The united American : a magazine of good citizenchip., December 01, 1925, Page 21, Image 21

DECEMBER 1925
The Blessing
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Page Twenty-one
THE UNITED AMERICAN
[In the following little story, an extract from the
beautiful and wholesome writings of folk life in Norway,
by Bjornstjerne Bjornson,—the greatest author and poet
of the Scandinavian people in modern times—is a picture
we recognize. It is life as we see it everywhere—the
man who has acquired wealth, who has become arrogant,
proud and selfish because of his worldly posessions, who
has become boastful of his prominence and his riches,
whose prosperity has made him overbearing, unkind and
snobbish, the man who enjoys life the most when he can
humiliate others through the power of his position and
the wealth that is at his disposal—the picture of the
man who traded his soul for worldly treasure. As Bjornson
sees him, he must lose his most valued treasures before
he can find his soul and reflect that something in human
life that reflects God.
—Editor’s Note.]
ANE DAY Thord Oversaas, the leading man in the
p' parish, entered the parson’s study with an ex­
tremely serious and important air.
“I have come,” he announced, “to arrange for my
son’s christening.”
“What is the name to be?” asked the parson.
“ ‘Finn,’ after my father.”
“Who are the sponsors?”
Thord named them; they were prominent person­
ages in the place, and his relatives.
“Anything else?” inquired the minister.
After a moment’s pause, the farmer said: “1
should like my boy to have a special christening all to
himself.”
“Then it will have to be on a week day.”
“On Saturday next, I thought, at 12 o’clock.” “Very
[well,” assented the parson. “Anything else?”
“Nothing else,” said the farmer, taking up his
cap as if to go.
The parson rose from his seat, went across to
Thord and-grasped his hand.
“I think there is yet this,” he said, earnestly and
impressively, “to wish that God may make your child
a blessing to you.”
*
*
*
Sixteen years had come and gone. Again Thord
¡stood in the parson’s study.
“You look very well, Thord,” remarked the clergy­
man, for the years had left scarcely any mark upon
the hale and hearty farmer.
“Well, you see, I have no worries,” replied Thord;
“nothing to trouble me.”
There was a slight pause. Then the parson said:
“What can I do for you this evening ?”
“I have come about my son, who is to be confirmed
tomorrow,” replied Thord.
“Ah, he is a bright boy.”
“I thought that I would not pay the parson until
I knew what number my son is going to get in the
church.”
“He will be number one.”
“Well, since you have told me that, here are ten
daler for the parson.” Have you anything more to
Isay?” inquired the parson.
“Nothing more,” replied Thord, and went his way.
*
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*
Eight years passed, and then one day the parson
[heard a commotion outside his study door. The door
was thrown open, and in walked Thord, accompanied
by a little group of friends.
“I have come,” said the farmer, as he returned
By
BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON
the clergyman’s greeting, “to request you to publish
my son’s banns. He is about to marry Karen Storlien,
the daughter of my friend Gudmund, here present.”
“The wealthiest girl in the parish,” commented
the parson.
“So they say,” said Thord, as he pushed up his
hair with his hand.
The parson looked thoughtfully, but said nothing
further until he had entered the names in the books
and witnessed the men’s signatures.
The farmer laid three daler upon the table.
“The fee is only one daler,” said the parson.
“I know that,” answered Thord, “but Finn is my
only child, and I am both able and willing to do what
is handsome by him.”
As the parson took up the money he said: “This
is now the third time, Thord, you have come here on
your son’s behalf.” “Yes,” replied the farmer, “and
now I shall not be back in his behalf anymore.”
He went out followed by his friends.
*
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*
A fortnight after this third visit to the parson,
on a calm, fine day, father and son were crossing
the lake to Storlien. As they rowed they talked of
the approaching wedding.
“The thwart beneath me is not steady,” said the
young man, and he rose to put it right. At this
moment the bottom board upon which he stood slipped
and he fell into the lake.
“Catch hold of this oar!” cried the father.
But the son had made only two strokes towards it
when he was seized with cramps. “Stay a moment !”
exclaimed Thord, “I will come to you.”
And he rowed with all his might.
But Finn fell back, gave one intense look at his
father, then sank out of sight.
Thord could not believe that his son had really
drowned. He held the boat still, keeping his eyes fixed
upon the spot where Finn had disappeared, expecting
him to come up again.
A few bubbles appeared upon the surface of the
water, then some more, then a single one, which burst.
After that the lake was smooth as a mirror.
For three days and nights the unhappy father
rowed around the spot, without food or sleep. He
was dragging the lake. On the morning of the third
day he found what he sought, and bore it across the
hills to his desolate home.
*
♦
*
“You are out late,” said the parson.
“Yes, I come late—late!” returned the other, as
he sat down.
The clergyman seated himself also. There was
a long silence.
“Here,” said Thord at last, “is something which
I desire to give to the poor—as a legacy in my son’s
name.” As he spoke he rose, placed some money upon
the table, then sat down again.
The parson counted the currency.
“This is a large sum,” he remarked.
“It is half the price of my farm which I sold today,”
said Thord quitely.
Again there was silence. Then the parson said,
(Continued on Page Twenty-Five)