“I’moneo’MissEricson’stenants。Lookafteroneofherplaces。Ididowntheplacemyselfonce，butIlostitawhileback，inthebadyearsjustaftertheWorld’sFair。Justaswell，too，Isay。Letsyououto’payin’taxes。TheEricsonsdoownmostofthecountynow。Iremembertheoldpreacher’sfavoritetextusedtobe，’Tothemthathathshallbegiven。’They’vespreadsomethingwonderful——runoverthisherecountrylikebindweed。ButIain’tonethatbegretchesitto’em。Folksisentitledtowhattheykingit；andthey’rehustlers。Olaf，he’sintheLegislaturenow，andalikelymanfurCongress。Listen，ifthatain’ttheoldwomancomin’now。WantIshouldstopher？“
　　Nilsshookhishead。Heheardthedeepchug-chugofamotorvibratingsteadilyinthecleartwilightbehindthem。Thepalelightsofthecarswamoverthehill，andtheoldmanslappedhisreinsandturnedclearoutoftheroad，duckinghisheadatthefirstofthreeangrysnortsfrombehind。Themotorwasrunningatahot，evenspeed，andpassedwithoutturninganinchfromitscourse。Thedriverwasastalwartwomanwhosatateaseinthefrontseatanddrovehercarbareheaded。Sheleftacloudofdustandatrailofgasolinebehindher。Hertenantthrewbackhisheadandsneezed。
　　“Whew！IsometimessayI’dasliefbebeforeMrs。Ericsonasbehindher。Shedoesbeatall！Nearlyseventy，andneverletsanothersoultouchthatcar。Putsitintocommissionherselfeverymorning，andkeepsittunedupbythehitch-barallday。I
　　neverstopworkforadrinko’waterthatIdon’thearhera-
　　churnin’uptheroad。Ireckonherdarter-in-lawsneversetsdowneasynowadays。Neverknowwhenshe’llpopin。Mis’Otto，shesaystome:’We’resoafraidthatthing’llblowupanddoMasomeinjuryyet，she’ssoturribleventuresome。’SaysI:’I
　　wouldn’tstew，Mis’Otto；theoldlady’lldrivethatcartothefuneralofeverydarter-in-lawshe’sgot。’Thatwasaftertheoldwomanhadjumpedaturriblebadculvert。“
　　Thestrangerheardvaguelywhattheoldmanwassaying。
　　Justnowhewasexperiencingsomethingverymuchlikehomesickness，andhewaswonderingwhathadbroughtitabout。
　　Thementionofanameortwo，perhaps；therattleofawagonalongadustyroad；therank，resinoussmellofsunflowersandironweed，whichthenightdampbroughtupfromthedrawsandlowplaces；perhaps，morethanall，thedancinglightsofthemotorthathadplungedby。Hesquaredhisshoulderswithacomfortablesenseofstrength。
　　Thewagon，asitjoltedwestward，climbedaprettysteadyup-grade。Thecountry，recedingfromtheroughrivervalley，swelledmoreandmoregently，asifithadbeensmoothedoutbythewind。Ononeofthelastoftheruggedridges，attheendofabranchroad，stoodagrimsquarehousewithatinroofanddoubleporches。Behindthehousestretchedarowofbroken，wind-rackedpoplars，anddownthehillslopetotheleftstraggledtheshedsandstables。TheoldmanstoppedhishorseswheretheEricsons’roadbranchedacrossadrysandcreekthatwoundaboutthefootofthehill。
　　“That’stheoldlady’splace。WantIshoulddrivein？““No，thankyou。I’llrollouthere。Muchobligedtoyou。Goodnight。“
　　Hispassengersteppeddownoverthefrontwheel，andtheoldmandroveonreluctantly，lookingbackasifhewouldliketoseehowthestrangerwouldbereceived。
　　AsNilswascrossingthedrycreekheheardtherestivetrampofahorsecomingtowardhimdownthehill。Instantlyheflashedoutoftheroadandstoodbehindathicketofwildplumbushesthatgrewinthesandybed。Peeringthroughthedusk，besawalighthorse，undertightrein，descendingthehillatasharpwalk。Theriderwasaslenderwoman——barelyvisibleagainstthedarkhillside——wearinganold-fashionedderbyhatandalongridingskirt。Shesatlightlyinthesaddle，withherchinhigh，andseemedtobelookingintothedistance。Asshepassedtheplumthicketherhorsesnuffedtheairandshied。Shestruckhim，pullinghiminsharply，withanangryexclamation，“Blazne！“inBohemian。Onceinthemainroad，shelethimoutintoalope，andtheysoonemergeduponthecrestofhighland，wheretheymovedalongtheskyline，silhouettedagainstthebandoffaintcolourthatlingeredinthewest。Thishorseandrider，withtheirfree，rhythmicalgallop，weretheonlymovingthingstobeseenonthefaceoftheflatcountry。Theyseemed，inthelastsadlightofevening，nottobethereaccidentally，butasaninevitabledetailofthelandscape。
　　Nilswatchedthemuntiltheyhadshrunktoameremovingspeckagainstthesky，thenhecrossedthesandcreekandclimbedthehill。Whenhereachedthegatethefrontofthehousewasdark，butalightwasshiningfromthesidewindows。Thepigsweresquealinginthehogcorral，andNilscouldseeatallboy，whocarriedtwobigwoodenbuckets，movingaboutamongthem。
　　Halfwaybetweenthebarnandthehouse，thewindmillwheezedlazily。Followingthepaththatranaroundtothebackporch，Nilsstoppedtolookthroughthescreendoorintothelamplitkitchen。Thekitchenwasthelargestroominthehouse；Nilsrememberedthathisolderbrothersusedtogivedancestherewhenhewasaboy。Besidethestovestoodalittlegirlwithtwolightyellowbraidsandabroad，flushedface，peeringanxiouslyintoafryingpan。Inthedining-roombeyond，alarge，broad-shoulderedwomanwasmovingaboutthetable。Shewalkedwithanactive，springystep。Herfacewasheavyandflorid，almostwithoutwrinkles，andherhairwasblackatseventy。Nilsfeltproudofherashewatchedherdeliberateactivity；neveramomentaryhesitation，oramovementthatdidnottell。Hewaiteduntilshecameoutintothekitchenand，brushingthechildaside，tookherplaceatthestove。Thenhetappedonthescreendoorandentered。
　　“It’snobodybutNils，Mother。Iexpectyouweren’tlookingforme。“
　　Mrs。Ericsonturnedawayfromthestoveandstoodstaringathim。“Bringthelamp，Hilda，andletmelook。“
　　Nilslaughedandunslunghisvalise。“What’sthematter，Mother？Don’tyouknowme？“
　　Mrs。Ericsonputdownthelamp。“YoumustbeNils。Youdon’tlookverydifferent，anyway。“
　　“Noryou，Mother。Youholdyourown。Don’tyouwearglassesyet？“
　　“Onlytoreadby。Where’syourtrunk，Nils？“
　　“Oh，Ileftthatintown。Ithoughtitmightnotbeconvenientforyoutohavecompanysonearthreshing-time。“
　　“Don’tbefoolish，Nils。“Mrs。Ericsonturnedbacktothestove。“Idon’tthreshnow。Ihitchedthewheatlandontothenextfarmandhaveatenant。Hilda，takesomehotwateruptothecompanyroom，andgocalllittleEric。“
　　Thetow-hairedchild，whohadbeenstandinginmuteamazement，tookupthetea-kettleandwithdrew，givingNilsalong，admiringlookfromthedoorofthekitchenstairs。
　　“Who’stheyoungster？“Nilsasked，droppingdownonthebenchbehindthekitchenstove。
　　“OneofyourCousinHenrik’s。“
　　“HowlonghasCousinHenrikbeendead？“
　　“Sixyears。Therearetwoboys。OnestayswithPeterandonewithAnders。Olafistheirguardeen。“
　　Therewasaclatterofpailsontheporch，andatall，lankyboypeeredwonderinglyinthroughthescreendoor。Hehadafair，gentlefaceandbiggreyeyes，andwispsofsoftyellowhairhungdownunderhiscap。Nilssprangupandpulledhimintothekitchen，hugginghimandslappinghimontheshoulders。“Well，ifitisn’tmykid！Lookatthesizeofhim！
　　Don’tyouknowme，Eric？“
　　Theboyreddenedtinderhissunburnandfreckles，andhunghishead。“Iguessit’sNils，“hesaidshyly。
　　“You’reagoodguesser，“laughedNilsgivingthelad’shandaswing。Tohimselfhewasthinking:“That’swhythelittlegirllookedsofriendly。He’staughthertolikeme。HewasonlysixwhenIwentaway，andhe’srememberedfortwelveyears。“
　　Ericstoodfumblingwithhiscapandsmiling。“YoulookjustlikeIthoughtyouwould，“heventured。
　　“Gowashyourhands，Eric，“calledMrs。Ericson。“I’vegotcobcornforsupper，Nils。Youusedtolikeit。Iguessyoudon’tgetmuchofthatintheoldcountry。Here’sHilda；she’lltakeyouuptoyourroom。You’llwanttogetthedustoffyoubeforeyoueat。“
　　Mrs。Ericsonwentintothedining-roomtolayanotherplate，andthelittlegirlcameupandnoddedtoNilsasiftolethimknowthathisroomwasready。Heputouthishandandshetookit，withastartledglanceupathisface。LittleEricdroppedhistowel，threwanarmaboutNilsandoneaboutHilda，gavethemaclumsysqueeze，andthenstumbledouttotheporch。
　　DuringsupperNilsheardexactlyhowmuchlandeachofhiseightgrownbrothersfarmed，howtheircropswerecomingon，andhowmuchlivestocktheywerefeeding。Hismotherwatchedhimnarrowlyasshetalked。“You’vegotbetterlooking，Nils，“sheremarkedabruptly，whereuponhegrinnedandthechildrengiggled。
　　Eric，althoughhewaseighteenandastallasNils，wasalwaysaccountedachild，beingthelastofsomanysons。Hisfaceseemedchildlike，too，Nilsthought，andhehadtheopen，wanderingevesofalittleboy。Alltheothershadbeenmenathisage。
　　AftersupperNilswentouttothefrontporchandsatdownonthesteptosmokeapipe。Mrs。Ericsondrewarocking-chairupnearhimandbegantoknitbusily。ItwasoneofthefewOldWorldcustomsshehadkeptup，forshecouldnotbeartositwithidlehands。
　　“Where’slittleEric，Mother？“
　　“He’shelpingHildawiththedishes。Hedoesitofhisownwill；Idon’tlikeaboytobetoohandyaboutthehouse。“
　　“Heseemslikeanicekid。“
　　“He’sveryobedient。“
　　Nilssmiledalittleinthedark。Itwasjustaswelltoshiftthelineofconversation。“Whatareyouknittingthere，Mother？“