrangement whereby Jan and she
could stay on at the croft. If the daughter had only been willing
to send them a little money--say about ten rix-dollars a month--
they could have managed fairly well. But Glory would not hear of
this; she had declared that not a penny would she give them un