II

Home was quieter and more empty than before. Maria, Martin’s sister, had been married a year ago to a doctor who lived far away in the country, and grandmother was no longer there.

In the evening Martin and his companions were to have a supper at Hasselbacken. Martin’s father gave him five crowns to offer to the joy of youth, and his mother took him aside and said: “Martin, Martin, you must promise me to be careful tonight and not be led into any foolishness. Don’t make a point of emptying your glass every time anyone drinks a toast with you, or you’ll lose your head. The best thing would be just to pretend you drank. And I must tell you, Martin, that there is a class of dreadful women who do nothing else but try to lead young men to their destruction. You must beware of them especially. Dear Martin, if I only knew you had given yourself to the Lord and had your thoughts fixed on Him, I shouldn’t be anxious about you; but I know you don’t do that. Their very breath is poisonous; if you only stand on the street and talk to such a woman, you may catch the most frightful diseases that no doctor in the world can cure.”

“Mother dear,” said Martin, “you’re always getting off on that.”

He took up his white cap, said goodbye and went.

His mother followed him with troubled eyes, and when he was gone, sat down in a dark corner and wept. For she knew she was going to lose him as mothers always lose their sons.