In
the house, the surprise became so great that, one after another,
noticing him, stopped singing and stared. Canute Aakre, who sat in
his pew in front of Lars', perceiving the unusual appearance and
no cause for it in front, turned around and saw Lars sitting bowed
over his hymn-book, looking for the place.
He had not seen him until now since the day of the
representatives' meeting, and such a change in a man he never
could have imagined. This was no victor. His head was becoming
bald, his face was lean and contracted, his eyes hollow and
bloodshot, and the giant neck presented wrinkles and cords. At a
glance he perceived what this man had endured, and was as suddenly
seized with a feeling of strong pity, yes, even with a touch of
the old love. In his heart he prayed for him, and promised himself
surely to seek him after service; but, ere he had opportunity,
Lars had gone. Canute resolved he would call upon him at his home
that night, but his wife kept him back.
"Lars is one of the kind," said she, "who cannot endure a debt of
gratitude: keep away from him until possibly he can in some way do
you a favor, and then perhaps he will come to you."
However, he did not come. He appeared now and then at church, but
nowhere else, and associated with no one. On the contrary, he
devoted himself to his farm and other business with an earnestness
which showed a determination to make up in one year for the
neglect of many; and, too, there were those who said it was
necessary.
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