The priest had summoned the church to a meeting there in his own room, as it was the largest that existed in the "City." He was still filled with resentment at the shameful manner in which the conditions of the Letter of Call were fulfilled, or rather "not fulfilled." He was upset by the eerie impressions he had received at the reception, and he had set out to read the text to the peasants. He paced up and down the floor and smoked a long pipe, pondering the speech, while the peasants gathered outside or struck a small trade in the shop below. The pastor’s wife sat pale and dull on a chair by the window. She had not yet recovered from the exertion after the journey; if one spoke to her suddenly, she became hot in the face and got tears in her eyes. She dreaded how the meeting would turn out. Then the peasants came up the stairs, she shook their sweaty hands one by one, some of the farmer's wives had followed; they brought butter and eggs and some chickens for the young pastor’s wife, and they looked her kindly in the eyes. This first sign of love made her feel so well that she whispered in her husband's ear, "Do not be too strict, Christian!"
The priest began his speech rather calmly: he told the details of his calling, the prospects he had as a theological candidate with the best character at home in the old country, the promises the old priest who got him to move over had given, and—so he broke loose. He described his arrival and what he had felt; he asked them if they had lied to him and deceived him with intent, or where did all their vows go? Not even a roof over your head, and now that winter was approaching; this Mr. Wilkens had informed him that he could not stay there for more than a week. What was their intention? Would they starve him to death? Freeze him to death? Or what did they want? No Church—no vicarage—no ability to do anything! Was it not for the fact that he had to stay here, he would have gone home tomorrow morning. He had expected to come to loving people who longed for the good of the Lord and would welcome him with open arms, and what did he find now? People who seemed indifferent to whether he had come there or not, and who let him fend for himself now that they had first lured him into the trap.
The speech made an extremely eerie impression on the peasants; they all looked at each other and at the man who was usually their spokesman at the meetings. Per stroked his chin and was spitting on the floor to the North, South, East and West, all signs that his thoughts were brewing. Finally he got up. "I think you're too brave, Priest," he said, "you take this so purely for the contrary. You must keep in mind that this came upon us unexpectedly, we did not know anything about it, but we know that if we have promised, we will keep it, you just have to be patient. The land lies there for you; it isn’t broken yet, but we will help you clear it as best we can, and we will build houses as soon as we can get timber planks and pay for them. When we wrote the Letter of Call, we did not know of the grasshopper, and we cannot help that our Lord sent this evil on us, you see. But we will gather everything we can for you, it must be certain. And so there's one other thing I want to tell you Priest. You’ll get nowhere being stiff and haughty as the Priests in the old Land are, for here it is the Peasant who "rules,” you see, here we are in a free "country" you see, and the bondage we toiled in at home, it's over in America you see. And here there is no cashbox out of which you are conveniently paid, here there is no old King or old Bishop who tells me to do so and so. It is me the farmer, who steers the ship here, you see, and if you do not want to go with us, then it will be worse to fire yourself, because then you will starve and sit on a bare mound. And then I will send you home, and you will be have to come up with the travel money yourself. But if you are kind and wise and behave well as a good priest should do, then I know that people are not worse here than in other cities, and they will all do well for you all, both great and small." Per's speech caused great happiness, the peasants nodded and laughed and said "it was true, as Per had said."
The priest also felt a little ashamed, he admitted that he had been too hasty, and with fine words asked them to help him adjust a little, and made it obvious how desperate he was here in this foreign land, and unfamiliar with the language. Yes, they all knew about that from the time they had come here. The consultation ended with the priest being allowed to live in Gunnar Haugen's storehouse for the winter, then they would fix it as best they could, and then see to getting a house as soon as there was any possibility of it.
After the meeting was over and the peasants left, the priest stood by the window for a good while and looked at them. Most of them drove into the pubs, those who did not want to were laughed at by the others; some already went out a little unsteady on their feet. "Now I understand the Synod," muttered the priest—"these people need strict discipline—they must be governed with an iron scepter."
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