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Project Gutenberg's Arne: Early Tales and Sketches, by Bjornstjerne Bjornson
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
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Title: Arne: Early Tales and Sketches
Patriots Edition
Author: Bjornstjerne Bjornson
Translator: Rasmus B. Anderson
Release Date: May 20, 2012 [EBook #39744]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARNE: EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES ***
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<h1>ARNE</h1>
<h1>EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES</h1>
<hr class="r65" />
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;">
<img src="images/title.jpg" width="314" height="550" alt="title page" />
</div>
<hr class="r20" />
<h1>WORKS OF BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON</h1>
<h1>PATRIOTS EDITION</h1>
<h2><span class="smcap">Arne</span></h2>
<h2><span class="smcap">Early Tales and Sketches</span></h2>
<h4><i>Translated from the Norse By</i></h4>
<h4><span class="smcap">Rasmus B. Anderson</span></h4>
<h5>NEW YORK</h5>
<h5>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY</h5>
<hr class="r20" />
<h6>Copyright, 1881, 1882,</h6>
<h6><span class="smcap">By</span> HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.</h6>
<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i>
</p>
<hr class="r65" />
<h3>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC">
<tr><td></td><td class="tdr">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">PREFACE</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_5">5</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"><br />ARNE</td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter I</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter II</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_14">14</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter III</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_28">28</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter IV</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_42">42</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter V</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_52">52</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter VI</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_60">60</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter VII</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_70">70</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter VIII</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_77">77</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter IX</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89">89</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter X</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_108">108</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XI</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_126">126</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XII</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_139">139</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XIII</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_149">149</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XIV</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_163">163</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XV</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174">174</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter XVI</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195">195</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"><br /></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES</td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">The Railroad and the Churchyard</td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter I</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">203</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter II</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">219</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"> Chapter III</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">237</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">Thrond</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_248">248</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">A Dangerous Wooing</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_264">264</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">The Bear Hunter</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_272">272</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">The Father</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_284">284</a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl"></td><td></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tdl">The Eagle's Nest</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_290">290</a> </td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr class="r65" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
<h2>PREFACE.</h2>
<p>"<span class="smcap">Arne</span>" was written in 1858, one year later than
"Synnöve Solbakken," and is thought by many to
be Björnson's best story, though it is, in my opinion,
surpassed in simplicity of style and delicate analysis
of motives, feelings, and character by "A Happy
Boy," his third long story, the translation of which is
now in progress, and which will follow this volume.</p>
<p>Norway's most eminent composers have written
music for many of Björnson's poems, and made them
favorite songs, not only with the cultivated classes,
but also with the common people. To the songs
in "Arne" melodies were composed by Björnson's
brilliant cousin, Rikard Nordraak, who died in 1865,
only twenty-three years old, but who had already won
a place as one of Norway's greatest composers.</p>
<p>With a view of popularizing these melodies in this
country, all the poems have been given in precisely
the same metre and rhyme as the original, and those
caring to know how the tunes are supposed to have
sounded on the lips of Arne are referred to "The
Norway Music Album," edited by Auber Forestier
and myself, and published by Oliver Ditson & Co. of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
Boston. In it will be found, together with the original
and English words, Rikard Nordraak's music to
the following five songs from "Arne":—</p>
<p>1. "Oh, my pet lamb, lift your head," from chapter
v.</p>
<p>2. "It was such a pleasant, sunny day," from chapter
viii.</p>
<p>3. "The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their
brown," from chapter xii.</p>
<p>
4. "Oh how I wonder what I should see<br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Over the lofty mountains,"<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> from chapter xiv.</span><br />
</p>
<p>5. "He went in the forest the whole day long,"
from chapter xiv.</p>
<p>Mr. Björnson returned to Norway in May, 1881;
he was welcomed with enthusiasm, and on the 17th
of the same month, Norway's natal day, he delivered
the oration at the dedication of the Wergeland Monument
to a gathering of more than ten thousand people.
His visit to America was a brilliant success.
His addresses to his countrymen in America were
chiefly on the constitutional struggle of Norway, on
which subject an article by him will be found in the
February (1881) issue of "Scribner's Monthly." As
a souvenir of his pleasant sojourn among us, I will
here attempt an English translation of the poem
"Olaf Trygvason" with which he usually greeted his
hearers at his lectures. It is one of his most popular
songs.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Spreading sails o'er the North Sea speed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">High on deck stands at dawn, indeed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Erling Skjalgson from Sole.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Spying o'er the sea towards Denmark:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Six and fifty the dragons are;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sails are furled ... toward Denmark stare<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sun-scorched men ... then rises:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Where stays the King's Long Serpent?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But when sun on the second day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Saw the watery, mastless way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like a great storm it sounded:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Where stays the King's Long Serpent?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason?"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Quiet, quiet, in that same hour<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stood they all; for with endless power,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Groaning, the sea was splashing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Taken the King's Long Serpent!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fallen is Olaf Trygvason!"<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus for more than an hundred years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sounds in every seaman's ears,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chiefly in moon-lit watches:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">"Taken the King's Long Serpent!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fallen is Olaf Trygvason!"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>The reader will not fail to be reminded by this
song by Björnson of Longfellow's "Saga of King
Olaf" (the Musician's Tale), in his "Tales of a Wayside
Inn," and especially of those beautiful poems in
this collection, "The Building of the Long Serpent,"
and "The Crew of the Long Serpent."</p>
<p>Hoping the translation of these stories and songs
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
will enable the reader to appreciate in some degree
the secret of Björnson's great popularity in the fair
land that lies beneath the eternal snow and the unsetting
sun, I now offer "Arne" to the American
public.</p>
<p class="p4b">
<span style="margin-left: 10em;">RASMUS B. ANDERSON.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span class="smcap">Asgard, Madison, Wis.</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>August, 1881</i>.</span><br />
</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was a deep gorge between two
mountains; through this gorge a large, full
stream flowed heavily over a rough and stony
bottom. Both sides were high and steep,
and so one side was bare; but close to its
foot, and so near the stream that the latter
sprinkled it with moisture every spring and
autumn, stood a group of fresh-looking trees,
gazing upward and onward, yet unable to advance
this way or that.</p>
<p>"What if we should clothe the mountain?"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
said the juniper one day to the foreign oak, to
which it stood nearer than all the others. The
oak looked down to find out who it was that
spoke, and then it looked up again without
deigning a reply. The river rushed along so
violently that it worked itself into a white
foam; the north wind had forced its way
through the gorge and shrieked in the clefts
of the rocks; the naked mountain, with its
great weight, hung heavily over and felt cold.
"What if we should clothe the mountain?"
said the juniper to the fir on the other side.
"If anybody is to do it, I suppose it must be
we," said the fir, taking hold of its beard and
glancing toward the birch. "What do you
think?" But the birch peered cautiously up
at the mountain, which hung over it so threateningly
that it seemed as if it could scarcely
breathe. "Let us clothe it in God's name!"
said the birch. And so, though there were but
these three, they undertook to clothe the mountain.
The juniper went first.</p>
<p>When they had gone a little way, they met
the heather. The juniper seemed as though
about to go past it. "Nay, take the heather
along," said the fir. And the heather joined
them. Soon it began to glide on before the
juniper. "Catch hold of me," said the heather.
The juniper did so, and where there was only a
wee crevice, the heather thrust in a finger,
and where it first had placed a finger, the juniper
took hold with its whole hand. They
crawled and crept along, the fir laboring on behind,
the birch also. "This is well worth doing,"
said the birch.</p>
<p>But the mountain began to ponder on what
manner of insignificant objects these might be
that were clambering up over it. And after it
had been considering the matter a few hundred
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
years it sent a little brook down to inquire. It
was yet in the time of the spring freshets, and
the brook stole on until it reached the heather.
"Dear, dear heather, cannot you let me pass; I
am so small." The heather was very busy;
only raised itself a little and pressed onward.
In, under, and onward went the brook. "Dear,
dear juniper, cannot you let me pass; I am so
small." The juniper looked sharply at it; but
if the heather had let it pass, why, in all reason,
it must do so too. Under it and onward
went the brook; and now came to the spot
where the fir stood puffing on the hill-side.
"Dear, dear fir, cannot you let me pass; I am
really so small," said the brook,—and it kissed
the fir's foot and made itself so very sweet.
The fir became bashful at this, and let it pass.
But the birch raised itself before the brook
asked it. "Hi, hi, hi!" said the brook and
grew. "Ha, ha, ha!" said the brook and grew.
"Ho, ho, ho!" said the brook, and flung the
heather and the juniper and the fir and the
birch flat on their faces and backs, up and
down these great hills. The mountain sat for
many hundred years musing on whether it had
not smiled a little that day.</p>
<p>It was plain enough: the mountain did not
want to be clad. The heather fretted over
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
this until it grew green again, and then it
started forward. "Fresh courage!" said the
heather.</p>
<p>The juniper had half raised itself to look at
the heather, and continued to keep this position,
until at length it stood upright. It
scratched its head and set forth again, taking
such a vigorous foothold that it seemed as
though the mountain must feel it. "If you
will not have me, then I will have you." The
fir crooked its toes a little to find out whether
they were whole, then lifted one foot, found it
whole, then the other, which proved also to be
whole, then both of them. It first investigated
the ground it had been over, next where it
had been lying, and finally where it should go.
After this it began to wend its way slowly
along, and acted just as though it had never
fallen. The birch had become most wretchedly
soiled, but now rose up and made itself
tidy. Then they sped onward, faster and faster,
upward and on either side, in sunshine and in
rain. "What in the world can this be?" said
the mountain, all glittering with dew, as the
summer sun shone down on it,—the birds sang,
the wood-mouse piped, the hare hopped along,
and the ermine hid itself and screamed.</p>
<p class="p4b">Then the day came when the heather could
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
peep with one eye over the edge of the mountain.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" said the
heather, and away it went. "Dear me! what
is it the heather sees?" said the juniper, and
moved on until it could peer up. "Oh dear,
oh dear!" it shrieked, and was gone. "What
is the matter with the juniper to-day?" said
the fir, and took long strides onward in the
heat of the sun. Soon it could raise itself on
its toes and peep up. "Oh dear!" Branches
and needles stood on end in wonderment. It
worked its way forward, came up, and was gone.
"What is it all the others see, and not I?"
said the birch; and, lifting well its skirts, it
tripped after. It stretched its whole head up
at once. "Oh,—oh!—is not here a great
forest of fir and heather, of juniper and birch,
standing upon the table-land waiting for us?"
said the birch; and its leaves quivered in the
sunshine so that the dew trembled. "Aye,
this is what it is to reach the goal!" said the
juniper.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Up</span> on the hill-top it was that Arne was
born. His mother's name was Margit, and she
was the only child at the houseman's place,—Kampen.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>
Once, in her eighteenth year, she
stayed too long at a dance; her companions had
left her, and so Margit thought that the way
home would be just as long whether she waited
until the dancing was over or not. And thus
it happened that she kept her seat until the
fiddler, known as Nils the tailor, suddenly laid
aside his fiddle, as was his wont when drink
took possession of him, let others troll the
tune, seized the prettiest girl, moved his foot
as evenly as the rhythm of a song, and with
his boot-heel took the hat from the head of
the tallest person present. "Ho!" said he.
When Margit went home that evening, the
moon-beams played on the snow with most wondrous
beauty. After she had reached her bed-chamber
she was moved to look out once more.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
She took off her boddice, but remained standing
with it in her hand. Then she felt that
she was cold, closed the door hastily, undressed,
and nestled in under the robe. That night
Margit dreamed about a great red cow that had
wandered into the field. She went to drive
it out, but though she tried hard, she could not
stir from the spot; the cow stood calmly grazing
there until it grew plump and well fed,
and every now and then it looked at her, with
large, heavy eyes.</p>
<p>The next time there was a dance in the parish
Margit was present. She cared little for
dancing that evening; she kept her seat to
listen to the music, and it seemed strange to
her that there were not others also who preferred
this. But when the evening had worn
on, the fiddler arose and wanted to dance.
All at once he went directly to Margit Kampen.
She scarcely knew what she was about,
but she danced with Nils the tailor.</p>
<p>Soon the weather grew warm, and there was
no more dancing. That spring Margit took
such interest in a little lamb that had fallen
ill, that her mother almost thought she was
overdoing it.</p>
<p>"It is only a little lamb," said the mother.</p>
<p>"Yes, but it is ill," replied Margit.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
It was some time since she had been to
church; she wished to have her mother go, she
said, and some one must be at home. One
Sunday, later in the summer, the weather was
so fine that the hay could well be left out for
twenty-four hours, and the mother said that
now they surely might both go. Margit could
not reasonably object to this, and got ready
for church; but when they were so far on their
way that they could hear the church-bells,
she burst into tears. The mother grew deathly
pale: but they went on, the mother in advance,
Margit following, listened to the sermon,
joined in all the hymns to the very last,
followed the prayer, and heard the bell ring
before they left. But when they were seated
in the family-room at home again, the mother
took Margit's face between her hands and
said:—</p>
<p>"Hide nothing from me, my child."</p>
<p>There came another winter when Margit did
not dance. But Nils the tailor fiddled, took
more strong drink than ever, and always, toward
the close of the evening, swung the prettiest
girl at the party. In those days, it was
told as a certain fact that he could marry
whom he pleased among the daughters of the
first gard-owners in the parish; some added
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
that Eli Böen herself had courted him for her
daughter Birgit, who was madly in love with
him.</p>
<p>But just at that time an infant of the houseman's
daughter at Kampen was brought to baptism;
it was christened Arne, and tailor Nils
was spoken of as its father.</p>
<p>The evening of the same day Nils was at a
large wedding; there he got drunk. He would
not play, but danced all the time, and scarcely
brooked having others on the floor. But when
he crossed to Birgit Böen and asked her to
dance, she declined. He gave a short laugh,
turned on his heel, and caught hold of the first
girl he encountered. She resisted. He looked
down; it was a little dark maiden who had
been sitting gazing fixedly at him, and who
was now pale. Bowing lightly over her, he
whispered,—</p>
<p>"Will you not dance with <i>me</i>, Karen?"</p>
<p>She made no reply. He asked once more.
Then she answered in a whisper, as he had
asked,—</p>
<p>"<i>That</i> dance might go farther than I
wished."</p>
<p>He drew slowly back, but once in the middle
of the floor, he made a spring and danced the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
halling<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> alone. No one else was dancing; the
others stood looking on in silence.</p>
<p>Afterwards he went out in the barn, and
there he lay down and wept.
Margit kept at home with the little boy.
She heard about Nils, how he went from dance
to dance, and she looked at the child and
wept,—looked at him again and was happy.
The first thing she taught him was to say papa;
but this she dared not do when the mother, or
the grandmother, as she was henceforth called,
chanced to be near. The result of this was
that it was the grandmother whom the boy
called papa. It cost Margit much to break
him of this, and thus she fostered in him an
early shrewdness. He was not very large before
he knew that Nils the tailor was his
father, and when he reached the age in
which the romantic acquires a flavor, he became
also aware what sort of a man tailor
Nils was. The grandmother had strictly forbidden
even the mention of his name; what
she mainly strove for was to have the houseman's
place, Kampen, become an independent
gard, so that her daughter and her boy might
be free from care. She availed herself of the
gard-owner's poverty, effected the purchase of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
the place, paid off a portion of the money each
year, and managed the business like a man, for
she had been a widow for fourteen years.
Kampen was a large place, and had been extended
until now it fed four cows, sixteen
sheep, and a horse in which she was half owner.</p>
<p>Nils the tailor meanwhile took to roving
about the parish; his business had fallen off,
partly because he felt less interest in it, partly
also because he was not liked as before. He
gave, therefore, more time to fiddling; this led
oftener to drinking and thence to fighting and
evil days. There were those who had heard
him say he was unhappy.</p>
<p>Arne might have been about six years old,
when one winter day he was frolicking in the
bed, whose coverlet he had up for a sail, while
he was steering with a ladle. The grandmother
sat spinning in the room, absorbed in her own
thoughts, and nodded occasionally as though
she would make a fixed fact of something she
was thinking about. The boy knew that he
was unheeded, and he fell to singing, just as he
had learned it, the rough, wild song about
tailor Nils:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Unless 'twas only yesterday hither first you came,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You've surely heard already of Nils the tailor's fame.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Unless 'twas but this morning you came among us first,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You've heard how he knocked over tall Johan Knutson Kirst.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"How, in his famous barn-fight with Ola Stor-Johann,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He said, 'Bring down your porridge when we two fight again.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"That fighting fellow, Bugge, a famous man was he:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His name was known all over fjord and fell and sea.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Now, choose the place, you tailor, where I shall knock you down,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then I'll spit upon it, and there I'll lay your crown.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Ah, only come so near, I may catch your scent, my man,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your bragging hurts nobody; don't dream it ever can.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The first round was a poor one, and neither man could beat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But both kept in their places, and steady on their feet.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The second round, poor Bugge was beaten black and blue.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Little Bugge, are you tired? It's going hard with you.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The third round, Bugge tumbled, and bleeding there he lay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Now, Bugge, where's your bragging?' 'Bad luck to me to-day!'"<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>More the boy did not sing; but there were
two other stanzas which his mother was not
likely to have taught him:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Have you seen a tree cast its shadow on yesterday's snow?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have you seen how Nils does his smiles on the girls bestow?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Have you looked at Nils when to dance he just commences?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come, my girl, you must go; it is too late, when you've lost your senses."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>These two stanzas the grandmother knew,
and they came all the more distinctly into her
mind because they were not sung. She said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
nothing to the boy; but to the mother she
said, "Teach the boy well about your own
shame; do not forget the last verses."</p>
<p>Nils the tailor was so broken down by
drink that he was no longer the man he had
been, and some people thought his end could
not be far distant.</p>
<p>It so happened that two American gentlemen
were visiting in the parish, and having
heard that a wedding was going on in the
vicinity, wanted to attend it, that they might
learn the customs of the country. Nils was
playing there. They gave each a dollar to the
fiddler, and asked for a halling; but no one
would come forward to dance it, however much
it was urged. Several begged Nils himself to
dance. "He was best, after all," they said.
He refused, but the request became still more
urgent, and finally unanimous. This was what he
wanted. He gave his fiddle to another player,
took off his jacket and cap, and stepped smiling
into the middle of the room. He was followed
by the same eager attention as of old,
and this gave him his old strength. The
people crowded closely together, those who
were farthest back climbing upon tables and
benches. Some of the girls were perched up
higher than all the rest, and foremost among
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
these—a tall girl with sunny brown hair of
a varying tint, with blue eyes deeply set beneath
a strong forehead, a large mouth that
often smiled, drawing a little to one side as
it did so—was Birgit Böen. Nils saw her,
as he glanced up at the beam. The music
struck up, a deep silence followed, and he
began. He dashed forward along the floor, his
body inclining to one side, half aslant, keeping
time to the fiddle. Crouching down, he balanced
himself, now on one foot, now on the
other, flung his legs crosswise under him,
sprang up again, stood as though about to make
a fling, and then moved on aslant as before.
The fiddle was handled by skillful fingers, and
more and more fire was thrown into the tune.
Nils threw his head farther and farther back,
and suddenly his boot-heel touched the beam,
sending the dust from the ceiling in showers
over them all. The people laughed and
shouted about him; the girls stood well-nigh
breathless. The tune hurrahed with the rest,
stimulating him anew with more and more
strongly-marked accents, nor did he resist the
exciting influences. He bent forward, hopped
along in time to the music, made ready apparently
for a fling, but only as a hoax, and then
moved on, his body aslant as before; and when
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
he seemed the least prepared for it, his boot-heel
thundered against the beam again and
again, whereupon he turned summersaults forwards
and backwards in the air, landing each
time erect on his feet. He broke off abruptly,
and the tune, running through some wild variations,
worked its way down to a deep tone in
the bass, where it quivered and vibrated, and
died away with a long-drawn stroke of the bow.
The crowd dispersed, and loud, eager conversation,
mingled with shouts and exclamations,
broke the silence. Nils stood leaning against
the wall, and the American gentlemen went
over to him, with their interpreter, and each
gave him five dollars.</p>
<p>The Americans talked a little with the interpreter,
whereupon the latter asked Nils if he
would go with them as their servant; he should
have whatever wages he wanted. "Whither?"
asked Nils. The people crowded about them
as closely as possible. "Out into the world,"
was the reply. "When?" asked Nils, and
looking around with a shining face, he caught
Birgit Böen's eyes, and did not let them go
again. "In a week, when we come back here,"
was the answer. "It is possible I will be
ready," replied Nils, weighing his two five-dollar
pieces. He had rested one arm on the shoulder
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
of a man standing near him, and it trembled
so that the man wanted to help him to the
bench.</p>
<p>"It is nothing," replied Nils, made some
wavering steps across the floor, then some firm
ones, and, turning, asked for a spring-dance.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>
<p>All the girls had come to the front. Casting
a long, lingering look about him, he went
straightway to one of them in a dark skirt; it
was Birgit Böen. He held out his hand, and
she gave him both of hers; then he laughed,
drew back, caught hold of the girl beside her,
and danced away with perfect abandon. The
blood coursed up in Birgit's neck and face. A
tall man, with a mild countenance, was standing
directly behind her; he took her by the hand
and danced off after Nils. The latter saw this,
and—it might have been only through heedlessness—he
danced so hard against them that the
man and Birgit were sent reeling over and fell
heavily on the floor. Shouting and laughter
arose about them. Birgit got up at last, went
aside, and wept bitterly.</p>
<p>The man with the mild face rose more slowly
and went straight over to Nils, who was still
dancing. "You had better stop a little," said
the man. Nils did not hear, and then the man
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
took him by the arm. Nils tore himself away
and looked at him. "I do not know you," said
he, with a smile. "No; but you shall learn to
know me," said the man with the mild face, and
with this he struck Nils a blow over one eye.
Nils, who was wholly unprepared for this, was
plunged heavily across the sharp-edged hearth-stone,
and when he promptly tried to rise, he
found that he could not; his back was broken.</p>
<p>At Kampen a change had taken place. The
grandmother had been growing very feeble of
late, and when she realized this she strove
harder than ever to save money enough to pay
off the last installment on the gard. "Then
you and the boy will have all you need," she
said to her daughter. "And if you let any one
come in and waste it for you, I will turn in my
grave." During the autumn, too, she had the
pleasure of being able to stroll up to the former
head-gard with the last remaining portion of
the debt, and happy was she when she had
taken her seat again, and could say, "Now that
is done!" But at that very time she was attacked
by her last illness; she betook herself
forthwith to her bed, and never rose again.
Her daughter buried her in a vacant spot in the
churchyard, and placed over her a handsome
cross, whereon was inscribed her name and age,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
with a verse from one of Kingo's<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> hymns. A
fortnight after the grandmother was laid in her
grave, her Sunday gown was made over into
clothes for the boy, and when he put them on,
he became as solemn as though he were his
grandmother come back again. Of his own
accord, he went to the book with big print and
large clasps she had read and sung from every
Sunday, opened it, and there inside found her
spectacles. These the boy had never been permitted
to touch during his grandmother's lifetime;
now he timidly took them up, put them
on his nose, and looked through them into the
book. All was misty. "How strange," thought
the boy, "it was through them grandmother
could read the word of God." He held them
high up toward the light to see what the matter
was, and—the spectacles lay on the floor.</p>
<p>He was much alarmed, and when the door
at that moment opened, it seemed to him as
though his grandmother must be coming in,
but it was his mother, and behind her, six men,
who, with much tramping and noise, were
bearing in a litter, which they placed in the
middle of the floor. For a long time the door
was left open, so that it grew cold in the room.</p>
<p class="p4b">On the litter lay a man with dark hair and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
pale face; the mother moved about weeping.
"Lay him carefully on the bed," she begged,
herself lending a helping hand. But while the
men were moving with him, something made
a noise under their feet. "Oh, it is only
grandmother's spectacles," thought the boy, but
he did not say so.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was in the autumn, as before stated. A
week after Nils the tailor was borne into Margit
Kampen's home, there came word to him
from the Americans that he must hold himself
in readiness to start. He lay just then writhing
under a terrible attack of pain, and, gnashing
his teeth, he shrieked, "Let them go to
hell!" Margit stood motionless, as though
he had made no answer. He noticed this, and
presently he repeated slowly and feebly, "Let
them—go."</p>
<p>As the winter advanced, he improved so much
that he was able to sit up, although his health
was shattered for life. The first time he actually
sat up, he took out his fiddle and tuned it,
but became so agitated that he had to go to
bed again. He grew very taciturn, but was
not hard to get along with; and as time wore
on, he taught the boy to read, and began to take
work in at home. He never went out, and
would not talk with those who dropped in to
see him. At first Margit used to bring him the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
parish news; he was always gloomy afterwards,
so she ceased to do so.</p>
<p>When spring had fairly set in, he and Margit
would sit longer than usual talking together
after the evening meal. The boy was then sent
off to bed. Some time later in the spring their
bans were published in church, after which they
were quietly married.</p>
<p>He did his share of work in the fields now,
and managed everything in a sensible, orderly
way. Margit said to the boy, "There is both
profit and pleasure in him. Now you must be
obedient and good, that you may do your best
for him."</p>
<p>Margit had remained tolerably stout through
all her sorrow; she had a ruddy face and very
large eyes, which looked all the larger because
there was a ring round them. She had full
lips, a round face, and looked healthy and
strong, although she was not very strong. At
this period of her life, she was looking better
than ever; and she always sang when she was
at work, as had ever been her wont.</p>
<p>One Sunday afternoon, father and son went
out to see how the crops were thriving that
year. Arne ran about his father, shooting with
a bow and arrow. Nils had himself made
them for the boy. Thus they passed on directly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
up toward the road leading past the church
and parsonage, down to what was called the
broad valley. Nils seated himself on a stone
by the roadside and fell to dreaming; the boy
shot into the road and sprang after his arrow,—it
was in the direction of the church. "Not
too far away!" said the father. While the
boy was playing there, he paused, as though
listening. "Father, I hear music!" The
father listened too; they heard the sounds of
fiddling, almost drowned at times by loud
shouts and wild uproar; but above all rose the
steady rumbling of cart-wheels and the clatter
of horses' feet; it was a bridal procession,
wending its way home from church. "Come
here, boy," shouted the father, and Arne knew
by the tones of the voice that he must make
haste. The father had hurriedly risen and
hidden behind a large tree. The boy hastened
after him. "Not here, over there!" cried
the father, and the boy stepped behind an
alder-copse. Already the carts were winding
round the birch-grove; they came at a wild
speed, the horses were white with foam, drunken
people were crying and shouting; father and
son counted cart after cart,—there were in all
fourteen. In the first sat two fiddlers, and the
wedding march sounded merrily through the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
clear air,—a boy stood behind and drove.
Afterwards came a crowned bride, who sat on
a high seat and glittered in the sunshine; she
smiled, and her mouth drew to one side; beside
her sat a man clad in blue and with a mild face.
The bridal train followed, the men sat on the
women's laps; small boys were sitting behind,
drunken men were driving,—there were six
people to one horse; the man who presided at
the feast came in the last cart, holding a keg of
brandy on his lap. They passed by screaming
and singing, and drove recklessly down the
hill; the fiddling, the voices, the rattling of
wheels, lingered behind them in the dust; the
breeze bore up single shrieks, soon only a dull
rumbling, and then nothing. Nils stood motionless;
there was a rustling behind him, he
turned; it was the boy who was creeping forward.</p>
<p>"Who was it, father?" But the boy started,
for his father's face was dreadful. Arne
stood motionless waiting for an answer; then
he remained where he was because he got none.
After some time he became impatient and ventured
again. "Shall we go?" Nils was still
gazing after the bridal train, but he now controlled
himself and started on. Arne followed
after. He put an arrow into the bow, shot it,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
and ran. "Do not trample down the grass,"
said Nils gruffly. The boy let the arrow lie
and came back. After a while he had forgotten
this, and once when his father paused, he
lay down and turned summersaults. "Do not
trample down the grass, I say." Here Arne
was seized by one arm, and lifted by it with
such violence that it was almost put out of
joint. Afterward, he walked quietly behind.</p>
<p>At the door Margit awaited them; she had
just come in from the stable, where she had evidently
had pretty hard work, for her hair was
tumbled, her linen soiled, her dress likewise,
but she stood in the door smiling. "A couple
of the cows got loose and have been into mischief;
now they are tied again."</p>
<p>"You might make yourself a little tidy on
Sunday," said Nils, as he went past into the
house.</p>
<p>"Yes, there is some sense in tidying up now
that the work is done," said Margit, and followed
him. She began to fix herself at once,
and sang while she was doing so. Now Margit
sang well, but sometimes there was a little
huskiness in her voice.</p>
<p>"Stop that screaming," said Nils; he had
thrown himself on his back across the bed.
Margit stopped.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
Then the boy came storming in. "There
has come into the yard a great black dog, a
dreadful looking"—</p>
<p>"Hold your tongue, boy," said Nils from the
bed, and thrust out one foot to stamp on the
floor with it. "A devilish noise that boy is always
making," he muttered afterward, and drew
his foot up again.</p>
<p>The mother held up a warning finger to the
boy. "You surely must see that father is not
in a good humor," she meant. "Will you not
have some strong coffee with syrup in it?" said
she; she wanted to put him in a good humor
again. This was a drink the grandmother had
liked, and the rest of them too. Nils did not
like it at all, but had drunk it because the
others did so. "Will you not have some strong
coffee with syrup in it?" repeated Margit; for
he had made no reply the first time. Nils
raised himself up on both elbows and shrieked,
"Do you think I will pour down such slops?"</p>
<p>Margit was struck with surprise, and, taking
the boy with her, went out.</p>
<p>They had a number of things to attend to
outside, and did not come in before supper-time.
Then Nils was gone. Arne was sent
out into the field to call him, but found him nowhere.
They waited until the supper was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
nearly cold, then ate, and still Nils had not
come. Margit became uneasy, sent the boy to
bed, and sat down to wait. A little after midnight
Nils appeared.</p>
<p>"Where have you been, dear?" asked she.</p>
<p>"That is none of your business," he answered,
and slowly sat down on the bench.</p>
<p>He was drunk.</p>
<p>After this, Nils often went out in the parish,
and always came home drunk. "I cannot stand
it at home here with you," said he once when
he came in. She tried gently to defend herself,
and then he stamped on the floor and bade her
be silent: if he was drunk, it was her fault; if
he was wicked, it was her fault too; if he was
a cripple and an unfortunate being for his whole
life, why, she was to blame too, and that infernal
boy of hers.</p>
<p>"Why were you always dangling after me?"
said he, and wept. "What harm had I done
you that you could not leave me in peace?"</p>
<p>"Lord have mercy on me!" said Margit.
"Was it I who went after you?"</p>
<p>"Yes, it was!" he shrieked as he arose, and
amid tears he continued: "You have succeeded
in getting what you wanted. I drag myself
about from tree to tree. I go every day and
look at my own grave. But I could have lived
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
in splendor with the finest gard girl in the
parish. I might have traveled as far as the sun
goes, had not you and your damned boy put
yourselves in my way."</p>
<p>She tried again to defend herself. "It was,
at all events, not the boy's fault."</p>
<p>"If you do not hold your tongue, I will
strike you!"—and he struck her.</p>
<p>After he had slept himself sober the next
day, he was ashamed, and was especially kind
to the boy. But soon he was drunk again, and
then he struck the mother. At last he got to
striking her almost every time he was drunk.
The boy cried and lamented; then he struck
him too. Sometimes his repentance was so
deep that he felt compelled to leave the house.
About this time his fondness for dancing revived.
He began to go about fiddling as in former
days, and took the boy with him to carry
the fiddle-case. Thus Arne saw a great deal.
The mother wept because he had to go along,
but dared not say so to the father. "Hold
faithfully to God, and learn nothing evil," she
begged, and tenderly caressed her boy. But
at the dances there was a great deal of diversion;
at home with the mother there was none
at all. Arne turned more and more from her
and to the father; she saw this and was silent.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
At the dances Arne learned many songs, and
he sang them at home to his father; this
amused the latter, and now and then the boy
could even get him to laugh. This was so flattering
to Arne that he exerted himself to learn
as many songs as possible; soon he noticed
what kind the father liked best, and what it
was that made him laugh. When there was
not enough of this element in the songs he was
singing, the boy added to it himself, and this
early gave him practice in adapting words to
music. It was chiefly lampoons and odious
things about people who had risen to power and
prosperity, that the father liked and the boy
sang.</p>
<p>The mother finally concluded to take him
with her to the stable of evenings; numerous
were the pretexts he found to escape going, but
when, nevertheless, she managed to take him
with her, she talked kindly to him about God
and good things, usually ending by taking him
in her arms, and, amid blinding tears, begging
him, entreating him not to become a bad man.</p>
<p>The mother taught the boy to read, and he
was surprisingly quick at learning. The father
was proud of this, and, especially when he was
drunk, told Arne he had his head.</p>
<p>Soon the father fell into the habit, when
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
drink got the better of him, of calling on Arne
at dancing-parties to sing for the people. The
boy always obeyed, singing song after song
amid laughter and uproar; the applause pleased
the son almost more than it did the father, and
finally there was no end to the songs Arne
could sing. Anxious mothers who heard this,
went themselves to his mother and told her of
it; their reason for so doing being that the
character of these songs was not what it should
be. The mother put her arms about her boy
and forbade him, in the name of God and all
that was sacred, to sing such songs, and now it
seemed to Arne that everything he took delight
in his mother opposed. For the first time he
told his father what his mother had said. She
had to suffer for this the next time the father
was drunk; he held his peace until then. But
no sooner had it become clear to the boy what
he had done than in his soul he implored pardon
of God and her; he could not bring himself
to do so in spoken words. His mother was
just as kind as ever to him, and this cut him to
the quick.</p>
<p>Once, however, he forgot this. He had a
faculty for mimicking people. Above all, he
could talk and sing as others did. The mother
came in one evening when Arne was entertaining
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
his father with this, and it occurred to the
father, after she had gone out, that the boy
should imitate his mother's singing. Arne refused
at first, but his father, who lay over on the
bed and laughed until it shook, insisted finally
that he should sing like his mother. She is
gone, thought the boy, and cannot hear it, and
he mimicked her singing as it sounded sometimes
when she was hoarse and choked with
tears. The father laughed until it seemed almost
hideous to the boy, and he stopped of himself.
Just then the mother came in from the
kitchen; she looked long and hard at the boy,
as she crossed the floor to a shelf after a milk-pan
and turned to carry it out.</p>
<p>A burning heat ran through his whole body;
she had heard it all. He sprang down from
the table where he had been sitting, went out,
cast himself on the ground, and it seemed as
though he must bury himself out of sight. He
could not rest, and got up feeling that he must
go farther on. He went past the barn, and behind
it sat the mother, sewing on a fine, new
shirt, just for him. She had always been in
the habit of singing a hymn over her work
when she sat sewing, but now she was not singing.
She was not weeping, either; she only
sat and sewed. Arne could bear it no longer
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
he flung himself down in the grass directly in
front of her, looked up at her, and wept and
sobbed bitterly. The mother dropped her work
and took his head between her hands.</p>
<p>"Poor Arne!" said she, and laid her own
beside his. He did not try to say a word, but
wept as he had never done before. "I knew
you were good at heart," said the mother, and
stroked down his hair.</p>
<p>"Mother, you must not say no to what I am
going to ask for," was the first thing he could
say.</p>
<p>"That you know I cannot do," answered
she.</p>
<p>He tried to stop crying, and then stammered
out, with his head still in her lap: "Mother,
sing something for me."</p>
<p>"My dear, I cannot," said she, softly.</p>
<p>"Mother, sing something for me," begged
the boy, "or I believe I will never be able to
look at you again."</p>
<p>She stroked his hair, but was silent.</p>
<p>"Mother, sing, sing, I say! Sing," he begged,
"or I will go so far away that I will never
come home any more."</p>
<p>And while he, now fourteen in his fifteenth
year as he was, lay there with his head in his
mother's lap, she began to sing over him:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"Father, stretch forth Thy mighty hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Thy Holy Spirit send yonder:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bless Thou the child on the lonely strand,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Nor in its sports let it wander.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Slipp'ry the way, the water deep,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lord, in Thy arm but the darling keep,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then through Thy mercy 't will never<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drown, but with Thee live forever.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Missing her child, in disquiet sore,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Much for its safety fearing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often the mother calls from her door,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Never an answer hearing,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then comes the thought: where'er it be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Blessed Lord, it is near to Thee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Jesus will guide his brother<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Home to the anxious mother."<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="p4b">She sang several verses. Arne lay still: there
descended upon him a blessed peace, and under
its influence he felt a refreshing weariness.
The last thing he distinctly heard was about
Jesus: it bore him into the midst of a great
light, and there it seemed as though twelve or
thirteen were singing; but the mother's voice
rose above them all. A lovelier voice he had
never heard; he prayed that he might sing
thus. It seemed to him that if he were to sing
right softly he might do so; and now he sang
softly, tried again softly, and still more softly,
and then, rejoiced at the bliss that seemed almost
dawning for him, he joined in with full
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
voice, and the spell was broken. He awakened,
looked about him, listened, but heard nothing,
save the everlasting, mighty roar of the force,
and the little creek that flowed past the barn,
with its low and incessant murmuring. The
mother was gone,—she had laid under his head
the half-finished shirt and her jacket.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the time came to take the herds up
into the woods, Arne wanted to tend them.
His father objected; the boy had never tended
cattle, and he was now in his fifteenth year.
But he was so urgent that it was finally arranged
as he wished; and the entire spring,
summer, and autumn he was in the woods by
himself the livelong day, only going home to
sleep.</p>
<p>He took his books up there with him. He
read and carved letters in the bark of the trees;
he went about thinking, longing, and singing.
When he came home in the evening his father
was often drunk, and beat the mother, cursed
her and the parish, and talked about how he
might once have journeyed far away. Then
the longing for travel entered the boy's mind
too. There was no comfort at home, and the
books opened other worlds to him; sometimes
it seemed as though the air, too, wafted him far
away over the lofty mountains.</p>
<p>So it happened about midsummer that he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
met Kristian, the captain's eldest son, who came
with the servant boy to the woods after the
horses, in order to get a ride home. He was a
few years older than Arne, light-hearted and
gay, unstable in all his thoughts, but nevertheless
firm in his resolves. He spoke rapidly and
in broken sentences, and usually about two
things at once; rode horseback without a saddle,
shot birds on the wing, went fly-fishing,
and seemed to Arne the goal of his aspirations.
He also had his head full of travel, and told
Arne about foreign lands until everything about
them was radiant. He discovered Arne's fondness
for reading, and now carried up to him
those books he had read himself. After Arne
had finished reading these, Kristian brought
him new ones; he sat there himself on Sundays,
and taught Arne how to find his way in the
geography and the map; and all summer and
autumn Arne read until he grew pale and
thin.</p>
<p>In the winter he was allowed to read at
home; partly because he was to be confirmed
the next year, partly because he always knew
how to manage his father. He began to go to
school; but there he took most comfort when
he closed his eyes and fancied himself over his
books at home; besides, there were no longer
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
any companions for him among the peasant
boys.</p>
<p>His father's ill-treatment of the mother increased
with years, as did also his fondness for
drink and his bodily suffering. And when
Arne, notwithstanding this, had to sit and
amuse him, in order to furnish the mother
with an hour's peace, and then often talk of
things he now, in his heart, despised, he felt
growing within him a hatred for his father.
This he hid far down in his heart, as he did
his love for his mother. When he was with
Kristian, their talk ran on great journeys and
books; even to him he said nothing about how
things were at home. But many times after
these wide-ranging talks, when he was walking
home alone, wondering what might now meet
him there, he wept and prayed to God, in the
starry heavens, to grant that he might soon be
allowed to go away.</p>
<p>In the summer he and Kristian were confirmed.
Directly afterward, the latter carried
out his plan. His father had to let him go
from home and become a sailor. He presented
Arne with his books, promised to write often
to him,—and went away.</p>
<p>Now Arne was alone.</p>
<p>About this time he was again filled with a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
desire to write songs. He no longer patched
up old ones; he made new ones, and wove into
them all that grieved him most.</p>
<p>But his heart grew too heavy, and his sorrow
broke forth in his songs. He now lay through
long, sleepless nights, brooding, until he felt
sure that he could bear this no longer, but must
journey far away, seek Kristian, and not say a
word about it to any one. He thought of his
mother, and what would become of her,—and
he could scarcely look her in the face.</p>
<p>He sat up late one evening reading. When
his heart became too gloomy, he took refuge in
his books, and did not perceive that they increased
the venom. His father was at a wedding,
but was expected home that evening; his
mother was tired, and dreaded her husband's
return; had therefore gone to bed. Arne started
up at the sound of a heavy fall in the passage
and the rattling of something hard, which
struck against the door. It was his father who
had come home.</p>
<p>Arne opened the door and looked at him.</p>
<p>"Is that you, my clever boy? Come and help
your father up!"</p>
<p>He was raised up and helped in toward the
bench. Arne took up the fiddle-case, carried
it in, and closed the door.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
"Yes, look at me, you clever boy. I am not
handsome now; this is no longer tailor Nils.
This I say—to you, that you—never shall
drink brandy; it is—the world and the flesh
and the devil—He resisteth the proud but
giveth grace unto the humble.—Ah, woe, woe
is me!—How far it has gone with me!"</p>
<p>He sat still a while, then he sang, weeping,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Merciful Lord, I come to Thee;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Help, if there can be help for me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though by the mire of sin defiled,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I'm still thine own dear ransomed child."<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"Lord, I am not worthy that Thou shouldest
come under my roof; but speak the word
only"—He flung himself down, hid his face
in his hands, and sobbed convulsively. Long
he lay thus, and then he repeated word for
word from the Bible, as he had learned it probably
more than twenty years before: "Then
she came and worshiped Him, saying, Lord,
help me! But he answered and said, It is not
meet to take the children's bread, and to cast
it to dogs. And she said, Truth, Lord, yet the
dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their
master's table!"</p>
<p>He was silent now, and dissolved in a flood
of tears.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
The mother had awakened long since, but
had not dared raise her eyes, now that her
husband was weeping like one who is saved;
she leaned on her elbows and looked up.</p>
<p>But scarcely had Nils descried her, than he
shrieked out: "Are you staring at me; you,
too?—you want to see, I suppose, what you
have brought me to. Aye, this is the way I
look, exactly so!" He rose up, and she hid
herself under the robe. "No, do not hide, I
will find you easily enough," said he, extending
his right hand, and groping his way along
with outstretched forefinger. "Tickle, tickle!"
said he, as he drew off the covers and
placed his finger on her throat.</p>
<p>"Father!" said Arne.</p>
<p>"Oh dear! how shriveled up and thin you
have grown. There is not much flesh here.
Tickle, tickle."</p>
<p>The mother convulsively seized his hand
with both of hers, but could not free herself,
and so rolled herself into a ball.</p>
<p>"Father!" said Arne.</p>
<p>"So life has come into you now. How she
writhes, the fright! Tickle, tickle!"</p>
<p>"Father!" said Arne. The room seemed to
swim about him.</p>
<p>"Tickle, I say!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
She let go his hands and gave up.</p>
<p>"Father!" shouted Arne. He sprang to the
corner, where stood an axe.</p>
<p>"It is only from obstinacy that you do not
scream. You had better not do so either; I
have taken such a frightful fancy. Tickle,
tickle!"</p>
<p>"Father!" shrieked Arne, seizing the axe,
but remained standing as though nailed to the
spot, for at that moment the father drew himself
up, gave a piercing cry, clutched at his
breast, and fell over. "Jesus Christ!" said
he, and lay quite still.</p>
<p>Arne knew not where he stood or what he
stood over; he waited, as it were, for the room
to burst asunder, and for a strong light to break
in somewhere. The mother began to draw her
breath heavily, as though she were rolling off
some great weight. She finally half rose, and
saw the father lying stretched out on the floor,
the son standing beside him with an axe.</p>
<p>"Merciful Lord, what have you done?"
she shrieked, and started up out of bed, threw
her skirt about her, and came nearer; then
Arne felt as if his tongue were unloosed.</p>
<p>"He fell down himself," said he.</p>
<p>"Arne, Arne, I do not believe you," cried
the mother, in a loud, rebuking tone. "Now
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
Jesus be with you!" and she flung herself over
the corpse, with piteous lamentation.</p>
<p>Now the boy came out of his stupor, and
dropping down on his knees, exclaimed, "As
surely as I look for mercy from God, he fell as
he stood there."</p>
<p>"Then our Lord himself has been here,"
said she, quietly; and, sitting on the floor, she
fixed her eyes on the corpse.</p>
<p>Nils lay precisely as he fell, stiff, with open
eyes and mouth. His hands had drawn near
together, as though he had tried to clasp them,
but had been unable to do so.</p>
<p>"Take hold of your father, you are so strong,
and help me lay him on the bed."</p>
<p>And they took hold of him and laid him on
the bed. Margit closed his eyes and mouth,
stretched him out and folded his hands.</p>
<p>Mother and son stood and looked at him. All
they had experienced until then neither seemed
so long nor contained so much as this moment.
If the devil himself had been there, the Lord
had been there also; the encounter had been
short. All the past was now settled.</p>
<p>It was a little after midnight, and they had
to be there with the dead man until day
dawned. Arne crossed the floor, and made a
great fire on the hearth, the mother sat down
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
by it. And now, as she sat there, it rushed
through her mind how many evil days she had
had with Nils; and then she thanked God, in
a loud, fervent prayer, for what He had done.
"But I have truly had some good days also,"
said she, and wept as though she regretted her
recent thankfulness; and it ended in her taking
the greatest blame on herself who had acted
contrary to God's commandment, out of love
for the departed one, had been disobedient to
her mother, and therefore had been punished
through this sinful love.</p>
<p>Arne sat down directly opposite her. The
mother's eyes were fixed on the bed.</p>
<p>"Arne, you must remember that it was for
your sake I bore it all," and she wept, yearning
for a loving word in order to gain a support
against her own self-accusations, and comfort
for all coming time. The boy trembled
and could not answer. "You must never leave
me," sobbed she.</p>
<p>Then it came suddenly to his mind what she
had been, in all this time of sorrow, and how
boundless would be her desolation should he,
as a reward for her great fidelity, forsake her
now.</p>
<p>"Never, never!" he whispered, longing to go
to her, yet unable to do so.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
They kept their seats, but their tears flowed
freely together. She prayed aloud, now for the
dead man, now for herself and her boy; and
thus, amid prayers and tears, the time passed.
Finally she said:—</p>
<p>"Arne, you have such a fine voice, you
must sit over by the bed and sing for your
father."</p>
<p>And it seemed as though strength was forthwith
given him to do so. He got up, and went
to fetch a hymn-book, then lit a torch, and
with the torch in one hand, the hymn-book in
the other, he sat down at the head of the bed
and, in a clear voice, sang Kingo's one hundred
and twenty-seventh hymn:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Turn from us, gracious Lord, thy dire displeasure!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let not thy bloody rod, beyond all measure,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Chasten thy children, laden with sore oppressions,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For our transgressions."<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></span>
</div></div>
<p><br /></p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Arne</span> became habitually silent and shy. He
tended cattle and made songs. He passed his
nineteenth birthday, and still he kept on tending
cattle. He borrowed books from the priest
and read; but he took interest in nothing else.</p>
<p>The priest sent word to him one day that he
had better become a school-master, "because
the parish ought to derive benefit from your talents
and knowledge." Arne made no reply to
this; but the next day, while driving the sheep
before him, he made the following song:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, my pet lamb, lift your head,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though the stoniest path you tread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the mountains lonely,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Still your bells follow only.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, my pet lamb, walk with care,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lest you spoil all your wool beware,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mother must soon be sewing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Skins for the summer's going.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, my pet lamb, try to grow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fat and fine wheresoe'er you go!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Know you not, little sweeting,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A spring lamb is dainty eating!"<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
One day in his twentieth year Arne chanced
to overhear a conversation between his mother
and the wife of the former gard owner; they
were disputing about the horse they owned in
common.</p>
<p>"I must wait to hear what Arne says," remarked
the mother.</p>
<p>"That lazy fellow!" was the reply. "He
would like, I dare say, to have the horse go
ranging about the woods as he does himself."</p>
<p>The mother was now silent, although before
she had been arguing her own case well.</p>
<p>Arne turned as red as fire. It had not occurred
to him before that his mother might
have to listen to taunting words for his sake,
and yet perhaps she had often been obliged to
do so. Why had she not told him of this?</p>
<p>He considered the matter well, and now it
struck him that his mother scarcely ever talked
with him. But neither did he talk with her.
With whom did he talk, after all?</p>
<p>Often on Sunday, when he sat quietly at
home, he felt a desire to read sermons to his
mother, whose eyes were poor; she had wept
too much in her day. But he did not have the
courage to do so. Many times he had wanted
to offer to read aloud to her from his own
books, when all was still in the house, and he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
thought the time must hang heavily on her
hands. But his courage failed him for this
too.</p>
<p>"It cannot matter much. I must give up
tending the herds, and move down to mother."</p>
<p>He let several days pass, and became firm
in his resolve. Then he drove the cattle far
around in the wood, and made the following
song:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The vale is full of trouble, but here sweet Peace may reign;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Within this quiet forest no bailiffs may distrain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">None fight, as in the vale, in the Blessed Church's name,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet if a church were here, it would no doubt be just the same.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"How peaceful is the forest:—true, the hawk is far from kind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fear he now is striving the plumpest sparrow to find;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fear yon eagle's coming to rob the kid of breath,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet perchance if long it lived, it might be tired to death.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The woodman fells one tree, and another rots away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The red fox killed the lambkin white at sunset yesterday;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wolf, though, killed the fox, and the wolf itself must die,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For Arne shot him down to-day before the dew was dry.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I'll hie me to the valley back—the forest is as bad;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I must see to take good heed, lest thinking drive me mad.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I saw a boy in my dreams, though where I cannot tell—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I know he had killed his father—I think it was in Hell."<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>He came home and told his mother that she
might send out in the parish after another
herd-boy; he wanted to manage the gard himself.
Thus it was arranged; but the mother
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
was always after him with warnings not to
overtax himself with work. She used also to
prepare such good meals for him at this time
that he often felt ashamed; but he said nothing.</p>
<p>He was working at a song, the refrain of
which was "Over the lofty mountains." He
never succeeded in finishing it, and this was
chiefly because he wanted to have the refrain
in every other line; finally he gave it up.</p>
<p>But many of the songs he made got out
among the people, where they were well liked;
there were those who wished very much to talk
with him, especially as they had known him
from boyhood up. But Arne was shy of all
whom he did not know, and thought ill of
them, chiefly because he believed they thought
ill of him.</p>
<p>His constant companion in the fields was a
middle-aged man, called Upland Knut, who had
a habit of singing over his work; but he always
sang the same song. After listening to this
for a few months, Arne was moved to ask him
if he did not know any others.</p>
<p>"No," was the man's reply.</p>
<p>Then after the lapse of several days, once
when Knut was singing his song, Arne asked:</p>
<p>"How did you chance to learn this <i>one</i>?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
"Oh, it just happened so," said the man.</p>
<p>Arne went straight from him into the house;
but there sat his mother weeping, a sight he had
not seen since his father's death. He pretended
not to notice her, and went toward the door
again; but he felt his mother looking sorrowfully
after him again and he had to stop.</p>
<p>"What are you crying for, mother?"</p>
<p>For a while his words were the only sound in
the room, and therefore they came back to him
again and again, so often that he felt they had
not been said gently enough. He asked once
more:—</p>
<p>"What are you crying for?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I am sure I do not know;" but now
she wept harder than ever.</p>
<p>He waited a long time, then was forced to
say, as courageously as he could:—</p>
<p>"There must be something you are crying
about!"</p>
<p>Again there was silence. He felt very
guilty, although <i>she</i> had said nothing, and <i>he</i>
knew nothing.</p>
<p>"It just happened so," said the mother.
Presently she added, "I am after all most fortunate,"
and then she wept.</p>
<p>But Arne hastened out, and he felt drawn
toward the Kamp gorge. He sat down to look
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
into it, and while he was sitting there, he too
wept. "If I only knew what I was crying for,"
mused Arne.</p>
<p>Above him, in the new-plowed field, Upland
Knut was singing his song:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Ingerid Sletten of Willow-pool<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Had no costly trinkets to wear;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But a cap she had that was far more fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although it was only of wool.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It had no trimming, and now was old,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But her mother who long had gone<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Had given it her, and so it shone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To Ingerid more than gold.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For twenty years she laid it aside,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">That it might not be worn away;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'My cap I'll wear on that blissful day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I shall become a bride.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For thirty years she laid it aside<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Lest the colors might fade away.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'My cap I'll wear when to God I pray<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A happy and grateful bride.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For forty years she laid it aside,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Still holding her mother as dear;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'My little cap, I certainly fear<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never shall be a bride.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She went to look for the cap one day<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In the chest where it long had lain;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But ah! her looking was all in vain,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cap had moldered away."<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Arne sat and listened as though the words
had been music far away up the slope. He
went up to Knut.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
"Have you a mother?" asked he.</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Have you a father?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no; I have no father."</p>
<p>"Is it long since they died?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes; it is long since."</p>
<p>"You have not many, I dare say, who care
for you?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no; not many."</p>
<p>"Have you any one here?"</p>
<p>"No, not here."</p>
<p>"But yonder in your native parish?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no; not there either."</p>
<p>"Have you not any one at all who cares for
you?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no; I have not."</p>
<p>But Arne went from him loving his own
mother so intensely that it seemed as though
his heart would break; and he felt, as it were,
a blissful light over him. "Thou Heavenly
Father," thought he, "Thou hast given her to
me, and such unspeakable love with the gift,
and I put this away from me; and one day
when I want it, she will be perhaps no more!"
He felt a desire to go to her, if for nothing
else only to look at her. But on the way, it
suddenly occurred to him: "Perhaps because
you did not appreciate her you may soon have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
to endure the grief of losing her!" He stood
still at once. "Almighty God! what then
would become of me?"</p>
<p class="p4b">He felt as though some calamity must be
happening at home. He hastened toward the
house; cold sweat stood on his brow; his feet
scarcely touched the ground. He tore open
the passage door, but within the whole atmosphere
was at once filled with peace. He softly
opened the door into the family-room. The
mother had gone to bed, the moon shone full in
her face, and she lay sleeping calmly as a
child.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> days after this, mother and son, who of
late had been more together, agreed to be present
at the wedding of some relatives at a
neighboring gard. The mother had not been to
any party since she was a girl.</p>
<p>They knew few people at the wedding, save
by name, and Arne thought it especially strange
that everybody stared at him wherever he went.</p>
<p>Once some words were spoken behind him
in the passage; he was not sure, but he fancied
he understood them, and every drop of
blood rushed into his face whenever he thought
of them.</p>
<p>He could not keep his eyes off the man who
had spoken these words; finally, he took a seat
beside him. But as he drew up to the table
he thought the conversation took another turn.</p>
<p>"Well, now I am going to tell you a story,
which proves that nothing can be buried so
deep down in night that it will not find its way
into daylight," said the man, and Arne was
sure he looked at <i>him</i>. He was an ill-favored
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
man, with thin, red hair encircling a great,
round brow. Beneath were a pair of very
small eyes and a little bottle-shaped nose; but
the mouth was very large, with very pale, out-turned
lips. When he laughed, he showed
his gums. His hands lay on the table: they
were clumsy and coarse, but the wrists were
slender. He looked sharp and talked fast, but
with much effort. People nicknamed him the
Rattle-tongue, and Arne knew that tailor Nils
had dealt roughly with him in the old days.</p>
<p>"Yes, there is a great deal of wickedness in
this world; it comes nearer home to us than
we think. But no matter; you shall hear now
of an ugly deed. Those who are old remember
Alf, Scrip Alf. 'Sure to come back!' said
Alf; that saying comes from him; for when
he had struck a bargain—and he could trade,
that fellow!—he flung his scrip on his back.
'Sure to come back,' said Alf. A devilish good
fellow, fine fellow, splendid fellow, this Alf,
Scrip Alf!</p>
<p>"Well, there was Alf and Big Lazy-bones—aye,
you knew Big Lazy-bones?—he was big
and he was lazy too. He looked too long at
a shining black horse Scrip Alf drove and had
trained to spring like a summer frog. And
before Big Lazy-bones knew what he was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
about, he had given fifty dollars for the nag
Big Lazy-bones mounted a carriole,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> as large as
life, to drive like a king with his fifty-dollar
horse; but now he might lash and swear until
the gard was all in a smoke; the horse ran, for
all that, against all the doors and walls that
were in the way; he was stone blind.</p>
<p>"Afterwards, Alf and Big Lazy-bones fell to
quarreling about this horse all through the parish,
just like a couple of dogs. Big Lazy-bones
wanted his money back; but you may believe
he never got so much as two Danish shillings.
Scrip Alf thrashed him until the hair flew.
'Sure to come back,' said Alf. Devilish good
fellow, fine fellow, splendid fellow, this Alf—Scrip
Alf.</p>
<p>"Well, then, some years passed by without
his being heard of again.</p>
<p>"It might have been ten years later that he
was published on the church hill;<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> there had
been left to him a tremendous fortune. Big
Lazy-bones was standing by. 'I knew very
well,' said he, 'that it was money that was crying
for Scrip Alf, and not people.'</p>
<p>"Now there was a great deal of gossip about
Alf; and out of it all was gathered that he had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
been seen last on this side of Rören, and not on
the other. Yes, you remember the Rören road—the
old road?</p>
<p>"But Big Lazy-bones had succeeded in rising
to great power and splendor, owning both farm
and complete outfit.</p>
<p>"Moreover, he had professed great piety, and
everybody knew he did not become pious for
nothing—any more than other folks do. People
began to talk about it.</p>
<p>"It was at this time that the Rören road was
to be changed, old-time folks wanted to go
straight ahead, and so it went directly over
Rören; but we like things level, and so the
road now runs down by the river. There was
a mining and a blasting, until one might have
expected Rören to come tumbling down. All
sorts of officials came there, but the amtmand<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>
oftenest of all, for he was allowed double mileage.
And now, one day while they were digging
down among the rocks, some one went to
pick up a stone, but got hold of a hand that
was sticking out of the rocks, and so strong was
this hand that it sent the man who took hold of
it reeling backwards. Now he who found this
hand was Big Lazy-bones. The lensmand<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
was sauntering about there, he was called, and
the skeleton of a whole man was dug out. The
doctor was sent for too; he put the bones so
skillfully together that now only the flesh was
wanting. But people claimed that this skeleton
was precisely the same size as Scrip Alf.
'Sure to come back!' said Alf.</p>
<p>"Every one thought it most strange that a
dead hand could upset a fellow like Big Lazy-bones,
even when it did not strike at all. The
lensmand talked seriously to him about it,—of
course when no one was by to hear. But then
Big Lazy-bones swore until everything grew
black about the lensmand.</p>
<p>"'Well, well,' said the lensmand, 'if you
had nothing to do with this, you are just the
fellow to go to bed with the skeleton to-night;
hey?' 'To be sure I am,' replied Big Lazy-bones.
And now the doctor jointed the bones
firmly together, and placed the skeleton in one
of the beds of the barracks. In the other Big
Lazy-bones was to sleep, but the lensmand laid
down in his gown, close up to the wall. When
it grew dark and Big Lazy-bones had to go in
to his bed-fellow, it just seemed as though the
door shut of itself, and he stood in the dark.
But Big Lazy-bones fell to singing hymns, for
he had a strong voice. 'Why are you singing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
hymns?' asked the lensmand, outside of the
wall. 'No one knows whether he has had the
chorister,' answered Big Lazy-bones. Afterward
he fell to praying with all his might.
'Why are you praying?' asked the lensmand,
outside of the wall. 'He has no doubt been a
great sinner,' answered Big Lazy-bones. Then
for a long time all was still, and it really
seemed as though the lensmand must be sleeping.
Then there was a shriek that made the
barracks shake. 'Sure to come back!' An infernal
noise and uproar arose: 'Hand over those
fifty dollars of mine!' bellowed Big Lazy-bones,
and there followed a screaming and a wrestling;
the lensmand flung open the door, people
rushed in with sticks and stones, and there
lay Big Lazy-bones in the middle of the floor,
and on him was the skeleton."</p>
<p>It was very still around the table. Finally
a man who was about to light his clay pipe,
said:—</p>
<p>"He surely went mad after that day."</p>
<p>"He did."</p>
<p>Arne felt every one looking at him, and
therefore he could not raise his eyes.</p>
<p>"It is, as I have said," put in the first
speaker; "nothing can be buried so deep
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
down in night that it will not find its way into
daylight!"</p>
<p>"Well, now I will tell about a son who beat
his own father," said a fair, heavily-built man,
with a round face. Arne knew not where he
was sitting.</p>
<p>"It was a bully of a powerful race, over in
Hardanger; he was the ruin of many people.
His father and he disagreed about the yearly
allowance, and the result of this was that the
man had no peace at home or in the parish.</p>
<p>"Owing to this he grew more and more
wicked, and his father took him to task. 'I
will take rebuke from no one,' said the son.
'From me you shall take it as long as I live,'
said the father. 'If you do not hold your
tongue I will beat you,' said the son, and sprang
to his feet. 'Aye, do so if you dare, and you
will never prosper in the world,' answered the
father, as he too rose. 'Do you think so?'—and
the son rushed at him and knocked him
down. But the father did not resist; he crossed
his arms and let his son do as he chose with
him.</p>
<p>"The son beat him, seized hold of him and
dragged him to the door. 'I will have peace
in the house!' But when they came to the
door, the father raised himself up. 'Not farther
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
than to the door,' said he, 'for so far I
dragged my own father.' The son paid no heed
to this, but dragged his head across the threshold.
'Not farther than to the door, I say!'
Here the old man flung his son down at his
feet, and chastised him, just as though he were
a child."</p>
<p>"That was badly done," said several.</p>
<p>"Did not strike his father, though," Arne
thought some one said; but he was not sure
of it.</p>
<p>"Now I shall tell <i>you</i> something," said Arne,
rising up, as pale as death, not knowing what
he was going to say. He only saw the words
floating about him like great snow-flakes. "I
will make a grasp at them hap-hazard!" and
he began.</p>
<p>"A troll met a boy who was walking along
a road crying. 'Of whom are you most
afraid?' said the troll, 'of yourself, or of
others?' But the boy was crying, because he
had dreamed in the night that he had been
forced to kill his wicked father, and so he answered,
'I am most afraid of myself.' 'Then
be at peace with yourself, and never cry any
more; for hereafter you shall only be at war
with others.' And the troll went his way. But
the first person the boy met laughed at him,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
and so the boy had to laugh back again. The
next person he met struck him; the boy had
to defend himself, and struck back. The third
person he met tried to kill him, and so the boy
had to take his life. Then everybody said
hard things about him, and therefore he knew
only hard things to say of everybody. They
locked their cupboards and doors against him,
so he had to steal his way to what he needed;
he even had to steal his night's rest. Since
they would not let him do anything good, he
had to do something bad. Then the parish
said, 'We must get rid of this boy; he is
so bad'; and one fine day they put him out of
the way. But the boy had not the least idea
that he had done anything wicked, and so after
death he came strolling right into the presence
of the Lord. There on a bench sat the father
he had not slain, and right opposite, on another
bench, sat all those who had forced him to do
wrong.</p>
<p>"'Which bench are you afraid of?' asked
the Lord, and the boy pointed to the long one.</p>
<p>"'Sit down there, beside your father,' said
the Lord, and the boy turned to do so.</p>
<p>"Then the father fell from the bench, with
a great gash in his neck. In his place there
came one in the likeness of the boy, with repentant
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
countenance and ghastly features; then
another with drunken face and drooping form;
still another with the face of a madman, with
tattered clothes and with hideous laughter.</p>
<p>"'Thus it might have been with you,' said
the Lord.</p>
<p>"'Can that really be?' replied the boy,
touching the hem of the Lord's garment.</p>
<p>"Then both benches fell down from heaven,
and the boy stood beside the Lord again and
laughed.</p>
<p>"'Remember this when you awaken,' said
the Lord, and at that moment the boy awoke.</p>
<p>"Now the boy who dreamed thus is I, and
they who tempted him by thinking him wicked
are you. I no longer fear myself, but I am
afraid of you. Do not stir up my evil passions,
for it is doubtful whether I may get hold
of the Lord's garment."</p>
<p class="p4b">He rushed out, and the men looked at each
other.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was the next day, in the barn of the same
gard. Arne had been drunk for the first time
in his life, was ill in consequence of it, and
had been lying in the barn almost twenty-four
hours. Now, turning over, he had propped
himself up on his elbows, and thus talked with
himself:—</p>
<p>"Everything I look at becomes cowardice.
That I did not run away when I was a boy,
was cowardice; that I listened to father rather
than to mother, was cowardice; that I sang
those wicked songs for him was cowardice; I
became a herd-boy, that was from cowardice;—I
took to reading—oh, yes! that was from
cowardice, too; I wanted to hide away from
myself. Even after I was grown up, I did not
help mother against father—cowardice; that
I did not that night—ugh!—cowardice! I
should most likely have waited until <i>she</i> was
killed. I could not stand it at home after that—cowardice;
neither did I go my way—cowardice;
I did nothing, I tended cattle—cowardice.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
To be sure, I had promised mother to
stay with her; but I should actually have been
cowardly enough to break the promise, had I
not been afraid to mingle with people. For I
am afraid of people chiefly because I believe
they see how bad I am. And it is fear of people
makes me speak ill of them—cursed cowardice!
I make rhymes from cowardice. I
dare not think in a straightforward manner
about my own affairs, and so I turn to those
of others—and that is to be a poet.</p>
<p>"I should have sat down and cried until the
hills were turned into water, that is what I
should have done; but instead I say: 'Hush,
hush!' and set myself to rocking. And even
my songs are cowardly; for were they courageous
they would be better. I am afraid of
strong thoughts; afraid of everything that is
strong; if I do rise up to strength, it is in a
frenzy, and frenzy is cowardice. I am more
clever, more capable, better informed than I
seem to be. I am better than my words; but
through cowardice I dare not be what I am.
Fy! I drank brandy from cowardice; I wanted
to deaden the pain! Fy! it hurt. I drank,
nevertheless; drank, nevertheless; drank my
father's heart's blood, and yet I drank! The
fact is, my cowardice is beyond all bounds;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
but the most cowardly thing of all is that I can
sit here and say all this to myself.</p>
<p>"Kill myself? Pooh! For that I am too
cowardly. And then I believe in God,—yes,
I believe in God. I long to go to Him; but
cowardice keeps me from Him. From so great
a change a cowardly person winces. But what
if I tried as well as I am able? Almighty
God! What if I tried? I might find a cure
that even my milksop nature could bear; for
I have no bone in me any longer, nor gristle;
only something fluid, slush.... What if I
tried, with good, mild books,—I am afraid
of the strong ones,—with pleasant stories and
legends, all such as are mild; and then a sermon
every Sunday and a prayer every evening,
and regular work, that religion may find fruitful
soil; it cannot do so amid slothfulness.
What if I tried, dear, gentle God of my
childhood,—what if I tried?"</p>
<p>But some one opened the barn-door, and
hurried across the floor, pale as death, although
drops of sweat rolled down the face. It was
Arne's mother. It was the second day she had
been seeking for her son. She called his name
but did not pause to listen; only called and
rushed about, till he answered from the hay-mow,
where he was lying. She gave a loud
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
shriek, sprang to the mow more lightly than
a boy, and threw herself upon him.</p>
<p>"Arne, Arne, are you here? So I have
really found you. I have been looking for you
since yesterday; I have searched the whole
night! Poor, poor Arne! I saw they had
wounded you. I wanted so much to talk with
you and comfort you; but then I never dare
talk with you! Arne, I saw you drink! O
God Almighty! let me never see it again!"</p>
<p>It was long before she could say more. "Jesus
have mercy on you, my child; I saw you
drink! Suddenly you were gone, drunk and
crushed with grief as you were, and I ran
around to all the houses. I went far out in the
field; I did not find you. I searched in every
copse; I asked every one. I was <i>here</i>, too, but
you did not answer me—Arne, Arne! I
walked along the river; but it did not seem to
be deep enough anywhere"—She pressed up
close to him. "Then it came with such relief
to my mind that you might have gone home,
and I am sure I was not more than a quarter of
an hour getting over the road. I opened the
door and looked in every room, and then first
remembered that I myself had the key; you
could not possibly have entered. Arne, last
night I searched along the road on both sides;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
I dared not go to the Kamp gorge. I know
not how I came here; no one helped me; but
the Lord put it into my heart that you must
be here!"</p>
<p>He tried to soothe her.</p>
<p>"Arne, indeed, you must never drink brandy
again."</p>
<p>"No, you may be sure of that."</p>
<p>"They must have been very rough with you.
Were they rough with you?"</p>
<p>"Oh, no; it was I who was <i>cowardly</i>." He
laid stress on the word.</p>
<p>"I cannot exactly understand why they
should be rough with you. What was it they
did to you? You will never tell me anything,"
and she began to weep again.</p>
<p>"You never tell me anything, either," said
Arne, gently.</p>
<p>"But you are most to blame, Arne. I got
so into the habit of being silent in your father's
day that you ought to have helped me a little
on the way! My God! there are only two of
us, and we have suffered so much together!"</p>
<p>"Let us see if we cannot do better," whispered
Arne. "Next Sunday I will read the
sermon to you."</p>
<p>"God bless you for that! Arne?"</p>
<p>"Yes?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
"I have something I ought to say to you."</p>
<p>"Say it, mother."</p>
<p>"I have sinned greatly against you; I have
done something wrong."</p>
<p>"You, mother?" And it touched him so
deeply that his own good, infinitely patient
mother should accuse herself of having sinned
against him, who had never been really good to
her, that he put his arm round her, patted her,
and burst into tears.</p>
<p>"Yes, I have; and yet I could not help it."</p>
<p>"Oh, you have never wronged me in any
way."</p>
<p>"Yes, I have,—God knows it; it was only
because I was so fond of you. But you must
forgive me; do you hear?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I will forgive you."</p>
<p>"Well, then, I will tell you about it another
time; but you will forgive me?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, mother!"</p>
<p>"You see, it is perhaps because of this that
it has been so hard to talk with you; I have
sinned against you."</p>
<p>"I beg of you not to talk so, mother."</p>
<p>"I am happy now, having been able to say
so much."</p>
<p>"We must talk more together, we two,
mother."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
"Yes, that we must; and then you will
really read the sermon for me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I will do so."</p>
<p>"Poor Arne! God bless you!"</p>
<p>"I think it is best for us to go home."</p>
<p>"Yes, we will go home."</p>
<p>"Why are you looking round so, mother?"</p>
<p>"Your father lay in this barn, and wept."</p>
<p>"Father?" said Arne, and grew very pale.</p>
<p class="p4b">"Poor Nils! It was the day you were christened.
Why are you looking round, Arne?"</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">From</span> the day that Arne tried with his whole
heart to live closer to his mother his relations
with other people were entirely changed. He
looked on them more with the mother's mild
eyes. But he often found it hard to keep true
to his resolve; for what he thought most deeply
about his mother did not always understand.
Here is a song from those days:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It was such a pleasant, sunny day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In-doors I could not think of staying:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I strolled to the wood, on my back I lay,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And rocked what my mind was saying;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But there crawled emmets, and gnats stung there,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wasps and the clegs brought dire despair.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"'My dear, will you not go out in this pleasant
weather?' said mother. She sat singing on
the porch.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It was such a pleasant, sunny day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In-doors I could not think of staying:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I strayed to a field, on my back I lay,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And sang what my mind was saying;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But snakes came out to enjoy the sun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three ells were they long, and away I run.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"'In such pleasant weather we can go barefoot,'
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
said mother, and she pulled off her stockings.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It was such a pleasant, sunny day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In-doors I could no longer tarry:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I stepped in a boat, on my back I lay,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The tide did me onward carry;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sun, though, scorched till my nose was burned;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There's limit to all, so to shore I turned.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"'What fine days these are for drying the
hay!' said mother, as she shook it with a rake.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It was such a pleasant, sunny day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In-doors I could not think of staying:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I climbed up a tree, and thought there I'd stay,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For there were cool breezes playing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A grub to fall on my neck then there chanced;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I sprang down and screamed, and how madly I danced.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"'Well, if the cow does not thrive such a day
as this, she never will,' said mother, as she
gazed up the slope.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It was such a pleasant, sunny day,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In-doors I could no peace discover:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I made for the force that did loudly play,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For <i>there</i> it must surely hover;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But there I drowned while the sun still shone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you made this song, it is surely not my own.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"'It would take only about three such sunny
days to get everything under cover,' said mother;
and off she started to make my bed."</p>
<p class="p2">Nevertheless, this companionship with his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
mother brought every day more and more comfort
to Arne. What she did not understand
formed quite as much of a tie between them as
what she did understand. For the fact of her
not comprehending a thing made him think it
over oftener, and she grew only the dearer to
him because he found her limits on every side.
Yes, she became infinitely dear to him.</p>
<p>As a child, Arne had not cared much for
nursery stories. Now, as a grown person, he
longed for them, and they led to traditions and
ancient ballads. His mind was filled with a
wonderful yearning; he walked much alone,
and many of the places round about, which formerly
he had not noticed, seemed strangely
beautiful. In the days when he had gone with
those of his own age to the priest's to prepare
for confirmation, he had often played with them
by a large lake below the parsonage, called
Black Water, because it was deep and black.
He began to think of this lake now, and one
evening he wended his way thither.</p>
<p>He sat down behind a copse, just at the foot
of the parsonage. This lay on the side of a very
steep hill, which towered up beyond until it
became a high mountain; the opposite bank
was similar, and therefore huge shadows were
cast over the lake from both sides, but in its
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
centre was a stripe of beautiful silvery water.
All was at rest; the sun was just setting; a
faint sound of tinkling bells floated over from
the opposite shore; otherwise profound silence
reigned. Arne did not look right across the
lake, but first turned his eyes toward its lower
end, for there the sun was shedding a sprinkling
of burning red, ere it departed. Down there
the mountains had parted to make room between
them for a long, low valley, and against
this the waves dashed; and it seemed as though
the mountains had gradually sloped together to
form a swing in which to rock this valley, which
was dotted with its many gards. The curling
smoke rose upward, and passed from sight; the
fields were green and reeking; boats laden with
hay were approaching the landings. Arne saw
many people passing to and fro, but could
hear no noise. Thence the eye wandered beyond
the shore, where God's dark forest alone
loomed up. Through the forest and along the
lake men had drawn a road, as it were, with
a finger, for a winding streak of dust plainly
marked its course. This Arne's eye followed
until it came directly opposite to where he was
sitting; there the forest ended; the mountains
made a little more room, and straightways gard
after gard lay spread about. The houses were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
still larger than those at the lower end, were
painted red, and had higher windows, which
now were in a blaze of light. The hills sparkled
in dazzling sunshine; the smallest child playing
about could be plainly seen; glittering white
sand lay dry on the shore, and upon this little
children bounded with their dogs. But suddenly
the whole scene became desolate and
gloomy; the houses dark red, the meadows
dingy green, the sand grayish-white, and the
children small clumps: a mass of mist had
risen above the mountains, and had shut out
the sun. Arne kept his eye fixed on the lake;
there he found everything again. The fields
were rocking there, and the forest silently
joined them; the houses stood looking down,
doors open, and children going out and in.
Nursery tales and childish things came thronging
into his mind, as little fish come after a
bait, swim away, come back again, but do not
nibble.</p>
<p>"Let us sit down here until your mother
comes; the priest's lady will surely get through
some time."</p>
<p>Arne was startled; some one had sat down
just behind him.</p>
<p>"But I might be allowed to stay just this one
night," said a beseeching voice, choked with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
tears; it seemed to be that of a young girl, not
quite grown up.</p>
<p>"Do not cry any more; it is shocking to cry
because you must go home to your mother."
This last came in a mild voice that spoke slowly
and belonged to a man.</p>
<p>"That is not the reason I am crying."</p>
<p>"Why are you crying, then?"</p>
<p>"Because I shall no longer be with Mathilde."</p>
<p>This was the name of the priest's only
daughter, and reminded Arne that a peasant
girl had been brought up with her.</p>
<p>"That could not last forever, any way."</p>
<p>"Yes, but just one day longer, dear!" and
she sobbed violently.</p>
<p>"It is best you should go home at once; perhaps
it is already too late."</p>
<p>"Too late? Why so? Who ever heard of
such a thing?"</p>
<p>"You are peasant-born, and a peasant you
shall remain: we cannot afford to keep a fine
lady."</p>
<p>"I should still be a peasant, even if I remained
here."</p>
<p>"You are no judge of that."</p>
<p>"I have always worn peasant's clothes."</p>
<p>"It is not that which makes the difference."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
"I have been spinning and weaving and
cooking."</p>
<p>"It is not <i>that</i>, either."</p>
<p>"I can talk just as you and mother do."</p>
<p>"Not that, either."</p>
<p>"Then I do not know what it can be," said
the girl, and laughed.</p>
<p>"Time will show. Besides, I am afraid you
already have too many ideas."</p>
<p>"Ideas, ideas! You are always saying that.
I have no ideas." She wept again.</p>
<p>"Oh, you are a weathercock,—that you
are!"</p>
<p>"The priest never said so."</p>
<p>"No, but now <i>I</i> say so."</p>
<p>"A weathercock? Who ever heard of such
a thing? I will not be a weathercock."</p>
<p>"Come, then, what will you be?"</p>
<p>"What will I be? Did you ever hear the
like? I will be nothing."</p>
<p>"Very good, then; be nothing."</p>
<p>Now the girl laughed. Presently she said,
gravely, "It is unkind of you to say I am
nothing."</p>
<p>"Dear me, when that was what you wanted
to be yourself!"</p>
<p>"No, I do not want to be nothing."</p>
<p>"Very good, then; be everything."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
The girl laughed. Presently, with a sorrowful
voice, "The priest never fooled with me in
this way."</p>
<p>"No, he only made a fool of you."</p>
<p>"The priest? You have never been so kind
to me as the priest has."</p>
<p>"No, for that would have spoiled you."</p>
<p>"Sour milk can never become sweet."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes, when it is boiled to whey."</p>
<p>Here the girl burst out laughing.</p>
<p>"There comes your mother."</p>
<p>Then she grew sober again.</p>
<p>"Such a long-winded woman as the priest's
lady I have never met in all the days of my
life," here interposed a shrill, rattling voice.
"Make haste, now, Baard. Get up and push
the boat out. We will not get home to-night.
The lady wished me to see that Eli kept
her feet dry. Dear me, you will have to see
to that yourself. Every morning she must
take a walk, for the sake of her health. It
is health, health, from morning till night.
Get up, now, Baard, and push out the boat.
Just think, I have to set sponge this evening!"</p>
<p>"The chest has not come yet," said he, and
lay still.</p>
<p>"But the chest is not to come, either; it is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
to remain until the first Sunday there is service.
Do you hear, Eli? Pick yourself up;
take your bundle, and come. Get up, now,
Baard!"</p>
<p>She led the way, and the girl followed.</p>
<p>"Come, now, I say,—come now!" resounded
from below.</p>
<p>"Have you looked after the plug in the
boat?" asked Baard, still without rising.</p>
<p>"Yes, it is there;" and Arne heard her just
then hammering it in with the scoop. "But
get up, I say, Baard! Surely we are not to
stay here all night?"</p>
<p>"I am waiting for the chest."</p>
<p>"But, my dear, bless you, I have told you it
is to wait until the first Sunday there is service."</p>
<p>"There it comes," said Baard, and they
heard the rattling of a cart.</p>
<p>"Why, I said it was to wait until the first
Sunday there is service."</p>
<p>"I said we were to take it along."</p>
<p>Without anything further, the wife hastened
up to the cart, and carried the bundle, the lunch-box,
and other small things down to the boat.
Then Baard arose, went up, and took the chest
himself.</p>
<p>But behind the cart there came rushing along
a girl in a straw hat, with floating hair; it was
the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
priest's daughter.</p>
<p>"Eli! Eli!" she called, as she ran.</p>
<p>"Mathilde! Mathilde!" Eli answered, and
ran toward her.</p>
<p>They met on the hill, put their arms about
each other, and wept. Then Mathilde took up
something she had set down on the grass: it
was a bird-cage.</p>
<p>"You shall have Narrifas; yes, you shall.
Mother wishes it, too. You shall, after all, have
Narrifas,—indeed, you shall; and then you
will think of me. And very often row—row—row
over to me," and the tears of both flowed
freely.</p>
<p>"Eli! Come, now, Eli! Do not stand
there!" was heard from below.</p>
<p>"But I want to go along," said Mathilde. "I
want to go and sleep with you to-night!"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, yes!" and with arms twined about
each other's necks they moved down toward the
landing.</p>
<p>Presently Arne saw the boat out on the
water. Eli stood high on the stern, with the
bird-cage, and waved her hand; Mathilde was
left behind, and sat on the stone landing weeping.</p>
<p>She remained sitting there as long as the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
boat was on the water; it was but a short distance
across to the red house, as said before;
and Arne kept his seat, too. He watched the
boat, as she did. It soon passed into the darkness,
and he waited until it drew up to the
shore: then he saw Eli and her parents in the
water; in it he followed them up toward the
houses, until they came to the prettiest one of
them all. He saw the mother go in first, then
the father with the chest, and last of all the
daughter, so far as he could judge from their
size. Soon after the daughter came out again,
and sat down in front of the store-house door,
probably that she might gaze over at the other
side, where at that moment the sun was shedding
its parting rays. But the young lady
from the parsonage had already gone, and Arne
alone sat watching Eli in the water.</p>
<p>"I wonder if she sees me!"</p>
<p class="p4b">He got up and moved away. The sun had
set, but the sky was bright and clear blue, as it
often is of a summer night. Mist from land
and water rose and floated over the mountains
on both sides; but the peaks held themselves
above it, and stood peering at one another.
He went higher up. The lake grew blacker and
deeper, and seemed, as it were, to contract.
The upper valley shortened, and drew closer to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
the lake. The mountains were nearer to the eye,
but looked more like a shapeless mass, for the
light of the sun defines. The sky itself appeared
nearer, and all surrounding objects became
friendly and familiar.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Love</span> and woman were beginning to play a
prominent part in his thoughts; in the ancient
ballads and stories of the olden times such
themes were reflected as in a magic mirror,
just as the girl had been in the lake. He
constantly brooded over them, and after that
evening he found pleasure in singing about
them; for they seemed, as it were, to have come
nearer home to him. But the thought glided
away, and floated back again with a song that
was unknown to him; he felt as though another
had made it for him,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Fair Venevill bounded on lithesome feet<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Her lover to meet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He sang till it sounded afar away,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'Good-day, good-day,'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While blithesome birds were singing on every blooming spray<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day<br /></span>
<span class="i6">There is dancing and play;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She wove him a wreath of corn-flowers blue:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'Mine eyes so true.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He took it, but soon away it was flung:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'Farewell!' he sung;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And still with merry singing across the fields he sprung<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day,' etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"She wove him a chain. 'Oh, keep it with care!<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'T is made of my hair.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She yielded him then, in an hour of bliss,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Her pure first kiss;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he blushed as deeply as she the while her lips met his.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day,' etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She wove him a wreath with a lily-band:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'My true right hand.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She wove him another with roses aglow:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'My left hand, now.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He took them gently from her, but blushes dyed his brow<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day,' etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She wove him a wreath of all flowers round:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'All I have found.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She wept, but she gathered and wove on still:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'Take all you will.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without a word he took it, and fled across the hill.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day,' etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She wove on, bewildered and out of breath:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'My bridal wreath.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She wove till her fingers aweary had grown:<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'Now put it on.'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But when she turned to see him, she found that he had gone.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer Day,' etc.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"She wove on in haste, as for life and death,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Her bridal wreath;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the Midsummer sun no longer shone,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">And the flowers were gone;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But though she had no flowers, wild fancy still wove on.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">'On Midsummer-Day<br /></span>
<span class="i6">There is dancing and play;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay."<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
It was his own intense melancholy that
called forth the first image of love that glided
so gloomily through his soul. A twofold longing,—to
have some one to love and to become
something great,—blended together and became
one. At this time he was working again
at the song, "Over the lofty mountains," altering
it, and all the while singing and thinking
quietly to himself, "Surely I will get 'over'
some day; I will sing until I gain courage."
He did not forget his mother in these his
thoughts of roving; indeed, he took comfort
in the thought that as soon as he got firm
foothold in the strange land, he would come
back after her, and offer her conditions which
he never could be able to provide for her at
home. But in the midst of all these mighty
yearnings there played something calm, cheering,
refined, that darted away and came again,
took hold and fled, and, dreamer that he had
become, he was more in the power of these
spontaneous thoughts than he himself was
aware.</p>
<p>There lived in the parish a jovial man whose
name was Ejnar Aasen. When he was twenty
years old he had broken his leg; since then
he had walked with a cane; but wherever he
came hobbling along, there was always mirth
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
afoot. The man was rich. On his property
there was a large nut-wood, and there was sure
to be assembled, on one of the brightest, pleasantest
days in autumn, a group of merry girls
gathering nuts. At these nutting-parties he
had plenty of feasting for his guests all day,
and dancing in the evening. For most of
these girls he had been godfather; indeed, he
was the godfather of half the parish; all the
children called him godfather, and from them
every one else, both old and young, learned
to do so.</p>
<p>Godfather and Arne were well acquainted,
and he liked the young man because of the
verses he made. Now godfather asked Arne to
come to the nutting-party. Arne blushed and
declined; he was not used to being with girls,
he said.</p>
<p>"Then you must get used to it," replied
godfather.</p>
<p>Arne could not sleep at night because of
this; fear and yearning were at war within
him; but whatever the result might be, he
went along, and was about the only youth
among all these girls. He could not deny that
he felt disappointed; they were neither those
he had sung about, nor those he had feared
to meet. There was an excitement and merriment,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
the like of which he had never known
before, and the first thing that struck him was
that they could laugh over nothing in the
world; and if three laughed, why, then, five
laughed, simply because those three laughed.
They all acted as though they were members
of the same household; and yet many of them
had not met before that day. If they caught
the bough they were jumping after, they
laughed at that, and if they did not catch it,
they laughed at that, too. They fought for
the hook to draw it down with; those who
got it laughed, and those who did not get it,
laughed also. Godfather hobbled after them
with his cane, and offered all the hindrance
in his power. Those whom he caught laughed
because he caught them, and those whom he
did not catch laughed because he did not catch
them. But they all laughed at Arne for being
sober, and when he tried to laugh, they laughed,
because he was laughing at last.</p>
<p>They seated themselves finally on a large hill,
godfather in the centre, and all the girls around
him. The hill commanded a fine outlook; the
sun scorched; but the girls heeded it not, they
sat, casting nut-husks and shells at one another,
giving the kernels to godfather. He tried to
quiet them at last, striking at them with his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
cane, as far as he could reach; for now he
wanted them to tell stories, above all, something
amusing. But to get them started seemed
more difficult than to stop a carriage on a hill-side.
Godfather began himself. There were
many who did not want to listen; for they
knew already everything he had to tell; but
they all ended by listening attentively. Before
they knew what they were about, they sat
in the centre, and each took her turn in following
his example as best she could. Now
Arne was much astonished to find that just
in proportion to the noise the girls had made
before was the gravity of the stories they now
told. Love was the chief theme of these.</p>
<p>"But you, Aasa, have a good one; I remember
that from last year," said godfather,
turning to a plump girl with a round, pleasant
face, who sat braiding the hair of a younger
sister, whose head was in her lap.</p>
<p>"Several that are here may know that," said
she.</p>
<p>"Well, give it to us anyway," they begged.</p>
<p>"I will not have to be urged long," said
she, and, still braiding, she told and sang, as
follows:—</p>
<p>"There was a grown-up youth who tended
cattle, and he was in the habit of driving his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
herds upward, along the banks of a broad
stream. High up on his way, there was a crag
which hung out so far over the stream, that
when he stood on it he could call out to any
one on the other side. For on the other side
of the stream there was a herd-girl whom he
could see all day long, but he could not come
over to her.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Now, tell me thy name, thou girl that art sitting,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up there with thy sheep, so busily knitting?'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>he asked, over and over again, for many days,
until at last one day there came the answer,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'My name floats about like a duck in wet weather;—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Come over, thou boy in the cap of brown leather.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"But this made the youth no wiser than
before, and he thought he would pay no further
heed to the girl. This was not so easy, though,
for, let him drive the cattle where he would,
he was always drawn back to the crag. Then
the youth grew alarmed, and called over:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Well, who is your father, and where are you biding?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the road to the church I have ne'er seen you riding.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"The youth more than half believed her, in
fact, to be a hulder.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'My house is burned down, and my father is drowned,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the road to the church-hill I never have found.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
"Now this also made the youth no wiser
than before. By day he lingered on the crag,
and by night he dreamed that she was dancing
around him, and gave him a lash with a great
cow's-tail each time he tried to take hold of
her. Soon he could not sleep at all, neither
could he work, and the poor youth was in a
wretched state. Again he called aloud,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'If thou art a hulder, then pray do not spell me,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If thou art a maiden, then hasten to tell me?'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"But there came no answer, and then he
was sure that this was a hulder. He gave
up tending cattle, but it was just as bad,
for wherever he went, or whatever he did, he
thought of the fair hulder who blew on the
horn.</p>
<p>"Then one day, as he stood chopping wood,
there came a girl through the yard who actually
looked like the hulder. But when she
came nearer, it was not she. He thought
much about this; then the girl came back, and
in the distance it was the hulder, and he ran
directly toward her. But the moment he came
near her it was not she.</p>
<p>"After this, let the youth be at church, at
a dance, at other social gatherings, or where
he would, the girl was there too; when he
was far from her, she seemed to be the hulder;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
near to her, she seemed to be another; he
asked her then whether it were she or not;
but she laughed at him. It is just as well to
spring into it as to creep into it, thought the
youth, and so he married the girl.</p>
<p>"No sooner was this done than the youth
ceased to like the girl. Away from her, he
longed for her; but when with her, he longed
for one he did not see; therefore he was
harsh toward his wife; she bore this and was
silent.</p>
<p>"But one day, when he was searching for
the horses, he found his way to the crag, and
sitting down, he called out,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Like fairy moonlight to me thou seemest,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like midsummer fires from afar thou gleamest.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"He thought it did him good to sit there,
and he fell into the way of going thither whenever
anything went amiss at home. The wife
wept when she was left alone.</p>
<p>"But one day, while the youth was sitting
on the crag, the hulder, her living self, appeared
on the opposite side, and blew her horn.
He eagerly cried,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Ah, dear, art thou come! all around thee is shining!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ah, blow now again! I am sitting here pining.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"Then she answered,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
<span class="i0">'Away from thy mind the dreams I am blowing,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rye is all rotting for want of mowing.'<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"But the youth was frightened, and went
home again. Before long, though, he was so
tired of his wife that he felt compelled to wander
off to the wood and take his seat on the
crag. Then a voice sang,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'I dreamed thou wast here; ho, hasten to bind me!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No, not over there, but behind you will find me.'<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>"The youth started up, looked about him,
and espied a green skirt disappearing through
the woods. He pursued. Now there was a
chase through the woods. As fleet of foot as
the hulder was, no mortal could be; he cast
steel<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> over her again and again; she ran on the
same as before. By and by she began to grow
tired. The youth knew this from her foot-fall,
though her form convinced him that it was the
hulder herself, and none other. 'You shall
surely be mine now,' thought the youth, and
suddenly flung his arms about her with such
force that both he and she rolled far down the
hill before they could stop. Then the hulder
laughed until the youth thought the mountains
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
fairly rang; he took her on his knee, and she
looked so fair, just as he had once thought his
wife would look.</p>
<p>"'Oh, dear, who are you that are so fair?'
asked the youth, and as he caressed her, he felt
that her cheeks were warm and glowing.</p>
<p>"'Why, good gracious, I am your wife,' said
she."</p>
<p>The girls laughed, and thought the youth
was very foolish. But godfather asked Arne
if he had been listening.</p>
<p>"Well, now, I will tell you something," said
a little girl, with a little round face, and such
a very little nose.</p>
<p>"There was a little youth who wanted very
much to woo a little maiden; they were both
grown up, yet were both very small indeed.
But the youth could not muster up courage
enough to begin his wooing. He always joined
her after church, but they did not then get beyond
the weather in their talk; he sought her
at the dances, and he danced her almost to
death, but talk with her he could not. 'You
must learn to write, and then you will not
have to,' said he to himself, and so the youth
took to writing; but he never thought he could
do well enough, and so he wrote a whole year
before he dared think of a letter. Then the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
trouble was how to deliver it so that no one
should see, and he waited until once they
chanced to meet alone behind the church.</p>
<p>"'I have a letter for you,' said the youth.</p>
<p>"'But I cannot read writing,' answered the
maiden.</p>
<p>"And the youth got no further.</p>
<p>"Then he took service at her father's house,
and hung round her the whole day long. Once
he came very near speaking to her; he had
already opened his mouth, when there flew
into it a large fly. 'If only no one comes and
takes her from me,' thought the youth. But
there came no one to take her from him, because
she was so small.</p>
<p>"Some one did come along, though, at last,
for he was small too. The youth well knew
what he was after, and when he and the girl
went up-stairs together, the youth made his
way to the key-hole. Now he who was within
offered himself. 'Alas, dunce that I am, not
to have made more haste!' thought the youth.
He who was inside kissed the girl right on the
lips. 'That must have tasted good,' thought
the youth. But he who was inside had drawn
the girl down on his knee. 'What a world
we live in!' said the youth, and wept. This
the girl heard, and went to the door.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
"'What do you want of me, you ugly boy,
that you never give me any peace?'</p>
<p>"'I?—I only wanted to ask you if I might
be your groomsman.'</p>
<p>"'No; my brothers are to be the groomsmen,'
answered the girl,—and slammed the
door in his face.</p>
<p>"And the youth got no further."</p>
<p>The girls laughed a great deal at this story,
and sent a shower of husks flying round after it.</p>
<p>Godfather now wanted Eli Böen to tell
something.</p>
<p>What should it be?</p>
<p>Why, she might tell what she had told over
on the hill, when he was with them, the time
she gave him the new garters. It was a good
while before Eli was ready, for she laughed so
hard, but at last she told:—</p>
<p>"A girl and a boy were walking together on
the same road. 'Why, see the thrush that is
following us,' said the girl. 'It is I whom it is
following,' said the boy. 'It is just as likely
to be me,' answered the girl. 'That we can
soon see,' remarked the boy; 'now you take the
lower road, and I will take the upper one, and
we will meet at the top of the hill.' They did
so. 'Was it not following me?' asked the boy,
when they met. 'No, it was following me,'
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
answered the girl. 'Then there must be two.'
They walked together again a little way, but
then there was only one thrush; the boy thought
it flew on his side; but the girl thought it flew
on hers. 'The deuce! I'll not bother my head
any more about that thrush,' said the boy. 'Nor
I either,' replied the girl.</p>
<p>"But no sooner had they said this than the
thrush was gone. 'It was on <i>your</i> side,' said
the boy. 'No, I thank you; I saw plainly it
was on <i>yours</i>. But there! There it comes
again!' called out the girl. 'Yes, it is on <i>my</i>
side!' cried the boy. But now the girl became
angry. 'May all the plagues take me if
I walk with you any longer!' and she went her
own way. Then the thrush left the boy, and
the way became so tedious that he began to
call out. She answered. 'Is the thrush with
you?' shouted the boy. 'No, it is with you.'
'Oh, dear! You must come here again, then
perhaps it will come too.' And the girl came
again; they took each other by the hand and
walked together. 'Kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit!' was
heard on the girl's side. 'Kvit, kvit, kvit,
kvit!' was heard on the boy's side. 'Kvit, kvit,
kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit!' was heard on
both sides, and when they came to look, there
were a thousand million thrushes round about
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
them. 'Why, how strange!' said the girl, and
looked up at the boy. 'Bless you!' said the
boy, and caressed the girl."</p>
<p>This story all the girls thought fine.</p>
<p>Then godfather suggested that they should
tell what they had dreamed the night before,
and he would decide who had had the finest
dream.</p>
<p>What! tell their dreams? No, indeed!
And there was no end to the laughing and whispering.
But then one after another began to
remark that she had had such a fine dream last
night; others, again, that, fine as the ones they
had had, it could not by any means be. And
finally, they all were seized with a desire to tell
their dreams. But it must not be out loud, it
must only be to <i>one</i>, and that must by no
means be godfather. Arne was sitting quietly
on the hill, and so he was the one to whom
they dared tell their dreams.</p>
<p>Arne took a seat beneath a hazel, and then
she who had told the first story came to him.
She thought a long time, and then told as follows:—</p>
<p>"I dreamed I stood by a great lake. Then
I saw some one go on the water, and it was
one whom I will not name. He climbed up in
a large pond-lily, and sat and sang. But I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
went out on one of those large leaves that the
pond-lily has, and which lie and float; on it
I wanted to row over to him. But no sooner
had I stepped on the leaf than it began to sink
with me, and I grew much alarmed and cried.
Then he came rowing over to me in the pond-lily,
lifted me up to where he sat, and we rowed
all over the lake. Was not that a nice dream?"</p>
<p>The little maiden who had told the little
story now came.</p>
<p>"I dreamed I had caught a little bird, and
I was so happy that I did not want to let it go
until I got home. But there I did not dare
let go of it, lest father and mother should tell
me I must let it out again. So I went up in
the garret with it, but there the cat was lurking,
and so I could not let go of it there either.
Then I did not know what to do, so I took it
up in the hay-loft; but, good gracious! there
were so many cracks there that it could easily
fly away! Well, then I went out in the yard
again, and there I thought stood one whom I
will not name. He was playing with a large,
black dog. 'I would rather play with that
bird of yours,' said he, and came close up
to me. But I thought I started to run, and
he and the large dog after me, and thus I ran
all round the yard; but then mother opened
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
the front door, drew me quickly in, and slammed
the door. Outside, the boy stood laughing,
with his face against the window-pane. 'See,
here is the bird!' said he,—and, just think, he
really had the bird! Was not that a funny
dream?"</p>
<p>Then she came who had told about all the
thrushes,—Eli they had called her. It was
the Eli he had seen that evening in the boat and
in the water. She was the same and yet not
the same, so grown-up and pretty she looked as
she sat there, with her delicately cut face and
slender form. She laughed immoderately, and
therefore it was long before she could control
herself; but then she told as follows:—</p>
<p>"I had been feeling so glad that I was coming
to the nutting-party to-day that I dreamed
last night I was sitting here on the hill. The
sun shone brightly, and I had a whole lapful
of nuts. But then there came a little squirrel,
right in among the nuts, and it sat on its hind
legs in my lap and ate them all up. Was not
that a funny dream?"</p>
<p>Yet other dreams were told Arne, and then
he was to decide which was the finest. He
had to take a long time to consider, and meanwhile
godfather started off with the whole
crowd for the gard, and Arne was to follow.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
They sprang down the hill, formed in a row
when they had reached the plain, and sang all
the way to the house.</p>
<p>Arne still sat there listening to the singing.
The sun fell directly on the group, it shone
on their white sleeves; soon they twined their
arms about each other's waists; they went dancing
across the meadow, godfather after them
with his cane, because they were treading down
his grass. Arne thought no more about the
dreams. Soon he even left off watching the
girls; his thoughts wandered far beyond the
valley, as did the fine sunbeams, and he sat
alone there on the hill and spun. Before he
was aware of it, he was entangled in a close web
of melancholy; he yearned to break away, and
never in the world before so ardently as now.
He faithfully promised himself that when he
got home he would talk with his mother, come
of it what would.</p>
<p>His thoughts grew stronger, and drifted into
the song,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Over the lofty mountains."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Words had never flowed so readily as now, nor
had they ever blended so surely into verse,—they
almost seemed like girls sitting around on
a hill. He had a scrap of paper about him
and placing it on his knee, he wrote. When
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
the song was complete, he arose, like one who
was released, felt that he could not see people,
and took the forest road home, although he
knew that the night, too, would be needed for
this. The first time he sat down to rest on the
way, he felt for the song, that he might sing it
aloud as he went along, and let it be borne all
over the parish; but he found he had left it in
the place where it was written.</p>
<p class="p4b">One of the girls went up the hill to look for
him, did not find him, but found his song.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">To</span> talk with the mother was more easily
thought than done. Arne alluded to Kristian
and the letter that never came; but the mother
went away from him, and for whole days after
he thought her eyes looked red. He had also
another indication of her feelings, and that was
that she prepared unusually good meals for
him.</p>
<p>He had to go up in the woods to fetch an
armful of fuel one day; the road led through
the forest, and just where he was to do his
chopping was the place where people went to
pick whortleberries in the autumn. He had
put down his axe in order to take off his jacket,
and was just about beginning, when two girls
came walking along with berry pails. It was
his wont to hide himself rather than meet girls,
and so he did now.</p>
<p>"O dear, O dear! What a lot of berries!
Eli, Eli!"</p>
<p>"Yes, dear, I see them."</p>
<p>"Well, then, do not go any farther; here
are many pailfuls!"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
"I thought there was a rustling in that bush
over there!"</p>
<p>"Oh, you must be mad!" and the girls rushed
at each other, and put their arms about each
other's waists. They stood for a long while so
still, that they scarcely breathed.</p>
<p>"It is surely nothing; let us go on picking!"</p>
<p>"Yes, I really think we will."</p>
<p>And so they began to gather berries.</p>
<p>"It was very kind of you, Eli, to come over
to the parsonage to-day. Have you anything
to tell me?"</p>
<p>"I have been at godfather's."</p>
<p>"Yes, you told me that; but have you nothing
about <i>him</i>,—you know who?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes!"</p>
<p>"Oh, oh! Eli, is that so? Make haste; tell
me!"</p>
<p>"He has been there again!"</p>
<p>"Oh, nonsense!"</p>
<p>"Yes, indeed; both father and mother pretended
they did not see it, but I went up in the
garret and hid."</p>
<p>"More, more! Did he follow you there?"</p>
<p>"I think father told him where I was; he is
always so provoking."</p>
<p>"And so he came? Sit down, sit down here
beside me. Well, so he came?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
"Yes; but he did not say much, for he was
so bashful."</p>
<p>"Every word! Do you hear? every word!"</p>
<p>"'Are you afraid of me?' said he. 'Why
should I be afraid?' said I. 'You know what
it is I want of you,' said he, and sat down on
the chest beside me."</p>
<p>"Beside you!"</p>
<p>"And then he put his arm round my waist."</p>
<p>"His arm round your waist? Are you
wild?"</p>
<p>"I wanted to get away from him, but he
would not let me go. 'Dear Eli,' said he,"—she
laughed, and the other girl laughed too.</p>
<p>"Well? well?"</p>
<p>"'Will you be my wife?'"</p>
<p>"Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p>"Ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p>And then both—"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"</p>
<p>Finally, the laughter, too, had to come to an
end, and then a long silence ensued. After a
while, the first one asked, but softly, "Say,—was
it not too bad that he put his arm round
your waist?"</p>
<p>Either the other one made no reply to this,
or else she spoke in such a low tone that it
could not be heard; perhaps, too, she answered
only with a smile. Presently the first one
asked:—</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
"Have neither your father nor your mother
said anything since?"</p>
<p>"Father came up and looked at me, but I
kept hiding; for he laughed every time he saw
me."</p>
<p>"But your mother?"</p>
<p>"Why, she said nothing; but she was less
harsh than usual."</p>
<p>"Well, you certainly refused him?"</p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p>Then there was a long silence again.</p>
<p>"Eli!"</p>
<p>"Well?"</p>
<p>"Do you think any one will ever come that
way to me?"</p>
<p>"Yes, to be sure."</p>
<p>"How you talk! O—h! say, Eli? What
if he should put his arm round my waist?"
She covered her face.</p>
<p>There was much laughter, afterwards whispering
and tittering.</p>
<p>The girls soon went away. They had neither
seen Arne, nor the axe and the jacket, and he
was glad.</p>
<p>Some days later he put Upland Knut in the
houseman's place under Kampen.</p>
<p>"You shall no longer be lonely," said Arne.</p>
<p>Arne himself took to steady work. He had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
early learned to cut with the hand-saw, for he
had himself added much to the house at home.
Now he wanted to work at his trade, for he
knew it was well to have some definite occupation;
it was also good for him to get out among
people; and so changed had he gradually become,
that he longed for this whenever he had
kept to himself for a while. Thus it came to
pass that he was at the parsonage for a time
that winter doing carpentering, and the two
girls were often together there. Arne wondered,
when he saw them, who it could be that
was now courting Eli Böen.</p>
<p>It so happened one day, when they went out
for a ride, that Arne had to drive for the young
lady of the parsonage and Eli; he had good
ears, yet could not hear what they were talking
about; sometimes Mathilde spoke to him, at
which Eli laughed and hid her face. Once
Mathilde asked if it was true he could make
verses. "No!" he said promptly: then they
both laughed, chattered, and laughed. This
made him indignant, and he pretended not to
see them.</p>
<p>Once he was sitting in the servants' hall,
when there was dancing there. Mathilde and
Eli both came in to look on. They were disputing
about something in the corner where
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
they stood. Eli would not, but Mathilde would,
and she won. Then they both crossed the floor
to him, courtesied, and asked whether he could
dance. He answered "No," and then they
both turned, laughed, and ran away. "They
keep up a perpetual laughter," thought Arne,
and became sober. But the priest had a little
adopted son, about ten or twelve years old,
of whom Arne thought a good deal; from this
boy Arne learned to dance when no one else
was present.</p>
<p>Eli had a little brother about the same age
as the priest's adopted son. These two were
playmates, and Arne made sleds, skees,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> and
snares for them; and he often talked with them
about their sisters, especially about Eli. One
day Eli's brother brought word that Arne
should not be so careless with his hair.</p>
<p>"Who said so?"</p>
<p>"Eli said so; but I was not to tell that she
said so."</p>
<p>Some days after, Arne sent a message to Eli
that she should laugh a little less. The boy
came back with the reply that Arne should
laugh a little more.</p>
<p>Once the boy asked for something he had
written. Arne let him have it, and thought
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
no more of it. After a while the boy thought
he would please Arne with the tidings that
both the girls liked his writing very much.</p>
<p>"Why, have they seen it?"</p>
<p>"Yes, it was for them I wanted it."</p>
<p>Arne asked the boys to bring him something
their sisters had written; they did so. Arne
corrected the mistakes with a carpenter's pencil.
He asked the boys to place the paper where
it could easily be found. Afterwards he found
it again in his jacket pocket, but at the bottom
was written, "Corrected by a conceited
fellow!"</p>
<p>The next day Arne finished his work at the
parsonage, and set out for home. So gentle as
he was this winter, his mother had never seen
him since those sorrowful days after his father's
death. He read the sermon for her, went with
her to church, and was very kind to her. But
she well knew it was all to get her consent to
journey away from her when spring came.
Then one day he had a message from Böen to
know if he would come there and do some carpentering.</p>
<p>Arne was quite startled, and answered "Yes,"
as though he scarcely knew what he was saying.
No sooner had the messenger gone than
the mother said,</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
"You may well be astonished! From Böen?"</p>
<p>"Is that so strange?" asked Arne, but did
not look at her as he spoke.</p>
<p>"From Böen?" cried the mother, once more.</p>
<p>"Well, why not as well from there as from
another gard?" Arne now looked up a little.</p>
<p>"From Böen and Birgit Böen! Baard, who
gave your father the blow that was his ruin,
and that for Birgit Böen's sake!"</p>
<p>"What do you say?" now cried the youth.
"Was that Baard Böen?"</p>
<p>Son and mother stood and looked at each
other. Between the two a whole life was unfolded,
and this was a moment wherein they
could see the black thread which all along had
been woven through it. They fell later to talking
about the father's proud days, when old Eli
Böen herself had courted him for her daughter
Birgit, and got a refusal. They went through
his whole life just as far as where he was
knocked down, and both found out that Baard's
fault had been the least. Nevertheless, it was
he who had given the father that fatal blow,—he
it was.</p>
<p>"Am I not yet done with father?" then
thought Arne, and decided at the same moment
to go.</p>
<p>When Arne came walking, with the hand-saw
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
on his shoulder, over the ice and up toward
Böen, it seemed to him a pretty gard. The
house always looked as though it were newly
painted; he was a little chilled, and that was
perhaps why it seemed so cozy to him. He did
not go directly in, but went beyond toward the
stable, where a flock of shaggy goats were standing
in the snow, gnawing at the bark of some
fir branches. A shepherd dog walked to and
fro on the barn-bridge, and barked as though
the devil himself was coming to the gard; but
the moment Arne stood still, he wagged his tail
and let him pat him. The kitchen door on the
farther side of the house was often opened, and
Arne looked down there each time; but it was
either the dairy-maid, with tubs and pails, or
the cook, who was throwing something out to
the goats. Inside the barn they were threshing
with frequent strokes, and to the left, in
front of the wood-shed, stood a boy chopping
wood; behind him there were many layers of
wood piled up.</p>
<p>Arne put down his saw and went into the
kitchen; there white sand was spread on the
floor, and finely cut juniper leaves strewed over
it; on the walls glittered copper kettles, and
crockery stood in rows. They were cooking
dinner. Arne asked to speak with Baard. "Go
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
into the sitting-room," some one said, pointing
to the door. He went; there was no latch to
the door, but a brass handle; it was cheerful
in there, and brightly painted, the ceiling was
decorated with many roses, the cupboards were
red, with the owner's name in black, the bed-stead
was also red, but bordered with blue
stripes. By the stove sat a broad-shouldered
man, with a mild face, and long, yellow hair;
he was putting hoops about some pails; by the
long table sat a tall, slender woman, with a high
linen cap on her head, and dressed in tight-fitting
clothes; she was sorting corn into two
heaps. Besides these there were no others in
the room.</p>
<p>"Good day, and bless the work!" said Arne,
drawing off his hat. Both looked up; the man
smiled, and asked who it was.</p>
<p>"It is he who is to do carpentering."</p>
<p>The man smiled more, and said, as he nodded
his head and began his work again,—</p>
<p>"Well, then, it is Arne Kampen!"</p>
<p>"Arne Kampen?" cried the wife, and stared
fixedly before her.</p>
<p>The man looked up hastily, and smiled again.
"The son of tailor Nils," he said, and went on
once more with his work.</p>
<p>After a while, the wife got up, crossed the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
floor to the shelf, turned, went to the cupboard,
turned again, and as she at last was rummaging
in a table drawer, she asked, without looking
up,—</p>
<p>"Is <i>he</i> to work <i>here</i>?"</p>
<p>"Yes, that he is," said the man, also without
looking up. "It seems no one has asked you to
sit down," he observed, addressing himself to
Arne.</p>
<p>The latter took a seat; the wife left the
room, the man continued to work; and so
Arne asked if he too should begin.</p>
<p>"Let us first have dinner."</p>
<p>The wife did not come in again; but the next
time the kitchen-door opened it was Eli who
came. She appeared at first not to notice Arne;
when he rose to go to her, she stood still, and
half turned to give him her hand, but she did not
look at him. They exchanged a few words;
the father worked on. Eli had her hair braided,
wore a tight-sleeved dress, was slender and
straight, had round wrists and small hands.
She laid the table; the working-people dined
in the next room, but Arne with the family in
this one; it so happened that they had their
meals separately to-day; usually they all ate at
the same table in the large, light kitchen.</p>
<p>"Is not mother coming?" asked the man.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
"No, she is up-stairs weighing wool."</p>
<p>"Have you asked her?"</p>
<p>"Yes; but she says she does not want anything."</p>
<p>There was silence for a while.</p>
<p>"But it is cold up-stairs."</p>
<p>"She did not want me to make a fire."</p>
<p>After dinner Arne began work; in the evening
he was again with the family in the sitting-room.
Then the wife, too, was there. The
women were sewing. The husband was busy
with some trifles, and Arne helped him; there
was a prolonged silence, for Eli, who usually led
in conversation, was also silent. Arne thought
with dismay that it probably was often thus at
his own home; but he realized it now for the
first time. Eli drew a long breath at last, as
though she had restrained herself long enough,
and then she fell to laughing. Then the father
also laughed, and Arne, too, thought it was
laughable, and joined in. From this time forth
they talked of various things; but it ended in
Arne and Eli doing most of the talking, the father
putting in an occasional word. But once,
when Arne had been speaking for some time
and happened to look up, he met the eyes of the
mother, Birgit; she had dropped her sewing,
and sat staring fixedly at him. Now she
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
picked up her work again, but at the first word
he spoke she raised her eyes.</p>
<p>Bed-time came, and each one went his way.
Arne thought he would notice the dream he
had the first night in a new place; but there
seemed to be no sense in it. The whole day
long he had talked little or none with the master
of the gard, but at night it was of him he
dreamed. The last thing was that Baard sat
playing cards with tailor Nils. The latter was
very angry and pale in the face; but Baard
smiled and won the game.</p>
<p>Arne remained several days, during which
time there was scarcely any talking, but a great
deal of work. Not only those in the family
room were silent, but the servants, the tenants,
even the women. There was an old dog on the
gard that barked every time strangers came;
but the gard people never heard the dog without
saying "hush!" and then he went growling off
and laid down again. At home at Kampen
there was a large weather-vane on the house,
which turned with the wind; there was a still
larger vane here, to which Arne's attention was
attracted because it did not turn. When there
was a strong current of wind, the vane struggled
to get loose, and Arne looked at it until he
felt compelled to go up on the roof and set the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
vane free. It was not frozen fast, as he had
supposed, but a pin was stuck through it that
it might be kept still. This Arne took out and
threw down; the pin struck Baard, who came
walking along. He glanced up.</p>
<p>"What are you doing there?"</p>
<p>"I am letting loose the vane."</p>
<p>"Do not do so; it makes such a wailing
noise when it is in motion."</p>
<p>Arne sat astride the gable.</p>
<p>"That is better than always being quiet."</p>
<p>Baard looked up at Arne, and Arne looked
down on Baard; then Baard smiled.</p>
<p>"He who has to howl when he talks had
much better keep silent, I am sure."</p>
<p>Now it often happens that words haunt us
long after they were uttered, especially when
they were the last ones heard. So these words
haunted Arne when he crept down in the cold
from the roof, and were still with him in the
evening when he entered the family room. Eli
was standing, in the twilight, by a window, gazing
out over the ice which lay glittering beneath
the moon's beams. Arne went to the
other window and looked out as she was doing.
Within all was cozy and quiet, without it
was cold; a sharp wind swept across the valley,
so shaking the trees that the shadows they
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
cast in the moonlight did not lie still, but went
groping about in the snow. From the parsonage
there glimmered a light, opening out and closing
in, assuming many shapes and colors, as
light is apt to do when one gazes at it too
long. The mountain loomed up beyond, dark
and gloomy, with romance in its depths and
moonshine on its upper banks of snow. The
sky was aglow with stars, and a little flickering
northern light appeared in one quarter of the
horizon, but did not spread. A short distance
from the window, down toward the lake, there
were some trees whose shadows kept prowling
from one to the other, but the great ash stood
alone, writing on the snow.</p>
<p>The night was very still,—only now and
then something shrieked and howled with a
long, wailing cry.</p>
<p>"What is that?" asked Arne.</p>
<p>"It is the weather-vane," said Eli; and afterwards
she continued more softly, as though to
herself: "It must have been let loose."</p>
<p>But Arne had been feeling like one who
wanted to speak and could not. Now he said:—</p>
<p>"Do you remember the story about the
thrushes that sang?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Why, to be sure, it was you who told that
one! It was a pretty story."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
She said, in so gentle a voice that it seemed
as though it were the first time he heard it,—</p>
<p>"I often think there is something that sings
when it is quite still."</p>
<p>"That is the good within ourselves."</p>
<p>She looked at him as though there were
something too much in that answer; they
were both quiet afterward. Then she asked,
as she traced figures with one finger on the
window-pane,—</p>
<p>"Have you made any songs lately?"</p>
<p>He blushed; but this she did not see. Therefore
she asked again,—</p>
<p>"How do you manage when you make
songs?"</p>
<p>"Would you really like to know?"</p>
<p>"Oh, yes."</p>
<p>"I hoard up the thoughts that others are
in the habit of letting go," he answered evasively.</p>
<p>She was long silent, for she had doubtless
been making an attempt at a song or two.
What if she had had those thoughts and let
them go.</p>
<p>"That is strange," said she, as though to
herself, and fell to tracing figures on the pane
again.</p>
<p>"I made a song after I had seen you the first
time."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
"Where was that?"</p>
<p>"Over by the parsonage, the evening you left
there. I saw you in the lake."</p>
<p>She laughed, then was still a while.</p>
<p>"Let me hear that song."</p>
<p>Arne had never before done such a thing, but
now he sang for her the song,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Fair Venevill bounded on lithesome feet,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her lover to meet," etc.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Eli stood there very attentive; she stood
there long after he was through. At last she
burst out,—</p>
<p>"Oh, how I pity her!"</p>
<p>"It seems as though I had not made it myself,"
said Arne, for he felt ashamed at having
produced it. Nor did he understand how he
had come to do so. He remained standing there
as if looking after the song.</p>
<p>Then she said: "But I hope it will not be
that way with me!"</p>
<p>"No, no, no! I was only thinking of myself."</p>
<p>"Is that to be your fate, then?"</p>
<p>"I do not know; but I felt so at that time—indeed,
I do not understand it now, but I
once had such a heavy heart."</p>
<p>"That was strange." She began to write on
the window-pane again.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
The next day, when Arne came in to dinner
he went over to the window. Outside it was
gray and foggy, within warm and pleasant; but
on the window-pane a finger had traced "Arne,
Arne, Arne!" and over again "Arne." It
was the window where Eli had stood the preceding
evening.</p>
<p class="p4b">But Eli did not come down-stairs that day;
she was feeling ill. She had not been well at
all of late; she had said so herself, and it was
plainly to be seen.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">A day</span> later Arne came in and announced
that he had just heard on the gard that the
priest's daughter Mathilde had that very moment
started for the town, as she thought, for
a few days, but, as had been decided, to stay
there for a year or two. Eli had heard nothing
of this before, and fell fainting.</p>
<p>It was the first time Arne had seen any one
faint, and he was much alarmed; he ran for
the maid-servants, they went for the parents,
who started at once; there was confusion all
over the gard, even the shepherd-dog barked
on the barn-bridge. When Arne came in
again, later, the mother was on her knees by
the bedside, the father stood holding the sick
girl's head. The maid-servants were running,
one for water, another for medicine, which was
kept in a cupboard, a third was unfastening
Eli's jacket at the throat.</p>
<p>"The Lord help and bless us!" cried the
mother. "It was certainly wrong that we
said nothing to her; it was you, Baard, who
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
would have it so. The Lord help and bless
us!"</p>
<p>Baard made no reply.</p>
<p>"I said we had better tell her; but nothing
is ever done as I wish. The Lord help and
bless us! You are always so underhand with
her, Baard; you do not understand her; you
do not know what it is to care for any one."</p>
<p>Baard still made no reply.</p>
<p>"She is not like others; they can bear sorrow,
but it completely upsets her, poor thing,
she is so slight. And especially now when she
is not well at all. Wake up again, my dear
child, and we will be kind to you! Wake up
again, Eli, my own dear child, and do not grieve
us so!"</p>
<p>Then Baard said,—</p>
<p>"You are either too silent, or you talk too
much;" and he looked over at Arne, as though
he did not wish him to hear all this, but to go
away. As the maid-servants remained in the
room, however, Arne thought that he might
stay, too, but he walked to the window. Now
the patient rallied so far that she could look
about her and recognize people; but at the
same moment her memory returned; she
shrieked "Mathilde," burst into hysterical weeping,
and sobbed until it was painful to be in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
room with her. The mother tried to comfort
her; the father had placed himself where he
might be seen; but the sick girl waved her
hand to them. "Go away!" she cried, "I do
not love you!"</p>
<p>"Good gracious! You do not love your parents?"
said the mother.</p>
<p>"No! You are cruel to me, and take from
me the only joy I have!"</p>
<p>"Eli, Eli! Do not speak such dreadful
words!" begged the mother.</p>
<p>"Yes, mother," she shrieked; "now I must
say it! Yes, mother! You want me to marry
that hateful man, and I will not. You shut me
up here, where I am never happy, except when
I am to go out! You take Mathilde from me,
the only person I love and long for in the
world! O God, what will become of me when
Mathilde is no longer here—especially now
that I have so much, so much I cannot manage
when I have no one to talk with?"</p>
<p>"But you really have so seldom been with
her lately," said Baard.</p>
<p>"What did that matter when I had her over
at the window yonder!" answered the sick girl,
and she cried in such a child-like way, that it
seemed to Arne as though he had never before
seen anything like it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
"But you could not see her there," said
Baard.</p>
<p>"I could see the gard," answered she; and
the mother added, hotly,—</p>
<p>"You do not understand such things at all."</p>
<p>Then Baard said no more.</p>
<p>"Now I can never go to the window!" said
Eli. "I went there in the morning when I got
up; in the evening I sat there in the moonlight:
and I went there when I had no one else to go
to. Mathilde, Mathilde!"</p>
<p>She writhed in the bed, and again gave way
to hysterical weeping. Baard sat down on a
stool near by and watched her.</p>
<p>But Eli did not get over this as soon as her
parents may have expected. Toward evening
they first saw that she was likely to have a
protracted illness, the seeds of which had doubtless
been gathering for some time; and Arne was
called in to assist in carrying her up to her own
room. She was unconscious, and lay very pale
and still; the mother sat down beside her; the
father stood at the foot of the bed and looked
on; afterwards he went down to his work.
Arne did the same; but that night when he
went to bed he prayed for her, prayed that she,
young and fair as she was, might have a happy
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
life, and that no one might shut out joy from
her.</p>
<p>The following day the father and mother sat
talking together when Arne came in; the
mother had been shedding tears. Arne asked
how things were going; each waited for the
other to speak, and therefore it was long before
he got a reply; but finally the father said, "It
looks pretty bad."</p>
<p>Later, Arne heard that Eli had been delirious
the whole night; or, as the father said, had
been raving. Now she lay violently ill, knew
no one, would not take any food, and the parents
were just sitting there, deliberating whether
they should call in the doctor. When, later,
they went up-stairs to the sick girl, and Arne
was left alone again, he felt as though life and
death were both up there, but he sat outside.</p>
<p>In a few days, though, she was better. Once
when the father was keeping watch, she took
a fancy to have Narrifas, the bird which Mathilde
had given her, standing beside the bed.
Then Baard told her the truth, that in all this
confusion the bird had been forgotten, and that
it was dead. The mother came just while Baard
was telling this, and she burst out in the
door,—"Good gracious me! how heedless you
are, Baard, to tell such things to that sick
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
child! See, now she is fainting away again;
Heaven forgive you for what you have done!"</p>
<p>Every time the patient revived she screamed
for the bird, said that it would never go well
with Mathilde since Narrifas was dead, wanted
to go to her, and fell into a swoon again. Baard
stood there and looked on until he could bear
it no longer; then he wanted to help wait on
her too; but the mother pushed him away,
saying that she would take care of the sick girl
alone. Then Baard gazed at both of them a
long while, after which he put on his cap with
both hands, turned, and went out.</p>
<p>The priest and his wife came over later; for
the illness had taken fresh hold on Eli, and had
become so bad that they knew not whether it
was tending to life or death.</p>
<p>Both the priest and the priest's wife reasoned
with Baard, and urged that he was too
harsh with Eli; they had heard about the bird,
and the priest told him bluntly that such conduct
was rough; he would take the child home
to the parsonage, he said, as soon as she had
improved enough to be moved. The priest's
wife finally would not even see Baard; she
wept and sat with the sick girl, sent for the
doctor, took his orders herself, and came over
several times each day to carry them out.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
Baard went wandering about from place to
place in the yard, going chiefly where he could
be alone; he would often stand still for a long
time, then straighten his cap with both hands,
and find something to do.</p>
<p>The mother did not speak to him any more;
they scarcely looked at each other. Baard went
up to the sick girl's room several times each
day; he took off his shoes at the bottom of the
stairs, laid down his hat outside of the door,
which he opened cautiously. The moment he
came in, Birgit would turn as though she had
not seen him, and then sit as before, with her
head in her hand, looking straight before her
and at the sick girl. The latter lay still and
pale, unconscious of anything about her. Baard
would stand a while at the foot of the bed, look
at them both, and say nothing. Once, when Eli
moved as though about to awaken, he stole
away directly as softly as he had come.</p>
<p>Arne often thought that words had now been
exchanged between husband and wife and parents
and child, which had been long brewing,
and which would not soon be forgotten. He
longed to get away, although he would have
liked first to know how Eli's illness would end.
But this he could learn even if he left, he
thought; he went, therefore, to Baard, and said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
that he wished to go home; the work for which
he had come was done. Baard sat outside on
the chopping-block when Arne came to tell him
this. He sat digging in the snow with a pin.
Arne knew the pin; for it was the same that
had fastened the weather vane. Without looking
up Baard said,—</p>
<p>"I suppose it is not pleasant to be here now,
but I feel as if I did not want you to leave."</p>
<p>Baard said no more; nor did Arne speak.
He stood a while, then went away and busied
himself with some work, as though it were decided
that he should remain.</p>
<p>Later, when Arne was called in to dinner,
Baard still sat on the chopping-block. Arne
went over to him and asked how Eli was getting
on.</p>
<p>"I think she must be pretty bad to-day,"
said Baard; "I see that mother is crying."</p>
<p>Arne felt as though some one had bidden
him to sit down, and he sat down directly opposite
Baard on the end of a fallen tree.</p>
<p>"I have been thinking of your father these
days," said Baard, so unexpectedly, that Arne
could make no reply. "You know, I dare say,
what there was between us two?"</p>
<p>"Yes, I know."</p>
<p>"Ah, well, you only know half, as might
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
have been expected, and naturally lay the greatest
blame on me."</p>
<p>Arne answered presently: "You have doubtless
settled that matter with your God, as my
father has surely done."</p>
<p>"Ah, well, that may be as one takes it," answered
Baard. "When I found this pin again,
it seemed so strange to me that you should
come here and loosen the vane. Just as well
first as last, thought I." He had taken off his
cap and sat looking into it.</p>
<p>Arne did not yet understand that by this
Baard meant that he now wanted to talk with
him about his father. Indeed, he still did not
understand it, even after Baard was well under
way, so little was this like the man. But what
had been working before in his mind, he gradually
comprehended as the story advanced, and
if he had hitherto had respect for this blundering
but thoroughly good man, it was not lessened
now.</p>
<p>"I might have been about fourteen years
old," said Baard, then paused, as he did from
time to time throughout his whole story, said
a few words more, and paused again in such a
manner that his story bore the strong impress
of having every word weighed. "I might have
been about fourteen years old when I became
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
acquainted with your father, who was of the
same age. He was very wild, and could not bear
to have any one above him. And what he never
could forgive me was, that I was the head of
the class when we were confirmed, and he was
number two. He often offered to wrestle with
me, but nothing ever came of it; I suppose because
we were neither of us sure of ourselves.
But it is strange that he fought every day, and
no misfortune befell him; the one time I tried
my hand it turned out as badly as could be;
but, to be sure, I had waited a long time too.</p>
<p>"Nils fluttered about all the girls and they
about him. There was only one I wanted, but
he took her from me at every dance, at every
wedding, at every party; it was the one to
whom I am now married.... I often had a
desire, as I sat looking on, to make a trial of
strength with him, just because of this matter;
but I was afraid I might lose, and I knew that
if I did so I should lose her too. When the
others had gone, I would lift the weights he
had lifted, kick the beam he had kicked, but
the next time he danced away from me with
the girl, I did not dare tackle him, although it
chanced once, as Nils stood joking with her
right before my face, that I laid hold of a good
sized fellow who stood by and tossed him against
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
the beam, as though for sport. Nils grew pale,
too, that time.</p>
<p>"If he had only been kind to the girl; but
he was false to her, and that evening after evening.
I almost think she cared more for him
each time. Then it was that the last thing
happened. I thought now it must either break
or bear. Nor did the Lord want him to go
about any longer; and therefore he fell a little
more heavily than I had intended. I never saw
him after that."</p>
<p>They sat for a long time silent. Finally
Baard continued:—</p>
<p>"I offered myself again. She answered
neither yes nor no; and so I thought she
would like me better afterwards. We were
married; the wedding took place down in the
valley, at the house of her father's sister, who
left her property to her; we began with plenty,
and what we then had has increased. Our
gards lay alongside of each other, and they have
since been thrown into one, as had been my idea
from boyhood up. But many other things did
not turn out as I had planned."</p>
<p>He was long silent; Arne thought, for a
while, he was weeping; it was not so. But he
spoke in a still gentler tone than usual when he
began again,—</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
"At first she was quiet and very sorrowful.
I had nothing to say for her comfort, and so I
was silent. Later, she fell at times into that
commanding way that you have perhaps noticed
in her; yet it was after all a change, and
so I was silent then, too. But a truly happy
day I have not had since I was married, and
that has been now for twenty years."</p>
<p>He broke the pin in two; then he sat a while
looking at the pieces.</p>
<p>"When Eli grew to be a large girl, I thought
she would find more happiness among strangers
than here. It is seldom that I have insisted on
anything; it usually has been wrong, too, when
I have; and so it was with this. The mother
yearned for her child, although only the lake
parted them; and at last I found out that Eli
was not under the best influences over at the
parsonage, for there is really much good-natured
nonsense about the priest's family; but I
found it out too late. Now she seems to care
for neither father nor mother."</p>
<p>He had taken his cap off again; now his
long hair fell over his eyes; he stroked it aside,
and put on his cap with both hands, as
though about to go; but as in getting up he
turned toward the house, he stopped and added,
with a glance at the chamber window,—</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
"I thought it was best she and Mathilde
should not bid each other good-by; but that
proved to be wrong. I told her the little bird
was dead, for it was my fault, you know, and it
seemed to me right to confess; but that was
wrong too. And so it is with everything. I
have always meant to do the best, but it has
turned out to be the worst; and now it has
gone so far that they speak ill of me, both wife
and daughter, and I am alone here."</p>
<p class="p4b">A girl now called out to them that dinner
was getting cold. Baard got up. "I hear the
horses neighing," said he, "somebody must
have forgotten them;" and with this he went
over to the stable to give them hay.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Eli</span> was very weak after her illness; the
mother sat over her night and day, and was
never down-stairs; the father made his usual
visits up to the sick-room in his stocking feet,
and leaving his cap outside of the door. Arne
was still at the gard; he and the father sat together
of evenings; he had come to think a
good deal of Baard, who was a well-educated
man, a deep thinker, but seemed to be afraid of
what he knew. Arne helped him to get things
right in his mind and told him much that he
did not know before, and Baard was very
grateful.</p>
<p>Eli could now sit up at intervals; and as she
began to improve she took many fancies into
her head. Thus it was that one evening as
Arne sat in the room below Eli's chamber singing
songs in a loud voice, the mother came down
and brought word that Eli wanted to know if
he would not come up-stairs and sing that she
might hear the words. Arne had undoubtedly
been singing for Eli all along; for when her
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
mother gave him the message he grew red, and
rose as though he would deny what he had been
doing, although no one had charged him with
it. He soon recovered his composure, and said
evasively that there was very little he could
sing. But the mother remarked that it did not
seem so when he was alone.</p>
<p>Arne yielded and went. He had not seen
Eli since the day he had helped carry her up-stairs;
he felt that she must now be greatly
changed, and was almost afraid to see her. But
when he softly opened the door and entered, it
was so dark in the room that he saw no one.
He paused on the threshold.</p>
<p>"Who is it?" asked Eli, in a clear, low
voice.</p>
<p>"It is Arne Kampen," he answered, in a
guarded tone, that the words might fall softly.</p>
<p>"It was kind of you to come."</p>
<p>"How are you now, Eli?"</p>
<p>"Thank you, I am better."</p>
<p>"Please sit down, Arne," said she, presently,
and Arne felt his way to a chair that
stood by the foot of the bed. "It was so nice
to hear you singing, you must sing a little for
me up here."</p>
<p>"If I only knew anything that was suitable."</p>
<p>There was silence for a moment; then she
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
said, "Sing a hymn," and he did so; it was a
part of one of the confirmation hymns. When
he had finished, he heard that she was weeping,
and so he dared not sing any more; but presently
she said, "Sing another one like that,"
and he sang another, choosing the one usually
sung when the candidates for confirmation are
standing in the church aisle.</p>
<p>"How many things I have thought of while
I have been lying here," said Eli. He did not
know what to answer, and he heard her weeping
quietly in the dark. A clock was ticking
on the wall, it gave warning that it was about
to strike, and then struck; Eli drew a long
breath several times as though she would ease
her breast, and then she said, "One knows so
little. I have known neither father nor mother.
I have not been kind to them,—and that is
why it gives me such strange feelings to hear
that confirmation hymn."</p>
<p>When people talk in the dark, they are always
more truthful than when they see each
other face to face; they can say more, too.</p>
<p>"It is good to hear your words," replied
Arne; he was thinking of what she had said
when she was taken ill.</p>
<p>She knew what he meant; and so she remarked,
"Had not this happened to me, God
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
only knows how long it might have been before
I had found my mother."</p>
<p>"She has been talking with you now?"</p>
<p>"Every day; she has done nothing else."</p>
<p>"Then, I dare say, you have heard many
things."</p>
<p>"You may well say so."</p>
<p>"I suppose she talked about my father?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Does she still think of him?"</p>
<p>"She does."</p>
<p>"He was not kind to her."</p>
<p>"Poor mother!"</p>
<p>"He was worst of all, though, to himself."</p>
<p>Thoughts now arose that neither liked to
express to the other. Eli was the first to break
the silence.</p>
<p>"They say you are like your father."</p>
<p>"So I have heard," he answered, evasively.</p>
<p>She paid no heed to the tone of his voice;
and so, after a while, she continued, "Could he,
too, make songs?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Sing a song for me,—one you have made
yourself."</p>
<p>But Arne was not in the habit of confessing
that the songs he sang were his own. "I have
none," said he.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
"Indeed you have, and I am sure you will
sing them for me if I ask it."</p>
<p>What he had never done for others, he now
did for her. He sang the following song:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Shall I take them away?' said the frost, sweeping down.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">'No, dear; leave them alone<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Till blossoms here have grown,'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Shall I take them away?' said the wind, as it swung.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">'No, dear; leave them alone<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Till berries here have grown,'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said the tree, while its leaflets all quivering hung.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said the girl, 'May I gather thy berries or no?'<br /></span>
<span class="i4">'Yes, dear, all thou canst see;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Take them; all are for thee,'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said the tree, while it bent down its laden boughs low."<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>This song almost took her breath away. He,
too, sat there silent, after he was through, as
though he had sung more than he cared to say
to her.</p>
<p>Darkness has great power over those who
are sitting in it and dare not speak; they are
never so near each other as then. If Eli only
turned, only moved her hand on the bed-cover,
only breathed a little more heavily than usual,
Arne heard it.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
"Arne, could not you teach me to make
songs?"</p>
<p>"Have you never tried?"</p>
<p>"Yes, these last few days I have; but I have
not succeeded."</p>
<p>"Why, what did you want to have in
them?"</p>
<p>"Something about my mother, who cared so
much for your father."</p>
<p>"That is a sad theme."</p>
<p>"I have cried over it, too."</p>
<p>"You must not think of what you are going
to put in your songs; it comes of itself."</p>
<p>"How does it come?"</p>
<p>"As other precious things, when you least
expect it."</p>
<p>They were both silent.</p>
<p>"I wonder, Arne, that you are longing to
go away when you have so much that is beautiful
within yourself."</p>
<p>"Do <i>you</i> know that I am longing?"</p>
<p>She made no reply to this, but lay still a few
moments, as though in thought.</p>
<p>"Arne, you must not go away!" said she,
and this sent a glow through him.</p>
<p>"Well, sometimes I have less desire to go."</p>
<p>"Your mother must be very fond of you. I
should like to see your mother."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
"Come over to Kampen when you are well."</p>
<p>And now all at once he pictured her sitting
in the cheerful room at Kampen, looking
out on the mountains; his chest began to heave,
the blood rushed to his head. "It is warm in
here," said he, getting up.</p>
<p>She heard this. "Are you going, Arne?"
asked she, and he sat down again.</p>
<p>"You must come over to us often; mother
likes you so much."</p>
<p>"I should be glad to come myself; but I must
have some errand, though."</p>
<p>Eli was silent for a while, as if she were
considering something. "I believe," said she,
"that mother has something she wants to ask
of you."</p>
<p>He heard her turn in bed. There was no
sound to be heard, either in the room or outside,
save the ticking of the clock on the wall.
At last she burst out,—</p>
<p>"How I wish it were summer!"</p>
<p>"That it were summer?" and there rose up
in his mind, blended with fragrant foliage and
the tinkling of cattle bells, shouts from the
mountains, singing from the valleys, Black
Water glittering in the sunshine, the gards
rocking in it, and Eli coming out and sitting
down, as she had done that evening long ago.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
"If it were summer," said she, "and I
were sitting on the hill, I really believe I
could sing a song."</p>
<p>He laughed and asked: "What would it be
about?"</p>
<p>"Oh, something easy, about—I do not know
myself—"</p>
<p>"Tell me, Eli!" and he sprang up in delight;
then, recollecting himself, he sat down
again.</p>
<p>"No; not for all the world!" She laughed.</p>
<p>"I sang for you when you asked me."</p>
<p>"Yes, you did; but—no! no!"</p>
<p>"Eli, do you think I would make sport of
your little verse?"</p>
<p>"No; I do not think so, Arne; but it is
not anything I have made myself."</p>
<p>"It is by some one else, then."</p>
<p>"Yes, it just came floating of itself."</p>
<p>"Then you can surely repeat it to me."</p>
<p>"No, no; it is not altogether that either,
Arne. Do not ask me any more." She must
have hid her face in the bedclothes, for the last
words seemed to come out of them.</p>
<p>"You are not as kind to me now, Eli, as I
was to you!" he said, and rose.</p>
<p>"Arne, there is a difference—you do not
understand me—but it was—I do not know
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
myself—another time—do not be angry with
me, Arne! Do not go away from me!" She
began to weep.</p>
<p>"Eli, what is the matter?" He listened.
"Are you feeling ill?" He did not think she
was. She still wept; he thought that he must
either go forward or backward.</p>
<p>"Eli!"</p>
<p>"Yes!"</p>
<p>They both spoke in whispers.</p>
<p>"Give me your hand!"</p>
<p>She did not answer; he listened intently,
eagerly, felt about on the coverlid, and clasped
a warm little hand that lay outside.</p>
<p>They heard steps on the stairs, and let go of
each other's hands. It was Eli's mother, who
was bringing in a light. "You are sitting
quite too long in the dark," said she, and put
the candlestick on the table. But neither Eli
nor Arne could bear the light; she turned
toward the pillow, he held his hand up before
his eyes. "Oh, yes; it hurts the eyes a little
at first," said her mother; "but that will soon
pass off."</p>
<p>Arne searched on the floor for the cap he
did not have with him, and then he left the
room.</p>
<p class="p4b"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
The next day he heard that Eli was coming
down-stairs for a little while after dinner. He
gathered together his tools, and said good-by.
When she came down he was gone.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Spring</span> comes late in the mountains. The
mail that passed along the highway during the
winter three times a week, in April only passes
once, and the inhabitants know then that in
the outside world the snow is thawed, the ice
broken; that the steamers are running, and the
plow put into the earth. Here, the snow still
lies three ells deep; the cattle low in the stalls,
and the birds come, but hide themselves, shivering
with the cold. Occasionally some traveler
arrives, saying he has left his cart down in the
valley, and he has flowers with him, which he
shows,—he has gathered them by the wayside.
Then the people become restless, go about talking
together, look at the sky and down in the
valley, wondering how much the sun gains each
day. They strew ashes on the snow, and think
of those who are now gathering flowers.</p>
<p>It was at such a time that old Margit Kampen
came walking up to the parsonage and asked
to speak with "father."<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> She was invited into
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
the study, where the priest, a slender, fair-haired,
gentle-looking man with large eyes and
spectacles, received her kindly, knew who she
was, and asked her to sit down.</p>
<p>"Is it now something about Arne again?"
he inquired, as though they had often talked
together about him.</p>
<p>"Heaven help me!" said Margit; "it is
never anything but good I have to say of him,
and yet my heart is so heavy." She looked
very sad as she spoke.</p>
<p>"Has that longing come back again?"
asked the priest.</p>
<p>"Worse than ever," said the mother. "I
do not even believe he will stay with me until
spring comes to us here."</p>
<p>"And yet he has promised never to leave
you."</p>
<p>"True enough; but, dear me, he must manage
for himself now; when the mind is set upon
going, go one must, I suppose. But what will
become of me?"</p>
<p>"Still I will believe, as long as possible, that
he will not leave you," said the priest.</p>
<p>"Certainly not; but what if he should never
be content at home? I would then have it on
my conscience that I stood in his way. There
are times when I think I ought to ask him
myself to go away."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
"How do you know that he is longing now
more than ever?"</p>
<p>"Oh, from many things. Since midwinter
he has not worked out in the parish a single
day. On the other hand, he has made three
trips to town, and has stayed away a long while
each time. He scarcely ever talks now when
he is working, as he often used to do. He sits
for hours by the little window up-stairs, and
looks out over the mountains in the direction
of the Kamp gorge; he sometimes stays there
a whole Sunday afternoon, and often when it is
moonlight, he sits there far into the night."</p>
<p>"Does he never read to you?"</p>
<p>"Of course he reads and sings to me every
Sunday; but he always seems in a hurry, except
now and then, when he overdoes it."</p>
<p>"Does he never come and talk with you?"</p>
<p>"He often lets so long a time pass without
saying a word, that I cannot help crying when
I sit alone. Then, I suppose, he sees this, for
he begins to talk with me, but it is always
about trifles, never about anything serious."</p>
<p>The priest was walking up and down; now
he stopped and asked, "Why do you not speak
with him about it?"</p>
<p>It was some time before she made any reply
to this; she sighed several times, she looked
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
first downward, then on either side,—she folded
the handkerchief she carried.</p>
<p>"I came here to-day to have a talk with father
about something that lies heavily on my
heart."</p>
<p>"Speak freely, it will lighten the burden."</p>
<p>"I know that; for I have now dragged it
along alone these many years, and it grows
heavier each year."</p>
<p>"What is it, my good woman?"</p>
<p>There was a brief pause; then she said, "I
have sinned greatly against my son,"—and she
began to cry.</p>
<p>The priest came close up to her. "Confess
it to me," said he, "then we will together pray
God that you may be forgiven."</p>
<p>Margit sobbed and dried her eyes, but began
to weep afresh as soon as she tried to speak,
and this was repeated several times. The
priest comforted her, and said she surely could
not have been guilty of anything very sinful,
that she was no doubt too strict with herself,
and so on. Margit wept, however, and could
not muster the courage to begin until the priest
had seated himself by her side and spoken
kindly words to her. Then, in broken sentences,
she faltered forth her confession:—</p>
<p>"He had a hard time of it when he was a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
boy, and so his mind became bent on travel.
Then he met Kristian, he who has grown so
very rich over there where they dig for gold.
Kristian gave Arne so many books that he
ceased to be like the rest of us; they sat together
in the long evenings, and when Kristian
went away, my boy longed to follow him. Just
at that time, though, his father fell down dead,
and Arne promised never to leave me. Yet I
was like a hen that had brooded a duck's egg,
when the young duckling had burst the shell,
he wanted to go out on the great water, and I
remained on the bank screaming. If he did
not actually go away himself, his heart went in
his songs, and every morning I thought I would
find his bed empty.</p>
<p>"Then there came a letter for him from a
far-off country, and I knew it must be from
Kristian. God forgive me, I hid it! I thought
that would be the end of the matter, but still
another one came, and as I had kept the first
from him, I had to keep the second one too.
But, indeed, it seemed as though they would
burn a hole in the chest where they lay, for
my thoughts would go there from the time I
opened my eyes in the morning until I closed
them at night. And you never have known
anything so bad as this, for there came a third!
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
I stood holding it in my hand for a quarter of
an hour; I carried it in my bosom for three
days, weighing within me whether I should
give it to him or lay it away with the others,
but perhaps it would have power to lure the
boy away from me, and I could not help it, I
put the letter away with the others. Now I
went about in sorrow every day, both because
of those that were in the chest and because of
the new ones that might come. I was afraid
of every person who came to our house. When
we were in the house together, and there came
a knock at the door, I trembled, for it might be
a letter, and then <i>he</i> would get it. When he
was out in the parish, I kept thinking at home
that now perhaps he would get a letter while
he was away, and that it might have something
in it about those that had come before. When
he was coming home, I watched his face in the
distance, and, dear me! how happy I was when
I saw him smiling, for then I knew he had no
letter! He had grown so handsome, too, just
like his father, but much fairer and more gentle-looking.
And then he had such a voice for
singing: when he sat outside of the door at
sunset, singing toward the mountain ridge and
listening for the echo, I felt in my heart that I
never could live without him! If I only saw
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
him, or if I knew he was anywhere around, and
he looked tolerably happy, and would only give
me a word now and then, I wished for nothing
more on earth, and would not have had a single
tear unshed.</p>
<p>"But just as he seemed to be getting on better,
and to be feeling more at ease among people,
there came word from the parish post-office
that a fourth letter had now come, and that in
it there were two hundred dollars! I thought
I should drop right down on the spot where I
stood. What should I do now? The letter, of
course, I could get out of the way; but the
money? I could not sleep for several nights
on account of this money. I kept it up in the
garret for a while, then left it in the cellar behind
a barrel, and once I was so beside myself
that I laid it in the window so that he might
find it. When I heard him coming, I took it
away again. At last I found a way, though.
I gave him the money and said it had been out
at interest since mother's lifetime. He spent
it in improving the gard, as had been in my
own mind, and there it was not lost. But then
it happened that same autumn that he sat one
evening wondering why Kristian had so entirely
forgotten him.</p>
<p>"Now the wound opened afresh, and the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
money burned. What I had done as a sin,
and the sin had been of no use to me!</p>
<p>"The mother who has sinned against her
own child is the most unhappy of all mothers,—and
yet I only did it out of love. So I shall
be punished, I dare say, by losing what is dearest
to me. For since midwinter he has taken
up again the tune he sings when he is longing;
he has sung it from boyhood up, and I never
hear it without growing pale. Then I feel I
could give up all for him, and now you shall see
for yourself,"—she took a scrap of paper out
of her bosom, unfolded it, and gave it to the
priest,—"here is something he is writing at
from time to time; it certainly belongs to that
song. I brought it with me, for I cannot read
such fine writing; please see if there is anything
in it about his going away."</p>
<p>There was only one stanza on this paper. For
the second one there were half and whole lines
here and there, as if it were a song he had forgotten,
and was now calling to mind again, verse
by verse. The first stanza ran,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, how I wonder what I should see<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Over the lofty mountains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Snow here shuts out the view from me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round about stands the green pine-tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Longing to hasten over—<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Dare it become a rover?"<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
"Is it about his going away?" asked Margit,
her eyes fixed eagerly on the priest's face.</p>
<p>"Yes, it is," answered he, and let the paper
drop.</p>
<p>"Was I not sure of it! Ah, me! I know
that tune so well!" She looked at the priest,
her hands folded, anxious, intent, while tear
after tear trickled down her cheek.</p>
<p>But the priest knew as little how to advise
as she. "The boy must be left to himself in
this matter," said he. "Life cannot be altered
for his sake, but it depends on himself whether
he shall one day find out its meaning. Now
it seems he wants to go away to do so."</p>
<p>"But was it not just so with the old woman?"
said Margit.</p>
<p>"With the old woman?" repeated the priest.</p>
<p>"Yes; she who went out to fetch the sunshine
into her house, instead of cutting windows
in the walls."</p>
<p>The priest was astonished at her shrewdness;
but it was not the first time she had surprised
him when she was on this theme; for
Margit, indeed, had not thought of anything
else for seven or eight years.</p>
<p>"Do you think he will leave me? What
shall I do? And the money? And the letters?"
All this crowded upon her at once.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
"Well, it was not right about the letters.
You can hardly be justified in withholding
from your son what belonged to him. It was
still worse, however, to place a fellow Christian
in a bad light when it was not deserved,
and the worst of all was that it was one whom
Arne loved and who was very fond of him in
return. But we will pray God to forgive you,
we will both pray."</p>
<p>Margit bowed her head; she still sat with
her hands folded.</p>
<p>"How earnestly I would pray him for forgiveness,
if I only knew he would stay!" She
was probably confounding in her mind the
Lord and Arne.</p>
<p>The priest pretended he had not noticed
this. "Do you mean to confess this to him at
once?" he asked.</p>
<p>She looked down and said in a low tone,
"If I dared wait a little while I should like to
do so."</p>
<p>The priest turned aside to hide a smile, as he
asked, "Do you not think your sin becomes
greater the longer you delay the confession?"</p>
<p>Both hands were busied with her handkerchief:
she folded it into a very small square,
and tried to get it into a still smaller one, but
that was not possible.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
"If I confess about the letters, I am afraid
he will leave me."</p>
<p>"You dare not place your reliance on the
Lord, then?"</p>
<p>"Why, to be sure I do!" she said hurriedly;
then she added softly, "But what if he should
go anyway?"</p>
<p>"So, then, you are more afraid of Arne's
leaving you than of continuing in sin?"</p>
<p>Margit had unfolded her handkerchief again;
she put it now to her eyes, for she was beginning
to weep.</p>
<p>The priest watched her for a while, then he
continued: "Why did you tell me all this
when you did not mean it to lead to anything?"
He waited a long time, but she did
not answer. "You thought, perhaps, your sin
would become less when you had confessed
it?"</p>
<p>"I thought that it would," said she, softly,
with her head bowed still farther down on her
breast.</p>
<p>The priest smiled and got up. "Well, well,
my dear Margit, you must act so that you will
have joy in your old age."</p>
<p>"If I could only keep what I have!" said she;
and the priest thought she dared not imagine
any greater happiness than living in her constant
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
state of anxiety. He smiled as he lit
his pipe.</p>
<p>"If we only had a little girl who could get
hold of him, then you should see that he would
stay!"</p>
<p>She looked up quickly, and her eyes followed
the priest until he paused in front of her.</p>
<p>"Eli Böen? What"—</p>
<p>She colored and looked down again; but she
made no reply.</p>
<p>The priest, who had stood still, waiting, said
finally, but this time in quite a low tone
"What if we should arrange it so that they
should meet oftener at the parsonage?"</p>
<p>She glanced up at the priest to find out
whether he was really in earnest. But she did
not quite dare believe him.</p>
<p>The priest had begun to walk up and down
again, but now he paused. "See here, Margit!
When it comes to the point, perhaps this was
your whole errand here to-day, hey?"</p>
<p>She bowed her head far down, she thrust
two fingers into the folded handkerchief, and
brought out a corner of it. "Well, yes, God
help me; that was exactly what I wanted."</p>
<p>The priest burst out laughing, and rubbed
his hands. "Perhaps that was what you
wanted the last time you were here, too?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
She drew the corner of the handkerchief farther
out; she stretched it and stretched it.
"Since you ask me, yes, it was just that."</p>
<p>"Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ah, Margit! Margit!
We shall see what we can do; for, to tell the
truth, my wife and daughter have for a long
time had the same thoughts as you."</p>
<p>"Is it possible?" She looked up, at once
so happy and so bashful, that the priest had
his own delight in her open, pretty face, in
which the childlike expression had been preserved
through all sorrow and anxiety.</p>
<p>"Ah, well, Margit, you, whose love is so great,
will, I have no doubt, obtain forgiveness, for
love's sake, both from your God and from your
son, for the wrong you have done. You have
probably been punished enough already in the
continual, wearing anxiety you have lived in;
we shall, if God is willing, bring this to a
speedy end, for, if He <i>wishes</i> this, He will help
us a little now."</p>
<p class="p4b">She drew a long sigh, which she repeated
again and again; then she arose, gave her
thanks, dropped a courtesy, and courtesied
again at the door. But she was scarcely well
outside before a change came over her. She
cast upward a look beaming with gratitude,
and she hurried more and more the farther she
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
got away from people, and lightly as she tripped
down toward Kampen that day, she had not
done for many, many years. When she got
so far on her way that she could see the thick
smoke curling gayly up from the chimney, she
blessed the house, the whole gard, the priest,
and Arne,—and then remembered that they
were going to have smoked beef for dinner,—her
favorite dish!</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Kampen</span> was a beautiful gard. It lay in the
midst of a plain, bordered below by the Kamp
gorge, and above by the parish road; on the
opposite side of the road was a thick wood, a
little farther beyond, a rising mountain ridge,
and behind this the blue, snow-capped mountains.
On the other side of the gorge there
was also a broad mountain range, which first
entirely surrounded Black Water on the side
where Böen lay, then grew higher toward
Kampen, but at the same time turned aside
to make way for the broad basin called the
lower parish, and which began just below, for
Kampen was the last gard in the upper parish.</p>
<p>The front door of the dwelling-house was
turned toward the road; it was probably about
two thousand paces off; a path with leafy birch-trees
on either side led thither. The wood lay
on both sides of the clearing; the fields and
meadows could, therefore, extend as far as the
owners themselves wished; it was in all respects
a most excellent gard. A little garden
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
lay in front of the house. Arne managed it as
his books directed. To the left were the stables
and other out-houses. They were nearly
all new built, and formed a square opposite the
dwelling-house. The latter was painted red,
with white window-frames and doors, was two
stories high, thatched with turf, and small
shrubs grew on the roof; the one gable had a
vane staff, on which turned an iron cock, with
high, spread tail.</p>
<p>Spring had come to the mountain districts.
It was a Sunday morning; there was a little
heaviness in the air, but it was calm and without
frost; mist hung over the wood, but Margit
thought it would lift during the day. Arne
had read the sermon for his mother and sung
the hymns, which had done him good; now he
was in full trim, ready to go up to the parsonage.
He opened the door, the fresh perfume of
the leaves was wafted toward him, the garden
lay dew-covered and bowed by the morning
mist, and from the Kamp gorge there came
a roaring, mingled at intervals with mighty
booms, making everything tremble to the ear
and the eye.</p>
<p>Arne walked upward. The farther he got
from the force the less awe-inspiring became its
roar, which finally spread itself like the deep
tones of an organ over the whole landscape.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
"The Lord be with him on his way!" said
the mother, opening the window and looking
after him until the shrubbery closed about him.
The fog lifted more and more, the sun cut
through it; there was life now about the fields
and in the garden; all Arne's work sprouted
out in fresh growth, sending fragrance and joy
up to the mother. Spring is lovely to those
who long have been surrounded by winter.</p>
<p>Arne had no fixed errand at the parsonage,
but still he wanted to learn about the papers
he and the priest took together. Recently he
had seen the names of several Norsemen who
had done remarkably well digging gold in
America, and among them was Kristian. Now
Arne had heard a rumor that Kristian was expected
home. He could, no doubt, get information
about this at the parsonage,—and if
Kristian had really returned, then Arne would
go to him in the interval between spring and
haying time. This was working in his mind
until he had advanced so far that he could see
Black Water, and Böen on the other side. The
fog had lifted there, too; the sun was playing
on the green, the mountain loomed up with
shining peak, but the fog was still lying in its
lap; the wood darkened the water on the right
side, but in front of the house the ground was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
more flat, and its white sand glittered in the
sunshine. Suddenly his thoughts sped to the
red-painted building with white doors and window-frames,
that he had had in mind when he
painted his own. He did not remember those
first gloomy days he had passed there; he only
thought of that bright summer they had both
seen, he and Eli, up beside her sick-bed. Since
then he had not been to Böen, nor would he go
there, not for the whole world. If only his
thoughts barely touched on it, he grew crimson
and abashed; and yet this happened again
every day, and many times a day. If there
was anything which could drive him out of the
parish, it was just this!</p>
<p>Onward he went, as though he would flee
from his thoughts, but the farther he walked
the nearer opposite Böen he came, and the more
he gazed upon it. The fog was entirely gone,
the sky clear from one mountain outline to the
other, the birds sailed along and called aloud to
one another in the glad sunny air, the fields responded
with millions of flowers; the Kamp
force did not here compel gladness to bow the
knee in submission and awe, but buoyant and
frolicsome it tumbled over, singing, twinkling,
rejoicing without end!</p>
<p>Arne had walked till he was in a glowing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
heat; he flung himself down in the grass at the
foot of a hill, looked over towards Böen, then
turned away to avoid seeing it. Presently he
heard singing above him, pure and clear, as song
had never sounded to him before; it floated out
over the meadow, mingled with the chattering
of the birds, and he was scarcely sure of the
tune before he recognized the words too,—for
the tune was his favorite one, and the words
were those that had been working in his mind
from the time he was a boy, and forgotten the
same day he had brought them forth! He
sprang up as though he would catch them, then
paused and listened; here came the first stanza,
here came the second, here came the third and
the fourth of his own forgotten song streaming
down to him:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Oh, how I wonder what I should see<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Over the lofty mountains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Snow here shuts out the view from me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round about stands the green pine-tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Longing to hasten over—<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Dare it become a rover?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Soars the eagle with strong wing play,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Over the lofty mountains;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rows through the young and vigorous day<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sating his courage in quest of prey;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">When he will swooping downward,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thou wilt till next time wait, I know;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">All of these birds art swinging,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Knowing not what they're singing.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"He who for twenty years longed to flee<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor beyond them can hope to see,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smaller each year feels himself to be;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Hears what the birds are singing,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Thou art with confidence swinging.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fairer the lands beyond must appear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Higher the trees and the skies far more clear.<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Wouldst thou but longing be bringing,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Bird, but no wings with thy singing?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Shall I the journey never take<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Must my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Shutting at last in around me,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Till for my tomb it surround me?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Forth will I! forth! Oh, far, far away,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will be crushed and consumed if I stay;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Let it its flight now be taking,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Not on this rock-wall be breaking!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"One day I know I shall wander afar<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Over the lofty mountains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lord, my God, is thy door ajar?<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Good is thy home where the blessed are;<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Keep it though closed a while longer,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Till my deep longing grow stronger."<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Arne stood still until the last verse, the last
word, had died away. Again he heard the birds
sporting and twittering, but he knew not
whether he himself dared stir. Find out who
had been singing, though, he must; he raised
his foot and trod so carefully that he could
not hear the grass rustle. A little butterfly
alighted on a flower, directly at his feet, had
to start up again, flew only a little piece farther,
had to start up again, and so on all over
the hill as he crept cautiously up. Soon he
came to a leafy bush, and cared to go no farther,
for now he could see. A bird flew up
from the bush, gave a startled cry and darted
over the sloping hill-side, and then she who
was sitting within view looked up. Arne
stooped far down, holding his breath, his heart
throbbing so wildly that he heard its every
beat, listening, not daring to move a leaf, for
it was, indeed, she,—it was Eli whom he
saw!</p>
<p>After a long, long while, he looked up just
a little, and would gladly have drawn a step
nearer but he thought the bird might perhaps
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
have its nest under the bush, and was
afraid he would tread on it. He peered out between
the leaves as they blew aside and closed
together again. The sun shone directly on
her. She wore a black dress without sleeves,<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a>
and had a boy's straw hat perched lightly on
her head, and slanting a little to one side. In
her lap lay a book, and on it a profusion of wild
flowers; her right hand was dreamily toying
with them; in her left, which rested on her
knee, her head was bowed. She was gazing
in the direction of the bird's flight, and it really
seemed as though she had been weeping.</p>
<p>Anything more lovely Arne had neither seen
nor dreamed of in his whole life; the sun, too,
had scattered all its gold over her and the spot
where she was sitting, and the song still floated
about her, although its last notes had long since
been sung, so that he thought, breathed—aye,
even his heart beat in time to it.</p>
<p>She took up the book and opened it, but soon
closed it again and sat as before, beginning to
hum something else. It was, "The tree's early
leaf-buds were bursting their brown." He
knew it at once, although she did not quite
remember either the words or the tune, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
made many mistakes. The stanza she knew
best was the last one, therefore she often repeated
it; but she sang it thus:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The tree bore its berries, so mellow and red:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'May I gather thy berries?' a sweet maiden said.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">'Yes, dear; all thou canst see;<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Take them; all are for thee;'<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Said the tree—trala-lala, trala, lala—said."<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>Then suddenly she sprang up, scattering the
flowers all around her, and sang aloud, so that
the tune, as it quivered through the air, could
easily be heard all the way over to Böen. And
then she ran away. Should he call after her?
No! There she went skipping over the hills,
singing, trolling; her hat fell off, she picked it
up again; and then she stood still in the midst
of the tallest grass.</p>
<p>"Shall I call after her? She is looking
round!"</p>
<p>He quickly stooped down. It was a long
while before he dared peep forth again; at first
he only raised his head; he could not see her:
then he drew himself up on his knees, and still
could not see her; finally, he got all the way
up. No, she was gone!
He no longer wanted to go to the parsonage.
He wanted nothing!</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
Later he sat where she had been sitting, still
sat there until the sun drew near the meridian.
The lake was not ruffled by a single ripple; the
smoke from the gards began to curl upward;
the land-rails, one after another, had ceased
their call; the small birds, though, continued
their sportive gambols, but withdrew to the
wood; the dew was gone and the grass looked
sober; not a breath of wind stirred the leaves;
it was about an hour from noon. Arne scarcely
knew how it was that he found himself seated
there, weaving together a little song; a sweet
melody offered itself for it, and into a heart
curiously full of all that was gentle, the tune
came and went until the picture was complete.
He sang the song calmly as he had made it:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"He went in the forest the whole day long,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">The whole day long;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For there he had heard such a wonderful song,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">A wonderful song.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"He fashioned a flute from a willow spray,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">A willow spray,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To see if within it the sweet tune lay,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">The sweet tune lay.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"It whispered and told him its name at last,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Its name at last;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But then, while he listened, away it passed,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Away it passed.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"But oft when he slumbered, again it stole,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Again it stole,<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
<span class="i0">With touches of love upon his soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Upon his soul.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Then he tried to catch it, and keep it fast,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">And keep it fast;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he woke, and away in the night it passed,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">In the night it passed.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'My Lord, let me pass in the night, I pray,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">In the night, I pray;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the tune has taken my heart away,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">My heart away.'<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Then answered the Lord, 'It is thy friend<br /></span>
<span class="i6">It is thy friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though not for an hour shall thy longing end,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Thy longing end;<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'And all the others are nothing to thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Nothing to thee,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To this that thou seekest and never shalt see,<br /></span>
<span class="i6">Never shalt see.'"<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><br /></p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a Sunday evening in midsummer;
the priest had returned from church, and Margit
had been sitting with him until it was nearly
seven o'clock. Now she took her leave, and
hastened down the steps and out into the yard,
for there she had just caught sight of Eli Böen,
who had been playing for some time with the
priest's son and her own brother.</p>
<p>"Good evening!" said Margit, standing still,
"and God bless you all!"</p>
<p>"Good evening!" replied Eli, blushing crimson,
and showing a desire to stop playing, although
the boys urged her to continue; but
she begged to be excused, and they had to let
her go for that evening.</p>
<p>"It seems to me I ought to know you," said
Margit.</p>
<p>"That is quite likely," was the reply.</p>
<p>"This surely never can be Eli Böen?"</p>
<p>Yes, it was she.</p>
<p>"Oh, dear me! So you are Eli Böen! Yes,
now I see you are like your mother."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
Eli's auburn hair had become unfastened, so
that it floated carelessly about her; her face was
as hot and as red as a berry, her bosom heaved,
she could not speak, and laughed because she
was so out of breath.</p>
<p>"Yes, that is the way with young people."</p>
<p>Margit looked at Eli with satisfaction as she
spoke.</p>
<p>"I suppose you do not know me?"</p>
<p>Eli had no doubt wanted to ask who she was,
but could not command the courage to do so,
because the other was so much older than she;
now she said that she did not remember having
seen her before.</p>
<p>"Well, to be sure, that is scarcely to be expected;
old folks seldom get out. You may
perhaps know my son, Arne Kampen. I am
his mother." She stole a sly glance, as she
spoke, at Eli, on whom these words wrought a
considerable change. "I am inclined to think
he worked over at Böen once, did he not?"</p>
<p>Yes, it was Eli's impression, too, that he had
done so.</p>
<p>"The weather is fine this evening. We
turned our hay to-day, and got it in before I
left home; it is really blessed weather."</p>
<p>"There will surely be a good hay-harvest this
year," Eli observed.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
"Yes, you may well say so. I suppose everything
looks splendidly over at Böen."</p>
<p>"They are through harvesting there."</p>
<p>"Oh, of course; plenty of help, stirring people.
Are you going home this evening?"</p>
<p>No, she did not intend to do so. They talked
together about one thing and another and gradually
became so well acquainted that Margit
felt at liberty to ask Eli to walk a short distance
with her.</p>
<p>"Could you not keep me company a few
steps?" said she. "I so seldom find any one to
talk with, and I dare say it will make no difference
to you."</p>
<p>Eli excused herself because she had not her
jacket on.</p>
<p>"Well, I know, it is really a shame to ask
such a thing the first time I meet a person; but
then one has to bear with old folks."</p>
<p>Eli said she was quite willing to go, she only
wanted to fetch her jacket.</p>
<p>It was a close-fitting jacket; when it was
hooked, she looked as if she wore a complete
dress; but now she only fastened the two lowest
hooks, she was so warm. Her fine linen had
a small turned down collar, and was fastened
at the throat with a silver button, in the form
of a bird with outspread wings. Such a one
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
tailor Nils had worn the first time Margit Kampen
had danced with him.</p>
<p>"What a handsome button," she remarked,
looking at it.</p>
<p>"My mother gave it to me," said Eli.</p>
<p>"Yes, so I thought," and Margit helped the
girl adjust it as she spoke.</p>
<p>Now they walked on along the road. The
new-mown hay was lying about in heaps. Margit
took up a handful, smelled it, and thought
it was good. She asked about the live stock at
the parsonage, was led thereby to inquire about
that at Böen, and then told how much they
had at Kampen.</p>
<p>"The gard has prospered finely of late years,
and it can be made as much larger as we ourselves
wish. It feeds twelve milch cows now,
and could feed more; but Arne reads a great
many books, and manages according to them,
and so he must have his cows fed in a first-rate
way."</p>
<p>Eli made no reply to all this, as was quite
natural; but Margit asked her how old she was.
She was nineteen.</p>
<p>"Have you taken any part in the house-work?
You look so dainty, I suppose it has
not been much."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
Oh, yes, she had helped in various ways, especially
of late.</p>
<p>"Well, it is a good thing to become accustomed
to a little of everything; if one should
get a large house of one's own, there might be
many things to be done. But, to be sure, when
one finds good help already in the house, it
does not matter so very much."</p>
<p>Eli now thought she ought to turn back, for
they had gone far beyond the parsonage lands.</p>
<p>"It will be some time yet before the sun
sets; it would be kind if you would chat with
me a little longer." And Eli went on.</p>
<p>Then Margit began to talk about Arne. "I
do not know if you are very well acquainted
with him. He can teach you something about
everything. Bless me! how much that boy has
read!"</p>
<p>Eli confessed that she was aware he had read
a great deal.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes; that is really the least that can
be said of him. Why, his conduct to his mother
all his days is something far beyond that. If
the old saying is true, that one who is good to
his mother is sure to be good to his wife, the
girl Arne chooses will not have very much to
grumble about. What is it you are looking
for, child?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
"I only lost a little twig I had in my hand."</p>
<p>They were both silent after this, and walked
on without looking at each other.</p>
<p>"He has such strange ways," began the
mother, presently; "he was so often frightened
when he was a child that he got into the habit
of thinking everything over to himself, and
such folks never know how to put themselves
forward."</p>
<p>Now Eli insisted on turning back, but Margit
assured her that it was only a short distance
now to Kampen, and see Kampen she must, as
she was so near. But Eli thought it was too
late that day.</p>
<p>"There is always some one who can go home
with you," said Margit.</p>
<p>"No, no," promptly replied Eli, and was
about to leave.</p>
<p>"To be sure, Arne is not at home," said
Margit; "so it will not be he; but there will
be sure to be some one else."</p>
<p>Now Eli had less objection to going; besides,
she wanted very much to see Kampen. "If
only it does not grow too late," said she.</p>
<p>"Well, if we stand here much longer talking
about it, I suppose it may grow too late," and
they went on.</p>
<p>"You have read a great deal, I dare say;
you who were brought up at the priest's?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
Yes, Eli had read a good deal.</p>
<p>"That will be useful," Margit suggested,
"when you are married to one who knows less
than you."</p>
<p>Eli thought she would never be married to
such a person.</p>
<p>"Ah, well, it would perhaps not be best
either; but in this parish there is so little
learning."</p>
<p>Eli asked where the smoke rising yonder in
the wood came from.</p>
<p>"It comes from the new houseman's place
belonging to Kampen. A man called Upland
Knut lives there. He was alone in the world,
and so Arne gave him that place to clear. He
knows what it is to be lonely, my poor Arne."</p>
<p>Soon they reached an ascent whence the gard
could be seen. The sun shone full in their
faces; they held up their hands to shade their
eyes and gazed down at Kampen. It lay in the
midst of a plain, the houses red painted and
with white window-frames; the grass in the
surrounding meadows had been mown, the hay
might still be seen in heaps here and there, the
grain-fields lay green and rich among the pale
meadows; over by the cow-house all was stir
and bustle: the cows, sheep, and goats were
just coming home, their bells were tinkling
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
the dogs were barking, the milk-maids shouting,
while above all rose with awful din the
roar of the force in the Kamp gorge. The
longer Eli looked, the more completely this
grand tune filled her ears, and at last it seemed
so appalling to her that her heart throbbed
wildly; it roared and thundered through her
head until she grew bewildered, and at the
same time felt so warm and tender that involuntarily
she took such short, hesitating steps,
that Margit begged her to walk a little faster.</p>
<p>She started. "I never heard anything like
that waterfall," said she; "I am almost afraid
of it."</p>
<p>"You will soon get used to it," said the
mother; "at last you would even miss it if
you could not hear it."</p>
<p>"Dear me! do you think so?" cried Eli.</p>
<p>"Well, you will see," said Margit, smiling.</p>
<p>"Come now, let us first look at the cattle,"
she continued, turning off from the main
road. "These trees on each side Nils planted.
He wanted to have everything nice, Nils did,
that is what Arne likes too; look! there you
can see the garden my boy has laid out."</p>
<p>"Oh, how pretty!" cried Eli, running over
to the garden fence. She had often seen Kampen,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
but only from a distance, where the garden
was not visible.</p>
<p>"We will look at that after a while," said
Margit.</p>
<p>Eli hastily glanced through the windows, as
she went past the house; there was no one inside.</p>
<p>They stationed themselves on the barn-bridge
and watched the cows as they passed lowing
into the stable. Margit named them to Eli,
told how much milk each one gave, and which
of them calved in the summer, which did not.
The sheep were counted and let into the fold;
they were of a large, foreign breed; Arne had
raised them from two lambs he got from the
south. "He gives much attention to all such
things, although you would not think it of
him."</p>
<p>They now went into the barn, and examined
the hay that had been housed, and Eli had
to smell it—"for such hay is not to be found
everywhere." Margit pointed through the
barn-hatch over the fields, and told what each
one yielded and how much was sown of each
kind of seed.</p>
<p>They went out toward the house; but Eli,
who had not spoken a word in reply to all
that had been said, as they passed by the garden,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
asked if she might go into it. And when
leave had been given her to go, she begged to
be allowed to pluck a flower or two. There
was a little bench away in one corner; she
went and sat down on it, only to try it, apparently,
for she rose at once.</p>
<p>"We must hurry now, if we would not be
too late," said Margit, standing in the door.
And now they went in. Margit asked Eli if
she should offer her some refreshments on this
her first visit; but Eli blushed and hastily declined.
Then the girl's eyes wandered all
around the room they had entered; it was
where the family sat in the day-time, and the
windows opened on the road; the room was
not large but it was cozy, and there was a
clock and a stove in it. On the wall hung
Nils's fiddle, dingy and old, but with new
strings. Near it also hung a couple of guns
belonging to Arne, an English angling-rod and
other rare things which the mother took down
and showed to Eli, who looked at them and
handled them. The room was without paint,
for Arne disliked it; nor was there any painting
in the room looking toward the Kamp
gorge, with the fresh green mountains directly
opposite and the blue ones in the background;
this latter room,—which was in the new part
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
of the building, as was the entire half of the
house it was in,—was larger and prettier than
the first. The two smaller rooms in the wing
were painted, for there the mother was to live
when she was old, and Arne had brought a
wife into the house. They went into the kitchen,
the store-house, the bake-house, Eli spoke
not a single word; indeed, she viewed everything
about her as though from afar off; only
when anything was held out for her inspection
she touched it, but very daintily. Margit,
who had kept up an unbroken stream of
chatter the whole way, now led her into the
passage again; they must go and take a look
up-stairs.</p>
<p>There also were well-arranged rooms, corresponding
with those below; but they were
new and had scarcely yet been occupied, except
one, which looked toward the gorge. In
these rooms were kept all sorts of articles
which were not in daily household use. Here
hung a whole lot of robes, together with other
bedclothes; the mother took hold of them, lifted
them up, and now and then insisted on having
Eli do the same. Meanwhile, it actually seemed
as though the young girl were gaining a little
courage, or else her pleasure in these things increased;
for to some of them she went back a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
second time, asked questions about them, and
became more and more interested.</p>
<p>Finally the mother said, "Now at last we
will go into Arne's own room;" and then they
went into the room overlooking the Kamp
gorge. Once more the awful din of the force
smote upon their ears, for the window was
open. They were up so high that they could
see the spray rising between the mountains, but
not the force itself, save in one spot farther on,
where a fragment had fallen from the cliff, just
where the torrent, with all its might, took its
final leap into the depths below. Fresh turf
covered the upward turned side of this fallen
piece of rock, a few fir cones had buried themselves
in it, and sent forth a growth of trees
with their roots in the crevices. The wind
had tugged at and shaken the trees, the force
had washed them so completely that there was
not a branch four ells from the roots; they
were crooked in the knees, their boughs
knotted and gnarled, yet they kept their footing,
and shot far up between the rocky walls.
This was the first thing Eli noticed from the
window; the next, the dazzling white snow-capped
peaks rising above the green mountains.
She turned her eyes away, let them wander
over the peaceful, fruitful fields, and finally
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
about the room where she stood; the roar of
the force had hitherto prevented this.</p>
<p>How calm and cheerful it was within, compared
with the scene without. She did not
look at any single article, because one blended
into the other, and most of them were new to
her, for Arne had centred his affections in this
room, and, simple as it was, it was artistic in
almost every particular. It seemed as though
the sound of his songs came floating toward
her, while she stood there, or as though he himself
smiled at her from every object. The first
thing her eyes singled out in the room, was a
broad, handsomely carved book-shelf. There
were so many books on it that she did not believe
the priest had more. A pretty cabinet
was the next thing she noticed. Here he kept
many rare things, his mother said. Here, too,
he had his money, she added, in a whisper.
They had twice had property left to them, she
told afterwards; they would have one more inheritance
besides, if things went as they should.
"But money is not the best thing in the world,
after all. Arne may get what is far better."</p>
<p>There were many little trinkets in the room
which were interesting to examine, and Eli
looked at them all, as happy as a child.</p>
<p>Margit patted her on the shoulder, saying, as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
she looked brightly into her eyes, "I have
never seen you before to-day, my child, but I
am already very fond of you." Before Eli had
time to feel embarrassed, Margit pulled at her
dress, and said, quite softly, "You see that little
red chest; there is something nice in that,
I can tell you."</p>
<p>Eli looked at the chest: it was a small, square
one, which she at once longed to call her own.</p>
<p>"Arne does not want me to know what is in
that chest," whispered the mother, "and he always
keeps the key hid." She walked up to
some clothes hanging on the wall, took down a
velvet waistcoat, felt in the watch-pocket, and
there found the key. "Come, now, you shall
see," she whispered.</p>
<p>Eli did not think the mother was doing
quite right, but women are women,—and these
two now crossed softly over to the chest and
knelt in front of it. As the mother raised the
lid, so pleasant a perfume rose toward them that
Eli clapped her hands even before she had seen
anything. Spread over the top was a kerchief
which the mother took away. "Now you shall
see," she whispered, as she took up a fine, black
silk neckerchief, such a one as men do not wear.
"It looks just as if it were for a girl," said the
mother. "Here is another," she added.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
Eli could not help taking hold of this; but
when the mother insisted upon trying it on her,
she declined, and hung her head. The mother
carefully folded them up again.</p>
<p>"See!" she then said, taking up some pretty
silk ribbons; "everything here looks as if it
were meant for a girl."</p>
<p>Eli grew red as fire, but not a sound escaped
her; her bosom heaved, her eyes had a shy
look, otherwise she stood immovable.</p>
<p>"Here are more things still!" The mother
took hold of a beautiful black dress pattern, as
she spoke. "This is fine goods, I dare say,"
said she, as she held it up to the light.</p>
<p>Eli's hands trembled, when the mother asked
her to take hold of the cloth, she felt the blood
rushing to her head; she would gladly have
turned away, but this was not easy to do.</p>
<p>"He has bought something every time he
has been to town," said the mother.</p>
<p>Eli could scarcely control herself any longer;
her eyes roamed about the chest from one article
to another, and back again to the dress
goods; she, in fact, saw nothing else. But the
mother persisted, and the last thing she took
up was wrapped in paper; they slowly unwrapped
it; this became attractive again. Eli
grew eager; it proved to be a pair of small
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
shoes. They had never seen anything like
these, either one of them; the mother wondered
how they could be made. Eli said nothing,
but when she went to touch the shoes,
all her fingers made marks on them; she felt so
ashamed that she came very near bursting into
tears. She longed most of all to take her
leave, but she dared not speak, nor dare she
do anything to make the mother look up.</p>
<p>Margit was wholly occupied with her own
thoughts. "Does it not look just as if he had
bought them one by one for some one he had
not the courage to give them to?" said she, as
she put each article back in the place where
she had found it; she must have had practice
in so doing. "Now let us see what there is in
this little box," she added, softly opening it, as
though now they were going to find something
really choice.</p>
<p>There lay a buckle, broad enough for a belt;
that was the first thing she showed Eli; the
next was two gold rings, tied together, and
then the girl caught sight of a velvet hymn-book
with silver clasps; further she could not look,
for on the silver of the book was engraved, in
small letters, "Eli, Baardsdatter Böen."<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a></p>
<p>Margit called her attention to something, got
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
no reply, but saw that tear after tear was trickling
down on the silk kerchief, and spreading
over it. Then the mother laid down the brooch
she held in her hand, closed the little box,
turned round and clasped Eli in her arms.
The daughter wept on her shoulder, and the
mother wept over her, but neither of them
spoke a word.</p>
<p class="p2">A little while later, Eli was walking alone
in the garden: the mother had gone into the
kitchen to prepare something good for supper,
for now Arne would soon be home. By and
by, Margit came out into the garden to look
for her young friend, and found her sitting
writing in the sand. As the mother joined
her, Eli quickly smoothed the sand over what
she had written,—looked up and smiled; she
had been weeping.</p>
<p>"There is nothing to cry about, my child,"
said Margit, and gave her a pat.</p>
<p>They saw a black object moving between the
bushes on the road. Eli stole into the house,
the mother followed her. Here a bounteous
repast was awaiting them: cream pudding,
smoked meat, and cakes; but Eli had no eyes
for these things; she crossed the floor to the
corner where the clock stood, sat down on a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
chair close to the wall, and trembled if she
only heard a cat stir. The mother stood by
the table. Firm steps were heard on the flag-stones,
a short, light step in the passage, the
door was gently opened, and Arne came in.</p>
<p>The first object his eyes lighted on was Eli
in the clock corner; he let go of the door and
stood still. This made Eli yet more embarrassed;
she got up, regretted at once having
done so, and turned towards the wall.</p>
<p>"Are <i>you</i> here?" said Arne, softly, blushing
crimson.</p>
<p>Eli shaded her eyes with one hand, as one
does when the sun shines too full in the face.</p>
<p>"How—?" He could get no farther, but
he advanced a step or two.</p>
<p>She put her hand down again, turned toward
him, then, bowing her head, she burst into
tears.</p>
<p>"God bless you, Eli!" said he, and drew his
arm around her; she nestled close up to him.
He whispered something in her ear; she made
no reply, but clasped her hands about his neck.</p>
<p>They stood thus for a long time, and not a
sound was heard save the roar of the force,
sending forth its eternal song. By and by
some one was heard weeping near the table.
Arne looked up: it was the mother.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
"Now I am sure you will not leave me,
Arne," said she, approaching him. She wept
freely, but it did her good, she said.</p>
<p class="p2">When Arne and Eli walked home together
in the bright summer evening, they did not talk
much about their new-born happiness. They let
Nature herself take the lead in the conversation,—so
quiet, bright, and grand, she seemed,
as she accompanied them. But it was on his
way back to Kampen from this their first
summer-night's walk, with his face turned toward
the rising sun, that he laid the foundations
of a poem, which he was then in no frame
of mind to construct, but which, later, when it
was finished, became for a while his daily
song. It ran thus:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I hoped to become something great one day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought it would be when I got away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each thought that my bosom entered<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On far-off journeys was centred.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A maiden then into my eyes did look;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">My rovings soon lost their pleasure.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The loftiest aim my heart can brook<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is her to proclaim my treasure.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I hoped to become something great one day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought it would be when I got away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To meet with the great in learning<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Intensely my heart was yearning.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She taught me, she did, for she spoke a word:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">'The best gift of God's bestowing<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Is not to be called a distinguished lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But ever a <i>man</i> to be growing.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I hoped to become something great one day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought it would be when I got away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My home seemed so cold, neglected,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I felt like a stranger suspected.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When her I discovered, then love I did see<br /></span>
<span class="i2">In every glance that found me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherever I turned friends waited for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And life became new around me."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>There came afterwards many a summer evening
walk, followed by many a song. One of
these must be recorded:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The cause of this all is beyond my knowing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No storm there has been and no floods have been flowing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A sparkling and glittering brook, it would seem,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has poured itself into the broader stream<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which constantly growing seeks the ocean.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"There is something we can from our lives not sever;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In need it is near and forsakes us never,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A power that draws, a loving breast,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which sadness, shyness, and all unrest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can gather in peace in a bridal present.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Could I but by spirits through life be attended,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As pure as the thought which has now me befriended!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ordering spirit of God it was.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He ruleth the world with sacred laws.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Toward goodness eternal I am progressing."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>But perhaps none of them better expressed
his fervent gratitude than the following:—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The power that gave me my little song<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Has caused that as rain has been my sadness,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And that as sunshine has been my gladness,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The spring-time wants of my soul along.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Whate'er betided<br /></span>
<span class="i10">It did no harm;<br /></span>
<span class="i8">My song all guided<br /></span>
<span class="i10">To love so warm.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"The power that gave me my little song<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Has given me friendship for all that's yearning.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">For freedom's blessings my blood is burning;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The foe I am of every wrong.<br /></span>
<span class="i8">I sought my station,<br /></span>
<span class="i10">Spite every storm,<br /></span>
<span class="i8">And found salvation<br /></span>
<span class="i10">In love so warm.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The power that gave me my little song<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Must make me able to sing the others,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">And now and then to make glad my brothers<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whom I may meet in the worldly throng,—<br /></span>
<span class="i8">For there was never<br /></span>
<span class="i10">A sweeter charm<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Than singing ever<br /></span>
<span class="i10">In love so warm."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><br /></p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER XVI.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was late in the autumn; the harvesters
were at work housing the grain. The day was
clear, it had rained during the night; and in
the morning, therefore, the air was as mild as
in summer-time. It was a Saturday, and yet
many boats were making their way across
Black Water toward the church; the men, in
their shirt sleeves, were rowing; the women
sat in the stern, with light-colored kerchiefs on
their heads. A still greater number of boats
were steering over to Böen, in order to move
away from there later in grand procession, for
on this day Baard Böen gave a wedding for his
daughter Eli and Arne Nils' son Kampen.</p>
<p>All the doors were open; people were going
in and out; children, with pieces of cake in
their hands, stood about the yard, afraid of
their new clothes, and looking shyly at one
another; an old woman sat upon the store-house
steps alone,—it was Margit Kampen.
She wore a large silver ring, with several small
rings fastened to the upper silver plate; now
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
and then she looked at it; Nils had given it to
her the day of their wedding and she had never
worn it since.</p>
<p>The man who presided at the feast, and the
two young groomsmen, the priest's son and
Eli's brother, went about in the two or three
rooms, offering refreshments to the wedding
guests as they arrived to be present on this
great occasion. Up-stairs in Eli's room were
the bride, the priest's wife, and Mathilde,—the
last-named had come from town for the
sole purpose of decking the bride; this the
girls had promised each other from their childhood.
Arne—wearing a broadcloth suit, with
close-fitting roundabout and with a collar that
Eli had made—stood in one of the down-stairs
rooms by the window on which Eli had written
"Arne."</p>
<p>Outside in the passage two persons met as
they came each from some duty of the day.
One of them was on his way from the landing-place,
where he had been helping to put the
church boats in order; he wore a black broadcloth
roundabout, with blue wadmal trousers,
whose dye rubbed off, so that his hands were
blue; his white collar looked well with his fair
face and long light hair; his high forehead was
calm; about the mouth played a smile. It was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
Baard. She whom he met in the passage was
just coming from the kitchen. She was dressed
for church, was tall and slender, and walked
with a firm though hurried step through the
door. When she met Baard she paused, and
her mouth drew up to one side. It was Birgit,
his wife. Each had something to say, but it
only found expression through both standing
still. Baard was the most embarrassed of the
two; he smiled more and more, but it was his
embarrassment that came to his aid, forcing
him to start up-stairs without further delay.
"Perhaps you will come too," he said, as he
passed, and Birgit followed him. Up-stairs in
the garret they were entirely alone; yet Baard
locked the door after them, and he was a long
time about it. When finally he turned, Birgit
stood by the window gazing out; it was in
order to avoid looking into the room. Baard
brought forth a small flask from his breast
pocket and a little silver cup. He wanted to
pour out some wine for his wife, but she would
not have any, although he assured her that it
was wine that had been sent from the parsonage.
Then he drank himself, but paused several
times to offer the cup to her. He corked
the flask, put both it and the cup away in his
breast-pocket again, and sat down on a chest.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
It very evidently pained him that his wife
would not drink with him.</p>
<p>He breathed heavily several times. Birgit
stood leaning with one hand against the window
frame. Baard had something to say, but
now it seemed even harder to speak than before.</p>
<p>"Birgit!" said he, "I dare say you are thinking
of the same to-day that I am."</p>
<p>Then he heard her move from one side of the
window to the other, and again she leaned her
head on her arm.</p>
<p>"Oh, yes; you know who I mean. He it
was who parted us two. I thought it would
not go beyond the wedding, but it has lasted
much longer."</p>
<p>He heard her sigh, he saw her again change
her place; but he did not see her face. He
himself was struggling so hard that he had to
wipe his face with his jacket sleeve. After a
long conflict he began again: "To-day a son
of his, well-educated and handsome, becomes
one of us, and to him we have given our only
daughter. Now, how would it be, Birgit, if we
two were to have our wedding to-day?"</p>
<p>His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat.
Birgit, who had raised her head, now leaned it
on her arm again, but said nothing. Baard
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
waited for some time; he heard her breathe,
but he got no answer,—and he had nothing
further to say himself either. He looked up
and grew very pale; for she did not even turn
her head. Then he rose.</p>
<p>At the same moment there was a gentle
knock at the door, and a soft voice asked, "Are
you coming, mother?" It was Eli. There
was something in the tone that made Baard
involuntarily pause and glance at Birgit. Birgit
also raised her head; she looked towards
the door, and her eyes fell on Baard's pale face.
"Are you coming, mother?" was once more
asked from without.</p>
<p>"Yes, I am coming now!" said Birgit, in a
broken voice, as she firmly crossed the floor to
where Baard stood, gave him her hand, and
burst into the most passionate weeping. The
two hands met, they were both toil-worn now,
but they clasped as firmly as though they had
been seeking each other for twenty years. They
still clung together as they went toward the
door, and when a while later the bridal procession
was passing down to the landing-place,
and Arne gave his hand to Eli to take the lead,
Baard, seeing it, took his wife by the hand,
contrary to all custom, and followed them,
smiling contentedly.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
Behind them, Margit Kampen walked alone,
as was her wont.</p>
<p>Baard was in high spirits that day; he sat
talking with the rowers. One of these who
kept looking up at the mountains remarked,
that it was strange that even such a steep rock
could be clad.</p>
<p>"It must, whether it would or no," said
Baard, and his eyes wandered all along the
procession until they rested on the bridal pair
and his wife. "Who could have foretold this
twenty years ago?" said he.</p>
<hr class="r65" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>
<h1>EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES.</h1>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p>
<p><br /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD.</h2>
<hr class="r5" />
<h3><a id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Knud Aakre</span> belonged to an old family in
the parish, where it had always been renowned
for its intelligence and its devotion to the public
welfare. His father had worked his way up
to the priesthood, but had died early, and as
the widow came from a peasant stock, the children
were brought up as peasants. Knud had,
therefore, received only the education afforded
by the public schools of his day; but his father's
library had early inspired him with a
love of knowledge. This was further stimulated
by his friend Henrik Wergeland, who
frequently visited him, sent him books, seeds,
and much valuable counsel. Following some
of the latter, Knud early founded a club, which
in the beginning had a very miscellaneous object,
for instance: "to give the members practice
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
in debating and to study the constitution,"
but which later was turned into a practical
agricultural society for the entire bailiwick.
According to Wergeland's advice, he also
founded a parish library, giving his father's
books as its first endowment. A suggestion
from the same quarter led him to start a Sunday-school
on his gard, for those who might wish to
learn writing, arithmetic, and history. All this
drew attention to him, so that he was elected
member of the parish board of supervisors, of
which he soon became chairman. In this capacity,
he took a deep interest in the schools,
which he brought into a remarkably good condition.</p>
<p>Knud Aakre was a short man, brisk in his
movements, with small, restless eyes and very
disorderly hair. He had large lips, which were
in constant motion, and a row of splendid teeth
which always seemed to be working with them,
for they glistened while his words were snapped
out, crisp and clear, crackling like sparks from
a great fire.</p>
<p>Foremost among the many he had helped to
gain an education was his neighbor Lars Högstad.
Lars was not much younger than Knud,
but he had developed more slowly. Knud
liked to talk about what he read and thought,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
and he found in Lars, whose manner was quiet
and grave, a good listener, who by degrees
grew to be a man of excellent judgment. The
relations between them soon became such that
Knud was never willing to take any important
step without first consulting Lars Högstad,
and the matter on hand was thus likely
to gain some practical amendment. So Knud
drew his neighbor into the board of supervisors,
and gradually into everything in which he himself
took part. They always drove together
to the meetings of the board, where Lars never
spoke; but on the way back and forth Knud
learned his opinions. The two were looked
upon as inseparable.</p>
<p class="p2">One fine autumn day the board of supervisors
convened to consider, among other things, a
proposal from the bailiff to sell the parish grain
magazine and with the proceeds establish a
small savings-bank. Knud Aakre, the chairman,
would undoubtedly have approved this
measure had he relied on his unbiased judgment.
But he was prejudiced, partly because
the proposal came from the bailiff, whom Wergeland
did not like, and who was consequently
no favorite of Knud's either, and partly because
the grain magazine had been built by his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
influential paternal grandfather and by him
presented to the parish. Indeed, Knud was
rather inclined to view the proposition as a
personal insult, therefore he had not spoken of
it to any one, not even to Lars, and the latter
never entered on a topic that had not first been
set afloat by some one else.</p>
<p>As chairman, Knud Aakre read the proposal
without adding any comments; but, as was his
wont, his eyes sought Lars, who usually sat or
stood a little aside, holding a straw between his
teeth,—he always had one when he took part
in a conversation; he either used it as a tooth-pick,
or he let it hang loosely in one corner of
his mouth, turning it more rapidly or more
slowly, according to the mood he was in. To
his surprise Knud saw that the straw was moving
very fast.</p>
<p>"Do you think we should agree to this?"
he asked, quickly.</p>
<p>Lars answered, dryly,—</p>
<p>"Yes, I do."</p>
<p>The whole board, feeling that Knud held
quite a different opinion, looked in astonishment
at Lars, but the latter said no more, nor was he
further questioned. Knud turned to another
matter, as though nothing had transpired. Not
until the close of the meeting did he resume the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
subject, and then asked, with apparent indifference,
if it would not be well to send the proposal
back to the bailiff for further consideration,
as it certainly did not meet the views of the
people, for the parish valued the grain magazine.
No one replied. Knud asked whether he
should enter the resolution in the register, the
measure did not seem to be a wise one.</p>
<p>"Against one vote," added Lars.</p>
<p>"Against two," cried another, promptly.</p>
<p>"Against three," came from a third; and before
the chairman could realize what was taking
place, a majority had voted in favor of the proposal.</p>
<p>Knud was so surprised that he forgot to offer
any opposition. He recorded the proceedings
and read, in a low voice: "The measure is recommended,—adjourned."</p>
<p>His face was fiery red as he rose and put up
the minute-book; but he determined to bring
forward the question once more at the meeting
of the representatives. Out in the yard, he put
his horse to the wagon, and Lars came and took
his seat at his side. They discussed various
topics on their way home, but not the one they
had nearest at heart.</p>
<p>The next day Knud's wife sought Lars's wife
to inquire if there was anything wrong between
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
the two men, for Knud had acted so strangely
when he came home. A short distance above
the gard buildings she met Lars's wife, who was
on her way to ask the same question, for her
husband, too, had been out of sorts the day before.
Lars's wife was a quiet, bashful person,
somewhat cowed, not by harsh words, but by
silence, for Lars never spoke to her unless she
had done something amiss, or he feared that
she might do wrong. Knud Aakre's wife, on the
other hand, talked more with her husband, and
particularly about the board, for lately it had
taken his thoughts, work, and affection away
from her and the children. She was as jealous
of it as of a woman; she wept at night over the
board and quarreled with her husband about
it during the day. But for that very reason
she could say nothing about it now when for
once he had returned home unhappy; for she
immediately became more wretched than he,
and for her life she could not rest until she had
discovered what was the matter. Consequently,
when Lars's wife could not give her the desired
information, she had to go out in the parish to
seek it. Here she obtained it, and of course
was at once of her husband's opinion; she found
Lars incomprehensible, not to say wicked.
When, however, she let her husband perceive
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
this, she felt that as yet there was no breach
between Lars and him; that, on the contrary,
he clung warmly to him.</p>
<p>The representatives met. Lars Högstad drove
over to Aakre in the morning; Knud came out
of the house and took his seat beside him.
They exchanged the usual greetings, spoke
perhaps rather less than was their wont on the
way, and not of the proposal. All the members
of the board were present; some, too, had
found their way in as spectators, which Knud
did not like, for it showed that there was a
stir in town about the matter. Lars was armed
with his straw, and he stood by the stove warming
himself, for the autumn was beginning to
be cold. The chairman read the proposal, in a
subdued, cautious manner, remarking when he
was through, that it must be remembered this
came from the bailiff, who was not apt to be
very felicitous in his propositions. The building,
it was well known, was a gift, and it is not
customary to part with gifts, least of all when
there is no need of doing so.</p>
<p>Lars, who never before had spoken at the
meetings, now took the floor, to the astonishment
of all. His voice trembled, but whether
it did so out of regard for Knud, or from anxiety
lest his own cause should be lost, shall remain
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
unsaid. But his arguments were good and
clear, and full of a logic and confidence which
had scarcely been heard at these meetings before.
And when he had gone over all the
ground, he added, in conclusion:—</p>
<p>"What does it matter if the proposal does
come from the bailiff? This affects the question
as little as who erected the building, or in
what way it came into the public possession."</p>
<p>Knud Aakre had grown very red in the face
(he blushed easily), and he shifted uneasily
from side to side, as was his wont when he was
impatient, but none the less did he exert himself
to be circumspect and to speak in a low
voice. There were savings-banks enough in the
country, he thought, and quite near at hand,
he might almost say <i>too</i> near. But if, after all,
it was deemed expedient to have one, there
were surely other ways of reaching it than those
leading over the gifts of the dead and the love
of the living. His voice was a little unsteady
when he said this, but quickly recovered as he
proceeded to speak of the grain magazine in itself,
and to show what its advantages were.</p>
<p>Lars answered him thoroughly on the last
point, and then added,—</p>
<p>"However, one thing and another lead me to
doubt whether this parish is managed for the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
sake of the living or the dead; furthermore,
whether it is the love and hatred of a single
family which controls matters here, or the good
of the whole."</p>
<p>Knud answered quickly,—</p>
<p>"I do not know whether he who has just
spoken has been least benefited by this family,—both
by the dead and by him who now
lives."</p>
<p>The first shot was aimed at the fact that
Knud's powerful grandfather had saved the
gard for Lars's paternal grandfather, when the
latter, on his part, was absent on a little excursion
to the penitentiary.</p>
<p>The straw which long had been in brisk motion,
suddenly became still.</p>
<p>"It is not my way to keep talking everywhere
about myself and my family," said Lars,
then turned again with calm superiority to the
subject under discussion, briefly reviewing all
the points with one definite object. Knud had
to admit to himself that he had never viewed
the matter from such a broad standpoint; involuntarily
he raised his eyes and looked at
Lars, who stood before him, tall, heavily built,
with clearness on the vigorous brow and in the
deep eyes. The lips were tightly compressed,
the straw still played in the corner of his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
mouth; all the surrounding lines indicated
vigor. He kept his hands behind him, and
stood rigidly erect, while his voice was as deep
and as hollow as if it proceeded from the
depths of the earth. For the first time in his
life Knud saw him as he was, and in his inmost
soul he was afraid of him; for this man must
always have been his superior. He had taken
all Knud himself knew and could impart; he
had rejected the tares and retained what had
produced this strong, hidden growth.</p>
<p>He had been fostered and loved by Knud,
but had now become a giant who hated Knud
deeply, terribly. Knud could not explain to
himself why, but as he looked at Lars he instinctively
felt this to be so, and all else becoming
swallowed up in this thought he started
up, exclaiming,—</p>
<p>"But Lars! Lars! what in Heaven's name
is the matter with you?" His agitation overcame
him,—"you, whom I have—you who
have"—</p>
<p>Powerless to utter another word, he sat
down; but in his effort to gain the mastery
over the emotion he deemed Lars unworthy of
seeing, he brought his fist down with violence
on the table, while his eyes flashed beneath his
stiff, disorderly hair, which always hung over
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
them. Lars acted as if he had not been interrupted,
and turning toward the others he asked
if this was to be the decisive blow; for if such
were the case there was no need for further remarks.</p>
<p>This calmness was more than Knud could
endure.</p>
<p>"What is it that has come among us?" cried
he. "We who have, until to-day, been actuated
by love and zeal alone, are now stirred up
against each other, as though goaded on by
some evil spirit," and he cast a fiery glance at
Lars, who replied,—</p>
<p>"It must be you yourself who bring in this
spirit, Knud; for I have kept strictly to the
matter before us. But you never can see the
advantage of anything you do not want yourself;
now we shall learn what becomes of the
love and the zeal when once this matter is decided
as we wish."</p>
<p>"Have I then illy served the interests of the
parish?"</p>
<p>There was no reply. This grieved Knud,
and he continued,—</p>
<p>"I really did persuade myself that I had
accomplished various things—various things
which have been of advantage to the parish;
but perhaps I have deceived myself."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
He was again overcome by his feelings; for
his was a fiery nature, ever variable in its
moods, and the breach with Lars pained him
so deeply that he could scarcely control himself.
Lars answered,—</p>
<p>"Yes, I know you appropriate the credit for
all that is done here, and if one should judge
by the amount of speaking at these meetings,
you certainly have accomplished the most."</p>
<p>"Is that the way of it?" shouted Knud,
looking sharply at Lars. "It is you who deserve
the entire honor?"</p>
<p>"Since we must finally talk about ourselves,"
said Lars, "I am free to admit that every question
has been carefully considered by both of
us before it was introduced here."</p>
<p>Here little Knud Aakre regained his ready
speech:—</p>
<p>"Take the honor, in God's name; I am
quite able to live without it; there are other
things that are harder to lose!"</p>
<p>Involuntarily Lars evaded his gaze, but said,
as he set the straw in very rapid motion,—</p>
<p>"If I were to express <i>my</i> opinion, I should
say that there is not very much to take credit
for. No doubt the priest and the school-masters
are content with what has been done; but
certainly the common people say that up to the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
present time the taxes of this parish have grown
heavier and heavier."</p>
<p>Here arose a murmur in the crowd, and the
people grew very restless. Lars continued,—</p>
<p>"Finally, to-day we have a matter brought
before us that might make the parish some little
amends for all it has paid out; this is perhaps
the reason why it encounters such opposition.
This is a question which concerns the
parish; it is for the welfare of all; it is our
duty to protect it from becoming a mere family
matter."</p>
<p>People exchanged glances, and spoke in half-audible
tones; one of them remarked, as he
rose to go for his dinner-pail, that these were
the truest words he had heard in these meetings
for many years. Now all rose from their seats,
the conversation became general, and Knud
Aakre, who alone remained sitting, felt that all
was lost, fearfully lost, and made no further effort
to save it. The truth was, he possessed
something of the temperament attributed to
Frenchmen: he was very good at a first, second,
or even third attack, but poor at self-defense,
for his sensibilities overwhelmed his
thoughts.</p>
<p>He was unable to comprehend this, nor could
he sit still any longer, and so resigning his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
place to the vice-chairman, he left. The others
could not refrain from a smile.</p>
<p>He had come to the meeting in company with
Lars, but went home alone, although the way
was long. It was a cold autumn day, the forest
was jagged and bare, the meadow gray-yellow,
frost was beginning here and there to remain
on the road-side. Disappointment is a terrible
companion. Knud felt so small, so desolate, as
he walked along; but Lars appeared everywhere
before him, towering up to the sky, in
the dusk of the evening, like a giant. It vexed
him to think it was his own fault that this had
been the decisive battle; he had staked too much
on one single little issue. But surprise, pain,
anger, had mastered him; they still burned,
tingled, moaned, and stormed within him. He
heard the rumbling of cart-wheels behind him;
it was Lars driving his superb horse past him,
in a brisk trot, making the hard road resound
like distant thunder. Knud watched the broad-shouldered
form that sat erect in the cart, while
the horse, eager for home, sped onward, without
any effort on the part of Lars, who merely
gave him a loose rein. It was but a picture of
this man's power: he was driving onward to
the goal! Knud felt himself cast out of his
cart, to stagger on alone in the chill autumn air.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
In his home at Aakre Knud's wife was waiting
for him. She knew that a battle was inevitable;
she had never in her life trusted Lars, and
now she was positively afraid of him. It had
been no comfort to her that he and her husband
had driven away together; it would not have
consoled her had they returned in the same way.
But darkness had fallen and they had not come.
She stood in the doorway, gazing out on the
road in front of the house; she walked down the
hill and back again, but no cart appeared.</p>
<p>Finally she hears a rattling on the hard
road, her heart throbs as the wheels go round,
she clings to the casement, peering out into the
night; the cart draws near; only one is in it;
she recognizes Lars, who sees and recognizes
her, but drives past without stopping. Now she
became thoroughly alarmed. Her limbs gave
way under her, she tottered in and sank down
on the bench by the window. The children
gathered anxiously about her, the youngest one
asked for papa; she never spoke with them but
of him. He had such a noble disposition, and
this was what made her love him; but now his
heart was not with his family, it was engrossed
in all sorts of business which brought him only
unhappiness, and consequently they were all
unhappy.</p>
<p>If only no misfortune had befallen him!
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
Knud was so hot-tempered. Why had Lars
come home alone? Why did he not stop?
Should she run after him, or down the road
after her husband? She was in an agony of distress,
and the children pressed around her, asking
what was the matter. But this she would
not tell them, so rising she said they must eat
supper alone, then got everything ready and
helped them. All the while she kept glancing
out on the road. He did not come. She undressed
the children and put them to bed, and
the youngest repeated the evening prayer while
she bowed over him. She herself prayed with
such fervor in the words which the infant lips
so soothingly uttered that she did not heed the
steps outside.</p>
<p>Knud stood upon the threshold, gazing at his
little company at prayer. The mother drew
herself up; all the children shouted: "Papa!"
but he seated himself at once, and said, softly:</p>
<p>"Oh, let him say it once more!"</p>
<p>The mother turned again to the bedside, that
he, meanwhile, should not see her face, for it
would have seemed like intruding on his grief
before he felt the need of revealing it. The
little one folded its hands over its breast, all
the rest did likewise, and it repeated,—</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
<span class="i0">"I, a little child, pray Heaven<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That my sins may be forgiven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With time I'll larger, wiser grow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my father and mother joy shall know,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If only Thou, dearest, dearest Lord,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will help me to keep Thy precious word!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And now to our Heavenly Father's merciful keeping<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our souls let us trust while we're sleeping."<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>What peace now fell upon the room! Not a
minute had elapsed ere all the children were
sleeping as in the arms of God; but the mother
moved softly away and placed supper before
the father, who was, however, unable to eat.
But after he had gone to bed, he said,—</p>
<p>"Henceforth I shall be at home."</p>
<p class="p4b">And his wife lay at his side trembling with
joy which she dared not betray; and she
thanked God for all that had happened, for
whatever it might be it had resulted in good!</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<h3><a id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the course of a year Lars had become
chairman of the parish board of supervisors, president
of the savings-bank, and leading commissioner
in the court of reconciliation; in short,
he held every office to which his election had
been possible. In the board of supervisors for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
the amt (county) he was silent during the first
year, but the second year he created the same
sensation when he spoke as in the parish board;
for here, too, coming forward in opposition to
him who had previously been the guiding
power, he became victorious over the entire
rank and file and was from that time himself
the leader. From this his path led him to the
storthing (parliament), where his fame had
preceded him, and where consequently there
was no lack of challenges. But here, although
steady and firm, he always remained retiring.
He did not care for power except where he was
well known, nor would he endanger his leadership
at home by a possible defeat abroad.</p>
<p>For he had a pleasant life at home. When
he stood by the church wall on Sundays, and
the congregation walked slowly past, saluting
him and stealing side glances at him, and one
after another paused in order to exchange a
few words with him,—then truly it might be
said that he controlled the entire parish with a
straw, for of course this hung in the corner of
his mouth.</p>
<p>He deserved his honors. The road leading
to the church, he had opened; the new church
they were standing beside, he had built; this
and much more was the fruit of the savings-bank
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
which he had founded and now managed
himself. For its resources were further made
fruitful, and the parish was constantly held up
as an example to all others of self-management
and good order.</p>
<p>Knud Aakre had entirely withdrawn from
the field, although at first he attended a few
of the meetings of the board, because he had
promised himself that he would continue to offer
his services, even if it were not altogether
pleasing to his pride. In the first proposal
he had made, he became so greatly perplexed
by Lars, who insisted upon having it represented
in all its details, that, somewhat hurt,
he said: "When Columbus discovered America
he did not have it divided into parishes and
deaneries; this came gradually;" whereupon
Lars, in his reply, compared the discovery of
America with Knud's proposal,—it so happened
that this treated of stable improvements,—and
afterwards Knud was known by no other
name in the board than "Discovery of America."
So Knud thought that as his usefulness
had ceased, so too had his obligations to work,
and he refused to accept further reëlections.</p>
<p>But he continued to be industrious; and in
order that he might still have a field for usefulness,
he enlarged his Sunday-school, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
placed it, by means of small contributions from
the attendants, in communication with the
mission cause, of which he soon became the
centre and leader in his own and the surrounding
counties. Thereupon Lars Högstad remarked,
that if ever Knud undertook to collect
money for any purpose, he must know beforehand
that it was to do good thousands of miles
from home.</p>
<p>There was, be it observed, no more strife
between them. To be sure, they no longer
associated with each other, but they bowed and
spoke when they met. Knud always felt a
little pain at the mere thought of Lars, but
strove to suppress it, and persuade himself
that matters could not have been otherwise.
At a large wedding-party, many years afterward,
where both were present and both were
in good spirits, Knud mounted a chair and proposed
a toast for the chairman of the parish
board, and the first representative their amt
had sent to the storthing! He spoke until
he became deeply moved, and, as usual, expressed
himself in an exceedingly handsome
way. Every one thought it was honorably
done, and Lars came up to him, and his gaze
was unsteady as he said that for much of what
he knew and was he was indebted to him.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
At the next election of the board of supervisors
Knud was again made chairman!</p>
<p>But had Lars Högstad foreseen what now
followed, he would certainly not have used his
influence for this. "Every event happens in its
own time," says an old proverb, and just as
Knud Aakre again entered the board, the best
men of the parish were threatened with ruin,
as the result of a speculation craze which had
long been raging, but which now first began to
demand its victims. It was said that Lars Högstad
was the cause of this great disaster, for he
had taught the parish to speculate. This penny
fever had originated in the parish board of
supervisors, for the board itself was the greatest
speculator of all. Every one down to the
laboring youth of twenty years desired in his
transactions to make ten dollars out of one; a
beginning of extreme avarice in the efforts to
hoard, was followed by an excessive extravagance,
and as all minds were bent only on money,
there had at the same time developed a
spirit of suspicion, of intolerance, of caviling,
which resulted in lawsuits and hatred. This
also was due to the example of the board, it
was said, for among the first things Lars had
done as chairman was to sue the venerable old
priest for holding doubtful titles. The priest
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
had lost, but had also immediately resigned.
At that time some had praised, some censured
this suit; but it had proved a bad example.
Now came the consequences of Lars's management,
in the form of loss to every single man
of property in the parish, consequently public
opinion underwent a sharp change! The opposing
force, too, soon found a leader, for Knud
Aakre had come into the board, introduced
there by Lars himself!</p>
<p>The struggle began forthwith. All those
youths to whom Knud in his time had given
instructions, were now grown up and were the
most enlightened men in the parish, thoroughly
at home in all its transactions and public
affairs. It was against these men that Lars
now had to contend, and they had borne him a
grudge from their childhood up. When of an
evening after one of these stormy proceedings
he stood on the steps in front of his house, gazing
over the parish, he could hear a sound as
of distant rumbling thunder rising toward him
from the large gards, now lying in the storm.
He knew that the day they met their ruin,
the savings-bank and himself would be overthrown,
and all his long efforts would culminate
in imprecations heaped on his head.</p>
<p>In these days of conflict and despair, a party
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
of railroad commissioners, who were to survey
the route for a new road, made their appearance
one evening at Högstad, the first gard at
the entrance to the parish. In the course of
conversation during the evening, Lars learned
that there was a question whether the road
should run through this valley or another parallel
to it.</p>
<p>Like a flash of lightning it darted through
his mind that if he could succeed in having it
laid here, all property would rise in value, and
not only would he himself be saved but his fame
would be transmitted to the latest posterity!
He could not sleep that night, for his eyes were
dazzled by a glowing light, and sometimes he
could even hear the sound of the cars. The
next day he went himself with the commissioners
while they examined the locality; his
horse took them, and to his gard they returned.
The next day they drove through the other
valley; he was still with them, and he drove
them back again to his house. They found a
brilliant illumination at Högstad; the first men
of the parish had been invited to be present at
a magnificent party given in honor of the
commissioners; it lasted until morning. But
to no avail, for the nearer they came to a final
issue, the more plainly it appeared that the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
road could not pass through this locality without
undue expense. The entrance to the valley
lay through a narrow gorge, and just as it
swung into the parish, the swollen river swung
in also, so that the railroad would either have
to take the same curve along the mountain that
the highway now made, thus running at a
needlessly high altitude and crossing the river
twice, or it would have to run straight forward,
and thus through the old, now unused
churchyard. Now the church had but recently
been removed, and it was not long since the
last burial had taken place there.</p>
<p>If it only depended on a bit of old churchyard,
thought Lars, whether or not this great blessing
came into the parish, then he must use his
name and his energy for the removal of this
obstacle! He at once set forth on a visit to the
priest and the dean, and furthermore to the
diocese council; he talked and he negotiated,
for he was armed with all possible facts concerning
the immense advantage of the railroad
on one hand, and the sentiments of the parish
on the other, and actually succeeded in winning
all parties. It was promised him that by a removal
of part of the bodies to the new churchyard
the objections might be considered set
aside, and the royal permission obtained for the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
churchyard to be taken for the line of railroad.
It was told him that nothing was now needed
but for him to set the question afloat in the
board of supervisors.</p>
<p>The parish had grown as excited as himself:
the spirit of speculation which for many years
had been the only one prevailing in the parish,
now became madly jubilant. There was nothing
spoken or thought of but Lars's journey and its
possible results. When he returned with the
most magnificent promises, they made much of
him; songs were sung in his praise; indeed, if
at that time the largest gards had gone to destruction,
one after another, no one would have
paid the slightest attention to it: the speculation
craze had given way to the railroad craze.</p>
<p>The board of supervisors assembled: there
was presented for approval a respectful petition,
that the old churchyard might be appropriated
as the route of the railroad. This was unanimously
adopted; there was even mention of
giving Lars a vote of thanks and a coffee-pot
in the form of a locomotive. But it was finally
thought best to wait until the whole plan was
carried into execution. The petition came back
from the diocese council, with a demand for a
list of all bodies that would have to be removed.
The priest made out such a list, but instead
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
of sending it direct, he had his own reasons
for sending it through the parish board. One
of the members carried it to the next meeting.
Here it fell to the lot of Lars, as chairman, to
open the envelope and read the list.</p>
<p>Now it chanced that the first body to be disinterred
was that of Lars's own grandfather! A
little shudder ran through the assembly! Lars
himself was startled, but nevertheless continued
to read. Then it furthermore chanced that the
second body was that of Knud Aakre's grandfather,
for these two men had died within a
short time of each other. Knud Aakre sprang
from his seat; Lars paused; every one looked
up in consternation, for old Knud Aakre had
been the benefactor of the parish and its best
beloved man, time out of mind. There was a
dead silence, which lasted for some minutes. At
last Lars cleared his throat and went on reading.
But the further he proceeded the worse
the matter grew; for the nearer they came to
their own time, the dearer were the dead.
When he had finished, Knud Aakre asked
quietly whether the others did not agree with
him in thinking that the air about them was
filled with spirits. It was just beginning to
grow dark in the room, and although they were
mature men and were sitting in numbers together,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
they could not refrain from feeling
alarmed. Lars produced a bundle of matches
from his pocket and struck a light, dryly remarking,
that this was no more than they knew
beforehand.</p>
<p>"Yes, it is," said Knud pacing the floor, "it
is more than I knew before. Now I begin to
think that even railroads can be purchased too
dearly."</p>
<p>These words sent a quiver through the audience,
and observing that they had better
further consider the matter, Knud made a motion
to that effect.</p>
<p>"In the excitement which had prevailed," he
said, "the benefit likely to be derived from the
road had been overestimated. Even if the railroad
did not pass through this parish, there
would have to be stations at both ends of the
valley; true, it would always be a little more
troublesome to drive to them than to a station
right in our midst; yet the difficulty would not
be so very great that it would be necessary because
of it to violate the repose of the dead."</p>
<p>Knud was one of those who when his
thoughts were once in rapid motion could present
the most convincing arguments; a moment
before what he now said had not occurred
to his mind, nevertheless it struck home to all.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>
Lars felt the danger of his position, and concluding
that it was best to be cautious, apparently
acquiesced in Knud's proposition to
reconsider. Such emotions are always worse
in the beginning, he thought; it is wisest to
temporize with them.</p>
<p>But he had miscalculated. In ever increasing
waves the dread of touching the dead of
their own families swept over the inhabitants
of the parish; what none of them had thought
of as long as the matter existed merely in the
abstract, now became a serious question when it
was brought home to themselves. The women
especially were excited, and the road near the
court-house was black with people the day of
the next meeting. It was a warm summer day,
the windows were removed, and there were as
many without the house as within. All felt
that a great battle was about to be fought.</p>
<p>Lars came driving up with his handsome
horse, and was greeted by all; he looked calmly
and confidently around, not seeming to be surprised
at anything. He took a seat near the
window, found his straw, and a suspicion of a
smile played over his keen face as he saw Knud
Aakre rise to his feet to act as spokesman for
all the dead in the old Högstad churchyard.</p>
<p>But Knud Aakre did not begin with the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
churchyard. He began with an accurate exposition
of how greatly the profits likely to accrue
from having the railroad run through the parish
had been overestimated in all this turmoil.
He had positive proofs for every statement he
made, for he had calculated the distance of each
gard from the nearest station, and finally he
asked,—</p>
<p>"Why has there been so much ado about
this railroad, if not in behalf of the parish?"</p>
<p>This he could easily explain to them. There
were those who had occasioned so great a disturbance
that a still greater one was required to
conceal it. Moreover, there were those who in
the first outburst of excitement could sell their
gards and belongings to strangers who were
foolish enough to purchase. It was a shameful
speculation which not only the living but the
dead must serve to promote!</p>
<p>The effect of his address was very considerable.
But Lars had once for all resolved to
preserve his composure let come what would.
He replied, therefore, with a smile, that he had
been under the impression that Knud himself
was eager for the railroad, and certainly no one
would accuse him of having any knowledge of
speculation. (Here followed a little laugh.)
Knud had not evinced the slightest objection to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
the removal of the bodies of common people for
the sake of the railroad; but when his own
grandfather's body was in question then it suddenly
affected the welfare of the whole community!
He said no more, but looked with a
faint smile at Knud, as did also several others.
Meanwhile, Knud Aakre surprised both him
and them by replying:—</p>
<p>"I confess it; I did not comprehend the
matter until it touched my own family feelings;
it is possible that this may be a shame,
but it would have been a far greater one not
to have realized it at last—as is the case with
Lars! Never," he concluded, "could this raillery
have been more out of place; for to people
with common decency the whole affair is
absolutely revolting."</p>
<p>"This feeling is something that has come up
quite recently," replied Lars, "we may therefore
hope that it will soon pass over again.
May it not perhaps help the matter a little to
think what the priest, dean, diocese council, engineers,
and government will all say if we first
unanimously set the ball in motion, then come
and beg to have it stopped? If we first are
jubilant and sing songs, then weep and deliver
funeral orations? If they do not say that we
have gone mad in this parish, they must at all
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
events say that we have acted rather strangely
of late."</p>
<p>"Yes, God knows, they may well think so!"
replied Knud. "We have, indeed, acted very
strangely of late, and it is high time for us to
mend our ways. Things have come to a serious
pass when we can each disinter his own grandfather
to make way for a railroad; when we
can disturb the resting-place of the dead in
order that our own burdens may the more
easily be carried. For is not this rooting in our
churchyard in order to make it yield us food
the same thing? What is buried there in the
name of Jesus, we take up in Moloch's name—this
is but little better than eating the bones
of our ancestors."</p>
<p>"Such is the course of nature," said Lars,
dryly.</p>
<p>"Yes, of plants and of animals."</p>
<p>"And are not we animals?"</p>
<p>"We are, but also the children of the living
God, who have buried our dead in faith in
Him: it is He who shall rouse them and not
we."</p>
<p>"Oh, you are talking idly! Are we not
obliged to have the graves dug up at any rate,
when their turn comes? What harm is there
in having it happen a few years earlier?"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
"I will tell you. What was born of them
still draws the breath of life; what they built
up yet remains; what they loved, taught, and
suffered for, lives about us and within us; and
should we not allow them to rest in peace?"</p>
<p>"Your warmth shows me that you are thinking
of your own grandfather again," replied
Lars, "and I must say it seems to me high time
the parish should be rid of <i>him</i>. He monopolized
too much space while he lived; and so it
is scarcely worth while to have him lie in the
way now that he is dead. Should his corpse
prevent a blessing to this parish that would extend
through a hundred generations, we may
truly say that of all who have been born here,
<i>he</i> has done us the greatest harm."</p>
<p>Knud Aakre tossed back his disorderly hair,
his eyes flashed, his whole person looked like a
bent steel spring.</p>
<p>"How much of a blessing what you are
speaking about may be, I have already shown.
It has the same character as all the other blessings
with which you have supplied the parish,
namely, a doubtful one. It is true, you have
provided us with a new church, but you have
also filled it with a new spirit,—and it is not
that of love. True, you have furnished us with
new roads, but also with new roads to destruction,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
as is now plainly manifest in the misfortunes
of many. True, you have diminished
our public taxes, but you have increased our
private ones; lawsuits, promissory notes, and
bankruptcies are no fruitful gifts to a community.
And <i>you</i> dare dishonor in his grave the
man whom the whole parish blesses? You dare
assert that he lies in our way; aye, no doubt
he does lie in your way, this is plain enough
now, for his grave will be the cause of your
downfall! The spirit which has reigned over
you, and until to-day over us all, was not born
to rule but to enter into servitude. The churchyard
will surely be allowed to remain in peace;
but to-day it shall have one grave added to
it, namely, that of your popularity which is now
to be buried there."</p>
<p>Lars Högstad rose, white as a sheet; his lips
parted, but he was unable to utter a word, and
the straw fell. After three or four vain efforts
to find it again and recover his powers of speech,
he burst forth like a volcano with,—</p>
<p>"And so these are the thanks I get for all
my toil and drudgery! If such a woman-preacher
is to be allowed to rule—why, then,
may the devil be your chairman if ever I set
my foot here again! I have kept things together
until this day, and after me your trash
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
will fall into a thousand pieces, but let it tumble
down now—here is the register!" And he
flung it on the table. "Shame on such an
assembly of old women and brats!" Here he
struck the table with great violence. "Shame
on the whole parish that it can see a man rewarded
as I am now."</p>
<p>He brought down his fist once more with
such force that the great court-house table
shook, and the inkstand with its entire contents
tumbled to the floor, marking for all
future generations the spot where Lars Högstad
fell in spite of all his prudence, his long rule,
and his patience.</p>
<p>He rushed to the door and in a few moments
had left the place. The entire assembly remained
motionless; for the might of his voice
and of his wrath had frightened them, until
Knud Aakre, remembering the taunt he had
received at the time of <i>his</i> fall, with beaming
countenance and imitating Lars's voice, exclaimed:—</p>
<p>"Is <i>this</i> to be the decisive blow in the
matter?"</p>
<p class="p4b">The whole assembly burst into peals of merriment
at these words! The solemn meeting
ended in laughter, talk, and high glee; only a
few left the place, those remaining behind
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
called for drink to add to their food, and a night
of thunder succeeded a day of lightning. Every
one felt as happy and independent as of yore,
ere the commanding spirit of Lars had cowed
their souls into dumb obedience. They drank
toasts to their freedom; they sang, indeed,
finally they danced, Knud Aakre and the vice-chairman
taking the lead and all the rest following,
while boys and girls joined in, and
the young folks outside shouted "Hurrah!" for
such a jollification they had never before seen!</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<h3><a id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3>
<p><span class="smcap">Lars</span> moved about in the large rooms at Högstad,
without speaking a word. His wife, who
loved him, but always in fear and trembling,
dared not come into his presence. The management
of the gard and of the house might be
carried on as best it could, while on the other
hand there kept growing a multitude of letters,
which passed back and forth between Högstad
and the parish, and Högstad and the post-office;
for Lars had claims against the parish board,
and these not being satisfied he prosecuted;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
against the savings-bank, which were also unsatisfied,
and so resulted in another suit. He
took offense at expressions in the letters he
received and went to law again, now against
the chairman of the parish board, now against
the president of the savings-bank. At the same
time there were dreadful articles in the newspapers,
which report attributed to him, and
which were the cause of great dissension in
the parish, inciting neighbor against neighbor.
Sometimes he was absent whole weeks, no one
knew where, and when he returned he lived as
secluded as before. At church he had not been
seen after the great scene at the representatives'
meeting.</p>
<p>Then one Saturday evening the priest brought
tidings that the railroad was to run through
the parish after all, and across the old churchyard!
It struck like lightning into every
home. The unanimous opposition of the parish
board had been in vain, Lars Högstad's
influence had been stronger. This was the
meaning of his journeys, this was his work!
Involuntary admiration of the man and his
stubborn persistence tended to suppress the
dissatisfaction of the people at their own defeat,
and the more they discussed the matter the
more reconciled they became; for a fact accomplished
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
always contains within itself reasons
why it is so, which gradually force themselves
upon us after there is no longer possibility
of change. The people assembled about the
church the next day, and they could not help
laughing as they met one another. And just
as the whole congregation, young and old, men
and women, aye, even children, were all talking
about Lars Högstad, his ability, his rigorous
will, his immense influence, he himself with
his whole household came driving up in four
conveyances, one after the other. It was two
years since his last visit there! He alighted
and passed through the crowd, while all, as by
one impulse, unhesitatingly greeted him, but he
did not deign to bestow a glance on either side,
nor to return a single salutation. His little
wife, pale as death, followed him. Inside of
the church, the astonishment grew to such a
pitch that as one after another caught sight of
him they stopped singing and only stared at
him. Knud Aakre, who sat in his pew in front
of Lars, noticed that there was something the
matter, and as he perceived nothing remarkable
in front of him, he turned round. He saw Lars
bowed over his hymn-book, searching for the
place.</p>
<p>He had not seen him since that evening at
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
the meeting, and such a complete change he
had not believed possible. For this was no
victor! The thin, soft hair was thinner than
ever, the face was haggard and emaciated, the
eyes hollow and bloodshot, the giant neck had
dwindled into wrinkles and cords. Knud comprehended
at a glance what this man had gone
through; he was seized with a feeling of strong
sympathy, indeed, he felt something of the old
love stirring within his breast. He prayed for
Lars to his God, and made a resolute vow that
he would seek him after service; but Lars had
started on ahead. Knud resolved to call on
him that evening. His wife, however, held him
back.</p>
<p>"Lars is one of those," said she, "who can
scarcely bear a debt of gratitude: keep away
from him until he has an opportunity to do
you some favor, and then perhaps he will come
to you!"</p>
<p>But he did not come. He appeared now and
then at church, but nowhere else, and he associated
with no one. On the other hand, he
now devoted himself to his gard and other business
with the passionate zeal of one who had
determined to make amends in one year for the
neglect of many; and, indeed, there were those
who said that this was imperative.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
Railroad operations in the valley began very
soon. As the line was to go directly past Lars's
gard, he tore down the portion of his house
that faced the road, in order to build a large
and handsome balcony, for he was determined
that his gard should attract attention. This
work was just being done when the temporary
rails for the conveyance of gravel and timber
to the road were laid and a small locomotive
was sent to the spot. It was a beautiful autumn
evening that the first gravel car was to
pass over the road. Lars stood on his front
steps, to hear the first signal and to see the first
column of smoke; all the people of the gard
were gathered about him. He gazed over the
parish, illumined by the setting sun, and he
felt that he would be remembered as long as a
train should come roaring through this fertile
valley. A sense of forgiveness glided into his
soul. He looked toward the churchyard, a part
of which still remained, with crosses bowed
down to the ground, but a part of it was now
the railroad. He was just endeavoring to
define his own feeling when the first signal
whistled, and presently the train came slowly
working its way along, attended by a cloud of
smoke, mingled with sparks, for the locomotive
was fed with pine wood. The wind blew toward
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
the house so that those standing without
were soon enveloped in a dense smoke, but as
this cleared away Lars saw the train working
its way down through the valley like a strong
will.</p>
<p>He was content, and entered his house like
one who has come from a long day's work.
The image of his grandfather stood before him
at this moment. This grandfather had raised
the family from poverty to prosperity; true, a
portion of his honor as a citizen was consumed
in the act, but he had advanced nevertheless!
His faults were the prevailing ones of his time:
they were based on the uncertain boundary
lines of the moral conceptions of his day.
Every age has its uncertain moral distinctions
and its victims to the endeavor to define them
properly.</p>
<p>Honor be to him in his grave, for he had suffered
and toiled! Peace be with him! It must
be good to rest in the end. But he was not
allowed to rest because of his grandson's vast
ambition; his ashes were thrown up with the
stones and the gravel. Nonsense! he would
only smile that his grandson's work passed over
his head.</p>
<p>Amid thoughts like these Lars had undressed
and gone to bed. Once more his grandfather's
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
image glided before him. It was sterner now
than the first time. Weariness enfeebles us,
and Lars began to reproach himself. But he
defended himself also. What did his grandfather
want? Surely he ought to be satisfied
now, for the family honor was proclaimed in
loud tones above his grave. Who else had such
a monument? And yet what is this? These
two monstrous eyes of fire and this hissing,
roaring sound belong no longer to the locomotive,
for they turn away from the railroad
track. And from the churchyard straight toward
the house comes an immense procession.
The eyes of fire are his grandfather's, and the
long line of followers are all the dead. The
train advances steadily toward the gard, roaring,
crackling, flashing. The windows blaze
in the reflection of the dead men's eyes. Lars
made a mighty effort to control himself, for
this was a dream, unquestionably but a dream.
Only wait until I am awake! There, now I am
awake. Come on, poor ghosts!</p>
<p>And lo! they really did come from the
churchyard, overthrowing road, rails, locomotive
and train, so that these fell with a mighty
crash to the ground, and the green sod appeared
in their stead, dotted with graves and
crosses as before. Like mighty champions they
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
advanced, and the hymn, "Let the dead repose
in peace!" preceded them. Lars knew it;
for through all these years it had been sighing
within his soul, and now it had become his requiem;
for this was death and death's visions.
The cold sweat started out over his whole body,
for nearer and nearer—and behold, on the
window pane! there they are now, and he
heard some one speak his name. Overpowered
with dread he struggled to scream; for he was
being strangled, a cold hand was clinching his
throat and he regained his voice in an agonized:
"Help me!" and awoke. The window
had been broken in from the outside; the
pieces flew all about his head. He sprang up.
A man stood at the window, surrounded by
smoke and flames.</p>
<p>"The gard is on fire, Lars! We will help
you out!"</p>
<p>It was Knud Aakre.</p>
<p>When Lars regained his consciousness, he
was lying outside in a bleak wind, which chilled
his limbs. There was not a soul with him; he
saw the flaming gard to the left; around him
his cattle were grazing and making their voices
heard; the sheep were huddled together in a
frightened flock; the household goods were
scattered about, and when he looked again he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
saw some one sitting on a knoll close by, weeping.
It was his wife. He called her by name.
She started.</p>
<p>"The Lord Jesus be praised that you are
alive!" cried she, coming forward and seating
herself, or rather throwing herself down in
front of him. "O God! O God! We surely
have had enough of this railroad now!"</p>
<p>"The railroad?" asked he, but ere the words
had escaped his lips, a clear comprehension of
the case passed like a shudder over him; for,
of course, sparks from the locomotive that had
fallen among the shavings of the new side wall
had been the cause of the fire. Lars sat there
brooding in silence; his wife, not daring to utter
another word, began to search for his clothes;
for what she had spread over him, as he lay
senseless, had fallen off. He accepted her attentions
in silence, but as she knelt before him to
cover his feet, he laid his hand on her head.
Falling forward she buried her face in his lap
and wept aloud. There were many who eyed
her curiously. But Lars understood her and
said,—</p>
<p>"You are the only friend I have."</p>
<p>Even though it had cost the gard to hear
these words, it mattered not to her; she felt so
happy that she gained courage, and rising up
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
and looking humbly into her husband's face,
she said,—</p>
<p>"Because there is no one else who understands
you."</p>
<p>Then a hard heart melted, and tears rolled
down the man's cheeks as he clung to his wife's
hand.</p>
<p>Now he talked to her as to his own soul.
Now too she opened to him her mind. They
also talked about how all this had happened, or
rather he listened while she told about it.
Knud Aakre had been the first to see the fire,
had roused his people, sent the girls out over
his parish, while he had hastened himself with
men and horses to the scene of the conflagration,
where all were sleeping. He had engineered
the extinguishing of the flames and the
rescuing of the household goods, and had himself
dragged Lars from the burning room, and
carried him to the left side of the house from
where the wind was blowing and had laid him
out here in the churchyard.</p>
<p>And while they were talking of this, some
one came driving rapidly up the road and
turned into the churchyard, where he alighted.
It was Knud, who had been home after his
church-cart,—the one in which they had so
many times ridden together to and from the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
meetings of the parish board. Now he requested
Lars to get in and ride home with him.
They grasped each other by the hand, the one
sitting, the other standing.</p>
<p>"Come with me now," said Knud.</p>
<p>Without a word of reply, Lars rose. Side by
side they walked to the cart. Lars was helped
in; Knud sat down beside him. What they
talked about as they drove along, or afterwards
in the little chamber at Aakre, where they remained
together until late in the morning, has
never been known. But from that day they
were inseparable as before.</p>
<p class="p4b">As soon as misfortune overtakes a man,
every one learns what he is worth. And so the
parish undertook to rebuild Lars Högstad's
houses, and to make them larger and handsomer
than any others in the valley. He was
reëlected chairman, but with Knud Aakre at
his side; he never again failed to take counsel
of Knud's intelligence and heart—and from
that day forth nothing went to ruin.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>
<h2>THROND.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a man named Alf, who had
raised great expectations among his fellow-parishioners
because he excelled most of them both
in the work he accomplished and in the advice
he gave. Now when this man was thirty years
old, he went to live up the mountain and cleared
a piece of land for farming, about fourteen
miles from any settlement. Many people wondered
how he could endure thus depending on
himself for companionship, but they were still
more astonished when, a few years later, a
young girl from the valley, and one, too, who
had been the gayest of the gay at all the social
gatherings and dances of the parish, was willing
to share his solitude.</p>
<p>This couple were called "the people in the
wood," and the man was known by the name
"Alf in the wood." People viewed him with
inquisitive eyes when they met him at church
or at work, because they did not understand
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
him; but neither did he take the trouble to
give them any explanation of his conduct. His
wife was only seen in the parish twice, and on
one of these occasions it was to present a child
for baptism.</p>
<p>This child was a son, and he was called
Thrond. When he grew larger his parents
often talked about needing help, and as they
could not afford to take a full-grown servant,
they hired what they called "a half:" they
brought into their house a girl of fourteen, who
took care of the boy while the father and
mother were busy in the field.</p>
<p>This girl was not the brightest person in the
world, and the boy soon observed that his mother's
words were easy to comprehend, but that it
was hard to get at the meaning of what Ragnhild
said. He never talked much with his
father, and he was rather afraid of him, for the
house had to be kept very quiet when he was
at home.</p>
<p>One Christmas Eve—they were burning
two candles on the table, and the father was
drinking from a white flask—the father took
the boy up in his arms and set him on his
lap, looked him sternly in the eyes and exclaimed,—</p>
<p>"Ugh, boy!" Then he added more gently:
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>
"Why, you are not so much afraid. Would you
have the courage to listen to a story?"</p>
<p>The boy made no reply, but he looked full in
his father's face. His father then told him
about a man from Vaage, whose name was
Blessom. This man was in Copenhagen for
the purpose of getting the king's verdict in a
law-suit he was engaged in, and he was detained
so long that Christmas Eve overtook him there.
Blessom was greatly annoyed at this, and as he
was sauntering about the streets fancying himself
at home, he saw a very large man, in a
white, short coat, walking in front of him.</p>
<p>"How fast you are walking!" said Blessom.</p>
<p>"I have a long distance to go in order to get
home this evening," replied the man.</p>
<p>"Where are you going?"</p>
<p>"To Vaage," answered the man, and walked
on.</p>
<p>"Why, that is very nice," said Blessom,
"for that is where I was going, too."</p>
<p>"Well, then, you may ride with me, if you
will stand on the runners of my sledge," answered
the man, and turned into a side street
where his horse was standing.</p>
<p>He mounted his seat and looked over his
shoulder at Blessom, who was just getting on
the runners.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
"You had better hold fast," said the stranger.</p>
<p>Blessom did as he was told, and it was well
he did, for their journey was evidently not by
land.</p>
<p>"It seems to me that you are driving on the
water," cried Blessom.</p>
<p>"I am," said the man, and the spray whirled
about them.</p>
<p>But after a while it seemed to Blessom their
course no longer lay on the water.</p>
<p>"It seems to me we are moving through the
air," said he.</p>
<p>"Yes, so we are," replied the stranger.</p>
<p>But when they had gone still farther, Blessom
thought he recognized the parish they were
driving through.</p>
<p>"Is not this Vaage?" cried he.</p>
<p>"Yes, now we are there," replied the stranger,
and it seemed to Blessom that they had
gone pretty fast.</p>
<p>"Thank you for the good ride," said he.</p>
<p>"Thanks to yourself," replied the man, and
added, as he whipped up his horse, "Now you
had better not look after me."</p>
<p>"No, indeed," thought Blessom, and started
over the hills for home.</p>
<p>But just then so loud and terrible a crash
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
was heard behind him that it seemed as if the
whole mountain must be tumbling down, and
a bright light was shed over the surrounding
landscape; he looked round and beheld the
stranger in the white coat driving through the
crackling flames into the open mountain, which
was yawning wide to receive him, like some
huge gate. Blessom felt somewhat strange in
regard to his traveling companion; and thought
he would look in another direction; but as he
had turned his head so it remained, and never
more could Blessom get it straight again.</p>
<p>The boy had never heard anything to equal
this in all his life. He dared not ask his father
for more, but early the next morning he asked
his mother if she knew any stories. Yes, of
course she did; but hers were chiefly about
princesses who were in captivity for seven
years, until the right prince came along. The
boy believed that everything he heard or read
about took place close around him.</p>
<p>He was about eight years old when the first
stranger entered their door one winter evening.
He had black hair, and this was something
Thrond had never seen before. The stranger
saluted them with a short "Good-evening!"
and came forward. Thrond grew frightened
and sat down on a cricket by the hearth. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
mother asked the man to take a seat on the
bench along the wall; he did so, and then the
mother could examine his face more closely.</p>
<p>"Dear me! is not this Knud the fiddler?"
cried she.</p>
<p>"Yes, to be sure it is. It has been a long
time since I played at your wedding."</p>
<p>"Oh, yes; it is quite a while now. Have
you been on a long journey?"</p>
<p>"I have been playing for Christmas, on the
other side of the mountain. But half way
down the slope I began to feel very badly, and
I was obliged to come in here to rest."</p>
<p>The mother brought forward food for him;
he sat down to the table, but did not say "in
the name of Jesus," as the boy had been accustomed
to hear. When he had finished eating,
he got up from the table, and said,—</p>
<p>"Now I feel very comfortable; let me rest a
little while."</p>
<p>And he was allowed to rest on Thrond's bed.</p>
<p>For Thrond a bed was made on the floor.
As the boy lay there, he felt cold on the side
that was turned away from the fire, and that
was the left side. He discovered that it was
because this side was exposed to the chill night
air; for he was lying out in the wood. How
came he in the wood? He got up and looked
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span>
about him, and saw that there was fire burning
a long distance off, and that he was actually
alone in the wood. He longed to go home to
the fire; but could not stir from the spot.
Then a great fear overcame him; for wild
beasts might be roaming about, trolls and ghosts
might appear to him; he must get home to the
fire; but he could not stir from the spot. Then
his terror grew, he strove with all his might to
gain self-control, and was at last able to cry,
"Mother," and then he awoke.</p>
<p>"Dear child, you have had bad dreams,"
said she, and took him up.</p>
<p>A shudder ran through him, and he glanced
round. The stranger was gone, and he dared
not inquire after him.</p>
<p>His mother appeared in her black dress, and
started for the parish. She came home with
two new strangers, who also had black hair
and who wore flat caps. They did not say "in
the name of Jesus," when they ate, and they
talked in low tones with the father. Afterward
the latter and they went into the barn,
and came out again with a large box, which
the men carried between them. They placed it
on a sled, and said farewell. Then the mother
said:—</p>
<p>"Wait a little, and take with you the smaller
box he brought here with him."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
And she went in to get it. But one of the
men said,—</p>
<p>"<i>He</i> can have that," and he pointed at
Thrond.</p>
<p>"Use it as well as <i>he</i> who is now lying <i>here</i>,"
added the other stranger, pointing at the large
box.</p>
<p>Then they both laughed and went on.
Thrond looked at the little box which thus
came into his possession.</p>
<p>"What is there in it?" asked he.</p>
<p>"Carry it in and find out," said the mother.</p>
<p>He did as he was told, but his mother helped
him open it. Then a great joy lighted up his
face; for he saw something very light and fine
lying there.</p>
<p>"Take it up," said his mother.</p>
<p>He put just one finger down on it, but quickly
drew it back again, in great alarm.</p>
<p>"It cries," said he.</p>
<p>"Have courage," said his mother, and he
grasped it with his whole hand and drew it
forth from the box.</p>
<p>He weighed it and turned it round, he
laughed and felt of it.</p>
<p>"Dear me! what is it?" asked he, for it
was as light as a toy.</p>
<p>"It is a fiddle."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
This was the way that Thrond Alfson got
his first violin.</p>
<p>The father could play a little, and he taught
the boy how to handle the instrument; the
mother could sing the tunes she remembered
from her dancing days, and these the boy
learned, but soon began to make new ones for
himself. He played all the time he was not at
his books; he played until his father once told
him he was fading away before his eyes. All
the boy had read and heard until that time was
put into the fiddle. The tender, delicate string
was his mother; the one that lay close beside
it, and always accompanied his mother, was
Ragnhild. The coarse string, which he seldom
ventured to play on, was his father. But of the
last solemn string he was half afraid, and he
gave no name to it. When he played a wrong
note on the E string, it was the cat; but when
he took a wrong note on his father's string, it
was the ox. The bow was Blessom, who drove
from Copenhagen to Vaage in one night. And
every tune he played represented something.
The one containing the long solemn tones was
his mother in her black dress. The one that
jerked and skipped was like Moses, who stuttered
and smote the rock with his staff. The
one that had to be played quietly, with the bow
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
moving lightly over the strings, was the hulder
in yonder fog, calling together her cattle, where
no one but herself could see.</p>
<p>But the music wafted him onward over the
mountains, and a great yearning took possession
of his soul. One day when his father told
about a little boy who had been playing at the
fair and who had earned a great deal of money,
Thrond waited for his mother in the kitchen
and asked her softly if he could not go to the
fair and play for people.</p>
<p>"Who ever heard of such a thing!" said his
mother; but she immediately spoke to his father
about it.</p>
<p>"He will get out into the world soon enough,"
answered the father; and he spoke in such a
way that the mother did not ask again.</p>
<p>Shortly after this, the father and mother
were talking at table about some new settlers
who had recently moved up on the mountain
and were about to be married. They had no
fiddler for the wedding, the father said.</p>
<p>"Could not I be the fiddler?" whispered the
boy, when he was alone in the kitchen once
more with his mother.</p>
<p>"What, a little boy like you?" said she; but
she went out to the barn where his father was
and told him about it.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
"He has never been in the parish," she
added, "he has never seen a church."</p>
<p>"I should not think you would ask about
such things," said Alf; but neither did he say
anything more, and so the mother thought she
had permission. Consequently she went over
to the new settlers and offered the boy's services.</p>
<p>"The way he plays," said she, "no little
boy has ever played before;" and the boy
was to be allowed to come.</p>
<p>What joy there was at home! Thrond
played from morning until evening and practiced
new tunes; at night he dreamed about
them: they bore him far over the hills, away
to foreign lands, as though he were afloat on
sailing clouds. His mother made a new suit of
clothes for him; but his father would not take
part in what was going on.</p>
<p>The last night he did not sleep, but thought
out a new tune about the church which he had
never seen. He was up early in the morning,
and so was his mother, in order to get him his
breakfast, but he could not eat. He put on
his new clothes and took his fiddle in his hand,
and it seemed to him as though a bright light
were glowing before his eyes. His mother accompanied
him out on the flag-stone, and stood
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
watching him as he ascended the slopes;—it
was the first time he had left home.</p>
<p>His father got quietly out of bed and walked
to the window; he stood there following the
boy with his eyes until he heard the mother
out on the flag-stone, then he went back to bed
and was lying down when she came in.</p>
<p>She kept stirring about him, as if she wanted
to relieve her mind of something. And finally
it came out:—</p>
<p>"I really think I must walk down to the
church and see how things are going."</p>
<p>He made no reply, and therefore she considered
the matter settled, dressed herself and
started.</p>
<p class="p2">It was a glorious, sunny day, the boy walked
rapidly onward; he listened to the song of the
birds and saw the sun glittering among the
foliage, while he proceeded on his way, with
his fiddle under his arm. And when he reached
the bride's house, he was still so occupied with
his own thoughts, that he observed neither the
bridal splendor nor the procession; he merely
asked if they were about to start, and learned
that they were. He walked on in advance with
his fiddle, and he played the whole morning
into it, and the tones he produced resounded
through the trees.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
"Will we soon see the church?" he asked
over his shoulder.</p>
<p>For a long time he received only "No" for
an answer, but at last some one said:</p>
<p>"As soon as you reach that crag yonder, you
will see it."</p>
<p>He threw his newest tune into the fiddle, the
bow danced on the strings, and he kept his
eyes fixed intently before him. There lay the
parish right in front of him!</p>
<p>The first thing he saw was a little light
mist, curling like smoke on the opposite mountain
side. His eyes wandered over the green
meadow and the large houses, with windows
which glistened beneath the scorching rays of
the sun, like the glacier on a winter's day. The
houses kept increasing in size, the windows in
number, and here on one side of him lay the
enormous red house, in front of which horses
were tied; little children were playing on a hill,
dogs were sitting watching them. But everywhere
there penetrated a long, heavy tone, that
shook him from head to foot, and everything he
saw seemed to vibrate with that tone. Then
suddenly he saw a large, straight house, with a
tall, glittering staff reaching up to the skies.
And below, a hundred windows blazed, so that
the house seemed to be enveloped in flames.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
This must be the church, the boy thought, and
the music must come from it! Round about
stood a vast multitude of people, and they all
looked alike! He put them forthwith into relations
with the church, and thus acquired a
respect mingled with awe for the smallest child
he saw.</p>
<p>"Now I must play," thought Thrond, and
tried to do so.</p>
<p>But what was this? The fiddle had no
longer any sound in it. There must be some
defect in the strings; he examined, but could
find none.</p>
<p>"Then it must be because I do not press on
hard enough," and he drew his bow with a
firmer hand; but the fiddle seemed as if it were
cracked.</p>
<p>He changed the tune that was meant to represent
the church into another, but with equally
bad results; no music was produced, only
squeaking and wailing. He felt the cold sweat
start out over his face, he thought of all these
wise people who were standing here and perhaps
laughing him to scorn, this boy who at
home could play so beautifully but who here
failed to bring out a single tone!</p>
<p>"Thank God that mother is not here to see
my shame!" said he softly to himself, as he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
played among the people; but lo! there she
stood, in her black dress, and she shrank farther
and farther away.</p>
<p>At that moment he beheld far up on the
spire, the black-haired man who had given him
the fiddle. "Give it back to me," he now
shouted, laughing and stretching out his arms,
and the spire went up and down with him, up
and down. But the boy took the fiddle under
one arm, screaming, "You shall not have it!"
and turning, ran away from the people, beyond
the houses, onward through meadow and field,
until his strength forsook him, and then sank
to the ground.</p>
<p>There he lay for a long time, with his face
toward the earth, and when finally he looked
round he saw and heard only God's infinite
blue sky that floated above him, with its everlasting
sough. This was so terrible to him that
he had to turn his face to the ground again.
When he raised his head once more his eyes
fell on his fiddle, which lay at his side.</p>
<p>"This is all your fault!" shouted the boy,
and seized the instrument with the intention of
dashing it to pieces, but hesitated as he looked
at it.</p>
<p>"We have had many a happy hour together,"
said he, then paused. Presently he said: "The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
strings must be severed, for they are worthless."
And he took out a knife and cut.
"Oh!" cried the E string, in a short, pained
tone. The boy cut. "Oh!" wailed the next;
but the boy cut. "Oh!" said the third,
mournfully; and he paused at the fourth. A
sharp pain seized him; that fourth string, to
which he never dared give a name, he did not
cut. Now a feeling came over him that it was
not the fault of the strings that he was unable
to play, and just then he saw his mother walking
slowly up the slope toward where he was
lying, that she might take him home with her.
A greater fright than ever overcame him; he
held the fiddle by the severed strings, sprang to
his feet, and shouted down to her,—</p>
<p class="p4b">"No, mother! I will not go home again until
I can play what I have seen to-day."</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p>
<h2>A DANGEROUS WOOING.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Aslaug had become a grown-up girl,
there was not much peace to be had at Huseby;
for there the finest boys in the parish quarreled
and fought night after night. It was worst of
all on Saturday nights; but then old Knud
Huseby never went to bed without keeping his
leather breeches on, nor without having a birch
stick by his bedside.</p>
<p>"If I have a daughter, I shall look after her,
too," said old Huseby.</p>
<p>Thore Næset was only a houseman's son;
nevertheless there were those who said that he
was the one who came oftenest to see the gardman's
daughter at Huseby. Old Knud did not
like this, and declared also that it was not true,
"for he had never seen him there." But people
smiled slyly among themselves, and thought
that had he searched in the corners of the room
instead of fighting with all those who were
making a noise and uproar in the middle of the
floor, he would have found Thore.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
Spring came and Aslaug went to the sæter
with the cattle. Then, when the day was
warm down in the valley, and the mountain
rose cool above the haze, and when the bells
tinkled, the shepherd dog barked, and Aslaug
sang and blew the loor on the mountain side,
then the hearts of the young fellows who were
at work down on the meadow would ache, and
the first Saturday night they all started up to
the mountain sæter, one faster than the other.
But still more rapidly did they come down
again, for behind the door at the sæter there
stood one who received each of them as he
came, and gave him so sound a whipping that
he forever afterward remembered the threat
that followed it,—</p>
<p>"Come again another time and you shall
have some more."</p>
<p>According to what these young fellows knew,
there was only one in the parish who could use
his fists in this way, and that was Thore Næset.
And these rich gardmen's sons thought it was
a shame that this houseman's son should cut
them all out at the Huseby sæter.</p>
<p>So thought, also, old Knud, when the matter
reached his ears, and said, moreover, that if
there was nobody else who could tackle Thore,
then he and his sons would try it. Knud, it is
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
true, was growing old, but although he was
nearly sixty, he would at times have a wrestle
or two with his eldest son, when it was too dull
for him at some party or other.</p>
<p>Up to the Huseby sæter there was but one
road, and that led straight through the gard.
The next Saturday evening, as Thore was going
to the sæter, and was stealing on his tiptoes
across the yard, a man rushed right at his
breast as he came near the barn.</p>
<p>"What do you want of me?" said Thore,
and knocked his assailant flat on the ground.</p>
<p>"That you shall soon find out," said another
fellow from behind, giving Thore a blow on the
back of the head. This was the brother of the
former assailant.</p>
<p>"Here comes the third," said old Knud, rushing
forward to join the fray.</p>
<p>The danger made Thore stronger. He was
as limber as a willow and his blows left their
marks. He dodged from one side to the other.
Where the blows fell he was not, and where
his opponents least expected blows from him,
they got them. He was, however, at last completely
beaten; but old Knud frequently said
afterwards that a stouter fellow he had scarcely
ever tackled. The fight was continued until
blood flowed, but then Huseby cried,—</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
"Stop!" and added, "If you can manage to
get by the Huseby wolf and his cubs next Saturday
night, the girl shall be yours."</p>
<p>Thore dragged himself homeward as best he
could; and as soon as he got home he went to
bed.</p>
<p>At Huseby there was much talk about the
fight; but everybody said,—</p>
<p>"What did he want there?"</p>
<p>There was one, however, who did not say so,
and that was Aslaug. She had expected Thore
that Saturday night, and when she heard what
had taken place between him and her father,
she sat down and had a good cry, saying to
herself,—</p>
<p>"If I cannot have Thore, there will never
be another happy day for me in this world."</p>
<p>Thore had to keep his bed all day Sunday;
and Monday, too, he felt that he must do the
same. Tuesday came, and it was such a beautiful
day. It had rained during the night.
The mountain was wet and green. The fragrance
of the leaves was wafted in through the
open window; down the mountain sides came
the sound of the cow-bells, and some one was
heard singing up in the glen. Had it not been
for his mother, who was sitting in the room,
Thore would have wept from impatient vexation.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
Wednesday came and still Thore was in bed;
but on Thursday he began to wonder whether
he could not get well by Saturday; and on Friday
he rose. He remembered well the words
Aslaug's father had spoken: "If you can manage
to get by the Huseby wolf and his cubs
next Saturday, the girl shall be yours." He
looked over toward the Huseby sæter again and
again. "I cannot get more than another
thrashing," thought Thore.</p>
<p>Up to the Huseby sæter there was but one
road, as before stated; but a clever fellow might
manage to get there, even if he did not take
the beaten track. If he rowed out on the fjord
below, and past the little tongue of land yonder,
and thus reached the other side of the
mountain, he might contrive to climb it, though
it was so steep that a goat could scarcely venture
there—and a goat is not very apt to be
timid in climbing the mountains, you know.</p>
<p>Saturday came, and Thore stayed without
doors all day long. The sunlight played upon
the foliage, and every now and then an alluring
song was heard from the mountains. As
evening drew near, and the mist was stealing
up the slope, he was still sitting outside of the
door. He looked up the mountain, and all was
still. He looked over toward the Huseby gard.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
Then he pushed out his boat and rowed round
the point of land.</p>
<p>Up at the sæter sat Aslaug, through with
her day's work. She was thinking that Thore
would not come this evening, but that there
would come all the more in his stead. Presently
she let loose the dog, but told no one
whither she was going. She seated herself
where she could look down into the valley;
but a dense fog was rising, and, moreover, she
felt little disposed to look down that way, for
everything reminded her of what had occurred.
So she moved, and without thinking what she
was doing, she happened to go over to the other
side of the mountain, and there she sat down
and gazed out over the sea. There was so
much peace in this far-reaching sea-view!</p>
<p>Then she felt like singing. She chose a song
with long notes, and the music sounded far into
the still night. She felt gladdened by it, and
so she sang another verse. But then it seemed
to her as if some one answered her from the
glen far below. "Dear me, what can that
be?" thought Aslaug. She went forward to
the brink of the precipice, and threw her arms
around a slender birch, which hung trembling
over the steep. She looked down but saw
nothing. The fjord lay silent and calm. Not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
even a bird ruffled its smooth surface. Aslaug
sat down and began singing again. Then she
was sure that some one responded with the
same tune and nearer than the first time. "It
must be somebody, after all." Aslaug sprang
up and bent out over the brink of the steep;
and there, down at the foot of a rocky wall,
she saw a boat moored, and it was so far down
that it appeared like a tiny shell. She looked
a little farther up, and her eyes fell on a red
cap, and under the cap she saw a young man,
who was working his way up the almost perpendicular
side of the mountain. "Dear me,
who can that be?" asked Aslaug, as she let go
of the birch and sprang far back.</p>
<p>She dared not answer her own question, for
she knew very well who it was. She threw
herself down on the greensward and took hold
of the grass with both hands, as though it were
<i>she</i> who must not let go her hold. But the
grass came up by the roots.</p>
<p>She cried aloud and prayed God to help
Thore. But then it struck her that this conduct
of Thore's was really tempting God, and
therefore no help could be expected.</p>
<p>"Just this once!" she implored.</p>
<p>And she threw her arms around the dog, as
if it were Thore she were keeping from loosing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
his hold. She rolled over the grass with him,
and the moments seemed years. But then the
dog tore himself away. "Bow-bow," he barked
over the brink of the steep and wagged his tail.
"Bow-wow," he barked at Aslaug, and threw
his forepaws up on her. "Bow-wow," over the
precipice again; and a red cap appeared over
the brow of the mountain and Thore lay in her
arms.</p>
<p>Now when old Knud Huseby heard of this,
he made a very sensible remark, for he said,—</p>
<p class="p4b">"That boy is worth having; the girl shall
be his."</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE BEAR HUNTER.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">A worse</span> boy to tell lies than the priest's
oldest son could scarcely be found in the whole
parish; he was also a very good reader; there
was no lack on that score, and what he read
the peasants were glad to hear, but when it
was something they were well pleased with, he
would make up more of the same kind, as much
as he thought they wanted. His own stories
were mostly about strong men and about love.</p>
<p>Soon the priest noticed that the threshing up
in the barn was being done in a more and more
lazy manner; he went to see what the matter
was, and behold it was Thorvald, who stood
there telling stories. Soon the quantity of
wood brought home from the forest became
wonderfully small; he went to see what the
trouble was, and there stood Thorvald again,
telling stories. There must be an end to this,
thought the priest; and he sent the boy to the
nearest school.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
Only peasant children attended this school,
but the priest thought it would be too expensive
to keep a private tutor for this one boy.
But Thorvald had not been a week among the
scholars, before one of his schoolmates came in
pale as a corpse, and said he had met some of
the underground folk coming along the road.
Another boy, still paler, followed, and said that
he had actually seen a man without a head walking
about and moving the boats down by the
landing-place. And what was worst of all, little
Knud Pladsen and his young sister, one evening,
as they were returning home from school,
came running back, almost out of their senses,
crying, and declaring that they had heard the
bear up near the parsonage; nay, little Marit
had even seen his gray eyes sparkle. But now
the school-master got terribly angry, struck the
table with his ferule, and asked what the deuce—God
pardon me my wicked sin—had gotten
into the school-children.</p>
<p>"One is growing more crazy than the other,"
said he. "There lurks a hulder in every bush;
there sits a merman under every boat; the bear
is out in midwinter! Have you no more faith
in your God or in your catechism," quoth he,
"or do you believe in all kinds of deviltry,
and in all the terrible powers of darkness, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
in bears roaming about in the middle of winter?"</p>
<p>But then he calmed down somewhat after a
while, and asked little Marit whether she really
did not dare to go home. The child sobbed
and cried, and declared that it was utterly impossible.
The school-master then said that
Thorvald, who was the eldest of those remaining,
should go with her through the wood.</p>
<p>"No, he has seen the bear himself," cried
Marit; "it was he who told us about it."</p>
<p>Thorvald shrank within himself, where he
was sitting, especially when the school-master
looked at him and drew the ferule affectionately
through his left hand.</p>
<p>"Have you seen the bear?" he asked, quietly.</p>
<p>"Well, at any rate, I know," said Thorvald,
"that our overseer found a bear's den up in the
priest's wood, the day he was out ptarmigan
shooting."</p>
<p>"But have you seen the bear yourself?"</p>
<p>"It was not one, it was two large ones, and
perhaps there were two smaller ones besides,
as the old ones generally have their last year's
cubs and this year's, too, with them."</p>
<p>"But have <i>you</i> seen them?" reiterated the
school-master, still more mildly, as he kept
drawing the ferule between his fingers.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
Thorvald was silent for a moment.</p>
<p>"I saw the bear that Lars, the hunter, felled
last year, at any rate."</p>
<p>Then the school-master came a step nearer,
and asked, so pleasantly that the boy became
frightened,—</p>
<p>"Have you seen the bears up in the parsonage
wood, I ask?"</p>
<p>Thorvald did not say another word.</p>
<p>"Perhaps your memory did not serve you
quite right this time?" said the school-master,
taking the boy by the jacket collar and striking
his own side with the ferule.</p>
<p>Thorvald did not say a word; the other children
dared not look that way. Then the
school-master said earnestly,—</p>
<p>"It is wicked for a priest's son to tell lies,
and still more wicked to teach the poor peasant
children to do such things."</p>
<p>And so the boy escaped for that time.</p>
<p>But the next day at school (the teacher had
been called up to the priest's and the children
were left to themselves) Marit was the first one
to ask Thorvald to tell her something about the
bear again.</p>
<p>"But you get so frightened," said he.</p>
<p>"Oh, I think I will have to stand it," said
she, and moved closer to her brother.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
"Ah, now you had better believe it will be
shot!" said Thorvald, and nodded his head.
"There has come a fellow to the parish who
is able to shoot it. No sooner had Lars, the
hunter, heard about the bear's den up in the
parsonage wood, than he came running through
seven whole parishes with a rifle as heavy as
the upper mill-stone, and as long as from here
to Hans Volden, who sits yonder."</p>
<p>"Mercy!" cried all the children.</p>
<p>"As long?" repeated Thorvald; "yes, it is
certainly as long as from here to yonder
bench."</p>
<p>"Have you seen it?" asked Ole Böen.</p>
<p>"Have I seen it, do you say? Why, I have
been helping to clean it, and that is what Lars
will not allow everybody to do, let me tell you.
Of course <i>I</i> could not lift it, but that made no
difference; I only cleaned the lock, and that is
not the easiest work, I can tell you."</p>
<p>"People say that gun of Lars's has taken to
missing its mark of late," said Hans Volden,
leaning back, with both his feet on the desk.
"Ever since that time when Lars shot, up at
Osmark, at a bear that was asleep, it misses
fire twice and misses the mark the third time."</p>
<p>"Yes, ever since he shot at a bear that was
asleep," chimed in the girls.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
"The fool!" added the boys.</p>
<p>"There is only one way in which this difficulty
with the rifle can be remedied," said Ole
Böen, "and that is to thrust a living snake
down its barrel."</p>
<p>"Yes, we all know that," said the girls.
They wanted to hear something new.</p>
<p>"It is now winter, and snakes are not to be
found, and so Lars cannot depend very much
upon his rifle," said Hans Volden, thoughtfully.</p>
<p>"He wants Niels Böen along with him, does
he not?" asked Thorvald.</p>
<p>"Yes," said the boy from Böen's, who was,
of course, best posted in regard to this; "but
Niels will get permission neither from his
mother nor from his sister. His father certainly
died from the wrestle he had with the
bear up at the sæter last year, and now they
have no one but Niels."</p>
<p>"Is it so dangerous, then?" asked a little
boy.</p>
<p>"Dangerous?" cried Thorvald. "The bear
has as much sense as ten men, and as much
strength as twelve."</p>
<p>"Yes, we know that," said the girls once
more. They were bent on hearing something
new.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
"But Niels is like his father; I dare say he
will go along," continued Thorvald.</p>
<p>"Of course he will go along," said Ole
Böen; "this morning early, before any one was
stirring over yonder at our gard, I saw Niels
Böen, Lars the hunter, and one man more,
going up the mountain with their rifles. I
should not be surprised if they were going to
the parsonage wood."</p>
<p>"Was it early?" asked the children, in concert.</p>
<p>"Very early! I was up before mother, and
started the fire."</p>
<p>"Did Lars have the long rifle?" asked
Hans.</p>
<p>"That I do not know, but the one he had
was as long as from here to the chair."</p>
<p>"Oh, what a story!" said Thorvald.</p>
<p>"Why, you said so yourself," answered Ole.</p>
<p>"No, the long rifle which I saw, he will
scarcely use any more."</p>
<p>"Well, this one was, at all events, as long—as
long—as from here, nearly over to the
chair."</p>
<p>"Ah! perhaps he had it with him then
after all."</p>
<p>"Just think," said Marit, "now they are up
among the bears."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
"And at this very moment they may be in a
fight," said Thorvald.</p>
<p>Then followed a deep, nay, almost solemn
silence.</p>
<p>"I think I will go," said Thorvald, taking
his cap.</p>
<p>"Yes! yes! then you will find out something,"
shouted all the rest, and they became
full of life again.</p>
<p>"But the school-master?" said he, and
stopped.</p>
<p>"Nonsense! you are the priest's son," said
Ole Böen.</p>
<p>"Yes, if the school-master touches me with a
finger!" said Thorvald, with a significant nod,
in the midst of the deep silence of the rest.</p>
<p>"Will you hit him back?" asked they,
eagerly.</p>
<p>"Who knows?" said Thorvald, nodding,
and went away.</p>
<p>They thought it best to study while he was
gone, but none of them were able to do so,—they
had to keep talking about the bear. They
began guessing how the affair would turn out.
Hans bet with Ole that Lars's rifle had missed
fire, and that the bear had sprung at him. Little
Knud Pladsen thought they had all fared
badly, and the girls took his side. But there
came Thorvald.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
"Let us go," said he, as he pulled open the
door, so excited that he could scarcely speak.</p>
<p>"But the school-master?" asked some of the
children.</p>
<p>"The deuce take the school-master! The
bear! The bear!" cried Thorvald, and could
say no more.</p>
<p>"Is it shot?" asked one, very softly, and the
others dared not draw their breath.</p>
<p>Thorvald sat panting for a while, finally he
got up, mounted one of the benches, swung his
cap, and shouted,—</p>
<p>"Let us go, I say. I will take all the responsibility."</p>
<p>"But where shall we go?" asked Hans.</p>
<p>"The largest bear has been borne down, the
others still remain. Niels Böen has been badly
hurt, because Lars's rifle missed its mark, and
the bears rushed straight at them. The boy
who went with them saved himself only by
throwing himself flat on the ground, and pretending
to be dead, and the bear did not touch
him. As soon as Lars and Niels had killed
their bear, they shot his also. Hurrah!"</p>
<p>"Hurrah!" shouted all, both girls and boys,
and up from their seats, and out through the
door, they sprang, and off they ran over field
and wood to Böen, as though there was no such
thing as a school-master in the whole world.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>
The girls soon complained that they were
not able to keep up, but the boys took them by
the hand and away they all rushed.</p>
<p>"Take care not to touch it!" said Thorvald;
"it sometimes happens that the bears become
alive again."</p>
<p>"Is that so?" asked Marit.</p>
<p>"Yes, and they appear in a new form, so
have a care!"</p>
<p>And they kept running.</p>
<p>"Lars shot the largest one ten times before it
fell," he began again.</p>
<p>"Just think! ten times!"</p>
<p>And they kept running.</p>
<p>"And Niels stabbed it eighteen times with
his knife before it fell!"</p>
<p>"Mercy! what a bear!"</p>
<p>And the children ran so that the sweat
poured down from their faces.</p>
<p>Finally they reached the place. Ole Böen
pushed the door open and got in first.</p>
<p>"Have a care!" cried Hans after him.</p>
<p>Marit and a little girl that Thorvald and
Hans had led between them, were the next ones,
and then came Thorvald, who did not go far
forward, but remained standing where he could
observe the whole scene.</p>
<p>"See the blood!" said he to Hans.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
The others hardly knew whether they should
venture in just yet.</p>
<p>"Do you see it?" asked a girl of a boy, who
stood by her side in the door.</p>
<p>"Yes, it is as large as the captain's large
horse," answered he, and went on talking to
her. It was bound with iron chains, he said,
and had even broken the one that had been
put about its fore-legs. He could see distinctly
that it was alive, and the blood was flowing
from it like a waterfall.</p>
<p>Of course, this was not true; but they forgot
that when they caught sight of the bear, the
rifle, and Niels, who sat there with bandaged
wounds after the fight with the bear, and when
they heard old Lars the hunter tell how all had
happened. So eagerly, and with so much interest
did they look and listen, that they did
not observe that some one came behind them
who also began to tell his story, and that in
the following manner:—</p>
<p>"I will teach you to leave the school without
my permission, that I will!"</p>
<p>A cry of fright arose from the whole crowd,
and out through the door, through the veranda,
and out into the yard they ran. Soon they appeared
like a lot of black balls, rolling one by
one, over the snow-white field, and when the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
school-master on his old legs followed them to
the school-house, he could hear the children
reading from afar off; they read until the walls
fairly rattled.</p>
<p class="p4b">Aye, that was a glorious day, the day when
the bear-hunter came home! It began in sunshine
and ended in rain, but such days are
usually the best growing days.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE FATHER.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> man whose story is here to be told was
the wealthiest and most influential person in
his parish; his name was Thord Överaas. He
appeared in the priest's study one day, tall and
earnest.</p>
<p>"I have gotten a son," said he, "and I wish
to present him for baptism."</p>
<p>"What shall his name be?"</p>
<p>"Finn,—after my father."</p>
<p>"And the sponsors?"</p>
<p>They were mentioned, and proved to be the
best men and women of Thord's relations in the
parish.</p>
<p>"Is there anything else?" inquired the
priest, and looked up.</p>
<p>The peasant hesitated a little.</p>
<p>"I should like very much to have him baptized
by himself," said he, finally.</p>
<p>"That is to say on a week-day?"</p>
<p>"Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock noon."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
"Is there anything else?" inquired the
priest.</p>
<p>"There is nothing else;" and the peasant
twirled his cap, as though he were about to go.</p>
<p>Then the priest rose. "There is yet this,
however," said he, and walking toward Thord,
he took him by the hand and looked gravely
into his eyes: "God grant that the child may
become a blessing to you!"</p>
<p>One day sixteen years later, Thord stood
once more in the priest's study.</p>
<p>"Really, you carry your age astonishingly
well, Thord," said the priest; for he saw no
change whatever in the man.</p>
<p>"That is because I have no troubles," replied
Thord.</p>
<p>To this the priest said nothing, but after a
while he asked: "What is your pleasure this
evening?"</p>
<p>"I have come this evening about that son of
mine who is to be confirmed to-morrow."</p>
<p>"He is a bright boy."</p>
<p>"I did not wish to pay the priest until I
heard what number the boy would have when
he takes his place in church to-morrow."</p>
<p>"He will stand number one."</p>
<p>"So I have heard; and here are ten dollars
for the priest."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
"Is there anything else I can do for you?"
inquired the priest, fixing his eyes on Thord.</p>
<p>"There is nothing else."</p>
<p>Thord went out.</p>
<p>Eight years more rolled by, and then one
day a noise was heard outside of the priest's
study, for many men were approaching, and at
their head was Thord, who entered first.</p>
<p>The priest looked up and recognized him.</p>
<p>"You come well attended this evening,
Thord," said he.</p>
<p>"I am here to request that the bans may be
published for my son: he is about to marry
Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who
stands here beside me."</p>
<p>"Why, that is the richest girl in the parish."</p>
<p>"So they say," replied the peasant, stroking
back his hair with one hand.</p>
<p>The priest sat a while as if in deep thought,
then entered the names in his book, without
making any comments, and the men wrote their
signatures underneath. Thord laid three dollars
on the table.</p>
<p>"One is all I am to have," said the priest.</p>
<p>"I know that very well; but he is my only
child, I want to do it handsomely."</p>
<p>The priest took the money.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
"This is now the third time, Thord, that
you have come here on your son's account."</p>
<p>"But now I am through with him," said
Thord, and folding up his pocket-book he said
farewell and walked away.</p>
<p>The men slowly followed him.</p>
<p>A fortnight later, the father and son were
rowing across the lake, one calm, still day, to
Storliden to make arrangements for the wedding.</p>
<p>"This thwart is not secure," said the son,
and stood up to straighten the seat on which
he was sitting.</p>
<p>At the same moment the board he was standing
on slipped from under him; he threw out
his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard.</p>
<p>"Take hold of the oar!" shouted the father,
springing to his feet and holding out the oar.</p>
<p>But when the son had made a couple of efforts
he grew stiff.</p>
<p>"Wait a moment!" cried the father, and
began to row toward his son.</p>
<p>Then the son rolled over on his back, gave
his father one long look, and sank.</p>
<p>Thord could scarcely believe it; he held the
boat still, and stared at the spot where his son
had gone down, as though he must surely come
to the surface again. There rose some bubbles,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
then some more, and finally one large one that
burst; and the lake lay there as smooth and
bright as a mirror again.</p>
<p>For three days and three nights people saw
the father rowing round and round the spot,
without taking either food or sleep; he was
dragging the lake for the body of his son. And
toward morning of the third day he found it,
and carried it in his arms up over the hills to
his gard.</p>
<p>It might have been about a year from that
day, when the priest, late one autumn evening,
heard some one in the passage outside of the
door, carefully trying to find the latch. The
priest opened the door, and in walked a tall,
thin man, with bowed form and white hair.
The priest looked long at him before he recognized
him. It was Thord.</p>
<p>"Are you out walking so late?" said the
priest, and stood still in front of him.</p>
<p>"Ah, yes! it is late," said Thord, and took
a seat.</p>
<p>The priest sat down also, as though waiting.
A long, long silence followed. At last Thord
said,—</p>
<p>"I have something with me that I should
like to give to the poor; I want it to be in
vested as a legacy in my son's name."</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
He rose, laid some money on the table, and
sat down again. The priest counted it.</p>
<p>"It is a great deal of money," said he.</p>
<p>"It is half the price of my gard. I sold it
to-day."</p>
<p>The priest sat long in silence. At last he
asked, but gently,—</p>
<p>"What do you propose to do now, Thord?"</p>
<p>"Something better."</p>
<p>They sat there for a while, Thord with downcast
eyes, the priest with his eyes fixed on
Thord. Presently the priest said, slowly and
softly,—</p>
<p>"I think your son has at last brought you a
true blessing."</p>
<p class="p4b">"Yes, I think so myself," said Thord, looking
up, while two big tears coursed slowly down
his cheeks.</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p>
<h2>THE EAGLE'S NEST.</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Endregards was the name of a small
solitary parish, surrounded by lofty mountains.
It lay in a flat and fertile valley, and was intersected
by a broad river that flowed down
from the mountains. This river emptied into
a lake, which was situated close by the parish,
and presented a fine view of the surrounding
country.</p>
<p>Up the Endre-Lake the man had come rowing,
who had first cleared this valley; his name
was Endre, and it was his descendants who
dwelt here. Some said he had fled hither on
account of a murder he had committed, and that
was why his family were so dark; others said
this was on account of the mountains, which
shut out the sun at five o'clock of a midsummer
afternoon.</p>
<p>Over this parish there hung an eagle's nest.
It was built on a cliff far up the mountains; all
could see the mother eagle alight in her nest,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
but no one could reach it. The male eagle
went sailing over the parish, now swooping
down after a lamb, now after a kid; once he
had also taken a little child and borne it away;
therefore there was no safety in the parish as
long as the eagle had a nest in this mountain.
There was a tradition among the people, that
in old times there were two brothers who had
climbed up to the nest and torn it down; but
nowadays there was no one who was able to
reach it.</p>
<p>Whenever two met at the Endregards, they
talked about the eagle's nest, and looked up.
Every one knew, when the eagles reappeared in
the new year, where they had swooped down
and done mischief, and who had last endeavored
to reach the nest. The youth of the place,
from early boyhood, practiced climbing mountains
and trees, wrestling and scuffling, in order
that one day they might reach the cliff and demolish
the nest, as those two brothers had
done.</p>
<p>At the time of which this story tells, the
best boy at the Endregards was named Leif, and
he was not of the Endre family. He had curly
hair and small eyes, was clever in all play, and
was fond of the fair sex. He early said of himself,
that one day he would reach the eagle's
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
nest; but old people remarked that he should
not have said so aloud.</p>
<p>This annoyed him, and even before he had
reached his prime he made the ascent. It was
one bright Sunday forenoon, early in the summer;
the young eagles must be just about
hatched. A vast multitude of people had gathered
together at the foot of the mountain to
behold the feat; the old people advising him
against attempting it, the young ones urging
him on.</p>
<p>But he hearkened only to his own desires,
and waiting until the mother eagle left her nest,
he gave one spring into the air, and hung in a
tree several yards from the ground. The tree
grew in a cleft in the rock, and from this cleft
he began to climb upward. Small stones loosened
under his feet, earth and gravel came rolling
down, otherwise all was still, save for the
stream flowing behind, with its suppressed,
ceaseless murmur. Soon he had reached a point
where the mountain began to project; here he
hung long by one hand, while his foot groped
for a sure resting-place, for he could not see.
Many, especially women, turned away, saying
he would never have done this had he had parents
living. He found footing at last, however
sought again, now with the hand, now with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
the foot, failed, slipped, then hung fast again.
They who stood below could hear one another
breathing.</p>
<p>Suddenly there rose to her feet, a tall, young
girl, who had been sitting on a stone apart
from the rest; it was said that she had been
betrothed to Leif from early childhood, although
he was not of her kindred. Stretching out her
arms she called aloud: "Leif, Leif, why do
you do this?" Every eye was turned on her.
Her father, who was standing close by, gave
her a stern look, but she heeded him not.
"Come down again, Leif," she cried; "I love
you, and there is nothing to be gained up
there!"</p>
<p>They could see that he was considering; he
hesitated a moment or two, and then started
onward. For a long time all went well, for he
was sure-footed and had a strong grip; but
after a while it seemed as if he were growing
weary, for he often paused. Presently a little
stone came rolling down as a harbinger, and
every one who stood there had to watch its
course to the bottom. Some could endure it no
longer, and went away. The girl alone still
stood on the stone, and wringing her hands
continued to gaze upward.</p>
<p>Once more Leif took hold with one hand
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
but it slipped; she saw this distinctly; then he
tried the other; it slipped also. "Leif!" she
shouted, so loud that her voice rang through
the mountains, and all the others chimed in
with her. "He is slipping!" they cried, and
stretched up their hands to him, both men and
women. He was indeed slipping, carrying with
him sand, stones, and earth; slipping, continually
slipping, ever faster and faster. The people
turned away, and then they heard a rustling
and scraping in the mountain behind them,
after which, something fell with a heavy thud,
like a great piece of wet earth.</p>
<p>When they could look round again, he was
lying there crushed and mutilated beyond recognition.
The girl had fallen down on the
stone, and her father took her up in his arms
and bore her away.</p>
<p>The youths who had taken the most pains to
incite Leif to the perilous ascent now dared
not lend a hand to pick him up; some were
even unable to look at him. So the old people
had to go forward. The eldest of them, as he
took hold of the body, said: "It is very sad,
but," he added, casting a look upward, "it is,
after all, well that something hangs so high
that it cannot be reached by every one."</p>
<hr class="r20" />
<div class="footnotes">
<h4>FOOTNOTES:</h4>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> To this there will also be found in the Album a melody by
Halfdan Kjerulf.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> The top of a hill is called in Norwegian "Kamp," and the
houseman's place took its name from its situation.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> A popular dance in two-fourths time, described in this chapter.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> A popular dance, in three-fourths time.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> A Dane, the most noted psalmist of Scandinavia.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Auber Forestier's translation.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Auber Forestier's translation.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Adapted to the metre of the original from the translation of
Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Adapted to the metre of the original, from the translation of
Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> A kind of road-sulky used by travelers in Norway.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Important announcements are made to the people in front
of the church after service.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> The chief magistrate of an amt or county.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Bailiff.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Auber Forestier's translation.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> The hulder dwells in forests and mountains, appears like a
beautiful woman, and usually wears a blue petticoat and a white
hood. She has a long tail, which she tries to conceal when she
is among people. She is fond of cattle.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Shooting or flinging steel over the head of hulders, trolls,
etc., makes the witchery vanish. Thus also a piece of steel laid
in the cradle prevents hulders from exchanging little children for
their own.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> A kind of long snow-shoe.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Adapted to the metre of the original from the translation of
Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> The peasants call the priest father.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Auber Forestier's translation.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Peasants wear an under-garment high in the neck with long
sleeves.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Adapted to the original metre from the translation of Augusta
Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.</p></div>
<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> The Norse word <i>datter</i> means daughter.</p>
</div></div>
<hr class="r65" />
<div class="transnote">
<h2><a name="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES" id="TRANSCRIBERS_NOTES">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES</a></h2>
<p>38 typos have been silently corrected. The vast majority of these are caused
by the apparent failure of a letter or punctuation mark to print correctly,
leaving a gap in the text.</p>
<p>Both "childlike" and "child-like", "roadside" and "road-side" were used in
this text.</p>
<p>On p. 238, the phrasing "articles in the newspapers, which report
attributed to him," does not make sense, but there is no obvious
amendment. No change has been made.</p>
<p>
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.</p>
<p class="p2b">A Table of Contents has been added.</p>
</div>
<pre>
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