She was an old jungfru who had once been in service in the home of Fru Lagerlöf's parents, at Filipstad, but lived now, in her old age, at Ämtervik. She had known Fru Lagerlöf as a child, and used to come to Mårbacka two or three times a year to see the folks.
The jungfru was a tall, good-looking woman with white hair. She had a strong nose, a firm mouth, and a grave manner. She liked preachers and missionaries, and ran to prayer-meetings and sewing-circles. One could not talk with her about dancing, or novels, or love affairs; such things were to her an abomination. Nor did one dare speak ill of any one in her presence, or even discuss pretty clothes, and she would not hear about the sinful things that went on in the world.
It was not easy to know just what one should talk about. Outside of cookery and the weather there were few topics of conversation one might safely touch upon. These, to be sure, held out a long while, but even they could become exhausted, for the jungfru was a person of few words, and her answers were short and well posed.
There was a way, however, to loosen the jungfru's tongue; but it had its drawbacks. She had once on a time been cook at a large deanery. The dean had twenty children, all living and arrived at maturity. That family she continually kept in mind, and her supreme delight was to talk about those people.
The family at Mårbacka were having their usual afternoon coffee in the living room. The coffeepot and tray stood on the big table. Everyone, in turn, went up and poured himself a cup. None took more than one lump of sugar, one wheaten rusk and one of rye, one ring-biscuit, one ginger cookie, and a bit of fresh cake, if there happened to be any. Whereupon each sat down in his accustomed place. Fru Lagerlöf occupied one corner of the sofa, Mamselle Lovisa the other. The Lieutenant always had the rocker, which was his favourite seat. No one else would have ventured to appropriate that. Herr Tyberg, Johan's tutor, took a cane-bottomed chair, and between these four stood a table made from the root of an alder. At one of the little window-tables sat Johan, at the other Anna, while over in the chimney corner, by the folded card table, sat the two little tots, Selma and Gerda; they were considered too young to have coffee, and had to be content with a glass of milk each.
The jungfru, who had come that day for a visit, was having coffee with the family. She had placed her chair in the middle of the room, where all might see and talk with her. They had run the whole gamut of harmless topics, and were now at a standstill. Lieutenant Lagerlöf, who could not abide a lull in the conversation, began to question her about missions, colporteurs, sewing-circles, and prayer-meetings. Knowing the sort he was and what she was, it was clear that this could not run smoothly.
Fru Lagerlöf tried to change the conversation, Mamselle Lovisa gave her brother a nudge with her elbow, and Herr Tyberg called attention to the excellent quality of the coffee. But the Lieutenant and the jungfru went right on with their discussion, which was getting a bit hot.
Now Fru Lagerlöf knew from of old that if the jungfru took offence at anything the Lieutenant said about the "miss-i-on," she would not come again for at least a year; and her circumstances were such that she needed to come to Mårbacka occasionally, to get a few good meals, a sack of flour, and something tasty to take home with her. She saw no way out of it but to ask the jungfru what had become of all the dean's twenty children.
In a twinkling the foreign and home missions, the heathen children, and even the Impious Lieutenant were forgotten. She brightened, and promptly started in:
"I've never known the like of it in all my life. In that house we'd a wash-day every other week, and at that, the tubs were always full of clothes. You could never sit down to a meal but you must have a child on each side of you. You had to fix its food and help feed it in the bargain. When there was shifts to be made, they had to fetch home whole bolts of linen, and sempstresses and tailors and shoemakers never found time to go to other places in the parish, for they'd enough to do in that one place."
"But, my dear Jungfru Anna, however could the dean and his wife manage to bring up so many children?" Fru Lagerlöf said to get her well started.
"Ah, but they did, though, and they turned out grand, all of them. You never saw better children. Only think! the oldest daughter, Eve—what a handy one she was at making baby things and tending little ones! And she got married, indeed, at seventeen to Curate Jansson of Skilanda, and when he died she got a dean in Västergötland. She had a lot of children, and after she'd stood a bride the first time she never showed herself again in her father's house."
"She probably thought there were enough without her," observed the Lieutenant, dryly.
The little girls over in the chimney-corner began to giggle; but they got such a sharp look from the jungfru they subsided instantly.
"The next to the oldest was a boy named Adam," the jungfru continued. "He was the worst child for crying I ever came across. But later on, when he became a priest, he chanted the service so beautiful that he was made Court Chaplain. He could have married any one he liked, but he had no such wish. For some reason he remained a bachelor all his life."
"Tell us, what was it?" Herr Tyberg struck in.
Again came a titter from the chimney-corner. The jungfru shot the children and Herr Tyberg each a glance that scared them into silence.
"The third was a boy called Noah. And d'you know, Frua, he was so good at fishing, and brought home such big catches that both me and his mother was thankful to him. He became a priest in Halland, and every year he sent his folks a big barrel of salted salmon."
"Oh, speaking of salmon" The Lieutenant started to say something about their ordering another firkin of salmon, but couldn't get a word in for the jungfru.
"The next was a boy named Shem," she rattled on. "He was as great a hunter as Noah was a fisher. Oh, you'd ought t've seen all the grouse and hares he brought home! And he became a priest, too, and got a vicarage down in Skåne; and every winter he sent home a reindeer he'd shot himself."
After Shem she took breath and looked round. Her hearers sat silent and subdued. None thought of interrupting her.
"The one that came after the three boys was a girl whose name was Sara. And I'd be willing to swear before God and man, that never have I seen any one with such a knack at putting up pickles and making jam and fruit juice. All the same, she didn't get married; she went to Stockholm and kept house for her brother the Court Chaplain.
"The next was also a girl, and Rebecca was her name. I must say that she was the one who understood me the least. She had such a good head for learning she could have been a priest like her brothers. And the way she could make up poetry was something wonderful! Folks said there was nobody in all Sweden beat her writing cradle songs. Just the same she got married, but 'twas only to a school teacher."
At that point the jungfru was interrupted by the maid coming in with fresh coffee, and they must all have a second cup.
"I wonder if there was any one in that batch who could make a decent cup of coffee?" Lieutenant Lagerlöf ventured.
"The Lieutenant takes the words out of my mouth!" exclaimed the jungfru. "It may sound queer, but the one who had a real turn for cooking was the fourth boy, Isaac. He was so clever at whipping up a sauce and basting a roast that one could have right good help from him round the stove."
"He must have excelled, though, at preparing baby-food," Herr Tyberg observed.
Snickers went up not only from the chimney-corner, but from all parts of the room. Fru Lagerlöf, however, kept a straight face.
"What a wonderful memory Jungfru Anna must have to be able to remember all that!" she said, so as to keep the old girl in good humour.
Ordinarily the jungfru was quick to take offence, but not when she could talk about her dear deanery children. Then she was imperturbable. At all events, Herr Tyberg had helped them away from Isaac. They never learned to what uses he eventually put his talent.
"The two next were twins, and they were called Jacob and Esau. They were as like as two coffee beans. I couldn't tell one from t'other. I never saw such boys for running and jumping and skating. But they became priests, they, too."
"I thought they were going to be rope-dancers," the Lieutenant cut in.
"They became priests, they, too," the jungfru reiterated, not in the least put out. "Esau went up to Jämtland, where he had to clamber 'mong the fells, and Jacob, he went down to Bohuslän, where he scrambled in and out of boats and ships. They found their right places and turned to use the talents God had given 'em—they, like their brothers and sisters."
"But what happened to Joseph?" asked the Lieutenant quickly.
"There were two girls before him. Lieutenant, called Rachel and Leah. They were handy in the garden; the one planted and the other weeded. When the bishop paid a visit he declared he'd never tasted such peas and such strawberries. They married, too; each of them got a foundry owner. And now I'm coming to Joseph."
"He became a squire, I suppose?" said the Lieutenant.
"He became a tenant of his father's," the jungfru corrected him. "He looked after the fields and tended the cows and provided food for his parents and his brethren."
"H'm—that was just what I thought." So saying, the Lieutenant arose and sidled toward the door, where his hat and cane were hanging, and sneaked out.
"The thirteenth was David," pursued the jungfru. "He married three times, and had three children by each wife. If it please you, I can tell you the names of all the wives and children.… But maybe 'twould be better to keep to the twenty brethren?"
They all thought that quite the wisest plan. But with these prospects before her, Fru Lagerlöf felt a bit uneasy.
"I'll run out and fetch something to work on," she said, "then I'll be able to follow you better." But it was a good while before she came back with that work.
"The fourteenth was a girl named Deborah. She was always so nice about giving me a hand with the breadmaking. She never got married and never left home, for she had to stay at the deanery and help me and her mother with the little ones. Sometimes she was kind of queer, though, and then she'd say she liked the Catholic religion because it didn't allow its priests to marry."
A slight noise was heard down by the door. Herr Tyberg had slipped out so softly no one noticed it till he was gone.
"The fifteenth was a girl, and her name was Martha. She was the greatest beauty you ever set eyes on! But she, too, was a bit queer. When she came seventeen she married a dean who was two-and-sixty, just because she wanted to get away from home."
Here Anna and Johan stood up. They must go fetch a light, they said. It was some little time before that light was brought.
"The sixteenth was called Mary. She was homely, and she used to say she'd never be able to catch a parson or a gentleman; but she was that eager to leave home she took up with a farm-hand, and went off and got married."
Mamselle Lovisa remained faithfully at her post, where she had gone sound asleep; but this the jungfru had not noticed.
"The seventeenth was hardly eighteen when she moved away from the deanery. She used to help the missus write letters to all the brothers and sisters; for that was more than any one body could do."
The door opened ever so little and shut again.
"The eighteenth," droned the jungfru, "was but fifteen when he declared he was going to America because he couldn't put up with so many relatives.
"And number nineteen and twenty, they were only fourteen and thirteen when I last saw them."
At that moment Fru Lagerlöf came in with her knitting, Anna appeared with the lamp, and Mamselle Lovisa awoke.
"Thanks, thanks, dear Jungfru Anna," said Fru Lagerlöf. "We shall never forget this. It has been so very instructive to me and my children."