The Marriage Feast, and Other Stories

The Marriage Feast, and Other Stories

The Marriage Feast, and Other Stories

The Marriage Feast, and Other Stories


JONAS and Frida were to be married at four o'clock in the afternoon, and the guests were beginning to collect at the little house on the outskirts of the village by the railway where the ceremony was to take place. Ponies and traps came from the surrounding countryside, where one or two distant relatives of Frida lived--Jonas hadn't any-- and there were also several people from the village itself. It seemed they would be about fifteen, all told.

It was a lovely day and the men were outside, strolling in the little garden, shaking hands with each other, standing talking, or taking a turn around the house as though they were looking it over. On the east gable was a faded sign over a small doorway:

Frida Johansson Haberdasher

Hm. Well, well, so Frida was getting off today. Aha. That was all they said, but their tone implied a lot.

Hm, it was a funny thing about this wedding, but there would be the usual food and drink anyway, and they might just as well be there, seeing they were invited. So they thought about going in.

The bridegroom was standing on the steps. He was a thick-set, insignificant little man, with a fair, drooping moustache and a continual happy smile--he was always smiling. He had clear, kind, almost grateful eyes, and he blinked a lot, almost as though to keep out of the way. He was apt to hold his head rather on one side, as if he were listening. He had a very pleasing appearance, he had . . .

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