Johan and Anna were driven nearly to distraction by the terrible commotion created by Selma's illness.
That one may well understand. Johan was then seven years of age, and learning to read under the tutelage of Herr Tyberg. He was a boy, of course, and almost regarded as the eldest child; though, to be sure, he had an elder brother. But the latter mostly stayed with his maternal grandparents at Filipstad, and was hardly ever at home. And now, all at once, it seemed that nobody had a thought for him—Johan—but only for the littlest girl.
As for Anna—she was five, and she could already both sew and crochet. She was pretty to look at, too, and the elder daughter, and mamma's pet. But what was the good of all that since Selma had gone and got sick?
The grown-ups, you see, were so touched by the sight of a child who could not walk. "How will the poor little thing go through life?" they would sigh." She'll have to stay in the one place always, and never see anything of the world." "She'll never get married and she'll never be able to support herself." "It's going to be cruelly hard for her, poor child." They were all very tender and full of pity for the sick girl. Now that Johan and Anna had nothing against; but folks didn't have to forget that there were other children.
The worst one of all, though, was Back-Kaisa. She carried Selma on her back, prattled with her, and told her she was a perfect little angel. And, indeed. Father and Mother and Granny and Auntie were not much better. Didn't the clever old carpenter at Askersby have to make her a little wagon, so that Back-Kaisa might draw her about? And were Johan and Anna ever allowed to borrow that wagon to cart sand in?—No, no! That was for Selma's use, and they mustn't soil it.
Johan and Anna both knew that when Selma could walk there had been nothing remarkable about her; but now visitors couldn't come to the house but she must be carried in for them to see and make a fuss over. And if a peasant woman happened to drop into the kitchen Back-Kaisa was there in a jiffy, showing Selma to her. The exasperating thing about it all was that Back-Kaisa was forever saying what a good child Selma was—she never cried and never sulked, even though so helpless. And why shouldn't she be good, thought Johan and Anna, the way she was treated! Carried about, and waited on, and petted, day in and day out!
Yes, Back-Kaisa was certainly very trying, Johan and Anna agreed. She could not bear to see Fru Lagerlöf make Anna a prettier dress than the one Selma got; and if any one happened to say of Johan, that he was a nice polite little boy, she'd always remark: "'Twould be a shame for one that's able to walk, and can go where he likes, not to be good."
That old Doctor Hedberg of Sunne was called in time and again on Selma's account, Johan and Anna thought no more than right; nor did they complain when Högman's Inga, who often came to the manor to mumble over sick cows and pigs, was consulted. But they felt it had gone rather far when once, in the absence of Lieutenant Lagerlöf, Back-Kaisa and Granny and the housekeeper put their heads together, and sent for the dangerous old witch-doctor of Högbergssäter—she who every Maundy Thursday greased a broomstick and went riding to the Witches' Kitchen. They had heard that she had the power to set fire to a house by just looking at it, and were dreadfully uneasy the whole time she was at Mårbacka. They thought it very wrong of Back-Kaisa to bring a horrid creature like her to the house.
Of course Johan and Anna wanted to have Selma restored to health. They above everyone wished her well again. All the same, they didn't think it a bit nice of her to go and catch a sickness no one could cure. But Back-Kaisa must have thought differently. For when neither Doctor Hedberg, who had so often cured them of coughs and colds, nor Högman's Inga, who never failed with cows and pigs, nor yet the dangerous witch-hag, who could put life into a broomstick, had been able to help her, Back-Kaisa vowed she was growing more and more wonderful all the time. And when Lieutenant Lagerlöf finally took her to Karlstad and showed her to Surgeon Major Haak, who was the best doctor in the city, and even he could do nothing for her, then Back-Kaisa was ready to burst with pride. Now wouldn't it have been better if Selma had taken on a sickness that would come to an end? So at least thought Johan and Anna.
The worst of it was that Selma was getting quite spoiled by Back-Kaisa's being too good to her. Little as she was, she had found out that it was not necessary for her to be as obedient as the other children, who could stand on their feet. Above all, she did not have to eat food that was not to her liking. When Fru Lagerlöf set before her a helping of stewed carrots, or spinach, or some hard-boiled eggs, or a plate of ale-soup, she was not expected to finish her portion as in other days; she had only to push her plate away, and immediately Back-Kaisa ran out to the kitchen and fetched something Selma liked.
And it was not enough with that!—Johan and Anna noticed that when Doctor Hedberg and Högman's Inga and the old witch had all failed to cure her, Selma thought herself too grand to eat plain fare. Why, she barely deigned to touch fried chicken and new potatoes and wild strawberries and cream. But when she had been to Karlstad, and the great Doctor Haak had said he could do nothing for her, then she would not eat anything but pastry and preserves.
Johan and Anna had heard that Aunt Nana Hammargren, who lived in Karlstad, was dreadfully worried about Selma, and feared she would starve to death; and they, too, felt that unless something happened very soon to change all this, it might end badly.
But something did happen.
One morning Back-Kaisa carried the little girl into the kitchen-bedroom and set her down among the pillows on Grandmother Lagerlöf's big white bed.
"Now Selma's going to see something," she said.
The bed was made up—sheets and all—but it had not been slept in during the night, and apparently no one lay there now, either. Grandmother Lagerlöf, who was not usually up at that early hour, sat all dressed on the corner sofa; and Aunt Lovisa, who shared the kitchen-bedroom, was also up and dressed. They both looked happy and content, and when the little girl was well seated on the bed they arose and went over to her.
"Aha! Grand company came last night," her grandmother said with a chuckle.
The little girl laughed, too, for what could be more delightful than having visitors in the house! She looked up and down and all around, wondering where the grand company might be. It was nowhere in the room, surely—not in the yellow corner-cupboard, nor behind the tall grandfather's clock, nor under Auntie's chiffonier. There was only one good hiding-place—the covered passage leading to the cellar; but the grand company could never have crawled in there.
It was all very strange! Why was she sitting on Granny's bed, and why were the others standing there staring, as if the grand company were in the bed? She glanced from one to the other, quite bewildered. Presently Aunt Lovisa bent down and moved the pillows a little. Then Selma saw that by her side lay a small oblong bundle, to which she attached no importance whatever. Granny had said that grand company had come, and grand company meant only one thing—far-come visitors who brought toys and big bags of candy for the children. That was the company she was looking for.
"Are they in there?" she asked, pointing toward the parlour. She listened for the sound of voices from the next room; seeing how pleased and elated the others were, her expectations rose high.
"Why, she's right there beside you." Granny lifted a corner of the oblong bundle and revealed two tiny hands and a little wizened face.
The little girl gave the swaddling a scornful glance then looked away. She had seen such before, and did not care for them. Her thoughts were on the company with the candy bags.
"See," said Aunt Lovisa, "this is a little sister who came to you last night, and you must be good to her."
Here was something for which she was wholly unprepared. She would have been glad to welcome another sister—one who could walk and talk; but this swaddling did not interest her at all.
However, it was plain to her now that no grand company had come. Granny meant only the poor little baby, and she knew very well that it had not brought any candy.
She felt so bitterly disappointed that she just had to cry. Back-Kaisa was obliged to carry her out to the kitchen, lest her crying awaken the grand company.
And she had cause for tears. Her day of power and supremacy was over. Back-Kaisa had now to help Fru Lagerlöf with the care of the little newcomer, who was even more helpless and lost, as it were, than Selma. One couldn't reason with the baby, so it was always she, Selma, who had to be patient, and wait.
From that time on they were not so keen about showing her to company. Now it was the swaddling that was brought forward to be seen and praised. All the glamour and greatness had dropped from her; she was no more now than Anna or Johan.
The year that followed she had many distressing experiences. She had not only to give up living exclusively on a diet of pastry and preserves, but things even went so far that when Fru Lagerlöf served her boiled carrots, or spinach, or pease-pods, no one removed her plate and brought her other fare. She had to eat what was set before her. If Anna received a prettier dress than Selma no one protested. On the contrary, they all thought it only fair, since Anna was the eldest daughter.
Ah, sometimes her heart sank way down into her boots, for she was not altogether certain that Back-Kaisa did not care just as much for the wee one as she did for her.