overseer; and in the front room stood two looms, one at either window.
The loom-room was in use even in Lieutenant Lagerlöf's time, though it was then no longer the custom to pay one's serving-folk their earnings in clothing but in money. It was Fru Lagerlöf's great delight to sit at a loom weaving towelling, bed linen, table linen, floor mats, curtains, furniture coverings, and dress fabrics—in fact, everything of that sort needed in the home. All summer long she had her looms going.
In the autumn, however, the looms were taken out to make room for a long, low table which was well smeared with bezum, and the round, three-legged stools were brought up from the servants' room. That meant that Soldier Svens, the parish shoemaker, was expected. Soon he and his apprentices came shouldering great knapsacks packed full of awls, hammers, bundles of lasts, wax-ends, eyelets, heel-irons and shoe-pegs, all of which were dumped upon the table.
The cobbler was a tall, gaunt man with a shock of black hair and a full black beard. Seeing him for the first time one thought him a fierce and dangerous fellow, more fit for fighting than for the shoemaker's bench. But when he spoke, it was in a soft, timorous voice. His eyes were rather small and mild-looking, and his whole bearing was a bit uncertain. He was perhaps not so very dangerous after all.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf's little children were in high glee when the shoemaker arrived. They bounded up the diffi-
