One of Life's Slaves

Chapter 3

A FIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

That was a dangerous corner, where the wide street leading to the

grammar school crossed the narrow one that led to the board school; and,

on the days when the afternoon hours for the latter began just when the

grammar school's long morning was over, it might happen that the free,

exuberant spirits of those who were leaving school came into collision

with the heavier and more bitter mood of those who were on their way to

it.

Ludvig Veyergang, with his sealskin satchel on his back, had already

travelled this road for several years. He had been nicknamed the

Ostrich, because of his little head with the bird-like nose, his long

bare neck, and the way he walked. When he met Nikolai, he pretended not

to know him, and Nikolai whistled and clattered with his shoes on the

pavement.

The board school's new slide ran along the gutter a good way out into

the grammar school street. It was the product of the joint work of many

for a whole week, and fate willed that Nikolai, at the head of a string

of comrades, should come full speed down it, hallooing and shouting,

just as Ludvig Veyergang and a few others came round the corner. Young

Veyergang received a push that made him drop his pencil-case; and pens,

lead and slate pencils lay strewn over the ground.

"Pick them up, you beggar!" he cried to Nikolai, for it was he who had

knocked up against him. "I shall tell about you at home, you may be

pretty sure. Pick them up, or--"

A kick sent a few loose lumps of snow in answer.

"You shall be made to bend soon enough, if that's what you want. Father

shall be told, this very day, that you are the leader of the street cads

in the town; and if no one else will tell your mother about it, I'll

tell her myself, however much she cries!"

"Do you want to have your ostrich-beak pulled?"

"You'd better try it on! Perhaps you don't know that we pay for you at

the blockmaker's. But I'll take care that you get thrashed until you beg

my pardon: a fellow who doesn't even know who his father is, and his

mother only wishes he had never been born!"

The last words were hardly out of his mouth when Nikolai sprang upon him

with both fists like a pair of sledge-hammers, and for a few blissful

seconds hammered out every trace of difference in birth and position.

Now he should feel "both his father and his mother!"

It was one of the board school's memorable and famous days, when the

wine was tapped from Ludvig Veyergang's nose in the snow; and even the

next day at dinner-time, two or three school classes of interested

spectators were searching for traces of red spots in the snow by the

lamp-post.

But, though he enjoyed great honour and admiration during the whole

afternoon at school, Nikolai knew that at home he would meet with an

utterly different interpretation of the event, news of which the Holmans

must already have received, surely and promptly, from the Veyergangs.

As he neared home, he went slower and slower. The thought of what might

await him, made his feet grow heavier and heavier, and when he had

separated from his last companion, he suddenly stopped and turned down

by the chandler's, where the street led away from, and not towards his

home.

* * * * *

It was now the third night Nikolai had been away, explained Mrs. Holman

to the policeman outside; and it was not much wonder if he expected the

reward he deserved, and felt his back smart. Lay hands on better

people's children! And the son of Consul Veyergang, his own benefactor,

too!

But where could he be? He could not possibly be in the timber-yard now,

at this time of year.

His stronghold was not easy to hit upon either, for it was something

very like looking in her own pocket. In common with other evil-doers,

Nikolai was driven by an irresistible desire--like moths that flutter

round a candle--to hide himself as near as possible to the place of his

fear and dread, where Mrs. Holman was, and where he could catch a

glimpse of Silla.

Holman lay at night and felt, through his intoxication, that things were

going wrong with Nikolai. He heard it dripping and dripping in the thaw

outside--splash, splash! The sound came in a monotonous chant:

Ni-ko-lai, Ni-ko-lai.

He would ruin his health out there!

With sudden energy he sat up in bed. Where else would Nikolai be than

under the old carriage hood that stood in the loft over the coach-house,

mouldy and dropping to pieces with its opening towards the wall?

It was in the light of this idea that he rushed out.

Nikolai never felt the blockmaker's hand; he still slept on happily, as

it lifted him up by the coat collar.

It was only when he stood erect on both feet that he grasped the

situation, and threw himself down again, kicking and screaming. He would

not go home, they might kill him first, or take off his head!

The heels of his boots made it evident both to sight and feeling that he

meant it: he was utterly beside himself.

Only let Holman get him inside the door, and the strap should dance!

Holman had worked himself up into a state of excitement.

Mrs. Holman was waiting in the doorway with a candle. By its light she

saw an ashy pale face, with eyes staring at her, and at the same time

heard the words: "You won't get me in! If I was born in the street, I

can live in the street!" She caught a glance from the sharp, defiant

grey eyes--then out of the blockmaker's hands, out of the gate, and he

was gone!

The blows on Ludvig's nose had gone to Barbara's heart. But when she

heard that Nikolai had run away from the Holmans' and that there was

some talk of getting him into an institute for morally depraved

children, there was crying and weeping. She had had shame enough with

the boy, and this she could not survive! Her mistress must prevent it.

She was conscious of having done her duty and more than her duty all

these years that she had been Ludvig and Lizzie's nurse, but she could

not put up with this! Her mistress must prevent it, or she did not know

what she might do, or what might happen: she felt quite capable of

leaving them.

Barbara sat sighing and weeping in the nursery, until the children were

almost afraid to go in.

Such attacks generally lasted, at the most, one day; but this one had

now been going on for three, and was disturbing the comfort of the

house. Then Mrs. Veyergang got one of her headaches, and was going to

have an afternoon nap, her accustomed cure, during which everything must

be kept perfectly quiet around her.

It was Barbara who generally guarded her slumbers by going hushing and

quieting right out into the kitchen, and keeping watch at the door into

the passage. But now she only sat in her room sobbing.

It did surprise her a little that her mistress lay so quiet all the time

without calling her. On the other hand, she rather enjoyed the sentence

she was carrying out. Her mistress should know what opposing her meant,

even if it were to last the whole week.

It grew dark, and still her mistress lay there. She lay until the Consul

came driving home towards evening; and she did not even ring for lights

when she got up.

It was with a shawl about her head and a face red with weeping, that

Mrs. Veyergang received her husband that evening; she was in a violently

excited state of mind, and her voice quite trembled.

She wanted nothing less than that he should give Barbara warning.

A tyranny existed in the house that was quite unparalleled--had existed

for several years--and if she had put up with it without

complaining--her husband knew that she had never complained--it was for

the children's sake. But it was really unnecessary now, and "it may be

just as well to seize the opportunity; she has become far, far too

overbearing in the house!"

It was a matter of course that the warning was given in the most

appreciative and considerate, although firmly decisive manner. The whole

circle of Mrs. Veyergang's acquaintance agreed that they had all

expected that the Veyergangs would really one day part with that

pampered creature!

The only person who was thoroughly astonished and quite stunned, as if

by a thunder-clap, was Barbara herself; and for a long time she could

not understand that she, the Veyergangs' Barbara, had actually received

warning to leave Ludvig and Lizzie and the house where she had been so

indispensable.

She went about with a solemn, injured air, and expected that a change of

decision would some day take place. Then she became humble to her

mistress, and wept before the children.

But there was always only the same kindness, which ever clenched the

dismissal more firmly.

And now her mistress began to talk about a substantial acknowledgement

of her services with which the Consul would present her on her

departure.

In indignation Barbara tied the strings of her best bonnet beneath her

chin, and with offended dignity requested permission to go into town.

Her mistress was to know the meaning of this when she returned later in

the day. It was nothing less than that it was her fixed, resolute

purpose to offer herself to others who would appreciate her better than

the Veyergangs did.

She directed her wrathful steps straight to Scheele, the magistrate's

house: they had four children, and were looking for a nurse. They were

the Consul's most intimate friends, where she would only need to present

herself, and they would jump at the opportunity. How often the

magistrate's wife had praised her management, and talked condescendingly

to her, when they had dined at the Veyergangs on Sundays! She had more

than once thought Mrs. Veyergang fortunate in having such a treasure in

the house, and sighed over her own inability to find just such another.

But--how unfortunate it was--Mrs. Scheele was extremely sorry--they had

just engaged another nurse!

"Fancy!" exclaimed Mrs. Scheele, when her husband came down from his

office, "there is a revolution at the Veyergangs', and that high and

mighty Nurse Barbara has got her dismissal. She has been here and

offered herself to us. I wouldn't have that pampered creature at any

price!"

Barbara walked a long way that day and to the best houses. On a large

sheet of paper, folded in three, she had the Consul-General's long and

excellent testimonial to exhibit; moreover she was fully conscious of

the extent to which she was known. But though she stood so large and

erect and smart at the door, and comported herself so well, there was no

one who could make any use of her!

And late in the evening, later than was needful, as she did not wish to

show herself, she came home again, disappointed and weary.

It really seemed as if all the celebrity she had acquired during all

these years, all her fidelity, all her prestige as nurse at the

Veyergangs, was to vanish at one stroke into thin air!

Deeply hurt as she was after her unlucky expedition, it was remarkable

that no one in the house asked her how she had got on--though there were

plenty of mischievous glances from her fellow-servants, whose standing

with their mistress had depended for so many years upon her. And

whenever she tried to broach the subject with Mrs. Veyergang, the latter

always turned the conversation--indeed, once she even dismissed the

subject, saying that Barbara must know that she never meddled with such

things.

But the kindness increased as the day of her departure approached.

Barbara began to perceive how this screw of kindness, that turned so

gently, was screwing her farther and farther out of the house. The

Consul had Nikolai placed on trial as apprentice in a smithy down by the

crane, and from Mrs. Veyergang she received one thing after another, as

remembrances. But when, one day, the Consul--very thoughtfully--made her

a present of one of his old travelling trunks, she let her large, heavy

person sink down upon its lid, completely overwhelmed. She could not

bring herself to think, had never believed, that the day would come when

she must part from her mistress and Ludvig and Lizzie--it would kill

her!

This was a direct appeal to the Consul himself, but the answer was not

exactly as Barbara wished. He patted her on the shoulder, saying:

"I'm glad, my dear Barbara, that you feel that you have been well off."

When she went into the Consul's office for a settlement and to receive

her savings-bank book--the amount it contained was a hundred and

fourteen specie-dollars, a result, the Consul said, with which she ought

to be thoroughly satisfied, when she considered the great expense she

had been put to with Nikolai--she declared her intention of resting for

a time before she went out to service again, and had made arrangements

to lodge with a farmer out in the country: she had now been toiling for

others for fourteen years!

The last evening, which she had dreaded so, went more easily than she

had expected. The Consul and his wife were invited to the Willocks'

country-house in the afternoon with the children, so the farewell could

only be a short one, before they got into the carriage.

She was left standing with the feeling of Lizzie's soft fur, which she

had stroked, in her fingers.