["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover,\nanchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown\naway. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about the\ncluster of low drab buildings huddled on the gray prairie, under\na gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about haphazard on the\ntough prairie sod; some of them looked as if they had been moved in\novernight, and others as if they were straying off by themselves,\nheaded straight for the open plain. None of them had any appearance\nof permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as over\nthem. The main street was a deeply rutted road, now frozen hard,\nwhich ran from the squat red railway station and the grain \"elevator\"\nat the north end of the town to the lumber yard and the horse pond\nat the south end. On either side of this road straggled two uneven\nrows of wooden buildings; the general merchandise stores, the two\nbanks, the drug store, the feed store, the saloon, the post-office. The board sidewalks were gray with trampled snow, but at two o'clock\nin the afternoon the shopkeepers, having come back from dinner,\nwere keeping well behind their frosty windows. The children were\nall in school, and there was nobody abroad in the streets but a\nfew rough-looking countrymen in coarse overcoats, with their long\ncaps pulled down to their noses. Some of them had brought their\nwives to town, and now and then a red or a plaid shawl flashed out\nof one store into the shelter of another. At the hitch-bars along\nthe street a few heavy work-horses, harnessed to farm wagons,\nshivered under their blankets. About the station everything was\nquiet, for there would not be another train in until night. On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little Swede\nboy, crying bitterly. He was about five years old. His black cloth\ncoat was much too big for him and made him look like a little old\nman. His shrunken brown flannel dress had been washed many times\nand left a long stretch of stocking between the hem of his skirt\nand the tops of his clumsy, copper-toed shoes. His cap was pulled\ndown over his ears; his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped and\nred with cold. He cried quietly, and the few people who hurried\nby did not notice him. He was afraid to stop any one, afraid to\ngo into the store and ask for help, so he sat wringing his long\nsleeves and looking up a telegraph pole beside him, whimpering, \"My\nkitten, oh, my kitten! Her will fweeze!\" At the top of the pole\ncrouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing faintly and clinging\ndesperately to the wood with her claws. The boy had been left\nat the store while his sister went to the doctor's office, and in\nher absence a dog had chased his kitten up the pole. The little\ncreature had never been so high before, and she was too frightened\nto move. Her master was sunk in despair. He was a little country\nboy, and this village was to him a very strange and perplexing\nplace, where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts. He\nalways felt shy and awkward here, and wanted to hide behind things\nfor fear some one might laugh at him. Just now, he was too unhappy\nto care who laughed. At last he seemed to see a ray of hope: his\nsister was coming, and he got up and ran toward her in his heavy\nshoes. His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she walked rapidly and\nresolutely, as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she\nwas going to do next. She wore a man's long ulster (not as if it\nwere an affliction, but as if it were very comfortable and belonged\nto her; carried it like a young soldier), and a round plush cap,\ntied down with a thick veil. She had a serious, thoughtful face,\nand her clear, deep blue eyes were fixed intently on the distance,\nwithout seeming to see anything, as if she were in trouble. She\ndid not notice the little boy until he pulled her by the coat. Then she stopped short and stooped down to wipe his wet face. \"Why, Emil! I told you to stay in the store and not to come out. What is the matter with you?\" \"My kitten, sister, my kitten! A man put her out, and a dog chased\nher up there.\" His forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of his\ncoat, pointed up to the wretched little creature on the pole. \"Oh, Emil! Didn't I tell you she'd get us into trouble of some\nkind, if you brought her? What made you tease me so? But there,\nI ought to have known better myself.\" She went to the foot of the\npole and held out her arms, crying, \"Kitty, kitty, kitty,\" but the\nkitten only mewed and faintly waved its tail. Alexandra turned\naway decidedly. \"No, she won't come down. Somebody will have to\ngo up after her. I saw the Linstrums' wagon in town. I'll go and\nsee if I can find Carl. Maybe he can do something. Only you must\nstop crying, or I won't go a step. Where's your comforter? Did\nyou leave it in the store? Never mind. Hold still, till I put\nthis on you.\" She unwound the brown veil from her head and tied it about his\nthroat. A shabby little traveling man, who was just then coming out\nof the store on his way to the saloon, stopped and gazed stupidly\nat the shining mass of hair she bared when she took off her veil;\ntwo thick braids, pinned about her head in the German way, with a\nfringe of reddish-yellow curls blowing out from under her cap. He\ntook his cigar out of his mouth and held the wet end between the\nfingers of his woolen glove. \"My God, girl, what a head of hair!\" he exclaimed, quite innocently and foolishly. She stabbed him with\na glance of Amazonian fierceness and drew in her lower lip--most\nunnecessary severity. It gave the little clothing drummer such a\nstart that he actually let his cigar fall to the sidewalk and went\noff weakly in the teeth of the wind to the saloon. His hand was\nstill unsteady when he took his glass from the bartender. His\nfeeble flirtatious instincts had been crushed before, but never\nso mercilessly. He felt cheap and ill-used, as if some one had\ntaken advantage of him. When a drummer had been knocking about in\nlittle drab towns and crawling across the wintry country in dirty\nsmoking-cars, was he to be blamed if, when he chanced upon a fine\nhuman creature, he suddenly wished himself more of a man? While the little drummer was drinking to recover his nerve, Alexandra\nhurried to the drug store as the most likely place to find Carl\nLinstrum. There he was, turning over a portfolio of chromo \"studies\"\nwhich the druggist sold to the Hanover women who did china-painting. Alexandra explained her predicament, and the boy followed her to\nthe corner, where Emil still sat by the pole. \"I'll have to go up after her, Alexandra. I think at the depot\nthey have some spikes I can strap on my feet. Wait a minute.\" Carl\nthrust his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and darted up\nthe street against the north wind. He was a tall boy of fifteen,\nslight and narrow-chested. When he came back with the spikes,\nAlexandra asked him what he had done with his overcoat. \"I left it in the drug store. I couldn't climb in it, anyhow. Catch me if I fall, Emil,\" he called back as he began his ascent. Alexandra watched him anxiously; the cold was bitter enough on the\nground. The kitten would not budge an inch. Carl had to go to\nthe very top of the pole, and then had some difficulty in tearing\nher from her hold. When he reached the ground, he handed the cat\nto her tearful little master. \"Now go into the store with her,\nEmil, and get warm.\" He opened the door for the child. \"Wait a\nminute, Alexandra. Why can't I drive for you as far as our place? It's getting colder every minute. Have you seen the doctor?\" \"Yes. He is coming over to-morrow. But he says father can't\nget better; can't get well.\" The girl's lip trembled. She looked\nfixedly up the bleak street as if she were gathering her strength\nto face something, as if she were trying with all her might to\ngrasp a situation which, no matter how painful, must be met and\ndealt with somehow. The wind flapped the skirts of her heavy coat\nabout her.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Carl did not say anything, but she felt his sympathy. He, too, was\nlonely. He was a thin, frail boy, with brooding dark eyes, very\nquiet in all his movements. There was a delicate pallor in his thin\nface, and his mouth was too sensitive for a boy's. The lips had\nalready a little curl of bitterness and skepticism. The two friends\nstood for a few moments on the windy street corner, not speaking\na word, as two travelers, who have lost their way, sometimes stand\nand admit their perplexity in silence. When Carl turned away he\nsaid, \"I'll see to your team.\" Alexandra went into the store to\nhave her purchases packed in the egg-boxes, and to get warm before\nshe set out on her long cold drive. When she looked for Emil, she found him sitting on a step of the\nstaircase that led up to the clothing and carpet department. He\nwas playing with a little Bohemian girl, Marie Tovesky, who was\ntying her handkerchief over the kitten's head for a bonnet. Marie\nwas a stranger in the country, having come from Omaha with her mother\nto visit her uncle, Joe Tovesky. She was a dark child, with brown\ncurly hair, like a brunette doll's, a coaxing little red mouth, and\nround, yellow-brown eyes. Every one noticed her eyes; the brown\niris had golden glints that made them look like gold-stone, or, in\nsofter lights, like that Colorado mineral called tiger-eye. The country children thereabouts wore their dresses to their\nshoe-tops, but this city child was dressed in what was then called\nthe \"Kate Greenaway\" manner, and her red cashmere frock, gathered\nfull from the yoke, came almost to the floor. This, with her\npoke bonnet, gave her the look of a quaint little woman. She had\na white fur tippet about her neck and made no fussy objections when\nEmil fingered it admiringly. Alexandra had not the heart to take\nhim away from so pretty a playfellow, and she let them tease the\nkitten together until Joe Tovesky came in noisily and picked up\nhis little niece, setting her on his shoulder for every one to see. His children were all boys, and he adored this little creature. His cronies formed a circle about him, admiring and teasing the\nlittle girl, who took their jokes with great good nature. They\nwere all delighted with her, for they seldom saw so pretty and\ncarefully nurtured a child. They told her that she must choose\none of them for a sweetheart, and each began pressing his suit and\noffering her bribes; candy, and little pigs, and spotted calves. She looked archly into the big, brown, mustached faces, smelling\nof spirits and tobacco, then she ran her tiny forefinger delicately\nover Joe's bristly chin and said, \"Here is my sweetheart.\" The Bohemians roared with laughter, and Marie's uncle hugged her\nuntil she cried, \"Please don't, Uncle Joe! You hurt me.\" Each\nof Joe's friends gave her a bag of candy, and she kissed them all\naround, though she did not like country candy very well. Perhaps\nthat was why she bethought herself of Emil. \"Let me down, Uncle\nJoe,\" she said, \"I want to give some of my candy to that nice little\nboy I found.\" She walked graciously over to Emil, followed by her\nlusty admirers, who formed a new circle and teased the little boy\nuntil he hid his face in his sister's skirts, and she had to scold\nhim for being such a baby. The farm people were making preparations to start for home. The\nwomen were checking over their groceries and pinning their big red\nshawls about their heads. The men were buying tobacco and candy\nwith what money they had left, were showing each other new boots and\ngloves and blue flannel shirts. Three big Bohemians were drinking\nraw alcohol, tinctured with oil of cinnamon. This was said to\nfortify one effectually against the cold, and they smacked their\nlips after each pull at the flask. Their volubility drowned every\nother noise in the place, and the overheated store sounded of\ntheir spirited language as it reeked of pipe smoke, damp woolens,\nand kerosene. Carl came in, wearing his overcoat and carrying a wooden box with\na brass handle. \"Come,\" he said, \"I've fed and watered your team,\nand the wagon is ready.\" He carried Emil out and tucked him down\nin the straw in the wagonbox. The heat had made the little boy\nsleepy, but he still clung to his kitten. \"You were awful good to climb so high and get my kitten, Carl. When I get big I'll climb and get little boys' kittens for them,\"\nhe murmured drowsily. Before the horses were over the first hill,\nEmil and his cat were both fast asleep. Although it was only four o'clock, the winter day was fading. The\nroad led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light that\nglimmered in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad young\nfaces that were turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl,\nwho seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into the\nfuture; upon the sombre eyes of the boy, who seemed already to be\nlooking into the past. The little town behind them had vanished as\nif it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie,\nand the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. The\nhomesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gaunt\nagainst the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the great\nfact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little\nbeginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes. It was from facing this vast hardness that the boy's mouth had\nbecome so bitter; because he felt that men were too weak to make\nany mark here, that the land wanted to be let alone, to preserve\nits own fierce strength, its peculiar, savage kind of beauty, its\nuninterrupted mournfulness. The wagon jolted along over the frozen road. The two friends had\nless to say to each other than usual, as if the cold had somehow\npenetrated to their hearts. \"Did Lou and Oscar go to the Blue to cut wood to-day?\" Carl asked. \"Yes. I'm almost sorry I let them go, it's turned so cold. But\nmother frets if the wood gets low.\" She stopped and put her hand\nto her forehead, brushing back her hair. \"I don't know what is to\nbecome of us, Carl, if father has to die. I don't dare to think\nabout it. I wish we could all go with him and let the grass grow\nback over everything.\" Carl made no reply. Just ahead of them was the Norwegian graveyard,\nwhere the grass had, indeed, grown back over everything, shaggy and\nred, hiding even the wire fence. Carl realized that he was not a\nvery helpful companion, but there was nothing he could say. \"Of course,\" Alexandra went on, steadying her voice a little, \"the\nboys are strong and work hard, but we've always depended so on\nfather that I don't see how we can go ahead. I almost feel as if\nthere were nothing to go ahead for.\" \"Does your father know?\" \"Yes, I think he does. He lies and counts on his fingers all day. I think he is trying to count up what he is leaving for us. It's\na comfort to him that my chickens are laying right on through the\ncold weather and bringing in a little money. I wish we could keep\nhis mind off such things, but I don't have much time to be with\nhim now.\" \"I wonder if he'd like to have me bring my magic lantern over some\nevening?\" Alexandra turned her face toward him. \"Oh, Carl! Have you got\nit?\" \"Yes. It's back there in the straw. Didn't you notice the box\nI was carrying? I tried it all morning in the drug-store cellar,\nand it worked ever so well, makes fine big pictures.\" \"What are they about?\" \"Oh, hunting pictures in Germany, and Robinson Crusoe and funny\npictures about cannibals. I'm going to paint some slides for it\non glass, out of the Hans Andersen book.\" Alexandra seemed actually cheered. There is often a good deal of\nthe child left in people who have had to grow up too soon. \"Do\nbring it over, Carl. I can hardly wait to see it, and I'm sure it\nwill please father. Are the pictures colored? Then I know he'll\nlike them. He likes the calendars I get him in town. I wish I\ncould get more. You must leave me here, mustn't you? It's been\nnice to have company.\" Carl stopped the horses and looked dubiously up at the black sky. \"It's pretty dark.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-03 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Of course the horses will take you home, but\nI think I'd better light your lantern, in case you should need it.\" He gave her the reins and climbed back into the wagon-box, where\nhe crouched down and made a tent of his overcoat. After a dozen\ntrials he succeeded in lighting the lantern, which he placed in\nfront of Alexandra, half covering it with a blanket so that the\nlight would not shine in her eyes. \"Now, wait until I find my box. Yes, here it is. Good-night, Alexandra. Try not to worry.\" Carl\nsprang to the ground and ran off across the fields toward the Linstrum\nhomestead. \"Hoo, hoo-o-o-o!\" he called back as he disappeared over\na ridge and dropped into a sand gully. The wind answered him like\nan echo, \"Hoo, hoo-o-o-o-o-o!\" Alexandra drove off alone. The\nrattle of her wagon was lost in the howling of the wind, but her\nlantern, held firmly between her feet, made a moving point of light\nalong the highway, going deeper and deeper into the dark country. On one of the ridges of that wintry waste stood the low log house\nin which John Bergson was dying. The Bergson homestead was easier\nto find than many another, because it overlooked Norway Creek, a\nshallow, muddy stream that sometimes flowed, and sometimes stood\nstill, at the bottom of a winding ravine with steep, shelving sides\novergrown with brush and cottonwoods and dwarf ash. This creek\ngave a sort of identity to the farms that bordered upon it. Of all\nthe bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human\nlandmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening. The\nhouses on the Divide were small and were usually tucked away\nin low places; you did not see them until you came directly upon\nthem. Most of them were built of the sod itself, and were only\nthe unescapable ground in another form. The roads were but faint\ntracks in the grass, and the fields were scarcely noticeable. The\nrecord of the plow was insignificant, like the feeble scratches on\nstone left by prehistoric races, so indeterminate that they may,\nafter all, be only the markings of glaciers, and not a record of\nhuman strivings. In eleven long years John Bergson had made but little impression\nupon the wild land he had come to tame. It was still a wild thing\nthat had its ugly moods; and no one knew when they were likely to\ncome, or why. Mischance hung over it. Its Genius was unfriendly\nto man. The sick man was feeling this as he lay looking out of\nthe window, after the doctor had left him, on the day following\nAlexandra's trip to town. There it lay outside his door, the same\nland, the same lead-colored miles. He knew every ridge and draw\nand gully between him and the horizon. To the south, his plowed\nfields; to the east, the sod stables, the cattle corral, the\npond,--and then the grass. Bergson went over in his mind the things that had held him back. One winter his cattle had perished in a blizzard. The next summer\none of his plow horses broke its leg in a prairiedog hole and had\nto be shot. Another summer he lost his hogs from cholera, and\na valuable stallion died from a rattlesnake bite. Time and again\nhis crops had failed. He had lost two children, boys, that came\nbetween Lou and Emil, and there had been the cost of sickness and\ndeath. Now, when he had at last struggled out of debt, he was\ngoing to die himself. He was only forty-six, and had, of course,\ncounted upon more time. Bergson had spent his first five years on the Divide getting into\ndebt, and the last six getting out. He had paid off his mortgages\nand had ended pretty much where he began, with the land. He owned\nexactly six hundred and forty acres of what stretched outside his\ndoor; his own original homestead and timber claim, making three\nhundred and twenty acres, and the half-section adjoining, the\nhomestead of a younger brother who had given up the fight, gone\nback to Chicago to work in a fancy bakery and distinguish himself\nin a Swedish athletic club. So far John had not attempted to\ncultivate the second half-section, but used it for pasture land,\nand one of his sons rode herd there in open weather. John Bergson had the Old-World belief that land, in itself, is\ndesirable. But this land was an enigma. It was like a horse that\nno one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicks\nthings to pieces. He had an idea that no one understood how to\nfarm it properly, and this he often discussed with Alexandra. Their\nneighbors, certainly, knew even less about farming than he did. Many of them had never worked on a farm until they took up their\nhomesteads. They had been HANDWERKERS at home; tailors, locksmiths,\njoiners, cigar-makers, etc. Bergson himself had worked in a\nshipyard. For weeks, John Bergson had been thinking about these things. His\nbed stood in the sitting-room, next to the kitchen. Through the\nday, while the baking and washing and ironing were going on, the\nfather lay and looked up at the roof beams that he himself had\nhewn, or out at the cattle in the corral. He counted the cattle\nover and over. It diverted him to speculate as to how much weight\neach of the steers would probably put on by spring. He often called\nhis daughter in to talk to her about this. Before Alexandra was\ntwelve years old she had begun to be a help to him, and as she grew\nolder he had come to depend more and more upon her resourcefulness\nand good judgment. His boys were willing enough to work, but when\nhe talked with them they usually irritated him. It was Alexandra\nwho read the papers and followed the markets, and who learned by\nthe mistakes of their neighbors. It was Alexandra who could always\ntell about what it had cost to fatten each steer, and who could\nguess the weight of a hog before it went on the scales closer than\nJohn Bergson himself. Lou and Oscar were industrious, but he could\nnever teach them to use their heads about their work. Alexandra, her father often said to himself, was like her\ngrandfather; which was his way of saying that she was intelligent. John Bergson's father had been a shipbuilder, a man of considerable\nforce and of some fortune. Late in life he married a second time,\na Stockholm woman of questionable character, much younger than he,\nwho goaded him into every sort of extravagance. On the shipbuilder's\npart, this marriage was an infatuation, the despairing folly of\na powerful man who cannot bear to grow old. In a few years his\nunprincipled wife warped the probity of a lifetime. He speculated,\nlost his own fortune and funds entrusted to him by poor seafaring\nmen, and died disgraced, leaving his children nothing. But when all\nwas said, he had come up from the sea himself, had built up a proud\nlittle business with no capital but his own skill and foresight, and\nhad proved himself a man. In his daughter, John Bergson recognized\nthe strength of will, and the simple direct way of thinking things\nout, that had characterized his father in his better days. He\nwould much rather, of course, have seen this likeness in one of\nhis sons, but it was not a question of choice. As he lay there\nday after day he had to accept the situation as it was, and to be\nthankful that there was one among his children to whom he could\nentrust the future of his family and the possibilities of his\nhard-won land. The winter twilight was fading. The sick man heard his wife strike\na match in the kitchen, and the light of a lamp glimmered through\nthe cracks of the door. It seemed like a light shining far away. He turned painfully in his bed and looked at his white hands, with\nall the work gone out of them. He was ready to give up, he felt. He did not know how it had come about, but he was quite willing to\ngo deep under his fields and rest, where the plow could not find\nhim. He was tired of making mistakes. He was content to leave the\ntangle to other hands; he thought of his Alexandra's strong ones. \"DOTTER,\" he called feebly, \"DOTTER!\" He heard her quick step and\nsaw her tall figure appear in the doorway, with the light of the\nlamp behind her. He felt her youth and strength, how easily she\nmoved and stooped and lifted. But he would not have had it again\nif he could, not he! He knew the end too well to wish to begin\nagain. He knew where it all went to, what it all became.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-03, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-06 The user is reading a book]\n<User> His daughter came and lifted him up on his pillows. She called\nhim by an old Swedish name that she used to call him when she was\nlittle and took his dinner to him in the shipyard. \"Tell the boys to come here, daughter. I want to speak to them.\" \"They are feeding the horses, father. They have just come back\nfrom the Blue. Shall I call them?\" He sighed. \"No, no. Wait until they come in. Alexandra, you will\nhave to do the best you can for your brothers. Everything will\ncome on you.\" \"I will do all I can, father.\" \"Don't let them get discouraged and go off like Uncle Otto. I want\nthem to keep the land.\" \"We will, father. We will never lose the land.\" There was a sound of heavy feet in the kitchen. Alexandra went\nto the door and beckoned to her brothers, two strapping boys of\nseventeen and nineteen. They came in and stood at the foot of the\nbed. Their father looked at them searchingly, though it was too\ndark to see their faces; they were just the same boys, he told\nhimself, he had not been mistaken in them. The square head and\nheavy shoulders belonged to Oscar, the elder. The younger boy was\nquicker, but vacillating. \"Boys,\" said the father wearily, \"I want you to keep the land\ntogether and to be guided by your sister. I have talked to her\nsince I have been sick, and she knows all my wishes. I want no\nquarrels among my children, and so long as there is one house there\nmust be one head. Alexandra is the oldest, and she knows my wishes. She will do the best she can. If she makes mistakes, she will not\nmake so many as I have made. When you marry, and want a house of\nyour own, the land will be divided fairly, according to the courts. But for the next few years you will have it hard, and you must all\nkeep together. Alexandra will manage the best she can.\" Oscar, who was usually the last to speak, replied because he\nwas the older, \"Yes, father. It would be so anyway, without your\nspeaking. We will all work the place together.\" \"And you will be guided by your sister, boys, and be good brothers\nto her, and good sons to your mother? That is good. And Alexandra\nmust not work in the fields any more. There is no necessity now. Hire a man when you need help. She can make much more with her\neggs and butter than the wages of a man. It was one of my mistakes\nthat I did not find that out sooner. Try to break a little more\nland every year; sod corn is good for fodder. Keep turning the\nland, and always put up more hay than you need. Don't grudge your\nmother a little time for plowing her garden and setting out fruit\ntrees, even if it comes in a busy season. She has been a good\nmother to you, and she has always missed the old country.\" When they went back to the kitchen the boys sat down silently at\nthe table. Throughout the meal they looked down at their plates\nand did not lift their red eyes. They did not eat much, although\nthey had been working in the cold all day, and there was a rabbit\nstewed in gravy for supper, and prune pies. John Bergson had married beneath him, but he had married a good\nhousewife. Mrs. Bergson was a fair-skinned, corpulent woman, heavy\nand placid like her son, Oscar, but there was something comfortable\nabout her; perhaps it was her own love of comfort. For eleven years\nshe had worthily striven to maintain some semblance of household\norder amid conditions that made order very difficult. Habit\nwas very strong with Mrs. Bergson, and her unremitting efforts to\nrepeat the routine of her old life among new surroundings had done\na great deal to keep the family from disintegrating morally and\ngetting careless in their ways. The Bergsons had a log house, for\ninstance, only because Mrs. Bergson would not live in a sod house. She missed the fish diet of her own country, and twice every summer\nshe sent the boys to the river, twenty miles to the southward, to\nfish for channel cat. When the children were little she used to\nload them all into the wagon, the baby in its crib, and go fishing\nherself. Alexandra often said that if her mother were cast upon a desert\nisland, she would thank God for her deliverance, make a garden,\nand find something to preserve. Preserving was almost a mania with\nMrs. Bergson. Stout as she was, she roamed the scrubby banks of\nNorway Creek looking for fox grapes and goose plums, like a wild\ncreature in search of prey. She made a yellow jam of the insipid\nground-cherries that grew on the prairie, flavoring it with lemon\npeel; and she made a sticky dark conserve of garden tomatoes. She\nhad experimented even with the rank buffalo-pea, and she could\nnot see a fine bronze cluster of them without shaking her head and\nmurmuring, \"What a pity!\" When there was nothing more to preserve,\nshe began to pickle. The amount of sugar she used in these processes\nwas sometimes a serious drain upon the family resources. She was\na good mother, but she was glad when her children were old enough\nnot to be in her way in the kitchen. She had never quite forgiven\nJohn Bergson for bringing her to the end of the earth; but, now\nthat she was there, she wanted to be let alone to reconstruct her\nold life in so far as that was possible. She could still take some\ncomfort in the world if she had bacon in the cave, glass jars on\nthe shelves, and sheets in the press. She disapproved of all her\nneighbors because of their slovenly housekeeping, and the women\nthought her very proud. Once when Mrs. Bergson, on her way to\nNorway Creek, stopped to see old Mrs. Lee, the old woman hid in\nthe haymow \"for fear Mis' Bergson would catch her barefoot.\" One Sunday afternoon in July, six months after John Bergson's death,\nCarl was sitting in the doorway of the Linstrum kitchen, dreaming\nover an illustrated paper, when he heard the rattle of a wagon along\nthe hill road. Looking up he recognized the Bergsons' team, with\ntwo seats in the wagon, which meant they were off for a pleasure\nexcursion. Oscar and Lou, on the front seat, wore their cloth hats\nand coats, never worn except on Sundays, and Emil, on the second\nseat with Alexandra, sat proudly in his new trousers, made from a\npair of his father's, and a pink-striped shirt, with a wide ruffled\ncollar. Oscar stopped the horses and waved to Carl, who caught up\nhis hat and ran through the melon patch to join them. \"Want to go with us?\" Lou called. \"We're going to Crazy Ivar's to\nbuy a hammock.\" \"Sure.\" Carl ran up panting, and clambering over the wheel sat\ndown beside Emil. \"I've always wanted to see Ivar's pond. They\nsay it's the biggest in all the country. Aren't you afraid to go\nto Ivar's in that new shirt, Emil? He might want it and take it\nright off your back.\" Emil grinned. \"I'd be awful scared to go,\" he admitted, \"if you\nbig boys weren't along to take care of me. Did you ever hear him\nhowl, Carl? People say sometimes he runs about the country howling\nat night because he is afraid the Lord will destroy him. Mother\nthinks he must have done something awful wicked.\" Lou looked back and winked at Carl. \"What would you do, Emil, if\nyou was out on the prairie by yourself and seen him coming?\" Emil stared. \"Maybe I could hide in a badger-hole,\" he suggested\ndoubtfully. \"But suppose there wasn't any badger-hole,\" Lou persisted. \"Would\nyou run?\" \"No, I'd be too scared to run,\" Emil admitted mournfully, twisting\nhis fingers. \"I guess I'd sit right down on the ground and say my\nprayers.\" The big boys laughed, and Oscar brandished his whip over the broad\nbacks of the horses. \"He wouldn't hurt you, Emil,\" said Carl persuasively. \"He came\nto doctor our mare when she ate green corn and swelled up most as\nbig as the water-tank. He petted her just like you do your cats. I couldn't understand much he said, for he don't talk any English,\nbut he kept patting her and groaning as if he had the pain himself,\nand saying, 'There now, sister, that's easier, that's better!'\" Lou and Oscar laughed, and Emil giggled delightedly and looked up\nat his sister. \"I don't think he knows anything at all about doctoring,\" said\nOscar scornfully.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-06, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-07 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"They say when horses have distemper he takes\nthe medicine himself, and then prays over the horses.\" Alexandra spoke up. \"That's what the Crows said, but he cured\ntheir horses, all the same. Some days his mind is cloudy, like. But if you can get him on a clear day, you can learn a great deal\nfrom him. He understands animals. Didn't I see him take the horn\noff the Berquist's cow when she had torn it loose and went crazy? She was tearing all over the place, knocking herself against things. And at last she ran out on the roof of the old dugout and her legs\nwent through and there she stuck, bellowing. Ivar came running\nwith his white bag, and the moment he got to her she was quiet and\nlet him saw her horn off and daub the place with tar.\" Emil had been watching his sister, his face reflecting the sufferings\nof the cow. \"And then didn't it hurt her any more?\" he asked. Alexandra patted him. \"No, not any more. And in two days they\ncould use her milk again.\" The road to Ivar's homestead was a very poor one. He had settled\nin the rough country across the county line, where no one lived but\nsome Russians,--half a dozen families who dwelt together in one long\nhouse, divided off like barracks. Ivar had explained his choice\nby saying that the fewer neighbors he had, the fewer temptations. Nevertheless, when one considered that his chief business was\nhorse-doctoring, it seemed rather short-sighted of him to live in the\nmost inaccessible place he could find. The Bergson wagon lurched\nalong over the rough hummocks and grass banks, followed the bottom\nof winding draws, or skirted the margin of wide lagoons, where the\ngolden coreopsis grew up out of the clear water and the wild ducks\nrose with a whirr of wings. Lou looked after them helplessly. \"I wish I'd brought my gun,\nanyway, Alexandra,\" he said fretfully. \"I could have hidden it\nunder the straw in the bottom of the wagon.\" \"Then we'd have had to lie to Ivar. Besides, they say he can smell\ndead birds. And if he knew, we wouldn't get anything out of him,\nnot even a hammock. I want to talk to him, and he won't talk sense\nif he's angry. It makes him foolish.\" Lou sniffed. \"Whoever heard of him talking sense, anyhow! I'd\nrather have ducks for supper than Crazy Ivar's tongue.\" Emil was alarmed. \"Oh, but, Lou, you don't want to make him mad! He might howl!\" They all laughed again, and Oscar urged the horses up the crumbling\nside of a clay bank. They had left the lagoons and the red grass\nbehind them. In Crazy Ivar's country the grass was short and gray,\nthe draws deeper than they were in the Bergsons' neighborhood,\nand the land was all broken up into hillocks and clay ridges. The\nwild flowers disappeared, and only in the bottom of the draws and\ngullies grew a few of the very toughest and hardiest: shoestring,\nand ironweed, and snow-on-the-mountain. \"Look, look, Emil, there's Ivar's big pond!\" Alexandra pointed to\na shining sheet of water that lay at the bottom of a shallow draw. At one end of the pond was an earthen dam, planted with green willow\nbushes, and above it a door and a single window were set into the\nhillside. You would not have seen them at all but for the reflection\nof the sunlight upon the four panes of window-glass. And that was\nall you saw. Not a shed, not a corral, not a well, not even a path\nbroken in the curly grass. But for the piece of rusty stovepipe\nsticking up through the sod, you could have walked over the roof\nof Ivar's dwelling without dreaming that you were near a human\nhabitation. Ivar had lived for three years in the clay bank,\nwithout defiling the face of nature any more than the coyote that\nhad lived there before him had done. When the Bergsons drove over the hill, Ivar was sitting in the\ndoorway of his house, reading the Norwegian Bible. He was a queerly\nshaped old man, with a thick, powerful body set on short bow-legs. His shaggy white hair, falling in a thick mane about his ruddy\ncheeks, made him look older than he was. He was barefoot, but\nhe wore a clean shirt of unbleached cotton, open at the neck. He\nalways put on a clean shirt when Sunday morning came round, though\nhe never went to church. He had a peculiar religion of his own\nand could not get on with any of the denominations. Often he did\nnot see anybody from one week's end to another. He kept a calendar,\nand every morning he checked off a day, so that he was never in\nany doubt as to which day of the week it was. Ivar hired himself\nout in threshing and corn-husking time, and he doctored sick animals\nwhen he was sent for. When he was at home, he made hammocks out\nof twine and committed chapters of the Bible to memory. Ivar found contentment in the solitude he had sought out for himself. He disliked the litter of human dwellings: the broken food, the\nbits of broken china, the old wash-boilers and tea-kettles thrown\ninto the sunflower patch. He preferred the cleanness and tidiness of\nthe wild sod. He always said that the badgers had cleaner houses\nthan people, and that when he took a housekeeper her name would\nbe Mrs. Badger. He best expressed his preference for his wild\nhomestead by saying that his Bible seemed truer to him there. If\none stood in the doorway of his cave, and looked off at the rough\nland, the smiling sky, the curly grass white in the hot sunlight;\nif one listened to the rapturous song of the lark, the drumming of\nthe quail, the burr of the locust against that vast silence, one\nunderstood what Ivar meant. On this Sunday afternoon his face shone with happiness. He closed\nthe book on his knee, keeping the place with his horny finger, and\nrepeated softly:--\n\n  He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills;\n\n  They give drink to every beast of the field; the wild asses quench\n  their thirst. The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon which\n  he hath planted;\n\n  Where the birds make their nests: as for the stork, the fir trees\n  are her house. The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats; and the rocks for\n  the conies. Before he opened his Bible again, Ivar heard the Bergsons' wagon\napproaching, and he sprang up and ran toward it. \"No guns, no guns!\" he shouted, waving his arms distractedly. \"No, Ivar, no guns,\" Alexandra called reassuringly. He dropped his arms and went up to the wagon, smiling amiably and\nlooking at them out of his pale blue eyes. \"We want to buy a hammock, if you have one,\" Alexandra explained,\n\"and my little brother, here, wants to see your big pond, where so\nmany birds come.\" Ivar smiled foolishly, and began rubbing the horses' noses and\nfeeling about their mouths behind the bits. \"Not many birds just\nnow. A few ducks this morning; and some snipe come to drink. But\nthere was a crane last week. She spent one night and came back the\nnext evening. I don't know why. It is not her season, of course. Many of them go over in the fall. Then the pond is full of strange\nvoices every night.\" Alexandra translated for Carl, who looked thoughtful. \"Ask him,\nAlexandra, if it is true that a sea gull came here once. I have\nheard so.\" She had some difficulty in making the old man understand. He looked puzzled at first, then smote his hands together as he\nremembered. \"Oh, yes, yes! A big white bird with long wings and\npink feet. My! what a voice she had! She came in the afternoon\nand kept flying about the pond and screaming until dark. She was\nin trouble of some sort, but I could not understand her. She was\ngoing over to the other ocean, maybe, and did not know how far it\nwas. She was afraid of never getting there. She was more mournful\nthan our birds here; she cried in the night. She saw the light\nfrom my window and darted up to it. Maybe she thought my house\nwas a boat, she was such a wild thing. Next morning, when the sun\nrose, I went out to take her food, but she flew up into the sky\nand went on her way.\" Ivar ran his fingers through his thick hair. \"I have many strange birds stop with me here.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-07, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> They come from very\nfar away and are great company. I hope you boys never shoot wild\nbirds?\" Lou and Oscar grinned, and Ivar shook his bushy head. \"Yes, I know\nboys are thoughtless. But these wild things are God's birds. He\nwatches over them and counts them, as we do our cattle; Christ says\nso in the New Testament.\" \"Now, Ivar,\" Lou asked, \"may we water our horses at your pond and\ngive them some feed? It's a bad road to your place.\" \"Yes, yes, it is.\" The old man scrambled about and began to loose\nthe tugs. \"A bad road, eh, girls? And the bay with a colt at\nhome!\" Oscar brushed the old man aside. \"We'll take care of the horses,\nIvar. You'll be finding some disease on them. Alexandra wants to\nsee your hammocks.\" Ivar led Alexandra and Emil to his little cave house. He had but\none room, neatly plastered and whitewashed, and there was a wooden\nfloor. There was a kitchen stove, a table covered with oilcloth,\ntwo chairs, a clock, a calendar, a few books on the window-shelf;\nnothing more. But the place was as clean as a cupboard. \"But where do you sleep, Ivar?\" Emil asked, looking about. Ivar unslung a hammock from a hook on the wall; in it was rolled\na buffalo robe. \"There, my son. A hammock is a good bed, and in\nwinter I wrap up in this skin. Where I go to work, the beds are\nnot half so easy as this.\" By this time Emil had lost all his timidity. He thought a cave a\nvery superior kind of house. There was something pleasantly unusual\nabout it and about Ivar. \"Do the birds know you will be kind to\nthem, Ivar? Is that why so many come?\" he asked. Ivar sat down on the floor and tucked his feet under him. \"See,\nlittle brother, they have come from a long way, and they are very\ntired. From up there where they are flying, our country looks dark\nand flat. They must have water to drink and to bathe in before\nthey can go on with their journey. They look this way and that,\nand far below them they see something shining, like a piece of glass\nset in the dark earth. That is my pond. They come to it and are\nnot disturbed. Maybe I sprinkle a little corn. They tell the other\nbirds, and next year more come this way. They have their roads up\nthere, as we have down here.\" Emil rubbed his knees thoughtfully. \"And is that true, Ivar, about\nthe head ducks falling back when they are tired, and the hind ones\ntaking their place?\" \"Yes. The point of the wedge gets the worst of it; they cut the\nwind. They can only stand it there a little while--half an hour,\nmaybe. Then they fall back and the wedge splits a little, while\nthe rear ones come up the middle to the front. Then it closes up\nand they fly on, with a new edge. They are always changing like\nthat, up in the air. Never any confusion; just like soldiers who\nhave been drilled.\" Alexandra had selected her hammock by the time the boys came up\nfrom the pond. They would not come in, but sat in the shade of\nthe bank outside while Alexandra and Ivar talked about the birds\nand about his housekeeping, and why he never ate meat, fresh or\nsalt. Alexandra was sitting on one of the wooden chairs, her arms resting\non the table. Ivar was sitting on the floor at her feet. \"Ivar,\"\nshe said suddenly, beginning to trace the pattern on the oilcloth\nwith her forefinger, \"I came to-day more because I wanted to talk\nto you than because I wanted to buy a hammock.\" \"Yes?\" The old man scraped his bare feet on the plank floor. \"We have a big bunch of hogs, Ivar. I wouldn't sell in the spring,\nwhen everybody advised me to, and now so many people are losing\ntheir hogs that I am frightened. What can be done?\" Ivar's little eyes began to shine. They lost their vagueness. \"You feed them swill and such stuff? Of course! And sour milk? Oh, yes! And keep them in a stinking pen? I tell you, sister,\nthe hogs of this country are put upon! They become unclean, like\nthe hogs in the Bible. If you kept your chickens like that, what\nwould happen? You have a little sorghum patch, maybe? Put a fence\naround it, and turn the hogs in. Build a shed to give them shade,\na thatch on poles. Let the boys haul water to them in barrels,\nclean water, and plenty. Get them off the old stinking ground, and\ndo not let them go back there until winter. Give them only grain\nand clean feed, such as you would give horses or cattle. Hogs do\nnot like to be filthy.\" The boys outside the door had been listening. Lou nudged his\nbrother. \"Come, the horses are done eating. Let's hitch up and\nget out of here. He'll fill her full of notions. She'll be for\nhaving the pigs sleep with us, next.\" Oscar grunted and got up. Carl, who could not understand what Ivar\nsaid, saw that the two boys were displeased. They did not mind\nhard work, but they hated experiments and could never see the use\nof taking pains. Even Lou, who was more elastic than his older\nbrother, disliked to do anything different from their neighbors. He felt that it made them conspicuous and gave people a chance to\ntalk about them. Once they were on the homeward road, the boys forgot their ill-humor\nand joked about Ivar and his birds. Alexandra did not propose any\nreforms in the care of the pigs, and they hoped she had forgotten\nIvar's talk. They agreed that he was crazier than ever, and would\nnever be able to prove up on his land because he worked it so little. Alexandra privately resolved that she would have a talk with Ivar\nabout this and stir him up. The boys persuaded Carl to stay for\nsupper and go swimming in the pasture pond after dark. That evening, after she had washed the supper dishes, Alexandra\nsat down on the kitchen doorstep, while her mother was mixing the\nbread. It was a still, deep-breathing summer night, full of the\nsmell of the hay fields. Sounds of laughter and splashing came\nup from the pasture, and when the moon rose rapidly above the bare\nrim of the prairie, the pond glittered like polished metal, and\nshe could see the flash of white bodies as the boys ran about the\nedge, or jumped into the water. Alexandra watched the shimmering\npool dreamily, but eventually her eyes went back to the sorghum\npatch south of the barn, where she was planning to make her new\npig corral.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-08", "answer": "Hanover, Nebraska, Emil, Alexandra, Carl Linstrum, John Bergson, Oscar, Lou, Marie, Joe Tovesky, Omaha, Bergson homestead, Linstrum homestead, telegraph pole, kitten rescue, doctor's office, general store, magic lantern, creek, cattle, farming, Swedish heritage, shipbuilder grandfather, family dinner, mother's housekeeping, pickling, clean sheets, social status, Ivar, crazy Ivar, Ivar's pond, hammock, Norwegian bible, animal care, hog advice, clean pasture, earthen dam, willow bushes, sod house, guns forbidden, neighbor complaints, pigpen, prairie, windblown, mortality, inheritance, family leadership, sibling relationships, isolation, survival, hard work, land ownership, spring cattle value, childhood home, advice, decisions after father's death, team of horses, friendship, sympathy, compliment, practiced steeliness, small-town candy, sweets, red-blond hair, scarf, swimming, new pigpen"}]