The Road Leads On | Page 8

husband, that
Theodore paa Bua, who had grown old before his time and who had
allowed life and marriage to use him up. She, herself, was as good as
ever today.
"When will you send out the seines, and who have you got to boss the
crews?" she asked.
Gordon Tidemand was so clever with writing materials; he had
prepared a list of all his father's old seiners and began reading it off
aloud.
"You've written it down to the last comma, haven't you?" laughed his
mother. "But your father used to carry all that around in his head. And
what's that, have you included Nikolai in your list? But he's been dead
for some time now, hasn't he?"

"Oh well, we'll simply strike out his name and stick in Altmulig there
in his place."
"But Altmulig is too old. No, you must have a young crew out with the
seines."
"He's old enough, but he's tough and wiry. I'd trust that fellow with
anything."
"But we can't get along without him here on the place."
"We'll manage somehow," concluded her son.
Gammelmoderen was well acquainted with Altmulig and she knew
what a quick head he had on his shoulders. Many was the time she had
talked with him and listened to his colourful tales. He was an old sailor,
a vagabond, who had turned up one day and asked for work. He was
thin and surprisingly nimble; he had wandered about the world no end
and could certainly tell tall tales. When asked his port of hail, he had
claimed the entire world. But where had he come from last? From
Latvia.
The chief, Gordon Tidemand, had grown to like the man in the course
of their very first interview there in his office. The stranger had
promptly dropped his hat to the floor upon entering the room and had
stood there with body erect. Ah, discipline!--to which Gordon
Tidemand stood in no way opposed. No, he was not the kind upon
whom courtesy is likely to be wasted. More than that, he was helpful
by nature and had once found a place in his stockroom for a youth from
Finmark for the single reason that the lad could play the fiddle. Yes,
but here stood a man with skill of a different order. His name? He had
mentioned it, otherwise stating that he had been called _"alt mulig"_
(everything possible) from Captain to murderer during his lifetime, so
his real name meant nothing, he said. But what was his line of work?
Oh, probably it would be best to set him down simply as an
alt-muligmand, as a general handy man, as thus he could do anything
he might be put to, perhaps even a little bit more.

"All right, then, you may stay!" the chief had said with a smile.
Nor had he ever found cause to regret having taken this man into his
service. The old fellow had soon proven his worth in many quarters,
had, for instance, extinguished a serious chimney fire there on the place
with no more than a bucket of common kitchen salt--the devil and all if
that hadn't conquered the flames! He had tinkered about with the
meat-grinder, the wash-wringer and the laundry mangle which were out
of repair and had made them as good as new. Without being told, he
had scraped and oiled the boats and what tools he could lay his hands
on. Then he had reconstructed that filthy old tumbledown pigsty and,
with sand and cement, had made it over into a neat, attractive shelter.
"Altmulig, come give us a hand!" folk would call out to him whenever
a window might happen to stick.
Moreover, he must certainly have been a most deeply religious man, for
he would cross himself frequently and the life he lived was one of quiet
meditation. No one had ever heard him singing or shouting
outlandishly about town, or firing off that revolver of his.
* * * * *
Children were born to the people up at the Manor--two children in three
years, and later there were more. Vigour and diligence no end up above,
the young mistress tall and slender as a serpent. Then suddenly her
figure would begin bulging like that of a leech; ay, how suddenly the
change would take place! Mad with youth they were, this couple; they
could hardly budge without love, so what could the end of it be but
children? Gammelmoderen now had grandchildren to swing on her arm
and it began to look as though she would never again be able to call her
time her own.
And children were born in the cottages and on the small farms round
about; folk married early in life, and in no time were poor, which was
exactly