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 Holy City : 
 
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PI Cornell University 
 f) Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026328678 
 
THE HOLY CITY 
 
 JERUSALEM II 
 
Books by the Same Author 
 the emperor op portugallia 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 JERUSALEM, A NOVEL 
 
 (Trans, front Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 CHRIST LEGENDS 
 
 (.Trans, from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF NILS 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF NILS 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 GIRL FROM THE MARSH CROFT 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 LEGEND OF THE SACRED IMAGE 
 (Trans.' from Swedish by Velma Swanston Howard) 
 
 MIRACLES OP ANTICHRIST 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach) 
 
 STORY OP GOSTA BERLING 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Pauline Bancroft Flach) 
 
 FROM A SWEDISH HOMESTEAD 
 
 (Trans, from Swedish by Jessie Brochner) 
 
THE HOLY CITY 
 
 JERUSALEM II 
 
 FROM THE SWEDISH OF 
 
 SELMA LAGERLOF 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 VELMA SWANSTON HOWARD 
 
 Garden City New York 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1918 
 
n 
 
 Copyright, 1918, by 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PaGE & COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved, including that of 
 translation into foreign languages 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Holy Rock and the Holy Sepulchre . 3 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 Bo Ingmar Mansson 31 
 
 The Man with the Cross 45 
 
 "A City of Gold, Hke unto Clear Glass" SS 
 
 God's Holy City, Jerusalem 67 
 
 On the Wings of the Morning .... 83 
 
 Baram Pasha loi 
 
 "Flowers from Palestine" 115 
 
 Gehenna 129 
 
 The Well of Paradise 143 
 
 Ingmar Ingmarsson 17 S 
 
 BOOK TWO 
 
 Barbro Svensdotter 181 
 
 The Dervish 225 
 
 A Time of Stress 243 
 
 Ingmar's Fight 271 
 
 On the Mount of Olives 283 
 
 "We shall Meet Bye-and-bye" .... 291 
 
 The Child 311 
 
 Home from the Pilgrimage 329 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND THE HOLY 
 SEPULCHRE 
 
THE HOLY CITY 
 
 THE HOLY ROCK AND THE HOLY SEPULCHRE 
 
 IT WAS a hot August in Palestine. Every day the 
 sun beat down upon the heads of the people. There 
 was not a cloud on the sky and no rain had fallen 
 since April. Though not any hotter than it is wont to 
 be at this season, it was almost unbearable. How one 
 would ever be able to endure such heat one hardly knew, 
 or where one could go to escape it. 
 
 Jaffa was perhaps the best refuge — not in the city 
 itself, with its buildings crowded closely together on a 
 steep hill, and where a sickening stench arose from the 
 filthy streets and the large soap factories; but the town 
 lay close by the sea, which always brought some fresh- 
 ening breeze. And one could be fairly comfortable in 
 the environs, as Jaffa was surrounded by hundreds of 
 orange groves, where the fruit hung fresh and cool, pro- 
 tected from the blasting sunlight by its stiff and glossy 
 dark-green foliage. 
 
 But how insufferably hot it was even in Jaffa! The 
 big leaves of the tall, resinous shrubs were dry and shriv- 
 eled and the hardy pelargoniums, no longer able to flower, 
 lay drooping on mounds and in hollows — almost buried 
 beneath billows of dust. Seeing the red blossoms of the 
 cactus hedges, one would imagine it was all the heat 
 
 3 
 
4 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 which their thick stems had ab,sorbed through the summer 
 that had suddenly broken out in great flames. One real- 
 ized how hot it must be, when seeing the children running 
 along the beach, to get down to the sea, lift their feet 
 high, as though they were stepping upon burning coals. 
 
 If one could not stand it in Jaffa, then where was one 
 to go? Anyhow, it was better here than on the wide 
 plain of Sharon, which lay beyond the town, between 
 the sea and the mountains. To be sure, there were 
 people still staying in the small towns and villages that 
 dotted the plain, though it was diflicult to understand 
 how they could survive the heat and drouth. But they 
 rarely ventured outside their windowless dwellings and 
 never left the towns, where the houses and a few solitary 
 trees yielded them some little protection against the 
 sun. On the open plain one could no more have found 
 a green blade of grass than a human being. All the 
 beautiful red anemones and poppies of the spring, all 
 the little pinks and daisies that had covered the ground 
 as with a thick red-and-white carpet, were gone; and 
 the crops of wheat, rye and durra grown in the fields near 
 the towns, had already been harvested, and the harvest- 
 ers, with their oxen and asses, thejr songs and dances, had 
 returned to their village homes. All that remained of the 
 glories of spring were the tall withered stalks that rose 
 above the sun-baked soil — and that had once borne 
 beautiful, fragrant lilies. 
 
 A good many persons maintained that one could best 
 stand the summers in Jerusalem. The town was cer- 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE s 
 
 tainly cramped and over-populated, but as it lay at the 
 highest point of the long range of mountains extending 
 across the whole of Palestine, no breath of wind could 
 come from any direction without its freshness reaching 
 the Holy City. But, notwithstanding these blessed 
 winds and the light mountain air, there was more than 
 enough of summer heat even in Jerusalem. People slept 
 at night on the roofs of their houses, and remained in- 
 doors during the day. They had to drink ill-smelling 
 water, which had gathered in the subterranean cisterns 
 during the winter rains; and they were anxious lest that 
 even that might give out. The least pufF of wind raised 
 thick clouds of Ume-dust, and when one walked along 
 the white roads outside the city one's feet sank deep 
 into the soft fine soil. But worst of all, the heat pre- 
 vented people from sleeping. For lack of sleep the in- 
 habitants of Jerusalem were by day depressed and irri- 
 table, and at night had terrifying visions and were tor- 
 mented by haunting fears. 
 
 On one of these hot nights an American woman, who 
 had been living in Jerusalem for some years, lay tossing 
 on her bed, unable to rest. She moved her bed from the 
 room onto the balcony outside her window and applied 
 a cold compress to her aching head; but nothing afforded 
 her any relief. She lived about five minutes' walk 
 from the Damascus gate, in a palatial house that stood 
 quite by itself in a lonely spot. Hence one would have 
 thought that out there the air would be fresh and pure, 
 but that night it seemed as if all the sultriness of the city 
 
6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 had centred about the house. There was a little wind, 
 but it came from the desert, and was hot and stinging, 
 as if filled with invisible sand-grains. To add to the dis- 
 comforts of the night, a lot of street dogs roving outside 
 the city walls rent the air with their loud yelps. 
 
 The American woman, having lain awake for hours, 
 became prey to despondency. In her effort to conquer 
 her depression she reminded herself that, since coming 
 to Jerusalem, led by a divine revelation, she had been 
 singularly blessed; she had founded a colony, and had 
 overcome persecutions and hardships untold; but now 
 she could find no comfort even in these thoughts. 
 
 She lay imagining that her faithful followers would be 
 murdered, that her enemies would set fire to the house, 
 that Jerusalem was sending all its fanatics against her, 
 and she would be crushed by the blind hatred and 
 bigotry nurtured within its walls. 
 
 She tried to regain her usual serene confidence. Why 
 should she despair now, she asked herself, just when her 
 cause was progressing so well, when the Gordon Colony 
 had been strengthened by the addition of some fifty 
 sturdy, capable Swedes, who had come over from Amer- 
 ica, and when still more of these good, dependable people 
 were coming from Sweden. In reality her mission had 
 never appeared so promising as at that time. 
 
 At last, to escape from her morbid fears, she got up,i 
 threw around her a long voluminous cloak, and went out 
 in the direction of Jerusalem. Turning from the road,! 
 she climbed a steep little hill, from the top of which could! 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 7 
 
 be seen, in the moonlight, the turreted walls and the 
 numberless large and small cupolas of the city outlined 
 against the nocturnal sky. 
 
 Though still fighting her fears and apprehensions, she 
 could not but notice the solemn beauties of the night. 
 The pale-green moonlight of Palestine shed its weird 
 lustre over the landscape, and gave to everything an 
 air of awesome mystery. Suddenly the thought came to 
 her: Just as in the old castles of Europe there are 
 haunted rooms, where ghosts are said to abide, so this 
 ancient city, and the desolate hills surrounding it, might 
 perchance be the Old World's haunted chamber, a place 
 where one would expect to see vanished grandeur de- 
 scending from the mountains and the ghosts of bygone 
 ages roaming about in the darkness of night. 
 
 The woman felt no terror at these thoughts; on the 
 contrary, they filled her with joyous expectation. Since 
 the night of the wreck of the steamship L'Univers, when 
 she had heard the voice of God speak to her, she had now 
 and then received a message from another world. She 
 felt that something of the kind would come to her now. 
 Her brain seemed to expand, her senses became singularly' 
 acute; she perceived that the night was not silent, but 
 full of strange sounds. 
 
 Before she realized what had come over her, she heard 
 a powerful voice, that seemed to proceed from a very 
 old and austere being, utter these words : 
 
 "Verily, I can with pride hold my head above the dust; 
 none is like unto me in might and holiness." 
 
8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 This was no sooner said than a sharp bell-clang issued 
 from the Dome of the Holy Sepulchre. It sounded like 
 a curt contradiction. 
 
 The first voice continued : "Was it not I that caused the 
 city to spring up in the wilderness, that filled the earth with 
 the fear of God, that stemmed the tide of the world and 
 forced it into a new channel?" 
 
 The voice seemed to come from the east, from that part 
 of the town where Solomon 's Temple once stood, and 
 where Omar's Mosque was now sharply outlined against 
 the grayish-green horizon. 
 
 "Harken to me!" the voice from the old Temple site 
 went on. "My recollections of this place go back to the 
 age long before there was any city on this mountain. 
 I remember it as a wild and inaccessible ridge. In 
 the beginning it was only a mass of rock; but all the 
 rains which from the creation of the world had fallen 
 upon it split it up into numberless hills, some of which 
 had gently-rising slopes; others had broad summits and 
 perpendicular walls; others, again, were so narrow they 
 could only serve as bridges between the different 
 heights." 
 
 Here followed a succession of loud peals from the direc- 
 tion where rose the Dome of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 
 The woman, whose ear had now become attuned to 
 the sounds reverberating through the night, noted that 
 here was also a voice uttering audible words. She seemed 
 to hear a short "this I too have seen." 
 
 The first voice spoke again. "At the highest point 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 9 
 
 of this ridge was a mountain called Moriah, whose aspect 
 was sombre and forbidding." 
 
 The woman sat down on a little heap of ruins, rested 
 her head against her hand, and listened. 
 
 As soon as the first voice grew silent, as if from ex- 
 haustion, the second voice responded: "I also remember 
 how the mountain looked in the beginning." 
 
 "One day," resumed the voice from the Temple site, 
 "it happened that some shepherds, who wandered about 
 the hills with their flocks, discovered this mountain, 
 which was well guarded by hills and vales, as if it held great 
 treasures and wonderful secrets. They climbed to its 
 broad summit, and found there a thing most holy." 
 
 "They found nothing but a block of stone," said the 
 voice of the bell-like clang. "It was a large round some- 
 what flat stone, raised a little above the ground and 
 supported by a smaller stone, and it resembled the head of 
 a giant mushroom." 
 
 "But the shepherds," said the first voice, "who knew 
 all the sacred legends from the beginning of Time, were 
 filled with joy at beholding it. 'This is the great Sus- 
 pended Rock about which we have heard so much,' said 
 they. 'This stone was the first thing God formed when 
 He created the world. From here He spread forth the 
 surface of the earth, east, west, north and south; from 
 here He built up the mountains and rolled out the seas, 
 clear to the borders of the firmament.' " 
 
 The voice speaking paused a moment, as if expecting a 
 contradiction; but the voice of the bell was mute. 
 
lo THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "How extraordinary!" thought the woman. "Surely 
 it cannot be human beings talking?" Yet in reality it 
 did not seem so very extraordinary; the sultry air and 
 the pale-green moonlight made the strangest phenomena 
 appear most natural. 
 
 "The shepherds," continued the first voice, "hastened 
 down from the mountain to make known in all the land 
 that they had found the corner-stone of the world. Soon 
 afterwards, great numbers of people came up to Mount 
 Moriah to offer sacrifice unto God on me, the Suspended 
 Rock, and to praise Him for His glorious work of Cre- 
 ation. 
 
 The voice now rose to something that was like a song. 
 In the high, shrill tones dervishes are wont to use when 
 reciting from the Koran, it chanted: "Then for the first 
 time I received sacrificial offerings and adoration. Re- 
 ports of my existence spread far and wide. Every day 
 long caravans could be seen winding across the grayish- 
 white hills toward Mount Moriah. Verily, I can with 
 pride hold my head high. It was on my account so many 
 people came to Moriah, that merchants found it to their 
 profit to bring hither their wares. Because of me the 
 hillside was settled by those who made their livind 
 by providing such as would offer sacrifice with fuelj 
 and water, with frankincense and fire, with doves and 
 lambs." j 
 
 The woman raised her head in astonishment, "It 
 must be the Holy Rock itself speaking," she thought] 
 "Yes, it is surely the great stone that rests beneath! 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE n 
 
 the superb mosaic arches in Omar's Mosque whose voice 
 I hear." 
 
 Now it was heard to proclaim: "I am the one and 
 only Holy Rock. I am that which men must forever 
 adore." 
 
 This was no sooner said than answered in strong tones 
 from the Dome of the Holy Sepulchre. "You forget 
 that somewhere near the middle of this mountain plain, 
 where you yourself once rested, there was a modest little 
 hillock covered with a growth of wild olives. No doubt 
 lyou would rather not remember that the old patriarch 
 Shem, the son of the second father of mankind, Noah, 
 once came up to Mount Moriah; he was then advanced in 
 years and his life was drawing to a close. He was at- 
 tended by two servants, who had brought with them 
 implements needed to hollow out a grave in the rock." 
 
 The first voice made no response. 
 
 "You pretend not to know that Shem's father, Noah, 
 once owned and treasured the skull of Adam, as a pre- 
 cious relic of the father of race. When Noah was dying, 
 he bequeathed the skull to Shem, rather than to his 
 other sons, because he foresaw that from Shem would 
 spring the greatest of all peoples. And then, when Shem 
 felt that his own hour had struck, he determined to bury 
 the sacred relic on Mount Moriah. But being endowed 
 with the gift of prophecy, he did not put the skull under 
 the Holy Rock, but buried it on the modest little hillock 
 covered with olive trees, which from that day was known 
 as Golgotha, or a place of a skull." 
 
12 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "I remember this incident quite well," replied the first 
 voice, "and I also remember that those who worshipped 
 the rock thought the patriarch too old and infirm to 
 know what he was about." 
 
 A single shrill tone came from the Church. To the 
 woman it sounded like a scornful laugh. 
 
 "But so trifling a matter is of no importance," rang 
 out from the Dome of the Mosque. "The power and 
 sanctity of the great rock only increased the more. 
 Princes and their people came from distant lands to 
 offer up burnt sacrifice for prosperity and happiness. I 
 can remember a day when a patriarch greater than Shem 
 visited the Mount. I have seen Abraham, white-bearded 
 and venerable, and his son Isaac pass this way. And 
 Abraham did not seek thee, O Golgotha, but it was upon 
 the Suspended Rock he built his altar and bound the lad." 
 
 "This, to be sure, must always be reckoned as an 
 honour to you, but remember that a part of this honour 
 is mine," spoke the second voice. "When the angel 
 stayed the hand of Abraham, and he looked about for a 
 sacrifice, it was on Golgotha he found the ram caught 
 by its horns in a thicket of olive shrubs." 
 
 The woman listened with strained attention. The 
 more she heard of the contentious claims of the two 
 temples, the less hopefully did she regard her own mission. 
 "O God!" she sighed. "Why didst Thou command 
 me to spread the Gospel of Unity, when strife and dissen- 
 sion have been the only lasting things from the creation 
 of the world?" 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 13 
 
 The first voice was heard to say: "I forget nothing 
 worth remembering. Even in Abraham's time the 
 mountain plain was far from being a Wilderness. There 
 was a city here ruled by a king who was the High Priest 
 of the servants of the Holy Rock. This king was Mel- 
 chisedek— he who appointed regular seasons for offerings 
 and instituted the beautiful reUgious ceremonies solem- 
 nized at the Holy Rock." 
 
 The other voice promptly answered : " I also acknowl- 
 edge Melchisedek as a holy man and a prophet. That 
 he was chosen of God who can doubt, since he wished to 
 be buried in a cave on Golgotha, on the selfsame spot 
 where rests the skull of Adam. Have you never thought 
 of the prophetic significance of this, that the first sinner 
 and the first saint were buried in the one grave .? " 
 
 "I understand that you make much of this," said the 
 first voice, "but I can tell you of something that is of 
 far greater moment: The city on the mountain grew, 
 the hills and vales hereabout became peopled, and were 
 given names. In time only the eastern side of the moun- 
 tain, where the Holy Rock lay, was known as Moriah; 
 the southern slope was called Zion, the western Gareb, 
 and the northern Bezetha." 
 
 "Still it was nothing but a small town that lay on the 
 mountain," the first voice declared. "Only shepherds 
 and priests lived there. People had no desire to settle in 
 that barren rock-desert." 
 
 This was answered in tones so loud and jubilant they 
 quite startled the woman. 
 
14 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "I have seen King David, in shining armour and coat of 
 crimson, standing here looking out over the city, before 
 it was made the seat of his government. Why did he 
 not choose instead the rich and smiling city of Bethlehem? 
 Why not Jericho of the fertile valley? Why did he not 
 make Gilgal or Hebron the chief city of Israel ? Let me 
 remind you that he chose this place because of the Sus- 
 pended Rock; he chose it because the kings of Israel 
 must needs dwell on the mountain which from time 
 immemorial has basked in the shadow of my sanctity." 
 
 Then, for the second time, the voice chanted in sus- 
 tained tones a song of praise. "I see the great city with 
 its towers and walls; the King's palace with its thousand 
 halls; the crowded streets, the workshops, and the 
 market-stalls. I see the beauty and splendour of the City 
 of David. As I look back upon it all, I may well say: 
 'Great is thy power, O Rock! All this didst thou call 
 forth. None is like unto thee in sanctity and holiness. 
 As for thee, Golgotha, thou wast but a spot on the 
 earth, a barren hill-top, outside the city wall. Who 
 ever heard of thee? Who rendered thee homage, or wor- 
 shipped thee?" 
 
 As this chant of praise rang out in the night, the voice 
 of the bell could be heard muttering in muffled tones, as 
 if subdued by a feeling of veneration: "It is plain that 
 you have grown old, for you magnify all that happened 
 in your youth, as the aged are wont to do. The City 
 of David did not extend beyond Zion; it did not even 
 reach to where I stand, at the centre of the mountain. 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 15 
 
 Therefore it was only natural that I should continue to 
 rest outside the city wall." 
 
 The singing voice, seemingly unmindful of the interrup- 
 tion, went on chanting its own praises. "Yet thou didst 
 attain to thy greatest honour, O Rock, in the time of 
 Solomon. Then round about thee the mountain was 
 levelled and covered with flat stones, on which were 
 erected colonnades, as in the courts of kings. Over 
 thee, O Rock, the Temple was raised, and upon thee, who 
 art the head corner-stone of the world, rested the Ark of 
 the Covenant, with the two tables of stone in the Holy 
 of Holies." 
 
 To which there came no word of dissent from the 
 Church, only a dull sound like a groan. 
 
 "And in the reign of Solomon water was led from the 
 depths of the valleys to the heights round about Jeru- 
 salem; for Solomon was the wisest of kings. Trees 
 sprang up from the dry grayish-white earth and roses 
 grew among the rocks. At autumn they gathered figs 
 and grapes, pomegranates and olives in the beautiful 
 pleasure gardens that covered the mountain — to the 
 delight of Solomon. But you, Golgotha, remained a 
 barren hill without the city wall. You were so poor and 
 unfruitful that no rich man of Solomon's day would in- 
 clude you among his pleasure gardens, and no poor man 
 would plant on you even a vine." 
 
 At this fresh attack, the adversary took courage and 
 spoke up. "You seem to forget that at that time some- 
 thing happened which foreshadowed Golgotha's coming 
 
i6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 glory. For it was then the Queen of Sheba paid a visit td 
 King Solomon, who received her at his palace, called 
 the House of the Forest of Lebanon, because it was built 
 of timber brought from distant Lebanon. When Solo- 
 mon showed the Arabian Queen this magnificent struc- 
 ture, whose like she had never beheld, she chanced to 
 notice a post in the wall of uncommon thickness. This 
 post was made from three tree-trunks grown together. 
 The heart of the Queen was filled with trepidation on 
 finding that this tree had been brought to the King's 
 palace, and she hastened to tell him its story. 'After our 
 First Parents had been driven out from the beautiful 
 Garden of Eden,' she said, 'the angel that guarded it 
 once allowed Adam's son Seth to enter therein, that 
 he might see the Tree of Life. When Seth left the garden 
 the angel gave him as a parting gift three seeds from the 
 wonderful tree. These seeds Seth planted on Adam's 
 grave, at Mount Lebanon, and from them sprang three 
 stems forming a single tree. It was this tree, O Solomon, 
 the woodmen of King Hiram felled for thee, and which 
 now forms part of thy palace. It has been prophesied 
 that upon this tree a man shall die, that when this 
 comes to pass, Jerusalem will fall and all the tribes 
 of Israel will be scattered.' The Queen of Sheba then 
 prayed the King to destroy the tree, in order to prevent 
 the fulfillment of so dire a prophecy. The King at once 
 had it removed from the wall of his palace, and cast into 
 the Pool of Bethesda." ^ 
 
 There was profound silence for a space. The woman 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 17 
 
 thought she would hear no more. Then, in a moment, 
 the voice of the bell spoke again : 
 
 "My thoughts turn backward to a time of great tribu- 
 lation. I remember when the Temple was destroyed and 
 when the people were carried away to captivity. Where 
 was thy vaunted glory then, O Rock ? " 
 
 Instantly came the response from the Rock: "Am I 
 not everlasting? Though I have fallen I have always risen 
 again. Hast forgotten about the splendour that sur- 
 rounded me in the days of Herod ? Dost remember the 
 three courts of the Temple, the fires on the altar of burnt 
 sacrifice that at night flamed so high they lighted up 
 the whole city and the portico called Beautiful, with its 
 hundred pillars of porphyry? Dost remember how the 
 sweet odour of the frankincense rising from the Temple 
 was wafted on a western wind all the way to Jericho? 
 Dost remember the Babylonian curtain, interwoven with 
 roses of pure gold, that hung before the Holy of Holies?" 
 
 "Verily, I remember all that," answered the voice 
 from the Church in sharp tones. " For it was at that time 
 Herod caused Bethesda to be drained, and his workmen 
 found at the bottom of the pool the Tree of Life, and cast 
 it up onto the edge." 
 
 "Dost remember the splendour of the city," cried the 
 voice of the Rock, with exultant pride, "when the princes 
 and people of Judah dwelt on Zion, and when Romans 
 and strangers dwelt in the district of Bezetha? Dost 
 remember the Castle of Mariamne and Castle Antonia? 
 Dost remember the great walls and battlements?" 
 
i8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "I do," said the other voice. "And I remember also 
 it was at that time the good counsellor Joseph of Arima- 
 thea had a sepulchre hewn in a rock in his garden, which 
 was close to Golgotha." 
 
 The voice of the Rock now trembled a little, but spoke 
 without hesitation. "People from everywhere came to 
 Jerusalem for the great feasts. All the roads of Palestine 
 swarmed with travellers and the hillsides outside the Holy 
 City were covered with tents. Men from Rome, from 
 Athens, from Alexandria, from Damascus, drew hither 
 to view the beauties of the city and its Temple. Dost 
 remember that proud Jerusalem ? " 
 
 The voice of the bell responded with unbending gravity: 
 "I remember it all. It was then the soldiers of Pilate 
 found at the edge of the Pool of Bethesda the Tree of 
 Life, upon which a Man was doomed to die." 
 
 "Despised and rejected you have ever been," rang 
 forth scornfully from the Mosque, "though up to that 
 time you were but an insignificant spot on the earth. 
 The Roman soldiers brought you into shameful prom- 
 inence by using you as a place of execution. I remember 
 the day they raised three crosses on you." 
 
 "Accursed be I should I ever forget that day!" came 
 the solemn response from the Church. The voice of the 
 bell seemed now to be accompanied by chancel choirs. 
 "I remember that when the cross hewn from the Tree 
 of Life was planted on Golgotha the great Feast of the 
 Passover took place on Mount Moriah. The Israelites, 
 in festal attire, entered the courts of the Temple bearing 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 19 
 
 long poles, upon which hung the lambs for the sacrifice; 
 when the courts were overthronged with people the huge 
 coppeF gates closed; by a blast of trumpets the signal was 
 given to begin the celebration. The lambs were then 
 hung between the pillars and slaughtered; priests stand- 
 ing in line caught the blood of the sacrificial lambs in 
 vessels of silver and gold. So much blood flowed that 
 the stones of the court ran red. But the moment the 
 Crucified died on Golgotha, the feast of sacrifice in the 
 Temple was broken. A great darkness fell upon the 
 sanctuary, the whole structure was shaken as by an 
 earthquake. The Babylonian curtain was rent in twain, 
 as a sign that the power and the glory and the sanctity 
 had passed from Moriah to Golgotha." 
 
 "Golgotha was also shaken by the earthquake," the 
 first voice interposed. "The whole mountain was rent." 
 
 "Yea, verily," came the response in full chantlike 
 tones, "there was a great rent in the rock of Golgotha! 
 and through it the blood from the Cross flowed down into 
 the grave in the rock, thus making known to the First 
 Sinner and the First High Priest the consummation of the 
 Atonement." 
 
 At that moment the Church sent forth a succession of 
 deafening peals, while from the minaret of the Mosque 
 went up one of those long plaintive cries that call the 
 faithful to prayer. The woman knew from this that 
 one of the holy hours of the night had struck; but com- 
 ing, as it did, so close upon the discourse on the Cruci- 
 fixion, it seemed to her as if the two old voices had 
 
20 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 taken this occasion to give vent to their pride and their 
 humiliation. 
 
 This noise had barely subsided, when the Rock, in a 
 solemn voice, began again: "I am the Eternal Rock, but 
 what is Golgotha? I am what I am and all know where 
 to find me, but where is Golgotha ? Where is the mound 
 on which the cross was raised? No one knows. And 
 where is the tomb in which Jesus *was laid ? None can 
 with certainty point out the spot." 
 
 Instantly came the rebuke from Golgotha: "Must you 
 also come with these imputations! You should know 
 better, for you are old enough to remember where Gol- 
 gotha lies. These thousands of years you have seen 
 the hill in its place, near the Gate of Righteousness." 
 
 "I am indeed old, very, very old," said the Rock. 
 "But you have observed that the old have a poor mem- 
 ory. There were many barren hills outside Jerusalem; 
 so how should I be able to remember which was Gol- 
 gotha ? As there are countless numbers of graves in the 
 rocks, how can I know which is the right one ? " 
 
 The woman was fast losing patience. She felt half- 
 tempted to chime in. Did these wonderful voices sound ? 
 in her ear only to repeat old sayings she had heard long 
 ago? She longed to cry out that they should reveal to 
 her the deep mysteries of the Kingdom of God, but the 
 two old temples had not a thought for anything but their 
 petty dispute over which was the greater in power and , 
 sanctity. 
 
 Even the voice of the bell sounded impatient. "It is 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 21 
 
 tiresome having to refute, over and over again, this 
 charge that I am not what I claim to be," it seemed to 
 say. "You must remember that even the Early Christians 
 were wont to visit me, to revive memories of the great 
 events which had taken place on and around Golgotha." 
 
 "That may be true enough," replied the voice of the 
 Rock, "but I am almost certain the Christians lost sight 
 of you among the new streets and houses, when the city 
 was extended and Herod Antipas built the new wall 
 around it." 
 
 "They did not lose sight of me," answered the Church 
 of the Holy Sepulchre. "They continued to gather on 
 Golgotha up to the time of the siege of Jerusalem, when 
 they departed the city." 
 
 To this there was no response from the voice of the 
 Rock; it seemed as if overcome by the sorrowful memo- 
 ries thus evoked. 
 
 "Your Temple was wholly destroyed, " cried the voice 
 of the Church; "the sacred site was a mass of ruins. For 
 six centuries, O Rock, you lay buried beneath dust and 
 ashes. " 
 
 "What are a few centuries to me?" spoke the ancient 
 voice. "There has never been doubt as to my place, but 
 about you they are forever disputing. " 
 
 "How can there be any question as to where I stand, 
 when a miracle of God brought me to light again ? " an- 
 swered the Church. "Hast forgotten that the Empress 
 Helena, who was a Christian and a saint, received in a 
 dream a command from God to go to the Holy Land and 
 
22 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 build shrines on its sacred sites. How well do I recall the 
 day the Empress, with her retinue of pious and learned 
 men, came to Jerusalem! At that time there was in the 
 midst of the city a temple of Venus, which had been 
 erected by Emperor Hadrian on a spot sacred to the Chris- 
 tians. This temple was pulled down by order of Empress 
 Helena. It was found to have been built upon Gol- 
 gotha. Under the foundation stones were found intact — 
 and thus preserved to posterity — ^the Holy Sepulchre and 
 the Rock of Golgotha, with Melchisedek's grave and the 
 rent, through which it was said that blood still flowed. 
 They found the Stone of Unction and " ' 
 
 The voice of the Church was interrupted by a derisive 
 laugh, which seemed to come from the Mosque. ' 
 
 "Hear the final and most conclusive proof," continued 
 the voice of the Church, undaunted. "The Empres»| 
 wished above everything to find the Holy Cross. After 
 a long and futile search, when she had almost given up 
 hope, there came to her one day an old and wise man, 
 who told her the Cross had been buried deep in the 
 ground. The old man pointed out the place. The 
 workmen had to dig far down, for the Cross had been 
 thrown into a moat, which was filled in with earth and 
 stone. I still remember the pious Empress sitting at 
 the edge of the moat encouraging her men ! And I also 
 remember the day they found the Cross at the bottom. 
 Many miracles followed upon the recovery of the Cross| 
 I doubt that even you dare deny them, for you have 
 heard the joyful shouts of the sick who were healed on 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 23 
 
 beholding this sacred relic. And think of the hosts of 
 pilgrims that came hither from every land, and the 
 convents and churches that sprang up, as it were, out of 
 the ground! Or have you forgotten, O Rock, the splen- 
 did structures which Constantine and his mother caused 
 to be raised? On the spot where the Cross was found a 
 Basilica was built, and over the rock cave of the Holy 
 Sepulchre was erected a beautiful circular church. Dost 
 remember the long trains of caravans winding across 
 the hills laden with gold and many kinds of costly stone 
 to be used for the ornamentation of the church? Dost 
 remember the pillars of porphyry, with their capitals of 
 silver, and the mosaic arches of the Church of the Sepul- 
 chre? Dost remember the narrow windows, through 
 which light streamed mellowed by panes of stained glass 
 and alabaster? the twin columns? and the fine dome 
 that crowned the edifice ? At the heart of the sanctuary, 
 unadorned amid all this splendour, was the cave of 
 the Holy Sepulchre. You know that all the Christians 
 of the East looked upon Jerusalem as their Holy City, and 
 that pilgrims were no longer the only people who gathered 
 here. Bishops and priests came and built themselves 
 churches and palaces near the Holy Sepulchre. You 
 have seen the patriarch of the Armenians establish his 
 hierarchy here, and the patriarchs of the Greeks and 
 Assyrians theirs. You have seen Copts from old 
 Egypt and Abyssinians from the heart of Africa draw 
 hither. You have seen Jerusalem rebuilt as a city of 
 churches and cloisters, of hospices and missions. You 
 
24 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 know that its glory became greater than ever before. 
 But all this was my work, O Rock! At that time you lay 
 unnoticed and forgotten under a heap of ashes. " 
 
 Thus challenged, the sanctuary of the Rock answered: 
 "What are a few short years of humiliation to me! After 
 all, I am what I am. Some hundreds of years slipped by, 
 and then one night there came to me a venerable man 
 in the striped mantel of the Bedouin, his head covered 
 with a turban of camel 's hair. That man was Mahomet, 
 Prophet of God, who living ascended into Heaven. His 
 left foot rested upon my crown just before he was trans- 
 lated, and I, by my own strength, rose several feet from 
 the earth in my yearning to follow him. I raised myself 
 above dust and ashes. I am that which is forever fixed." 
 
 "You forsook your own people, you traitor!" cried the 
 Church. "You helped put false believers in power." 
 
 "I have no people, and serve none. I am the Eternal 
 Rock. He who worships me, him I protect. There 
 came a day when Omar made his entry into Jerusalem. 
 The great Caliph at once began to clear the 1 Temple 
 place, himself taking a basket of remnants on his head 
 and carrying it away. And then the followers of Omar 
 erected upon me the most glorious edifices the East has 
 ever seen." 
 
 "Yes, the building is beautiful," rang the voice of the 
 bell. " But do you know what it is ? Think you that I 
 do not recognize that fine mosaic dome, those mosaic 
 arches and those marble walls, within which you repose; 
 in unadorned simplicity, as the Holy Sepulchre once 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 25 
 
 rested in the church of Saint Helena? Your mosque is 
 patterned after the first Church of the Sepulchre." 
 
 The woman grew more and more disheartened; the 
 contentions of the two sanctuaries seemed to her both 
 mean and deplorable. They had not a thought for the 
 two great religions they stood for, but only boasted about 
 their buildings. 
 
 "I remember many things," said the Mosque, "but I 
 do not recall having seen the beautiful Church of the 
 Sepulchre of which you speak." 
 
 "Verily, it once stood on Golgotha, but enemies soon 
 destroyed it. It was rebuilt and again destroyed." 
 
 "There were many buildings on Golgotha, both large 
 and small, which were said to be holy," spoke the voice 
 of the Rock. "They were poor and dilapidated structures, 
 where the rains came in through holes in the roofs." 
 
 "Yes, truly," answered the Church. "That was your 
 time — a time of darkness. But I can say with you, what 
 are a few years of humiliation to me ? I have seen all the 
 Western World rise to help me. I have seen Jerusalem 
 conquered by men of Europe who came here because of 
 me. I have seen your mosque transformed into a Chris- 
 tian church and crusaders build an altar upon you, O 
 Rock. I have seen Knights of the Cross lead their horses 
 under the arches of your temple." 
 
 The old Rock lifted up its voice and sang as a dervish 
 would sing on the desert, but it could not stem the flow 
 of words issuing from the Church. 
 
 "I remember how the Knights from the West took off 
 
26 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 their coats of mail, and, as masons, seized mallets and 
 trowels and set to work rebuilding the Church of the 
 Sepulchre. They made it large enough to hold all the 
 holy places and covered the gray sepulchre with white 
 marble, both outside and in." 
 
 "What matters it that you were built by Crusaders?" 
 the first voice said. "You are again fallen into decay." 
 
 "I am filled with sacred relics and holy spots!" cried 
 the Church of the Sepulchre, exultingly. "Within my 
 walls may be seen the olive shrub in which Abraham 
 found the ram, and the chapel where Adam's skull is 
 enshrined. I can point to Golgotha^ to the tomb; to 
 the stone where the angel was seated when the women 
 came to weep over the dead. Within my walls is the spot 
 where the Cross was found. I have the pillar by which 
 the Crucified stood when He was crowned with thorns, 
 and the sword of Godfrey of Boulogne. I am still wor- 
 shipped by Copts and Abyssinians, by Armenians and 
 Jacobites, by Greeks and Romans. I am crowded with 
 pilgrims " 
 
 "What do you mean, you mound! you sepulchre! the 
 place of which no one knows," thundered the old voice. 
 "Would you compare your potency to that of the Eternal 
 Rock? Upon me is inscribed Jehovah's Most Holy, 
 unutterable Name, which none save Christ has been able 
 to interpret. To the court of my Temple Mahomet shall 
 descend on the Last Day." 
 
 As the quarrel of the churches increased in violence, 
 the woman rose to her feet; she forgot for the moment 
 
THE HOLY ROCK AND SEPULCHRE 27 
 
 that her voice was too weak to be heard above these two 
 mighty voices. 
 
 "Woe unto you!" she cried out. "What kind of holy 
 temples are you? You strive and contend, and because 
 of your dissensions the world is filled with unrest, and 
 hatred, and persecution. Hear this: God's last word 
 to mankind is Unity. God's last edict, which I have 
 heard, spells unity of the Spirit." 
 
 When these words were spoken the voice of the Rock 
 and the voice of the Sepulchre were mute. For an 
 instant the woman wondered if her utterances had 
 silenced them; and then she noticed that all the crosses 
 and all the crescents on the great domes of the Holy City 
 began to shimmer and shine. The sun rose above the 
 Mount of Olives, and the voices of the night were stilled. 
 
BOOK ONE 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 
 
 AMONG those who had belonged to Helgum's 
 r-\ community in America and had gone with their 
 leader to Jerusalem were three members of the 
 old Ingmarsson family. They were the two daughters of 
 Big Ingmar who went to America soon after their father's 
 death, and their cousin Bo Ingmar Mansson, a young man 
 who had spent two or three years in the United States. 
 
 Bo was a tall, well built, blond-haired youth, with a 
 fine countenance. There was very little about his general 
 appearance that was like the old Ingmars, but the family 
 traits showed themselves when he had some difficult work 
 in hand, or was deeply stirred. 
 
 When as a lad Bo had attended Storm 's School, he was 
 thought to be dull and slow. The schoolmaster had 
 often wondered how one who came of such intelligent 
 people could be so dense. All this disappeared, however, 
 when Bo was in America. Over there he proved to be 
 both clever and resourceful; but in his childhood he had 
 so often been called a dunce, that there still clung to him a 
 certain diffidence and lack of self-confidence. 
 
 The people of his home parish were not a little surprised 
 when Bo betook himself to America! His parents, who 
 were well-to-do farmers, would have liked to keep their 
 
 31 
 
32 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 son at home. It had been whispered about that Bo was 
 in love with the schoolmaster's daughter, Gertrude, 
 and had gone away to forget her, but nobody really knew 
 the right of it. Bo had never made a confidant of anyone 
 except his mother, who, it seems, was not a sister of Big 
 Ingmar for nothing! She could not be tempted to say a 
 word more than she wanted to say. 
 
 The day Bo left for America his mother gave him a 
 belt, into which she had sewn some money, and asked him 
 to wear it next his body. " Promise me never to part with 
 this belt unless you come to want," his mother had said. 
 "It is not a large sum I'm giving you — only enough to 
 take you home again in case you can't make your way 
 over there." 
 
 Bo promised not to touch the money in the belt, and 
 he faithfully kept his word. True, he had not been sorely 
 tempted to Use the money, as on\he whole he had done 
 rather well in America. Once or twice, however, when 
 out of work, he had gone hungry and been without a place 
 to lay his head; yet he had always found a way out of 
 his difficulty, without touching his mother's money. 
 
 When Bo joined the Helgumists he was a little con- 
 cerned at first as to what he should do with the belt. His 
 new friends tried to follow the example of the Early Chris- 
 tians; they shared their possessions with one another and 
 gave all their earnings to the common fund. Bo also 
 gave up all he had, save what was in the belt. He could 
 not determine what was right or what was wrong in a case 
 like this; but something told him not to part with this 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 33 
 
 money. And he felt very sure Our Lord would under- 
 stand it was not from meanness that he withheld it, but 
 because he was in duty bound to keep the promise made to 
 his mother. 
 
 He kept the belt even after he had joined the Gordon- 
 ites, though the thought of it troubled him now. Bo 
 soon learned to know Mrs. Gordon and her helpers, and 
 revered them for their goodness and self-sacrifice. He 
 wondered what these people would think of him if they 
 knew that he was secretly carrying money about with him, 
 although he had solemnly promised to give all he had to 
 the colony. 
 
 Helgum and his followers had come to Jerusalem early 
 in May, just at the time when the peasants in his home 
 parish, in Dalecarlia, were selling their farms. In June 
 word came by letter that the Ingmar Farm had been sold, 
 and that Ingmar Ingmarsson had given up Gertrude in 
 order to get back the old ancestral home. 
 
 Until then Bo had been very happy in Jerusalem and 
 had often expressed his joy at being there. But from the 
 day he learned that Gertrude was free he became gloomy 
 and taciturn. 
 
 No one knew what had made Bo so low-spirited. Some 
 of the brethren tried to make him confide in them, but 
 he would not tell anybody what was troubling him. He 
 could not turn to the colonists for sympathy in an affair 
 of the heart, as they were always preaching that, for 
 the sake of unity, one must not love one person more than 
 another, and averred they loved everybody equally well. 
 
34 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Had they not all, Bo included, vowed never to marry, 
 but to live in chastity, as do monks and nuns ? 
 
 Bo never for a second thought of his vow after hearing 
 that Gertrude was free. He wanted to sever his connec- 
 tion with the colony at once, and go home to pay court to 
 her. Now he was very glad he had kept the money-belt, 
 and could leave for Sweden whenever he wished. 
 
 The first few days he went about in a daze, with only 
 one thought in his head — to find out when there was a 
 steamer leaving Jaffa; but it happened that no ship was 
 to sail from that port just then. All at once it dawned 
 on Bo that for the sake of appearances it would be better 
 to put off the journey for a while. If he went back now, 
 he thought, the whole parish would know it was because 
 of Gertrude; and should he fail to win her, people would 
 only laugh at him. 
 
 Just at that time Bo had agreed to do some masonry 
 work for the colonists, who had recently rented a big 
 house outside the Damascus gate, in anticipation of the 
 arrival of the Swedish peasants, and were therefore busy 
 putting the house in order. He had been assigned the 
 task of building a bake-oven, so he made up his mind to 
 be patient, and not to go until this work was completed. 
 
 But all the while Bo longed to get away, and now Jeru- 
 salem was to him hardly better than a prison. At night, 
 in his room, he would take off his belt and finger the 
 coins through the fabric. As he did so, he could see Ger- 
 trude as it were before him, and he would forget that 
 she had never taken the slightest notice of him. He 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 35 
 
 felt quite sure he had only to go home to make her his 
 wife. When Ingmar had proved so false, surely Gertrude 
 must in the end come to love him, who had always loved 
 her. 
 
 Bo found it dreadfully slow work building that oven! 
 Either he was not a skilled mason or his bricks and mortar 
 were poor. He began to think he would never be able to 
 finish it. Once the arch caved in, and once he laid his 
 bricks so irregularly that the smoke blew into the bakery 
 instead of going up the chimney. 
 
 Consequently, he was not ready to start until the middle 
 of August. In the meantime he saw much of the Gor- 
 donites, and their life, and thought better and better 
 of them. Never had he seen people devote themselves 
 so untiringly to the service of the sick, the poor, the sor- 
 rowing. They did not yearn for the things of this world, 
 although some of them were rich enough to have gratified 
 their every wish, while others were so learned that there 
 was scarcely anything under the sun they did not know 
 about. Every day they held beautiful meetings, at which 
 they explained their teachings to the newcomers. When 
 Bo heard them speak, he thought it so great a privilege 
 to be allowed to take part in the revival of the true 
 Christianity, which had lain dormant and well nigh for- 
 gotten for nearly two thousand years, that he wanted to 
 remain in Jerusalem. 
 
 But at night, when Bo sat with the belt in his hands, 
 his longing for Gertrude mastered him. Then, if he hap- 
 pened to think that his going would deprive him of any 
 
36 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 part in the restoration of the only true Christianity, he 
 said to himself that there were so many others to carry 
 out this work, who were far more worthy than he was, it 
 would be a small loss if a poor wretch like him left the 
 colony. 
 
 What Bo dreaded was the moment when he would have 
 to stand up in meeting and tell the brethren he had de- 
 cided to go home. He shuddered at the thought that 
 Mrs. Gordon, and old Miss Hoggs, and beautiful Miss 
 Young, and Helgum, and his own cousins — these people 
 whose only desire was to serve God — ^would look upon him 
 as lost. And what would God Himself think of his de- 
 serting? Perhaps he was forfeiting his soul's salvation 
 by abandoning this great cause. 
 
 He felt now that he had done wrong in keeping his 
 mother's money. But for that belt he would have been 
 spared this sore temptation to run away. 
 
 The colonists were at that time very short of funds, 
 due in part to the cost of moving into larger quarters, 
 and in part to a lawsuit that had been brought against 
 them in America. Besides, there were many of Jerusa- 
 lem's poor who constantly appealed to them for aid. As 
 they never took pay for their work, believing, as they 
 did, that money was the cause of all the dissension in the 
 world, it was not surprising that they were often in hard 
 straits. Sometimes, when the expected remittances from 
 America were overdue, they had not sufficient for the day. 
 The colonists were frequently on their knees imploring God 
 for help. At such times Bo felt as if the belt burned him. 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 37 
 
 Yet his longing for Gertrude was so intense that he could 
 not think of giving up the money. Anyhow, it was too 
 late now, he told himself; he could not confess that he 
 had been carrying gold about him during these times 
 of need. 
 
 Bo's oven was finished at last, and he wanted to leave 
 by the first steamer. So one day he betook himself to a 
 secluded spot, and ripped the belt open. Sitting with 
 the gold pieces in his hands, he felt like a criminal. "O 
 God, forgive me!" he gasped. "Had I ever dreamed that 
 Gertrude would some day be free, I would not have 
 joined these people." 
 
 On his way to the city Bo imagined someone was fol- 
 lowing him, and when he laid a few of his gold pieces on 
 the counter at a money changer's in David Street, he 
 looked so guilty that the Armenian who weighed his gold, 
 thinking him a thief, gave him less than half value in 
 exchange. 
 
 Early the next morning he stole away from the colony, 
 walking eastward toward the Mount of Olives — so that 
 anyone meeting him would not suspect where he was 
 going — ^taking a roundabout way to the railway station. 
 
 He reached the station an hour before train-time, and 
 waited in an agony of suspense. He started eveiry time 
 someone went past him, and tried in vain to persuade 
 himself that he had not acted wrongly; that he was a free 
 man and could go where he liked. He saw now that it 
 would have been better for him if he had spoken frankly 
 with his friends the colonists, instead of sneaking away 
 
38 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 from them like this. He was so unhappy that he wanted 
 to turn back. 
 
 Nevertheless Bo left by the train. The carriages were 
 crowded, but he saw no one he knew. His mind was on 
 the letters that must be written to Mrs. Gordon and 
 Helgum — he seemed to hear them read aloud to the 
 brethren after morning prayers, and to see contempt 
 depicted on every face. "I'm doing a dreadful thing!" 
 he told himself. " I am putting a blot upon my character 
 that can never be effaced." His running away appeared 
 more and more reprehensible. He hated himself for 
 being a miserable coward. 
 
 Bo left the train at Jaffa. Crossing the sun-baked 
 square in front of the station, he came upon a company 
 of poor Roumanian pilgrims and stood a moment look- 
 ing at them. A Syrian dragoman told him that these 
 people were very ill when they landed from the ship 
 that brought them to Jaffa, and had been lying out in 
 the hot sun all day. They had intended to go on foot to 
 Jerusalem, but were now unable to move. The drago- 
 man feared they would die unless some one cared for 
 them. I 
 
 Bo hurried away from the station; but he could not 
 shut out the sight of the fever-stricken pilgrims, some 
 of whom were too helpless to even brush away the flies 
 that crawled over their eyes. It almost seemed as if God 
 had sent these poor people in Bo's way, that he mighty 
 help them. Bo knew that not another member of the 
 colony would have passed by these sufferers without^ 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 39 
 
 trying to succor them. And he, too, would have come 
 to their aid, had he not been such a selfish wretch. Just 
 because he had money and could go home to Sweden he 
 no longer wished to serve his fellowmen. 
 
 Passing through the city gate, he went on till he came to 
 a little square on the water-front. Before him lay the open 
 sea, now smooth and silvery-blue, save round the two 
 black rocks of basalt at the entrance to the harbour — 
 where there was a slight ground-swell. It was a perfect 
 day to set out on a journey. In the roads lay a big 
 European liner flying the German flag. He had wanted 
 to take passage on a French ship that was due to arrive 
 at Jaffa that day, but seeing no sign of her he decided not 
 to wait. 
 
 The German steamship had just arrived. A swarm 
 of ferrymen hurriedly got their dingeys ready to row out 
 for the passengers. In their eagerness to be first, they 
 hooted and shrieked and threatened each other with 
 the oars. Then, in a moment, nearly a score of boats 
 put out — all at the same time. The big brawny oarsmen 
 rowed standing, to make better speed. At first they 
 proceeded rather cautiously, until they had got past the 
 two dangerous rocks, when a sharp race began. Bo 
 from the shore heard the men laughing and shouting, as 
 they vied with each other. 
 
 He wanted to be off at once. It was all the same to 
 him which steamer he took, just so he reached Sweden. 
 His eye lit upon a small dingey, in which sat an old ferry- 
 man, who had not been able to set out with the others. 
 
40 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 It seemed to Bo that the dingey had been held back for 
 him; he jumped in, and they pulled away at once. 
 
 At first Bo was glad to be off, but before they had gone 
 half a dozen boatlengths he was seized with a terrible 
 dread. What would he say to his mother? he wondered. 
 Could he tell her that he had used her money to bring 
 down upon himself everlasting contempt and disgrace? 
 
 He saw before him his mother's deep-lined face, with 
 its firm chin. He remembered that she had a way of 
 coming close up to a person she was talking to, and lookr 
 ing him straight in the eye. If his mother were with him 
 now, she would come very near, and say, " Did you prom- 
 ise to stay with those people. Bo, and help them in their 
 good work?" And he would have to answer, "Yes, 
 Mother." "Then you must keep your word," she 
 would be sure to say, — "it's quite enough with one prom- 
 ise-breaker in the family." 
 
 Bo hesaved a deep sigh. It was plain now that he could 
 not go home to his mother, with dishonour attached to his 
 name; his only course was to return to the colony. 
 
 He ordered the boatman to turn back. The man, 
 not understanding, kept on rowing toward the steamer. 
 Suddenly Bo sprang to his feet and tried to seize the ears. 
 In the struggle, the two men nearly upset the boat. 
 There was nothing for Bo but to sit down again, and let 
 the man take him as far as the steamer. At the same 
 time he grew fearful lest the strength of will to turn back 
 might slip away from him. "If I board the ship perhaps 
 the longing for Gertrude may again get the better of me," 
 
BO INGMAR MANSSON 41 
 
 he thought. "No, no, that must not happen!" Deter- 
 mined to be done with this temptation forever, he thrust 
 his hand into his pocket, drew forth the gold pieces, and 
 flung them into the sea. 
 
 Immediately he felt a pang of regret. "Ah! now I 
 have thrown my hope of happiness away — have lost Ger- 
 trude for all time!" 
 
 When they had rowed some minutes longer, they met 
 a couple of boats, returning from the ship, that were filled 
 with passengers to be landed at Jaffa. 
 
 Bo rubbed his eyes. He thought he must be dreaming. 
 It was as if two of the church-boats, which on a Sunday 
 were seen coming down the river at home in Dalecarlia, 
 came gliding toward him on the smooth summer sea. 
 The people in these boats looked as solemn and as serious 
 as did the folk of his home parish, when the long boats 
 laid to at the landing stage below the church knoll. 
 
 For a moment Bo could hardly take in what he saw. 
 "Isn't that Tims Halvor over there?" he asked himself, 
 "and isn't that Big Ingmar's daughter Karin, and that 
 Birder Larsson, whom I have so often seen standing in 
 the smithy by the roadside forging nails?" 
 
 Bo had been so wrapt in his own musings that it was 
 some little time before it dawned on him that these were 
 the pilgrims from Dalecarlia, arriving a day or two earlier 
 than they were expected. 
 
 He stood up and waved his hands, shouting "Good 
 day to you!" One after another the silent people in 
 .the boats looked up, and moved their heads a little to 
 
42 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 show they recognized him. Bo realized at once that he 
 should not have disturbed them at such a moment. 
 They could not think of anything just then but the 
 solemn advent of setting foot upon the sacred soil of 
 Palestine. 
 
 Never had anything appeared more beautiful to Bo 
 than the sight of those stern, rugged faces; he was filled 
 with both joy and regret. "Ah, these are the kind of 
 people that we have at home!" he said to himself, and 
 his longing for the old life and the old scenes became 
 so overpowering that he wanted to jump into the sea, 
 to get back his gold. 
 
 In the stern of one boat sat a woman who wore her 
 kerchief drawn so far down over her eyes that he could 
 not see her face; but just as her boat passed his the 
 woman pushed back her kerchief, and glanced up at him. 
 
 It was Gertrude. 
 
 Bo, overwhelmed with joy, trembled from head to 
 foot. He had to sit down and grasp hold of the seat, to 
 keep from leaping into the sea in order to reach Gertrude 
 the sooner. With tears streaming down his face, he 
 folded his hands and gave thanks to God. Never was 
 man so well repaid for resisting temptation; never had 
 God been so good to any man. 
 
THE MAN WITH THE CROSS 
 
THE MAN WITH THE CROSS 
 
 DURING the many years the Gordon Colony had 
 been in existence in Jerusalem there had appeared 
 every day in the streets of the Holy City a man 
 carrying a rough, heavy wooden cross. The man never 
 spoke to anyone, nor did anyone speak to him. Nobody 
 knew whether he was some poor demented creature who 
 believed himself to be the Christ, or just a pilgrim doing 
 penance. 
 
 The poor cross-bearer slept at night in a grotto on the 
 Mount of Olives, but every morning at sunrise he could 
 be seen standing at the summit of the hill looking down 
 upon Jerusalem, which lay on the heights below. His 
 eager glance travelled from house to house, from dome to 
 dome, as if he expected that some great change had been 
 wrought over night. Then when he found that all was 
 as usual, he would sigh deeply and go back to his grotto. 
 In a little while he would reappear bearing on his shoul- 
 ders the huge cross, his head crowned with a wreath of 
 thorns. 
 
 Whereupon he invariably wandered down the moun- 
 tain, dragging his heavy burden through vineyards and 
 olive groves until he came to the high wall encircling 
 the Garden of Gethsemane; here he usually stopped 
 
 45: 
 
46 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 before a low gate, laid his cross on the ground, and leaned 
 against a door-post, as if waiting for some one. Time 
 and again he would bend down and peer through the 
 keyhole into the garden. If he chanced to see any of 
 the Franciscan monks in charge of Gethsemane moving 
 about among the old olive trees and hedges of myrtle, a 
 look of joyous anticipation would come into his face. 
 But immediately afterwards he would shake his head, 
 knowing that the one whom he sought would not appear. 
 
 Taking up his cross again, he wandered down the 
 lower terraces of the mountain into the Valley of Jehosh- 
 aphat, in which was the large Jewish cemetery — the end 
 of the cross bumping against the graves and dislodging 
 the small stones that covered them. On hearing the 
 rattle of falling stones, he would pause and look back, think- 
 ing that somebody was following him. But seeing no 
 one, he sighed heavily and wandered on, as was his 
 custom. 
 
 His sighs became deep groans by the time he reached 
 the bottom of the valley and the task of bearing the 
 heavy cross up the western side of the mountain, atop 
 which Jerusalem lay, was before him. In the burying 
 ground of the Mohammedans he frequently came upon 
 some sorrowing woman, in a long white garment, seated 
 upon one of the low, cofEn-shaped gravestones. He would 
 stagger toward her until she, frightened by the noise made 
 by the dragging of the cross over the stones, would turn 
 her face toward him — a face covered with a thick black 
 veil, which made it appear as though there were nothing 
 
THE MAN WITH THE CROSS 47 
 
 behind it; then, with a shudder, he turned away and 
 passed on. 
 
 Only with the most painful difficulty did he cHmb to 
 the top of the hill, where rose the wall • of Jerusalem. 
 Turning in on the narrow pathway outside the city wall, 
 he went on toward the Hill of Zion until he came to the 
 little Armenian chapel known as the House of Caiaphas, 
 where he again laid down his cross and looked through 
 a keyhole. Not content with that, he seized the bell- 
 rope and gave it a violent pull. The instant he heard the 
 clatter of slippered feet on the stone-paved court within 
 he smiled and raised his hands to the crown of thorns to 
 remove it. When the church custodian opened the door 
 and shook his head at him, the man bent forward and 
 peered through the half-open door into the little court- 
 yard, where, according to tradition, Peter had denied 
 his Master. Finding the place quite deserted, a look 
 of deep dejection came over his face. Taking up his 
 cross once more, he wandered further. 
 
 But he soon quickened his pace, as if impatient eagerness 
 had endowed him with greater strength. Entering the 
 city by the Gate of Zion, he tramped on with his heavy 
 burden until he came to the gloomy gray structure which 
 is held sacred as being the tomb of King David, and 
 which is also said to contain the room where Jesus insti- 
 tuted the Holy Communion. 
 
 Here the old man was wont to leave his cross and step 
 into the courtyard. The Mohammedan gate-keeper, 
 who had only angry looks for all other Christians, would 
 
48 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 bow down, before him whose mind was with God, and 
 kiss his hand. -Every time this mark of veneration 
 was accorded the cross-bearer, he would look into the 
 Moslem's face expectantly, then quickly pulling his hand 
 away, he would wipe it on his long coarse mantle, and 
 take up his cross. 
 
 Thereupon he would drag himself with exceeding 
 slowness to the northern end of the city, where the Road 
 of Christ's Sufferings winds its dark and gloomy way. 
 While in the crowded streets, he would peer searchingly 
 into every face, then turn away in dumb disappointment. 
 Kindly water-carriers, seeing how he sweated under his 
 heavy burden, would offer him a tin of water, and the 
 vegetable venders would throw him a handful of beans 
 or pistachios. At first he received these little attentions 
 graciously, but later he turned away as though he had 
 expected something quite different and better. 
 
 When he came to the Road of Agony he appeared more 
 hopeful than during the first part of his wanderings and 
 groaned less loudly under the weight of his cross. Straight- 
 ening his back, he looked about him like a prisoner cer- 
 tain of release. He began at the first of the Fourteen 
 Stations of the Cross on the Road of Christ's Sufferings 
 — each of which was designated by a small tablet of 
 stone — but did not stop until he stood before the Con- 
 vent of the Sisters of Zion, close by the Ecce Homo Arch, 
 where Pilate showed Jesus to the populace. Here he threw 
 down the cross as a burden that he need never take up 
 again, and knocked three times at the convent gate. 
 
THE MAN WITH THE CROSS 49 
 
 Without waiting for it to be opened, he tore the crown 
 of thorns from off his head and Hung it to the dogs that 
 lay sleeping outside the convent, confident now that he 
 would find the one he was seeking. 
 
 The Sisters knew his knock and presently one of them 
 opened a little wicket in the gate and pushed toward him 
 a small round loaf of bread. He did not take the bread 
 however, but let it fall to the ground. Seized with rage, 
 he stamped his feet and uttered wild shrieks of despair. 
 After a while his usual mien of patient suffering returned; 
 then he picked up the bread and ate it ravenously. Where- 
 upon he took up his discarded crown of thorns and again 
 shouldered his cross. 
 
 A few moments later he stood in blissful expectation 
 outside the little chapel known as the House of Saint 
 Veronica, from which he presently turned in disappoint- 
 ment. He moved on from Station to Station, awaiting 
 with renewed confidence his release at the chapel which 
 marks the spot where once stood the Gate of Righteous- 
 ness, through which Jesus passed out from the city, and 
 also at the place where the Saviour spoke to the women 
 of Jerusalem. 
 
 Having thus put behind him the Road of Christ 's Suf- 
 ferings, he began to wander through the town, still anx- 
 iously seeking. In the narrow crowded Street of David 
 he proved to be as great an obstruction to trafiic as a 
 camel laden with fagots, yet nobody ever swore at him 
 or molested him. 
 
 Now and then during these wanderings he strayed into 
 
so THE HOLY CITY 
 
 the narrow portico of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. 
 But there the poor cross-bearer never laid down his 
 burden nor removed his crown of thorns. The instant his 
 eye fell upon the gloomy gray fa9ade he turned and fled. 
 The old penitent was never to be seen at any of the grand 
 religious fStes — ^not even at the great Easter Festivals. 
 He seemed to feel that here of all places he would not 
 find what he was seeking. 
 
 He usually went down to meet the caravans that 
 unloaded their wares at the Jaffa gate; he would sit 
 for hours outside some hospice, scrutinizing all strangers 
 that passed in and out. After the railway between 
 Jaffa and Jerusalem had been opened, he went down to 
 the station almost every day. He called upon bishops 
 and patriarchs at their residences, and always on a Friday 
 he could be seen standing on the square in front of the 
 Wailing Place, where the Jews were wont to weep over 
 the destruction of their Temple, over the walls that had 
 fallen, over the power that was gone from them, over the 
 /great prophets long dead, over the priests who had strayed 
 and the kings who had defied the Almighty. 
 
 One beautiful day in August the cross-bearer wandered 
 through the lonely fields outside the Gordon Colony. 
 Walking along the road, he saw a long train of wagons 
 coming from the railway station and moving toward the 
 colony. In these wagons sat a number of grave and 
 solemn looking persons, some of whom were exceedingly 
 plain, with sandy hair, heavy eyelids, and protruding 
 under-lip. 
 
THE MAN WITH THE CROSS 51 
 
 As these people drove by the man did what he was in 
 the habit of doing when new pilgrims arrived in Jerusa- 
 lem — he rested his cross against his shoulder and lifted 
 his arms toward heaven, his face lighting with joy. 
 
 The people in the wagon seeing him started, but not 
 from surprise. It seemed as if they had expected this 
 to be the first sight that would meet their eyes in the 
 Holy City. Some, filled with compassion, stood up and 
 stretched forth their arms, as though wanting to get down 
 from the wagon to help the old man carry his heavy 
 burden. 
 
 Several of the colonists who were well acquainted in 
 Jerusalem then explained to the newcomers that he was a 
 poor demented man who went about like this every day, 
 thinking that he was carrying the Cross of Christ and 
 must continue to drag it about until he had found the 
 one who was to bear it in his stead. 
 
 The people in the wagons turned and looked back at 
 the man with the cross, who stood the whole time with 
 hands uplifted in an attitude of intense exaltation. 
 
 That was the last day the old cross-bearer was seen in 
 Jerusalem. The next morning the lepers encamped 
 outside the gates of the city watched vainly for his com- 
 ing. He no longer disturbed the mourners at the grave- 
 yards, nor troubled the door-keeper of the House of 
 Caiaphas. The pious Sisters of Zion had no further 
 opportunity to furnish him his daily loaf, the Turkish 
 custodian at the Church of the Sepulchre waited in vain 
 to see him enter, then turn and flee, and the kindly water- 
 
52 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 carriers wondered at his failure to appear in the crowded 
 streets. 
 
 No one knew whether he lay dead in his grotto on the 
 Mount of Olives or whether he had gone back to his dis- 
 tant homeland. The only thing known for a certainty 
 was that he no longer carried his heavy burden, for the 
 morning after the arrival of the Dalecarlian pilgrims the 
 Gordon colonists found the big cross lying on the steps 
 outside their house. 
 
"A CITY OF GOLD, LIKE UNTO CLEAR GLASS' 
 
"A CITY OF GOLD, LIKE UNTO CLEAR GLASS" 
 
 AMONG the Dalecarlian peasants who came to 
 Jerusalem was a smith named Birger Larsson. 
 He had been very happy at the thought of the 
 journey, and no one had left home with less regret, nor 
 had anyone looked forward with keener joy to beholding 
 the glory of the Holy City. 
 
 But Birger was taken ill almost the moment he stepped 
 ashore at Jaffa, where he had to sit in the broiling sun 
 for hours, before the train started. When he finally 
 got into the hot railway carriage his head ached violently, 
 and when he reached Jerusalem he was so sick that he 
 had to be all but carried out onto the platform. 
 
 Bo had telegraphed from Jaffa, to inform the colonists 
 of the arrival of the Dalecarlians, and some of the Swed- 
 ish-Americans came to meet the train, to greet their 
 friends and relatives. By that time Birger had such a 
 high fever that he did not even recognize his own town- 
 folk, although some of them had been his near neighbors. 
 He knew, however, that he was now in Jerusalem, and 
 wanted to keep up long enough to see the Holy City. 
 
 From the railway station, which was at some distance 
 away from the town, nothing could be seen of the city. 
 While there, Birger lay perfectly still, with his eyes 
 closed. 
 
 55 
 
S6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 When all were at last seated in the wagons awaiting 
 them, they drove down into the Valley of Hinnom and at 
 the brow of the ridge above them lay Jerusalem. 
 
 Lifting his heavy eyelids, Birger glimpsed a city sur- 
 rounded by a high wall with many towers and battlements, 
 behind which loomed against the sky great domed build- 
 ings, and a couple of palm-trees swayed in the mountain 
 breeze. 
 
 It was drawing on toward evening, and the sun hung 
 big and red at the edge of the western hills, shedding a 
 bright glow over all the firmament. Even the earth 
 shone in hues roseate and golden. To Birger it appeared 
 as though the light which fell upon the earth did not come 
 from the sun but from the city on the heights, that it 
 emanated from its walls, which shone like burnished 
 gold, and from the towers, that were roofed with clear 
 glass. 
 
 He smiled on beholding two suns — ^the one in the sky 
 and the one on the earth, God's city, Jerusalem. For a 
 moment it seemed as if joy had healed him, but imme- 
 diately the fever returned and during the remainder of 
 the drive to the Colony House, which lay just beyond the 
 other side of the city, he was unconscious. 
 
 Nor did Birger know of the hearty welcome accorded 
 them at the colony. He was too far gone to notice the 
 great house, or the white marble stairway, or the beauti- 
 ful gallery surrounding the courtyard. He did not see 
 the fine, intelligent face of Mrs. Gordon, when she came 
 out on the steps to greet them, nor old Miss Hoggs of the 
 
A CITY OF GOLD 57 
 
 owlish eyes, nor any of his other new sisters and brothers. 
 He did not even know when he was carried into a large, 
 light room, which was now to be the home of himself 
 and family, and where a bed was quickly made ready for 
 him. 
 
 The next day he was no better, though now and then 
 he had lucid moments when he was greatly troubled lest 
 death should overtake him before he had been in the Holy 
 City and seen its splendour near to. "To think that I 
 have come so far!" he said, "and must now die without 
 ever seeing Jerusalem's palace and its golden streets, 
 where holy men in shining white robes walk about waving 
 palms and singing." He lay grieving over this for days, 
 his fever rising more and more. Even in his delirium 
 he lamented that he should never again behold those shin- 
 ing walls and towers, that protected God 's own city. 
 
 So great was his despair that two of his Dalecarlian 
 friends, Ljung Bjorn and Tims Halvor, took pity on him 
 and determined to set his mind at rest, thinking that 
 perhaps he would recover if his longings were satisfied. 
 They made a litter and in the cool of the evening they 
 bore him toward Jerusalem. 
 
 Birger, fully conscious now, lay gazing out upon the 
 stony soil and the barren hills. When they came within 
 view of the Damascus gate and the city wall the bearers 
 put down their litter, that the sick man might enjoy 
 the sight he had so longed to see. 
 
 He did not say a word, but lay shading his eyes with 
 his hands in an effort to see better. And he saw nothing 
 
S8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 but a dingy gray wall, built of stone and clay, like any 
 other wall. The high gateway with its low entrance and 
 its many parapets, looked singularly gloomy. 
 
 Lying there, so sick and feeble, he imagined they had 
 not brought him to the real Jerusalem, for the city which 
 he had seen only a few days before, was dazzling as the 
 sun itself. 
 
 "How can my old friends and countrymen have the 
 heart to begrudge me a glimpse of the true Jerusalem!' 
 he thought. 
 
 The men now carried him down the steep hill toward 
 the entrance. Birger thought they were taking him 
 down into the bowels of the earth. When he had been 
 borne through the gateway, he raised himself a little to 
 see whether they had really brought him into the "Golden 
 City." 
 
 Birger was astonished at seeing on all sides only gray 
 houses, and still more so when he saw the maimed and 
 crippled beggars that sat by the gate, and the lean, 
 mangy dogs, lying four and five together on the big 
 refuse-heaps. 
 
 Never had he come upon such a sickening stench as 
 met his nostrils here, nor felt such stifling heat! He 
 wondered if there were any winds in the world strong 
 enough to clear an atmosphere like this. 
 
 Glancing down at the paving-stones, he noticed that 
 they were crusted with thick layers of ground-in dirt, 
 while the sight of all the cabbage leaves and fruit parings 
 that littered the streets filled him with dismay. 
 
A CITY OF GOLD 59 
 
 "I can't understand why Halvor should bother to 
 show me this God forsaken place, " he muttered. ■ 
 
 His friends had visited the city several times since their 
 arrival, and could point out to the sick man the places of 
 interest as they came to them. 
 
 "That's the house of the Rich Man," said Halvor, 
 pointing to a building which to Birger appeared ready 
 to cave in. 
 
 They turned olF into a street which was so dark that to 
 all appearances no ray of sunlight had ever penetrated it. 
 Birger lay gazing up at the arches that spanned across 
 the street joining house to house on either side. "They're 
 certainly needed," he thought. "If these old hovels 
 were not so well supported they'd soon tumble down. " 
 
 "This is the Road of Christ's Sufferings," Halvor told 
 Birger. "It was here Jesus carried the Cross." 
 
 Birger was now pale as death; the blood no longer 
 coursed through his veins, as it had done earlier in the day, 
 and he felt cold as ice. 
 
 Wherever they took him he saw nothing but dilapidated 
 gray walls and here and there a low gate. There were 
 hardly any windows to be seen, and the few he saw were 
 broken and the holes stopped with rags. 
 
 Again they paused a moment. "This is the spot 
 where the House of Pilate once stood," Halvor explained. 
 "It was here Pilate brought Jesus before the people, 
 and said, 'Behold the Man.'" 
 
 Birger Larsson beckoned Halvor to his side and sol- 
 emnly took him by the hand. "Now tell me one thing, 
 
6o THE HOLY CITY 
 
 as cousin to cousin," he said; "is this the real Jeru- 
 salem?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Halvor, "it's the real one." 
 
 "I'm a sick man," said Birger, "and may be gone by 
 morning; so you mustn't lie to me." 
 
 "I'm not lying to you." 
 
 Birger had hoped that he could make Halvor tell him 
 the honest truth. Tears sprang to his eyes at the thought 
 of his old friends treating him thus. Suddenly a happy 
 thought came to him. "They're doing this — that my 
 joy may be all the greater when they carry me in through 
 the high gates of the city of glory and splendour. I '11 let 
 them have it their own way, for, after all, they mean 
 well. We Helgumists have sworn to treat one another 
 as brothers." 
 
 The two friends went on with him through the dark 
 streets, some of which were canopied with great rugs full 
 of holes and rents. In these covered places the heat 
 and stench were insufferable. 
 
 Their next stop was at the courtyard of a large gray 
 building, where the open space was crowded with beggars 
 and venders of rosaries, small images, willow-canes, and 
 what not. 
 
 "Here you see the church that is built over Christ's 
 tomb and Golgotha," said Halvor. 
 
 Birger Larsson glanced up at the structure with lustre- 
 less eyes; it certainly had great gates and broad win- 
 dows, and was tolerably high too; but never had he 
 seen a church lie so shut-in between other buildings. 
 
A CITY OF GOLD 6i 
 
 He saw neither spire nor church-porch, so no one could 
 make him believe that this was a house of God. "All 
 these hawkers would not be found here," thought he, 
 "if this were really the place of the Sepulchre of Jesus. 
 For had He not driven the money-changers away from 
 the temple and overturned the cages of those who sold 
 doves ? " 
 
 "I see, I see," he answered, nodding to Halvor, while 
 thinking to himself: "I wonder what they'll hit upon 
 next?" 
 
 "I'm afraid you can't stand any more this time," 
 said Halvor. 
 
 "Oh, yes," returned the sick man, "I can stand it if 
 you can!" 
 
 So they took up the litter again and moved on. Pres- 
 ently they came to the southern part of the town, where 
 the streets presented much the same aspect as those they 
 had already traversed, only here they were crowded 
 with people. The men stopped a moment so that Bir- 
 ger could see the dark-skinned Bedouins, with guns 
 across their shoulders and scimiters in their belts. Hal- 
 vor pointed out to him the almost nude water-carriers, 
 who bore their pigskin water-bags on their backs, the 
 Russian priests, who wore their hair coiled at the neck 
 like womenfolk, and the Mohammedan women, who 
 looked like wandering ghosts in their white robes and 
 their faces covered with a black cloth. 
 
 Birger became more and more persuaded in his own 
 mind that his friends were fooling him. Certainly 
 
62 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 there was nothing about these people to suggest the 
 peaceful palm-bearers that were said to march through 
 the streets of the real Jerusalem. 
 
 When they came among the seething throngs Birger's 
 fever returned. Halvor and Ljung BjQrn saw that he 
 was growing weaker and weaker. His hands moved 
 restlessly on his coverlet and beads of cold sweat stood 
 on his forehead. But when they talked of turning back 
 he started up declaring that he would surely die if they 
 did not take him to Where he could see the City of God. 
 
 Thus he urged them on until they reached the heights 
 of Zion and when he saw Zion 's Gate, he cried out that 
 he wanted to be carried through it. He raised himself 
 now, hoping to find beyond the wall the beautiful City 
 of God for which his soul longed. But once on the other 
 side, he saw only a barren sun-scorched plain, covered 
 with stones, remnants of walls, and heaps of rubbish. 
 Near the gate crouched some poor human wrecks, who 
 crawled over to the litter and held out their hands to 
 the sick man — hands from which the fingers had rotted 
 away — and cried out with voices that sounded like the 
 snarling of a dog. Their faces were partly destroyed; 
 one had no nose, another no cheeks. 
 
 Birger screamed aloud in terror. In his weakened 
 condition, he began to weep from fear, thinking his 
 friends had taken him down into hell. 
 
 "It's only the lepers," Halvor explained. "You 
 know, Birger, that there are lepers in this land." The 
 men, however, hastened to take him farther up the hill, 
 
A CITY OF GOLD 63 
 
 that he might be spared the harrowing sight of these 
 unhappy wretches. 
 
 Then they put down the litter again and Halvor slipped 
 an arm under the sick man's neck and raised his head 
 from the pillow. "Now you must try to look up, Bir- 
 ger," he said. "From here you can see the Dead Sea 
 and the hills of Moab." 
 
 Birger once more raised his weary eyes and gazed 
 out across the desolate mountain region east of Jeru- 
 salem. Away in the distance glistened the waters of a 
 sea, and beyond it rose shining blue hills, tipped with 
 gold. It was all so beautiful, so bright and translucent, 
 he could hardly believe that the sight he saw was of this 
 earth. 
 
 Enraptured, he sprang from the litter and tried to 
 hasten toward the distant scene. But after a few falter- 
 ing steps, he sank down unconscious. His friends 
 thought at first that he was dead, but in a while he 
 revived somewhat. He lingered but two days longer 
 and up to the very last he raved in his delirium about 
 the real Jerusalem; he moaned that the Golden City 
 became more and more remote the more he strove to 
 reach it, and that neither he nor any of them would ever 
 enter therein. 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 
 
 IT IS a well known fact that not many people can 
 endure living in Jerusalem any length of time. 
 Even those who can stand the climate and do not 
 become smitten with contagious diseases frequently go 
 under. The Holy City makes them morose or drives 
 them insane; yes, and it even kills them outright. You 
 cannot stop there a fortnight without hearing people say 
 of this or that person, who has passed away: "Jerusalem 
 has killed him." 
 
 Naturally you are filled with astonishment at hearing 
 such things. "How can this be?" you ask yourself. 
 "How can a city kill? Surely these people do not mean 
 what they say." And going about here and there in the 
 city you think: "I wonder what they mean by saying that 
 Jerusalem kills. I should like to know where that dread- 
 ful Jerusalem can be which is supposed to cause death!" 
 
 So you decide perhaps to make a tour of the city. You go 
 out through the Jaffa gate, turn to the left past the 
 imposing four-cornered Tower of David and wander 
 along the narrow path' outside the city wall toward the 
 Gate of Zion. Just inside the wall lie the Turkish bar- 
 racks, from which you may hear strains of martial music 
 and the din of practice at arms. Then you pass by the 
 big Armenian Cloister, which is also a kind of stronghold, 
 
 67 
 
68 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 with its massive walls and gates, locked and barred. 
 A little farther on you come upon the sombre gray struc- 
 ture known as David's Grave; you suddenly realize 
 that you are treading upon Holy Zion, the mountain of 
 the Kings, and you think of the mountain under you as 
 a great arch, where King David, in a golden mantel, sits 
 upon a throne of fire, still wielding the sceptre over Pal- 
 estine and its Holy City. It dawns upon you that the 
 remnants of walls which cover the ground are the ruins 
 of royal palaces; that the mound opposite is the Rock of 
 Offence, where Solomon fell; that the deep vale into 
 which you are looking — the Valley of Hinnom — ^was 
 once filled with the bodies of those killed in Jerusalem, 
 when the city was destroyed by the Romans. , 
 
 A strange feeling comes over you while walking there. 
 You seem to hear the noise of battle, to see great armies 
 advancing to attack the walls of the city, and kings 
 driving through the streets in their chariots. This is the 
 Jerusalem of War and Carnage, you think, horrified by the 
 panorama of abomination and bloodshed that unrolls 
 before your mind. 
 
 Then for a moment you wonder if it is this Jerusalem 
 that kills. But immediately you say: "It can't be, for 
 it was so long ago that the din of clashing swords was 
 heard here and the red blood flowed." 
 
 And you wander on. 
 
 But when you have turned the corner of the wall, and 
 reached the east end of the city, you meet with some- 
 thing quite different. You now are come to the holy 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 69 
 
 places, and here you think only of ancient High Priests 
 and servants of the Temple. Just inside the wall is 
 the Wailing Place of the Jews, where Rabbins in their 
 long red or blue caftans stand weeping over the judg- 
 ments of Jehovah. And here looms Mount Moriah, with 
 its glorious Temple site. Outside the wall the ground 
 slopes down toward the Valley of Jehoshaphat, with 
 its countless graves, beyond which you glimpse Geth- 
 semane and the Mount of Olives, whence Christ ascended 
 into Heaven. And here you behold the pillar in the wall 
 where 'tis said that Christ shall stand on the Day of 
 Judgment holding one end of a long thread, fine as a hair, 
 while Mohammed will stand upon the Mount of Olives 
 holding the other end, and the dead, on awaking, must 
 cross the Valley of Jehoshaphat on this thread. The 
 righteous will reach the other side, but the wicked shall 
 fall into the fires of Gehenna. 
 
 Walking there you think: "This is the Jerusalem 
 of Death and Judgment." Here both Heaven and Hell 
 seem to open before you. "Nor is it this Jerusalem 
 that kills," you say to yourself. "The trumpets of 
 Doomsday are too far away and the fires of Gehenna 
 are extinguished." 
 
 Continuing on your way along the encircling wall you 
 presently come to the north side of the city, where you 
 pass through tracts monotonous and desolate. Here 
 lies the naked hill which is probably the real Golgotha; 
 yonder the grotto where Jeremiah wrote his Lamenta- 
 tions, just inside the wall is the Pool of Bethesda and 
 
70 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 beneath dismal arches winds the Via Dolorosa. Here 
 is the Jerusalem of Disconsolation; of Suffering; of 
 Anguish; of Atonement. 
 
 You pause a while and gaze broodingly upon all this 
 forbidding gloom. "Nor is this the Jerusalem that kills," 
 you think, and pass on. 
 
 But going westward and northwest, what a con- 
 trast will appear to you ! Here in the new part of the town 
 which has sprung up outside the city wall are the pala- 
 tial homes of the missionaries and the big hotels. Here 
 lies the extensive group of Russian buildings — ^the church, 
 the hospital, and the many caravansaries, which can har- 
 bour twenty thousand pilgrims; here consuls and clergy- 
 men build themselves attractive villas and pilgrims wan- 
 der in and out of the shops where only sacred wares are 
 sold. Here one finds parks, driveways, and broad streets, 
 with 'fine stores, banking-houses and travel bureaus. On 
 this side are the expansive Jewish and German agricul- 
 tural colonies, the large convents and the many benevo- 
 lent institutions; here pass monks and nuns, nurses 
 and deaconesses, missionaries and Russian patriarchs; 
 here reside the men of science who are studying Jeru- 
 salem's past and elderly English ladies who cannot live 
 elsewhere. Here are the splendid mission schools, where 
 the pupils are given free instruction, board, lodg- 
 ing and raiment for the sake of winning their souls; 
 here, too, are the mission hospitals, where one begs the 
 sick to come in order to convert them; here are held 
 church services and prayer meetings at which they fight 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 71 
 
 for souls. It is here the Catholic speaks evil of the 
 Protestant, the Methodist of the Quaker, the Lutheran 
 of the Reformist, the Russian of the Armenian; here 
 lurks the demon of envy; here the zealot mistrusts the 
 worker of miracles; here orthodox contends with heretic; 
 here one finds neither pity nor tolerance; here one hates 
 in the name of God everyone else. //And it is here that 
 you find what you have been seeking. This is the Jeru- 
 salem of soul hunting; this is the Jerusalem of cruel 
 tongues — of falsehood, of slander, of revilement. Here 
 one persecutes untiringly; here one murders without 
 weapons. It is this Jerusalem that kills. 
 
 After the arrival of the Swedish peasants, the Gordon 
 colonists noticed a marked change in the general attitude 
 toward themselves. At first it was apparent only in 
 little things. The English Methodist clergyman, for 
 instance, did not return their salutations, and the pious 
 Sisters of Zion, who lived in the convent near the Ecce 
 Homo Arch, would cross to the other side of the street 
 on meeting them, as if afraid of being contaminated by 
 something harmful should they come too close. 
 
 None of the colonists seemed to take this to heart. 
 Nor did they attach any special significance to the fact 
 that some American tourists who had spent a whole 
 evening at the colony, chatting with their compatriots, 
 did not come again the next day, as they had promised, 
 and did not appear to know Mrs. Gordon or Miss Young 
 when they met them afterwards in the street. But it 
 
72 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 was a more serious matter when some of the young women 
 of the colony on visiting one of the new shops over by the 
 Jaffa gate, were accosted by the Greek merchants who 
 flung some remarks at them which, though they did not 
 understand, were said in a tone and with a look that sent 
 the blood to their faces. 
 
 The colonists tried to persuade themselves that it was 
 all due to misapprehension. " Some evil report of us must 
 have been circulated over in the Christian quarter," 
 they said, "but it will soon die out. The old Gordonites 
 remembered other occasions when false rumours had got 
 abroad. It had been said of them that they did not 
 bring up their children properly; that they lived upon the 
 bounty of a rich elderly widow whom they had fleeced 
 unmercifully; that they allowed their sick to die for 
 the want of medical attention, on the ground that they 
 could not interfere with the "workings of Providence"; 
 that they lived in luxury and idleness while pretending 
 to labour for the advancement of true Christianity. "It 
 is something of this sort that has sprung up now," 
 they thought. "The slander will die away, as it died 
 before, since it does not contain a grain of truth to feed 
 upon." 
 
 Then it happened that the Bethlehem woman who 
 used to bring them fresh vegetables every day stopped 
 coming. The colonists sought her out and tried to 
 persuade her to come as usual, but she positively refused 
 to sell to them. 
 
 They knew from this that something very derogatory 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 73 
 
 must have been said about them, which concerned 
 them all and had become common talk among high and 
 low. 
 
 Before very long they had fresh confirmation of this. 
 Some of the Swedish brethren were in the Church of 
 the Holy Sepulchre one day when a band of Russian 
 pilgrims entered. The good-natured Russians smiled 
 and nodded to them, seeing that they were peasants like 
 themselves. Whereupon a Greek priest, in passing, said 
 something to the pilgrims, who immediately crossed 
 themselves and shook their fists at the Swedes, as if 
 wanting to drive them out of the church. 
 
 Not far from Jerusalem there is a colony of German 
 peasants who are Dissenters. They had been in the Holy 
 Land many years, and had suffered persecution both 
 in their own country and in Palestine. People had tried 
 to drive them out. But for all that things had gone 
 well with them, and they had now a large flourishing 
 colony at Caifa and another in Jaffa, in addition to the 
 one in Jerusalem. 
 
 One of these Dissenters came to Mrs. Gordon one day 
 and told her of the scandalous reports of her people. 
 "It is the missionaries over there," he said, pointing 
 toward the west, "who are vilifying you. In truth, did 
 I not know from experience that one may be persecuted 
 without cause I should refuse to sell you any meat or flour. 
 But I understand, of course, that they can't bear the 
 thought of your having gained so many converts of 
 late." 
 
74 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Mrs. Gordon then asked him what they were charged 
 with. 
 
 "They say that you colonists are immoral; that you 
 do not allow your people to marry, as God has com- 
 manded; and therefore they maintain that all is not 
 right here." 
 
 At first the colonists would not believe this; but they 
 soon learned that the man had spoken the truth, and 
 that all Jerusaletn believed they were living in sin. None 
 of the Christians in the city would speak to them. At 
 the hotels the guests were warned against them. Travel- 
 ling missionaries, however, would sometimes venture out 
 of the colony. But on their return they would say, with 
 a meaningful shake of the head, that although they them- 
 selves had seen nothing shocking, many corrupt prac- 
 tices might be carried on out there that were not apparent 
 to the casual visitor. 
 
 The Americans, from the consul down to the humblest 
 sick nurse, were the ones who decried the Gordonites 
 the loudest. "It is a disgrace to us Americans that 
 these creatures are allowed to remain in Jerusalem!" 
 they said. 
 
 The colonists were sensible enough to know that they 
 must let matters take their course. Their traducers 
 would doubtless discover in due time that they were in 
 error. "We can't go from house to house and proclaim 
 our innocence, " they said. And they took comfort in the 
 thought that they still had each other, and were united 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 75 
 
 and happy. "The sick and poor of Jerusalem have not 
 shunned us thus far. We must let this ill-wind blow 
 over, for it is only a test of our faith. " 
 
 At first the Swedes bore the cruel slander very calmly. 
 "If these people out here are so blind as to believe that 
 we poor peasants have come to this land, where our 
 Saviour died, in order to lead loose lives, then their 
 judgment isn't worth much, and what they think of us 
 doesn't matter." And when people continued to treat 
 them with contempt, they rejoiced in the thought that 
 God found them worthy to suffer persecution and 
 scorn in the very place where Jesus had been mocked and 
 crucified. 
 
 Then one day, toward the end of September, Gunhild 
 received a letter from her father. Councilman Clements- 
 son, telling her of the death of her motker. Her father 
 did not reproach her; he wrote only of the mother's 
 last illness and the funeral. Evidently the old council- 
 man had meant to be forbearing, knowing how unhappy 
 •she would feel over the loss of her mother, for the whole 
 letter was penned in the same gentle way to the very end. 
 But when he had signed it, suppressed anger must have 
 got the better of him; for in a postscript scrawled in 
 bold black letters it said: "Your mother might have 
 got over her grief at your leaving home, but what she 
 read in a missionary paper about the shameful life you 
 lead out there in Jerusalem, killed her. People here 
 expected better things of you and of those in whose 
 company you went away. " 
 
76 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Gunhild put the letter in her pocket and carried it 
 about with her the whole day without speaking of it to 
 anyone. There was no doubt in her mind that her father 
 had told the truth as to what had been the cause of her 
 mother's death. Her parents had always been very 
 jealous of their honour and good repute. It was the same 
 with herself; no one in the colony had suffered more 
 keenly than she from being misjudged and maligned. 
 The fact that she was innocent of any wrong-doing was 
 no comfort to her; she felt as if she were disgraced and 
 could never again go out among people. For a long time 
 she had gone about in a state of torment. The malicious 
 tongues had hurt her like as a smarting wound, and now 
 they had caused the death of her mother! 
 
 Gertrude and Gunhild shared one room, and the two 
 girls had always been the closest of friends. Yet Gunhild 
 did not even tell Gertrude what her father had written; 
 she felt it would be a pity to spoil her friend 's happiness 
 at being in Jerusalem where everything seemed to bring 
 our Saviour nearer to her. * 
 
 But many times during the day Gunhild drew the letter 
 out of her pocket and looked at it; she did not dare read 
 it again, the mere sight of it made her heart ache. "If I 
 could only die!" she thought. "I can never again be 
 happy. If I could only die!" 
 
 She felt that the letter contained a poison that would 
 kill her, and only hoped it would work quickly. 
 
 The next day Gunhild passed through the Damas- 
 cus gate; she had been in the city and was on her 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 77 
 
 way back to the colony. It was insufferably hot that 
 day, as it often is toward the end of October, before 
 the autumn rains set in. When Gunhild came out from 
 the dingy town where houses and arches gave protection 
 against the sun, the glare of the sunlight caught her like 
 a blow, and she felt tempted to run back into the shade 
 of the gateway. The open sunny road before her looked 
 as dangerous to venture out upon as a rifle-range across 
 which soldiers are firing at a target. 
 
 Gunhild would not turn back just for a little sunshine. 
 She had been told, of course, that it was not safe to be 
 out in the heat of the day, but paid no heed to the warn- 
 ing. Instead, she did as one does when caught in a 
 shower; she hunched her shoulders, drew her kerchief 
 farther up on her neck, and ran as fast as she could run. 
 
 She fancied the sun held a fiery bow, and was shooting 
 red-hot darts at her. The sun, apparently, had nothing 
 else to do than to take aim at her. All at once a sharp 
 rain of fire beat upon her, and it did not come from the 
 heavens alone. Everything around her flashed and 
 stung her in the eyes; tiny sharp arrows seemed to shoot 
 up from the glittering granules of the road-stones; the 
 green window-panes of a convent at the wayside sparkled 
 so that she dare not glance up at them; the steel key in 
 a door sent out little threatening rays; so did the shin- 
 ing leaves of the castor-bean, which seemed to have 
 survived the summer only to torment her. 
 
 Wherever she looked, whether heavenward or earth- 
 ward, everything glittered and shone. The heat caused 
 
78 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 her no great discomfort, intense as it was, but what she 
 most suffered from was the terrible white glare of the 
 sunlight that seemed to penetrate to the back of her eyes 
 and burn into her brain. 
 
 Gunhild felt toward the sun as a poor hunted animal 
 must feel toward its pursuers. She had a strange im- 
 pulse to turn and look her pursuer in the face. She hesi- 
 tated a moment, then faced about and gazed into the 
 sky. 
 
 And there rolled the sun, like a great bluish-white 
 flame! As Gunhild stood blinking at it, the whole sky 
 turned black and the sun shrank to a mere spark, with 
 a malevolent glint. Suddenly it seemed to break away 
 from the heavens and come shooting down to strike and 
 kill her. 
 
 With a shriek, she put her hands up to her neck as a 
 shield and ran on a little way down the road, the lime- 
 dust whirling around her in a suffocating cloud. Then 
 she saw a great pile of stones, remnants of a tumble-down 
 house, and hastened toward it. She was fortunate 
 enough to find an opening leading to the cellar, and went 
 down into it; there all was dark and cool. 
 
 Standing with her back to the opening, she rested her 
 aching eyes. Nothing here glittered or shone. Now 
 she knew how it must feel to a poor little fox to creep 
 down into its hole when the hunters are after it. The 
 heat and glare outside her retreat were to Gunhild as 
 bafiled huntsmen lying in wait. 
 
 Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, 
 
GOD'S HOLY CITY, JERUSALEM 79 
 
 and finding a stone, she sat down to rest. She knew it 
 would not be safe for her to venture out for several 
 hours — not until the sun had sunk so low as to lose 
 its power to harm. But Gunhild had been sitting there 
 only a little while, when a terrible vertigo seized her, and 
 a thousand suns began to dance before her eyes. The 
 cellar seemed to swing round in a continuous circular 
 movement, and she had to lean against the wall to keep 
 from falling. 
 
 "O God!" she cried. "It even pursues me here! I 
 must have done something dreadful, or the sun wouldn't 
 hate me so." 
 
 Then she tliought of the letter, of her mother's death, 
 of her own great sorrow and her wish to die; all of which 
 had vanished from her mind while her life was in peril; 
 then she had only thought of saving herself. 
 
 Gunhild quickly drew out the letter, and went toward 
 the opening to read it again. Seeing the words before 
 her eyes in the precise order in which they were fixed 
 in her memory, she moaned aloud. Immediately a 
 thought came that seemed to comfort her: "Can't you 
 see that God intends to let you slip away from this life?" 
 
 She thought this very beautiful and regarded it as a 
 special grace from God. She could not fully grasp its 
 import, for her mind was in a daze. The vertigo had 
 returned, the whole cellar whirled again, and a streak 
 of fire danced close before her eyes. 
 
 But she still clung to the belief that God was offering 
 her a means of escape from this world, so that she 
 
8o THE HOLY CITY 
 
 could go to her mother in heaven, and be free from all 
 sorrow. 
 
 Then she stepped out into the sunshine as calmly as 
 though she were walking up the aisle at church. She felt 
 a little cooler now, and coming out, she saw no pursuers, or 
 gleaming spears, or red-hot arrows. 
 
 She had not gone many steps, however, before they 
 were after her again, as if they had come rushing from 
 ambush. Everything on the earth glittered and flashed 
 while from behind the sun shot piercing rays at her neck. 
 Suddenly she fell to the ground as if struck by lightning. 
 
 A few hours later some one from the colony found her 
 lying in the road with one hand pressed aginst her heart 
 and the other hand stretched out clutching a letter, as if 
 to show what had killed her. 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 ON THE day that Gunhild died Gertrude hap- 
 pened to be walking in one of the broad streets 
 of the western suburb. She had gone out to 
 buy some buttons and tape, but not being well acquainted 
 with that locality she had to tramp about a long while 
 to find what she wanted. She had not yet seen much of 
 Jerusalem and was in no haste to get back to the colony. 
 She had come away from Sweden with a limited supply 
 of clothing, and had therefore been obliged to stay in- 
 doors most of the time since her arrival, sewing for her- 
 self. 
 
 When Gertrude went about in the Holy City there 
 was always a happy smile upon her face. She must have 
 felt the terrible heat and blighting sunshine, but they 
 did not seem to affect her as they did others. She could 
 hardly take a step without thinking that Jesus had 
 walked on the very ground where she was now walking, 
 and that His gaze had often rested on the hills she glimpsed 
 in the distance. The heat and the dust must have been 
 rather trying to Him, too, just as they were to her. These 
 thoughts brought Him so near that all sense of discom- 
 fort was dispelled by a feeling of blissful gladness. 
 
 What had made Gertrude so happy since coming to 
 Palestine was this sense of being so much nearer to Jesiis 
 
 83 
 
84 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 than before. It never entered her mind that nearly two 
 thousand years had elapsed since He wandered here with 
 His disciples. She went about blissfully imagining that 
 He had been here only a short time ago; she seemed 
 to see His footprints on the ground and to hear the 
 echo of His voice in the streets. 
 
 Going down the steep hill leading to the Jaffa gate, 
 she met a party of some two hundred Russian pilgrims 
 coming up the street; they had tramped around in the 
 hot sun for hours, visiting the holy places outside Jeru- 
 salem, and were so tired and spent they had hardly 
 strength enough left to drag themselves up to the Rus- 
 sian hospice at the top of the hill. 
 
 Gertrude stopped to look at them as they passed. 
 They were simple folk, and she was surprised to see how 
 like they were to her own people in their wadmal coats 
 and knitted jackets. "This must be a whole parish 
 come in a body to Jerusalem," thought she. "The man 
 with the spectacles far down on his nose is the school- 
 master, and the one with the big stick owns a large farm 
 and rules the whole parish. The one over there, who 
 carries himself so erect, is an old soldier, and that chap 
 with the narrow chest and the long thin hands is the 
 village tailor." 
 
 She was in a cheerful mood and from force of habit 
 made up little stories about the people she saw. "The 
 old woman with the silk kerchief on her head is rich," she 
 mused, "but she wouldn't go away from home until her 
 sons and daughters were married and settled in life and 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 85 
 
 she had helped bring up her grandchildren. The bent 
 old woman walking next to her, carrying a little bundle, is 
 very poor. She has had to toil hard and stint all her 
 life to lay by the money for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. " 
 
 Only to see these people was to like them. Hot and 
 dusty though they were, they looked serenely happy. 
 There was not a cloud of discontent on any face. "How 
 good and patient they must be!" thought Gertrude, 
 "and how great their love for Jesus, since they are so 
 glad to be wandering about in His land that they don't 
 seem to mind discomfort." 
 
 At the end of the procession came a few who seemed 
 too utterly exhausted to keep up. It was touching to 
 see their comrades turn back to help them up the hill. 
 Last of all came a girl of about seventeen, who was almost 
 the only young person among them — the others being 
 mostly either elderly or middle-aged people. Gertrude 
 thought the young girl, like herself, had suffered some 
 great sorrow, which had rendered Hfe at home unbear- 
 able. Perhaps she, too, had seen Jesus in the forest and 
 had been told by Him to go to the Holy Land. 
 
 The young woman looked ill. She was slight of build 
 and her coarse heavy clothes, more especially the thick 
 clumsy boots which she, like all the other women, wore 
 seemed to tire her greatly. She would take a few falter- 
 ing steps, and then stand still to recover her breath. 
 Continually stopping thus in the middle of the street, the 
 girl was in danger of being knocked down by a camel 
 or run over by a passing wagon. 
 
86 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Feeling that she ought to help her, Gertrude hastened 
 forward and put her arm around the girl's waist, to sup- 
 port her. The girl looked at her wearily; she accepted 
 the support almost unconsciously, letting herself be 
 dragged along. 
 
 At that moment one of the older women happened to 
 turn round; she scowled at Gertrude, and shouted some- 
 thing in a sharp tone to the sick girl, who instantly drew 
 herself up, pushed Gertrude aside and tried to walk on 
 alone. 
 
 Gertrude could not comprehend why the girl should 
 behave like that. She wondered if it was because the 
 Russians were unwilling to accept aid from a stranger. 
 The girl halted again, and Gertrude ran back and once 
 more put an arm round her. At that, a look of loathing 
 came over the young woman's face and, tearing herself 
 free, she struck at Gertrude and attempted to run away 
 from her. 
 
 Then Gertrude saw that the poor soul was actually 
 afraid of her, and knew at once it was on account of the 
 base slanders that had been circulated about the Gor- 
 donites. She was both grieved and angry. The only 
 thing she could do now was to leave the girl alone, so 
 as not to frighten her still more. Following her with her 
 eyes, she noticed that the girl, in her confusion and fright, 
 ran straight toward a team that was coming down the 
 hill at top speed. Gertrude saw, to her horror, that she 
 would certainly be run over. 
 
 She tried to shut her eyes to it all; but she seemed to 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 87 
 
 have lost control of herself, and could not even lower 
 her eye-lids. So she stood there with wide-open eyes 
 and saw the horses run straight against the girl and 
 knock her down. Immediately the fine intelligent animals 
 backed, planted their hoofs firmly on the ground, so as 
 to take the full weight of the down-coming wagon; then 
 quickly swerving to one side, they went around without 
 hoof or wheel having touched the girl. 
 
 As the young Russian woman remained lying on the 
 ground without moving, Gertrude supposed she had 
 fainted from fright. People came running from all sides, 
 but Gertrude being the first to reach her, bent down to 
 help her up. Then she saw blood oozing from a wound 
 in the girl's head, and noticed that her features were 
 becoming strangely rigid. "She is dead!" gasped Ger- 
 trude. "And it's all my fault!" 
 
 A man rudely thrust her aside. He roared something 
 at her, which she understood to mean that so vile a crea- 
 ture as herself was not fit to touch this pious young pil- 
 grim. Instantly the man's cry was taken up on all sides. 
 Threatening hands were raised against her; she was 
 pushed and elbowed out of the crowd that had gathered 
 about the girl. 
 
 Gertrude clenched her hands, indignant at this treat- 
 ment. She wanted to fight her way back to find out 
 whether the girl was alive or dead. " It is not I who am 
 unworthy to approach her," she cried out in Swedish, 
 "it is you — all of you! It is you who have killed her. 
 Your slandering tongues sent her to her death!" 
 
88 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 No one understood a word of what she said and her 
 anger soon gave way to a paralyzing dread. What if 
 someone had seen how it all happened and should tell 
 the others about it! Then all these people would surely 
 fall upon her and beat her to death, she thought. 
 
 Gertrude hurriedly fled from the scene, though no 
 one was- pursuing her, never once stopping until she had 
 reached the lonely district outside the northern limits 
 of the city. Then she stood still a moment and pressed 
 her clenched hands against her forehead. 
 
 "O God in Heaven!" she exclaimed. "Am I respon- 
 sible for the death of a fellow-being?" 
 
 She turned toward Jerusalem, whose high dark wall 
 rose before her. "No!" she cried, "not I, but you! Not 
 I, but you!" With a shudder, she turned away from the 
 city to go back to the Colony House, the roof of which 
 she could see in the distance. Time after time she 
 stopped and tried to untangle the thoughts that crowded 
 in upon her. 
 
 When Gertrude came to Palestine she said to herself: 
 "Here I am in my Lord and King's own country, under 
 His special protection; here no harm can come to me." 
 She had lulled herself into the belief that Christ had com- 
 manded her to come to His Holy Land because He felt 
 that she had known so great a sorrow that there was no 
 further need for her to suffer in this life and that she was 
 henceforth to live in peace and safety. 
 
 But now Gertrude felt as one living in a strongly forti- 
 fied city who suddenly sees the protecting walls and battle- 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 89 
 
 ments fall. She saw that she was defenseless. Between 
 her and aggressive evil there was no bulwark. It seemed 
 as if misfortune could strike harder here than elsewhere. 
 
 She promptly dismissed the thought that she was to 
 blame for the death of the young Russian woman; she 
 would not have that on her conscience. Yet she felt 
 a vague fear of the harm this happening might cause her. 
 "I shall always see those horses bearing down upon 
 her!" she said, "and I can never be happy any more." 
 
 A doubt arose in her which she instantly tried to stifle, 
 but which came up again and again. She wondered 
 why Christ had sent her to this land. Of course she knew 
 it was very wrong of her to question this, but she could 
 not help it. What had He meant by sending her here ? " 
 
 " Dear Lord, I thought that you loved me and would do 
 everything for my good. I was so happy in the faith 
 that you protected me!" 
 
 When Gertrude got back to the colony a strange still- 
 ness and solemnity pervaded the place. The lad who 
 opened the gate looked uncommonly grave, and com- 
 ing into the courtyard she noticed that everyone moved 
 about very quietly and spoke only in whispers. "Death 
 has entered this house," she thought, before anyone had 
 said a word. 
 
 She soon learned that Gunhild had been found lying 
 dead at the roadside and that her body had been brought 
 home and placed on a bier in the basement. She knew 
 that in the East the dead must be buried very quickly, 
 yet she was horrified to find that preparations for the 
 
90 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 funeral were already under way. Tims Halvor and 
 Ljung Bjorn were making a coffin and two of the old 
 women were dressing the body. Mrs. Gordon had gone 
 to see the superintendent of an American mission to 
 ask for a permit to bury Gunhild in the American Ceme- 
 tery. Gabriel and Bo, each with his spade, stood 
 waiting in the courtyard for Mrs. Gordon's return — 
 ready to go dig the grave. Gertrude went down to the 
 basement. She stood a lonjg time looking at Gunhild, 
 then broke into violent sobs. She had always been very 
 fond of the girl who now lay dead, and as she gazed at the 
 still, white face of her friend, it came to her that neither 
 she, Gertrude, nor any of the others had ever given to 
 Gunhild the love she had merited. Everyone knew that 
 she was honest and kind and truth-loving; but she had 
 made life a burden to herself and to others, by attaching 
 too much importance to trifles, and that had turned people 
 against her. Remembering this, Gertrude felt that it 
 had been terribly hard for poor Gunhild. 
 
 Suddenly she stopped crying and regarded Gunhild in 
 fear and trembling. There was a look on the face of the 
 dead — a look it had worn in life, when the girl had pon- 
 dered over something perplexing. 
 
 Then she stole softly out of the room. The questioning 
 look on Gunhild's face reminded her of her own doubts 
 and fears. She fancied that Gunhild also wondered why 
 Jesus had sent her to this land. 
 
 When Gertrude returned to the courtyard Bo came up 
 and asked her to go talk to Gabriel. She stared vacantly 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 91 
 
 at him, for she was so completely absorbed by her own 
 thoughts that she did not even know what he was saying. 
 
 " It was Gabriel who found Gunhild," Bo told her. 
 
 Gertrude did not hear him; she was still wondering 
 why Gunhild had that look on her face. 
 
 "It was a terrible shock to poor Gabriel to find her 
 lying dead in the road," Bo went on, " as he was coming 
 along never dreaming of what had happened." As Ger- 
 trude did not yet appear to understand, he said in a voice 
 that shook with emotion: "If I were to find somebody 
 that I cared a lot about lying dead on the ground, I don't 
 know what would become of me." 
 
 Gertrude looked as one who had just come out of a 
 dream. Why, to be sure, she knew of old that Gabriel 
 was fond of Gunhild. They would have been married 
 but for this pilgrimage to Jerusalem; they had decided 
 to come to Palestine, though it meant that they could 
 never be husband and wife. And now Gabriel had found 
 Gunhild lying dead in the roadway! 
 
 "It would be well for Gabriel if he could have a good 
 cry," Bo whispered to her. 
 
 Gertrude then went over to Gabriel, who was standing 
 at the gate with eyes fixed, and with Ups compressed — 
 working his spade in and out between two stones. 
 
 She silently gave Gabriel tier hand, as one does to the 
 bereaved at a funeral. His hand lay cold and impassive 
 in hers. 
 
 "Bo tells me it was you who found her," she said; Ga- 
 briel never moved. 
 
92 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "It was hard for you," she continued, while Gabriel 
 stood like a figure in stone. Then Gertrude at last 
 realized what his grief must be. "I think Gunhild would 
 have been glad had she known it was you who found 
 her." 
 
 Gabriel started. "Do you think she would have been 
 glad of that.?" he asked, looking hard at Gertrude. 
 
 "Yes," she answered. 
 
 "I carried her home as tenderly as I could," said 
 Gabriel quietly. 
 
 "I'm sure you did," Gertrude replied. 
 
 Then Gabriel's lips began to quiver and all at once the 
 tears gushed from his eyes. He leaned his head against 
 the gate-post, and sobbed violently. Gertrude and Bo 
 stood silently by and let him weep. In a while when 
 he had grown calmer, he went over to Gertrude and gave 
 her his hand. 
 
 "Thank you for making me cry," he said in a soft 
 steady voice. It seemed as if his father, old Hok Matts, 
 were speaking. "Now I'm going to show you something 
 I had meant never to let anyone see. When I found 
 Gunhild, her hand was clutched round this letter, of 
 which I took possession, thinking I had every right to 
 it. It is from her father. As both of you have parents 
 back home, I want you to read it." 
 
 Gertrude read the letter; then looked at Gabriel. "So 
 that was the cause of her death," she said. 
 
 Gabriel nodded. 
 
 Gertrude cried out in despair: "O Jerusalem! Jeru- 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 93 
 
 salem! thou wilt kill us all! I fear God has forsaken 
 us." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon had just come in at the gate. She told 
 Gabriel and Bo to go at once to the burying ground. 
 Gertrude straightway went into the house and to the 
 little room she and Gunhild had occupied together, 
 where she remained in solitude the whole evening. She 
 was in a state of terror as unconquerable as the fear of 
 ghosts, imagining that some other dreadful thing was 
 going to happen before the day was over. At the same 
 time she was filled with doubt. "I don't know why the 
 Lord sent us here," she thought. "We bring disaster 
 and misery to ourselves and to others." 
 
 Then for a moment she seemed to conquer her doubts, 
 but she presently found herself enumerating the different 
 ones to whom the pilgrimage had brought misfortune. 
 They had all been so certain it was God's will they should 
 come to Palestine. Then why had their coming resulted 
 in nothing but misery? 
 
 She had taken out pen and paper to write to her par- 
 ents. "What could I say to make them understand?" 
 she wondered. " If I were to lie down and die like Gun- 
 hild, then perhaps they would believe me, if I wrote that 
 we were innocent." 
 
 Night came, but Gertrude was too unhappy for sleep. 
 She saw continually before her Gunhild's brooding face 
 and became convinced that her friend had died with the 
 same question on her lips that she herself was striving 
 to solve. 
 
94 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Before dawn Gertrude arose and dressed to go out. 
 She seemed to have got so far away from Christ that 
 she hardly knew how she should find her way back to 
 Him. Now she longed to go to a place where He was 
 known to have walked when on this earth, and the only 
 spot the exact location of which had never been disputed 
 was the Mount of Olives. Could she go there, she 
 thought, then she would be near to Him again, would feel 
 herself overshadowed by His love, and understand His 
 purpose with her. 
 
 Coming out in the dense darkness that precedes the 
 dawn, her fears became intensified; again and again 
 she went over in her mind all the sorrow and injustice 
 which the past day alone had brought. Then, as she 
 went up the hill, a marvellous feeling of lightness came to 
 her. The oppressive burden of doubt was lifted from her 
 soul, and she seemed to see the meaning of it all. 
 
 When such injustice was allowed to have its sway, 
 it could only mean that the Day of Judgment was at 
 hand, she thought. In no other way could one under- 
 stand how right became wrong and why God seemed 
 powerless to prevent evil; why the righteous must suffer 
 persecution while wrong-doers went unrebuked. 
 
 Gertrude stood musing a moment. Yes, the coming 
 of our Lord was surely at hand, and soon she would see 
 Him descending from Heaven. In the light of this it was 
 clear to her why they had been summoned to Jerusalem. 
 By the grace of God she and her friends had been called 
 hither to meet Jesus. She clapped her hands in an 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 95 
 
 ecstasy of joy, thinking how infinitely wonderful this 
 was. 
 
 Then she tripped lightly up the slope to the highest 
 point of the mountain, whence Jesus ascended into 
 Heaven. She could not enter the enclosed part, so she 
 stopped just outside, and looked up at the heavens, 
 which now grew light in the sudden break of dawn. 
 
 "Perhaps He will come this very day," she thought, 
 as she gazed at the morning sky, covered with light, 
 fleecy clouds. Gradually these clouds became tinged 
 with red, the brightness of which was reflected in Ger- 
 trude's face. "He is coming!" she cried. "He is surely 
 coming!" 
 
 Watching the rosy dawn, as if seeing it for the first 
 time, it seemed to her that she was looking right into 
 Heaven. Away in the east she saw a deep arch with 
 high, wide gates, which she expected to see flung wide- 
 open so that Christ and all His angels could pass through. 
 
 And by and by the gate of the East did open, and the 
 sun appeared. 
 
 Gertrude stood in rapt expectation while the sun shed 
 its lustre over the mountain-region west of Jerusalem, 
 where a range of hills arose like waves on a sea. She 
 stood waiting until the sun had mounted so high that its 
 rays gilded the cross on the dome of the Church of the 
 Sepulchre. 
 
 She remembered having heard that Christ would come 
 at dawn on the wings of the morning, and saw of course 
 that He would not appear that day. Yet she was neither 
 
96 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 disheartened nor anxious. "He will come tomorrow 
 instead," she said with faith. 
 
 When Gertrude returned to the colony she was 
 radiantly happy. She did not tell a soul of the glad ex- 
 pectation that filled her; the whole day she went about 
 her work as usual and spoke only of commonplace 
 things. 
 
 The next morning she again stood on the Mount of 
 Olives in the early dawn. And morning after morning 
 she was there, for she wanted to be the first to see Christ 
 appear in the glory of the dawn. 
 
 Gertrude's wanderings soon became a subject for 
 comment among the colonists, who begged her to desist. 
 They told her it would harm their cause if she were 
 seen kneeling on the Mount of Olives every morning, 
 waiting for the Second Coming; that if she went on doing 
 so people would soon be saying that the colonists were 
 mad. 
 
 The girl tried to be obedient, and remain at home; 
 but each morning, on awaking, she thought: "Jesus 
 may come this very day." Then nothing could stop 
 her from hastening to meet her Lord and Saviour. 
 
 This expectation had become part of herself; she could 
 not resist it or release herself from its thrall. In other 
 ways she was quite herself. There was nothing wrong 
 with her brain; she was merely happier and gentler 
 than before. 
 
 After a time the colonists took her early strolls as a 
 matter of course, and allowed her to go without let or 
 
ON THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 97 
 
 hindrance. Each morning on coming out she would 
 find a dark, shadow-like figure waiting in the archway 
 of the gate, and on going up the mountain, she would 
 hear behind her the clatter of iron-shod heels. She never 
 spoke to this shadow, but she always felt so safe when 
 she heard the firm footsteps of the one who followed 
 her. 
 
 Sometimes, when coming down the mountain, she 
 ran straight into Bo, as he stood leaning against a 
 wall, waiting for her, with a look in his eyes of doglike 
 faithfulness. Bo would blush and glance away and 
 Gertrude would pass on as though she had not seen him. 
 
BARAM PASHA 
 
BARAM PASHA 
 
 THE colonists were exceedingly pleased that they 
 had been able to rent the fine new house outside 
 the Damascus gate, which was large enough 
 to accommodate nearly all of them, so that only one or 
 two families had been obliged to find quarters elsewhere. 
 Besides, it was a pleasant abode, with its roof-terraces 
 and open colonnades — a delightful retreat in the hot 
 summer weather. They could not but feel they had been 
 singularly blessed in having a house like this placed at 
 their disposal, for it would have been impossible for them 
 to insure comfort and keep alive the community spirit 
 had they been obliged to live separately, in different parts 
 of the town. 
 
 The mansion belonged to Baram Pasha, who was at 
 that time Governor of Jerusalem. It was built for 
 his wife, whom he loved above everything in this 
 world. He had felt that nothing would give her greater 
 happiness than to have a house that would hold their 
 large family of sons and daughters-in-law, daughters 
 and sons-in-law, the grandchildren and the retinue of 
 servants. 
 
 But when the home was ready and Baram Pasha and 
 his family had moved in, terrible misfortune befell him. 
 
 lOI 
 
102 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 During the first week he lived there one of his daughters 
 died, the second week another daughter followed, and 
 the third week he lost his beloved wife. Then Baram 
 Pasha, overwhelmed with grief, left his new mansion, had 
 it shut up, and vowed never to set foot in it again. 
 
 The palace had been standing empty from that time 
 until the Gordonites in the spring had persuaded Baram 
 Pasha to rent it to them. Everyone was surprised at 
 this, for they had all supposed that Baram Pasha would 
 never allow anyone to enter his abandoned home. 
 
 But in the autumn, when the foul slander against the 
 Gordonites had .arisen, some American missionaries 
 consulted together as to what had best be done to make 
 these compatriots of theirs leave Jerusalem. They 
 finally decided to go straight to Baram Pasha and tell 
 him about his tenants. And of course they told him all 
 the vile things that had been said of these colonists and 
 asked him how he could allow such disreputable people 
 to occupy the house he built for his wife. 
 
 It was a fine November morning. The long night, 
 which had wrapped the city in its pall of darkness, had 
 flown, and Jerusalem began to assume its usual aspect. 
 The beggars at the Damascus gate had already taken 
 up their accustomed places, and the stray dogs that had 
 prowled about the whole night now went back to their 
 dunghills and caves to rest for the day. A small cara- 
 van which had camped for the night just within the gate, 
 was getting ready to depart. The men were binding 
 
BARAM PASHA 103 
 
 the bales onto the backs of the kneeling camels, that 
 groaned under the weight of their heavy burdens. Out 
 in the road country-folk came hurrying toward the city 
 with huge baskets filled with garden truck. Shepherds 
 came down from the mountains and passed solemnly under 
 the archway, followed by large flocks of sheep, which 
 were to be slaughtered, and herds of milch goats to be 
 milked. 
 
 During the greatest crush at the gate, an old man 
 came riding through on a fine white ass. The man was 
 richly attired. He wore a tunic of fine, soft striped silk, 
 and over it a long wide caftan of pale-blue brocade trimmed 
 with fur, and his turban and his girdle were embroi- 
 dered in gold. His face must once have been handsome 
 and strong, though now his mouth was sunken, his eyes 
 were watery, and his long white beard was scraggly and 
 yellowed at the points. 
 
 All who thronged the gateway were astonished, and 
 said to one another: "Why does the Baram Pasha ride 
 through the Gate of Damascus into the road he has 
 not wanted to look upon these three years ? " 
 
 Others said: "Is the Baram Pasha riding out to his 
 house, which he has sworn never to enter?" 
 
 As the pasha rode past the crowd at the gateway he 
 said to the servant who accompanied him: "Dost 
 thou mark, Machmud, that all whom we meet are sur- 
 prised and say among themselves: 'What is in the 
 air? Shall the Baram Pasha ride out to his house, which 
 he has not visited in three years ? ' " 
 
104 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 The servant answered that he had noticed that the 
 people were surprised. 
 
 Then said Baram Pasha, with great indignation: "Do 
 they think I am so old that people may do with me what 
 they like? Do they think I will tolerate having these 
 foreigners lead a life of shame in the house I built for 
 my wife?" 
 
 Machmud, endeavouring to allay his rage, said: "Good 
 Master, hast thou forgotten that this is not the first time 
 thou hast heard the Christians slander each other?" 
 
 Baram Pasha then raised his arms and cried out in his 
 anger: "Pipers and dancing-women consort together in 
 the rooms where my loved ones died! Before the sun 
 goes down this day these evil-doers shall be driven out 
 from my house." 
 
 As the old pasha said that, a little band of school chil- 
 dren came tripping down the road, two by two. He 
 noticed that they were unlike all other children seen in 
 the streets of Jerusalem, for they had clean hands and 
 faces, their clothes were neat and whole and their hair 
 was smoothly combed. 
 
 Baram Pasha stopped his donkey and said to his ser- 
 vant: "Go ask them who they are." 
 
 "I need not ask who they are," replied the servant, 
 "for I see them here every day. They are the children 
 of the Gordonites who are on their way to the school 
 their people have established in the city in the old 
 place where they lived before they rented thy great 
 house." 
 
BARAM PASHA 105 
 
 While the pasha still sat looking after the children two 
 men came pulling a cart, in which the smaller children 
 sat, those who were too young to walk to school. The 
 little ones clapped their hands for joy at the ride and the 
 men who drew the cart laughed and ran faster to please 
 them. 
 
 Then the servant took courage, and said: "Dost 
 thou not see, Master, that these children must have 
 good parents?" 
 
 But Baram Pasha, like most old people, was obstinate 
 in his anger. "I have heard what their own country- 
 men say of them," he said, "and I tell thee that before 
 nightfall they shall be turned from my house." 
 
 Farther down the road they came upon some women 
 in European dress who were also going toward the city. 
 They walked along quietly and sedately. Their clothes 
 were neat, but plain, and they carried heavy, well-filled 
 baskets. 
 
 Baram Pasha turned to his servant and bade him go 
 ask them who they were. 
 
 The servant answered: ""There is no need to ask. 
 Master, for I meet them every day. They are women 
 of the Gordon Colony on their way to Jerusalem with 
 food and medicine for the sick who are not able to go 
 out to the colony to get help." 
 
 Baram Pasha said: "Though they hide their sins under 
 angels' wings, yet will I drive them from my house." 
 
 He rode on toward the big mansion, and when nearing 
 it, he heard the murmur of many voices and now and 
 
io6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 then a piercing cry. Turning to his servant, he said: 
 "Hearest thou the noise the musicians and dancing- 
 girls are making in my house?" 
 
 But, as he turned the corner of the street, he saw 
 many people, sick and full of sores, sitting huddled 
 together at the entrance gate to his house; they were 
 talking with each other about their sufferings, and one 
 or two moaned loudly. The servant Machmud took 
 heart, and said: 
 
 "See, these are the musicians and dancing-girls whom 
 thou didst hear revelling in thy house! They come here 
 every day to consult the physicians of the Gordon Col- 
 ony, and to have their sores dressed by the colony's 
 nurses." 
 
 Baram Pasha answered: "I see that these Gordon- 
 ites have bewitched thee, but I am too old to be deceived 
 by their tricks. I tell thee, if I had the power, I would 
 hang every one of them from the eaves-course round 
 my house." He was still in a ferment of anger when he 
 dismounted and went up the steps. 
 
 As the old pasha entered the courtyard, a tall, stately 
 woman bowed to him. Although her hair was white, 
 the woman did not appear to be more than forty years 
 old. Her face expressed rare intelligence and authority, 
 and though she was simply attired, in a plain black gown, 
 one could see that she was accustomed to rule over many 
 people. 
 
 Baram Pasha now turned to Machmud and said to 
 him: "This woman looks as good and as wise as Kadid- 
 
BARAM PASHA 107 
 
 scha, the wife of the Prophet. What is she doing in this 
 house?" 
 
 And Machmud, his servant, answered: "It is Mrs. 
 Gordon, who has been at the head of the colony since 
 the death of her husband in the spring." 
 
 Then the old man's anger rose again, and in a hard 
 voice he bade Machmud tell her he had come to turn 
 her and her people out of his house. 
 
 But the servant said to him: "Shall the just Baram 
 Pasha drive these Christians out merely because he has 
 heard their brethren vilify them? Master, would it not 
 be better to say to this woman, *I have come hither to 
 inspect my house'? Shouldst thou find that they lead 
 the sort of life the missionaries say they do, then tell her 
 that she and those with her must leave this place, that 
 no abomination will be tolerated in the house where thy 
 dear ones have lived. " 
 
 Then said Baram Pasha: "Tell her that I would in- 
 spect my house." 
 
 Machmud interpreted this to Mrs. Gordon, andshe 
 replied : 
 
 "It will be a pleasure to us to show Baram Pasha how 
 we have fitted up his fine mansion." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon sent for Miss Young, who had lived in 
 Jerusalem from childhood and spoke Arabic like a native, 
 and asked her to conduct the pasha through the building. 
 
 Baram Pasha took the arm of his servant and followed 
 her. As he wished to see the whole house. Miss Young 
 first took him into the basement, to the laundry, and 
 
io8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 proudly showed him the huge piles of freshly-laundered 
 linen, the big boilers and the busy workers at their wash- 
 tubs and ironing-boards. 
 
 Then Miss Young conducted Baram Pasha into the 
 adjoining room, which was the bakery. "See," she said, 
 "what a splendid oven our brothers have built for us, 
 and what excellent bread we ourselves make." 
 
 From there they went to the carpenter-shop, where 
 a couple of old men were at work. Miss Young showed 
 Baram Pasha some plain chairs and tables made by 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, Machmud, I fear these people are too deep for 
 me!" the old pasha said in Turkish, which he supposed 
 Miss Young would not understand. "They must have 
 been warned by their spies, and were prepared for my 
 visit. I had expected to find them drinking wine and 
 throwing dice. And now I see them all at work." 
 
 Thereupon they went through the kitchen and the 
 sewing-room and presently came to another room, the 
 door of which was opened with a certain ceremony. It 
 was the weaving-room, where looms clattered and spin- 
 ning wheels and carders were in full swing. 
 
 Again Baram Pasha's servant took courage, and called 
 his master's attention to the firm, strong cloth they were 
 making here. "Excellency," said he, "these are no 
 flimsy fabrics for dancing-girls or airy garments for friv- 
 olous women." 
 
 Baram Pasha made no response. Wherever he looked 
 he saw only persons with earnest, thoughtful faces intent 
 
BARAM PASHA 109 
 
 upon their work. But instantly he entered a room a 
 smile lighted up the faces of these serious toilers. 
 
 "I am telling them," Miss Young explained, "that 
 you are the good Governor who allows us to occupy this 
 beautiful house, and they wish me to thank you for your 
 kindness to us." 
 
 All the while Baram Pasha had a stern, hard look 
 on his face. As he did not respond. Miss Young began 
 to feel uneasy, and said to herself: "Why does he not 
 speak to me? Can he have turned against us?" 
 
 She conducted the pasha through the long, narrow 
 dining rooms, where they were clearing the tables and 
 washing the breakfast dishes. Here, too, he saw only 
 strict orderliness and simplicity. 
 
 His servant Machmud once more took courage, and 
 said to him: "Master, how should it be possible for 
 these people who toil all day, who bake their own bread 
 and make their own clothes, to transform themselves 
 at night into pipers and dancers ? " 
 
 Baram Pasha could not answer him. He continued 
 his tour of inspection, determined to see every part of 
 his house. He went into the large dormitory of the 
 unmarried men, with its rows of plain beds all made, then 
 into the various family apartments, where parents and 
 children could be together. In all these rooms he saw 
 well-scoured floors, light wood furniture, with coverings 
 of checked cotton, white bed-hangings and home-woven 
 floor-mats. 
 
 Baram Pasha looked only the more displeased. He 
 
no THE HOLY CITY 
 
 said to Machmud: "These Christians are far too wary 
 for me. They know only too well how to cover up their 
 sinful lives. I expected to see the floors strewn with 
 cigar ashes and fruit parings, and to find the women 
 sitting gossiping, while they smoked their narghiles or 
 tinted their nails." 
 
 Finally he ascended the beautiful white marble stair- 
 case to the meeting-hall, which had once been the pasha's 
 reception-room, and which was now furnished in the 
 American fashion, with comfortable chairs round the 
 tables, on which were books and periodicals, a piano, 
 and an organ, and here and there on the light-painted 
 walls hung a photograph. 
 
 Here they were again received by Mrs. Gordon. Now 
 the Baram Pasha said to his servant: "Tell her that be- 
 fore night she and her followers must leave this house." 
 
 Machmud the servant replied : " Master, one of these 
 women can speak thy native language. Let her hear 
 from thine own lips what is thy will." 
 
 Baram Pasha then raised his eyes to Miss Young, who 
 met his gaze with a sweet smile. Turning to his servant, 
 he said: "I have never beheld a face dowered by the 
 Almighty with greater purity and beauty. I dare not tell 
 her I have heard that her people have fallen into sin and 
 wantonness." 
 
 Baram Pasha sank down on a chair and covered his 
 face with his hands, while he tried to make out which 
 was true — ^what he had heard or what he had seen. 
 
 Just then the door opened softly and into the room 
 
BARAM PASHA in 
 
 came a poor old pilgrim in a shabby gray mantle, his legs 
 swathed with rags. On his head was a soiled turban, 
 the green colour of which denoted that he was a descend- 
 ant of Mohammed. 
 
 Taking no notice of the pasha, the man went and sat 
 down on a chair a little apart from the others. 
 
 "Who is that man, and what does he here?" asked 
 Baram Pasha, turning to Miss Young. 
 
 "We do not know him," Miss Young replied, "He 
 has never been here before. You must not mind his 
 coming in. Our house stands open to any and everyone 
 who wishes to take refuge here." 
 
 "Machmud," said the pasha to his servant, "go ask 
 this descendant of the Prophet what he seeks here among 
 these Christians?" 
 
 In a moment the servant came back to the pasha: 
 "He says that he seeks nothing here, but he would not 
 pass by this' house without coming in, because it is writ- 
 ten : 'Commit not the sin of letting thy feet stray past 
 the dwelling of the righteous.' " 
 
 For a long time Baram Pasha was silent. Presently 
 he said to his servant: "Thou canst not have heard 
 aright, Machmud. Go, ask him again what he wants 
 in this house." 
 
 Machmud did as he was told and again came back with 
 the same answer, which he repeated word for word. 
 
 "Let us thank God, friend Machmud," said Baram 
 Pasha humbly, "for He hath sent this man to enlighten 
 us. He hath guided his footsteps hither that mine eyes 
 
112 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 might be opened to the truth. We ride back now, friend 
 Machmud. I shall not turn these good Christians out 
 of their home." 
 
 Shortly afterwards Baram Pasha and his servant rode 
 away from the colony; but within an hour Machmud 
 came back, leading his master's beautiful white donkey, 
 which he presented to the colonists with the compliments 
 of Baram Pasha, who hoped they would use it to draw 
 the little children to school. 
 
•FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE' 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 
 
 IT WAS near the end of February. The winter rains 
 were over and spring had come. As yet it was 
 not very far advanced. The buds on the fig trees had 
 not begun to swell and the grape leaves had not come 
 creeping out from their dark-brown vines, nor had the 
 orange-blossoms opened. 
 
 But what had dared to come out at this early season 
 were the little field flowers. All the meadows were 
 spread with pinks and daisies and every copse was thick 
 with crocuses and pasque-flowers; large, fiery-red ane- 
 mones covered the rocky slopes and upon every ledge 
 violets and cyclamen blossomed. 
 
 As in other countries one goes berrying, so in Pales- 
 tine one goes flower gathering. From all the convents 
 and mission-stations they go out to pick flowers. Poor 
 members of the Jewish colony, European tourists and 
 Syrian laborers can be seen every day down in the wild 
 rocky dells carrying flower baskets. At evening these 
 gatherers return to the city laden with anemones and 
 hyacinths, with violets and tulips, with narcissi and 
 orchids. 
 
 In the courtyards of the many hospices and cloisters 
 of the Holy City stand large stone basins filled with 
 
 115 
 
ii6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 water, in which the flowers are placed, and in rooms and 
 cells busy hands spread the flowers out on large sheets 
 of paper and press them. 
 
 When the little meadow pinks, anemones and hya- 
 cinths are well flattened and dried, they are made up in- 
 to smaller and larger bouquets — some prettily arranged, 
 some not — and pasted on cards and in small albums with 
 covers of olive A/^ood, upon which have been burnt: 
 "Flowers from Palestine." 
 
 And then all these flowers from Zion, from Hebron, 
 from the Mount of Olives, from Jericho, go out into the 
 wide world. They are sold in shops, they are sent in 
 letters, are given away as keepsakes or in exchange for 
 gifts of charity. Farther than India's pearls and silks 
 from Brussa do these little field blossoms travel; they 
 are the only things the poor Holy Land is rich in. 
 
 One fine spring morning the whole Gordon Colony was 
 making ready to go flower gathering. The children, 
 who had been granted a day's leave from school, ran 
 about, wild with glee, begging every one to lend them 
 baskets to put flowers in. The women had been up 
 since four in the morning preparing a luncheon for the 
 outing and up to the last moment they were busy in 
 the kitchen making patties and opening preserve jars. 
 Some of the men were packing sandwiches and milk- 
 bottles, bread and cheese into their botony-tins; others 
 took charge of the water-bottles and tea-kitchens. The 
 children gathered at the gate and the instant it was 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 117 
 
 opened rushed out, followed by large and small groups 
 of their elders. As no one remained at home, the big 
 house was soon quite empty of people. 
 
 Bo Ingmar Mansson was very happy that day. He 
 had arranged to walk with Gertrude, so that he might 
 help her with all the things she had to carry. Gertrude's 
 kerchief was drawn so far down over her forehead that 
 all Bo could see of her face was the chin and a soft fair 
 cheek. He smiled at the thought of his being so pleased 
 just to be allowed to walk with Gertrude, when he could 
 neither look into her face nor speak with her. Directly 
 behind them were Karin and her sisters; they struck 
 up a hymn they had often sung with their mother back 
 at the Ingmar Farm, when sitting at their spinning- 
 wheels in the early morning hours. Bo remembered the 
 old hymn: 
 
 "The blessed day we now behold 
 From Heaven to us descending " 
 
 In front of Bo and Gertrude walked old Corporal Felt, 
 with all the children around him clinging to his cane and 
 tugging at his coat tails. Bo remembering the time 
 when every youngster took to his heels at the mere 
 sight of the man, thought to himself: "I've never seen 
 the old corporal look so sturdy and important; he fairly 
 bristles with pride because the children love to be with 
 him." 
 
 Presently Bo descried Helgum going along quietly 
 holding his wife by one hand and his pretty little daugh- 
 
ii8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 ter by the other. "It's strange about Helgum," he 
 mused. "He seems to have sunk into obscurity since 
 we joined these Americans; which was to be expected, 
 for they are superior people who have a wonderful gift 
 for expounding the Word of God. I should really like 
 to know how it aflfects him not to be the centre of a wor- 
 shipping throng on an occasion like this. At all events, 
 his wife seems glad that she can have him more to her- 
 self nowadays. It is evident from her manner and bearing 
 that she has never in her life been so proud and happy." 
 
 At the very front walked beautiful Miss Young and 
 an English youth, who had been in the colony about two 
 years. Bo knew, as did every one else, that the Eng- 
 lishman was in love with Miss Young and had come 
 among them in the hope of making her his wife. There 
 was no doubt either, that the girl was fond of him; but 
 of course the Gordonites could not relax their stringent 
 rules in her case any more than in that of others, and 
 thus the two had gone on living at the colony, hoping 
 against hope. To-day they walked side by side, and 
 spoke only to each other. They had neither eyes nor 
 ears for any one else. 
 
 There was a French sailor in the colony who had been 
 there from its inception, and who was now very old and 
 feeble. He and Gabriel came last. Bo noticed that 
 Gabriel had given the sailor his arm and was helping 
 him over the many steep places. "It is the thought of 
 his old father makes Gabriel do that," Bo said to himself. 
 
 Their road at first went toward the east, through a 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 119 
 
 lonely and bare mountain region where there were no 
 flowers. The rains had washed away all the soil, leav- 
 ing only the barren yellowish rock. 
 
 "Never have I seen so blue a sky as the one above 
 these yellow hills," thought Bo, "which, despite their 
 barrenness, are not ugly; they are so smooth and pret- 
 tily rounded — ^just like the big domes and cupolas of 
 the churches and homes in this land." 
 
 When the colonists had been tramping for about an 
 hour, they sighted the first rocky dell, covered with red 
 anemones. Laughing and shouting, they hurried down the 
 mountain-side and eagerly went to picking flowers. By- 
 and-by they came to another dell, which was full of violets, 
 then to another, where all kinds of spring flowers grew. 
 
 The Swedes at first were almost too eager; they tore up 
 the flowers regardlessly, until the Americans showed 
 them how to go about it. They were to pick and choose 
 only such flowers as were suitable for pressing, which 
 was something of a task. 
 
 Gertrude and Bo walked side. by side gathering flowers. 
 Once when Bo straightened his back to rest for a moment, 
 he saw a couple of stalwart yeoman from his homeland 
 who for many years had never so much as glanced at a 
 flower, plucking away as eagerly as the others. He could 
 hardly keep from laughing. Suddenly he turned and 
 said to Gertrude : 
 
 "I am pondering what Jesus meant when he said: 
 'Except ye become as little children, ye cannot enter the 
 Kingdom of Heaven.'" 
 
120 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Gertrude looked at Bo in surprise. It was so unusual 
 for him to address a remark to her. "They are strange 
 words," she replied. 
 
 "I have observed," said Bo, thoughtfully, "that chil- 
 dren are never so good as when they play at being grown 
 up. It's great fun to watch them plowing a field they 
 have staked out in the middle of the road and flourishing 
 their whips made of string over imaginary horses while 
 digging furrows in the road-sand with a pine-twig. They 
 are such amusing little beggars as they walk along talking 
 to themselves — ^wondering whether they will be finished 
 with their sowing before their neighbors, or complain- 
 ing that they have never worked a field so hard to plow." 
 
 Gertrude, bending over the flowers, went on plucking. 
 She could not imagine to what he was leading. 
 
 "I remember," Bo continued, "what fun I had when I 
 built a barn of wooden blocks and put pine-cones in it 
 for cows. I was always most particular to give the cows 
 new-mown hay every morning and evening and some- 
 times I would pretend it was spring, and time to drive my 
 live-stock to the sdter. Then I would blow my horn and 
 call so loudly for Star and Gold-lily that I could be heard 
 all over the farm. I used to tell my mother just how 
 much milk my cows gave and the price I expected to get 
 at the dairy for my butter. I also took care to place a 
 board over the eyes of my bull, and when people went 
 by I would shout, * Beware! this bull is vicious.' " 
 
 Now Gertrude was more interested in what Bo was 
 saying than in gathering flowers, for he seemed to have 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 121 
 
 the sort of thoughts and fancies that once filled her own 
 brain. 
 
 "But the best sport of all," he went on, "was when we 
 boys played at being men, and held a town council. I 
 remember how I and my brothers and two or three other 
 boys used to sit perched on a pile of boards in our yard, 
 the one who was chairman rapped on the boards with 
 a wooden-ladle for order, and the rest of us sat solemnly 
 on either side of him, and determined who was to receive 
 aid from the parish and what this or that one should 
 pay in taxes. We sat with our thumbs thrust into the 
 armholes of our waistcoats and spoke in thick voices, 
 as if our mouths were full of mush, and we always ad- 
 dressed one another as Mr. Chairman, Sexton, Church- 
 warden, Schoolmaster and Judge." 
 
 Bo paused a moment and kneaded his brow, as if he 
 had now come to that which he wanted to say. Ger- 
 trude had quit plucking flowers and was sitting on the 
 ground, her kerchief pushed back. She glanced at him, 
 expecting to hear something new and startling. 
 
 "Since it is a good thing for children to play they are 
 grown folk," he continued, "it may also be good for 
 grown-ups to play they are children once in a while. 
 When I see these old men, who at this season have always 
 been accustomed to work in the wild forest, cutting, 
 and hauling timber, going here intent upon such child's 
 play as picking flowers, it seems to me that we are following 
 Jesus' admonition to be as little children." 
 
 Gertrude's eyes beamed; she knew now what he 
 
122 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 meant, and the thought pleased her. "I think we have 
 all been transformed into children since coming here," 
 she said. 
 
 "Yes," laughed Bo, "we have been like children in 
 this, that we had to be taught all sorts of things. We've 
 had to learn how to hold our forks and spoons and to like 
 certain foods we had never before tasted. And at first 
 we were not allowed to go anjrwhere unless some of 
 them went along, for fear we'd lose our way, and we 
 were warned against people who might do us harm, 
 and against certain places where we must not go." 
 
 "We Swedes were exactly like babies learning to talk," 
 said Gertrude; "we had to be taught to say table, and 
 chair, and cupboard^ and before long I suppose we shall 
 be back at the school-bench again, learning to read this 
 new language." 
 
 Now they both became very eager to find fresh in- 
 stances of similarity. 
 
 "I've had to learn the names of the different trees, 
 just as my mother taught me when I was a lad. I have 
 learned to tell the knotted fig-tree from the twisted olive- 
 tree. And I have also learned to know a Turk by his 
 short jacket, a Bedouin by his striped mantle, a dervish 
 by his felt cap, and a Jew by the little corkscrew curls 
 at his ears." 
 
 "Yes, it is quite the same as when we, in our child- 
 hood, learned to know the Floda peasants and the Gagnef 
 peasants by their hats and coats." 
 
 "Could anything be more childlike than our letting 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 123 
 
 others do everything for us?" laughed Bo. "We have 
 no money of our own and if we want a penny to 
 spend, we must ask for it. Every time a fruit-vender 
 offers me an orange or a bunch of grapes, I feel as I felt 
 in my boyhood, when I was obliged to go past the candy- 
 stand at the county fair because I hadn't a copper in my 
 pocket." 
 
 "I verily believe we have been completely trans- 
 formed," said Gertrude. "If we went back to Sweden, 
 I'm sure our people would hardly know us." 
 
 "How can we help thinking that we have become 
 children," Bo rejoined, "when we must dig in a potato 
 patch the size of a barn floor, and then plow it with 
 an implement made from the limb of a tree, and have 
 only a little donkey for a horse? Instead of having real 
 farms to work, we play a bit at vine-growing." 
 
 Bo closed his eyes so that he could think with less effort. 
 It suddenly struck Gertrude that he had become wonder- 
 fully like Ingmar Ingmarsson. His whole face reflected 
 wisdom and thoughtfulness. 
 
 "However, all this is immaterial," said Bo. "The 
 vital thing is that our attitude toward life and our fellow 
 beings has become childUke, we think everyone wishes 
 us well, and that despite the fact that some people are 
 very hard upon us." 
 
 "Yes, it must have been more the state of mind Christ 
 was thinking of when he spoke those words," Gertrude 
 observed. 
 
 "Our minds have certainly been remoulded," said Bo. 
 
124 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Haven't you noticed that now, when vexations come, 
 we do not brood over them for days and weeks, but 
 forget all about them in a little while ? " 
 
 Just then someone called to them to come to breakfast. 
 Bo frowned; he could have walked and talked with 
 Gertrude the whole day without thought of food. He 
 had been so blissfully content all the morning that he 
 was beginning to feel the colonists were right in saying 
 that people need only live in peace and concord, as they 
 did, to be happy. "I'm quite satisfied with things as 
 they are," he mused. "Much as I think of Gertrude, 
 I no longer desire to ^marry her. All that agonizing 
 love-sickness that kept me in a state of torment in times 
 gone by has left me. Now, I'm quite satisfied and 
 happy if I can only see her every day and serve her." 
 
 Bo would have liked to tell Gertrude that he was 
 completely changed and felt quite like a child in every 
 way; but he was too bashful; he could not find the right 
 words. And all the way home he kept thinking to him- 
 self that he really ought to tell Gertrude about his altered 
 feelings, so that she would be more at ease in his company 
 and rely upon him as upon a brother. 
 
 They got back to the colony at sunset. Bo sat down 
 under an old sycamore tree outside the gate. He wanted 
 to remain out of doors as long as possible. When the 
 others had all gone in, Gertrude asked him if he too 
 would not come. 
 
 "I'm sitting here thinking of what we talked about 
 this morning," said Bo. "And I am wondering what 
 
"FLOWERS FROM PALESTINE" 125 
 
 would happen if Jesus were to pass this way, as He no 
 doubt often did when on earth, and come and sit under this 
 very tree, and say: 'Except ye become as little chil- 
 dren, ye cannot enter the Kingdom of God.'" There 
 was a note of dreaminess in Bo's voice; it was as if he were 
 thinking aloud, and Gertrude stood quietly listening. 
 
 Then, in a moment, he continued: "I should answer 
 Him and say: 'Lord, we help one another without ask- 
 ing anything in return, as do children, and if we get 
 angry at a brother, it is not for long; we're friends again 
 before night. Dost thou not see, Lord, that we are alto- 
 gether as children?'" 
 
 "And what do you think Jesus would answer?" asked 
 Gertrude tenderly. 
 
 "He would sit quite still and again say, *Ye must be 
 as children if ye would enter into My Kingdom.' And 
 I should say to him, just as I said before: 'Lord, we love 
 everyone as children love. We do not discriminate 
 between Jew and Armenian, between Turk and Bedouin, 
 between black and white. We love the wise and the 
 simple, high and low, and share our goods with Chris- 
 tians and Mohammedans alike. So is it not true. Lord, 
 that we are as children and may enter Thy Kingdom?'" 
 
 "What would Jesus answer to that?" 
 
 "Nothing. He would just sit there and tenderly repeat : 
 'Except ye become as little children, ye cannot enter My 
 Kingdom.' Now I know what He means, and I say to 
 Him: 'Lord, even in this am I become as a child, that 
 I no longer feel the sort of love I once felt, but my be- 
 
126 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 loved is to me as a playmate, a dear sister, with whom 
 I can wander in the green fields and pick flowers. Then, 
 Lord, am I not ?'" 
 
 Bo suddenly broke off, for he knew the instant these 
 words were uttered that he was lying. It was to him 
 as if Jesus were actually there looking into his very soul 
 and could see how his love rose within him, tearing at 
 his heart like some beast of prey because he would deny 
 its existence in the presence of his beloved. 
 
 He buried his face in his hands and groaned: "No, 
 Lord, I am not as a little child; I cannot enter Thy 
 Kingdom. Perhaps the others can, but I cannot quench 
 the fire in my soul and deaden the life in my body. Yet 
 if it be Thy will. Lord, I shall let this fire consume me 
 without seeking solace for my longings." 
 
 Bo sat long under the tree, weeping, overcome by 
 his love. When he at length looked up, Gertrude was 
 gone; she had slipped away so quietly he had not heard 
 her go. 
 
GEHENNA 
 
GEHENNA 
 
 OUTSIDE the walls of Jerusalem, on the southern 
 slope of Mount Zion, one of the American mis- 
 sionary societies had a cemetery, in which 
 the Gordonites had obtained permission to bury their 
 dead. Already many of their people rested there, from 
 Jacques Garnier, who had been a cabin-boy on the steam- 
 ship L'Univers and who was the first among the colonists 
 to pass away, to Edward Gordon himself, who died in the 
 spring, soon after his return from America. 
 
 It was the poorest and plainest burial place imagin- 
 able — only a small piece of ground surrounded by a wall 
 so high and thick it might have served as a fortification. 
 There was not a tree nor a blade of grass in the place, 
 but the ground was fairly well kept. Over the mounds 
 were flat slabs of limestone, of which there is a plenti- 
 ful supply in Jerusalem and at the side of some graves 
 were green chairs and benches. 
 
 Down in the eastern corner, where one could have a 
 fine view of the Dead Sea and the shining hills of Moab 
 but for the wall, were the graves of the Swedish colonists. 
 So many of them lay buried there that it almost seemed 
 as if our Lord had found that they had done enough for 
 Him in giving up their homes, and allowed them to enter 
 
 129 
 
I30 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 His Kingdom without requiring further sacrifices. Here 
 lay Birger Larsson, the smith, and Ljung Bjorn's Httle 
 son Eric and Gunhild and Brita Ingmarsson, who died 
 soon after that happy day when the colonists had gone 
 flower gathering. Here, too, rested Per Gunnarsson and 
 Martha Eskilsson, who had been members of Helgum's 
 community in America. Death the Reaper had gath- 
 ered in so many of these people that the situation was 
 becoming embarrassing to the colonists, who felt they 
 had already taken up too much ground in this crowded 
 churchyard. 
 
 Tims Halvor had buried one of his children there, 
 a little girl who was only three years old when she was 
 taken from him. He had been passionately fond of her, 
 and of all his children she was the most like him. Never 
 had he felt toward any other being what he felt toward 
 that child. Go where he would, do what he would, his 
 thoughts were always with her. 
 
 Had she died at home in Dalecarlia and been buried 
 in the parish churchyard, then perhaps it would have 
 gone less hard with him; but now he always had the 
 feeling that his little girl must be very lonely and un- 
 happy out there in that dreadful cemetery. At night 
 he seemed to see her sitting upon her little grave shiv- 
 ering in the cold, and crying that she was afraid in this 
 strange dark place. 
 
 One afternoon Halvor went down to the Valley of 
 Johoshaphat and gathered a lot of red anemones, the 
 brightest and prettiest he could find, to place on her 
 
GEHENNA 131 
 
 grave. As he walked along the green meadows he 
 thought: "If I only had my little girl here in this open 
 place, under a grassy mound, where she would not be 
 shut in by that awful wall!" He had always hated 
 the high wall round the cemetery; the very thought of 
 it made him feel as though he had locked the poor little 
 thing up in a cold dark house, with no one to care for 
 her. "I'm so cold and miserable, father," he seemed 
 to hear her moan. 
 
 Coming up from the valley, he went along the narrow 
 path outside the city wall toward the hill of Zion. The 
 burying-ground lay a little to the west of the Gate of 
 Zion, just below the big garden of the Armenians. And 
 all the while he was thinking of his child. 
 
 Suddenly he had a feeling that something here was 
 not as usual. Glancing up, he saw some men pulling 
 down a wall, and stopped to watch them. What were 
 they demoHshing? Was it a building or a stone hedge? 
 It must be over by the cemetery, or had he missed his 
 way? 
 
 It was some moments before he realized what was 
 happening. It was the high wall round the cemetery the 
 workmen were pulling down. 
 
 Halvor tried to persuade himself it was being razed 
 in order to extend the cemetery or perhaps to put up 
 iron railing. "It won't be so cold and damp in there 
 with the wall away," thought he. Then, all at once 
 a terrible fear came over him, and he began to run: 
 "I hope to God they haven't disturbed her grave! She 
 
132 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 lies just under the wall. I only hope they've done 
 nothing to her!" 
 
 He was quite out of breath as he clambered over the 
 heaps of stones into the graveyard. He saw now what 
 had happened there and felt at the same time that some- 
 thing had happened to his heart; it suddenly stopped, 
 then beat violently, whereupon it stopped again. It 
 acted like the works of a worn-out clock. 
 
 Halvor was obliged to sit down on a stone until he 
 could recover himself. By degrees his heart-beats be- 
 came more regular, though still heavy and labored. "I'm 
 not dead yet," he said to himself. "I shall probably 
 go on living a while longer." 
 
 Presently he got up and looked round the cemetery. 
 On the ground lay some bones and skulls that must 
 have fallen out of old cofi&ns. All the gravestones had 
 been piled in a corner. 
 
 "My God!" he exclaimed, "what have they done 
 with the dead?" He went up to the workmen and 
 asked them in Swedish what they had done with little 
 Greta — ^too dazed and appalled to know what he said 
 or did. 
 
 Then it struck him that he was speaking his native 
 tongue. Bewildered, he put his hand to his head in 
 an effort to pull himself together and remember who 
 and what he was; that he was no timorous child, but 
 a sensible man of years, that he had been a big farmer 
 to whom all the parish had once looked up. It would 
 never do for a man like him to lose his wits, he thought. 
 
GEHENNA 133 
 
 Halvor then asked in English why the cemetery had been 
 torn up. 
 
 The workmen were natives, but one, who knew a little 
 English, informed him that the American missionaries 
 had sold the ground to some Germans, who were going 
 to build a hospital there, and that was why they had to 
 dig up the dead. 
 
 Halvor stood pondering the man's reply. So they 
 were going to put up a hospital here! With all these 
 barren hills, it seemed strange that they could not have 
 found another spot for it, but must build just here. 
 What if the dead whom they had turned out of their 
 graves should come knocking at the door of the hospital 
 and beg to be let in? "We, too, want a bed here," they 
 would say, and there would be a long line of them stand- 
 ing there, with Birger Larsson, Gunhild, Baby Eric 
 and the rest — last of all his little girl. 
 
 He choked back the rising sobs, trying all the while 
 to appear unconcerned. He stood swinging his bouquet 
 of red anemones in a posture of assumed indiflFer- 
 ence. "But what has been done with the dead?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "The Americans have taken away their coffins," 
 replied the workman. "All who had any dead lying 
 here were notified to come and remove them." The 
 man stopped short and looked at Halvor. "Perhaps 
 you come from the big house outside the Damascus 
 gate? The people living there have not removed a 
 single body." 
 
134 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "No word of this has reached us," said Halvor, still 
 twirling his bouquet, though his face was tense with 
 the struggle to hide his feelings from these strangers. 
 
 "The ones that have not been taken away are lying 
 over yonder," said the man, pointing toward a spot 
 farther down the hill. "I'll show you the place so that 
 your people can come and bury them." 
 
 The man led the way, and Halvor followed, picking 
 up a stone as he stepped over the remnants of the wall. 
 Walking close behind his guide, Halvor said in Swedish: 
 "I should think the man would be afraid of me, and 
 keep at a safe distance? He helped to cast her out; he 
 threw my little Greta on a rubbish-heap. My little 
 Greta, who should have had a marble tomb to rest in, 
 was not even allowed to lie in peace in her wretched 
 gravel Perhaps it was this very man who dug her 
 out," muttered Halvor, balancing the stone in his hand. 
 "I'm tempted to smash that shaven pate" under the red 
 fez! I'll have you know," he said, as if addressing 
 his guide, "that that child was little Greta of Ingmar 
 Farm, who by rights should be resting beside Big Ingmar. 
 She came of good people and should have been allowed 
 to lie undisturbed in her own little grave till the end of 
 Time. Here they had not even a funeral feast for her 
 and the bells did not toll when she was carried to the 
 churchyard, and there was no regularly ordained pastor 
 to read the Burial-service. But for all that, what right 
 had you to turn her out of her grave? Even if I did not 
 prove a good father to her in those matters, understand 
 
GEHENNA 135 
 
 I'm not such a wretch as to condone your crime of turn- 
 ing her out of her grave." 
 
 Halvor raised his hand to hurl the stone, when the 
 workman suddenly turned to him and said: "Here they 
 are." 
 
 In the midst of refuse-heaps and ruins was a deep pit 
 into which the plain coffins of the colonists had been 
 carelessly thrown. Some old coffins had fallen apart 
 and the bodies inside were exposed to view. Others 
 had been placed on end and through their worm-eaten 
 lids protruded long withered hands that sepmed to be 
 trying to turn their coffins into proper position. 
 
 As Halvor stood looking down upoq all this the work- 
 man happened to notice his hand, which was clenched 
 about the stone so tightly that the finger-tips had turned 
 white, then he glanced at Halvor's face, in which he 
 must have read something dreadful, for with a cry of 
 terror he turned and fled. 
 
 But Halvor, completely unnerved by the sight he 
 beheld, no longer thought of the man. Most dreadful 
 of all was the sickening stench of decaying bodies that 
 filled the air. A pair of vultures hovered above the pit 
 waiting for the cover of darkness, to swoop down upon 
 the carrion. Some tramp dogs that had come running 
 sat upon their haunches at the edge of the deep grave 
 looking down, their tongues lolling far out of their jaws. 
 
 Then, to his horror, Halvor discovered that he was 
 on the slope leading to the Valley of Hinnom and close 
 to the place where once burned the fires of Gehenna. 
 
136 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "This is indeed Gehenna!" he exclaimed — "the abode 
 of terror." 
 
 He did not stand long looking toward Gehenna, but 
 instantly jumped into the pit, pushed the heavy coffins 
 to right and left, crawling in among the dead, search- 
 ing for his little Greta. When he at length found her 
 coffiin, he lifted it onto his shoulder and climbed out of 
 the pit'. 
 
 "She will never have to say of her father that he let 
 her stay the night in this horrible place. My precious 
 child," he crooned to the dead, "we didn't know of this. 
 None of us knew you were to be turned out of your 
 graves. Others were told what was to happen, but not 
 we. They think us of no account, that's why they 
 haven't troubled to let us know about it." 
 
 Now his heart hurt him again ; so he had to sit down 
 until the pain was gone. "Don't be uneasy, little one," 
 he said, "this will soon pass. Have no fear, for father 
 is strong enough to carry his little girl away from this 
 place." 
 
 In a while he felt better, and, taking up the coffin, he 
 went on toward Jerusalem. As he walked along the 
 narrow path outside the city wall, it seemed to him as 
 if ever3rthing were changed. The sight of the walls and 
 the ruins frightened him. To his mind they had become 
 singularly hostile and menacing. It was as if this strange 
 country and this strange city mocked at him. 
 
 "My child," he continued, "you mustn't be angry 
 at father for bringing you to this cruel land. If a thing 
 
GEHENNA 137 
 
 like this had happened at home, the forests would have 
 wept and the stones would have cried out, but this is a 
 pitiless land." 
 
 Halvor had to proceed very slowly on account of his 
 heart; its action was too faint to drive the blood through 
 his veins. He felt so weak and helpless. A wave of 
 despair swept over him at the thought of being so far 
 away in a foreign land, where no one would have com- 
 passion on him. Then, turning the corner, he tramped 
 on outside the eastern wall, below which lay the grave- 
 strewn Valley of Jehoshaphat. 
 
 "It is here the Last Judging will be held, when the 
 dead arise," he mused. "What will God say to me on 
 Doomsday for bringing my dear ones to this city of 
 death, and persuading relatives and friends to come to 
 this dreadful place? They will accuse me before God!" 
 He seemed to hear his countrymen raising their voices 
 against him: "We believed in him, and he took us to 
 a land where we are more despised than dogs; to a city 
 whose cruelty has killed us." 
 
 He tried to shake off these morbid thoughts, but 
 could not; he seemed to see all the perils and hardships 
 that lay before his comrades^— the dire poverty that must 
 inevitably overtake them, as they would not take pay 
 for their work. He thought of the trying climate, of 
 the sickness that would come upon them; of the strict 
 rules they had laid upon themselves, which must even- 
 tually bring about dissension and ruin. He felt weary 
 unto death. 
 
138 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "We can no more go on living in this wretched land 
 than we can till its soil or drink its water," he groaned. 
 Now he was so weak that he could hardly drag himself 
 along. 
 
 As the colonists sat at their evening meal they heard 
 a faint ring at the gate. 
 
 Tims Halvor, more dead than alive, was found sitting 
 on the ground outside. Beside him was his little 
 girl's coffin. He sat pulling out flowers from a large 
 bouquet of faded anemones and strewing them over the 
 cofiin. 
 
 Ljung Bjorn, who opened the gate, noticed that Hal- 
 vor was trying to say something, and bent down to 
 catch the words. 
 
 "They have thrown our dead out of their graves," 
 Halvor mumbled, "they are lying under the open sky 
 down in Gehenna. You must go this very night and 
 fetch them." 
 
 "What are you saying?" gasped Bjorn, who did not 
 understand what Halvor meant. 
 
 The dying man with extreme effort rose to his feet. 
 "They have turned our dead our of their graves, Bjorn. 
 All you men must go to Gehenna tonight and take them 
 away." When this was said, he fell back with a groan. 
 "I'm sick, Bjorn. There's something wrong with my 
 heart. I was afraid I might die before I could tell you 
 of this. I carried little Greta home, but I had to leave the 
 others." 
 
GEHENNA 139 
 
 Bjorn knelt down to lift Halvor. "Come, let me help 
 you in," he said, but Halvor did not hear him. 
 
 "Promise me, Bjorn, that little Greta shall be properly 
 buried. I don't want her to think she has a bad father." 
 
 "Yes, I promise," said Bjorn; "but won't you try to 
 come in now?" 
 
 Halvor's head sank low. "See that she is laid to rest 
 under a green mound," he whispered. "And lay me, too, 
 under a green mound." 
 
 Bjorn, seeing how ill Halvor was, hurried back to the 
 house for help, but when he returned Halvor was dead. 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 
 
 IT WAS a trying summer in Jerusalem, with drouth 
 and much sickness. The winter rains had been 
 very hght that year and the Holy City, which is 
 dependent upon them for its water supply, that collects 
 in the underground cisterns during the winter months, 
 was nearly out of water. When people had to resort to 
 the muddy, ill-smelling mixture at the bottom of these 
 cisterns sickness increased at an alarming rate. There 
 was hardly a house where some one had not been taken 
 down with typhoid; smallpox or climatic fever. 
 
 The Gordon colonists had a busy time of it, as nearly 
 all of them were attending to the sick. Those who had 
 lived for some years in Jerusalem seemed to be immune 
 to infection, and could go from patient to patient with- 
 out endangering their own health. The Swedish-Amer- 
 icans, who had weathered hot summers in Chicago, were 
 also able to withstand sickness and fatigue. But the 
 poor peasants from Dalecarlia nearly all fell ill. 
 
 At first they thought there was nothing much the 
 matter with them. They were up and about, but unable 
 to work, and although they suffered continually from 
 fever and were growing thin, none of them believed it 
 was anything more than a passing indisposition. The 
 
 143 
 
144 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 first week the widow of Berger Persson died, and shortly 
 afterwards one of her sons. In the meantime more of 
 the peasants were taken ill; it looked as if all the Dale- 
 carlians would soon be wiped out. 
 
 The sick people craved for but one thing; they begged 
 all the while for water — for just a mouthful of pure fresh 
 water. They said it was the only medicine they needed 
 to make them well again. 
 
 Then if one offered them cistern water they turned 
 away and would not taste it. Although the water had 
 been filtered and cooled they fancied it had a musty 
 smell and an acrid taste. A few who tried to drink of 
 it were seized with violent pains, and imagined they 
 had been poisoned. 
 
 One morning, when this epidemic was at its worst, 
 some of the men were sitting in the shadow of the house 
 talking together. Their hollow cheeks and dull, blood- 
 shot eyes told plainly that they were fever victims. 
 
 They sat with idle hands gazing at the clear blue sky, 
 and not even the smallest cloud that appeared on the 
 horizon escaped their notice. They knew well that no 
 rain was expected for several months, but instantly a 
 filmy cloud was seen, they looked for a miracle in the 
 guise of rain. "Perhaps God will soon send us relief," 
 they thought. 
 
 While following with their eyes a growing cloudlet 
 in its passage across the sky they talked of how it would 
 seem to hear big drops beating against the walls and 
 windows, and to see water gushing from the rain-pipes. 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 145 
 
 flushing the road and carrying with it pebbles and sand. 
 They determined not to seek shelter from the shower, 
 should it come, but to sit still and let the rain pour down 
 upon them. They felt that they, Hke the dry soil, needed 
 to be soaked through. 
 
 As the cloud rose higher it grew smaller and seemed 
 to fade away. First the fleecy edges disappeared, then 
 the cloud itself broke at the centre, separating into faint 
 lines, that soon vanished entirely. 
 
 When the peasants could no longer see the cloud they 
 were in despair. The older men, enfeebled by illness, 
 put their hands over their eyes, so that if they could 
 not keep back the rising tears no one would see them 
 weep. 
 
 Ljung Bjorn Olafsson, who, since the death of Tims 
 Halvor, had become the leading spirit among the Swedes, 
 tried to hearten the others. He talked to them about the 
 brook of Kedron that in olden times flowed through the 
 Valley of Jehoshaphat and gave to Jerusalem an abundant 
 water supply. Taking his Bible from his pocket, he 
 read all the passages where there was any mention of the 
 brook of Kedron, picturing to them what a big and 
 mighty stream it had been; how in summer it had turned 
 mill-wheels and in winter overflowed its banks and 
 watered the whole country-side. 
 
 It was evident that Ljung Bjorn derived comfort from 
 telling about the great stream that once flowed past 
 Jerusalem, for it was always in his thoughts. He dwelt 
 particularly upon that chapter which tells of David 
 
146 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 wading across the brook of Kedron when fleeing from 
 Absalom and he described how it would feel to walk 
 with bare feet in cool, running water. "To me that 
 would be almost better than drinking it," he said. 
 
 Ljung Bjorn was still talking about Kedron, when his 
 brother-in-law, Bullet Gunner, cut him short. Gun- 
 ner declared that he did not care to hear about an old 
 brook long since dried up. All through this time of 
 sore trial he had been pondering a prophecy of Ezekiel. 
 It was about a river that would issue from the threshold 
 of the temple and flow over the dry plain as far as the 
 Dead Sea. As he talked his eyes gleamed and he shook 
 back his black forelock, that kept falling over his eyes. 
 He spoke in a way that made the peasants see the waters 
 come flowing down from Jerusalem; they- glided on, 
 softly rippUng over the stones of the many little creeks 
 in the green meadows. On the banks grew poplars and 
 willows and thick-leaved succulent plants hung down 
 over the surface of the water, which glistened and purled 
 as it flowed over the white stones at the bottom. 
 
 "And this must come to pass," cried Gunner fer- 
 vently. "It is a promise from God which has not yet 
 been fulfilled. I've been thinking that perhaps the ful- 
 fillment may come today, or tomorrow." 
 
 Whereupon Gabriel, who was also there, became eagerly 
 interested. He borrowed Ljung Bjorn's Bible and read 
 aloud some verses from the Book of Chronicles. "Lis- 
 ten to this," he said; "it is the most remarkable thing I 
 have ever heard." And then he read how in the days 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 147 
 
 of Hezekiah there came word that Sennacherib, with all 
 his hosts, was approaching to besiege Jerusalem, and 
 how Hezekiah took council with his princes and his 
 mighty men, and how they all said it would not be well 
 if the Assyrians should find much water here when they 
 came to besiege the city. Then Hezekiah with his 
 hosts went forth and stopped the waters outside Jeru- 
 salem, both the great brook that ran through the midst 
 of the land and all the fountains. 
 
 When he had finished he looked out at the barren 
 fields around the colony. "I have been pondering this 
 narrative a long while," he said, "and have asked the 
 Americans about it. Now I'm going to tell you what 
 I've learned." 
 
 Gabriel spoke with ease and fluency, just as his father. 
 Hok Matts, spoke when the spirit moved him to preach, 
 Ordinarily Gabriel was no speaker, but now, with the 
 fever raging in his veins, the words flowed freely from his 
 lips. 
 
 "The Americans told me that in the reign of King 
 Hezekiah this mountain plain was covered with trees and 
 bushes. No corn grew in the stony soil, but there were 
 many gardens here, gardens full of pomegranates and 
 apricot trees, of saff"ron and cinnamon and calmus trees, 
 of kofer shrubs and nardus plants — of every kind of 
 choice fruit and fragrant herb. All these trees and plants 
 were well watered; from rivers and brooks water flowed 
 into every garden, and each day at a given hour the 
 owners were allowed to flood their gardens. 
 
148 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "One morning, when all the trees were In richest 
 bloom, Hezekiah, with his men, went forth from the city. 
 As he passed through the gafdens the almond and apricot 
 trees showered their blossoms upon him. The air was 
 heavy with sweet fragrances when Hezekiah went forth, 
 and when he returned, at the close of the day, the trees 
 again saluted him with their balmy sweetness. 
 
 "But that day King Hezekiah had stopped all the 
 fountains of Jerusalem and the great brook that flowed 
 through the midst of the land. The next day there 
 was no water in the little creeks which had fed the 
 roots of the trees. Some weeks later, when the trees 
 should have borne fruit, they had no vitality, and put 
 forth but little; and when the leaves sprang out they 
 were small and shriveled. 
 
 "After that evil times came upon Jerusalem — wars 
 and dire calamities. There was no time to open the 
 fountains again and lead the great stream back to its bed. 
 So the fruit trees on the hillsides surrounding the city 
 died, some in the first summer drouth, others in the 
 second, and the few remaining ones in the third. The 
 land round about Jerusalem became a barren waste, 
 as it is to this day." 
 
 Gabriel picked up a flint and began to bore the ground 
 with it, "But it happened," he continued, "that the 
 Jews on their return from Babylon could not find the 
 place where the brook had been, nor could they find the 
 choked fountain-springs. Not in all this time has any- 
 one been able to locate them. 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 149 
 
 "But we who sit here pining for water, why cannot 
 we look for Hezekiah's fountains? Why do not we 
 search for the great brook and all the springs? Could 
 we but find them, trees would again grow on these rocky 
 slopes and this land would become rich and fruitful. It 
 would be far better than finding gold." 
 
 When Gabriel had finished speaking the others pon- 
 dered his words; they conceded that it might be as he had 
 said — that the great brook could perhaps be found; but 
 no one made a move to begin the search, not even Gabriel 
 himself. It was plain that he had only talked to quiet 
 his longings. 
 
 Then Bo Ingmar Mansson, who had sat silent the 
 whole time listening to the others, spoke. He did not 
 have the fever, but no one was more anxious to find fresh 
 water than he; for Gertrude, too, had fallen ill, and lay 
 craving for water. So he, like the others, could think 
 of nothing but fountains and streams. 
 
 "My thoughts are not upon such sacred and wonderful 
 waters as yours," said Bo quietly, "but from morning 
 to night I dream of a shining river whose waters run 
 clear, and fresh, and pure." 
 
 The peasants looked up in eager suspense. 
 
 "I'm thinking of a stream, fed by many brooks and 
 creeks, whose waters flow down from the dark forest so 
 clear and transparent that one can see all the glittering 
 pebble-stones that form its bed. And that stream is 
 not dried up like Kedron, nor is it a mere phantasy, like 
 the river of Ezekiel, nor impossible to find, like Heze- 
 
ISO THE HOLY CITY 
 
 kiah's brook, but it flows and surges. I'm thinking of 
 the Dal river." 
 
 The men said not a word. They sat silent, with eyes 
 downcast. At the mention of the Dal river all thought 
 of the lost fountains and streams of Palestine vanished 
 from their minds. 
 
 That day, at noon, another death occurred. It was 
 one of the Gunnar children that died — a bright little 
 lad who had endeared himself to them all. Yet none 
 of the Swedes seemed to mourn for the child; instead 
 they were filled with terror. To them the little dead boy 
 lay there as a sign that they could never recover from 
 this illness. 
 
 There were the usual hasty preparations for the burial. 
 The men who made the coflan wondered who would do 
 that work for them, and the women who dressed the 
 body talked of how they wanted to be laid out. "Re- 
 member, in case you outlive me," said one woman to the 
 other, "that I'd like to be buried in my own clothes." 
 "And bear in mind," said the other, "that I want black 
 crepe on the coffin, and want to be buried with my wed- 
 ding-ring." 
 
 In the midst of the funeral arrangements a whisper 
 passed through the colony. No one knew who had 
 started it, but once it was in the air it set them all think- 
 ing. As often happens, they thought at first that what 
 had been suggested was not feasible, but by and by it 
 impressed them as being the only sensible course to 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 151 
 
 pursue. Soon all the colonists, both Swedes and Amer- 
 icans — sick and hale — ^were saying that the Dalecarlians 
 should be sent back to their homeland. 
 
 The Americans feared that all these peasants would 
 die if they remained in Jerusalem. However regrettable 
 it might be to have so many good people leave the colony, 
 they felt that it would be far better for them to go home 
 and serve the cause of God in their own country than to 
 perish here. 
 
 The Swedes at first felt that they could not tear them- 
 selves away from this land, with its sacred places and mem- 
 ories. They trembled at the thought of again being 
 thrust out into the world of unrest and strife, after the 
 peaceful and sheltered community life of the colony. 
 Some declared they would rather die than leave. Then 
 came thoughts of home, insistent and beguiling. "Per- 
 haps, after all, we might as well go," they said now. 
 
 Suddenly they heard the bell that usually called the 
 colonists to prayers, and knew it meant that they should 
 assemble in the meeting-room. They were startled 
 and much perturbed, for they understood, of course, 
 that Mrs. Gordon was calling them together in order 
 to consult with them about ^the matter of their home- 
 going. They did not know themselves just what they 
 wished to do, but the mere thought that they could 
 get away from all this sickness and death brought 
 with it a sense of relief. Some, who were very ill, 
 actually got up and dressed, that they might attend the 
 meeting. 
 
1 52 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 There was no such quietude and orderliness as pre- 
 vailed at regular meetings. Instead of sitting down, 
 as usual, people stood about in groups, talking. They 
 were all more or less agitated, none more so than Hel- 
 gum, he who had persuaded the Dalecarlians to come 
 to Jerusalem. Realizing fully the weight of responsi- 
 bility he had taken upon himself, he went from one to 
 another, urging them to go back to Sweden. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon looked worn and troubled. She seemed so 
 undecided as to what should be done that she dreaded 
 to open the meeting. They had never seen her hesitate 
 like this. 
 
 The Dalecarlians were for the most part silent. They 
 were too weak and ill to think for themselves, and stood 
 waiting for the others to decide for them. 
 
 The young American women felt so sorry for these 
 suffering people that they wept, and implored their com- 
 patriots to send the Swedes home rather than let them 
 remain here to die. 
 
 While this matter was eagerly discussed, for and 
 against, the door opened softly and Karin Ingmarsson 
 entered. 
 
 Karin had aged perceptibly. She was now quite frail 
 and bent. Her face had grown thin and haggard and 
 her hair had turned almost white. Since the death of 
 her husband, Halvor Halvorsson, she had rarely been 
 known to leave her room, where she sat all day long in a 
 big easy-chair Halvor had made for her. Now and then 
 she would mend or sew a little for the two children still 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 153 
 
 left to her; but most of the time she sat with her hands 
 crossed, gazing straight before her. 
 
 No one could enter a room more modestly than did 
 Karin, but now, for some reason, they all ceased talking 
 when she appeared, and turned to look at her. She stole 
 quietly up the side aisle to where Mrs. Gordon was stand- 
 ing, and the latter greeted her with outstretched hand. 
 
 "We are gathered here to talk over this matter of 
 sending you home," Mrs. Gordon told her. "How do 
 you feel about it, Karin?" 
 
 For an instant Karin seemed overcome. Then into 
 her tired eyes came a look of intense longing. She saw, 
 as in a vision, the old farm, and herself sitting once more 
 by the open fire in the living-room, or standing at the 
 gate of a spring morning to watch the cows go out to 
 pasture. 
 
 This lasted but a moment. Karin immediately drew 
 herself up and her face took on its habitual expression of 
 stolid endurance. "There's one thing I should hke to 
 know,'-" she said in English, loud enough for all to hear. 
 "It was the voice of God that called us to Jerusalem; 
 has anyone heard the voice of God command us to 
 return?" 
 
 There was a dead silence. No one had a word to say. 
 
 Karin, like all the rest, was suffering from fever, and 
 had barely finished speaking when she swayed, as if 
 about to fall. Mrs. Gordon quickly caught her in her 
 arms and led her away. 
 
 As Karin went past a group of peasants from her own 
 
154 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 parish, one or two nodded to her and said: "Thank 
 you for that, Karin." 
 
 The moment she had left the room the Americans again 
 spoke of sending the Swedes home, as if nothing had 
 occurred. The Dalecariians, without a word, quietly 
 moved toward the door. 
 
 "Why are you going?" said one of the Americans. 
 "The meeting is about to begin; we are only waiting for 
 Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 "Don't you know that everything has already been 
 settled?" replied Ljung Bjorn. "You needn't hold 
 any meeting on our account. We came near to forgetting, 
 but now we remember, that no one save God can order 
 our comings and goings." 
 
 The Americans observed in astonishment that Ljung 
 Bjorn and his fellow countrymen held their heads higher 
 now, and did not look so despondent and ill as when 
 they entered the room. Their strength and courage had 
 returned when the way they must take was made clear. 
 They no longer thought of fleeing from peril. 
 
 Gertrude lay ill in the little chamber which she once 
 shared with Gunhild. It was a bright and cosy room. 
 Gabriel and Bo had made all the furniture, which was 
 more decorative than that of the other rooms. The 
 white curtains at the windows and the bed hangings Ger- 
 trude had herself woven and hem-stitched and edged 
 with lace. 
 
 Since the death of Gunhild, Betsy Nelson, a Swedish- 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 155 
 
 American girl, had been Gertrude's room-mate. Betsy 
 was devoted to Gertrude and now that the latter lay ill 
 she nursed her with rare tenderness. 
 
 In the late afternoon of the day the Dalecarlians 
 had decided to remain in Jerusalem, Gertrude was in 
 a high fever, and talked incessantly. Betsy, who sat 
 at the bedside of the sick girl, tried to soothe her. 
 
 Presently the door opened very gently and in came Bo; 
 he entered as quietly' as possible, and did not come for- 
 ward, but stopped just inside the door. Gertrude was 
 apparently unconscious of his presence, but Betsy quickly 
 turned round to order him out of the sick-room. But 
 when she saw Bo's face she felt sorry for him. "The 
 poor man surely thinks that Gertrude is going to die!" 
 she thought. "I suppose he feels that there is no hope 
 for her now that her people are to remain in Jerusalem." 
 She saw at once that Bo was in love with Gertrude. 
 "I'd better let him stay," she thought. "Anyhow, I 
 haven't the heart to deny him the comfort of seeing her 
 while he can." 
 
 So Bo was allowed to remain just inside the door. 
 He could hear every word Gertrude said. Her fever 
 was not so high as to make her quite delirious, but she 
 talked continually of rivers and wells, like all the other 
 sick people, and complained that she was suffering agonies 
 from the burning thirst that never left her. 
 
 Betsy poured some water into a glass, and offered it 
 to her. "Drink this, dear," she said, "it isn't bad." 
 
 Gertrude raised her head a little from the pillow, seized 
 
iS6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 the glass with both hands and put it to her lips. Then 
 she drew back, without even tasting the water. "Don't 
 you notice how horribly it smells?" she whimpered. 
 "Do you want me to die?" 
 
 "The water is both tasteless and odourless," Betsy as- 
 sured her. "It has been thoroughly boiled and filtered, 
 so that the sick may safely drink it." 
 
 Betsy tried her best to make her drink, but Gertrude 
 pushed the glass away so violently that half its contents 
 were spilled on the coverlet. 
 
 "I'm sick enough already, without your trying to 
 poison me," moaned Gertrude. 
 
 "If you would only take a few sips of this water you'd 
 soon feel better," Betsy persisted. 
 
 Gertrude suddenly broke into sobs. 
 
 "My precious child, you mustn't cry like that!" 
 soothed Betsy. 
 
 "It seems dreadful that no one can fetch me some 
 water that's fit to drink; that I must lie here and die of 
 thirst without a soul to take pity on me." 
 
 "You know, dear, that we will gladly do everything 
 we can for you," said Betsy, with a caress. 
 
 "Then why don't you fetch me some water? I'm 
 only suffering from thirst. I'd feel all right again if I 
 could just have a drink of fresh water." 
 
 "There is no better water than this to be found in 
 Jerusalem," sighed Betsy mournfully. 
 
 Gertrude took no notice of this, but went on com- 
 plaining: "It wouldn's seem so hard if one did not know 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 157 
 
 there was good water to be had. To think that one 
 must lie here and perish with thirst, when right here in 
 Jerusalem there is a whole well full of pure fresh water!" 
 
 Bo started at that and glanced questioningly at Betsy, 
 who, with a shrug, shook her head as much as to say, 
 that is just something she imagines. 
 
 As Bo still looked wonderingly at her, Betsy tried to 
 make Gertrude explain what she meant. "I doubt that 
 there is any really good water to be found in Jerusalem at 
 this time," she said to draw Gertrude out. 
 
 "It seems strange, Betsy, that you should have such a 
 poor memory! Or perhaps you were not with us the day 
 we visited the place where Solomon's Temple once 
 stood?" 
 
 "Indeed I was." 
 
 "Then if you remember, it was not in Omar's Mosque — 
 the beautiful building at the center of the square — " said 
 Gertrude thoughtfully, "but in that ugly old mosque 
 at one end, that we found a well." 
 
 "Yes, I remember," said Betsy, "but I don't see why 
 you should think the water there better than elsewhere 
 in the city." 
 
 "It is hard to have to talk so much when I have such 
 a burning thirst," Gertrude complained. "You should 
 have listened when Miss Young told us about the well." 
 
 Even though it caused her agony to speak with Hps 
 dry and throat parched she began to narrate what she 
 had heard about the well. "That is the only well in 
 Jerusalem where there is always good water," she said. 
 
1 58 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "And this is due' to the fact that its springs are in Para- 
 dise." y 
 
 "How can you or anyone else know that?" asked 
 Betsy, with a smile. 
 
 "But I do," replied Gertrude earnestly. "Miss Young 
 told us how once during a severe summer drouth a poor 
 water-carrier went into the old mosque for water. He 
 hung his bucket on a hook at the end of the well-rope 
 and lowered it. But when the bucket touched the 
 surface of the water it slipped off the hook and sank to the 
 bottom. Of course the man did not want to lose his 
 bucket; so he hastened to fetch two other water-carriers 
 and got them to lower him into the well." Gertrude 
 raised herself on her elbow and looked at Betsy with 
 feverish eyes. "He went very far down, you understand, 
 and the lower he went down the more surprised he was; 
 for from the bottom of the well came a soft light. When 
 he at last felt firm ground under him the water had dis- 
 appeared, and he found himself standing in a beautiful 
 garden. Neither sun nor moon shone there, but a mellow, 
 dawnlike light rested over the place, so that he could see 
 it all quite distinctly. The strangest thing was that 
 everything down there appeared to be asleep. The petals 
 of all the flowers were closed, the leaves of the trees were 
 folded and the grass lay limp on the ground. The most 
 glorious trees stood sleeping, their crowns resting the one 
 against the other, and the birds sat motionless on the 
 branches. Nothing down there was either red or green; 
 but everything looked gray as ashes — yet it was very 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 159 
 
 beautiful, understand." Gertrude pictured it all with 
 extreme particularity, anxious that Betsy should be 
 convinced. 
 
 "What happened to the man after that?" 
 
 "For a moment he stood wondering where he was; 
 then he began to fear that the men who had let him 
 down would lose patience if he stayed too long. But 
 before allowing himself to be drawn up he went over to 
 the biggest and loveliest tree in the whole garden and 
 broke a branch bfFto take with him." 
 
 "I should think he might have stayed a little longer 
 in the garden," said Betsy, smiling, but Gertrude took 
 no notice of the interruption. "When he came up 
 again," she went on, "he told the men of what he had seen, 
 and showed them the branch from the garden below. 
 Just think! the moment the branch came into the light 
 and air it began to live. The leaves unfolded; they 
 lost their gray look and became fresh and green. The 
 other water-carriers knew then that he had been down 
 to the Garden of Paradise, which lies slumbering under 
 Jerusalem awaiting the Day of Judgment, when it will 
 rise again with new glory and splendour." Gertrude 
 now breathed heavily and sank back upon her pillow. 
 
 "Dear child, you'll tire yourself talking so much," 
 said Betsy. 
 
 "I must talk so that you will understand why there 
 is good water in that well. Of course no one would 
 have believed that the man had been to Paradise if he 
 had not brought the branch back with him, for that little 
 
i6o THE HOLY CITY 
 
 branch was not like any of the trees of this earth. Natur- 
 ally the other water-carriers immediately wanted to go 
 down the well to see Paradise; but by that time the 
 water had returned, and however deep they dived they 
 could not reach the bottom." 
 
 "Then no one else has seen Paradise?" 
 
 "No; but from that day the well has never run dry 
 and though many, oh, ever so many have tried it, no 
 one else has succeeded in reaching the bottom." Ger- 
 trude sighed deeply^ then she began afresh: "I suppose 
 it isn't intended that we shall see Paradise in this life." 
 
 "I suppose not," Betsy assented. 
 
 "But for us the important thing is to know that it lies 
 peacefully waiting for us." 
 
 "To be sure," said Betsy. 
 
 "And now you surely understand that there must al- 
 ways be pure fresh water in the well whose springs are 
 in Paradise." 
 
 "Dear heart! I only wjsh I could get you some of that 
 water!" said Betsy wistfully. 
 
 Just then Betsy's little sister came to the door and 
 beckoned to her. "Mother has been taken ill and is 
 calling for you," said the child. 
 
 Betsy hesitated a moment; she did not see how she 
 could leave Gertrude. Then she thought of Bo, who was 
 still standing down by the door. "You can stay here with 
 Gertrude till I come back, can't you ? " she said to him. 
 
 "Yes," replied Bo. "I'll look after her as well as I 
 can." 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE i6i 
 
 "Try to make her drink a little water, to take her mind 
 from the thought that she will die of thirst," Betsy whis- 
 pered to him before leaving. 
 
 Bo sat down in the chair beside the bed. It was all 
 the same to Gertrude whether he or Betsy sat there; she 
 went right on talking about the Well of Paradise, and 
 lay picturing to herself how pure and fresh and cooling 
 its water must be. 
 
 "You see. Bo, I can't make Betsy believe the water in 
 that well is better than that in any other well in Jerusalem. 
 That is why she won't try to get me some." 
 
 Bo had become very thoughtful. In a while he said: 
 "I wonder if I shouldn't go fetch you a little of that 
 water." 
 
 Gertrude in alarm gripped him by the coat-sleeve, to 
 hold him back. "No, no! you mustn't do it. I only 
 complain to Betsy because I'm so thirsty. I know 
 well enough that she can't get me any water from 
 the Well of Paradise. Miss Young has told us that 
 the Mohammedans look upon it as something so sacred 
 that they never allow any Christian to take water 
 from it." 
 
 "I could dress myself up as a Mohammedan," Bo 
 suggested. 
 
 "Don't think of such a thing!" cried Gertrude. "That 
 would be very foolish of you." 
 
 However, Bo could not dismiss the thought. "If I 
 were to speak to the old cobbler who mends our shoes, 
 I'm sure he would let me wear his clothes." 
 
i62 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Gertrude lay quietly thinking a moment; then she 
 said: "Is the cobbler here today?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Bo. 
 
 "Anyhow, nothing will come of it," sighed Gertrude. 
 
 "I had better be off at once," said Bo. "This late in 
 the day there's no fear of my being sunstruck." 
 
 " But aren't you dreadfully afraid ? You must know that 
 if they recognize you as a Christian they will kill you." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not a bit afraid," laughed Bo. "Once I 
 am properly fitted out with a red fez and white turban and 
 get my feet into a pair of shabby yellow slippers and my 
 blouse tucked up the way water-carriers wear theirs, 
 no one will ever guess that I'm not a son of Islam." 
 
 "What will you fetch the water in?" 
 
 "I'll take two of our big copper buckets and hang 
 them on a yoke laid across my shoulders." 
 
 Bo could see that the very thought of his going to 
 fetch water had put new life into Gertrude, though she 
 still continued to protest. At the same time it struck 
 him how impossible the whole thing was. "How could 
 I get water at the mosque?" thought he — "a place so 
 sacred to the Mohammedans that a Christian may 
 hardly set foot in it? The brethren in the colony would 
 not consent to my attempting anything of the kind, 
 however much I might like to. Besides, it wouldn't 
 help matters if I went, for the water in the Well of Para- 
 dise is probably just as bad as the rest of the water 
 here." 
 
 While he sat pondering this he was surprised to hear 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 163 
 
 Gertrude say: "At this time of day there are not many 
 people out on the road." 
 
 "She evidently expects me to go," thought Bo. "Now 
 I'm in a pretty fix! Gertrude seems so hopeful that I dare 
 not tell her this thing can't be done. Yes — you are 
 right," he said hesitatingly; "I'll have no trouble what- 
 ever until I come to the Damascus gate, unless I happen 
 to meet some of the colonists." 
 
 "They may perhaps forbid your going," said Gertrude, 
 in alarm. 
 
 Bo was about to say something to that effect, but see- 
 ing how troubled Gertrude was, he weakened. "There's 
 no fear of their stopping me," he replied in a cheery voice, 
 "for they won't even recognize me, coming dressed as a 
 water-carrier, with the big copper buckets dangling 
 about my legs." 
 
 Gertrude seemed reassured. Her thoughts at once 
 took a fresh turn. "Those buckets must hold a lot!" 
 
 "You'd better believe they do," said Bo. "You 
 couldn't drink up all the water they can hold in days and 
 days." 
 
 Gertrude looked at him with eyes that fairly begged 
 him to continue. 
 
 "Once inside the Damascus gate I shall have some 
 difficulty getting past the crowds," he told her. 
 
 "The other water-carriers manage to do it." 
 
 "Well, you see, it isn't only people that block the 
 way, there are camels too." Bo tried to bring up all 
 possible obstacles. 
 
i64 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Do you think you'll be long getting back?" asked 
 the sick girl anxiously. 
 
 Bo felt that it would never do to tell Gertrude how 
 impossible the whole thing was. So he said: "With the 
 buckets full of water, I might have to wait a while, 
 but now that they are empty I can slip through, between 
 the camels." 
 
 Gertrude put out a thin hand and stroked Bo's hand. 
 "It is so good of you to go and fetch water for me," she 
 said in the softest voice. 
 
 "God forgive me for making her think I can do it!" 
 he murmured. As Gertrude continued to caress his hand 
 he went on to tell her how he would proceed, as though 
 he were really on his way. "Now, I'll go straight on till 
 I come to the Via Dolorosa." 
 
 "There are never any crowds in that street," said Ger- 
 trude jubilantly. 
 
 "No; there I'm not likely to meet anyone except a few 
 old nuns, and can continue without stopping till I get 
 down to the seraglio and the prison." Bo paused a mo- 
 ment. Gertrude still caressed his hand. It was to him as 
 a silent prayer to go on. "I verily believe that just my 
 talking of going for water makes her feel less thirsty. 
 Now I must tell her all that happens along the way." 
 
 "There's a big crowd in front of the prison. A police- 
 man is dragging a thief along to lock him up. Every- 
 body is talking about the arrest." 
 
 "But you'll hurry by as fast as you can, won't you?" 
 said Gertrude. 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 165 
 
 "If I do that every one will know that I'm not a native. 
 No, I must stop a while and listen, as if I understood all 
 they said." 
 
 "When you don't understand a word of it?" 
 
 "Oh, I understand enough to know the talk is about 
 one caught stealing. As there is no more excitement 
 to be got out of that thief, the crowd scatters and I move 
 on. Now I have only to pass through a dark archway, 
 and I'm at the Temple Square. As I try to step over 
 a youngster lying asleep in the middle of the path a boy 
 trips me and I begin to swear in Swedish. Now I am 
 frightened at myself, and look furtively at the young 
 ones to see whether they noticed anything; but they 
 lie weltering in the dirt — lazy and indifferent as before." 
 
 Gertrude's hand still rested on Bo's — ^which made him 
 so extravagantly happy that he could have said or done 
 anything in the world to please her. It seemed to him as 
 if he were telling a child a fairy-story, and for the sheer 
 fun of it he embellished the tale more and more. "I 
 shall have to make as much of this thing as I can," 
 he thought, " as it seems to amuse her. Later I must try 
 to get out of it in some way. Now I find myself in the 
 large open Temple Square in the sunlight. I must con- 
 fess that for the moment I can't think of you or the well 
 or the water I'm to fetch." 
 
 "What in the world has happened.?" asked Gertrude, 
 smiling at Bo. 
 
 "Nothing has happened," he said, with positive assur- 
 ance; "but it is so light and beautiful and peaceful out 
 
i66 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 here, so different from the dingy town I have just passed 
 through, that I only want to stand and look about. There 
 is so much to be seen here — the splendid Mosque of Omar, 
 standing on the raised ground in the centre, and the many 
 pavilions and archways and stairways and enclosed wells. 
 Then, too, think of all the sacred memories this place holds ! 
 Standing on the site of the old Temple of the Jews, I wish 
 the paving-stones could speak and tell me of all that has 
 transpired here." 
 
 " But isn't it very imprudent of you to stand there so 
 long, considering how foreign you look ? " 
 
 "Gertrude wants me to hurry home with that water," 
 thought Bo. "Strange how eager she is. I believe she 
 imagines I'm on my way to the Well of Paradise." And 
 indeed it was the same with himself; for he had become 
 so absorbed in his story that he seemed to see before him 
 the whole Temple Square, and talked of the make-believe 
 adventures as though they were actual happenings. 
 
 "Nor do I stand still very long, but hurry past Omar's 
 Mosque; past the great dark cypress trees to the south, 
 and past the big reservoir, which is said to be the copper 
 vessel from Solomon's Temple. Everywhere I see people 
 lying about on the pavements, basking in the sunshine. 
 Here and there I come upon children at play and idlers 
 asleep. A dervish sheik is sitting on the ground sur- 
 rounded by his disciples. As he talks to them he bends 
 forward and back, forward and back, and as I stand watch- 
 ing him the thought comes to me that Jesus once sat in 
 this very Temple Place, teaching His disciples. Suddenly 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 167 
 
 the dervish sheik looks up at me. You can imagine how 
 frightened I am! He has big dark eyes that look straight 
 through me." 
 
 "I only hope he won't see that you are not a regular 
 water-carrier!" said Gertrude. 
 
 "He doesn't appear to be in the least surprised at see- 
 mg me; but now I have to pass by two real water-carriers 
 drawing water from a well. As they call to me, I glance 
 back and motion to them that I'm going into the mosque." 
 
 "What if they should suspect you that you are not a 
 Mussulman .? " 
 
 "They are not looking my way now, but stand talk- 
 ing and laughing." 
 
 "Maybe they see something that's funnier than you 
 are." 
 
 "Maybe. Ah! Now at last I'm at the old mosque 
 El Aksa, where the Well of Paradise is. And at the gate 
 standing close together are the twin pillars of which it has 
 been said that no one can pass between them save he 
 who is without sin. So I shall not attempt to squeeze 
 myself through to-day, when I'm out to steal water." 
 
 "How can you say that?" Gertrude protested. "Why, 
 what you are now doing is the kindest thing you've ever 
 done in all your life." She had just enough fever not 
 to be able to distinguish between the actual and the 
 seeming, and fully believed that Bo had gone to get 
 water for her from the Well of Paradise. 
 
 "I take oflF my sHppers to go into the mosque." Bo 
 was astonished at the ease with which he made up this 
 
i68 THE HOLY CITV 
 
 tale. But he dreaded the moment when he would have 
 to tell Gertrude that in reality he could not get her the 
 water. "Coming in, I see the well to the left amid a 
 forest of pillars. Above it thete is a windlass, with a rope 
 and hook, so it's easy to lower and fill the buckets. And 
 indeed it is pure, clear water I'm drawing here. * Wait 
 till Gertrude sees and tastes it,' I say to myself, 'she'll 
 be better right away.'" 
 
 "I hope you won't be long coming home with it," said 
 Gertrude eagerly. 
 
 "I'm not quite as sure of myself as I was a while ago," 
 Bo replied. "Now that I have the water I'm afraid of 
 losing it, for, going toward the door, I hear cries and 
 shouts, and my fears increase." 
 
 "What does that mean?" asked Gertrude, now pale 
 with anxiety. 
 
 Seeing how real this was becoming to her. Bo gave full 
 rein to his imagination. "It means that all Jerusalem 
 is after me!" he exclaimed, then held his breath a mo- 
 ment, in pretended terror. "All who were lying about 
 on the stones when I came have risen, and are now standing 
 outside the mosque. Their shouts are bringing people 
 from every direction. The head official from the Mosque 
 of Omar in his big turban and lamb-skin coat comes 
 rushing up, children come darting out from doorways 
 and gateways and from every nook and corner oif the 
 square idlers and vagabonds emerge. I'm confronted 
 by a howling threatening mob. I see only open mouths, 
 waving arms, clenched fists, and a riot of colour — brown- 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE 169 
 
 striped mantles, red sashes, fluttering tunics and yellow 
 slippers." 
 
 While telling this. Bo glanced stealthily at Gertrude, 
 who no longer questioned him, but listened in eager 
 suspense. In her excitement she had raised herself a little 
 from the pillow. 
 
 "Although I don't understand a word they are shout- 
 ing, I know that they are angry because a Christian has 
 dared to take water from the Well of Paradise." 
 
 Gertrude, white as death, sank back upon her pillow. 
 "I can see that you'll not be able to bring me any of 
 that water," she said faintly. 
 
 "No, alas!" he thought. But perceiving how disap- 
 pointed she was, he weakened again. "After all I shall 
 have to see that Gertrude gets this paradise-water." 
 
 "Do they take the water away from you?" she asked. 
 
 "No; at first they only stand there and shriek. They 
 don't seem to know what to do." Bo hesitated a mo- 
 ment. Nor did he himself know how to proceed. 
 
 Then Gertrude came to his aid. "I was hoping that 
 he who sat talking to his disciples would help you," she 
 said. 
 
 Bo drew a deep breath. "Perhaps he will. I see 
 that the grand ofiicial in the fine Iamb-skin coat has just 
 said something to the people. Suddenly they draw their 
 daggers to rush upon me. It looks as if they mean to 
 kill me on the spot. But, strange to say, I have no fear 
 for my life; I'm only afraid the water will be spilled. 
 The instant the men start toward me I set the buckets 
 
I70 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 on the ground and place myself in front of them, and, 
 before they can lay hands on me, I strike out with my 
 fists and knock them down. They seem taken by sur- 
 prise; they never knew before what it was to fight with a 
 Dalecarlian. Instantly they scramble to their feet, and 
 are joined by others. I'm afraid I can't hold my own 
 against so many." 
 
 "Now you'll see that the dervish sheik will come and 
 help you," Gertrude put in. 
 
 Bo instantly caught at this straw. "Yes, he has 
 just come forward, and is raying a few words to the 
 people. They at once leave off threatening and assaulting 
 me. 
 
 "I think I know what he does now," said Gertrude. 
 
 "He looks at me with calm, penetrating eyes." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 Bo tried his utmost to think up something, but he 
 was at his wits' end. "I'm sure you must have guessed 
 already," he said to make Gertrude talk. 
 
 The sick girl saw the whole scene as if enacted before 
 her eyes. "Now he pushes you aside and looks down 
 into the buckets." 
 
 "Yes," said Bo, "that is exactly what he does." 
 
 "He looks into the water from the Well of Paradise," 
 said Gertrude significantly. 
 
 Bo, without knowing it, read her thoughts. He saw 
 at once how she expected the story to end, and went on 
 narrating with much fervour: "You know, Gertrude, 
 that there was nothing but water in the buckets when 
 
THE WELL OF PARADISE ' 171 
 I brought them out from EI Aksa — nothing but clear 
 
 water. 
 
 "And now- 
 
 "As the dervish sheik bends over the buckets I see two 
 twigs floating in the water." 
 
 "I felt sure that would happen, and don't you see that 
 the twigs have crumpled gray leaves .'' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The dervish must be some sort of miracle man." 
 
 "I think he is," said Bo; "and he's kind and compas- 
 sionate, too." 
 
 "He bends down and takes up the twigs," said Ger- 
 trude, " and, as he raises them high, the leaves unfold and 
 become fresh and green." 
 
 "And the people break into cries of rapture," Bo 
 quickly struck in. "And the dervish, holding in his hand 
 the lovely leaves, goes up to the high official from the 
 mosque. He points to the twigs and he points to me. 
 It's easy to tell what he is saying — ' That Christian has 
 brought these leafy twigs from Paradise. Do you not 
 see that he is under God's protection? It would never 
 do to murder him.' Then the sheik comes over to me, 
 still holding the leaves. I can see how they shine in the 
 sunlight, and change colour; now they are red as copper, 
 now blue as steel. He helps me place the yoke across 
 my shoulders, and signs to me to go. I hurry away at 
 once, but I keep looking back. He still stands there 
 holding the shining leaves high in the air, and the crowds 
 stand gazing at him in silent wonder." 
 
172 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "God bless him!" cried Gertrude, smiling up at Bo. 
 "And you are bringing me the water from Paradise." 
 
 "Yes, I'm coming now," said Bo. 
 
 Gertrude raised her head — expectant. 
 
 "Good God, she thinks the water is here. It was 
 dreadful of me to deceive her. She will die if I tell her 
 that the kind of water she craves is not here." 
 
 In his desperation he seized the glass of water that 
 Betsy had offered Gertrude — and held it out to her. 
 "Now, Gertrude, will you have a taste of this water from 
 Paradise?" he said. 
 
 Gertrude sat up in bed, grasped the glass with both 
 hands, and greedily swallowed half its contents. "Bless 
 you for this!" she cried. "You have saved my life." 
 
 "You shall have more by and by," said Bo. 
 
 "I want you to give the other sick people some of this 
 water, so that they, too, will get well." 
 
 "The water from the Well of Paradise is for you alone." 
 
 "But you must drink of it so you'll know how good it 
 is." 
 
 "I will," said Bo, joyfully taking the glass. He turned 
 it so that his Hps would touch the place where hers had 
 just rested. 
 
 But before he had emptied the glass Gertrude had sunk 
 back on her pillow and fallen asleep as easily and quickly 
 as a child. 
 
INGMAR INGMARSSON 
 
INGMAR INGMARSSON 
 
 ONE SUNDAY afternoon, when the Dalecarlian 
 peasants had been in Jerusalem about a year 
 and a half, they, with the other colonists, were 
 assembled in the large meeting-room for the usual Sab- 
 bath service. Although it was drawing on toward Christ- 
 mas, the weather was so mild that they could sit com- 
 fortably with all the windows wide open. 
 
 In the midst of the singing of a hymn the gate-bell 
 rang. It was a faint and modest ring — ^just a single 
 stroke — ^which could not have been heard had the win- 
 dows been closed. A young man seated by the door 
 went out to open the gate. 
 
 A moment later a heavy footstep was heard on the 
 marble stairway. Someone was mounting slowly and 
 cautiously. When the person coming up had reached 
 the top step he paused a while before crossing the floor 
 of the large open corridor leading to the assembly room. 
 Presently the door was opened ever so little, as if that 
 was as far as it would go. 
 
 At the first sound of the footsteps the Dalecarlians 
 involuntarily lowered their voices in order to hear better; 
 and now they all turned their faces toward the entrance, 
 that slow hesitating manner of opening a door was some- 
 thing they knew so well! For a moment they quite for- 
 
 175 
 
176 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 got where they were and fancied they were back in their 
 own homes in Dalecarlia. But they immediately be- 
 thought themselves, and looked down at their hymn- 
 books. 
 
 The door now opened a little farther, but without the 
 one outside coming into view. The colour surged into 
 the face of Karin Ingmarsson, and of one or two of the 
 other women, as they tried to collect their thoughts and 
 follow the hymn, while the men sang with fuller tone 
 than before, without trying to keep in tune. 
 
 At last, when the door was about half-open, a tall 
 plain-looking man appeared. His bearing was humble, 
 and, in his anxiety not to disturb the service, he did not 
 go quite into^the room, but stopped just inside the thresh- 
 old, standing with head bowed and hands folded. 
 
 His clothes were of fine black broadcloth, but were 
 creased and baggy. His hands, large, strong and thick- 
 veined, stuck far out from under a pair of crumpled cuffs. 
 He hiad a big freckled face with white eyebrows, a pro- 
 truding under-lip and a drawn look about the mouth. 
 
 The moment the newcomer appeared inside the door 
 Ljung Bjorn rose to his feet, but went right on singing. 
 Immediately all the Dalecarlians, old and young, stood 
 up, and finished the hymn standing. They kept their 
 eyes on their hymn-books and not a smile crossed their 
 faces; but now and then one would steal a glance at the 
 man down by the door. 
 
 All at once there came a burst of song, as when a fire 
 is livened by a gust of wind. The four Ingmar daughters, 
 
INGMAR INGMARSSON 177 
 
 all of whom had sweet voices, led the singing, and there 
 was a vigour and a jubilant ring to the music that had not 
 been there before. The Americans looked with aston- 
 ishment at the Dalecarlians, who, without being con- 
 scious of it, were singing in Swedish. 
 
BOOK TWO 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 
 
 THE DAY after Ingmar's arrival Karin kept to 
 her own room as usual. In her joy at seeing 
 her brother again, she had spent the previous 
 evening in the meeting-room and had taken part in the 
 conversation. But now her old lethargy had returned; 
 she sat stiff and motionless in Halvor's chair, staring 
 straight before her. 
 
 The door opened noiselessly and Ingmar came in. 
 Karin was not conscious of his presence until he stood 
 quite close to her. Embarrassed at having her brother 
 find her sitting like this, with idle hands, she hastily 
 took up a half-finished stocking. 
 
 Ingmar drew up a chair and sat down, without speak- 
 ing to or looking at Karin. Then it occurred to her that 
 the night before she and the others had only spoken of 
 their life in Jerusalem, and that he had not told them 
 anything about himself or why he had come to them. 
 "It must be this he has come to tell me," thought Karin. 
 
 Ingmar's lips moved, as if he were about to speak, but 
 no words came. 
 
 Karin, meanwhile, sat regarding him. "How he has 
 aged!" she thought. "Father, old as he was, had not 
 deeper lines in his forehead. Ingmar has either been 
 
 I8l 
 
i82 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 very ill or has passed through some sore trial since I last 
 saw him." 
 
 She wondered what had happened. She had a vague 
 recollection that her sisters had once read aloud some- 
 thing from a letter concerning him, but at that time she 
 was so much absorbed by her own sorrow that matters 
 of the outer world which did not immediately affect 
 herself left no lasting impression upon her mind. She 
 tried now, in her own peculiar way, to make Ingmar 
 tell her how he had fared and what had brought him 
 to Jerusalem. " It is good of you to come in to see me," 
 she said, "so that I may hear what is going on in the 
 old parish." 
 
 "There are many things that I am sure you will want 
 to know,"Ingmar replied. 
 
 "The people at home have always felt they must 
 have someone to lead them," said Karin, speaking slowly, 
 as if trying to recall something that had long been absent 
 from her mind. "First they had father, then Halvor, 
 and for a long time it was our old schoolmaster. I 
 wonder whom they have for a leader now?" 
 
 Ingmar looked down, but said nothing. 
 
 " It is the pastor, perhaps," pursued Karin. 
 
 Ingmar sat very straight in his chair and continued 
 silent. 
 
 "Or maybe it's Ljung Bjorn's brother Pehr who is the 
 big man of the parish?" Nor did this bring forth a re- 
 sponse. She tried again: "I know that in the old days 
 people used to turn to the master of Ingmar Farm for help 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 183 
 
 and guidance, but of course one would hardly expect them 
 to go to a young man like you for advice." 
 
 "You know that I'm not old enough to be made a 
 member of the Parish Council or the District Council." 
 
 "But one can be a leader without holding T)ublic 
 office." 
 
 "Yes, indeed one can." 
 
 "I have ceased to care about such things," Karin told 
 herself, but all the same she could not help feeling pleased 
 that the old family power and influence had passed on to 
 Ingmar. "I might have known that people would 
 understand yqu did right to take over the farm." 
 
 Ingmar looked sharply at Karin. He divined what 
 lay back of her remarks. She was afraid that he had 
 been held up to contempt by the parish for jilting Ger- 
 trude. "God has not punished me in that way," he 
 said. 
 
 "Then he has passed through some other trying ex- 
 perience," she thought. It was difficult for her to call 
 to mind the hopes and desires she had cherished in the 
 old days. "I wonder if there are any in the parish 
 now who have continued faithful to our teachings," she 
 said. 
 
 "One or two perhaps." 
 
 "I had hoped there might be others who would receive 
 a call from God to join us," said Karin, with an inquiring 
 glance. 
 
 "No one has been called, so far as I know," Ingmar 
 replied. 
 
i84 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Yesterday, when I saw you, I thought that perhaps 
 you had experienced this blessing." 
 
 "I'm not here for any such reason." 
 
 Karin put her next query with hesitancy, as if afraid 
 of the answer she might get: "I suppose no one at home 
 thinks any more about us out here?" 
 
 To which Ingmar repHed, with some embarrassment: 
 "Folks don't grieve as much for you now as they did in 
 the beginning." 
 
 "Then they really missed us. I 'thought it would be 
 a relief to them to be rid of us." 
 
 "Indeed you were missed!" Ingmar fervently assured 
 her. "It was a long time before your old associates 
 could afEliate with the newcomers who had moved into 
 your homes. I know that Beritte Persson, who lived 
 next door to Ljung Bjom's people, used to steal out 
 every night last winter and walk round the house where 
 they had lived." 
 
 "Then Beritte must have mourned more than anyone 
 else." 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Ingmar, "there was another who stole 
 out every evening last autumn, and rowed across the 
 stream to the old schoolhouse to sit on a rock by the 
 riverside where Gertrude used to sit and watch the sun 
 set." 
 
 Karin thought she knew now why Ingmar looked so old 
 and promptly changed the subject. "Is your wife look- 
 ing after the farm in your absence?" she inquired. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 185 
 
 " She is a good housewife, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Karin sat smoothing the creases in her apron. She 
 remembered having heard her sisters say that all was 
 not well between Ingmar and his wife. "Have you no 
 child?" she asked. 
 
 "No," said Ingmar. 
 
 Karin, at a loss what to say next, went on smoothing 
 her apron. She could not ask Ingmar straight out why 
 he had come. 
 
 Then Ingmar himself came to the rescue. "Barbro 
 and I are going to be divorced," he said in a hard voice. 
 
 Karin straightened. All at once she felt as if she were 
 still mistress of Ingmar Farm. Her old feelings and preju- 
 dices came to the fore. "God forbid!" she exclaimed. 
 "There has never been a divorce in our family." 
 
 "This matter is already settled," said Ingmar. "At 
 the autumn sessions we were granted a separation for a 
 year, and at the expiration of the year we shall apply 
 for a full divorce." 
 
 "What have you got against Barbro?" Karin de- 
 manded to know. "You could never find a more esti- 
 mable wife or one so well-to-do." 
 
 "I have nothing against her," Ingmar replied. 
 
 "Is it she who wants the divorce?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " If you had treated her as you should have done she 
 would not have wanted a divorce," said Karin hotly, 
 gripping the arms of her chair. "It's well father and 
 
1 86 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Halvor are dead, so they won't have to be dragged into 
 this!" 
 
 "The dead £jre better off than the living," sighed 
 Ingmar. 
 
 "You've come out here on account of Gertrude!" 
 Karin flung at him. 
 
 Ingmar bowed his head but did not answer. 
 
 "I don't wonder you feel ashamed of yourself." 
 
 "I felt more ashamed of myself on the day of the 
 auction at Ingmar Farm." 
 
 "What do you suppose people will think of your com- 
 ing to seek a new wife before you are off with the old 1 " 
 
 "I was obliged to come," said Ingmar quietly, "to 
 look after Gertrude. We received word that she was 
 going out of her mind." 
 
 "There was no need of your troubling yourself," 
 snapped Karin. "Theje are those here who take better 
 care of Gertrude than ever you can." 
 
 For a while neither of them spoke. Presently Ingmar 
 got up to go. "I had expected a different outcome from 
 our talk," he said with so much dignity of manner that 
 Karin could not but feel a certain respect for him, such 
 as she had felt for their father, "I supposed, of course, 
 that you would want to help me right the great wrong 
 I have done Gertrude and her parents, who have been 
 as a father and mother to me." 
 
 "You only make bad worse by leiving your lawful 
 wife," Karin retorted, trying to liven her dying wrath 
 with hot words. She had begun to fear that her 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 187 
 
 brother might make her see the thing from his point of 
 view. 
 
 Ingmar, however, did not take up the allusion to >tiis 
 wife. He only said: "I thought you would approve 
 of my trying to walk in the ways of God." 
 
 "Do you expect me to think you are walking in the 
 ways of God, when you leave wife and home to run after 
 your old sweetheart?" 
 
 Ingmar moved slowly toward the door. He looked 
 tired and worn, but showed no sign of wrath. Nor did 
 he look like a man dominated by a great passion. 
 
 "If Halvor were alive," said Karin, "I know that he 
 would advise you to go home and make up with your 
 wife." 
 
 "I have ceased to act upon the advice of men." 
 
 Then Karin stood up. Her wrath >kindled afresh at 
 Ingmar's intimation that he was acting in accordance 
 with the will of God. "Gertrude doesn't think of you 
 now in the way that she thought in the old days." 
 
 "I'm well aware that no one in the colony thinks 
 about marriage," Ingmar replied, "but just the same 
 I mean to try for Gertrude." 
 
 "You need not concern yourself with what we who 
 belong to the colony have promised each other," she 
 retorted. "But perhaps you will not be so eager to press 
 your suit, when I tell you that Gertrude now cares for 
 someone else." 
 
 Ingmar put his hand on the latch. 
 
 Karin immediately repented her words. "Don't mis- 
 
1 88 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 understand me!" she said. "I would not have you think 
 that any of us love with an earthly love; but I'm sure 
 that Gertrude now loves the humblest of the brethren 
 in the colony more than she does you, who are not of 
 us." 
 
 Ingmar drew a deep breath, then he quickly opened 
 the door and went out. 
 
 Karin sat for awhile cudgelling her brains. Presently 
 she arose, smoothed her hair, put on her kerchief, and 
 went to see Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 She frankly told Mrs. Gordon why Ingmar had come 
 to the colony, and advised her to send him away at 
 once if she did not wish to lose one of the sisters. While 
 Karin was speaking Mrs. Gordon gazed out of the 
 window upon the courtyard, where Ingmar Ingmarsson, 
 looking more gawky and helpless than usual, stood 
 leaning against the wall. A faint smile flitted across 
 Mrs. Gordori's face, as she replied that she could not 
 think of turning anyone out of the colony, least of all 
 one who had come from such a far-distant land and had 
 so many near relatives among the colonists. "If God 
 wills that Gertrude shall be tried, we must help her to 
 stand firm in the Faith." 
 
 This was a surprise to Karin. In her eagerness she 
 went close to Mrs. Gordon and near enough to the window 
 to see at what she smiled. Karin, for her part, only 
 saw how like his father Ingmar had grown and, indig- 
 nant as she was at her brother, it provoked her to think 
 Mrs. Gordon apparently did not perceive that he who 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 189 
 
 looked thus was a man among men — wiser and more 
 capable than most of them. 
 
 "Perhaps it's just as well to let him stay," said Karin, 
 "for he'll manage to have his own way in any case." 
 
 In the evening of that day most of the colonists were 
 gathered together in the large draAAang-room, where- 
 they were having a pleasant and sociable time. Some 
 sat watching the children at play; others were discussing 
 the day's happenings; and a little group over in a corner 
 sat reading American magazines. When Ingmar Ing- 
 marsson came into the large, well-lighted room and saw 
 all these happy and contented people he could not help 
 thinking to himself: "Evidently our Dalecarlian peas- 
 ants are happy here and do not long for home. These 
 Americans understand so much better than do we how 
 to make it pleasant for themselves and others. It must 
 be because of the good home life here that the colonists 
 are able to meet every sorrow and privation with forti- 
 tude. True, some who once had homes of their own 
 must now put up with a single room; but, in return, they 
 get more out of life. Then, too, they have seen and 
 learned a lot. I doubt if there's a child here that doesn't 
 know more than I do, to say nothing of the grown folk." 
 
 Some of the peasants came up to Ingmar and asked 
 him if he did not think they were very comfortable here. 
 
 He had to concede that they were. 
 
 "I suppose you thought we lived in caves," said 
 Ljung Bjorn, 
 
igo THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Oh, no; I knew it couldn't be so bad as all that." 
 
 "We have been told a report to that effect has been 
 spread at home." 
 
 Of course everyone wanted to know how things were 
 going in the old parish. One after another they came 
 and sat down by Ingmar to get news of relatives and 
 friends, and nearly all asked after old Eva Gunnarsdotter. 
 "She's hale and hearty," said Ingmar, "and talks about 
 the Helgumists to every one she meets." 
 
 Ingmar noticed a young man who had kept close to 
 him the whole evening, but had not spoken. "I wonder 
 who he is? Why, he looks as if he'd like to throw 
 me out of the room." Then, it dawned on him that the 
 man wa§ his cousin Bo, who had been in America several 
 years. 
 
 Ingmar immediately went up to Bo and gave him 
 greetings from home. When Bo had asked about his 
 own "people, he wanted to know how the schoolmaster 
 was. This produced a marked silence in the circle 
 around Ingmar. Until then no one had dared to men- 
 tion the schoolmaster. One or two of the men nudged 
 Bo. Ingmar quietly informed him that all was well with 
 Storm and that he had decided to retire at the end of 
 the school year. Then he added: "I'm glad you in- 
 quired so kindly about Storm, though he was rather 
 rough on you at school." 
 
 Remembering how often Storm had bemoaned Bo's 
 stupidity they all chuckled. Bo turned on his heel and 
 walked away. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 191 
 
 Old Corporal Felt had gathered some of the children 
 round him, and was telling them stories. Ingmar, 
 who had not seen Felt since the latter had turned child- 
 lover, was surprised at the change in him, and went over 
 to the old man, to hear what he was telling the young- 
 sters. 
 
 Just then he was relating how one night, when he 
 was a lad, he had pounded on the door of the church 
 and called to the dead to come forth. 
 
 Martha Ingmarsson, who stood near, glanced at the 
 children sitting around Felt, and noticed that they were 
 pale from fright. "You mustn't tell them ghost-stories," 
 she said sternly, "but give them something helpful and 
 instructive." 
 
 The old man thought a moment, whereupon he said: 
 "Til tell them a story my mother once told me when she 
 was trying to teach me to be kind to ianimals." 
 
 "Yes, do!" said Martha Ingmarsson as she walked 
 away. Ingmar remained to listen. "At home in Dale- 
 carlia," began the old corporal, "there is a place called 
 Sorrow Hill, and it has got that name because a very 
 bad and cruel man once lived there." 
 
 Ingmar moved a step or two nearer, so as not to miss a 
 word. "The man was a horse dealer," Felt continued, 
 "who went about from fair to fair, trading horses. He 
 treated the animals shamefully. Sometimes he would 
 paint a white spot on the forehead of a horse which was 
 known to have the staggers, so that no one should recog- 
 nize it; and sometimes he fed up old hacks and made 
 
192 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 them look fat and sleek for a while — ^just long enough 
 to get them traded off. But he mistreated his horses 
 worst of all when trying them in the shafts. Then he 
 seemed to be possessed, and would whip the animals 
 dreadfully. Once the man had been at a fair a whole 
 day without being able to make a deal. It was partly 
 due to his having fooled people so often that they were 
 beginning to fight shy of him, and partly because the 
 horse he wanted to dispose of was so old and worthless 
 that no one would have it. He drove the poor brute 
 at a mad gallop up and down among the crowds, lashing 
 it until the blood flowed down the traces; but the more 
 he tried to show off the horse the less grew his chances 
 of finding a purchaser. 
 
 "Along toward evening he began to think that he 
 would do no business that day. However, he decided 
 to try his luck once more before going home; so he drove 
 his horse around the market-place at such a furious pace 
 that everyone thought it would surely fall dead. As 
 he went tearing along he caught sight of a man driving 
 a fine black filly and who drove just as fast as himself, 
 but without any apparent strain upon his horse. 
 
 "The horse-dealer had no sooner ^topped and jumped 
 down from his gig, than the owner of the black filly came 
 up to him. He was a little, spare man with a narrow 
 face and a pointed beard, and was dressed entirely in 
 black. From the colour and cut of his clothes, it was 
 impossible to tell to what parish he belonged. He had 
 a bay mare at home, the man told the horse-dealer, and 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 193 
 
 wanted to trade his black filly for a brown horse, so that 
 he would have two of a kind. 'The horse you are driv- 
 ing,' said he, 'is a good match in colour and I shouldn't 
 mind having it if it's all right in other respects. But 
 you mustn't palm off a poor horse upon me, for there's 
 nothing in the world I know so little about as horse- 
 flesh.* It ended, of course, in the horse-dealer giving 
 him his old hack in exchange for the fine black filly. 
 Never in his life had he laid harness on a finer beast. 
 'No day ever began so badly for me and ended so well,' 
 thought he, as he climbed into his gig to drive home- 
 ward. 
 
 "It was only a short distance from the fair-grounds 
 to his place, and he got there before dark. As he drove 
 in through the gate he saw a crowd of fellow horse-dealers 
 from other parishes standing outside his house waiting 
 for him. They appeared to be in a jovial mood and 
 when he came up they shouted 'Hurrah' and laughed 
 uproariously. 'What seems to tickle you fellows?' the 
 horse-dealer asked them as he pulled up. 'Well, we were 
 just waiting to see whether that innocent-looking chap 
 succeeded in palming off his blind filly on you,' said 
 one. 'We met him as he drove up to the fair, and he 
 made a bet with us that he could take you in.' 
 
 "The horse-dealer instantly jumped down, placed him- 
 self in front of the horse, and dealt it a sharp blow be- 
 tween the eyes with the butt end of his whip. The 
 animal made no move to dodge the blow. The men 
 were right, the horse was blind. 
 
194 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "While his fellow-traders went on with their laughing 
 and jeering, he unharnessed the filly, seized hold of the 
 reins, and drove it up a steep hill just beyond the house 
 — urging it on with curses and whip. The horse went at 
 a brisk trot to the very top of the hill, when it suddenly 
 stopped. There was a cleft up there, and below it was 
 a deep and broad gravel-pit. 
 
 "The horse must have felt that the ground was under- 
 mined, for it refused to budge, although the man kept 
 lashing it. The poor dumb brute, trembling from 
 fright, reared, but go forward it would not. At last, 
 goaded to desperation, it took a great leap, as if jumping 
 a ditch and expecting to reach the other side. But 
 there was no other side to be reached. Finding no foot- 
 hold, it sent up a terrible shriek; the next moment it lay 
 with broken neck at the bottom of the gravel-pit. 
 
 "The horse-trader never so much as glanced toward 
 the animal, but went back to the men. 'So you're done 
 laughing, are you?' he said. 'Now you can go tell the 
 man who made the bet with you what has happened to 
 his filly.' 
 
 " But this is not the end of the story," said Felt. "Now, 
 children, pay close attention, and you shall hear what 
 happened afterwards. Some months later the man's 
 wife had a son, and that son was blind and an idiot. 
 And that wasn't all, either, for every son born to the 
 man from that time forth was a blind idiot. The daugh- 
 ters, however, were unusually bright and good looking, 
 and all of them married well." 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 195 
 
 Ingmar had been standing the whole time spellbound. 
 Now he made a movement as if to tear himself away, 
 but as the old corporal immediately went on with the 
 story, he stayed. 
 
 "Nor is that all!" Felt continued. "When the 
 daughters married and had children, their sons too were 
 blind idiots, while the daughters were strong, beautiful, 
 iHtelligent girls. And thus it has been all along, up to 
 this very day; the sons of anyone married to a daughter 
 of that family have been blind and idiotic. That is why 
 people have named the place Sorrow Hill, and I don't 
 think it will ever be known by any other name." 
 
 When Felt had finished his story, Ingmar turned 
 abruptly to Ljung Bjorn and asked if he would get him 
 pen and paper. Bjorn looked a little surprised. Ing- 
 mar then said that he had an important letter to write, 
 which he had forgotten about earlier in the day, but 
 if he might write it now it could go out by the first train 
 in the morning. , After getting Ingmar what he wanted, 
 Ljung Bjorn took him down to the carpenter-shop, where 
 no one was likely to disturb him. He then lighted a 
 lamp and placed a chair before the planing-bench. "Here 
 you can sit and write in peace the whole night if you 
 like," he said as he left. 
 
 The moment Ingmar was alone he flung out his 
 arms as one does when one has a great longing for some- 
 one, and he groaned aloud. "Oh, I can't go on with 
 this that I've taken upon myself!" he said. "Day and 
 night I think only of her I have left behind me, and 
 
196 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 besides, I don't believe there's anything I can do for 
 Gertrude." He sat for a while deep in thought; then, 
 smiling, he remarked to himself: "One who is full of 
 doubts and fears sees signs and omens ever3rwhere. 
 But it does seem strange that Felt should have hit upon 
 that particular tale. It was as if our Lord wanted to 
 show me what I'd better do." He took up his pen. "In 
 God's name, then," he said, putting the pen to the paper. 
 
 What Ingmar now wrote had been in his mind from 
 the time he left home. It was a letter to the old pastor, 
 and every word set down had been pondered and weighed 
 many, many times. Though penned to the pastor, the 
 letter was by no means intended for him alone. Ingmar 
 had never talked things over with his wife, had never told 
 her what he thought or felt, and now he wanted her to 
 know what his real sentiments were. It seemed to him 
 that the best way in which this could be done was to 
 write to their pastor. But it was not an easy task; 
 a certain shyness he had never been able to conquer pre- 
 vented him from talking about himself. That evening, 
 however, it had suddenly been made clear to him how he 
 should go about it. "Yes, in that way I can do it," he 
 thought; "in that way I can tell the pastor all he need 
 know in order to plead my cause with Barbro." 
 
 Ingmar's letter ran thus : 
 
 "Sitting here in the stillness of the night, writing to 
 Your Reverence, I wish above everything that I could 
 go up to the parsonage to talk with you. I should like 
 to come late in the evening, when you are in the quietude 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 197 
 
 of your study, thinking out your sermon. I picture to 
 myself that for a moment Your Reverence would be 
 startled at seeing me, as if a spectre had appeared to you. 
 'What are you doing here? I thought you had gone 
 to Jerusalem?' Your Reverence would surely say, 'I 
 should have been there by this time,' I would reply, ' but 
 I turned back because of a story I heard on the way, 
 which I want to te 1 Your Reverence.' And then I would 
 ask you to have patience with me for an hour, while I 
 tell a long story my heart prompts me to confide to 
 you. And when I had your permission I should begin 
 in this way: 
 
 "Once upon a time there was a man in this parish (I 
 would say) who did not care for his wife. The reason 
 was this: He had to give up someone of whom he was 
 very fond and take the other, in order to keep his father's 
 farm. But when making that bargain he had thought 
 only of the old home and had failed to take into account 
 that a wife went with the deal. After they were mar- 
 ried and living at the farm, the man could not seem to 
 understand that the wife belonged to him. He never 
 wondered how she felt, whether she was happy or un- 
 happy. Nor did he notice how she managed her home, 
 whether things went well or ill. He thought so much 
 about the other one that he was hardly aware that this 
 one existed. To him she was simply a chattel that went 
 with the farm. She had to look out for herself as best 
 she could, for he wouldn't bother about her. 
 
 "But there was also a special reason for the man's 
 
198 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 failure to appreciate his wife; he despised her because 
 she would have him when he was in love with another 
 woman. There must be something amiss with her, he 
 thought, since her father had been obliged to buy her a 
 husband. 
 
 "If the man ever took any notice of his wife, it was 
 only to draw comparisons between her and the one he 
 had lost. He had to admit that his wife was good-looking, 
 but of course she was not as beautiful as the other. Her 
 step was not so light, and she did not use her hands so 
 gracefully, and she had not so many interesting and 
 amusing things to tell. She went about her work quietly 
 and uncomplainingly, which seemed about all she was good 
 for. 
 
 "In justice to the man, it must be said that he did not 
 tell his wife about that which was uppermost in his 
 thoughts. He couldn't very well confess to her that 
 he was always thinking of the mistress of his heart, who 
 had gone away to a strange land. Nor did he want her to 
 know that he was constantly expecting a punishment 
 from God because he had broken his trothy and that he 
 fancied everybody thought ill of him. All with whom 
 he came into contact certainly showed him marked respect, 
 but in his gloominess of mind he imagined that they 
 sneered the instant his back was turned and said he was 
 unworthy the name he bore, and much else of the same 
 sort. 
 
 "Now I will tell you how this man first came to notice 
 that he had a wife. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 199 
 
 "When they had been married a couple of months, 
 it happened that the man and his wife were invited to a 
 wedding at the home of some relatives living in the wife's 
 former parish. They had a long journey to make, and 
 were obliged to stop for an hour at a wayside inn, to bait 
 the horse. As it was raining, the wife went upstairs 
 and waited in one of the rooms. When the man had 
 watered his horse and given it some oats, he went up 
 to the room where his wife was. He did not speak to 
 her, but sat thinking with dread of having to meet a lot 
 of people, and wondered whether the folk at the wedding 
 would let him see what they thought of him. While 
 sitting there tormenting himself, he felt that his wife 
 was to blame for it all. If she had not wanted to marry 
 him, he still would have been a man free from the fear 
 of censure, and not ashamed to look decent people in the 
 face. 
 
 "Never before had the man supposed he could come 
 to hate his wife, but at that moment he did. It wasn't 
 long, however, before he had other things to think 
 about. Some men came into the next room. They 
 had probably seen the man and his wife as they drove 
 up, for they immediately began to talk about them. And 
 the wall between was so thin that every word said in 
 the one room could be heard in the other. 
 
 'I wonder how those two get on together?' said 
 
 ^^^^ 
 
 one. 
 "'I never expected that Barbro Svensdotter would 
 
 get married,' said another. 
 
200 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 '"1 remember how daft she was about Stig Borjesson, 
 who worked on her father's farm one summer some three 
 or four years ago.' 
 
 "When the wife heard them speaking about her, she 
 said abruptly: ' Isn't it time we were off ? ' The husband 
 preferred to remain until the men were gone, rather than 
 have them know that he and his wife had been sitting 
 in the next room. 
 
 "The men in the outer room went on talking about 
 the wife. 'That Stig Borjesson had not a penny to his 
 name, and Berger Sven Persson sent him away as soon as 
 he saw that his daughter Hked the fellow,' said one who 
 seemed to know the whole story. 'Then Barbro became 
 so ill from pining that the old man finally relented and 
 went with Stig to the parson, and asked to have the 
 banns published. But, strange to say, when the banns 
 had been published the first time Stig suddenly changed 
 his mind, and said he didn't want to marry. Sven 
 Persson, for his daughter's sake, begged and implored 
 Stig not to forsake her. But Stig was deaf to all prayers; 
 he said that he had grown to hate Barbro and never 
 wanted to lay eyes on her again. And then he went 
 about telling everyone that he had never cared for Barbro, 
 but that she had run after him.' 
 
 "Your Reverence can imagine the man's feelings on 
 hearing these things; he dared not even glance at his 
 wife. At the same time he felt that having listened to 
 all this, they could not think of passing through the outer 
 room, where the men were. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 201 
 
 "'That was a dastardly thing Stig did,' observed an- 
 other; 'but he has lived to repent it.' 
 
 "*So he has,' said one who had not spoken before. 
 'He went and married the first girl that would have 
 him, just to show people that he wasn't thinking of 
 Barbro. His wife turned out to be a good-for-nothing, 
 and only poverty and misery came of that marriage. Now 
 he has taken to drinking. But for Barbro, he and his 
 would be in the alms-house; it is she who keeps both Stig 
 and his wife in food and clothing.' 
 
 "After that nothing more was said about Barbro. In 
 a little while the men left. The husband then went out 
 to harness the horse, and when the wife came down stairs 
 he lifted her into the carriage. She probably thought 
 he did it so she wouldn't soil her dress on the muddy 
 wheel, but as a matter of fact he wanted to show that 
 he really felt sorry for her. Of course he did not care 
 enough about her to be made unhappy by what he had 
 heard. As they drove along, he turned now and then 
 to look at her. So she was such a kind-hearted soul that 
 she could help the one who had forsaken her, he mused. 
 And to think that she should have been deceived the 
 same as Gertrude. 
 
 "They had driven only a short distance when the 
 man noticed that his wife was weeping. * Don't you cry 
 about that,' he said, 'it isn't strange that you, like 
 myself, should care for another.' Afterwards he was 
 vexed with himself for not having said a kind word to 
 her. 
 
202 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "One would suppose that after all this he wondered 
 at times whether his wife still cared for the other man, 
 but such a thought never entered his mind. He didn't 
 care enough for her to wonder who she did or did not 
 love. He was completely absorbed by his own sorrow- 
 ful musings and as often as not forgot that she existed. 
 Nor was he surprised at her being so quiet and gentle, 
 and never reproachful, though his treatment of her was 
 not what it should have been. 
 
 "I must say that this apparent calmness, which never 
 deserted her, finally caused the man to think that she 
 did not know what troubled him. Then one cold and 
 stormy autumn evening, when they had been married 
 about half a year, the husband, who had been out since 
 dusk, came home very late. In the big room where 
 the servants slept it was all dark, but in the little room 
 adjoining a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth. The wife 
 was up and had a supper, which was a little better than 
 common, ready for him. When he came in, she said: 
 * You must take your coat off, it's wet.' She helped him 
 off with it, then held it to the fire. 'Why, it is wet 
 through! I don't see how I'll ever get it dry by morn- 
 ing. Where have you been in such weather?' It was 
 the first time she had ever put a query of that sort; he 
 said nothing, but wondered what was coming. 'People 
 are saying that every evening you row down to the 
 school-house and sit on a stone by the riverside for 
 hours.' 
 
 '"Let them talk,' the man replied as if not in the least 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 203 
 
 concerned; all the same it annoyed him to think that 
 he was being watched. 
 
 "'But such things are not pleasant for a wife to hear.' 
 
 "'A wife who has bought a husband can't expect 
 much else.' 
 
 "The wife was trying to turn one of the coat-sleeves 
 inside out, which was something of a task, as the sleeve 
 was thickly wadded and stiff as a board. The husband 
 looked to see how she had taken his remark. There was 
 a smile on her lips. When she had at last got the sleeve 
 turned, she said: 'Oh, I wasn't so very eager to marry; 
 it was father's doing.' 
 
 "The man again glanced at his wife, and when his eyes 
 met hers, he thought : She looks as if she knew her own 
 mind. 'You don't appear to be the kind that is easily 
 coerced,' he said. 
 
 '"Maybe not,' returned the wife; 'but father is a 
 difficult person to run counter to. The fox he can't 
 hunt with a dog he traps.' 
 
 "The man did not answer; he was already back in his 
 own thoughts, and hardly heard what she said. But 
 the wife probably felt that having begun she might as well 
 continue. 'Father, as you know, has always loved this 
 old place, where he lived in his boyhood. He could 
 talk of nothing but the Ingmarssons and the Ingmar 
 Farm, and I believe I know more about all the people who 
 have lived here than you do. ' 
 
 "The husband, having finished his supper, got up from 
 the table, and seated himself on the edge of the hearth, 
 
204 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 with his back to the fire, so that he could see his wife's 
 face. 
 
 "'Then all that which you know happened,' said the 
 wife. 
 
 "'Never mind about that,' answered the man hastily — 
 remembering with shame how he had let her sit and 
 suffer that day at the inn. 
 
 "'But there are certain things that you must be told,' 
 said the wife. 'After Stig had thrown me over, father 
 was so afraid that no one would have me that he set 
 about to find me a husband, offering me first to one, then 
 to another. I soon sickened of the whole miserable busi- 
 ness. Surely I was not such an undesirable person that 
 it was necessary for father to entreat people to marry me?' 
 As she said that she straightened herself, threw the 
 coat onto a chair and looked the man straight in the eye. 
 'How to put a stop to all this I didn't know,' she went 
 on; 'then one day I happened to say to father that I 
 would never marry unless I could have Ingmar Ingmars- 
 son of Ingmar Farm. I knew, of course, that Tims 
 Halvor then owned the farm and that you were to marry 
 the schoolmaster's daughter. I had seized upon some- 
 thing that seemed quite impossible merely to be left in 
 peace. Father was dumbfounded. "Then you'll never 
 be married," he said. "In that case I shall have to be 
 content with single blessedness," I replied. "Do you 
 mean it seriously?" he asked. "I do," said I, never 
 dreaming anything would come of it. I should as soon 
 have thought of his marrying me to the king. Then for 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 205 
 
 a couple of years he did not pester me with further matri- 
 monial projects. I was as contented as could be. I 
 managed father's big farm and had things my own way 
 as long as father remained a widower. Then one even- 
 ing in May he came home very late, and at once sent for 
 me. "Now you can have Ingmar Ingmarsson of Ingmar 
 Farm," he said. "I have bought the farm for forty 
 thousand kronor." "But Ingmar is betrothed," I pro- 
 tested. "He can't care very much for the girl, since he 
 wants to marry you," was father's reply.' 
 
 "Your Reverence can imagine the husband's chagrin 
 on hearing this. 'What an extraordinary tale!' he 
 thought. * It is just like a play. Fancy my having to 
 give up Gertrude merely because Barbro once by chance 
 mentioned my name to her father!' 
 
 "*I was at a loss what to do!' said the wife. 'The 
 thought of father paying out all that money on my ac- 
 count grieved me so that I couldn't say no at once. Nor 
 had I the least idea how you felt about it — ^whether or 
 not the farm was more to you than anything else. Father 
 swore that he would sell the farm to the lumber company 
 if I did not do as he wished. At that time things 
 were not so very pleasant for me at home. Father had 
 just married again for the third time, and I didn't care 
 to be under the rule of a stepmother, when I myself had 
 been the mistress of the house. And as I couldn't decide 
 then and there whether to say yes or no, father had his 
 way. I did not take the matter seriously enough, you 
 see.' 
 
2o6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "'Evidently not!' said the man; 'I suppose that to 
 you it was a mere pleasantry.' 
 
 "'I did not realize what I had done until I heard that 
 Gertrude had stolen away from home and gone to Jeru- 
 salem. But since that happened I have had no peace 
 of mind. I'm not one who would wittingly cause an- 
 other unhappiness. And now that I see how miserable 
 you are, I feel that it's all my fault.' 
 
 "'Oh, no,' said the man; 'the blame rests with me 
 alone, and I suffer no more than I deserve to suffer.' 
 
 "'Night after night I sit here wondering if I shall ever 
 see you again,' the wife continued. " ^Perhaps it will end 
 with your being found in the river," I think to myself. 
 And then I seem to hear people come bearing you in, 
 and I wonder if I shall ever be able to forget that I was 
 the cause of your death.' 
 
 "While she was telling of her fears and anxieties the 
 man thought: 'Now she will want to he comforted and 
 helped.' He only felt annoyed at her uneasiness for him; 
 he was better satisfied when she kept her thoughts to 
 herself, for then he did not have to consider her. * I can't 
 be burdened with -her troubles, too,' he told himself. 
 
 "Feeling that he was obliged to say something, he said 
 to her: 'Don't be uneasy about me; I'm not going to 
 add a crime to my other offences,' And for just these 
 few words from him her face brightened." 
 
 Here Ingmar rested his pen and looked up. "This is 
 going to be a dreadfully long letter," he thought. "I 
 shall have to sit here and write all night." It was a 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 207 
 
 pleasure to him thus living over all that had passed be- 
 tween him and Barbro. He hoped the pastor would show 
 her the letter and that she would be glad when she saw 
 how well he remembered everything. 
 
 Ingmar went on writing: 
 
 " For all the man imagined he did not care in the least 
 about his wife, he remained at home the first few 
 evenings after she had told him of her uneasiness. The 
 wife did not show that she knew he stayed at home on 
 her account. She seemed as quiet and placid as usual. 
 But, as Your Reverence knows, she, Barbro, had always 
 been very kind to all the old servants at Ingmar Farm, 
 and they were devoted to her. As the master sat 
 with his household by the open fire in the living-room 
 old Lisa and old Bengt sat smiling and nodding to each 
 other. 
 
 "For two whole evenings the man stayed in, but the 
 third, which happened to be Sunday evening, the wife, 
 to while away the time, brought out her guitar and sang. 
 All went well until she started a tune that Gertrude loved 
 to hum. Then the man took up his hat and left the 
 house. 
 
 "It was pitch-dark outside and a cold, fine rain was 
 falling. Getting into his boat, he rowed down to the 
 school-house and seated himself on a stone by the river- 
 side to dream of Gertrude and the days when he was a 
 man of his word. It was long past midnight when he 
 returned. He found his wife sitting by the river wait- 
 ing for him. 
 
208 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "This irritated the man. . Your Reverence knows how 
 men dislike having their womenfolk worry about them. 
 However, he said nothing to the wife until they were in 
 their room. 'You must let me come and go as I please,' 
 he then told her. She made no reply, but quickly struck 
 a match and lighted a candle. The man noticed that 
 her dress was rain soaked and clung to her figure. Wet 
 as she was, she went to the kitchen and fetched him 
 something to eat, made a fire on the hearth, and turned 
 down the beds for the night. But she showed no feeling 
 of either anger or resentment. He wondered if she 
 was really so meek that nothing could vex her. Sud- 
 denly he turned to her and said: 'If I had treated you 
 as I did Gertrude, would you have forgiven me?' 
 
 "She looked hard at him for a moment. 'No!' she 
 said, her eyes flashing. 
 
 "The man wondered why she wouldn't forgive him 
 when she had forgiven that fellow Stig. Did she think 
 that he had done a worse thing than Stig in giving up 
 Gertrude for material gain? 
 
 "A day or so later the man, trying to find a screw- 
 driver he had mislaid, went to the wash-house to look for it. 
 As he stepped into the little chamber at the back where 
 old Lisa lay ill he found his wife sitting by her bedside 
 reading aloud from the Bible. It was a huge old Bible 
 with a thick leather binding and heavy brass mountings. 
 The man stood for a moment regarding it. Barbro 
 must have brought that from her home, he thought, 
 and turned to go. In a moment he wheeled round, took 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 209 
 
 the Bible away from his wife and opened it to the front 
 leaf. He found that it was an old Bible that had been 
 in his family for generations and which Karin had dis- 
 posed of at the auction. 'Where did this come from?' 
 he asked. 
 
 "The wife said nothing, but old Lisa answered: 'Hasn't 
 Barbro told you that she bought back this Bible?' 
 
 *"No,' said the man; 'has Barbro done that?' 
 
 '"She has done more than that,' added the old woman 
 eagerly. 'Just take a peep into the blue cupboard in 
 the living-room, and you'll see.' 
 
 "The man went straight to the house and into the big 
 room. On opening the cupboard, he found two of the 
 old silver beakers on the shelf. He took them down, 
 examined the marks on the bottom, and knew them for 
 the Ingmarssons'. While he stood there Barbro came in. 
 She looked embarrassed. 
 
 "'I happened to have a little money in the savings- 
 bank,' she said softly. 
 
 "The man was more pleased than he had been in many 
 a long day. He went up to his wife and took her by the 
 hand. 'Thank you for this,' he said. But almost 
 immediately he let her hand drop and walked out of the 
 house. Somehow he felt it would not be right for him 
 to be tender to his wife; that he owed it to Gertrude 
 not to show any love or kindness to the one who had 
 taken her place. 
 
 "Some days later, as the man came out from the barn 
 to go to the house, a stranger entered the yard. After 
 
2IO THE HOLY CITY 
 
 saluting, he asked if Barbro was at home. 'I'm an 
 old friend of hers,' he said. 
 
 "Singularly enough, the man at once knew who it was. 
 'Then you are Stig Borjesson,' he said. 
 
 "'I didn't suppose anyone here would know me,' re- 
 plied the fellow. 'I'm going away again directly. I 
 only want to have a word with Barbro; but don't go 
 tell Ingmar Ingmarsson that I've been here. He might 
 not like my coming.' 
 
 "*0h, I'm sure Ingmar has no objection to meeting 
 you,' said the man; *he has long been curious to see 
 how a cur like you looks.' His wrath rose at the thought 
 of that miserable wretch still going about pretending 
 that Barbro Svensdotter was in love with him. 
 
 "'No man has ever called me a cur before, that I know 
 of,' Stig muttered. 
 
 "'If no one has done so before, then I do so now,' 
 returned the man, giving him a box on the ear. 
 
 "The fellow drew back, his face livid with rage. 
 'None of that!' he said. 'You don't know what you are 
 doing. I only want to borrow some money from Barbro, 
 that's all.' 
 
 "The man now felt a little ashamed of his rashness; he 
 couldn't understand what had made him flare up like 
 that. But he did not care to let the fellow see that he 
 regretted his haste; so he said in a harsh voice: 'Don't 
 imagine that I believe Barbro is in love with you; but I 
 think you deserve to have your ears boxed for your con- 
 temptible treatment of her.' 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 211 
 
 "Stig Borjesson then went close up to the man. 'Now 
 I'll tell you something in return for your striking 
 me.' His voice sounded hoarse and threatening. 'What 
 you are going to hear will probably hurt harder than 
 any thrashing. As you seem to care such a lot about 
 your Barbro, let me tell you that she comes of that horse- 
 dealer's family at Sorrow Hill.' 
 
 "He waited to see what effect this would have upon 
 the man. The latter only looked a little surprised. At 
 first he could not call to mind what there was strange about 
 Sorrow Hill, and then he remembered the story he had 
 heard as a child, and which I daresay Your Reverence 
 has also heard — that all the sons born of those who were 
 descended from the Sorrow Hill people were blind and 
 idiotic, while the daughters were more intelligent and 
 beautiful than other girls. But the man had never be- 
 lieved there was any truth in this old tale; he just 
 laughed at the fellow. 
 
 "'You don't believe that story, eh?' said Stig, com- 
 ing still closer; 'but what if I should tell you that Sven 
 Persson's second wife came of that family? The Sorrow 
 Hill people all removed to another part of the country, 
 where nobody knows about them. But my mother kept 
 track of them. Yet she held her tongue, and didn't tell 
 a soul who Sven Persson had got for a wife till I wanted 
 to marry Barbro. After hearing that I couldn't think of 
 marrying her; but, being an honorable man, I said noth- 
 ing about it. Had I been the cur you take me for, I 
 should have told everyone what I knew. For this I have 
 
212 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 borne all kinds of insults in silence, until you struck me. 
 Probably Sven Persson himself never knew of the blight 
 upon his wife, for she died soon after the birth of their 
 only child, Barbro. And the daughters of the Sorrow 
 Hill folk are fine girls, you know; it's only the sons that 
 are blind and idiotic. Now you've made your bed, so 
 you'll have to lie on it. I've laughed to myself many a 
 time, thinking of how you threw over your old sweet- 
 heart, and of the Ingmar Ingmarsson who will succeed 
 you as master of the farm. I hope you'll have many 
 happy days with your wife after this!' 
 
 "While Stig stood hissing all this into his face, the 
 husband happened to glance toward the house, and 
 seeing a corner of a skirt sticking out from behind the 
 door, he guessed that Barbro had seen the meeting 
 between him and Stig and had overheard every- 
 thing. Then the man grew concerned. It was most 
 unfortunate that Barbro should have heard this, he 
 thought. Could it be that the thing he had feared so 
 long had come at last? Was this the expected punish- 
 ment from God ? 
 
 "Then for the first time it was borne in upon the man 
 that he actually had a wife, whom it was his duty to 
 protect. He pretended to think light of Stig's revela- 
 tions, and said with a forced laugh: *Do you suppose 
 I'm such a fool as you've been, and would let an old 
 wives' tale wreck my happiness?' 
 
 " ' Well, I've said enough for to-day,' returned Stig. 'In 
 a year's time perhaps you'll think differently.' 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 213 
 
 "'Aren't you coming in to speak to Barbro?' the hus- 
 band asked, seeing that the fellow was about to go. 
 
 "*No, I've changed my mind,' Stig replied. 
 
 "When he had gone the man went into the house to 
 have a talk with his wife, but before he could speak she 
 said quietly: 'We don't believe such silly nursery-tales, 
 do we, Ingmar? Why should we be made to suffer for 
 something that happened more than a hundred years 
 ago, if it ever did happen?' 
 
 "*0h, then you know the story,' said the man, not 
 wanting her to think that he had seen her standing at 
 the door listening. 
 
 "'Why, of course I have heard that old story. Who 
 hasn't? But until to-day I never knew that it had 
 an3^hing to do with me.' 
 
 '"It was a pity you heard it,' said the man, 'but it 
 doesn't matter so long as you don't believe in it. ' 
 
 "The wife smiled. 'I don't feel as if a curse were 
 hanging over me,' she told him. The man thought that 
 never had he seen a finer looking woman than his wife. 
 'Anyone can see that you are sound in both body and 
 mind,' he said. 
 
 "Late in the spring a child was born to them; it was 
 a boy. The wife had been brave during the long months 
 of waiting, and had never manifested the least sign of 
 anxiety. The husband thought she had entirely for- 
 gotten all that Stig had said. As for himself, he had 
 thought less about his own sorrow after that talk with 
 Stig. He felt that he must behave so that his wife 
 
214 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 would see that he did not believe in the curse which 
 was supposed to rest upon her. He tried to show a happy 
 face when at home, and not go about the house looking 
 as if he were expecting the wrath of God to fall upon him. 
 He began to take an interest in his property, and was 
 helpful to people, as his father before him had been. 'It 
 won't do for me to go around looking woebegone any 
 longer,' thought the man, 'Barbro might think I believe 
 in that mythical curse and am miserable on that account.' 
 
 "When the child came the wife was very happy. It 
 was a fine baby with a broad, high forehead and 
 large, clear eyes. She called her husband in again and 
 again, to have him look at the child. 'He's all right,' 
 said the mother, 'there is nothing amiss with him.' The 
 man felt awkward. He put his hands behind him, not 
 daring to touch the babe. 'Now, I'll prove to you that 
 there's nothing wrong with his eyes.' She lighted a candle 
 and passed it back and forth in front of the infant. 'Don't 
 you see how his eyes follow the light ? ' 
 
 "It was some days after, the wife was up and her 
 father and step-mother had come to see the child. The 
 stepmother took the infant out of its cradle and weighed 
 it, so to speak, in her arms. 'My, but he's a big boy!' 
 she said, looking pleased. Then she noticed the child's 
 head and remarked that it was uncommonly large. 
 
 "'The children in our family all have big heads,' said 
 the man. 
 
 "'Is it a healthy infant?' the stepmother asked, as 
 she put the child back into its crib. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 215 
 
 "'Yes, indeed,' said the wife; 'and he grows bigger 
 every day.' 
 
 '"Are you quite sure that the child can see?' asked 
 the stepmother presently; 'for it turns its eyes in a way 
 that shows too much white.' 
 
 "The wife began to tremble, and her lips quivered. 
 
 "'If you'd like to prove it with the candle-test,' said 
 the man, 'you'll find that the child's sight is perfect.' 
 
 "The wife hastily lighted a candle, and held it before 
 the baby's eyes. 'Of course he can see,' she said, trying 
 to appear hopeful and happy. The child lay quite still, 
 the whites of its eyes showing. 'Look how he turns his 
 eyes to the light.' None of the others said anything. 
 'Don't you see that he moves them?' she said to the 
 stepmother, but the latter made no reply. 'He's sleepy 
 now, his eyes are closing.' 
 
 "In a while the stepmother asked what they were 
 going to call him? 
 
 "'In this house the eldest son has always been called 
 Ingmar,' the man informed her. 
 
 '"I had thought of asking you to let him be called Sven, 
 after my father,' the wife put in. 
 
 "An awkward silence followed. The man observed 
 that the wife was watching him attentively, although she 
 appeared to be looking down at the floor. 'Your father, 
 Sven Persson, is a clever man,' he said, 'but our son will 
 have to be named Ingmar.' 
 
 "One night, when the child was about a week old, 
 it was taken with convulsions, and died before morning. 
 
2i6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 The terrible part of it was that we never knew whether 
 the child was normal or a defective." 
 
 Ingmar paused in his writing, and looked at his watch. 
 It was then long past midnight. 
 
 "I'll have to hurry or it will be morning before I'm 
 finished with this letter," he remarked to himself. 
 
 Then he wrote on : 
 
 "I want Your Reverence to know that of late the man 
 has been kind to his wife, and at times he has shown her 
 such little attentions as are common among young mar- 
 ried "folk. But all the while he thought of Gertrude as 
 his only love, and said to himself: *0f course I couldn't 
 love Barbro, but I must be kind to her because her lot 
 in life is such a sad one. I can't have her feel as if she 
 were all alone in the world, when she has a husband to 
 protect her.' 
 
 "Barbro did not grieve long for the child; in a fort- 
 night she seemed quite reconciled to her loss. 
 
 "When summer came Barbro went up to the sdUr 
 and her husband remained at home. And now, when 
 he entered the house, a strange feeling came over him; 
 he wandered from room to room looking for Barbro, 
 and at times he would find himself listening for her voice. 
 The home atmosphere was gone from the house; it did 
 not seem like the same place. 
 
 "One Saturday evening he went up to the sdter to see 
 his wife. He found her sitting outside the cabin, her 
 hands resting in her lap. Although she saw her husband 
 coming she did not rise to meet him. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 217 
 
 "'Barbro, a wonderful change has come over me,' 
 he said, sitting down beside her. 
 
 "'Yes?' she returned, indifferently. 
 
 "Tm beginning to love you, Barbro,' he told her. 
 
 "She looked at him wearily. 'It is too late now,' she 
 said. 
 
 "It frightened him to see her like that. *I don't think 
 it's well for you to be all alone up here in this wilder- 
 ness.' 
 
 "'I'm quite comfortable,' she replied, 'and wouldn't 
 mind staying here all the time.' 
 
 "The man again tried to tell her that he now loved 
 her and had no thoughts for any other, that he did not 
 know how much she meant to him until she was gone 
 from the home. 
 
 "'You should have said all that to me last autumn.' 
 
 "'My God!' he cried, 'don't tell me it's all over be- 
 tween us!* 
 
 *"0h, no,' she answered, 'it hasn't come to that yet.' 
 
 "One day, toward the end of the summer, the man 
 again went up to the sdter. 'I have sad news for you,' 
 he said to the wife. 
 
 "'What has happened?' she asked. 
 
 "'Your father is dead.' 
 
 "'That is well for both you and me.' Barbro sat 
 down on a stone by the roadside and motioned to her 
 husband to come sit beside her. 'Now that we are 
 free and can do as we like, we are going to part.' He 
 wanted to stop her, but she wouldn't let him say a word. 
 
21 8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 ' So long as father lived this thing was out of the ques- 
 tion, but now we must apply for a divorce at once — that 
 you understand of course.' ' 
 
 '"No, I understand nothing of the kind,' replied the 
 man. 
 
 "'You saw what sort of a child I bore you.' 
 
 "'It was a beautiful child,' said he. 
 
 "'It was bhnd,' she declared, 'and had it Hved it would 
 have been an imbecile.' 
 
 '"It doesn't matter what the child was, I want you.' 
 
 "Barbro clasped her hands, and her hps moved, as 
 if in prayer. 
 
 '"Are you thanking God for that.?' he asked her. 
 
 "'All the summer I have been praying for deliverance,* 
 she said. 
 
 "'In God's name, am I to sacrifice my happiness just 
 for an old myth ? ' 
 
 '"It is no myth,' said Barbro; *the child was actually 
 blind.' 
 
 "'How do you know?' he said. 'Had the child 
 lived, I'm sure you would have found that its eyes were 
 all right.' 
 
 "'In any case, my next child would be an idiot; for 
 now I believe in that myth, as you call it.' 
 
 "The man tried to reason with her. 'But it isn't 
 simply on account of the child I wish a separation,' she 
 told him. 'I want you to go to Jerusalem and bring 
 Gertrude back.' 
 
 '"Never in the world!' he exclaimed. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 219 
 
 "'You must do it for my sake,' she pleaded, 'that I 
 may again have peace of mind.' The man protested 
 that what she asked of him was preposterous. 'But 
 you've got to do it because it is right that you should,' 
 said she. 'Can't you see that if we go on living as hus- 
 band and wife God will continue to punish us.?' She 
 knew that he must at length give in for conscience sake. 
 ' Be glad you can now right the wrong you did a year ago. 
 Otherwise you would grieve about it all your life.' As 
 he continued to protest, she said: 'Don't be anxious 
 about the farm; you can buy it from me when you 
 come back, and while you are away in Jerusalem I'll 
 look after it for you. ' 
 
 "Then they went back to the farm tp arrange for the 
 separation. Things were more difficult for him now 
 than ever. It was as if Barbro were pleased at the 
 thought of his going. She seemed to take keen delight 
 in planning his and Gertrude's future, and pictured for 
 him how happy Gertrude would be when he came to 
 fetch her. Once, when she had gone on in this strain 
 for a long while, he began to think that she must dislike 
 him or she wouldn't talk so much about bringing him 
 and Gertrude together. Then he sprang to his feet 
 and brought his clenched hand down upon the table. 
 'I'll go!' he shouted. 'But for God's sake say no morel' 
 
 "'Then all will come right,' she said with a smile. 
 'Mind, Ingmar, I shall never know a moment's happiness 
 until you have made up with Gertrude!' 
 
 "So they went through with the whole miserable 
 
220 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 business; they were admonished by the pastor, and 
 admonished by the church wardens, but at the Fall 
 Sessions they were duly separated." 
 
 Ingmar laid down his pen. He had told the pastor 
 everything; now he had only to add that he wanted 
 him to talk with Barbro, and, above all, urge her not 
 to insist upon his marrying Gertrude. Of course the 
 pastor would understand that that was impossible. To 
 go to Gertrude now and offer her a spurious love was 
 but to deceive her a second time. 
 
 As that thought came to Ingmar, his eye fell upon 
 some words he had just written. "You must do it for 
 my sake, that I may again have peace of mind." He 
 seemed to be back at the sdter, listening to Barbro. "Be 
 glad you can now right the wrong you did a year ago," 
 he seemed to hear her say, and everything else she had 
 said to him that time. "How can I think what she asks 
 of me hard!" he mused. "It is little enough compared 
 to what she has to bear." Suddenly it came over him 
 that this letter must never get into Barbro's hands. 
 "She mustn't know that this thing is hateful to me. I 
 can't beg her thus pitifully to let me escape all punish- 
 ment and penance. She never wavered for a second 
 when a way was open to her to follow her own convic- 
 tions, while I had to be made to see what was right." 
 
 Ingmar gathered up the written pages and put them 
 in his pocket. "There's no need of my finishing this 
 letter," he said. 
 
BARBRO SVENSDOTTER 221 
 
 He turned down the lamp and left the workshop. 
 Though just as dejected and unhappy as before, he de- 
 cided to do as his wife wished. Coming out, he found 
 a little back gate standing open. It was already day- 
 light. He stood drinking in the fresh air. "It isn't 
 worth while going to bed," he thought. The sun now 
 came rolling up from behind the hills, shedding a red- 
 dish glow over the rocks, and every second the land- 
 scape changed colour. 
 
 Presently Ingmar saw Gertrude coming down the 
 slope below the Mount of Olives, and the sunbeams 
 enveloped her in a golden mist. She looked radiant. 
 It seemed to Ingmar as if the radiance emanated from 
 herself. A tall man followed her at some distance; now 
 and then he stopped and glanced round. It was plain 
 he was guarding her. 
 
 Ingmar was not long recognizing the man. Then 
 some things that had puzzled him the previous evening 
 became clear. At that, his heart bounded with joy. 
 "God is helping me," he said. 
 
THE DERVISH 
 
THE DERVISH 
 
 ONE EVENING before dusk Gertrude was pass- 
 ing through a street in Jerusalem. Just in 
 front of her walked a tall, spare man in a black 
 flowing robe. She noticed that there was something 
 unusual about the man, but what it was she could not 
 quite make out. It was not his green turban, she thought, 
 for men wearing that kind of headgear were to be seen 
 every day in the streets of the Holy Gity. More likely 
 it was because his head was unshaven and his hair was 
 not drawn up under his turban, as is the custom among 
 men of the East, but hung down upon his shoulders in 
 long, even locks. 
 
 Gertrude, following the man, could not take her eyes 
 from him; she wished he would turn round so that she 
 could see his face. Just then a youth, in passing, saluted 
 him with a reverent bow, and kissed his hand. The 
 man in the black robe stood still for a moment, and 
 glanced back at the youth who had greeted him so rever- 
 ently; thus Gertrude's wish was gratified. 
 
 She stopped in breathless wonder and joy, and put 
 her hand to her heart. "It is the Christ!" she thought. 
 "It is the One who appeared to me at the brook in the 
 forest." 
 
 The man continued on his way, now turning into a 
 
 225 
 
226 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 crowded side street, where Gertrude soon lost sight of 
 him. 
 
 She then took tKe road back to the colony, walking very 
 slowly. Time after time she would stop, lean against 
 a house-wall, and close her eyes. " If I could only keep 
 this in my memory!" she murmured, "if I could only 
 see his face before me always ! " 
 
 She strove to imprint indelibly upon her memory every 
 feature of the man's countenance. He had an oval 
 face, his nose was long and straight, his forehead was 
 broad, but not very high, his beard was dark, and cleft, 
 and rather short. "He was exactly like the Christ as 
 I have seen Him pictured, and looked the same as 
 when I saw Him in the forest, only now He was even more 
 beautiful and radiant. There was a wonderful light 
 in His eyes, and great power. All things were centred 
 in His eyes — love and wisdom, sorrow and compassion, 
 and more besides. It seemed as if those eyes could 
 look right into Heaven, and see God and the angels." 
 
 All the way home Gertrude was in ecstasy. Since 
 the day the Christ had appeared to her in the wood she 
 had never been so blissfully happy. She walked with 
 hands clasped and eyes turned heavenward, as if she 
 were no longer treading the earth, but floating on clouds 
 of blue ether. To have seen Jesus here in Jerusalem 
 seemed to her of far more significance than seeing Him 
 in the wild, lonely forest that day in Dalecarlia. There 
 He had appeared to her as in a vision; but, now that he 
 had shown himself here, it meant that He had come 
 
THE DERVISH 227 
 
 back to labour among men. This coming of the Christ 
 was something so great that she could not at once grasp 
 its full meaning; but peace and joy and bliss were the 
 first evidences that a firm belief in this had brought 
 her. 
 
 When she was nearly home she met Ingmar Ingmarsson 
 in the road. He was still wearing his fine black clothes, 
 which were so ill-suited to his plain features and his big, 
 rough hands. He looked heavy and dejected. From 
 the first moment Gertrude had seen Ingmar in Jerusalem 
 she had wondered how she could once have cared so 
 much about him. It seemed strange to her now that 
 at home in Sweden she had thought him such a great man. 
 Here in Jerusalem he only appeared awkward and out of 
 place. She could not corjiprehend why people at home 
 should have thought him so wonderful. 
 
 She had harboured no ill-feeling against Ingmar, but on 
 the contrary had wanted to be friendly to him. But 
 when she was told that he had separated from his wife 
 and had come to Jerusalem to try to win her, Gertrude, 
 back again, she was afraid even to speak to him. "I 
 must show him that I have ceased to care. It will never 
 do to let him think for a moment that I could be per- 
 suaded. He has probably come because he feels that 
 he treated me badly; but when he sees that I no longer 
 love him he will soon come to his senses, and go home 
 again." 
 
 But now, on meeting Ingmar outside the colony, her 
 only thought was that here was someone to whom 
 
228 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 she could confide her wonderful experience. She rushed 
 up to him crying: "I have seen Jesus." 
 
 So joyful a cry had surely not been heard on these 
 barren fields and hills around Jerusalem since the time 
 the pious women returning from the empty tomb cried 
 to'^the Apostles, The Lord is Risen! 
 
 Ingmar stood looking down, as was his habit when 
 wishing to conceal his thoughts. '*0h, have you?" he 
 said. 
 
 Gertrude grew impatient — ^just as in the old days, 
 when Ingmar had been slow to enter into her dreams 
 and vagaries. She only wished it had been Bo, instead, 
 for he would have understood her. Nevertheless she 
 began to relate what she had seen. 
 
 Ingmar did not betray by word or look that he had 
 his doubts, but Gertrude felt, somehow, when telling 
 him of her experience that there was nothing much to it. 
 She had seen a man in the street who looked like Christ, 
 as He has been pictured — that was all. Now it seemed 
 just like a dream. At the time it had been marvellously 
 real to her; but when she tried to tell about it, it was 
 all so vague. 
 
 At all events Ingmar was glad she had spoken to him. 
 He questioned her minutely as to the hour and place 
 she had met the man, and as to his dress and general 
 appearance. 
 
 The moment they reached the colony Gertrude left 
 Ingmar. She felt terribly tired and downcast. "I 
 can see now that our Lord did not want me to speak 
 
THE DERVISH 229 
 
 of this," she thought. "Ah, I was so happy while I 
 alone knew of it!" 
 
 She resolved to say no more about this to anyone, 
 and to ask Ingmar to be silent. "It is true," she told 
 herself, "it is true that I have met the One I saw 
 in the forest. But it is perhaps too much to expect 
 others to believe." 
 
 A few days later Gertrude was much surprised when 
 Ingmar came and told her that he too had seen the man 
 in the black robe. 
 
 "Ever since you told me about him, I have walked up 
 and down that street, on the watch for him." 
 
 "Ah, then you did believe me after all!" said Ger- 
 trude, the fire of faith kindling afresh within her. 
 
 "You know that I've never been quick to believe 
 things," Ingmar replied. 
 
 "Have you ever seen a face so radiant?" asked Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 "No," said Ingmar, "I've never before seen a face like 
 his." 
 
 "Don't you see it before you wherever you are?" 
 
 "I must confess I do." 
 
 "Then don't you believe that he is the Christ?" 
 
 Ingmar evaded the question. "It is for him to show 
 us what he is." 
 
 "If I could only see Him again!" sighed Gertrude. 
 
 Ingmar seemed to hesitate for a moment; then he 
 said rather lightly: "I know where he holds forth this 
 evening." 
 
230 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Gertrude was all eagerness. "Oh, Ingmar! do you 
 really know where He is? Then you must take me 
 there, so that I may see Him again." 
 
 "But it's pitch dark," Ingmar protested. "I don't 
 think it would be safe to go to the city at this late hour." 
 
 "It's quite safe," she assured him. "I've gone there 
 much later to visit the sick." Gertrude had some diffi- 
 culty persuading him. "You must think me out of my 
 senses, that's why you don't want to take me," she said, 
 and her eyes grew dark and wild-looking. 
 
 "It was stupid of me to tell you that I'd found him," 
 said Ingmar, "but I think now I'd better accompany 
 you." 
 
 Gertrude was elated, and wept for very joy. "We 
 must try to slip away from the colony without anyone 
 seeing us. I don't want to tell any of the brethren about 
 it until I have seen Him again." 
 
 She managed to find a lantern, and they were soon 
 on their way to the city. It was a stormy night; the 
 rain and the wind beat against them, but Gertrude did 
 not mind. "Are you quite sure that I shall see him 
 to-night?" she asked, time after time. 
 
 Gertrude talked to Ingmar all the while as if nothing 
 had ever come between him and her. She gave him her 
 full confidence, just as in the old days, telling him of the 
 many mornings she had been up on the Mount of Olives 
 to watch for the coming of the Christ; of how people 
 had embarrassed her by standing around staring at her as 
 if they thought she were mad. "I knew that He would 
 
THE DERVISH 231 
 
 come, you see, and that's why I went there to watch 
 for Him. I would rather He had come in all His majesty 
 and glory — on the clouds of the morning, but it doesn't 
 matter now He is here that He chose to come on a dark 
 winter night. The darkness will flee once He reveals Him- 
 self. And to think of your coming here, Ingmar, just 
 at the time when He has appeared again to work His 
 wonders among men! You are fortunate, for you haven't 
 had to go about day after day, anxiously waiting. 
 You have come at just the right time." 
 
 Gertrude stood still and held up the lantern, so that 
 she could see Ingmar's face. He looked troubled and 
 worn. "Why, Ingmar, how old you have grown in a 
 year! I can see what you've suffered on my account. 
 Now you mustn't think any more of what is past. It 
 was God's will things should go as they did. It was 
 His great mercy toward you and toward me. And now 
 He has brought us to His Holy City, that we might be 
 here at the great appointed time. Father and mother 
 will also be glad whai they see God's purpose in this," 
 she went on. "They have never written me an unkind 
 word for my desertion of them; they knew that it would 
 have been too hard for me at home. I know they felt 
 rather bitter toward you; but now they will be reconciled 
 with the two children who grew up in their home. I 
 almost believe they have grieved more for you than for 
 me. 
 
 Ingmar walked quietly by her side in all the drench- 
 ing rain; he did not respond even to her last remark. 
 
232 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Perhaps he doesn't believe that I have found the Christ," 
 thought Gertrude; "but what of it as long as he is takihg 
 me to Him? I shall soon see all the people and prinites 
 of this earth bow the knee before Him who is their Sav- 
 iour." 
 
 Ingmar took Gertrude to the Mohammedan quarter 
 of the city. They passed through many dark and tor- 
 tuous streets, and at last stopped in front of a low gate 
 in a high, windowless wall. Ingmar pushed the gate 
 open, and they went down a long, dim passageway and 
 came into a lighted courtyard, 
 
 A number of servants were at their work, and on a 
 stone seat near a wall sat two old men with their legs 
 drawn up under them; but none took any notice of 
 Ingmar and Gertrude. They seated themselves on 
 another wall bench, and Gertrude began to look about her. 
 
 This courtyard was like many another she had seen 
 in Jerusalem. On all four sides were covered colonnades 
 and over the open space at the centre was stretched a 
 big, dirty awning that hung in tatters. 
 
 The place must once have been a fine and imposing 
 structure, though it was now crumbling in ruins. The 
 pillars looked as if they had been taken from a church. 
 Once upon a time they doubtless had beautifully carved 
 capitals, but now all t^he carvings were either broken 
 off or defaced. The plaster on the walls was cracked 
 and broken, and the many holes and cracks were stuffed 
 with dirty rags. Over against one wall was piled a lot 
 of old boxes and hen-coops. 
 
THE DERVISH 233 
 
 Gertrude whispered to Ingmar: "Are you quite sure 
 it is here I shall see Him?" 
 
 Ingmar nodded assent. Pointing to a score of small 
 sheepskin rugs arranged in a circle at the centre of the 
 court, he said: "It was there I saw him yesterday with 
 his disciples." 
 
 Gertrude looked a bit crestfallen, but was soon 
 smiling again. "Strange it must always be thus!" she 
 said. "One expects Him to appear with glory and 
 honour, though He cares nothing for such things. He 
 comes in lowliness and poverty. You understand, of 
 course, that I'm not like the Jews, who wouldn't accept 
 Him because He did not appear as the Prince and Ruler 
 of this world." 
 
 Presently some men came in from the street. They 
 went very slowly to the middle of the courtyard and 
 sat down on the small sheepskin rugs. All the men 
 wore Eastern garb, but in other respects they dif- 
 fered greatly. Some were young, some old; a few were 
 attired in silks and costly furs; others were dressed 
 as poor water-carriers and humble tillers of the soil. 
 As they came in, Gertrude attached names to them. 
 
 "See, Ingmar! there is Nicodemus, who came to Jesus 
 by night," she said, pointing to a distinguished looking 
 elderly man. "The one with the big beard is Peter, 
 and over there sits Joseph of Arimathea. It has never 
 been so clear to me before how the disciples of Jesus 
 gathered about him. The young man with eyes down- 
 cast is John, and the red-haired one in the felt cap is 
 
234 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Judas. The two sitting cross-legged on the stone-seat 
 smoking narghiles, are scribes. They don't believe in 
 Him, and have only come from curiosity or to dispute 
 with Him." 
 
 While Gertrude was talking all the places in the circle 
 were filled and the man whom she was expecting had 
 come in and taken his place at the centre. 
 
 She had not noticed from where he came, and could 
 hardly repress a cry when she suddenly caught sight of 
 him. "Yes, it is He!" she exclaimed, clasping her 
 hands. She sat gazing at the man in rapt wonder, as he 
 stood there with eyes closed, as if in prayer, and the 
 longei: she looked at him the stronger grew her faith. 
 "Don't you see, Ingmar, that he is not a mortal?" she 
 said in a whisper. 
 
 Ingmar replied, likewise in a whisper: "Yesterday, 
 when I first saw him, I too thought him something more 
 than human." 
 
 "Only to look upon Him fills me with bliss," said 
 Gertrude. "There is nothing He could ask of me that 
 I would not do for Him ! " 
 
 The man she believed to be the Christ now stood there 
 with all the dignity of authority. He raised his hand a 
 little, and instantly all who were seated on the ground 
 intoned in a loud voice: Allah! Allah! at the same 
 time jerking their heads from side to sidp. They did 
 it over and over again, with each jerk crying; Allah! 
 Allah! The man stood almost motionless, merely mark- 
 ing the time by a slight movement of the head. 
 
THE DERVISH 235 
 
 "What is this?" asked Gertrude. 
 
 "You have been in Jerusalem longer than I," said 
 Ingmar, "and must know more about such things than 
 I do." 
 
 "I have heard about a sect called dancing dervishes," 
 Gertrude replied; "this must be their service. It is per- 
 haps the custom in this country to open a meeting in 
 this way, just as we begin ours with a hymn. When 
 this is over, He will surely begin to expound His teach- 
 ing. How I long to hear His voice!" 
 
 The men seated on the ground about him continued 
 to cry Allah! Allah! while jerking their heads from side 
 to side, and their movements grew more rapid and vio- 
 lent. Big drops of sweat now stood on their foreheads 
 and their Allah-cries sounded alike the death-rattle. 
 
 When they had kept this up uninterruptedly for sev- 
 eral minutes, their leader made a little movement with 
 his hand, at which they immediately stopped, 
 
 Gertrude sat looking down, so as not to see them tor- 
 ment themselves. When there was silence, she looked 
 up at Ingmar and said: "Now He will begin to speak. 
 How fortunate for those who can understand His 
 preaching! But I shall be satisfied with only listening to 
 His voice." 
 
 The silence lasted but a moment. Presently the leader 
 gave a signal, at which his followers again began to 
 shout Allah! Allah! This time they not only moved their 
 heads, but the upper part of their bodies. The man 
 with the strong face and the beautiful Christ-like eyes 
 
236 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 only urged on his followers to greater and more violent 
 action. He allowed them to go on like that minute after 
 minute. As though impelled by a power outside them- 
 selves, they kept it up much longer than one would 
 have thought the human body could stand. It was 
 terrible to watch these men, who looked half-dead from 
 their exertions, and to hear the hoarse cries that came 
 from their parched throats. 
 
 There was a short pause, followed by more groans and 
 contortions, then came another pause. 
 
 "Those fellows must have had a lot of practice," said 
 Ingmar, "to be able to keep it up like this." 
 
 Gertrude turned to Ingmar with an appealing look, 
 her lips quivering. "Do you think He will ever stop 
 them?" she asked. Then, on looking again at the com- 
 manding figure standing in the midst of his disciples 
 new hope sprang up in her. "The sick and the sorrow- 
 ing will soon come seeking Him," she said with fervour. 
 "We shall see Him heal the lepers and give sight to the 
 blind." 
 
 But the dervish continued as he had begun. He 
 made a sign, and in a second the men were on their feet. 
 And now their movement became even more violent. 
 They stood, each on his own rug, while their poor bodies 
 rocked and swayed with the utmost abandon. Their 
 eyes, now dull and bloodshot, had a fixed stare about 
 them. Several of the men seemed unconscious of where 
 they were. Their bodies moved, as if automatically, to 
 and fro, from side to side, up and down, faster and faster. 
 
THE DERVISH 237 
 
 Finally, when they had been sitting there fully two 
 hours, Gertrude, in dismay, seized hold of Ingmar's arm. 
 "Has he nothing but this to teach them?" she whis- 
 pered. It had begun to dawn on her that the man 
 whom she had believed to be the Christ had nothing 
 else to give in the way of teaching than these weird prac- 
 tices. All he did was to excite and urge on these poor 
 madmen. When one of them moved faster and more 
 continuously than the rest, he would place him inside 
 the ring, and let him stand there salaaming and groan- 
 ing, as an example to the others. And he himself 
 began to twist and writhe, as if unable to hold still any 
 longer. 
 
 Gertrude tried to choke back her rising tears. All 
 her dreams and hopes were shattered. "Has he noth- 
 ing else to teach them?" she asked once more. 
 
 As if in answer to her query, the dervish motioned 
 to some attendants who hitherto had taken no part in 
 the service, and who quickly seized upon some instru- 
 ments that hung on a pillar — drums and tambourines — 
 and began to play them. With the beating of the drums 
 and tambourines, the Allah-cries grew wilder and more 
 shrill, and the men's contortions increasingly violent. 
 Several of the dervishes tore off their fezzes and turbans 
 and loosened their long hair. They looked frightful 
 as they whirled and swayed, their hair now tumbling 
 down over their faces, now flying at their backs. Their 
 eyes grew more and more fixed, their faces more like 
 dead men's faces; their movements became spasmodic 
 
238 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 convulsions. They even frothed at the mouth, as does a 
 man in a fit. 
 
 Gertrude stood up. Her joy and ecstasy were gone, 
 her last hope dead. There remained to her only a feeling 
 of unspeakable loathing. She walked toward the gate 
 without even looking back at the man whom she had 
 imagined was the God-sent Saviour. 
 
 "It is sad about this land," said Ingmar, when they 
 were in the street again. "Think what prophets and 
 teachers they had here in olden times! — and in our 
 day a man goes about in this holy place whose teaching 
 is nothing more than making his disciples behave like 
 lunatics." 
 
 Gertrude did not speak; she hastened homeward as 
 fast as she could. When they reached the colony, she 
 lifted her lantern. "Did you see him like that yester- 
 day?" she asked, looking into Ingmar's face with eyes 
 flashing with anger. 
 
 "Yes," he replied without the least hesitation. 
 
 "Couldn't you bear to see me happy?" said Gertrude; 
 "was that why you took me to see him there? I'll 
 never forgive you for this," she added. 
 
 "I understand how you must feel about it," said Ing- 
 mar, "but I did what I thought was best for you." 
 
 They stole quietly in by the back door. "Now you 
 can sleep peacefully," Gertrude said, bitterly. "For 
 you have done your work well. I no longer think that 
 man the Christ, and I'm not crazy any more. Oh, yes, 
 you've done your work well!" Ingmar went up the stair- 
 
THE DERVISH 239 
 
 way leading to the men's dormitory, Gertrude following. 
 "Mind! I shall never forgive you for this," she reiter- 
 ated. 
 
 Whereupon she went to her own room, threw herself 
 on the bed, and cried herself to sleep. In the morning 
 she wakened early, as usual, but did not arise. She 
 wondered at herself. "What is the matter with me? 
 Why don't I get up? How does it happen that I have 
 no desire to go to the Mount of Olives?" 
 
 She put her hands to her eyes, and burst into tears 
 again. "My hope is gone!" she sobbed. "I no longer 
 expect Him. It hurt too much yesterday when I saw how 
 I had been deluding myself. I dare not expect Him now; 
 I don't believe He will ever come." 
 
 For a whole week Gertrude did not go near the Mount 
 of Olives. Then, one morning the old longing and belief 
 awoke anew in her and she quietly stole out and went 
 thither again, and all was as it had been before. 
 
 When the colonists had gathered in the large room 
 in the evening, as was their wont, Ingmar saw Gertrude 
 sitting beside Bo, to whom she talked long and earnestly. 
 
 After a while Bo arose and went up to Ingmar. "Ger- 
 trude has just been telling me what you did for her the 
 other evening." 
 
 "Has she?" said Ingmar, not comprehending to what 
 he referred. 
 
 "I want you to know that I understand you did it to 
 save her reason." 
 
 "Surely it is not so serious as all that?" 
 
240 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Yes," said Bo; "one who has lived in the shadow 
 of this threatening doom for more than a year knows 
 how serious it is." 
 
 As Bo turned to go, Ingmar suddenly put out his hand. 
 
 "Let me say to you that there is no one here I would 
 rather be friends with than with you," he said. 
 
 Bo smiled. "I'm afraid the ice would hardly be 
 broken before we were at outs again." But just the same 
 he gave Ingmar a hearty handclasp. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 
 
 INGMAR INGMARSSON had been in Jerusalem 
 about two months, when he happened one day to 
 be standing down by the JaflFa gate. The weather 
 was uncommonly fine and there were many people out; 
 Ingmar took keen delight in watching the motley throngs 
 that passed in and out through the gateway. 
 
 He had not stood there long, however, before he found 
 himself back in the thoughts which now filled his mind 
 continually. "If I could only persuade Gertrude to 
 leave the colony!" he said to himself, "but it seems 
 quite impossible." 
 
 Ingmar realized that he could not let Gertrude remain 
 in Jerusalem, but must take her back with him, if he 
 hoped ever again to have peace of mind. "If she were 
 only well out of this dreadful land, where there are so 
 many hard, cruel people and so many queer visionaries 
 and fanatics! To get her back to Dalecarlia is my sole 
 concern now. Whether I love her or she loves me doesn't 
 matter; it's my duty to take her home to her parents. 
 
 "Things don't appear to be going as well with the 
 colony now as when I arrived. Hard times have struck 
 it; and that seems reason enough for Gertrude to go 
 home. I can't understand why the colonists have be- 
 come so poor all at once; they seem to be entirely with- 
 
 243 
 
244 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 out funds. Not one of them can afford to buy even an 
 orange at a fruit-stall, and at meal-times they hardly 
 eat enough to sustain them." 
 
 Ingmar had observed of late that Gertrude was begin- 
 ning to care for Bo, and thought that perhaps she might 
 marry him if they were only in Sweden. This Ingmar 
 felt would be the greatest happiness that he could now 
 hope for. "I fear there's no chance of my winning 
 Barbro back, but I shall be satisfied so long as I don't 
 have to marry another; if I can't have Barbro, I'd rather 
 go through life alone." He quickly put these thoughts out 
 of his mind, and took himself severely to task. "You 
 mustn't imagine this thing or that, but devise a way to 
 get Gertrude home." 
 
 As Ingmar stood musing he saw one of the Gordon 
 colonists, an American named Clifford, come out from 
 the American Consulate, accompanied by the Consul 
 himself. "This looks a bit queer," thought Ingmar, 
 for he had learned through various sources that the Consul 
 continually sought to create trouble for the colonists, 
 and that he had always felt a strong antipathy for them. 
 Apparently these two Americans were on most friendly 
 terms. 
 
 "Then you think it will be quite safe to do it to-morrow 
 morning?" said the Consul under his breath, 
 
 "Yes," replied Clifford. "You see it will have to be 
 done before Mrs. Gordon gets back." 
 
 "Don't lose your nerve," said the Consul; "whatever 
 happens, I'll take care of you." 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 245 
 
 At that moment the Consul caught sight of Ingmar. 
 "Isn't that one of them?" he asked in a low voice. 
 Alarmed, Clifford looked round, but felt reassured on 
 seeing it was only Ingmar. "Oh, that's the newcomer 
 who goes about all day looking as if he were asleep," 
 he said, not even taking the trouble to lower his voice. 
 "I don't think the fellow understands English." 
 
 The Consul appeared relieved, and, bidding Clifford 
 good-bye, he said: "To-morrow we'll be rid of the whole 
 gang." 
 
 Clifford grunted assent, • though he looked less confi- 
 dent now. He stood watching the retreating figure of 
 the Consul for a moment, and then went on his way. 
 Ingpar, motionless with amazement, lingered a while. 
 That which he had just overheard made him feel very 
 uneasy. 
 
 "Clifford was right about my ignorance of English, 
 but I understand enough to know that he's up to some 
 deviltry. He means to make trouble for the colonists 
 while Mrs. Gordon is down at Jaffa. I wonder what 
 he plans to do? The Consul looked as pleased as if his 
 long cherished wish to break up the colony were an 
 accomplished fact. 
 
 "From what I can gather, Clifford has long been 
 dissatisfied with the management of the colony," he 
 reflected. "I've heard that in the beginning he was 
 one of the most zealous of the brethren; but of late his 
 zeal seems to have cooled considerably. Who knows? 
 — perhaps he is in love with one of the sisters and means 
 
246 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 to get her by hook or crook. Or maybe he thinks the col- 
 ony can't hold out much longer anyway for lack of 
 funds, and might as well be broken up one time as an- 
 other. Very likely he has become discouraged at the 
 way things are going. I believe he has been trying for 
 some time to make the others discontented. I once heard 
 him remark that Miss Young was better dressed than 
 any of the other sisters, and another time he declared 
 they had better food at Mrs. Gordon's table than was 
 served at the other tables. Lord preserve us!" thought 
 Ingmar, stepping out into the road. "He's a dangerous 
 fellow, this Clifford. I'd better hurry home at once and 
 warn the people." 
 
 But in a moment he went back to where he had been 
 standing at the gate. "You, Ingmar, should be the 
 last person to tell the colonists of this. You just let 
 that fellow alone; it will make matters all the easier 
 for you. You've been wondering how Gertrude could 
 be made to leave the colony, now it will come about of 
 itself. Evidently both Clifford and the Consul are bent 
 upon driving the Gordonites out of Jerusalem. I hope to 
 goodness the colony will be broken up! In that event 
 Gertrude would be glad enough to go back to Dalecarlia 
 with me." 
 
 At the thought that he might soon be going home 
 Ingmar felt as if he could hardly wait the day out. " By 
 rights I should now be at work in the old forest, cutting 
 timber. I can feel the muscles of my arm tighten, and 
 my fingers ache to get hold of an axe. I can't compre- 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 247 
 
 hend how the Swedes here have been able to stand it so 
 long without any work in field or forest. If Tims Halvor 
 had had a kiln to tend or an acre to plow I'm sure he 
 would have been alive to-day." 
 
 Ingmar could scarcely contain himself for eagerness 
 and longing. He went through the gateway and down the 
 road leading across the Valley of Hinnom. Time and 
 again, with ever increasing conviction, the thought 
 recurred to him that Gertrude would marry Bo could he 
 but take them back to Sweden. Perhaps Karin too 
 would come, and once more be the mistress of Ingmar 
 Farm. That arrangement would be the most natural 
 one, he reasoned, for then Karin's son would some day 
 inherit the property. 
 
 "Even if Barbro should decide to go back to her 
 father's parish, she wouldn't be so very far away but 
 that I could see her sometimes," he mused, continuing 
 to make plans for the future. "I can go to her church 
 every Sunday, if I like, and now and then we might meet 
 at a wedding or a funeral, and at the feast I could arrange 
 to sit next to her at table, so that I could talk with her. 
 We can be friends even if we are divorced." 
 
 He felt it was not right for him to be pleased at the 
 prospect of the colony breaking up, but he tried to justify 
 his attitude to himself. "No one could live among the 
 colonists as long as I have without knowing what good 
 people they are," he thought, "yet who could wish for a 
 continuation of existing conditions? Think how many 
 of their people have died within the year! And think of 
 
248 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 all the persecution they have had to endure! And now 
 poverty has come upon them. With starvation threat- 
 ening them, how can one help wishing they would dis- 
 band?" 
 
 While these thoughts were running through his mind, 
 he was walking toward the colony. He had passed the 
 Valley of Hinnom and taken the road leading to the 
 Mountain of Evil Counsel, where modern palaces stand 
 side by side with ancient ruins. Ingmar passed these 
 without thinking of where he was. Sometimes he 
 would stop, and then go on, as one does when deep in 
 thought. 
 
 He presently found himself standing under a tree. It 
 was rather high and unlike other trees in that its branches 
 were all on one side of the stem and did not grow upward, 
 but were twisted and closely intertwined, forming a net- 
 work* of branches that pointed straight toward the east. 
 
 When Ingmar finally saw what tree it was he gave a 
 start. "It is the Judas-tree!" he gasped. "It was 
 here the betrayer hanged himself. How strange that 
 I should have strayed hitherward ! " 
 
 He continued to look up at the tree. "I wonder if 
 our Lord has brought me here to show me that I'm a 
 traitor to the colony ? What if it be God's will that this 
 colony shall continue to exist ? " 
 
 Ingmar's mind now worked heavily and slowly, and 
 the thoughts that came to him were bitter and painful. 
 "Justify yourself as you will, you do wrong not to warn 
 the colonists when you know there is a conspiracy against 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 249 
 
 them. It looks as if you thought our Lord did not know 
 what He was about when He brought your nearest 
 and dearest to this strange land. Even though you 
 cannot divine His purpose in this, you certainly under- 
 stand it was never meant that the good work should be 
 carried on only for a year or two. It may be that God 
 looked down upon Jerusalem, and, seeing all the strife 
 and discord that raged in the city, thought: "Behold, 
 even here will I establish a sanctuary, where unity shall 
 prevail, a house of concord and peace will I raise up in 
 this place." 
 
 Ingmar stood under the Judas-tree battling with 
 his thoughts, which clashed like opposing warriors in a 
 desperate fight. He still clung to the hope that he 
 would soon be going home, and strove hard to keep it. 
 The sun went down and darkness quickly followed in its 
 wake, but Ingmar remained standing under the tree 
 debating with himself. 
 
 At last he folded his hands, and prayed: "O God, 
 help me to walk in Thy ways ! " 
 
 Ingmar had no sooner breathed these words, than a 
 wonderful sense of peace came to him. At the same 
 time he felt that his own will had been subdued, and that 
 he was now being moved by a will outside himself. It 
 was as if someone had taken him by the hand and was 
 leading him. "It is God leading me," he thought. 
 
 He went down the Mountain of Evil Counsel, across 
 the Valley of Hinnom, and past Jerusalem. His sole 
 thought now was to go back to the colony and tell the 
 
2SO THE HOLY CITY 
 
 authorities there what he had discovered. When he 
 came to the place where the road to Jaffa branches oflF 
 he heard the tramp of horses behind him. Turning 
 round, he saw a dragoman whom he had often seen at 
 the colony coming up with a pair of horses, one of which 
 he rode while leading the other by the bridle. 
 
 "Where are you going?" Ingmar shouted, hailing the 
 dragoman. 
 
 "I'm on my way to Jaffa," said the man. 
 
 "That's where I want to go." It suddenly flashed 
 into his mind that he must avail himself of this oppor- 
 tunity and go straight to Mrs. Gordon, rather than to 
 the colony. 
 
 After some parley, the dragoman told him he might 
 ride the other horse. It was a fine animal. Ingmar 
 congratulated himself upon his happy thought. "I 
 can surely cover the thirty odd miles to Jaffa to-night," 
 he mused, "in which case Mrs. Gordon can be back 
 at the colony by to-morrow afternoon." Ingmar had 
 not been riding more than an hour when his horse 
 went lame. On dismounting, he found that it had 
 lost a shoe. "What's to be done now?" he asked the 
 dragoman. 
 
 "The only thing is for me to go back to Jerusalem 
 and get it shod," replied the man. 
 
 And there stood Ingmar in the middle of the road 
 at a loss what to do. Suddenly he decided to continue 
 the journey to Jaffa on foot. He did not ask himself 
 what was the best thing to do; the power that was guid- 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 251 
 
 ing him urged him onward. He could not think of 
 turning back. 
 
 Ingmar set off to walk, covering the ground quickly 
 with his long, steady strides. When he had been walking 
 for some little time, he began to feel uneasy. "How am I 
 to find out whereabouts in Jaffa Mrs. Gordon is staying?" 
 he wondered. " It was all very well so long as the drago- 
 man was with me. Now I shall have to go from house 
 to house to inquire for her." But he pushed on reso- 
 lutely despite his uneasiness. 
 
 He walked along a good broad highway, where he 
 could easily have made his way evpn on a dark night. 
 A little later, when the moon rose, the hills round which 
 the road wound its way became visible on all sides. 
 
 As soon as Ingmar had put one hill behind him, an- 
 other confronted him. He had moments of great wear- 
 iness, .but the strange power that seemed to be guiding 
 him drove him forward. There was no time to stop and 
 rest. 
 
 Thus Ingmar continued hour after hour. He had no 
 idea as to how far he had come, but he was still among 
 the hills. Whenever he reached the top of a ridge he 
 thought: "I must surely be near enough now to see 
 the Plain of Sharon and the sea beyond it"; but all he 
 saw was range upon range of hills. He looked at his 
 watch. It was close upon midnight. "Heavenly Fath- 
 er, is it that late!" he exclaimed, "and I'm still tramp- 
 ing Judaea's mountains." 
 He grew more and more concerned, and all at once 
 
252 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 set off to run. He panted for breath, his temples throbbed, 
 and his heart beat violently. "I can't keep this up 
 much longer," bethought, but just the same he went on 
 running. 
 
 He rushed down a steep slope at full speed. The road 
 lay before him in the moonlight, straight and smooth, 
 and no thought of danger entered his mind. At the 
 bottom lay a dark gully, but on he ran until he suddenly 
 stumbled and fell. 
 
 Instantly he was on his feet again; but now his knee 
 hurt him so that he could hardly walk. "I'll soon be all 
 right," he thought, and sat down by the roadside to rest. 
 It was almost impossible for him to sit still even long 
 enough to regain his breath. "I can feel that I'm not 
 my own master," he said. " Something seems to be pull- 
 ing and dragging me on toward Jaffa." 
 
 Again he got up. His knee still pained him badly; 
 he walked on, ignoring the pain, but presently found 
 himself lying flat in the road. "I'm all used up," he 
 said, as if talking to the power that was urging him on. 
 "In God's name find a way to help me!" 
 
 As Ingmar said this he heard in the distance the rum- 
 bling noise of wheels, as if a wagon were approaching with 
 incredible swiftness. Almost in the same moment that 
 he heard it afar it sounded as if quite close upon him. He 
 could hear a horse come tearing down the hillside at 
 a wild gallop. Above the rumble of wheels and the 
 clatter of hoofs he distinguished the incessant cracking 
 of a whip and the shouts of the driver. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 253 
 
 He was not long getting up and hobbling to the side 
 of the road, to escape being run over. 
 
 In a twinkling the driver reached the bottom of 
 the long slope down which Ingmar had but just come. 
 The vehicle was an ordinary green-painted cart, the kind 
 that is used in West Dalecarlia. "Humph! there's 
 something queer about this," thought Ingmar. "I 
 hardly think there are any carts of this kind to be found 
 in Palestine." The driver appeared even more strange 
 to the place. He, too, was evidently from the old coun- 
 try, and looked like a real Dalecarlian, with his small 
 round black hat and his bobbed hair. Moreover, he had 
 removed his coat, showing his green homespun waist- 
 coat with red sleeves. That outfit hailed from Dale- 
 carUa, there was no mistaking it. About the horse, too, 
 there was something peculiar. It was a fine big animal 
 with a glossy black coat that was so well groomed it fairly 
 shonie. The man drove standing up, and was bending 
 far over the horse, cracking his whip over its head to 
 make it go faster. The horse did not appear to feel 
 the lashing, nor did it seem to be any strain upon 
 it to travel at such a pace; it pranced down the road 
 as if the whole thing were a frolic. When the driver 
 came alongside of Ingmar he pulled up with a jerk. "I'll 
 give you a lift, if you like," he said. Anxious as Ingmar 
 was to get to Jaffa, he did not feel especially eager to 
 accept the offer. He felt that there was something 
 weird about it all. And besides, that driver had a 
 hideous face, covered with scars, as if he had been in 
 
254 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 many a fight; over one eyebrow there was a fresh knife- 
 cut. "No doubt I drive faster than you are accustomed 
 to travelling," said the man, " but I supposed you were in 
 a hurry." 
 
 "Is your horse safe?" asked Ingmar. 
 
 "Oh, he's safe enough; he is blind." 
 
 Ingmar shook from head to foot. Suddenly the driver 
 leaned over the side of the wagon and looked him in the 
 face. 
 
 "You come along with me," he said; "there's nothing 
 to be feared. I think you can guess who sent me." 
 
 When the man said that Ingmar's courage returned; 
 he climbed into the cart, and they drove off at a mad 
 pace toward the Plain of Sharon. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon had gone to Jaffa to nurse a sick 
 friend — ^the wife of a missionary, who had always been 
 friendly to the colonists, and had helped them in many 
 ways. 
 
 The night Ingmar Ingmarsson was on his way to Jaffa 
 Mrs. Gordon sat up with her patient till after midnight, 
 when she was relieved of her charge. Coming out from 
 the sick-room, she noticed how clear the night was in 
 that beautiful silvery-white moonlight which one sees 
 only near the coast. She stepped out onto the balcony 
 overlooking the big orange-groves and the old town, 
 towering on its steep rock cliff, and the shining waters 
 of the Mediterranean. 
 
 The house where Mrs. Gordon was stopping was not 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 255 
 
 in the city itself, but in the German colony, which lay 
 on a little hill outside the town. Below her balcony 
 stretched the broad highroad that runs straight through 
 the colony. In the white moonlight she could see quite 
 a distance down the road, and distinguish the houses and 
 gardens on either side. 
 
 She saw a man coming up the road very slowly, and as if 
 uncertain of his way. He was a tall man, and the moon- 
 light made him appear taller than he actually was. To 
 Mrs. Gordon he looked a giant. He paused before each 
 house and glanced up inquiringly. Mrs. Gordon somehow 
 had the feeling that there was something uncanny about 
 the man — as if he were a wandering ghost trying to find a 
 house where he could appear and frighten the poor in- 
 mates out of their wits. 
 
 At last the man came up to the house where Mrs. 
 Gordon was. He viewed it more carefully than he had 
 the others, walked all around it, rapped on the window 
 shutters and tried the door. Mrs. Gordon leaned over 
 the balcony railing to see what he would do next, when 
 the man suddenly caught sight of her. 
 
 "Mrs. Gordon," he said in a low, cautious tone of 
 voice, "I should like to have a word with you." As he 
 bent his head back to look up at her, she saw that it was 
 Ingmar Ingmarsson. " First of all I must tell you that I 
 have come here entirely on my own responsibility, and 
 without the knowledge of the brethren." 
 
 "Has anything happened at home?" asked Mrs. 
 Gordon, 
 
2s6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "No," replied Ingmar, "not as yet; but it would be well, 
 I think, if you went back." 
 
 "I shall come to-morrow," she told him. 
 
 Ingmar thought a moment, and then he said, almost 
 in a whisper: "You'd better return to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon felt somewhat annoyed at the man. Why 
 should she rouse the whole household in order to get 
 away at once? she asked herself. "If I could only find 
 out what the difficulty is," she thought, and began to 
 question him as to whether anyone had been taken ill or 
 whether the brethren were in need of money. Instead 
 of replying, Ingmar turned on his heel. 
 
 "Are you going already.?" said Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "You have been warned," Ingmar answered, without 
 looking back; "now do as you please." 
 
 Then Mrs. Gordon began to apprehend there was some- 
 thing serious afoot, and quickly reached a decision. "Wait 
 a moment!" she called to him, "and you can drive back 
 with me." 
 
 "No, thank you," he returned. "I have a better 
 conveyance, I think, than you can ofFer me." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon's host let her have a pair of fast horses 
 and a light carriage. She drove at a furious pace across 
 the Plain of Sharon and over the hills toward the Judaean 
 mountains, and by daybreak she was driving down the 
 long slope above the old robbers' haunt. Ah Gosch. 
 "It was stupid of me to pay any heed to that peasant, 
 who knows nothing about our affairs," she thought now, 
 and felt tempted to turn and drive back to Jaffa. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 257 
 
 She had just cleared a long stretch of hills and was 
 passing through a gully, when she descried a man sitting 
 at the roadside. As the team approached, the man looked 
 up, and she saw that it was Ingmar Ingmarsson. 
 
 "How could he have got this far so soon?" she won- 
 dered, and pulling up sharply, she called to him. 
 
 Ingmar, overjoyed at hearing her voice, rose at once. 
 "Are you going back to the colony, Mrs. Gordon?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Good!" said Ingmar. " I was on my way to Jaffa to 
 fetch you, when I fell and hurt my knee, and here I've 
 been sitting the whole night." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was astounded. "Were you not at Jaffa 
 in the night, Ingmar Ingmarsson?" 
 
 "No — only in my dreams. Whenever I dozed a little 
 I seemed to be walking up and down the streets of Jaffa 
 searching for you." Mrs. Gordon grew very thought- 
 ful, and did not speak for some moments. Her silence 
 made Ingmar feel rather awkward. He asked timidly: 
 "Would you let me ride back with you? I'm not able 
 to walk." 
 
 In no time Mrs. Gordon was out of the carriage help- 
 ing him' into it, then she stopped in the middle of the 
 road. "This thing seems incredible," she murmured. 
 
 Ingmar had to arouse her as it were for the second 
 time. "Mrs. Gordon, I think you'd better drive home 
 as quickly as possible," he said, at which she got back 
 into the carriage and they drove on in silence. Ingmar 
 
2S8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 spoke first. "Please pardon me for disturbing you, Mrs. 
 Gordon," he said, "but there's something I must tell 
 you. 
 
 "Yesterday I overheard Clifford talking to the Amer- 
 ican Consul. He is up to some mischief, and intends to 
 act while you are away." 
 
 "What is this you are telling me?" Mrs. Gordon 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "He means, if he can, to break up the colony." 
 i Mrs. Gordon was at last thoroughly aroused, and asked 
 Ingmar to tell her all that he had heard. When he had 
 done so, she sat for some time deep in thought. Sud- 
 denly she looked at him and said: "I'm very glad, 
 Ingmar Ingmarsson, that you have the welfare of the 
 colony so much at heart." 
 
 Ingmar went red in the face. "How do you know I'm 
 a friend to the colony ? " 
 
 "I know it because you were in Jaffa last night, and 
 bade me hurry home." She told him of his appearing 
 to her in the night, and what he had said. Ingmar 
 thought it the most remarkable thing he had ever heard. 
 
 "If I'm not mistaken," said Mrs. Gordon, "before this 
 day is over we shall have seen still greater things, for 
 now I feel that God is protecting us." She then spoke 
 to Ingmar as if no peril were threatening her people. 
 "Now tell me if anything special has happened at home 
 since I left. " 
 
 Ingmar hesitated, and then began to apologize for his 
 poor English. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 259 
 
 "Oh, I understand you quite well," she assured him. 
 
 "On the whole things have been going about as usual," 
 he said. 
 
 "But surely you must have something to relate." 
 
 "Well, there's the matter of Baram Pasha's mill — but 
 perhaps you've already heard about it ? " 
 
 "I didn't even know Baram Pasha had a mill," replied 
 Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "Oh, yes," saiH Ingmar. "It seems that soon after he 
 had become Governor of Jerusalem he found that the 
 people had nothing but hand-mills for the grinding of 
 their corn; so he put up a steam-mill in one of the valleys 
 hereabout. It isn't surprising that you have never heard 
 about the mill, for it has seldom been in use. Baram 
 Pasha has never been able to get good hands to run it. A 
 few days ago he sent to find out if some of the colonists 
 would not start the mill for him. A couple of us went down 
 there and put it to rights." 
 
 "That is good news," said Mrs. Gordon. "I'm glad 
 we could do Baram Pasha a service." 
 
 "He was so pleased at this that he offered to let the 
 colonists have the mill rent free if they would take charge 
 of it. And he told them that they could have all the 
 profits if they would only keep it going." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Gordon^ turning quite around to 
 him, "what did our people say to that?" 
 
 "The only thing they could say was that they would 
 be glad to work the mill for him, but would take no pay 
 for their labour." 
 
26o THE HOLY CITY 
 
 , "That was quite right," said Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "I'm not so certain as to its being quite right, for now 
 Baram Pasha won't let l:hem have the mill. He says 
 he couldn't think of turning it over to them if they are 
 unwilling to take pay for their labour; that it would never 
 do to let the people here get into the way of expecting 
 everything for nothing. If he allowed that, others who 
 have mills or sell flour would complain of him to the 
 Sultan." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was silent. 
 
 "So nothing came of it," Ingmar told her. "Had your 
 colonists accepted the offer, they might at least have earned 
 enough at the mill to pay for their daily bread, and be- 
 sides, it would have been a great blessing to the people 
 to have had the mill going. But that was not to be 
 thought of." 
 
 Nor did Mrs. Gordon reply to this. "Has nothing 
 else happened?" she asked, to make Ingmar change the 
 subject. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he replied; "there's the matter of Miss 
 Young and the school. Haven't you heard about it?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well," said Ingmar, "the other day Aschmed Effendi, 
 the superintendent of the Mohammedan schools in Jeru- 
 salem, came to us and said: 'We have in the city a large 
 school for girls where several hundred children spend their 
 time fighting and shrieking. The noises that assail 
 the ears of passers-by are worse than the roar of the 
 Mediterranean in the harbour of Jaffa. Whether the 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 261 
 
 teachers themselves can read and write I don't know, 
 but I know that they are not teaching the children 
 anjrthing. I cannot go to the school myself, nor can I 
 send another man to establish order there, as it is con- 
 trary to the rules of our religion for a man to set foot in 
 a girls' school. My only hope for that school would be to 
 have Miss Young manage it. I know that she is well 
 educated, and can speak Arabic. As to her salary, 
 she can have whatever she asks if she will only take 
 charge of the school.'" 
 
 "What was the outcome of this?" asked Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "The same as with the mill," said Ingmar. "Miss 
 Young was quite willing to take over the school, but she 
 would not accept any salary. Then Aschmed EfFendi 
 answered : ' It is my custom to pay those who work for me, 
 and I cannot accept favours.' But Miss Young was deaf 
 to all reason; so he had to leave with the object of his 
 visit unaccomplished. He was highly offended, and 
 in a burst of indignation told Miss Young the responsi- 
 bility was hers if all these poor children grew up undisci- 
 plined and untaught." 
 
 It was some time before Mrs. Gordon replied. "I can 
 see, Ingmar Ingmarsson," she said presently, "that you 
 think we acted unwisely in these instances. It is always 
 well to hear the views of a practical man, and therefore I 
 wish you would tell me what you think about our way 
 of living." 
 
 Ingmar sat a long moment considering. Mrs. Gordon 
 was a person of such great dignity that it was not an easy 
 
262 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 matter for him to criticise her methods. He said at 
 length: "I don't see why the colonists need live in such 
 poverty." 
 
 "How can we consistently do otherwise?" said Mrs. 
 Gordon with a smile. 
 
 Ingmar was even longer replying to this. "If you 
 allowed your people to accept pay for their labour," he 
 said, "they wouldn't get into such straits as they do 
 now." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon turned to him in amazement: "For 
 fully sixteen years I have conducted the affairs of the 
 colony in a way that has made it possible for us to dwell 
 together in concord and brotherly love; therefore it 
 seems to me that a newcomer like you would hardly 
 understand the conditions here well enough to warrant 
 your suggesting any radical changes." 
 
 "Now, I've offended you," said Ingmar; "but it was 
 you yourself made me talk." 
 
 "Oh, I understand how you meant it. For your infor- 
 mation I must say that we have still considerable capital 
 to draw upon. But lately some one has been sending 
 false reports about us to our bankers in America and, 
 as a result, we have not received any remittances for 
 several months. However, I know that we will soon 
 have enough for our needs." 
 
 "I'm glad to know that," Ingmar replied. "At home 
 with us we hold that it is better for people to live by their 
 own work than upon the savings of others." Ingmar 
 felt that he had said quite enough. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 263 
 
 Mrs. Gordon reached the colony at an early hour. 
 During the latter part of the drive she had felt uneasy, 
 and wondered what she would have to meet upon her 
 arrival. When she came within sight of the house, 
 and saw that everything thereabout was apparently as 
 usual, she gave a sigh of relief. It was almost as if she 
 had expected that one of the powerful spirits that figure 
 so prominently in Eastern tales had spirited away the 
 whole colony. 
 
 Coming nearer, they heard singing. "So far every- 
 thing seems to be all right here," said Mrs. Gordon. "The 
 brethren are now at morning prayers." 
 
 She had a key to a side gate, and went in that way so 
 as not to disturb any one. Ingmar could scarcely walk; 
 his knee had become quite stiff. Mrs. Gordon supported 
 him with her arm, and helped him into the inner court- 
 yard, where he sank down on a bench. 
 
 "You'd better go right in, Mrs. Gordon," he told her, 
 "and find out if all's well with the colony." 
 
 "But first of all I must bandage your knee," she said. 
 "There's plenty of time; you can hear they are still 
 at morning prayers." 
 
 "Please listen to me, Mrs. Gordon," urged Ingmar, 
 "You must go in at once, to see if anything has happened." 
 
 Ingmar sat watching her as she went up the steps and 
 across the open hall to the meeting-room, and as she 
 opened the door he heard someone inside speaking in 
 a loud voice. The speaker, whoever he was, stopped 
 abruptly, then the door closed, and all was quiet. 
 
264 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Ingmar had not beien sitting there many moments, 
 when the door of the meeting-room was thrown wide 
 open and four men came out carrying a fifth between 
 them. They went quietly down the steps and across 
 the courtyard. As they were passing close by Ingmar, 
 he bent forward to see whom they were carrying. 
 It was Clifford! "Where are you taking him?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Down to the mortuary," replied the men, stopping; 
 "he is dead." 
 
 Ingmar sprang up aghast. "How did he die?" 
 
 "No human hand has touched him," said Ljung Bjorn, 
 who was one of the men. 
 
 "How did it happen?" Ingmar then asked. 
 
 "I'll tell you how it happened," said Ljung Bjorn. 
 "After morning prayers this man Clifford rose up to 
 speak. He said he had something to tell us, which 
 he thought we would be pleased to hear. This was as 
 far as he got, when the door opened and Mrs. Gordon 
 came in. At sight of her he stopped short, and turned 
 white as a sheet. At first he stood quite still, but as 
 Mrs. Gordon walked toward him, he drew back a step or 
 two, and put his arm up to his face. The whole proceed- 
 ing looked so strange to us, that we all stood up at once. 
 Then Clifford tried to pull himself together. He clenched 
 his hands and breathed hard, like one fighting against 
 a terrible fear, and went to meet Mrs. Gordon. 'How 
 did you get here?' he said in a shaking voice. 'By the 
 grace of God,' she replied, fixing him with a calm, grave 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 265 
 
 gaze. 'I know it,' he said, his eyes bulging with fear. 
 'I see who is behind you.' 'And I see who is behind 
 you,' Mrs Gordon then said. 'It is Satan.' He again 
 shrank back, holding his arm before his face, as if he could 
 not bear her gaze. Mrs, Gordon advancing stretched 
 forth her hand, but did not approach near enough to 
 touch him. 'I see that Satan is behind you,' she re- 
 peated, and her voice sounded loud and awful. Then 
 we all seemed to see Satan standing back of Clifford, 
 and pointed at that which we thought we saw, 
 shouting 'Satan, Satan.' Cowering, he made his way 
 down to the door, and, as he was about to open it, we 
 again cried 'Satan! Satan!' Then with an unearthly 
 groan, he sank to the floor. We rushed forward to help 
 him up, but the moment we touched him we knew he 
 was dead." 
 
 "He was a traitor," Ingmar told them, "and de- 
 served his fate." 
 
 "But what had he meant to do to us.?" asked one of 
 the men. 
 
 "That no one knows," said another, "Perhaps he 
 wanted to wreck the colony." 
 
 "Yes— but how?" 
 
 "No one knows." 
 
 "And I suppose no one will ever know." 
 
 The colonists were much perturbed; none of them knew 
 what Clifford had meant to do, or if the danger had been 
 averted by his death. Hour after hour they spent in 
 the meeting-room in prayer and the singing of hymns. 
 
266 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 They seemed far removed from this world by the thought 
 that God was with them. 
 
 Now and then in the course of the day crowds com- 
 posed of the worst element to be found in Jerusalem 
 gathered in the barren fields surrounding the colony, and 
 stood watching the house. From this the brethren 
 inferred that Clifford had planned to have this rabble 
 storm the house and drive them from their home. But 
 the crowds finally dispersed, and the day passed without 
 further untoward occurrence. 
 
 In the evening when Mrs. Gordon came to see Ingmar 
 Ingmarsson she found him sitting on his bed, his knee 
 properly bandaged. She thanked him warmly for the 
 great service he had rendered the colony and said among 
 other things that if there was anything she could do 
 for him in return, it would be a pleasure to her. "Won't 
 you tell me what you have most at heart, that I may 
 help you?" 
 
 Mrs. Gordon knew of course why Ingmar had come 
 to Jerusalem and under ordinary circumstances she 
 would not have thought of offering to aid him in a matter 
 of that kind, but now she, as well as everyone else in 
 the colony, was carried away by her feelings. There was 
 nothing she wished for so much as to see Ingmar happy, 
 after what he had done for her and her people. 
 
 Ingmar closed his eyes, and reflected a good while before 
 venturing to speak. "You must promise not to take ex- 
 ception to what I'm about to ask of you," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon promised to be indulgent. 
 
A TIME OF STRESS 267 
 
 "It looks as if the matter I came over for was likely 
 to keep me here a long while," said Ingmar; "and 
 time will hang heavily on my hands unless I have some 
 work of the kind to which I am accustomed. If you 
 want to do me a real service, Mrs. Gordon, I wish you 
 would get Baram Pasha to let me take over his mill. 
 You know that I have no scruples against earning money, 
 as your people have, and besides it's the sort of work 
 I like." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon looked at Ingmar wonderingly. His 
 eyes were half closed, and his face quite impassive. She 
 was surprised that he had not asked for something else, 
 but at the same time she was glad he had not. 
 
 " I see no reason why I shouldn't arrange to do this for 
 you," she said. "There would be nothing wrong in that, 
 surely, and besides, it would afford us an opportunity 
 to carry out the wishes of Baram Pasha." 
 
 "I thought you would help me," said Ingmar, thank- 
 ing her, and they parted, much pleased with each other. 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 
 
 1NGMAR had taken over Baram Pasha's mill and was 
 himself the miller; first one and then another of the 
 colonists came to help him with the work. 
 
 Now every miller knows that there is a good deal of 
 magic about a mill, and the colonists soon found that 
 they could not sit for a whole day listening to the hum 
 of the mill-stones without becoming, as it were, bewitched. 
 After a while it dawns upon those who listen that the 
 mill stones hum: "We grind corn, we earn money, 
 we do good; but what do you do? what do you do?" 
 
 And within him who hears this there springs up an ir- 
 resistible desire to earn his bread by the sweat of his 
 brow. A veritable fever comes upon one who sits listen- 
 ing to the music of the mill. He will inevitably begin 
 to wonder what he is fitted for, what he can do — ^whether 
 there is any way in which he could be helpful to the 
 community. 
 
 Those who had worked at. the mill for a few days 
 talked of nothing but the arable valleys of this land that 
 were lying waste, of the many hillsides that ought to be 
 planted with forest-trees, and the neglected vineyards 
 that cried out for labourers. 
 
 When the millstones had been singing their song for 
 some weeks there came a day when the Swedish peasants 
 
 271 
 
272 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 rented a piece of land on the Plain of Sharon, and began 
 to plow and sow. Shortly afterwards they rented a 
 couple of large vineyards on the Mount of Olives. Later 
 they set to work laying conduit-pipes in one of the 
 valleys. 
 
 Once the Swedes had made a beginning the Americans 
 and the Syrians followed suit. They began teaching 
 in the schools; they procured a camera and went about 
 the country taking photographs, which they sold to tour- 
 ists, and they set up a little goldsmith's workshop in a 
 corner of the colony. 
 
 Miss Young was now the principal of Aschmed Ef- 
 fendi's school, and young Swedish girls taught Moham- 
 medan children sewing and knitting. 
 
 By autumn the whole colony was alive with the spirit 
 of enterprise and activity; it had become a veritable ant- 
 hill of industry. 
 
 And come to think of it, there had been no distress 
 among the brethren the whole summer, not one of them 
 had died since the day Ingmar took over the mill. Nor 
 had anyone fretted himself insane over the evils of Jeru- 
 salem. 
 
 The brethren were now very happy and they loved 
 their colony more than ever. They planned and carried 
 out new undertakings, and all felt it was God's will that 
 they should earn their bread by their own labour. 
 
 In the autumn Ingmar put Ljung Bjorn in charge 
 of the mill while he himself remained at home in the 
 colony. He and Gabriel and Bo were busy building 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 273 
 
 some kind of a shed in the field just outside. No one 
 knew for what purpose the shed was to be used, nor was 
 anyone allowed to see how they were fitting it up — that 
 was a great secret. 
 
 When the shed was at length finished, Ingmar and 
 Bo went down to Jaffa on a business errand. In a day 
 or two they came back, each riding a fine chestnut horse. 
 These horses were to be the colonists' very own. Had 
 a sultan and a king knocked at the gate and declared they 
 had come to join the colonists, they would not have 
 received a more hearty welcome than was given to Ing- 
 mar and Bjorn as they rode in through the gate. 
 
 And the children, how they hung about those horses! 
 and how proud the peasant who was to drive them before 
 the plow! No two horses in all the East were so well 
 cared for, and no night passed that some of the brethren 
 did not go out to the barn to see that the mangers were 
 well filled. 
 
 And the Swede, whoever it chanced to be, that in the 
 morning harnessed the horses, could not help thinking to 
 himself: "After all, this is a pretty good land to live in; 
 I'm really beginning to feel contented here. What a 
 pity Tims Halvor could not have lived to see all this! 
 He would never have grieved himself to death if he'd 
 had a pair of horses Hke these to drive." 
 
 Early one morning in September, while it was still 
 dark, Ingmar and Bo left the colony to go to work in one 
 of the vineyards on the Mount of Olives. They did not 
 get on well with each other. There was no open quarrel 
 
274 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 between them, but they were never of the same mind 
 about anything, Suddenly they fell to disputing over 
 which way they should go. Bo wanted to take the 
 roundabout way, across the hills, saying it was easier 
 walking there in the dark. Ingmar preferred the shprter 
 but more difficult road, which went through the Valley 
 of Jehoshaphat and then straight up the mountain. 
 
 When they had wasted some time discussing this, Ing- 
 mar proposed that they each go their own way, to see 
 which could get there first. This was agreeable to Bo, so 
 they finally set off. 
 
 As soon as they parted company Ingmar was seized 
 with the old fears and longings that always came over 
 him now when he happened to be by himself. Would 
 our Lord never take pity on him, and let him go home? 
 Would He never help him get Gertrude away from Jeru- 
 salem before she was quite out of her mind? "It seems 
 strange that I should have made least headway in the 
 matter for which I am here," he muttered as he walked 
 along in the dark. "But in everything else I have suc- 
 ceeded far beyond my expectations. I hardly think the 
 colonists would have gone in for productive work if I 
 had not hit upon the happy thought of taking over the 
 mill. It has been very gratifying to note the zest for 
 work that has come to them lately. I have seen much 
 that is good here, and learned many things; but just 
 the same I can't help longing for home. This city fills 
 me with dread and I shall never be able to breathe freely 
 until I'm well out of it. Sometimes I have a feeling that 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 275 
 
 I shall die here; that I shall never go back, never again 
 see Barbro or the old home." 
 
 He mused thus until he presently found himself at the 
 bottom of the valley. High above him the battlements 
 of the city walls were outlined against the dark sky, and 
 on all sides he was shut in by great obstnucting heights. 
 
 "This is a dismal place to be wandering through in the 
 dark," thought he, suddenly remembering that he 
 would have to pass both the Mohammedan and the Jew- 
 ish cemeteries. 
 
 Then he called to mind something he had heard the 
 previous day, but which at the time had not impressed 
 him as being anything more than the usual tales one 
 hears about the Holy City. Now, in the deep darkness, 
 it struck him as a weird and horrible tale. 
 
 In the Jewish quarter there is a little hospital known 
 throughout the city as a place where they never have 
 any patients. Ingmar had passed it any number of 
 times; he had looked in at the windows, and seen only 
 unoccupied beds. The reason of this was obvious 
 enough. The hospital had been founded by an English 
 missionary society for the purpose of receiving Jewish 
 patients, in order to convert them to Christianity; but 
 the Jews, fearing that in a place of that sort they might 
 have to eat unclean food, refused to be treated there. 
 
 But recently they had a patient at this hospital. It 
 was a poor old Jewess, who had fallen in the street just 
 outside the hospital, and broken her leg. She had been 
 
276 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 carried in and treated there, but had died a few days 
 afterwards. 
 
 Before the end came, she made the EngHsh nurses and 
 the doctor solemnly promise to have her buried in the 
 Jewish cemetery in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. She told 
 them that, at her advanced age, she had journeyed to 
 Jerusalem solely to be granted this boon, and if they 
 could not promise her that, they might better have let 
 her die in the street. 
 
 The English notified the head official of the Jewish 
 community of her death, requesting him to send some of 
 their people to take away the body and bury it. 
 
 To which the Jews replied, that the old woman having 
 died in a Christian hospital could not be buried in the 
 Jewish cemetery. 
 
 The missionaries did all in their power to persuade 
 the Jews; they even appealed to the Chief Rabbi, but 
 all in vain. Then there was nothing for them to do 
 but to bury the body themselves. They were determined 
 that the one wish of the poor old woman's life should be 
 carried out. Paying no heed to the objections of the 
 Jews, they had a grave dug in the cemetery in the Valley 
 of Jehoshaphat, and buried her there. 
 
 The Jews made no effort to stop them, but the follow- 
 ing night they opened the grave and took out the coffin. 
 
 The English were bound to keep their word to the 
 old woman. When they found that she had been thrown 
 out of her grave, they put her back into it. The next 
 night, however, she was dug up again. 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 277 
 
 Ingmar Ingmarsson suddenly stood still in the road, 
 and listened. "Who knows? — perhaps those fiends have 
 been at it to-night, too." 
 
 At first all seemed to be quiet, but presently he heard 
 a sharp noise, such as is produced by the striking of an 
 iron implement against stone. He hurriedly took a few 
 •steps in the direction whence the sound came, then 
 stopped again to listen. Now he could distinctly hear that 
 someone was plying a spade and heaving stones and 
 gravel. He walked on a bit and heard more digging. 
 "There are at least five or six men at work," he thought. 
 "Good God! how can people treat the dead like that?" 
 
 As Ingmar listened a feeling of wrathful indignation 
 kindled in him, which grew stronger every second. "This 
 is no concern of yours," he said to calm himself. "You've 
 got nothing whatever to do with it." But the blood 
 leaped to his head, and his throat tightened so that he 
 could scarcely draw his breath. "This is monstrous!" he 
 cried. "Nothing could be worse." Standing stock-still, he 
 raised his clenched fist and shook it threateningly. "You 
 vile sneaks!" he hissed. "Just wait till I get at you! 
 
 "I've had enough of this and no one need expect me 
 to pass quietly by and let you desecrate the dead." 
 
 So saying, he hastened toward the cemetery with quick, 
 noiseless steps. He felt almost light-hearted. "I sup- 
 pose this is sheer madness," he told himself; "but I 
 wonder what my father would have done if something 
 had tried to hold him back the day he rushed into the 
 river to save the little children? I must do as father 
 
278 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 once did, for a river of evil rages here, that carries away 
 both the living and the dead. I can no longer stand 
 quietly watching it from the shore, but must plunge in 
 and buck against the stream." 
 
 Ingmar stood at the edge of a grave where some men 
 were digging under the cover of darkness. He did not 
 know how many there were, nor did he care; he rushed 
 right in among them, snatching a spade from one and 
 striking out with it to right and left. He had come so 
 suddenly upon the men that he nearly frightened them 
 out of their senses. They ran away without even trying 
 to fight back, and Ingmar was soon standing there alone. 
 
 His first work was to fill in the grave; then he began 
 to consider what was to be done next. It occurred to 
 him that he had better remain on guard until daybreak. 
 "If I leave now those wretches will surely come back," 
 thought he. 
 
 He stood on the grave and waited, straining his ears 
 at the least little sound. "I don't think they can have 
 run very far just for one man." Presently he saw some 
 dark figures stealthily creeping toward him. "Now 
 they mean business," thought Ingmar, quickly raising his 
 spade to ward ofF possible attack. All at once a hail of 
 stones, large and small, broke over him. Immediately 
 several men set upon him, and tried to knock him down. 
 
 A terrible struggle ensued. Ingmar had the strength 
 of a giant, and threw down his assailants, one after the 
 other, but they scrambled to their feet and went at him 
 again. In the scuffle, one of the men fell just in front of 
 
INGMAR'S FIGHT 279 
 
 him as he was advancing, and Ingmar, stumbling over 
 the man, fell heavily. Instantly he struck the ground 
 he felt a sharp pain in one eye, which stunned him. He 
 had a vague consciousness of the men throwing them- 
 selves upon him and binding him, but he was unable 
 to make resistance; the pain in the eye was so acute 
 that it rendered him powerless, and he thought for a 
 moment that he was dying. 
 
 Bo had been thinking of Ingmar ever since the two 
 had parted company. He had set off at a brisk gait in his 
 eagerness to be the first at the mountain vineyard, but he 
 had not walked many minutes before he slackened his 
 pace. " I know that however much I may hurry, Ingmar 
 will be sure to arrive ahead of me." he said, with a depre- 
 cating little laugh. "I've never seen anyone who has 
 such luck in everything he puts his mind to, or one so 
 well able to work his own will. I expect it will end in 
 his taking Gertrude back to Dalecarlia. Haven't I seen 
 how he has been running the colony for the past six 
 months? Everything has gone just as he wished." 
 
 But when Bo arrived at the meeting-place on the 
 Mount of Olives and did not find Ingmar there, he was 
 well pleased. He straightway set to work and con- 
 tinued at it for some little time. "For once in his life he 
 will find that his way was not the best one," thought Bo. 
 
 When it began to grow light and Ingmar had not yet 
 put in an appearance. Bo became uneasy and wondered 
 what could have happened him. He left off working and 
 
28o THE HOLY CITY 
 
 went down the mountain side to look for him. "It's 
 strange about Ingmar," thought Bo; "although I have 
 reason enough not to like him, I should be very sorry if 
 he came to any harm. He is a fine fellow, and has done 
 great things for us all out here. If Gertrude had not 
 come between us, I think we could be the best of friends." 
 
 When Bo came down into the Valley of Jehoshaphat 
 he found Ingmar lying between two gravestones. 
 
 Ingmar hearing Bo's heavy footsteps raised his head a 
 little. "Is that you, Bo?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Bo; "but why are you lying here?" Just 
 then he noticed Ingmar's face, and saw that both his eyes 
 were closed and that one eye was badly swollen and bleed- 
 ing. "Why, man! what have you done to yourself?" 
 
 "I've been fighting those grave-openers. I stumbled 
 over one fellow who had a knife in his hand that must 
 have caught me right in the eye." 
 
 Bo was on his knees in an instant, untying Ingmar's 
 hands. "How did you come to fight with them?" 
 
 "I heard them digging as I was walking along the road." 
 
 "And you wouldn't allow them to turn the old woman 
 out of her grave again ? " 
 
 "No," said Ingmar, "I couldn't let that happen." 
 
 "It was mighty courageous of you," said Bo. 
 
 "Oh, no," Ingmar returned, "it was only stupid of me; 
 but I couldn't help myself." 
 
 "Stupid or not," said Bo, "I want you to know that be- 
 cause you've done this thing I'm your friend from this 
 time forth." 
 
ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 
 
ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 
 
 INGMAR was attended by a physician from the 
 EngHsh Ophthalmic Hospital who came out to the 
 colony every day to dress the injured eye. The 
 wound healed quickly and Ingmar was soon able to leave 
 his bed. 
 
 On one of his visits the doctor noticed that the sound eye 
 *was much inflamed. He looked concerned, and after giving 
 orders as to how it should be treated, he advised Ingmar 
 to leave Palestine as soon as possible. "I am afraid 
 that you have a touch of the dangerous Oriental eye 
 disease. I will do what I can for you, but your sou^d eye 
 in its present condition is very susceptible to the infec- 
 tion, which is in the very air out here. If you remain 
 you are likely to become blind within a few weeks." 
 
 This was sorrowful news to the colonists, not only to 
 Ingmar's relatives, but to all. Everyone felt that Ing- 
 mar had rendered them incalculable service in persuading 
 them to earn their bread by their labour, like other people, 
 and that the colony could ill afford to lose so valuable 
 a friend. Nevertheless they thought it best for Ingmar 
 to go back. Mrs. Gordon said that she would have one 
 of the brethren accompany him, as he was not able now 
 
 to travel alone. 
 
 283 
 
284 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Ingmar listened for a while in silence to all this talk 
 about sending him home. At length he said: "I'm not 
 so sure that I shall go blind if I stay." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon then asked him what he proposed to do. 
 
 "I've not finished with that for which I came out 
 here," he said. 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you intend to remain?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Ingmar. "I should be sorry to have 
 to go back with my errand unaccomplished." 
 
 Mrs. Gordon now gave evidence of her high esteem 
 for Ingmar. She went straight to Gertrude and told her 
 that he was determined to stay even at the risk of losing 
 his eyesight. "I suppose you know on whoSe account 
 he insists upon remaining?" 
 
 "Yes," said Gertrude, looking wide-eyed at Mrs. Gor- 
 don, who said nothing further. She could not in so 
 many words importune the girl to break an established 
 rule of the colony, but Gertrude understood at once that 
 anything she might do for Ingmar's sake would he ap- 
 proved. "If it were anybody else, Mrs. Gordon would 
 not be so ready to oblige," she thought, feeling a little 
 hurt. "But as they all seem to think that I'm not 
 quite right, I suppose they'd like to be rid of me." 
 
 All day long, one after another the brethren kept 
 coming to Gertrude and talking of Ingmar, but no one had 
 the temerity to tell her plainly that she ought to go home 
 with him. The Swedish peasants, in turn, sat down 
 beside her and spoke of the hero who had fought for the 
 dead in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, reminding her that 
 
ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 285 
 
 Ingtnar had now shown that he was a true son of his 
 father. "It would be a great pity," they said, "if such 
 a man were to go blind." 
 
 Gabriel said to her: "I saw him the day of the auction 
 at Ingmar Farm, and let me tell you that had you seen him 
 then, you would have forgiven him anything." 
 
 Gertrude felt as if she were having one of those dreams 
 wherein one seems to be striving to hurry and yet cannot 
 move a step. She wanted to help Ingmar, but seemed 
 powerless to do so. "How can I," she asked herself, 
 "when I no longer love him? Yet how can I help it 
 •when I know he'll go blind if I don't?" 
 
 That evening as she stood under the great sycamore 
 tree thinking that she really ought to go back with Ingmar, 
 though unable to make up her mind, 60 came up. 
 
 "It is sometimes the case," he said, "that one can 
 be glad for one's misfortune, and grieve over one's good 
 fortune." 
 
 Gertrude looked at Bo with frightened eyes. She did 
 not speak, but he knew she was thinking, "Are you 
 also going to harass and torment me?" 
 
 Bo winced a little, but in a moment he said what he 
 had come to say: "When you have loved some girl all 
 your life, you are naturally afraid of losing her. But to 
 find her so hard that she will neither forgive nor forget 
 is the worst that could happen." 
 
 Bo said this so tenderly that Gertrude, instead of re- 
 senting it, began to cry. Then flashed the memory of a 
 dream she once had, in which she had put out Ingmar's 
 
286 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 eyes. "That dream seems to be coming true," she 
 thought, "and I am really as wicked and cruel as I was 
 in the dream. Ingmar will surely become blind, and all 
 because of me." She was heartsick at the thought of 
 her utter helplessness. Night came and found her still 
 undecided. 
 
 At dawn she arose and went as usual to the Mount of 
 Olives. The whole way she struggled to break the spell 
 that bound her, but her will was as if paralyzed. She 
 had once seen a fallen house-swallow beating its wings 
 against the earth, unable to get enough wind under them 
 to rise and fly away. So she, too, seemed to be fluttering 
 helplessly. 
 
 When she was at last on the Mount of Olives, stand- 
 ing in the place where it was her habit to watch the sun 
 rise, she saw the dervish whom she had thought was the 
 Christ sitting on the ground with his legs crossed under 
 him, his face turned toward Jerusalem. 
 
 Gertrude did not for a moment forget that the man 
 was but a poor dervish, whose sole claim to greatness lay 
 in his power to make his followers dance harder than those 
 of other dervishes. A tremor of pity passed through her 
 as she noted the dark shadows under his eyes and the 
 lines of anguish about his mouth. She stood with folded 
 hands looking at him. She was not dreaming now, 
 nor was she in a trance. It was simply this: The man's 
 marvellous likeness to the pictured Christ made her feel 
 as though she were in the presence of one endowed with 
 the attributes of Divinity. 
 
ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 287 
 
 Again it seemed to her that he had but to reveal him- 
 self to mankind, and it would be made manifest that 
 he had fathomed the depths of all wisdom. She beUeved 
 that the winds and waves were subject to his bidding; 
 that he talked face to face with God; that his thoughts 
 were of unseen things, of which none other knew, riad 
 she been ill, she thought, she would have been healed 
 merely by looking upon him. 
 
 "He cannot be an ordinary mortal, for, beholding him, 
 I feel the bliss of Heaven descend upon me." 
 
 For some moments the dervish seemed oblivious to her 
 nearness. Suddenly he turned and looked straight at her, 
 regarding her long and intently, then he put forth his 
 hand for her to kiss. With deep humility, she knelt and 
 pressed her lips against his hand. Whereupon the der- 
 vish, with benign dignity, signed to her to leave hjm to 
 his meditations. Gertrude obediently rose and walked 
 away. 
 
 She felt that there was a deep significance in his manner 
 of dismissing her. It was as though he had said: "Thou 
 hast been mine for a space and served me, but now thou 
 art free. Go live for thy fellowmen." 
 
 As she neared the colony her blissful illusion faded. 
 She knew of course that he was not the Christ, but see- 
 ing him again had wrought a great change in her. Be- 
 cause he had appeared to her eyes as the Divine Embodi- 
 riient, the very stones along thje way seemed to echo the 
 precepts the Redeemer Himself once taught in this 
 place. 
 
288 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Immediately upon her return she went to see Ingmar. 
 "I will go back with you, Ingmar," she said. 
 
 Ingmar drew a deep breath, as if a great weight had 
 been lifted from his heart. He took her hands in his, and 
 pressed them gently. "God has been good to me," he 
 said. 
 
'WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 
 
 THERE was a hustle and bustle in the colony. The 
 Dalecarlians were so busy, each on his own ac- 
 count, that they had no time for their regular work 
 in field and vineyard. The Swedish children had been 
 excused from scho'ol that they might stay at home and 
 help their elders. 
 
 Ingmar and Gertrude were to leave for Sweden within 
 two days, which meant hurriedly getting ready the things 
 one wanted to send by them to friends at home. 
 
 Here at last was an opportunity to send some little 
 remembrance to former school-fellows and old friends 
 of a lifetime. They could now show that they still had 
 a kindly thought for one or other from whom they had 
 been estranged during the trying period, before they were 
 called to the Holy Land, and for certain wise elderly 
 people whose friendly warnings they had resented at the 
 time of their departure. This was their chance to give 
 a little happiness to the old folks at home, to the sweet- 
 heart they had left behind them, to the pastor and the 
 schoolmaster who had taught them, one and all. 
 
 Ljung Bjorn and Bullat Gunner sat the whole day with 
 pens in their toil-stiffened hands, writing letters to rela- 
 tives and friends, while Gabriel stood turning out cups of 
 olive-wood and Karin Ingmarsson did up any number of 
 large photographs of Gethsemane, of the Church of the 
 
 291 
 
292 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Holy Sepulchre, of the beautiful mansion in which the 
 colonists live, and its large meeting-room, arranging 
 them in diflFerent parcels. 
 
 The children were busy drawing pictures in Indian ink 
 on thin pieces of olive wood, as they had been taught at 
 the American school, and making photograph-frames, 
 on which they gummed specimens of every variety of 
 seed, kernel and corn to be found in the East. 
 
 Martha Ingmarsson took a large piece of linen fabric 
 off her loom and cut it up into towels and serviettes on 
 which she embroidered initials. These were to go to a 
 sister-in-law and a brother-in-law. Smiling, she thought 
 to herself: "The folks at home will see that I have not 
 forgotten how to weave since coming to Jerusalem." 
 
 The two Ingmarsson girls who had been to America 
 were wrapping up jars of peach and apricot preserves. 
 Each jar bore the name of a dear friend, the thought 
 of whom brought tears to their eyes. 
 
 Israel Tomasson's wife stood rolling out gingerbread 
 dough, and had besides a cake in the oven to watch. 
 The cake was for Gertrude and Ingmar to eat on their 
 journey, but the ginger cookies, which would keep any 
 length of time, they were not to touch. These were to 
 be divided between the old beggar woman at Muckelmire, 
 who had stood at the roadside so clean and tidy the day 
 they set out for Jerusalem, and old Eva Gunnarsdotter, 
 who had been one of them in days gone by. 
 
 As the various parcels were made up they were brought 
 to Gertrude, who packed them in a large trunk. Had 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 293 
 
 Gertrude not been born and bred in the parish she would 
 never have dared undertake the difficult commission of 
 delivering these many things to the right parties, for 
 some of the parcels bore singular addresses. She would 
 have had to think twice to know where to look for "Franz 
 who lives at the crossways," or "Lisa, sister of Pehr 
 Larsson," or "Eric, who two years ago was in service 
 at the home of the County Judge." 
 
 Ljung Bjorn's son Gunnar came with the largest par- 
 cel; it was addressed to "Karin who sat next to me in 
 school, and who lived somewhere in the big forest." 
 Her last name he had forgotten. But he had made for 
 Karin a pair of patent leather shoes, with French heels, 
 and prided himself upon their being the neatest thing in 
 the shoemaking line ever turned out in the colony. 
 "Greet her from me and tell her that she must come out 
 here as she promised when I left home," he said as he 
 entrusted the precious bundle to Gertrude. 
 
 The Dalecarlian yeomen entrusted to Ingmar their 
 letters and special messages for their friends in the home- 
 land. "Don't fail to go to the pastor, the Chairman 
 of the Parish Council, and the schoolmaster," they 
 wound up with, "and tell them that you have seen with 
 your own eyes that we fare well here and are happy, 
 that we live in a house, and not in caves, and that we work 
 for our bread and lead honest lives," 
 
 From the day Bo had found Ingmar lying wounded 
 in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the two had been on most 
 
294 THE HOLY^CITY 
 
 friendly terms. Bo had spent all his spare moments 
 with Ingmar, who during his illness had occupied one of 
 the guest chambers. But on the day Gertrude decided 
 to go home with Ingmar he did not visit the sick-room. 
 Ingmar asked for him several times, but none knew 
 where he was. 
 
 As the day wore on Ingmar grew restless. For the first 
 few moments after Gertrude had said she would return with 
 him, he had felt relieved and happy to think that he could 
 take her away from this dreadful land, to which she had 
 been driven by his treatment. To be sure he was still 
 glad that she was going, though every hour his longing 
 for his wife grew stronger. He realized now that it was 
 utterly impossible for him to carry out this thing that he 
 had taken upon himself. There were moments when he 
 felt that he must tell Gertrude his whole story, but on 
 reflection, it seemed better not to. He feared that should 
 Gertrude learn that he had ceased to love her, she might 
 refuse to go home with him. Nor did he know whether 
 she still cared for him, or now loved someone else. At 
 one time he had thought that she must love Bo, but of 
 late he had reached the conclusion that she Ipved no one 
 save Him whose coming she had awaited every morning 
 on the Mount of Olives. "Once she is home again," he 
 thought, "her old love for me may reawaken. In that case 
 it would be better perhaps to marry her and try to make 
 her happy, than to go about all the while longing for one 
 who can never again be mine." 
 
 Although he struggl ed to persuade himself of this, his 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 295 
 
 heart rebelled. Sitting there with eyes bandaged, he 
 seemed to see his wife constantly before him. "I am 
 hers," he mused. "No one else can be anything to me. 
 I know why I set out upon this fool's errand; I wanted 
 to be as big a man as my father. I had hoped to bring 
 Gertrude back from Jerusalem just as my father brought 
 my mother home from the prison. It is clear now 
 that my case is different. I shall fail because I love 
 another." 
 
 Toward evening Bo came. He stopped just inside the 
 door, as if intending to be off in a moment. "I hear 
 that you've been asking for me," he said. 
 
 "Yes; I'm going home," Ingmar told him. 
 
 "I know," Bo answered curtly. 
 
 Ingmar turned his head toward Bo,' as if wanting to 
 see his face. "You sound as though you were in a hurry," 
 he said. 
 
 "I've a good deal to do," Bo returned. 
 
 "There was something I wanted to ask you," said 
 Ingmar. 
 
 Bo came a step nearer. 
 
 "How would you like to go home to Sweden for a 
 month or two?" Ingmar began. "I know that your 
 mother would be very glad to see you." 
 
 "I don't see why you should ask me such a thing." 
 
 "If you want to come along with us I'll pay your pas- 
 sage." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Bo. 
 
 "Your mother is my father's only sister, you know," 
 
296 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 said Ingmar eagerly, "and I'd like to afford her the pleas- 
 ure of seeing you once again in this Ufe." 
 
 "You must want to take the whole colony back with 
 you," Bo retorted, a bit nettled. 
 
 Ingmar was nonplussed. He had so hoped that he 
 might be able to persuade Bo to go home with him, and 
 felt that if he would only come along Gertrude would 
 surely grow to Uke him better than she liked himself. 
 He knew that Bo had always been devoted to Gertrude, 
 which ought to count for something with her. 
 
 In a moment Ingmar took heart again. "It was just 
 my stupidity," he thought; "I didn't approach him in 
 the right way." Then he said: "I must confess that 
 it is mostly on my own account I'm asking you to do 
 this." 
 
 He waited for a response; when none seemed forth- 
 coming, he continued: "I don't know how Gertrude and 
 I will be able to get along by ourselves on this troublesome 
 journey. If I must travel with my eyes bandaged, how 
 shall I ever manage to get in and out of the little ferries 
 that take you to the steamers, and climb accommodation 
 ladders, and what not? I'd be sure to miss njy footing 
 and fall into the sea. I think we really should have a man 
 along." 
 
 "You're right about that," Bo agreed. 
 
 "And then, Gertrude wouldn't understand about buy- 
 ing tickets and looking after luggage." 
 
 "Of course she wouldn't," said Bo. "You must have 
 some man with you." 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 297 
 
 "I was sure you would see how necessary it was for 
 us to have a companion," cried Ingmar, elated. 
 
 "Why not ask Gabriel? His father would no doubt be 
 glad to see him." 
 
 For a moment Ingmar was so taken aback that he could 
 not speak, and when at last he did, he seemed quite down- 
 cast. "I had counted on having you," he said. 
 
 "Oh, don't count on me," Bo answered. "I'm very 
 happy here. Almost any of the others would be glad to 
 accompany you, I'm sure." 
 
 "But it makes a great difference to me who goes. 
 You have toured about so much more than any of the 
 others." 
 
 "Anyway I can't go, I tell you," Bo declared. 
 
 Ingmar was growing more and more uneasy. "This is 
 a great disappointment to me," he sighed. "I thought 
 you really meant it when you said you'd be my friend." 
 
 "I thank you for the offer," Bo quickly cut in, "but 
 there's nothing that you could say that would make me 
 change my mind. Now I must be about my business." 
 He turned and left the room before Ingmar could say an- 
 other word. 
 
 Once outside the door. Bo did not appear to be in any 
 great hurry. He walked slowly down the steps and on 
 through the gateway, and then seated himself under 
 the old sycamore tree. It was now evening and quite 
 dark, though the stars were out and a crescent moon 
 hung in the sky. 
 
 Bo had been sitting there but a few moments, when 
 
298 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 the gate opened and Gerttude came out. She stood for a 
 while looking about her before she descried him. 
 
 "Is it you, Bo?" she asked, coming toward him. "I 
 thought I should find you here," she said, sitting dowti 
 beside him. 
 
 "We two have sat here many an evening," said Bo. 
 
 "So we have. Bo; but I suppose this is to be the last." 
 
 "I suppose it is." Bo sat rigidly erect and his voice 
 sounded cold and hollow. One would have thought 
 that this was a matter of no moment to him. 
 
 "Ingmar tells me he is going to ask you to go back 
 with us," said Gertrude. 
 
 "He has already asked me and I have said no." 
 
 "I might have known you wouldn't care to come!" 
 
 They sat for some time in silence, as though they had 
 nothing more to say to each other. Gertrude now and 
 then stole a glance at Bo, who sat gazing at the sky. 
 
 When the silence became oppressive, Bo, still looking 
 into the sky, said: "Isn't it too cold for you to be sitting 
 out here?" 
 
 "Doyou want me togo?" asked Gertrude. 
 
 Bo bowed his head a little, as if nodding assent, think- 
 ing she could not see it in the dark. Then he said: "Oh, 
 I like your being here." 
 
 "I came out to-night because I thought we might not 
 have another opportunity to be together before I leave, 
 and I wanted to thank you for the many times that you 
 have guarded me in my walks to the Mount of Olives," 
 
 "I only did that to please myself," Bo replied. 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 299 
 
 "And I must also thank you for fetching water for me 
 that time from the Well of Paradise," Gertrude added with 
 a wistful smile. 
 
 Bo tried to speak, but no words came — only a sound 
 like a sob. 
 
 To Gertrude there was something strangely appealing 
 about Bo that evening, and she felt the deepest sympathy 
 for him. "This parting is going to be terribly hard for 
 poor Bo," she thought. "He's a stout-hearted fellow 
 not to complain, for I know that he has always loved me. 
 I wish I knew what to say to comfort him. If I could 
 only say something that he would like to recall when sit- 
 ting alone evenings under this tree!" 
 
 While Gertrude was thus musing, her own heart seemed 
 to contract with grief and a strange numbness crept over 
 her. "Indeed, I'm going to miss Bo," she thought, "we 
 have had so much to talk over of late, and I've grown so 
 accustomed to seeing his face light up with happiness 
 whenever we chanced to meet, and besides, it has been 
 nice to have someone near who was always pleased no 
 matter what I did." 
 
 The feeling that she would miss him grew and increased 
 like a sudden attack of illness. "What has come over 
 me?" she wondered. "Surely this having to part from 
 Bo can't be such a grievous thing ? " 
 
 Bo suddenly broke the silence. "I've been thinking 
 of something the whole evening," he said. 
 
 "Tell me about it!" cried Gertrude eagerly. Her 
 heart felt lighter now that he had spoken. 
 
300 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Ingmar once told me about a sawmill he has close by 
 his farm. I think he wanted me to go back with him so 
 that he could rent it to me." 
 
 "That shows how much Ingmar thinks of you, Bo, for 
 that sawmill is his pet hobby." 
 
 "I've heard the buzzing of that mill in my ears the 
 whole evening," said Bo, "the whirr of the saws and the 
 boom of the logs clashing against each other in the river. 
 You can't imagine how delightful it all is to me! And 
 I've also been wondering how it would seem to be work- 
 ing on my own account, instead of being buried like this 
 in a colony." 
 
 "So that is what you have been thinking about while 
 sitting here so quiet," said Gertrude coldly, for somehow 
 she felt disappointed at Bo's utterances. "You don't 
 have to sigh long for that; you've only to go back with 
 Ingmar." 
 
 "But there's something else too," said Bo. "Ingmar 
 also told me he had timber lying ready to build a cottage 
 close to the sawmill. He has staked out a piece of land on 
 a hill, overlooking the rapid, on which a couple of fine 
 birch trees are growing. It's that cottage I've seen, 
 inside and out, all the evening. I can see the carpet of 
 fir-twigs before the door and I can see the fire blazing on 
 the hearth; and, coming home from the sawmill, I can 
 see someone standing in the doorway waiting for me." 
 
 "It's growing cold. Bo," Gertrude interrupted. "Don't 
 you think we had better go inside now?" 
 
 "So you don't care to stay out here any longer? "said Bo. 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 301 
 
 However, they neither of them stirred. After a long 
 silence, Gertrude said: "I thought, Bo, that you loved 
 the colony above everything in this world, and that 
 nothing could induce you to leave it." 
 
 "There's just one thing for which I would leave it." 
 
 "Won't you tell me what it is?" 
 
 After some deliberation, Bo answered in a broken voice: 
 "I may as well tell you. It is this — if the woman I love 
 were to tell me that she loves me." 
 
 Gertrude was so still it seemed as if she hardly dare 
 breathe. 
 
 Although she said not a word, it was as though Bo had 
 heard her say she loved him, for he began to speak with 
 ease and glibness. "You'll see, Gertrude, that your old 
 love for Ingmar will soon reawaken," he said. "You 
 have been angry with him for giving you up, but now 
 that you have forgiven him you will grow as fond of him 
 as you were in the old days. Think of all he has done to 
 win you back! Why, he'd rather become blind than go 
 home without you." 
 
 "Yes, it would be dreadful of me not to like him," she 
 said in a faint voice. Until that evening she had felt 
 in her heart of hearts that she could never love anyone 
 but Ingmar. 
 
 "I can't think clearly to-night, Bo. I don't know what 
 has come over me, but you mustn't speak to me of Ing- 
 mar." 
 
 Now first the one and then the other said something 
 about going in; but neither moved until Karin called to 
 
302 THE HOLY CITY ^ 
 
 them: "Ingmar would like to see both of you in his 
 room." 
 
 While Gertrude had talked with Bo, Karin had been 
 in to see Ingmar and had given him certain messages for 
 friends at home. She had dragged out her talk to such 
 length it was quite plain that she had something to tell 
 Ingmar which she hesitated to say. At last she said in 
 such an offhand manner, that anyone knowing her pecul- 
 iarities would have guessed at once that this was the real 
 object of her visit: "Ljung Bjorn has had a letter from 
 his brother Pehr." 
 
 "Has he?" said Ingmar. 
 
 "I must confess I was unjust to you the day of our 
 talk in my room, soon after your arrival." 
 
 "You only said what you thought to be right." 
 
 "I know now that you had good cause for leaving Bar- 
 bro. Pehr writes that she is not a good woman." 
 
 "But I never said anything to you against Barbro!" 
 
 "They say there's a baby at Ingmar Farm." 
 
 "When did the baby come?" 
 
 "They say sometime in August." 
 
 "It's a lie!" Ingmar shouted, bringing his clenched 
 fist down heavily on the table, barely missing Karin's 
 hand, which rested there. 
 
 "You came near striking my hand." 
 
 "I didn't know your hand was there." 
 
 Karin went on talking about this fpr some time, and 
 Ingmar soon grew calmer. "You must understand that it 
 is not very pleasant for me to hear such things," he 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 303 
 
 told her; "so tell Ljung Bjorn from me not to let this go 
 any further until we know the truth about it." 
 
 "Never you fear, I'll see that he holds his tongue." 
 
 "And will you please ask Gertrude and Bo to come to 
 me?" Ingmar added. 
 
 When they came into the sick-room they found Ingmar 
 sitting over in a dark corner. At first they could hardly 
 see him. "You sent for us," said Bo. "What is the 
 matter, Ingmar?" 
 
 "This — ^that I have taken upon myself more than I 
 can carry out." 
 
 "Ingmar, tell me frankly what it is that troubles you?" 
 said Gertrude, going up to him; "we have never had any 
 secrets from each other since we were children." 
 
 Ingmar groaned. 
 
 Gertrude went quite close to him and laid her hand 
 on his head. "I think I can guess what it is," said she. 
 
 Ingmar suddenly drew himself up. "No, Gertrude, 
 you won't have to do any guessing," he replied, taking 
 from his breast-pocket a banknote case, which he gave to 
 her. "You will find in there a bulky letter addressed 
 to the pastor." 
 
 "Yes, here it is," said Gertrude. 
 
 "I want you and Bo to read that letter. I wrote it 
 soon after my arrival, when I still had the courage not 
 to send it." 
 
 Gertrude and Bo sat down at the table, and began the 
 reading. Ingmar from his corner could hear them turn- 
 ing the pages, "Now they are reading about this," he 
 
304 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 thought, "now about that. And now they have come to 
 the place where Barbro tells me how Berger Sven Pers- 
 son tricked us into marrying. Now they are reading of 
 how she bought back the old silver beakers; and now 
 they've come to that tale Stig Borjesson told me. Ger- 
 trude now knows that I no longer care for her, and sees 
 what a poor wretch I am." 
 
 There was breathless silence in the room. Gertrude and 
 Bo did not move, save when they turned a page. "How 
 will Gertrude be able to understand that it was borne 
 in upon me to-day, the very day she decided to go back 
 with me, that I must let her know it is not herself but 
 Barbro that I love? And why is it that it was only on 
 hearing Barbro slandered that I knew I could never marry 
 any other.? I don't know what has come over me, but 
 I feel that I'm not myself any more." 
 
 He waited anxiously for the others to speak, but all 
 he heard was the rustling of the pages. Unable to bear 
 the suspense any longer, he carefully drew the bandage 
 up from "the eye he could see with, and looked at Ger- 
 trude and Bo. The two were still reading, their heads 
 so close together that they sat almost cheek to cheek, and 
 Bo's arm was around Gertrude's waist. As they read 
 on they drew nearer to each other, and now and then they 
 glanced up from the paper and looked deep into each 
 other's eyes. And their eyes were very bright. 
 
 When they had finished the last page, Gertrude nestled 
 close to Bo, and thus they sat clasped in each other's 
 arms. They had perhaps grasped nothing more of what 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 305 
 
 they had read than the fact that there was no longer any 
 obstacle in the way of their love. 
 
 Ingmar folded his big hands, and thanked God. It 
 was a long while before any of the three moved. 
 
 The colonists had gathered in the meeting-room for 
 morning prayers. It was the last service in the colony 
 at which Ingmar would be present. He and Gertrude and 
 Bo were leaving by train for Jaffa in a few hours. Bo, 
 the previous day, had told Mrs. Gordon and one or two of 
 the leading men of the colony that it was his intention 
 to go back with Ingmar to Sweden, to remain there. In 
 giving his reasons he had been obliged, of course, to tell 
 the whole of Ingmar's story, and Mrs. Gordon after pon- 
 dering what she had heard, said: "Certainly no one 
 would want to make Ingmar more unhappy than he is 
 already, therefore I'm quite willing that you should go 
 with him. Somehow I feel that you and Gertrude will 
 one day return to us. I'm sure you can never be as con- 
 tent elsewhere." 
 
 That the three might take their departure quietly it 
 was decided that the colonists should only be told that 
 Bo was going with Ingmar and Gertrude to help them on 
 the journey. 
 
 Just as the service was about to begin Ingmar was led 
 into the room. Mrs. Gordon immediately rose and went 
 to meet him. Taking him by the hand, she conducted 
 him to the chair beside her, own and carefully helped 
 him to be seated. Then Miss Young, who was at 
 
3o6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 the organ, began a hymn, after which the usual service 
 was held. 
 
 When Mrs. Gordon had finished her short explanatory 
 Bible-reading, old Miss Hoggs stood up and prayed that 
 God would grant Ingmar a safe journey and a happy 
 home-coming. Then one after another the Americans 
 and the Syrians arose and prayed that God would bring 
 Ingmar into the light of truth. Some spoke very beau- 
 tifully, and promised to pray every day for Ingmar, 
 who was their dear brother, and hoped he might soon be 
 restored to health. And they all expressed a wish that 
 he would come back to Jerusalem. 
 
 While the foreigners were speaking, the Swedes, who 
 were up in front, sat silently regarding Ingmar. As 
 they did so, they thought of the justice and order and 
 safety that prevailed in their homeland, and felt that 
 while he had been among them some measure of this had 
 come to them. But now that he was leaving, they felt 
 as if lost in a lawless land, among all these people who 
 blindly and mercilessly fight for the souls of men. 
 
 And again with tender sadness their thoughts turned 
 to their homeland. They seemed to see the old parish 
 with its fields and woodlands, and the people going about 
 in peace and quietude. It was all so secure. Day after 
 day passed in the same even way, and the one year was 
 so much like the other that one could hardly tell which 
 was which. 
 
 As they sat musing on the peaceful Hfe at home, they 
 suddenly reaUzed what a big and wonderful thing it was 
 
"WE SHALL MEET BY-AND-BY" 307 
 
 to be out in the world, to have a goal before you, and to 
 be away from the dull monotony of the old days. One 
 of them now lifted up his voice and prayed in Swedish, 
 saying: "O Lord, I thank Thee for letting me come 
 to Jerusalem." Then one after another the Swedes rose 
 and gave thanks to God for calling them to His Holy 
 City. 
 
 They thanked Him for the dear colony, which had 
 meant so much to them; they thanked Him that their 
 children could learn in their tender years to live in peace 
 and concord with all mankind; they hoped that the 
 younger generation might attain a larger growth in grace 
 than they themselves had attained. They gave thanks 
 to God for persecution, for suffering, and for the beauti- 
 ful teachings they had been called to spread. None 
 sat down until they had testified to the great inner joy 
 that had come to them. And Ingmar knew that all this 
 was said for his benefit; that this was what they wished 
 him to tell the people at home. 
 
 As Ingmar listened to these testimonies he straightened 
 himself a little, he held his head high and the tense ex- 
 pression of his mouth was now more marked than ever. 
 
 When they had all spoken. Miss Young played the 
 closing hymn, after which every one got up to leave, 
 thinking the meeting was over. Then Mrs. Gordon 
 said: "To-day we must also have a Swedish hymn." 
 
 Whereupon the Swedes sang the hymn they had sung 
 when leaving their fatherland. "We shall meet by-and- 
 by; we shall meet in that Eden above." 
 
3o8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 As they sang, a wave of emotion swept over them and 
 tears came into many eyes. For now they thought of all 
 those from whom they were separated, and should never 
 again meet this side of heaven. 
 
 At the close of the hymn Ingmar stood up. He wanted 
 to say a few words to his compatriots, as if spoken from 
 the country to which he was returning. 
 
 "You people are a great honour to us at home," he said, 
 "and we will indeed be glad to meet you again, wher- 
 ever that meeting may be — ^whether on earth or in heaven. 
 There is nothing more beautiful than to see people making 
 sacrifices for righteousness' sake." 
 
THE CHILD 
 
THE CHILD 
 
 ABOUT a month after Ingmar had left for Jerusalem 
 old Lisa of Ingmar Farm noticed that Barbro had 
 become strangely restless and uneasy. "How 
 queer and wild her eyes look!" she thought. "I wonder 
 if she can be losing her mind ? " 
 
 So the old woman determined to find out what was 
 troubling Barbro. "I can't understand what has come 
 over you lately," she said. "When I was young I saw 
 one winter the mistress at Ingmar Farm going about 
 with just such a look in her eyes as you've got." 
 
 "Was it the one who killed her child?" asked Barbro 
 quickly. 
 
 "Yes," the old woman replied, "and I'm beginning 
 to think that you mean to do the same thing." 
 
 To which Barbro made no direct reply. "Every time I 
 hear that story," she said, "there's just one thing about it 
 I can't understand." 
 
 "And what might that be?" 
 
 "Why she didn't do away with herself too." 
 
 The old woman, who sat spinning, stopped her wheel 
 and looked straight at Barbro. "I don't wonder you 
 feel bad when there's a Uttle one on the way, and your 
 husband gone to a foreign land. He couldn't have known 
 about this when he left you." 
 
 3" 
 
312 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Neither of us knew," said Barbro in a faint voice, 
 as if weighed down by a sorrow too heavy for words. 
 
 "But now, of course, you'll write him to come home." 
 
 "No," said Barbro. "My only comfort is the thought 
 of his being away." 
 
 The old woman was horrified. "Do you call that a 
 comfort!" she gasped. 
 
 Barbro stood at the window, staring straight before 
 her. "Don't you know that a curse rests upon me?" 
 she asked, trying to speak in a steady voice. 
 
 "Oh, one can't go in and out without hearing this or 
 that," returned the old woman. "To be sure I have heard 
 that you come of the Sorrow Hill people." 
 
 Then for a while no more was said. Old Lisa had 
 resumed her spinning. She now and then stole a glance 
 at Barbro, who was still at the window and who stood 
 shaking as if from fright. 
 
 Presently old Lisa got up from her work and walked 
 toward the door. 
 
 "Where are you gbing?" asked Barbro. 
 
 "Well, if you want to know, I'm going to try to find 
 someone who will write to Ingmar." 
 
 Barbro quickly placed herself in Lisa's way. "You'd 
 better not try," she said. "Before you could have the 
 letter written I'd be lying at the bottom of the river." 
 
 They stood eyeing each other. Barbro was big and 
 strong. Old Lisa thought she would use force if need be 
 to keep her there, when Barbro suddenly burst into a 
 laugh, and stepped aside. "Oh, write if you must!" she 
 
THE CHILD 313 
 
 said, "I don't care. It will simply mean that I shall have 
 to end it all sooner than I had intended." 
 
 The old woman seeing that she must proceed cau- 
 tiously with Barbro while the latter was in £his desperate 
 frame of mind, said : " Indeed I'll not write." 
 
 "By all means do!" cried Barbro. "It won't affect 
 me one way or the other. Can't you comprehend that 
 I shall have to do away with myself in any case? It 
 would be wicked to allow this curse to go on forever." 
 
 Old Lisa went back to her spinning-wheel. 
 
 "Aren't you going to see about that letter?" asked 
 Barbro, following her up. 
 
 "Will you let me have a sensible talk with you ? " said 
 old Lisa. 
 
 "Why, of course." 
 
 "I will promise you not to say anything about all this, 
 if you will promise not to harm yourself and the child 
 you are carrying before we are quite sure about its being 
 the sort that you expect." 
 
 On thinking it over, Barbro said: "Have I your word, 
 then, that afterwards I may do as I like?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the old woman, "afterwards you can 
 do as you like, that I promise you." 
 
 "I might as well do it at once," said Barbro wearily. 
 
 "I thought you wanted above everything to give Ing- 
 mar a chance to right the wrong he has done another," 
 said the old woman, "but how could he if he were to hear 
 such news of you?" 
 
 Barbro started and pressed her hand to her heart. 
 
314 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Let it be as you wish," she said. "This is a hard 
 thing you are asking of me, but mind you keep your 
 promise." 
 
 Old Lisa betrayed nothing and Barbro was so careful 
 to guard her secret that no one even suspected what was 
 going to happen. Luckily for her, the spring came very 
 early that year. By the middle of March the snows in 
 the forest had melted, and as soon as there was a blade 
 of grass to feed upon Barbro had the cows driven up to 
 the sdter, which was on a lonely mountain-side far from 
 any habitation. She and the old servant went along 
 to tend the cows. 
 
 Near the end of May the child was born. It was a 
 boy, a puny and weak little thing that cried all the time. 
 When old Lisa showed him to Barbro, she laughed bit- 
 terly. "It was needless your making me live for the sake 
 of this child." 
 
 "You can't tell when they're as little as [that what 
 they'll grow up to be," replied the old woman comfort- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Now mind you keep your promise to let me do as I 
 see fit," said Barbro sternly. 
 
 "Yes; but I must first be quite sure that he is blind." 
 
 Barbro was more ill this time than last. The first 
 week she felt too weak to leave her bed. The child was 
 not with the mother. Lisa kept it in one of the small 
 hay-sheds at the sdter and took care of it night and day. 
 She fed it on goat's milk, and only with the greatest diffi- 
 culty managed to keep it alive. Once or twice a day 
 
THE CHILD 31S 
 
 she brought the child into the cabin, but Barbro always 
 turned away so as not to see it. 
 
 One day old Lisa stood at the low window in the cabin 
 holding the child in her arms; it was crying as usual, and 
 the old woman could not help remarking to herself what a 
 pitiful little morsel it was. "My goodness!" she cried 
 out, suddenly bending forward, "if there isn't company 
 coming!" 
 
 In a twinkling she was over by the bed. 
 
 "You'll have to take the child, Barbro, while I run out 
 and tell them they can't come inside, as you are sick." 
 
 Then she laid the infant on the bed and went out. 
 
 Barbro let it lie there crying, without touching it. Old 
 Lisa was back in a moment. 
 
 "That child's cries can be heard over the whole forest," 
 she said. "If you can't hush it, how are we going to pre- 
 vent people finding out about it?" 
 
 Directly this was said out she went again, and Barbro 
 not knowing what else she could do, put the child to the 
 breast. 
 
 The old woman was gone a good while. When she re- 
 turned the child was asleep and Barbro lay looking at it. 
 
 "You needn't be afraid," said old Lisa, "they couldn't 
 have heard anything, for they went oflF in another direc- 
 tion." 
 
 Barbro gave her a knowing look. "No doubt you 
 think you've done something very clever," she said. 
 "Don't you suppose I know there was no one there? 
 That was merely an excuse to make me take the boy. " 
 
3i6 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "I'll take him away again, if you say so." 
 
 "He can just as well lie here until he awakes." 
 
 Toward evening old Lisa again offered to relieve the 
 mother of the infant. The little one now lay quiet and 
 good, opening and closing its tiny hands. 
 
 "Where do you keep him at night?" asked Barbro. 
 
 "He lies in the hay-shed." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you let him lie out there, 
 as if he were only a kitten ? " 
 
 "I didn't think it mattered much how this young one 
 fared; but if you'd rather keep it here, all right." 
 
 One morning, when the boy was about a week old, 
 Barbro sat up in bed and watched the old woman swad- 
 dle him. "How awkwardly you take hold of him!" 
 said Barbro. "No wonder he cries so much." 
 
 "I've tended babies before," the old woman retorted, 
 " and I think I know as much about them as you do." 
 
 Barbro thought to herself that never had she seen any- 
 one handle a child so roughly. "You are holding him in 
 such a way that he's getting blue in the face," she said 
 impatiently. 
 
 "I didn't know I was expected to fuss over this poor 
 little changeling as if he were a prince," snapped the old 
 woman. "But if my way doesn't suit you, do it your- 
 self." With that, she plumped the child down on the 
 bed, and went off in a huff, 
 
 Barbro rearranged the child's bands and things, and it 
 was soon quiet and comfortable. "Don't you see how 
 good he is ? " she said when Lisa came back. 
 
THE CHILD 317 
 
 "I have always been told I was a good hand with chil- 
 dren," muttered the old woman, who was still in a bad 
 humour. 
 
 After that Barbro herself looked after the child. One 
 day while still confined to her bed, she asked Lisa to give 
 her some clean things for the boy. The old woman re- 
 plied that she had just put to soak what few little baby 
 rags there were. Barbro flushed and tears of chagrin 
 filled her eyes. "This child is no better off" than a beg- 
 gar's baby," she said. 
 
 "You should have thought of all that before," the 
 old woman returned. "I wonder what you would have 
 done,.if I hadn 't gathered together all the baby-clothes 
 I could lay my hands on, and brought them with 
 me. 
 
 The deep despondency from which Barbro had suffered 
 during the winter months overwhelmed her again, and 
 made her hard. "It would have been better if this child 
 had never been swaddled," she said. 
 
 The next day Barbro was up for the first time She 
 brought out her shears, a needle and some thread, and 
 proceeded to cut up a sheet to make clothes for the child. 
 When she had been sewing for some little time, her mor- 
 bid thoughts returned. "What is the use of my making 
 these things for the boy! It would be better for both of 
 us if I went down into the bog with him, for it's there we 
 must end sooner or later." 
 
 She went out to speak to old Lisa, who was milking the 
 cows before driving them to pasture. "Lisa, do you 
 
3i8 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 know how long it will be before we can be certain that the 
 child sees?" she asked. 
 
 "In a week, I should think, or perhaps a fortnight." 
 
 Barbro hurried back to the house and took up her work 
 again. Her hand shook so that she could hardly guide 
 the shears, and she was cutting her cloth very unevenly. 
 Soon she trembled all over, and was obliged to leave 
 off working for a while. "What ever is the matter with 
 me?" she wondered. "Can it be that I'm tremb- 
 ling from joy because I may have the child a little 
 longer?" 
 
 Old Lisa had a hard time of it at the sdter. She had 
 both to drive the cows to grass and do the milking. Bar-r 
 bro had no thought for anything but her child, and the 
 old servant got no help at all from her. "I think, Barbro, 
 that you might do a little work, and not spend all your 
 time gazing at that young one!" old Lisa grumbled 
 when she came in one day all tired out. 
 
 "You'll have help enough later on," Barbro assured 
 her; "but during the few precious days still left to us I 
 don't intend to leave him for a moment." 
 
 The fonder Barbro grew of the child the stronger^became 
 her conviction that the greatest mercy that she could 
 show it would be to carry out her first intention. The 
 child continued weak and fretful. It seemed hardly to 
 have gained an ounce in weight and looked as tiny now 
 as when it was born, but what troubled her most was 
 that the child's eyelids were always red and swollen, and 
 it made no effort to raise them. 
 
THE CHILD 319 
 
 One day old Lisa happened to mention the child's age. 
 "He is now three weeks old, Barbro," she said. 
 
 "No, he won't be that till to-morrow," Barbro quickly 
 corrected her. 
 
 "Oh indeed," said the old woman. "Then I must 
 have made some mistake in the count, for I certainly 
 remember that he was born on a Wednesday." 
 
 "I think you might let me have him just one more 
 day," Barbro pleaded. 
 
 When old Lisa was dressing the next morning she said: 
 "The grass round here is very poor, so I shall have to 
 drive the cows further into the forest; I don't expect to 
 come back with them before night." Barbro quickly 
 turned to her as if wanting to say something, then 
 pressed her lips tight together. "Do you wish any- 
 thing?" queried the old woman, feeling that Barbro 
 wanted her to stay at home. But receiving no response, 
 she went about her business. 
 
 The old woman was long coming home that night. The 
 cows strayed and she kept calling to them all the while, 
 for they stopped whenever they came upon a tuft of green. 
 Walking along she muttered to herself and scolded 
 the stubborn animals. "Oh dear!" she sighed at last, 
 "you needn't be in such a hurry to get back, old Lisa. 
 You'll be home quite soon enough for what awaits you 
 there." 
 
 When she opened the door to the cabin she saw Barbro 
 sitting with the boy in her lap, crooning to him. "Oh, 
 
320 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Lisa, I thought you'd never come home!" Barbro ex- 
 claimed. "I don't know what I'm to do, the boy is all 
 broken out." She rushed up to the old woman with the 
 child and showed her a couple of red spots on its neck. 
 
 Old Lisa, standing at the door, clasped her hands to- 
 gether in astonishment and burst out laughing. 
 
 "Then you don't think this rash is anything serious?" 
 said Barbro. 
 
 "It will be gone by to-morrow," replied the old woman, 
 still laughing. 
 
 Lisa's strange behaviour puzzled Barbro at first, and 
 then it occurred to her that the old woman must have been 
 dreadfully anxious all day. "It would have been better 
 for us all perhaps, if I had done that thing," she said. 
 "I suppose you thought I would when you went away this 
 morning." 
 
 "I lay awake in the night," the old woman averred, 
 "wondering what I ought to do, and then something told 
 me that little chap would take care of himself if I left him 
 alone with you." 
 
 When they were through with the usual evening tasks 
 and were about to go to bed, old Lisa said to Barbro: 
 " Have you decided yet to let the child live ? " 
 
 "Yes, if our Lord will only give him health so that I 
 may keep him." 
 
 "But what if he should be both blind and an idiot?" 
 
 "Well, what of it?" said Barbro, "I couldn't harm the 
 poor little thing in any case. Whatever happens I shall 
 be thankful if I am only allowed to take care of him." 
 
THE CHILD 321 
 
 The old woman sat down on the edge of the bed and 
 pondered a bit. Presently she said: "Now that things 
 have taken this happy turn, of course you'll write to 
 Ingmar." 
 
 Barbro started. "I thought you wanted the child to 
 live," she said; "but if you send for Ingmar, there's no 
 telling what may happen." 
 
 "I don't see what else there is to do. Anyone who 
 hears that you have a baby would be likely to write and 
 tell him." 
 
 "I mean to keep this thing a secret until Ingmar has 
 married Gertrude." 
 
 Old Lisa saw plainly that Barbro would do something 
 desperate if crossed, and thought it wise not to ptirsue 
 the subject. "You hav^ been very kind to all the old 
 servants at Ingmar Farm," she said, "and I don't want 
 to lose my good mistress." 
 
 "If I have ever been good to you, you can repay me 
 a thousandfold by doing as I wish in this case." 
 
 Barbro had her way, and the whole summer passed 
 without anyone finding out about the child. When 
 people came up to the sdter, the boy was hidden in the 
 hay-shed. Barbro's great concern, however, was how 
 she would manage to conceal him in the autumn, on her 
 return to the village. 
 
 Every hour the child grew dearer to her, and with her 
 mother love there came to her some of her old serenity. 
 Though backward in growth and development, little by 
 little the boy gained in strength, but his eyes were still 
 
322 THE HOLY €ITY 
 
 so inflamed that he could hardly open them. Barbro 
 felt certain in her own mind that he was a congenital 
 idiot. None the less she hoped he might be spared to 
 her. Sometimes she had moments of great depression, 
 mostly during the night, when she would get up and go 
 look at the child as it lay sleeping. It was not a pretty 
 baby; it's nose was too short and its underlip too heavy, 
 and it had a sallow complexion and thin reddish hair. 
 Going back to bed, she would lie awake for hours, 
 grieving at the thought that her son was such a poor 
 little hapless being. But when in the early morning 
 the child awoke after a good night's sleep and lay smiling 
 in its basket, and stretched out its little arms to her 
 when she spoke to it, then Barbro felt calm and 
 reconciled. "I don't believe that mothers with strong 
 healthy children love them as much as I love this poor 
 little weakling," she thought. 
 
 One dark stormy evening toward the middle of Sep- 
 tember Barbro and Lisa sat in the cabin before an open 
 fire. Barbro had the child in her lap and was wondering, 
 as usual, how she should manage to keep the knowledge 
 of its existence from reaching Ingmar. " For if he hears 
 of this," she thought, "he will be sure to come back to 
 me, and I could never make him understand that I want 
 to bear my burden alone." 
 
 As she sat thinking thus, the door opened and in came 
 a wayfarer. "Well met in the forest," greeted the man. 
 "It was a lucky thing for me that I found this house, for 
 
THE CHILD 323 
 
 I could never have made my way down to the village 
 in this coal black darkness. Happily I remembered that 
 the Ingmar Sdter was somewhere hereabout." 
 
 The man was a poor wretch who had formerly been 
 a peddler, and who now went about the country begging. 
 He was not so reduced as to be compelled to live upon 
 charity; it was simply that he could not give up his old 
 habit of roaming about frpm place to place to gather news. 
 
 Of course the first thing that caught his eye when he 
 entered the cabin was the babe. "Whose child is 
 that?" he asked at once. 
 
 For a moment the two women were speechless. Then 
 old Lisa blurted out: "It is Ingmar Ingmarsson's." 
 
 The man started in surprise. He seemed a bit dis- 
 concerted at having come upon something which he felt 
 they would rather he did not know. To hide his dis- 
 comfiture he bent over the child, and said: "How old 
 might the little one be?" 
 
 "A month." This time it was Barbro who answered; 
 
 The man was unmarried and knew little about chil- 
 dren, therefore he did not see that the mother was deceiv- 
 ing him. The man stared in astonishment at Barbro, 
 who sat there quite unconcerned. "Only a month, did 
 you say?" 
 
 "Yes," Barbro answered calmly. 
 
 Then he observed that old Lisa was making signs at 
 her, while Barbro, unheeding, sat with head proudly 
 erect. "The old hag wouldn't stick at a lie," he thought, 
 "but Barbro Svensdotter is above that sort of thing." 
 
324 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 The next morning, when he was taking leave, he gave 
 Barbro's hand a significant squeeze. "I'll keep mum," 
 he said. "No one need be the wiser for me " 
 
 "Trust you for that!" laughed Barbro. 
 
 "What in the world were you thinking about, Barbro?" 
 old Lisa burst forth the moment they were alone. "Why 
 did you tell that lie?" 
 
 "There was nothing else for it." 
 
 "Do you imagine that Peddler Johannes will keep a 
 thing like that to himself?" 
 
 "I don't wish him to." 
 
 " Do you want folks to think the boy is not Ingmar's ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Barbro; "for now that people are bound 
 to hear about it we must let them think what they like." 
 
 "And do you expect me to be a party to this?" 
 
 "You'll have to, unless you want this poor little idiot 
 to be the next master of Ingmar Farm." 
 
 By the middle of September those who had been to 
 the sdters for the summer returned to their homes, and 
 Barbro and Lisa went back to the farm. They soon 
 found that the whole parish knew about the baby. Nor 
 did Barbro now try to conceal the fact that she had a 
 child. She was only fearful lest people discover that it 
 was not as other children. 
 
 Very naturally there was a good deal of talk about 
 Barbro that autumn, and people did not trouble to hide 
 their thoughts of her. In time she became so timid that 
 she would hardly venture outside the house. Even 
 the servants showed a dianged attitude toward her, and 
 
THE CHILD 325 
 
 made insinuating remarks within her hearing, and she 
 had much difficulty in making them obey her orders. 
 
 Strong Ingmar, who had been staying at the farm as 
 overseer in the absence of the master, happened one day 
 to hear a stable boy give Barbro an uncivil answer, and 
 he dealt the fellow a stinging box on the ear that sent 
 him reeling. "If I hear anything like that again," 
 said the old man, "I'll give you a drubbing you won't 
 forget in a hurry!" . 
 
 "Thank you for that," said Barbro. 
 
 Strong Ingmar gave her a look that was anything but 
 friendly. "So long as you are mistress at Ingmar Farm 
 I'll see that the servants show you proper respect," he 
 said gruffly. 
 
 Later in the autumn there came word from Jerusalem 
 that Gertrude and Ingmar were on their way to Sweden. 
 When Barbro heard of this her first feeling was one of 
 relief. She had no doubt that Ingmar would now want 
 a full divorce and thought that when once she was free 
 she could throw off the burden of contempt that was 
 crushing her. But afterwards, as she went about her 
 household duties, the tears again and again sprang to her 
 eyes. The thought that all would soon be over between 
 her and Ingmar wrungher heart; for she knew that withr 
 out him her life would be empty. 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 
 
 ONE morning in the late autumn people kept going 
 in and out of the school-house, for Gertrude 
 had come home the day before. ' She had 
 arranged upon the large table in Mother Stina's kitchen 
 all the parcels she had brought from Jerusalem, and 
 sent word by the school children to everyone who had 
 relatives or friends among the colonists to come down 
 to the school-house. They all came — Hok Matts, Ljung 
 Bjorn's brother Pehr and many, many others. As she 
 distributed the gifts, she told them about Jerusalem, 
 about the colony, and the many strange and wonderful 
 experiences they had had there. 
 
 Bo Mansson was in the school-house the whole morning 
 helping Gertrude, but Ingmar did not appear. On the 
 journey Ingmar had felt satisfied that what Karin had 
 told him was only a false rumour. But on his arrival, 
 when he heard that it was true, he could not bear the 
 thought of meeting people. He had gone straight to 
 the home of Bo's parents, where he remained in seclusion. 
 
 By noontime most of the people had been and gone, 
 and Gertrude for a while happened to be alone in the 
 kitchen. Then a tall, fine-looking woman came in. 
 "Who can she be?" Gertrude wondered. "I thought 
 
 329 
 
330 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 I knew everyone in these parts, but I've never seen her 
 before." 
 
 The woman went up to Gertrude and offered her hand. 
 "You are Gertrude, I believe," she said in a soft voice. 
 "I wish you would tell me if it is true that you are not 
 going to marry Ingmar." j 
 
 Gertrude at first resented the stranger's coming thus 
 abruptly and asking such a personal question, and then 
 it struck her that this must be Barbro, Ingmar's wife. 
 "No," she said, "I'm not going to marry Ingmar." 
 
 The woman sighed and walked toward the door. "I 
 could not believe this until I had heard it from your own 
 lips," she said. 
 
 Barbro thought only of the added difficulties this might 
 bring upon her. Here was Ingmar at home again with 
 no ties and very likely as much in love with her as when 
 he went away. "Now I wouldn't dare let it be known 
 that the child is his," she thought. "I know that he 
 would think himself disgraced in the eyes of everyone, 
 if he allowed me to struggle on alone with a sick child. Of 
 course he would ask me to be his wife again, and as I 
 couldn't say no to him it would only mean a return of the 
 old doubts and fears. But it will be hard for me to go 
 through life bearing a shame I have not merited." As 
 she stood at the door she turned to Gertrude, and said 
 in a low voice: "I suppose Ingmar won't come back 
 to the farm now." 
 
 "Perhaps he won't be allowed to come until you are 
 properly divorced." 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 331 
 
 "I hardly think he'd want to come in any case." 
 
 Gertrude rushed up to Barbro. "I believe you are 
 deliberately wronging yourself," she cried. "I have said 
 so all along, and now that I have seen you I'm sure of 
 it." 
 
 "How can you say that when you know that I have 
 a child?" 
 
 "I think you are treating Ingmar shamefully," pursued 
 Gertrude, "considering how he has been longing for you. 
 His whole life will be ruined unless you tell him the 
 truth." 
 
 "I've nothing to tell," Barbro answered. 
 
 Gertrude stood looking at the woman as though she 
 were trying to compel her to speak. 
 
 "Can you get word to Ingmar?" asked Barbro presently. 
 
 "Of course I can." 
 
 "Then tell him that Strong Ingmar is dying, and that 
 he must not fail to come home and bid him farewell. 
 He need have no fear of meeting me," she added. 
 
 "It would be well for you both if you did meet," said 
 Gertrude. 
 
 Barbro turned and opened.the door; then glancing back, 
 she said: "It isn't true that Ingmar has become blind, 
 is it?" 
 
 "He has lost one eye, but the other eye, which was 
 quite bad for a time, is all right now." 
 
 "I am glad I have seen you," said Barbro, with a 
 tender smile. Whereupon she went her way. 
 
 An hour or so later Ingmar was on his way to the 
 
332 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 farm to take last leave of Strong Ingmar. He walked 
 slowly, as though each step were an effort. 
 
 At the roadside was a wretched hovel, and when Ingmar 
 was still at some distance from it he descried a man atid 
 a woman standing at the door. The man was poor 
 and shabby, and Ingmar saw the woman put something 
 into his hand and then hasten away in the direction of 
 the Ingmar Farm. As Ingmar was passing the place 
 the man stood counting some silver coin he held in his 
 hand, and he recognized him as Stig Borjesson. 
 
 Stig did not see Ingmar until the latter had gone by, 
 when he called: "Wait, Ingmar, wait! Why don't you 
 stop!" he shouted, and ran out into the road. "I want 
 to speak with you." But as Ingmar walked on without 
 even glancing back Stig was provoked. "Very well, 
 suit yourself!" he said. "I had meant to tell you 
 something you'd be glad to know." 
 
 A few moments later Ingmar was close upon the heels 
 of the woman he had seen with Stig Borjesson. She was 
 evidently in a great hurry, for she walked very rapidly. 
 Hearing some one behind her and thinking it was Stig 
 she said without turning round: "You must be 
 satisfied with what I have given you; I have no more 
 money to-day." Ingmar said nothing, but quickened 
 his pace. "You shall have some more next week if you 
 will promise not to tell Ingmar anything." 
 
 Just then Ingmar came up with her and put his hand 
 on her shoulder. Shaking herself free she turned upon 
 him with an indignant protest. When she saw that it 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 333 
 
 was Ingtnar, and not Stig, she clasped her hands in glad 
 surprise. As their eyes met Ingmar slowly raised his 
 arm and his eyebrows contracted in a deep frown. He 
 looked as if he could have struck her to the earth. 
 
 She stood a moment regarding him fearlessly, then 
 quietly drew back. "No, no, Ingmar," she said, "do not 
 make yourself unhappy on my account." 
 
 Ingmar let his arm drop. "I ask your pardon," he 
 said coldly. "I couldn't bear seeing you in Stig's com- 
 pany." 
 
 Barbro answered in a calm, even voice: "Indeed, I 
 should be thankful to anyone who would rid me of my 
 life." 
 
 Without a word, Ingmar crossed to the other side of the 
 road, and walked on in silence. Barbro too continued 
 on her way, silent. The tears sprang to her eyes. "He 
 won't even speak to me," she thought, "and we haven't 
 seen each other in such a long time. To think of our 
 both being so unhappy! I can't bear to have him despise 
 me. Perhaps' I'd better tell him the whole truth, and 
 then make away with myself." 
 
 So she spoke to him. "You do not ask how Strong 
 Ingmar is?" 
 
 "I'll soon be at the house," he returned sullenly, "and 
 can find out for myself." 
 
 "He came to me this morning and said that a message 
 had come to him in the night that this would be his last 
 day on earth." 
 
 "Is he not ill, then?" 
 
334 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "He has been troubled with rheumatism the whole 
 year, and has fretted a good deal because you did not 
 come home so that he might be released. He has said 
 all along that he couldn't leave until you returned from 
 the pilgrimage." 
 
 "And he is no more ill to-day than usual?" 
 
 "No; he is no worse than he has been for months past, 
 yet he feels so certain his time has come, that he has 
 actually gone to bed in the little room to await the end. 
 He insists that everything must be just as it was when your 
 father died, and wants us to send for the pastor and the 
 doctor, because they were called in when Big Ingmar was 
 dying. He has also asked for the fine quilt which was 
 spread over Big Ingmar's bed that day, but it was not 
 at the farm. It had been sold at the auction." 
 
 "Many things were sold at that auction," Ingmar 
 put in. 
 
 "One of the maid-servants told me that Stig Borjesson 
 had bought it; so I thought I would try to get it back, 
 simply to please Strong Ingmar. "I have it here," she 
 said, pointing to a bundle she was carrying. 
 
 "You have always been good to the old folk," observed 
 Ingmar. His voice sounded hard and cold, though he 
 meant -to speak kindly. After that nothing more was 
 said. 
 
 Barbro looked ahead wistfully. "Home seems such 
 a long way off!" she thought. "It will be a half-hour 
 before we are there, and I shall have to walk on seeing 
 all the while how unhappy he is and yet unable to help 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 335 
 
 him. To tell him the truth would only make matters 
 worse, for in that case his life would again be linked with 
 mine. Never, never have I been put to so crucial a test ! " 
 
 Though they tried to hasten, the way seemed inter- 
 minably long. Their heavy thoughts seemed to retard 
 their steps. 
 
 When they finally reached the farm and were about 
 to pass in at the gate, Ingmar barred the way. 
 
 "I must take this opportunity to tell you of a plan 
 I have in mind, and if you will not agree to it we may 
 perhaps never see each other again. I propose that we 
 withdraw the application for a divorce." There was an 
 uncompromising note in Ingmar's voice and his eyes did 
 not rest upon Barbro, but upon the old homestead. He 
 nodded to the long row of buildings, the low windows 
 and apertures of which seemed to return his salutes with 
 a grave stare. 
 
 "Yes, they are eyeing me," he thought. "They want 
 to see if I have at last learned to walk in the ways of 
 God. 
 
 "I have thought a good deal about our future to-day," 
 he continued, "and have said to myself, again and again, 
 that a woman like Barbro must not be allowed to ruin 
 her life; that it is my duty to protect her though we can 
 never again live as husband and wife. Now I want to 
 know if you would not like to go back with me to Jeru- 
 salem, where we could both join the colony. The col- 
 onists are good people, and besides, there are so many of 
 our own folk out there that you would soon feel at home." 
 
336 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Would you give up the farm for my sake?" 
 
 "I want to do what is right, that's all." 
 
 "You have already lost the use of one eye in Jerusalem 
 and I know that you were obliged to come home in order 
 to save the other." 
 
 "We mustn't think about that now," said Ingmar. 
 "All will be well for us if we only do what is right." 
 
 Barbro again felt it would be a mercy to tell him the 
 truth. "No," she bethought herself. "It is best that 
 our ways should part." 
 
 As she did not answer, Ingmar said: "This time it will 
 be a long parting, Barbro." 
 
 "Yes," she sighed, and gave him her hand. As he held 
 her hand in his a tremor passed through him. For a mo- 
 ment it seemed as though he would draw her to him in a 
 passionate embrace. "I'll go in now and tell Strong 
 Ingmar that you are here," she said. 
 
 "Yes, do," said Ingmar, quickly releasing her hand. 
 
 Strong Ingmar lay abed in the little room. He suffered 
 no pain, but his heart beat feebly and his breathing was 
 becoming increasingly difficult. "Now I know that my 
 time has come," he mused. 
 
 He had his violin by his side, and when there was no 
 one in the room he let his fingers wander over the strings; 
 and then he seemed to hear old dance-tunes and folk- 
 songs he used to play. When the pastor and the doctor 
 came in he pushed the fiddle away, and began to re- 
 late wonderful things that had happened to him in days 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 337 
 
 gone by. They were mostly about Big Ingmar and about 
 the elves and fairies of the woods, who for many years 
 had been his good friends. But from the day Helgum 
 cut down the rosebush outside his hut, the old man said, 
 the world had hot been a pleasant place to live in. 
 The elves and fairies had ceased to watch over him and 
 he had been visited by all kinds of infirmities. 
 
 "Your Reverence can imagine my joy when Big Ing- 
 mar came to me last night and told me I wouldn't have 
 to look after his farm any longer, but could now go to 
 rest." 
 
 The old man was very solemn; it was evident that he 
 firmly believed he was dying. The pastor remarked that 
 he did not lopk very ill, but the doctor, who had examined 
 him, said gravely: "Strong Ingmar knows whereof he 
 speaks. It is not in vain that he awaits his release." 
 
 When Barbro came in and spread the beautiful quilt 
 over him, the old man turned quite pale. "The end is 
 nearing," he said, patting Barbro's hand. "Thank you 
 for this, and for all you have done for me. And now you 
 must forgive me for having been so hard upon you of 
 late." Barbro swallowed hard; there was so much pent 
 up anguish in her heart that she could hardly keep back 
 the tears. The old man patted her hand again, and 
 smiled up at her. 
 
 "Ingmar will soon be here," she said comfortingly. 
 
 At this moment Ingmar entered. The old man with 
 great effort raised himself in bed, and held out his hand 
 to him. "Welcome back to you!" he said. 
 
338 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 Ingmar was deeply moved when he saw him. "Never 
 did I think that you would He down to die on the day 
 of my home-coming!" he said. 
 
 "You mustn't reproach me for that," the old man 
 replied. "You surely remember that Big Ingmar said 
 I might come to him as soon as you returned from the 
 pilgrimage." 
 
 Ingmar sat down on the edge of the bed, and the sick 
 man stroked his hand, but did not speak for a long while. 
 It was plain that the end was drawing near, for the palbr 
 of death was on his face and his breathing had become 
 heavy and laboured. 
 
 When Barbro went out of the room he began to ques- 
 tion Ingmar. "Has all gone well with you.^" he asked, 
 looking sharply at him. 
 
 "I have made a good journey," Ingmar replied. 
 
 "I hear that Gertrude has come back with you." 
 
 "Yes; she is with her pacents now, and she is going 
 to marry my cousin, Bo Mansson." 
 
 "Are you pleased at that, Ingmar?" 
 
 "I'm thoroughly pleased at that," said Ingmar em- 
 phatically. 
 
 The old man shook his head. There seemed to be 
 something back of it all which he could not understand. 
 "But what about your eyes?" he asked suddenly. 
 
 "I lost the sight of one eye in Jerusalem." 
 
 "An(J are you pleased at that too?" 
 
 "You know. Strong Ingmar, that our Lord demands 
 a sacrifice from one to whom He grants a great boon." 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 339 
 
 "Have you, then, received some special grace?" 
 
 "Yes; grace has been given to me to make good a 
 great wrong I did another." 
 
 The dying man turned restlessly from side to side. 
 
 "Are you in pain?" asked Ingmar. 
 
 "No," said the old man, "but I'm troubled." 
 
 "What is it that troubles you?" 
 
 "You are not lying to me, Ingmar, so that I may pass 
 out in peace ? " asked the old man very tenderly. 
 
 Ingmar, taken ofF his guard, fell to sobbing. 
 
 "Now tell me the honest truth," said the old man. 
 
 Ingmar quickly controlled himself. "Surely I may 
 weep when Fm to lose my good friend." 
 
 The old man grew more and more restless, and a cold 
 sweat broke out on his forehead. "You have but just 
 come back, Ingmar," he said presently; "so I don't know 
 if you have had any news from the farm." 
 
 "What you are now thinking about I heard in Jeru- 
 salem." 
 
 "I should have guarded better what was yours." 
 
 "Let me tell you, Strong Ingmar, that you wrong Bar- 
 bro if you think ill of her." 
 
 "Am I wronging her?" 
 
 "You are," said Ingmar vehemently. "It's well I 
 came home so she has someone to defend her against these 
 scandal mongers." 
 
 The old man was about to reply, when Barbro, who had 
 been in the outer room arranging the coffee tray for the 
 visitors and had heard the whole conversation through 
 
34° THE HOLY CITY 
 
 the half-open door, came in. She went up to Ingmar as 
 if to speak to him; but instead she bent over the old man 
 and asked him how he felt. 
 
 "I feel better now that I have talked with Ingmar," 
 he told her. 
 
 "Yes, it is good to talk with him," Barbro whispered. 
 Then she went and sat down by the window. 
 
 Strong Ingmar now lay still, with eyes closed and 
 hands folded. The others kept very quiet so as not to 
 disturb him. 
 
 The old man's thoughts went back to the time of Big 
 Ingmar's passing. He seemed to see the little room 
 as it was the day he came in to bid Big Ingmar fare- 
 well. He remembered how the little children his master 
 had rescued from the flood sat at the foot of the bed when 
 he died. 
 
 "You see. Big Ingmar, that you were more blessed 
 than I am," he whispered. For he felt that the friend 
 of his youth was very close. "The pastor and the doctor 
 are both here, and your quilt is spread over me, but 
 there is no little child on my bed." 
 
 He had no sooner breathed these words than he heard 
 a voice say: "There is a little child at the farm for 
 which you could perform an act of mercy in your last 
 hour." 
 
 Strong Ingmar smiled to himself. He seemed at once 
 to understand what he must do. In a voice which was 
 now very feeble, though still quite audible, he lamented 
 that the pastor and the doctor were obliged to wait so 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 341 
 
 long for his going. "But as the pastor is here, I want 
 to say that there is an unchristened child in the house 
 which I had thought of asking him to baptize while wait- 
 ing." 
 
 It was quiet in the room before the old man had spoken, 
 but afterwards it was even more so. Presently the 
 pastor said: "It was well you thought of that, Strong 
 Ingmar; the rest of us should have seen to it long ago." 
 
 Barbro rose in utter dismay. "No, no!" she pro- 
 tested, "we cannot do that now." She knew that when 
 the child was christened she would have to say who the 
 father was, and on that account had put oflF the christen- 
 ing. She had planned to have the child baptized when 
 she was really divorced from Ingmar. Now she was 
 almost beside herself with fear. 
 
 "You might give me the happiness of doing a good 
 deed in my last hour," said Strong Ingmar, repeating the 
 words he thought he had heard. 
 
 "No, I cannot," said Barbro. 
 
 Then the doctor advised that it would be well to let 
 the old man have his way. "Strong Ingmar would feel 
 easier if he had something to think of besides his ap- 
 proaching death." 
 
 Barbro felt as if held in a vise when~they asked her 
 to do this in a room where a man was about to draw his 
 last breath. "Surely you must understand that this is 
 impossible!" she moaned. 
 
 The pastor went up to her,- and said gravely: "You 
 know of course that your child will have to be baptized." 
 
342 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, "but not to-day. To-morrow 
 I'll bring him to the parsonage. I can't have it done now, 
 when Strong Ingmar is dying." 
 
 "Not when you know that it would please him ?" 
 
 Ingmar Ingmarsson had been sitting all this while 
 silent and motionless. He was deeply affected at seeing 
 Barbro thus humiliated and unhappy. "This is terribly 
 hard for a proud woman like her," he thought. He 
 could not bear that the one whom he had loved and 
 esteemed above all others should be subject to shame 
 and dishonour. "Don't insist upon this," he said to 
 Strong Ingmar. "It is too hard for Barbro." 
 
 "We will make it as easy for her as we can," the 
 pastor interposed, "if she will fetch the child. She need 
 only set down on a piece of paper what is necessary for 
 me to know, so that I can enter it in the church books 
 when I get home." 
 
 "No, I can't do it!" said Barbro> whose only thought 
 was to have the christening postponed. 
 
 Strong Iiigmar now raised himself in bed. "It will 
 weigh heavily on your conscience to the end of your 
 days, Ingmar, if you do not see that my last wish is car- 
 ried out." 
 
 Ingmar then went up to Barbro and whispered to her: 
 "I suppose you know that a married woman need not give 
 any name for the child's father but her husband's. Now 
 I will have the child brought in." He looked anxiously 
 at Barbro, who was trembling from head to foot. "I 
 fear she may lose her reaspn," he thought as he werrt out. 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 343 
 
 The few preparations for the service were soon made. 
 The pastor took his robe and prayer-book out of the bag 
 which he carried with him on all occasions, and after 
 a bowl of water had been placed upon the table, old Lisa 
 brought in the child. 
 
 As the pastor was adjusting his stole, he said: "Now 
 I must know what name this child is to bear." 
 
 "The mother herself will name him of course," said 
 the doctor. 
 
 They all turned to Barbro. Her lips moved as if in 
 speech, but no sound came. 
 
 "She is thinking of the name her child would bear 
 if all were right," Ingmar mused. "That's why she 
 can't speak." He felt such compassion for her that all 
 resentment passed and the great love he bore his wife 
 conquered every other feeling. "Her child can just as 
 well be called Ingmar," he thought. "Why not? We 
 have to part in any case. It would be a good thing if 
 we could make people think the child was mine; for 
 then Barbro would get back her good name and stand- 
 ing in the community. As it was Strong Ingmar's 
 suggestion that the boy be baptized now," he said 
 aloud, "I think he should be named after him." He 
 looked at Barbro to see whether she had grasped his 
 meaning. 
 
 The moment Ingmar had uttered these words Barbro 
 arose and slowly crossed the room until she stood op- 
 posite the pastor. Then she said in a steady voice: 
 "Ingmar has been so kind to me that I cannot bear to 
 
344 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 cause him further suflFering, so now I will confess that the 
 child is his. But Ingmar the boy shall not be called, 
 for he is blind and an idiot." 
 
 Instantly she had said this she realized that the secret 
 upon which her life hung had been wrung from her. She 
 burst into tears, and feeling that she could restrain her- 
 self no longer, she hurried out of the room so as not 
 to disturb the dying man. She flung herself across the 
 table in the living room and sobbed violently. In a while 
 she raised her head to hear what was going on in the inner 
 room. Someone was talking in subdued tones. It was 
 old Lisa relating what had happened at the sdter. 
 
 Again she bitterly regretted that her secret had been 
 revealed, and again fell to weeping. What could have 
 caused her to speak just when Ingmar had made things 
 so easy for her? she wondered. Why could she not have 
 waited a little longer, until she had got her divorce.? 
 "I must put an end to it all," she thought; "I cannot 
 go on living." 
 
 The pastor was now reading the Baptismal Service. 
 He spoke distinctly and she could hear every word. 
 When he came to the place where the child should be 
 named, he raised his voice and said: "I name this child 
 Ingmar." Hearing which Barbro in her helplessness 
 again fell to weeping. 
 
 Shortly afterward, the door opened and Ingmar came 
 out. Barbro quickly choked back her tears. "You 
 understand, of course, that everything between us mu^t 
 be as we arranged before you went away," she said. 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 345 
 
 Ingmar gently stroked her hair. "I shall not force 
 you to do anything. After what you have just done I' 
 know that you love me more than your own life." 
 
 She seized his hand and pressed it hard, "Will you 
 promise to let me have the entire care of the child ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ingmar. "Everything shall be as you 
 wish. Old Lisa has told us how you have fought for that 
 child, and no one could have the heart to take it away from 
 you." 
 
 She looked at him in astonishment. She could hardly 
 grasp the fact that her fears and apprehensions had sud- 
 denly been swept away. "I thought you would never 
 forgive me once you knew the truth," she told him. "I 
 am more grateful than I can say. I'm glad we part as 
 friends and can speak to each other without ill-feeling 
 when we chance to meet." 
 
 Ingmar smiled. " I wonder if you wouldn't like to go 
 with me to Jerusalem now, Barbro?" he said. 
 
 Barbro had never seen him like that before. His face 
 was transformed; his heavy features were as if illumined 
 by an inner light that made him look almost handsome. 
 "What does this mean, Ingmar? Have you some plan 
 in mind ? I heard that you called the boy Ingmar. Why 
 did you do that?" 
 
 "Now you shall hear something wonderful, Barbro," 
 he said, taking hold of both her hands. "As soon as 
 old Lisa had told us all that happened up at the sdter, 
 I had the doctor examine the child; he declares there is 
 nothing the matter with it. He says that it is rather 
 
346 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 small for its age but quite sound and healthy, and as 
 bright as any baby." 
 
 " But doesn't the doctor think it looks queer and ugly ? " 
 asked Barbro breathlessly. 
 
 "The children in our family are no better looking as a 
 rule, I'm afraid," said Ingmar. 
 
 "And doesn't he think the boy blind, either?" 
 
 "The doctor will probably laugh at you, Barbro, as 
 long as he lives for imagining such a thing. He says 
 that to-morrow he will send you a lotion with which you 
 are to bathe the boy's eyes. In less than a week he assures 
 me they'll be all right." 
 
 Barbro hastened toward the little room. Ingmar 
 called her back. "You can't have the child just now," 
 he said. "Strong Ingmar has asked us to let it rest on 
 his bed, so that he can have everything just as father 
 had it. I know that he would hke to keep the boy with 
 him until the end." 
 
 "I'm not going to take him away from Strong Ing- 
 mar," said Barbro. "But I must talk with the doctor 
 myself." 
 
 When she came back she crossed over to the window, 
 going past Ingmar. "I have questioned the doctor," 
 she said, "and am satisfied that it is so." She lifted 
 her arms toward heaven as a bird set free lifts its 
 wings for a skjrward flight. "Ingmar, you don't know 
 what happiness is!" 
 
 " Barbro, may I talk to you now of our future ? " Ing- 
 mar pleaded. But she did not hear him. She had folded 
 
HOME FROM THE PILGRIMAGE 347 
 
 her hands, and stood pouring out her soul in thanks to 
 God. She confided to Him all the anguish and fear she 
 had felt for the fate of her child, and thanked Him that 
 her, little one was as other children; that she would 
 see him romp and play; that he would one day go to 
 school, and learn to read and write; that he would 
 grow up to be a strong youth, able to wield an axe and 
 drive a plow, and might some day bring home a wife 
 and live at the Ingmar Farm as its master. 
 
 Then she turned to Ingmar, her face radiant with joy. 
 "I know now why my father used to say that the Ing- 
 marssons were the best people in the whole pajrish." 
 
 "Perhaps our Lord has been more indulgent with us 
 than with others," Ingmar said humbly. "But now 
 I must talk to you " 
 
 "No," Barbro interrupted, "it is because you are 
 never satisfied until you have found favour with our 
 Lord. It is for your sake the curse has been removed. 
 Because you made that pilgrimage everything has come 
 right. All that enabled me to bear up last winter was 
 the hope that God might be merciful to me because you 
 had gone on that mission to Jerusalem." 
 
 Ingmar bowed his head. "I know that all my life I've 
 been the weakest of mortals," he answered, with great 
 humility. 
 
 "Do you know what was said in there a while ago? 
 The pastor declared that hereafter people would call 
 you Big Ingmar, because you stand so well in the sight 
 of our Lord." 
 
348 THE HOLY CITY 
 
 They were now seated on the old corner sofa. Barbro 
 had nestled close to Ingmar; but his arm hung straight 
 down and his face grew darker and darker. 
 
 "I'm afraid that you are angry with me," said Barbro. 
 "You are thinking of how I treated you when we met 
 in the road. But I want you to know that that was the 
 hardest moment of my life." 
 
 "How can I be happy when I don't know how I stand 
 with you?" said Ingmar. "You say so many nice 
 things to me, but you haven't told me that you will 
 remain with me as my wife.'* 
 
 "Haven't I?" asked Barbro, smiling. Suddenly her 
 fear came back, and she shuddered. Then, looking 
 around her, she saw the old room with its broad low 
 window, the old seats along the wall, and the hearth 
 where generation after generation had sat working in 
 the light of the peat fire. This gave her a feeling of 
 security, she felt that here was a haven of safety and pro- 
 tection. "I could never live anywhere but in your 
 home," she said. 
 
 The pastor came to the door and beckoned to them. 
 "Strong Ingmar now sees heaven open," he said softly. 
 
 THE END 
 
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS 
 GARDEN CITY, N. Y.