The Castle Builder. III, IV

THE CASTLE BUILDER. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF "ADDED UPON," "MARCUS KING MORMON," ETC.

PART TWO. III.

RELIGIOUS RESTLESSNESS —A CRUISE TO CHRISTIANIA. "We thank thee, 0, Lord that there is no salvatian for the

dead." Harald could not forget the horrible words. They rang in his ears day and night. The last days of his principalship of the West Akerby school approached, and he had much work to do; but in every pause, he heard the words: "There is no salvation for the dead," and then again: "We thank thee, Lord, for it." "It's a blessing this school business is coming to an end," he thought. Then again he doubted his own conclusions, for with school work he did have something definite to occupy his mind. What would he do when, all day long, the devil would have opportunity to whisper the damnable words into his ears! When the public began to realize that Head Master Einersen had been forced out by ecclesiastical pressure, there was consider- able uproar; but he did not take it as a calamity, and informed all who asked him about it that he was glad of it. So, in time, the clamor subsided, and the new master was respected in his place. On the evening that his term expired, Harald heaved a sigh of relief but something secret told him that as one burden was gone another and much greater was coming. In the past, he had been able to shake off any obnoxious thought, but now some religious questions would not away, and he saw more approaching in the

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distance. He would have to meet them. Why should he show a coward's fear? Surely they "could be met. Truth would conquer error every time. "There is no salvation for the dead!" "You lie!" Harald hissed the words aloud. It was on the street, and he had caught a

glimpse of Pastor Bange. Harald was alone —he was thankful no one heard him. The day was before him, so, after a vigorous tramp through the town, he climbed the stone steps on his way home again. Replenishing the fire, he later took down his Bible, the leather-back one, scratched, and stained with sea water, which he had received as a memento of his friend. He read a-while that he might ob- serve if the reading should have the same effect on him as it once had on Johan. Having read for ten minutes, he went to the win- dow, to raise the blind. The sun shone brightly, and a great yellow stream entered the room. He paced back and forth. He could not read. The photograph on the table had fallen from the easel, and lay face down on the cloth. He looked at it for a moment and then continued his walking. "Yes, Thora, you might well hide your face from me," he said. He remembered his dream of some nights previous, and again saw the mighty hosts of Norsemen. They had never heard of Jesus Christ. They had never heard of Christianity. They were doubt- less marching to their final destination, when he beheld them in vision — on, on, the multitude of brave men and beautiful women, on — on — to hell!

The heathen could not be saved. A heathen is "one who does not worship the God of the Jew or the Christian" — so his dictionary gave it. His forefathers were heathens; therefore, they could not be saved. Well, they would have much company. Out of the millions who have lived on this earth, a very small fraction ever knew of Christ. Of the millions now living, only about one-third were Christians, and only a small part of the so- called Christians were Christian at heart. Nothing else could count, of course. So, after all, a mere handful would be saved. What a small place heaven must be, and how immense must be the borders of hell! And God arranged all this. He made the earth —what knowl-

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edge of the laws of nature he must have! He formed man and placed him on the earth to run his little race. He gave him intelligence, a reasoning mind! He made him sensitive to joy and pain. He placed within his mind ambitions, and made it a part of his nature to yearn for eternal life and its possibilities. He implanted in his heart the sweet and tender plant which grows and expands until it entwines its delicate tendrils around wife and —and they become as strong as bonds of children steel — and then^ and then — they are damned eternally all

Harald remembered having read a book once which related the story of a boy who had figured that every time the clock ticked, a soul went to hell. At every tick, a heathen died. Tick, tock —to hell they went. Tick, tock —two more. Johan and grandmother had been among the crowds that he had seen in his dream. If ever there were or had been a Chris- tian, his grandmother was one; but what about Johan Bernsen! Pastor Bange had said that Johan was not a Christian. Pastor Bange ought to know, if anyone knew. If Johan was not a Chris-

tian, had not been confirmed, had not associated himself with the church, he must have been a heathen —and heathens go to hell.

And hell is a place where the souls of men and women suffer excruciating torment eternally. "There worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." Men and women! Oh, surely not beautiful, tender, nerve-filled woman, who bears the burdens of the world, and in motherhood willingly goes near to the gates of death Surely not woman, surely not !

such a sweet-faced woman as kissed him in his dream, or one like .

Harald's face was ashen gray. His hands trembled. The muscles of his lips twitched painfully. He had been pacing the floor, but now sank helplessly in his chair, by the table. Staring vacantly into the fire, he finally covered his face with his hands. With rude hands, Horror had seized him, and he seemed to struggle in vain. The more he thought, the more he reasoned, the deeper the gulf of dismay. The perspiration moistened his face, and wiping it away with his kerchief he was relieved some- what, but the struggle was not yet over. Why shouldiie worry about it, anyway? He was a believer. He

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could be saved. Why vex himself about others? But the thought, the principle! Why should God, who is allwise and all power- ful make a plan for the salvation of mankind so seemingly imper- fect, so unjust, so cruel ! If Christ is the only name under heaven — whereby men may be saved and he knew the scriptures taught — that why had not provisions been made for his name to bs heard by every kindred, tongue, and nation from the creation down? In all fairness, it appeared reasonable that every soul should have had

a chance. Then the feeling of resentment again arose within him. Christian doctrine is founded on the Bible. Did the Bible teach such abominable doctrine as that? If so, he would throw the book into the fire But he did not do that; and, shortly, he was ashamed of him- self, as he should have been, for the thought. Again he went to the window. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, but he had thought it night. He went out, and down on the busy market place, and met his old friend Pastor Jensen, of the Methodist Church, who was just then buying a roast for the next day's din- ner; securing his package, the preacher slipped his arm into Harald's, and the two walked on together. Pastor Jensen began to speak sympathetically about the head master losing his posi- tion, but Harald apparently, did not heed. Suddenly he looked into the parson's face and asked "Tell me, Pastor Jensen, do you believe there is any salvation for the dead?" The pastor was, of course, surprised, but he managed to answer that certainly those who had died in the Lord were saved. "But what about those who did not die in the Lord? Are they in hell?" "Well, now, dear Mr. Einersen, you do startle me but I — might say that we have no assurance in God's word that the unbe- liever, or the heathen, will have an opportunity in the next world.

You see, such a doctrine would be very dangerous, indeed, and — "So you believe that all our old forefathers, men, many of whom were better than we, are now burning in hell?" He suddenly let go the preacher's arm, turning another corner.

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Pastor Jensen stood staring at the retreating figure, wondering what it all meant. "Number two," said Harald. "I might as well go the rounds, and finish this unpleasant business." He was not far from the meeting rooms of the Indre Mission, the home missionary department of the state church. The presid. ing parson resided in the rear of the rooms, and there he went. Pastor Skabo was at home, and he greeted Harald warmly. Harald did not wish to be rudely abrupt, so the conversation was brought around smoothly to the subject. Pastor Skabo was sur- prised that anyone should doubt the great religious truth that when a person dies, he either goes to the arms of Jesus, or to the regions of darkness. No; he could see no hope, in the hereafter, for the heathen. He was very emphatic on the point that this life fixed every soul's eternal destiny. "Then," said Harald, as he took his hat and arose to go, "Solon and Pericles, with all the great and wise men of ancient Greece; Leonidas and his three hundred brave Spartans who per- ished at Thermopylae; Socrates, the philosopher, who taught the immortality of the soul, and who died for his convictions; the wise Plato and his followers — — all all were heathens, and, therefore, went to hell when they died, are there now, and will remain there throughout the endless ages of eternity? Impossible P' Harald bowed himself out. On the street, he laughed to himself when he thought of how he had startled the good pastor by his expressions. So far, no deviation. He would try the little Baptist minister who had lately arrived. The Baptist seemed to think that he had a prospective con- vert in the earnest young man, but Harald went away having learned nothing new. Next he called on an Adventist preacher who had held forth in a tent as long as the weather permitted, but who, as he explained, had not been able to secure a hall for winter use. The Adventist talked Scripture as if he knew the Bible from memory, but Harald again went away empty. A fog threatened to settle down over the town. Darkness came on, and Harald felt extremely tired. Perhaps he had ac- complished enough for one day. He could scarcely climb the steps

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to the house. Mrs. Jacobsen was very solicitous. What a com- fort she was! The warm beef-soup tasted delicious. When he went to bed, which he did early, he soon fell into a sound sleep. Next morning his mind was much more quiet, though the ef- fects of its riotous workings the day before were visible in the general haggardness of his face. He announced to his landlady that he would take a sail around the coast as far as Christiania, for a rest. She agreed with him that such a rest was needed, a change of air and scenery would do him good. So he packed a small valise, and that same evening boarded the coast steamer. He had greatly quieted during the day, but he thought the journey would do him good. He placed in his grip some volumes of his favorite authors. He had thought of taking his Bible along, but instead he left it on the table by Thora's pic- ture. He enjoyed life on board ship, being sailor enough to avoid sickness in a rough sea. When the strong wind blew, and the waves danced merrily over the sea, he always paced the deck, where he gathered new life in breathing the bracing sea air, while the vessel steadily pushed its way through the angry waves. At one of the stopping points, quite a fleet of fishing boats were making for an outer island where herring had been reported. The boats sailed by the steamer, and there were jolly crews in them. Harald had an instant's longing to jump into one, and to take part in the coming catch. One boat contained a man, and two strong, healthy-looking girls who sang as they went by: Oh, ho! oh, ho! the herring is coming! The breezes are humming! Aloft flies the sail. The sea gulls are teeming, And fighting and screaming, Adrift on the gale.

When the steamer pointed northward into the Christiania fjord the ice became troublesome. Had it not been that a short distance ahead of them a large ocean steamer was smashing the ice and clearing a passage, there would have been danger of a blockade; but as it was, the coast steamer slowly made its way through the floating ice.

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There was a pleasant company of passengers on board, and the conversations in the salon were restful enough. Harald list- ened attentively to the stories of a commercial man, one of which reminded him of his grandmother. "When I was a lad about twelve," said the narrator, resting his arms on the table in front of him, "my mother and I walked a distance of sixty miles and back. My grandmother resided that distance from us, away back in the country, and it was no uncom- mon thing for my mother to get a longing to see her mother. Well, as I was saying, on one of these occasions, father was away the whole summer, and, as there was no one to stay with me, I was obliged to accompany her. I was not easily tired out in those days, but, oh! how my limbs did ache every night. Mother con- tinued for hours along the road, knitting as she walked. I trudged by her side or lagged behind, as my disposition or condition al- lowed, and behind us came the pig." "The pig!" exclaimed a lady on the opposite side of the table. "Yes; mother's domestic animals shared a good deal of her attention, and the pigs especially followed her anywhere. I re- member that pig yet, and what a worry it was to mother to keep it clean. — She washed it as clean as a new brush oh, it was a very small, young pig, madam— and then she would comb its hair no, — oh, no; she didn't put its tail in papers to make it curl; if I re- member rightly, its tail was naturally curly. When the pig got tired, and wanted to lag, mother would coax it on with pieces of sugar." "What did the pig go with you for?" "It was a present to mother's mother." "That reminds me," began another passenger; but Harald did not remain longer. One day, down in the second class cabin, Harald saw a Bible lying open on the table. As no one was present at the time, he picked up the book and began to read. Presently, a young man came in, who sat down opposite Harald and watched the reader closely. When the latter looked up, the young man asked: " 'Understandest thou what thou readest?'" " 'How can I, except some man should guide me,' " answered

Harald.

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The young man smiled at the answer. "The word of God is easily understood by those who will under- stand," said he. "Some parts may be, but others are not," replied Harald. "If the Bible is so easily understood, why are there so many interpre- tations of it? All sects base their creeds on the Bible, yet each understands its teachings differently. I go to one denomination, and they prove to me from the Scriptures that they are right, and all

the rest are wrong. * I go to another, with the same result. I've

come to the conclusion that you can find in the Bible anything you wish to find." "Yes, yes," replied the other, "but it all amounts to this, after all : Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you shall be saved." "I know that is the argument of last resort with religionists, but no sensible man can read his Bible, and believe that such a conclusion is the sum of the matter. If the Bible teaches any- thing at all, it teaches that there is something to do as well as to think, or to say. But what that is, I haven't got clear." "Come to Jesus," said the young man. "Another stock phrase! Nothing definite: How shall I come? where? when? To give your heart, what does that mean? I have never found that Jesus explained coming to him to mean that one should kneel on a penitent bench and cry. You preachers — sup- I

pose you are a preacher — stir up people, arouse their emotions, play upon their feelings; never appeal to their reason, or good sense. I'll acknowledge that it's all a well mixed up business to me." The other did not answer, but he took out his guitar, and sang some gospel hymns. He had a good voice, and soon the cabin was well-filled with listeners. Whether he preached to them afterwards, Harald did not learn, for he soon thereafter went on deck. A black, winter fog hung over the city of Christiania. Harald could not content himself there. A few walks up and down Karl Johan Street, where he jostled with the crowd, a number of visits to the Storting, the Norwegian Congress, and he was ready to depart. The thought now came to him that perhaps it had not been wise to leave Akerby as soon and as hurriedly as he had left it.

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People would get a wrong impression of him. He would better return as soon as he could. After all, it was only a bit of sea travel he wanted; so back he went. - He remained restless, sometimes fearful that he would be come altogether an unbeliever, at which thought he shuddered. Grandmother's training had strong claims on him; yet, he acknowl- edged to himself that he was literally at sea on religious matters. His mind was in a turmoil. He had certain yearnings, but how chaotic they were ! His thoughts were confused, his plans for the future, indistinct. He could build no castle that would stand over night. All was transitory, unreal, unsatisfying. His soul had appetite; yet it was empty. On the return trip, he occupied himself with his books. He read Ibsen again, feeling more keenly than ever, this writer's cynicism, irony, and resentment against the social orders of the day. Ibsen's vindictive thrusts found an echo in Harald's heart. But, after all, there was very little satisfaction in Ibsen, and he turned to Bjornson. The contrast was plainer than ever. Ibsen was the pessimist; Bjornson, the optimist. Ibsen's senti- ments were contractive, bitter and chill; Bjornson's were expan- sive, genial, sunny, full of hope. Ibsen thrust unsolvable problems on the world —and Harald had enough of them; Bjornson never discussed a question to which he did not see a solution. Bjorn- son was the child of nature, free, unrestraining. His writ- ings were "colored with nature's brush, and steeped in the fragrance of Norwegian winds. Their grandeur, their eloquence were but the reflection of the Jotunheim; and the quieter, idyllic touches, the whisperings of the great, deep, serene fjords." To Harald Bjornson was a mighty giant, lifting his country up to greatness. He was the great patriot, the inspirer of every true Norwegian.

Yes, we love this land of ours, Crowned with mountain domes; Storm-scarred o'er the sea it towers, With its thousand homes!

wrote Bjornson. As Harald read, he perceived a glimmer of light in his gloom. He would serve his country. The plans which he contrived when

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a boy returned to him. Two years more and he would be eligible to the Storting. Meanwhile, he would work and prove worthy of the confidence which his fellow citizens had already imposed in him. Yes; within two years he must be a member of the Storting. He would serve his country, until he could more intelligently serve his God.

IV.

RETURN TO AKERBY — POLITICAL CASTLES. Harald Einersen did not get back to Akerby too soon. Pastor Bange had intrusted to a friend some strange news about the actions of the late Head Master. Pastor Skabo had also told an acquaintance that Mr. Einersen had called on him, and had asked some odd questions; and then Pastor Jensen had recounted the school teacher's peculiar actions on the street. By putting it all together, with a little embellishment, the conclusion was easily reached that the Head Master had lost his wits with his position. But a week later, when the gossip was at its height, Harald Einer- sen reappeared at Akerby, associating as usual with neighbors and friends. Mrs. Jacobsen said the journey had resulted in much good to him. He was himself again; and the good lady was greatly pleased. All of Harald's friends were glad to see him. His sud- den disappearance had been the special topic of discussion at the latest meeting of the West Akerby club; but when, at the follow- ing meeting, Harald had walked into^the club rooms with head erect and bold step, there was something of a sensation. Again, during the discussions that evening, he had surprised the gather- ing by a splendid speech on the political issues of the day. "Why," said a friend to him, "people had it that the trouble had turned your mind, and that you had run away from us." Harald took it pleasantly, saying "Well, if my mind has been turned, it has been in the right direction. I am glad to have the time now to devote to the cause of our club." During the few remaining winter days he read law and "talked politics" with his friends. In his own mind, he had decided not to try a mercantile

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pursuit, but to devote a year or more to study and political work. His means would allow him to do this. The Storting must be reached, first. From that foothold he could climb higher. His prestige as a member of the national legislature would greatly aid him and give him influence among the people. His motives were high. "If ever my country needed patriots, it is now," said he to himself. It needed men who were not afraid to speak the truth,

who were not afraid of kingly might or name. Bjornson needed aids. What could one man do? The time was ripe for action. One day in the early spring, Harald met Merchant Bernhard, on the street in Akerby. He was sauntering leisurely down to the fish market when he saw the merchant coming alone up the street.

He had not seen the latter for years, yet he knew him at- sight, although the merchant had aged much, and his cane did not touch the ground as lightly as when he had met him last. The merchant did not recognize the tall, bearded man as his former tender of sheep, and it was some time before Harald could be properly placed in the old man's mind. Then it came to him suddenly, and he exclaimed: "Yes, yes. Now I remember. You are Einer Gundersen's son — and what are you doing here?" Harald led him into a cafe, and ordered coffee, the merchant continually remonstrating in true Norwegian style ; but when they had been comfortably seated in a retired corner of the room, the old gentleman seemed well pleased. He drew off his gloves, drop- ping them in his hat. Then, pushing back his bushy, gray hair, he looked closely at his young friend. "And so you are young Einersen? Yes; I have heard of you. My daughter Thora talked of the delightful time she had in Nordland, for years after her visit. In fact, London, New York, Paris, were nothing to the wonders of Nordland. Yes; Nordland is all right — in the summer," he lowered his voice on the last phrase, "but hoot-toot-too! in the winter!" "And Miss Bernhard," asked Harald disregarding the drift of the old gentleman's conversation, "is she well?" A cloud seemed to pass over the merchant's face, and a firm, though sad expression came into it. "Yes; she is well."

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The tone in which he said it seemed to forbid the young man asking any further questions along that line. "Yes; thank you, I'll take another cup," said the merchant, and then he continued. "Your grandmother kept me pretty well posted on your affairs, but since her death I have not heard much. What are you doing now?" "Just at present, I am having a vacation — you understand. I have been teaching school for four years, though I am not alto-

gether unoccupied. I am reading law." "Ah! Going to be a lawyer next, are you? What under the sun will you not aspire to? You'll wish to be elected to the Storting next, I dare say; and from there to the Prime Minister would be an easy step for you." Harald smiled at the old man's pleasantry. "Well, its all right, I suppose. We are living in a wonderful age, anyway. I sometimes think there is a chance for the return of Norway- to her true position among the nations of the world, when I see such young men as you, and the spirit which is working in you." Harald thanked him earnestly, and assured him that his own life work would be to help bring about the happy result. "Well, you young fellows are good for it. I wish you suc- cess. If I were but a trifle younger now —but no, I'm about through with life." The old merchant bowed his head as if some great sorrow bent it. He finished his coffee in silence, and then arose to go. He had stopped off at Akerby on a matter of business, and would be compelled to leave on the evening boat, hence, could not accept Harald's pressing invitation to remain with him over night. Harald learned nothing more about Thora, only that she was then in Christiania. The father's lips appeared to be sealed against

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any word about his daughter, and Harald could not understand it. It worried him not a little.

It may be that some future Norwegian historian may reveal the details of the deep-laid plan to overthrow the kingdom of Oscar II, and to erect a republic on the Scandinavian peninsula,