The Home in the Valley | Page 4

in the neighborhood by the nick-name
of "Wiseacre," and under certain circumstances as "Crazy Carl,"
although it would have been difficult to find throughout the entire
neighborhood a personage wiser than honest Carl.
Throughout the entire building the marks of poverty were plainly
evident; but at the same time each object presented a tidy and cleanly
appearance and although the cottage lacked many luxuries, still comfort
seemed to reign supreme. The rush covered floor; the table, polished to
brightness; and the flower vases, filled with odorous boquets of lilacs,
the neat window curtains, the handicraft of Nanna, the crimson sofa
curtain, embroidered by the thrifty Magde, all combined, proved that
the inmates of the cottage, had not only the taste, but also the
inclination to render home pleasant even under the most adverse
circumstances.
* * * * *
At the time that Nanna had started forth as a guide to the youthful
stranger, old Mr. Lonner was seated near the side of his bed in his
private apartment. Although weighed down by age and the grief that
had oppressed his early life, he nevertheless possessed that gentleness
and sociability, which had ever been the characteristic traits of his life.
His flowing white locks fell around his countenance, from which the
traces of manly beauty had not been entirely eradicated, and as he
smoked his pipe with an air of dignified pleasure, he would
occasionally glance towards a young matron, who, seated in a large arm
chair, was reading aloud a letter to him.

The letter bore the postmark of Goteborg, and was written by the old
man's eldest son, Ragnar Lonner, the husband of the matron. He was
mate of a trading vessel, and three months before had bidden farewell
to his wife and family. As she continued reading the letter, three
children who had been playing, commenced a little dispute about the
proprietorship of a large apple. In an opposite corner Carl had stationed
himself. He was a full grown youth with a face bearing an expression
of mingled silliness and wisdom.--As he glanced from under his long
hair, first at the bed-quilt, then at the quarrelling children, he paid close
attention to all that his sister-in-law was reading aloud. Carl was not the
simpleton people considered him, although his highest ambition
appeared to consist in erecting dirt houses and making mud-pies.
"Magde," said the old man, casting a glance of affection upon the
vivacious Magdalena. "You had better read that letter again. Ragnar is
a son who has his heart in the right place."
"And a husband too!" added Magde, and a flush of joyful pride
overspread her blooming cheeks.
"Yes, and a brother also; read the letter once more, it will be none the
less pleasant to read it a third time when Nanna returns."
Magde, who had not refolded the letter, commenced reading again, and
her voice trembled with pride and emotion as she read as follows:--
"Beloved Magde:
"When you shall break the seal of this letter, I feel assured that you will
wish you possessed wings that you might be enabled to fly to your
loving husband. And as I think I see you approaching me through the
air, surrounded by our little angels,--may God protect them,--the tears
start to my eyes, tears which no man should be ashamed to shed, and I
feel an inward desire to hasten to meet you.
"But now, dear Magde, I must control my thoughts, and so direct them
to you, that they shall prove intelligible. I arrived, on the eighth day of
this month, at Goteborg, in safety and in good health. I hope our father

is well and capable of enjoying as usual, the balmy air and bright
verdure of summer.
"Our little cottage is a pleasant residence, in spite of all its
disadvantages, and I feel assured that both yourself and Nanna do all
that lies in your power to cheer our mutual parent, when he is sick and
dispirited.
"One night while our vessel was lying in the canal, I was visited by an
evil dream, but dreams are empty and meaningless, and I hope that no
more of my disagreeable fancies will be realized than that you at home,
may experience a little anxiety and solicitude concerning the welfare of
the absent one.
"The Spring of the year is always the most severe season, for winter
consumes the harvest of the preceding summer.
"Well, we have many mouths to feed--God protect our children.--When
they are older they will work for us. It was my intention to send you a
small sum of money in this letter; but I was obliged to wait until Jon
Jonson, who is here at present with his sloop, shall commence his
homeward voyage, for I can place no dependence