OLD OLAF 
 
 RAILROAD AND CHURCHYARD
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. George u ore
 
 THE FLYING MAIL 
 
 BY M. GOLDSCHMIDT 
 
 OLD OLAF 
 
 BY MAGDALENE THORESEN 
 
 BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 
 
 TRANSLATED BY CARL LARSEN 
 
 SEVER, FRANCIS, & CO 
 i3 as ton antt 
 
 1870
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 SEVER, FRANCIS, AND CO., 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE : 
 PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON.
 
 pr 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 /^\F the three writers whose sketches are here 
 presented, Bjornson is the only one known to 
 American readers. Mrs. Magdalene Thoresen has 
 gained a very high reputation in Norway as a writer 
 of stories of common life. She is of Danish origin, 
 but is a Norwegian by residence; and Norway 
 claims the honor of her name. Goldschmidt is a 
 Dane, and is very famous in his own country as 
 an author ; but none of his writings have before 
 this been translated into English, as far as known. 
 These stories have been selected from a volume 
 entitled "Wintergreen," composed of tales, sketches, 
 and poetry, by different authors. Although differ- 
 ing from each other in their intended effect, and in 
 many important points, they are all marked by that 
 vigorous boldness and simplicity of style, that forci- 
 ble conciseness of expression, which seem to be 
 characteristic of many Scandinavian writers. De- 
 scriptions of scenery, too, when they occur, are
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 effected, not by any tricks of words, but by the 
 spontaneous outpourings of a strong love of nature, 
 simply and briefly expressed. 
 
 There are added two short sketches by Bjornson, 
 the " Eagle's Nest" and " The Father," which may 
 not be without interest to some readers. These are 
 republished from an English translation by Sivert 
 and Elizabeth Hjerleid.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE FLYING MAIL 7 
 
 OLD OLAF 43 
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD 89 
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST 121 
 
 THE FATHER 127
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 FROM THE DANISH OF M. GOLDSCHMIDT.
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 I. 
 
 FRITZ BAGGER had just been admitted to the bar. 
 He had come home and entered his room, seeking 
 rest. All his mental faculties were now relaxed after 
 their recent exertion, and a long-restrained power was 
 awakened. He had reached a crisis in life : the future 
 lay before him, the future, the future ! What was it 
 to be? He was twenty-four years old, and could turn 
 himself whichever way he pleased, let fancy run to any 
 line of the compass. Out upon the horizon, he saw 
 little rose-colored clouds, and nothing therein but a cer- 
 tain undefined bliss. He put his hands over his eyes, 
 and sought to bring this uncertainty into clear vision ; 
 and after a long time had elapsed, he said : " Yes, and 
 so one marries." 
 
 " Yes, one marries," he continued, after a pause ; 
 "but whom?" 
 
 His thoughts now took a more direct course ; but the 
 pictures in his mind's eye had not become plainer. 
 Again the horizon widely around was rose-colored, and 
 between the tinted cloud-layers angel-heads peeped out, 
 not Bible angels, which are neither man nor woman ; 
 
 i
 
 IO THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 but angelic girls, whom he didn't know, and who didn't 
 know him. The truth was, he didn't know anybody to 
 whom he could give his heart, but longed, with a cer- 
 tain twenty-four-year power for her to whom he could 
 offer it, her who was worthy to receive his whole self- 
 made being, and in exchange give him all that queer 
 imagined bliss, which is or ought to be in the world, as 
 every one so firmly believes. 
 
 " Oh, I am a fool ! " he said, as he suddenly became 
 conscious that he was merely dreaming and wishing. 
 He tried to think of something practical, thought upon 
 a little picnic that was to be held in the evening ; but the 
 same dream returned and overpowered him, because the 
 season of spring was in him, because life thrilled in him 
 as in trees and plants when the spring sun shines. 
 
 He leaned upon the window-seat it was in an attic 
 and let the wind cool his forehead. But while the wind 
 refreshed, the street itself gave his mind new nourish- 
 ment. Down there it moved, to him unknown, and 
 veiled and hidden as at a masquerade. What a treasure 
 might not that easy virgin foot carry ! What a fancy 
 might there not be moving in the head under that little 
 bonnet, and what a heart might there not be beating 
 under the folds of that shawl ! But, too, all this pre- 
 ciousness might belong to another. 
 
 Alas ! yes, there were certainly many amiable ones down 
 there ! and if destiny should lead him to one of them, 
 who was free, lovely, well-bred, of good family, could 
 any one vouch that for her sake he was not giving up 
 Her, the beau-ideal, the expected, whose portrait had 
 shown itself between the tinted clouds? or, in any event, 
 who could vouch for one's success in not missing the 
 right one? 
 
 " Oh ! life is a lottery, a cruel lottery ; for to everybody
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. II 
 
 there is but one drawing, and the whole man is at stake. 
 Woe to the loser ! " 
 
 After the expiration of some time, Fritz, under the influ- 
 ence of these meditations, had become melancholy, and all 
 bright, smiling, and sure as life had recently appeared to 
 him, so misty, uncertain, and painful it now appeared. 
 For the second time he stroked his forehead, shook these 
 thoughts from him, seeking more practical ones, and for 
 the second time it terminated in going to the window and 
 gazing out. 
 
 A whirlwind filled the street, slamming gates and doors, 
 shaking windows and carrying dust with it up to his attic 
 chamber. He was in the act of drawing back, when he 
 saw a little piece of paper whirled in the dust cloud coming 
 closely near him. He shut his eyes to keep out the dust, 
 grasping at random for the paper, which he caught. At 
 the same moment the whirlwind ceased, and the sky was 
 again clear. This appeared to him ominous : the scrap 
 of paper had certainly a meaning to him, a meaning for 
 him ; the unknown whom he had not really spoken to, 
 yet had been so exceedingly busy with, could not quite 
 accidentally have thus conveyed this to his hands, and 
 with throbbing heart he retired from the window to read 
 the message. 
 
 One side of the paper was blank ; in the left-hand corner 
 of the other side was written, " beloved," and a little below 
 it seemed as if there had been a signature, but now there 
 was nothing left excepting the letters " geb." 
 
 " ' Geb,' what does that mean? " asked Fritz Bagger, 
 with dark humor. " If it had been gek, I could have under- 
 stood it, although it were incorrectly written. Geb, Geb- 
 rer, Algebra, Gebriiderbuh, I am a big fool." 
 
 " But it is no matter, she shall have an answer," he 
 shouted after a while, and seated himself to write a long,
 
 12 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 glowing love-letter. When it was finished and read, he 
 tore it in pieces. 
 
 "No," said he, " if destiny has intended the least thing 
 by acting to me as mail-carrier through the window, let 
 me act reasonably." He wrote on a little piece of paper : 
 
 " As the old Norwegians, when they went to Iceland, 
 threw their high-seat pillars into the sea with the resolution 
 to settle where they should go ashore, so I send this out. 
 My faith follows after ; and it is my conviction that where 
 this alights, I shall one day come, and salute you as my 
 
 chosen, as my ." "Yes, now what more shall I 
 
 add?" he asked himself. "Ay, as my ' geb ' !" he 
 added, with an outburst of merry humor, that just com- 
 pleted the whole sentimental outburst. He went to the 
 window and threw the paper out : it alighted with a slow 
 quivering. He was already afraid that it would go di- 
 rectly down into the ditch ; but then a breeze came lift- 
 ing it almost up to himself again, then a new current car- 
 ried it away, lifting it higher and higher, whirling it, till at 
 last it disappeared from his sight in continual ascension, 
 so he thought. 
 
 " After all, I have become engaged to-day," he said to 
 himself, with a certain quiet humor, and yet impressed 
 by a feeling that he had really given himself to the un- 
 known.
 
 II. 
 
 SIX years had passed, and Fritz Bagger had made his 
 mark, although not as a lover. He had become 
 Counsellor, and was particularly distinguished for the 
 skill and energy with which he brought criminals to con- 
 fession. It is thus that a man of fine and poetic feelings 
 can satisfy himself in such a business, for a time at least: 
 with the half of his soul he can lead a life which to him- 
 self and others seems entire only because it is busy, because 
 it keeps him at work, and fills him with a consciousness of 
 accomplishing something practical and good. There is a 
 youthful working power, which needs not to look sharply 
 out into the future for a particular aim of feeling or desire. 
 This power itself, by the mere effort to keep in a given 
 place, is for such an organization, every day, an aim, a 
 relish ; and one can for a number of years drive business 
 so energetically, that he, too, slips over that difficult time 
 which in every twenty-four hours threatens to meet him, 
 the time between work and sleep, twilight, when the other 
 half of the soul strives to awaken. 
 
 Be it because his professional duties gave him no time 
 or opportunity for courtship, or for some other reason, 
 Fritz Bagger remained a bachelor ; and a bachelor with 
 the income of his profession is looked upon as a rich man. 
 Counsellor Bagger would, when business allowed enter 
 into social life, treating it in that elegant, independ- 
 ent, almost poetic manner, which in most cases is denied
 
 14 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 to married men, and which is one reason why they press 
 the hand of a bachelor with a sigh, a mixture of envy, ad- 
 miration, and compassion. If we add here that a bachelor 
 with such a professional income is the possible stepping- 
 stone to an advantageous marriage, it is easily seen that 
 Fritz Bagger was much sought for in company. He 
 went, too, into it as often as allowed by his legal duties, 
 from which he would hasten in the black " swallow tail " 
 to a dinner or soiree, and often amused himself where most 
 others were weary ; because conversation about anything 
 whatever with the cultivated was to him a refreshment, 
 and because he brought with him a good appetite and 
 good humor, resting upon conscientious work. He 
 could show interest in divers trifles, because in their 
 nothingness (quite contrary to the trifles in which half an 
 hour previous with painful interest he had ferreted out 
 crime) they appeared to him as belonging to an innocent, 
 childish world ; and if conversation approached more ear- 
 nest things, he spoke freely, and evidently gave himself 
 quite up to the subject, letting the whole surface of his soul 
 flow out. And this procured him friendship and reputation. 
 In this way, then, six years had slipped by, when 
 Counsellor Bagger, or rather Fritz Bagger as we will 
 call him, in remembrance of his examination-day, and his 
 notes by the flying mail, was invited to a wedding-party 
 on the shooting-ground. The company was not very 
 large, only thirty couples, but very elegant. Bagger 
 was a friend in the families of both bride and bridegroom, 
 and consequently being well known to nearly all present 
 he felt himself as among friends gathered by a mutual 
 joy, and was more than usually animated. A superb 
 wine, which the bride's father had himself brought, 
 crowned their spirits with the last perfect wreath. Al- 
 though the toast to the bridal pair had been officially
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 15 
 
 proposed, Bagger took occasion to offer his congratula- 
 tions in a second encomium of love and matrimony; 
 which gave a solid, prosaic man opportunity for the witty 
 remark and hearty wish that so distinguished a practical 
 office-holder as Counsellor Bagger would carry his fine 
 theories upon matrimony into practice. The toast was 
 drunk w r ith enthusiasm, and just at that moment a strong 
 wind shook the windows, and burst open one of the 
 doors, blowing so far into the hall as to cause the lights 
 to flicker much. 
 
 Bagger became, through the influence of the wine, the 
 company, and the sight of the happy bi^idal pair, six 
 years younger. His soul was carried away from crim- 
 inal and police courts, and found itself on high, as in the 
 attic chamber, with a vision of the small tinted clouds 
 and the angel-heads. The sudden gust of wind carried 
 him quite back to the moment when he sent out his note 
 as the Norwegian heroes their high-seat pillars : the 
 spirit of his twenty-fourth year came wholly over him, 
 queerly mixed with the half-regretful reflection of the 
 thirtieth year, with fun, inclination to talk and to 
 breathe ; and he exclaimed, as he rose to acknowledge 
 the toast, 
 
 " I am engaged." 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! Congratulate ! congratulate ! " sounded 
 from all sides. 
 
 "This gust of wind, which nearly extinguished the 
 lights, brought me a message from my betrothed ! " 
 
 "What?" " What is it?" asked the company, their 
 heads at that moment not in the least condition for guess- 
 ing charades. 
 
 " Counsellor Bagger, have you, like the Doge of 
 Venice, betrothed yourself to the sea or storm?" asked 
 the bridegroom.
 
 1 6 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 " Hear him, the fortunate ! sitting upon the golden 
 doorstep to the kingdom of Love ! Let him surmise and 
 guess all that concerns Cupid, for he has obtained the 
 inspiration, the genial sympathy," exclaimed Bagger. 
 " Yes," he continued, "just like the Doge of Venice, but 
 not as aristocratic ! From my attic chamber, where I 
 sat on my examination-day, guided by Cupid, in a man- 
 ner which it would take too long to narrate, I gave to the 
 whirlwind a love-letter, and at any moment She can step 
 forward with my letter, my promise, and demand me 
 soul and body." 
 
 " Who is it then?" asked bridegroom and bride, with 
 the most earnest interest. 
 
 "Yes, how can I tell that? Do I know the whirl- 
 wind's roads?" 
 
 " Was the letter signed with your name?" 
 
 " No ; but don't you think I will acknowledge my 
 handwriting?" replied Bagger, quite earnestly. 
 
 This earnestness with reference to an obligation which 
 no one understood, became comical ; and Bagger felt at 
 the moment that he was on the brink of the ridiculous. 
 Trying to collect himself, he said, 
 
 " Is it not an obligation we all have ? Do not both 
 bride and bridegroom acknowledge that loug before they 
 knew each other the obligation was present?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " exclaimed the bridegroom. 
 
 " And the whirlwind, accident, the unknown power 
 brought them together so that the obligation was re- 
 deemed." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " 
 
 " Let us, then," continued Bagger, " drink a toast to 
 the wind, the accident, the moving power, unknown and 
 yet controlling. To those of us who, as yet, are unpro- 
 vided for and under forty, it will at some time undoubt-
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 1 7 
 
 edly bring a bride ; to those who are already provided 
 for will come the expected in another form. So a toast 
 to the wind, that came in here and flickered the lights ; to 
 the unknown, that brings us the wished for ; and to our- 
 selves, that we may be prepared to receive it when 
 announced." 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed the bridegroom, looking upon 
 his bride. 
 
 " Puh-h-h ! " thought Bagger, seating himself with in- 
 tense relief, " I have come out of it somewhat decently 
 after all. The deuce take me before I again express a 
 sentimentality." 
 
 How Counsellor Bagger that night could have fallen 
 asleep, between memory, or longing and discontent, is 
 difficult to tell, had he not on his arrival home found a 
 package of papers, an interesting theft case. He sat 
 down instantly to read, and day dawned ere they were 
 finished. His last thought, before his eyelids closed, 
 was, Two years in the House of Correction.
 
 III. 
 
 A MONTH later, toward the close of September, two 
 ladies, twenty or twenty-two years of age, were 
 walking in a garden about ten miles from Copenhagen. 
 Although the walks were quite wide, impediments in 
 them made it difficult for the ladies to go side by side. 
 The autumn showed itself uneven and jagged. The 
 currant and gooseberry boughs, that earlier hung in soft 
 arches, now projected stiffly forth, catching in the ladies' 
 dresses ; branches from plum and apple trees hung bare 
 and broken, and required attention above also. One of 
 the ladies apparently was at home there : this was evi- 
 dent partly from her dress, which, although elegant, was 
 domestic, and partly by her taking the lead and paying 
 honor, by drawing boughs and branches aside, holding 
 them until the other lady, who was more showily dressed, 
 had slipped past. On account of the hindrances of the 
 walk there' were none of those easy, subdued, familiar 
 conversations, which otherwise so naturally arise when 
 young ladies, acquaintances, or " friends," visit each 
 other, and from the house slip out alone into garden or 
 wood. An attentive observer meanwhile, by scrutinizing 
 the physiognomy of both, would, perhaps, have come to 
 the conclusion, that even if these two had been together 
 on the most unobstructed road, no confidence would have 
 arisen between them, and would have suspected the 
 hostess of trying to atone for her lack of interest, by being
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 19 
 
 polite and careful. She was not strikingly handsome, 
 but possessed of a fine nature, which manifested itself in 
 the whole figure, and perhaps, especially, in the uncom- 
 monly well formed nose ; yet it was by peering into her 
 eyes, that one first obtained the idea of a womanhood 
 somewhat superior to the generality of her sex. Their 
 expression was not to be caught at once : they told of 
 both meditation and resolve, and hinted at irony or 
 badinage, which works so queerly when it comes from 
 deep ground. The other lady was " burgherly-genteel," 
 a handsome, cultivated girl, had certainly also some soul, 
 but yet was far less busy with a world in her own heart 
 than with the world of fashion. It was about the world, 
 the world of Copenhagen, that Miss Brandt at this mo- 
 ment was giving Miss Hjelm an account, interrupted by the 
 boughs and branches, and although Miss Hjelm was not, 
 nun-like, indifferent either to fashions or incidents in high 
 life, the manner in which Miss Brandt unmistakably laid 
 her soul therein, caused her to go thus politely before. 
 
 " But you have heard about Emmy Ibsen's marriage?" 
 asked Miss Brandt. 
 
 " Yes : it was about a month ago, I think." 
 
 " Yes : I was bridesmaid." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Miss Hjelm, in a voice which atoned 
 for her brevity. 
 
 " The party was at the shooting-ground." 
 
 " So ! " said Miss Hjelm again, with as correct an 
 intonation as if she had learned it for "I don't care." 
 " Take care, Miss Brandt," she added, stooping to avoid 
 an apple-branch. 
 
 " Take care ? oh, for that branch ! " said Miss Brandt, 
 and avoided it as charmingly and coquettishly as if it had 
 been living. 
 
 " It was very gay," she added, " even more so than
 
 2O THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 wedding-parties commonly are ; but this was caused a 
 good deal by Counsellor Bagger." 
 
 " So ! " 
 
 " Yes : he was very gay. ... I was his companion at 
 table." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 " Oh, only to think ! at the table he stands up declaring 
 that he is engaged." 
 
 " Was his lady present?" 
 
 " No : that she was not, I think. Do you know who it 
 was?" 
 
 " No : how should I know that, Miss Brandt? " 
 
 " The whirlwind ! " 
 
 "The whirlwind ?" 
 
 " Yes. He said that he, as a young man, in a solemn 
 moment had sent his love-letter or his promise out with 
 the wind, and he was continually waiting for an answer : 
 he had given his promise, was betrothed ! Ou ! " 
 
 "What is it?" asked Miss Hjelm, sympathetically. 
 The truth was, the young hostess at this moment had 
 relaxed her polite care, and a limb of a gooseberry-bush 
 had struck against Miss Brandt's ankle. 
 
 The pain was soon over ; and the two ladies, who now 
 had reached the termination of the walk, turned toward 
 the house side by side, each protecting herself, uncon- 
 scious that any change had occurred. 
 
 " But I hardly believe it," continued Miss Brandt : " he 
 said it perhaps only to make himself conspicuous, for 
 certain gentlemen are just as coquettish as ... as they 
 accuse us of being." 
 
 Miss Hjelm uttered a doubting, " Um ! " 
 
 " Yes : that they really are ! Have you ever seen any 
 lady as coquettish as an actor?" 
 
 " I don't know any of them, but I should suppose an 
 actress might be."
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 21 
 
 " No : no actress I have ever met of the better sort 
 was really coquettish. I don't know how it is with them, 
 but I believe they have overcome coquettishness." 
 
 " But you think, then, Counsellor Bang is coquet- 
 tish?" 
 
 " Not Bang Bagger. Yes ; for although he said he 
 had this romantic love for a fairy, he often does court to 
 modest earthly ladies. He is properly somewhat of a 
 flirt." 
 
 " That is unbecoming an old man." 
 
 " Yes ; but he is not old." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Miss Hjelm, laughing : " I have only known 
 one war counsellor, and he was old ; so I thought of all 
 war counsellors as old." 
 
 " Yes ; but Counsellor Bagger is not war counsellor, but 
 a real Superior Coui't Counsellor." 
 
 " Oh, how earnest that is ! And so he is in love with a 
 fairy ! " 
 
 " Yes : it is ridiculous ! " said Miss Brandt, laughing. 
 During this conversation they had reached the house, and 
 Miss Brandt complained that something was yet pricking 
 her ankle. They went into Miss Hjelm's room, and here 
 a thorn was discovered and taken out. 
 
 " How pretty and cosey this room really is ! " said Miss 
 Brandt, looking around. " In a situation like this one 
 can surely live in the country summer and winter. Out 
 with us at Taarback it blows in through the windows, 
 doors, and very walls." 
 
 " That must be bad in a whirlwind." 
 
 "Yes yes : still it might be quite amusing when the 
 whirlwind carried such billets : not that one would 
 care for them ; yet they might be interesting for a 
 while." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! perhaps."
 
 22 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 " Yes : how do you think a young girl would like it, 
 when there came from Heaven a billet, in which one 
 pledged himself to her for time and eternity? " 
 
 " That isn't easy to say ; but I don't believe the occur- 
 rence quite so uncommon. A friend of mine once had 
 such a billet blown to her, and she presented me with 
 .it." 
 
 " Does one give such things away ? Have you the 
 ibillet ?" 
 
 " I will look for it," answered Miss Hjelm ; and surely 
 enough, after longer search in the sewing-table, in drawers 
 and small boxes, than was really necessary, she found it. 
 Miss Brandt read it, taking care not to remark that it very 
 much appeared to her as if it resembled the one the coun- 
 sellor had mentioned. 
 
 " And such a billet one gives away ! " she said after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Yes : will you have it?" asked Miss Hjelm, as though 
 after a sudden resolution. 
 
 Miss Brandt's first impulse was an eager acceptance ; 
 but she checked herself almost as quickly, and answered : 
 
 " Oh, yes, thank you, as a curiosity." Then slowly 
 put it between her glove and hand. 
 
 As Miss Brandt and her company rode away, said Miss 
 Hjelm's cousin, a handsome, middle-aged widow, to her : 
 
 " How is it, Ingeborg? It appears to me you laugh 
 with one eye and weep with the other." 
 
 " Yes : a soap-bubble has burst for me, and glitters, 
 maybe, for another." 
 
 " You know I seldom understand the sentimental enig- 
 mas : can you not interpret your words ? " 
 
 " Yes : to-day an illusion has vanished, that had lasted 
 for six years."
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 23 
 
 "For six years?" said her cousin, with an inquiring or 
 sympathizing look. " So it began when you were hardly 
 sixteen years." 
 
 " Now do you believe, that when I was in my sixteenth 
 year I saw an ideal of a man, and was enamoured of him, 
 and to-day I hear that he is married." 
 
 " No : I don't know as I believe just that," answered 
 the cousin, dropping her eyes ; " but I suppose that then 
 you had a pretty vision, and have carried it along with 
 you in silence and with faith." 
 
 " But it was something more than a vision : it was a 
 letter, a love-letter." 
 
 The cousin looked upon Ingeborg so inquiringly, so 
 anxiously, that words were unnecessary. Beside this the 
 cousin knew, that when Ingeborg was inclined to talk, 
 she did so without being asked, and if she wished to be 
 silent, she was silent. 
 
 Ingeborg continued : " One time, I drove to town with 
 sainted father. Father was to go no further than to 
 Noerrebro, and I had an errand at Vestervold. So I 
 stepped out and went through the Love-path. As I came 
 to the corner of the path, and the Ladegaardsway, the 
 wind blew so violently against me, that I could hardly 
 breathe ; and something blew against my veil, fluttering 
 with wings like a humming-bird. I tried to drive it away, 
 for it blinded one of my eyes ; but it blew back again. 
 So I caught it and was going to let it fly away over my 
 head, but that moment I saw it was written upon, and 
 read it. It was a love-letter ! A man wrote that he 
 sent this as in old times the Norwegian emigrants let 
 their high-seat pillars be carried by the sea, and where it 
 came he would one time come, and bring his faith to his 
 destined ' Geb' " 
 
 " ' Geb ' ? What is that ? " asked the cousin.
 
 24 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 " That is Ingeborg," answered Miss Hjelm, with a plain 
 simplicity, showing how deeply she had believed in the 
 earnestness of the message. 
 
 " It was really remarkable ! " said the cousin, and added 
 with a smile which perhaps was somewhat ironical : " And 
 did you then resolve to remain unmarried, until the un- 
 known letter-writer should come and redeem his vow?" 
 
 " I will not say that," answered Ingeborg, who quickly 
 became more guarded ; " but the letter perhaps contained 
 some stronger requirements than under the circumstances 
 could be fulfilled." 
 
 " So ! and now?" 
 
 " Now I have presented the letter to Miss Brandt." 
 
 " You gave it away? Why?" 
 
 " Because I learned that the man, who perhaps or prob- 
 ably wrote it in his youth, has spoken about it publicly, and 
 is counsellor in one of the courts." 
 
 " Oh, I understand," said the cousin, half audibly : 
 " when the ideal is found out to be a counsellor, then " 
 
 " Then it is not an ideal any longer? No. The whole 
 had been spoiled by being fumbled in public. I would 
 get away from the temptation to think of him. Do court 
 to him, announce myself to him as the happy finder, I 
 could not." 
 
 " That I understand very well," said the cousin, putting 
 her arm affectionately around Ingeborg's waist ; " but why 
 did you just give Miss Brandt the letter? " 
 
 " Because she is acquainted with the counsellor, and 
 indeed, as far as I could understand, feels somewhat for 
 him. They two can get each other ; and what a wonder- 
 ful consecration it will be, when she on the marriage-day 
 gives him the letter ! " 
 
 The cousin said musingly : " And such secrets can live 
 in one whole years, without another surmising it ! Sud-
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 25 
 
 denly she added : " But how will Miss Brandt on that 
 occasion interpret the word ' Geb ' ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I suppose a single syllable is of no consequence ; 
 and, besides, Miss Brandt is a judicious girl," answered 
 Ingeborg, with an inexpressible flash in the dark eyes.
 
 IV. 
 
 fortune seldom comes singly. One morning 
 Criminal and Court Counsellor Bagger got, at his 
 residence at Noerre Street, official intelligence that from 
 the first of next month he was transferred to the King's 
 Court, and in grace was promoted to be veritable coun- 
 sellor of justice there ; rank, fourth-class, number three. 
 As gratified by this friendly smile from above, he went 
 out to repair to the court-house, he met in the porch a 
 postman, who delivered him a letter. With thoughts 
 yet busy with new title and court, Counsellor Bagger 
 broke the letter, but remained as if fixed to the ground. 
 In it he read : 
 
 " The high-seat pillars have come on shore. 
 
 " 'GEB.' " 
 
 One says well, that a man's love or season of courtship 
 lasts till his thirtieth year, and after that time he is ambi- 
 tious ; but it is not always so, and with Counsellor Bagger it 
 was in all respects the contrary. His ambition was already, 
 if not fully reached, yet in some degree satisfied. The fac- 
 ulty of love had not been at all employed, and the letter 
 came like a spark in a powder-cask : it ran glowing through 
 every nerve. The youthful half of his soul, which had 
 slept within him, wakened with such sudden, revolution- 
 ary strength, that the other half soul, which until now had 
 borne rule, became completely subject ; yes, so wholly,
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 27 
 
 that Counsellor Bagger went past the court-house and 
 came down in Court-house Street without noticing it. 
 Suddenly he missed the big building with the pillars and 
 inscription : " With law shall Lands be built ;" looked 
 around confused, and turned back. 
 
 So much was he still at this moment Criminal Exam- 
 iner, that among the first thoughts or feelings which the 
 mysterious letter excited in him was this : it can be a 
 trick, a foolery. But in the next moment it occurred to 
 him, that never to any living soul had he mentioned his 
 bold figure of the high-seat pillars, and still less revealed 
 the mysterious, to him so valued, syllable geb . No 
 doubt could exist : the fine, perfumed paper, the delicate 
 lady handwriting, and the few, significant words testified, 
 that the billet which once in youthful, sanguine longing, 
 he had intrusted to the winds of Heaven, had come to a 
 lady, and that in one way or another she had found him 
 out. He remembered very well, that a single time, five 
 or six weeks before, he had in a numerous company men- 
 tioned that incident, and he did not doubt that the story 
 had extended itself as ripples do, when one throws a stone 
 into the water ; but where in the whole town, or indeed 
 land, had the ripple hit the exact point? He looked again 
 at the envelope. It bore the stamp of the Copenhagen city 
 mail : that was all. But that showed with some proba- 
 bility that the writer lived in Copenhagen, and maybe 
 at this moment she looked down upon him from one of 
 the many windows ; for now he stood by the fountain. 
 There was something in the paper, the handwriting, or 
 more properly perhaps in the secrecy, that made her 
 seem young, spirited, beautiful, piquant. There was 
 something fairy-like, exalted, intoxicating, in the feeling 
 that the object of the longing and hope of his youth had 
 been under the protection of a good spirit, and that the
 
 28 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 great unknown had taken care of and prepared for him a 
 companion, a wife, just at the moment when he had be- 
 come Counsellor of Justice of the Superior Court. But 
 who was she? This was the only thing painful in the 
 affair ; but this intriguing annoyance was not to be 
 avoided, if the lady was to remain within her sphere, 
 surrounded by respect and esteem. 
 
 " What would I have thought of a lady, a woman, who 
 came straight forward and handed out the billet, saying : 
 ' Here I am?'" he asked himself, at the moment when at 
 last he had found the court-house stairs and was ascend- 
 ing. 
 
 How it fared that day with the examinations is re- 
 corded in criminal and police-court documents ; but a veil 
 is thrown over it in consideration of the fact, that a man 
 only once in his life is made Counsellor of Justice in the 
 King's Court. The day following it went better ; although 
 it is pretty sure that a horse-thief went free from further 
 reproof, because the counsellor was busy rolling that stone 
 up the mountain : Where shall I seek her, if she does not 
 write again? Will she write again? If she would do 
 that, why did she not write a little more at first ? 
 
 A couple of weeks after the receipt of the letter, one 
 evening about seven o'clock, the counsellor sat at home, 
 not as before by his writing-table busy with acts, but on 
 a corner of the sofa, with drooping arms, deeply absorbed 
 in a mixture of anxious doubts and dreaming expectations. 
 Hope built air-castles, and doubt then puffed them over 
 like card-houses. One of his fancies was, that she sum- 
 moned him he would not even in thought use the ex- 
 pression: gave him an interview at a masquerade. It 
 was consequently no common masquerade, but a grand, 
 elegant masked ball, to which a true lady could repair. 
 The clock was at eleven, the appointed hour : he waited
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 29 
 
 anxiously the pressing five minutes ; then she came and 
 extended him the fine hand in the finest straw-colored 
 glove 
 
 " Letter to the Counsellor of Justice," said Jens, with 
 strong Funen accent, and short, soldierly pronunciation. 
 
 It is so uncommon that what one longs for comes just 
 at the moment of most earnest desire, but notwithstand- 
 ing the letter was from her : the Counsellor of Justice knew 
 the superscription, would have known it among a hundred 
 thousand. The letter read thus : 
 
 " I ought to be open towards you ; and, as we shall never 
 meet, I can be so." 
 
 Here the Counsellor of Justice stopped a moment and 
 caught for breath. A good many of our twenty -year-old 
 beaux, who have never been admitted to the bar, far less 
 have been Court Counsellors, would under similar cir- 
 cumstances have said to themselves : " She writes that she 
 will be open ; that is to say, now she will fool me : we will 
 never meet ; that is to say, now I shall soon see her." But 
 Counsellor Bagger believed every word as gospel, and his 
 knees trembled. He read further : 
 
 " I am ashamed of the few words I last wrote you ; 
 but my apology is, that it is only two days since I learned 
 that you are married. I have been mistaken, but more 
 in what may be imputed to me than in what I have 
 thought. My only comfort is, that I shall never be known 
 by you or anybody, and that I shall be forgotten, as I shall 
 forget." 
 
 " Never ! But who can have spread the infamous slan- 
 der ! What dreadful treachery of some wretch or gossip- 
 ing wench, who knows nothing about me ! And how can 
 she believe it ! How in such a town as Copenhagen can
 
 30 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 it be a matter of doubt for five minutes, if a Superior 
 Court Counsellor is married or not ! Or maybe there is 
 some other Counsellor Bagger married, a Chamber 
 Counsellor or the like? Or maybe she lives at a dis- 
 tance, in a quiet world, so that the truth of it does not 
 easily reach her? So there is no sunshine more! 
 
 " If she should sometime meet me, and know that I 
 was, am, and have been unmarried, and that meanwhile 
 we have both become old and gray, can one think of 
 any thing more sad? It is enough to make the heart 
 cease beating ! But suppose, too, that to-morrow she finds 
 out that she has been deceived : she has once written, ' I 
 was mistaken,' and cannot, as a true woman, write it 
 again, unless she first heard from me, and learned how I 
 longed and so I am cut off from her, as if I lived in the 
 moon. More, more ! for I can meet her upon the street 
 and touch her arm without surmising it It is insupport- 
 able ! Our time has mail, steamboats, railroads, tele- 
 graphs : to me these do not exist ; for of what use are 
 they altogether, when one knows not where to search." 
 
 A thought came suddenly, like a meteor in the dark : 
 advertise. What family in Copenhagen did not the 
 "Address Paper" reach? He would put in an adver- 
 tisement, but how? "Fritz Bagger is not married." 
 No : that was too plain. " F. B. is not married." No : 
 that was not plain enough. As he could find no succes- 
 ful use for his own name, it flashed into his mind to use 
 hers, geb ; and although it was painful to him to 
 publish this, to him, almost sacred syllable for profane 
 eyes to gaze upon, yet it comforted him, that only one, 
 she herself, would understand it. Yet he hesitated. But 
 one cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs ; and 
 although the heart's finest fibres ache at the thought of 
 sending a message to a fairy through the " Address
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 3! 
 
 Paper," yet one yields to this rather than lose the 
 fairy. 
 
 At last, after numerous efforts he stopped at this : 
 " Geb ! It is a mistake : he waits only for geb ." 
 It appeared to him to contain the approach to a happy 
 result, and tired out by emotion he fell asleep on his sofa. 
 
 Some days after came a new letter with the dear hand- 
 writing : its contents were : 
 
 " Well ! appear eight days from to-day at Mrs. Can- 
 uteson's to congratulate her upon her birthday." 
 
 This was sunshine after thunder ; this was hope's rain- 
 bow which arched itself up to heaven from the earth, yet 
 wet with tears. 
 
 " And so she belongs to good society," said the Coun- 
 sellor of Justice, without noticing how by these words he 
 discovered to himself that a doubt or suspicion had lain 
 until now behind his ecstasy. " But," he added, " con- 
 sequently it is my own friends who have spread the 
 rumor of my marriage. Friends indeed ! A wife is a 
 man's only friend. It is hard, suicidal, to remain a bach- 
 elor." 
 
 On the appointed day he went too early. Mrs. Can- 
 uteson was yet alone. She was surprised at his congrat- 
 ulatory visit ; but, however, as it was a courtesy, the 
 surprise was mingled with delight, and Bagger was not 
 the man whose visit a lady would not receive with 
 pleasure. With that ingenuity of wit one can sometimes 
 have, just when the heart is full and taken possession of, 
 he did wonders, and entertained the lady in so lively a 
 manner that she did not perceive how long a time he 
 was passing with her. As the door at length opened, the 
 lady exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh, that is charming ! Heartily welcome ! Thank
 
 32 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 you for last time,* and for all the good in your house ! 
 How does your mother do ? This amiable young lady's 
 acquaintance I made last summer when we were in the 
 country, and at last she is so good as to keep her promise 
 and visit me. Counsellor Bagger Miss Hjelm." 
 
 The Counsellor wasn't sure that it was She, but he 
 was convinced that it ought to be. Not to speak of 
 Ingeborg Hjelm's being really amiable and distinguee, 
 his heart was now prepared, as a photographer's glass 
 which has received collodium, and took the first girl 
 picture that met it. He was quite afraid that there would 
 come more to choose among. Yet the fairy brightness 
 of the unknown had at this moment lost itself for him ; 
 for, however brilliant it may appear to the fancy, it cannot 
 be compared with the warm, beautiful reality, particu- 
 larly so long as this itself is new and unknown. 
 
 He approached and spoke to Miss Hjelm with painful 
 hidden emotion of soul. She was friendly and open, for 
 the name Counsellor Bagger did not occur to her ; and 
 the idea she had formed of him did not at all compare 
 with the young, elegant, handsome man she was now 
 speaking with. True enough, his manner was somewhat 
 peculiarly gallant, which a lady cannot easily mistake ; 
 but this gallantry was united with such an unmistakable 
 respect, or more properly awe, that he gave her the im- 
 pression of a poetical, knightly nature. 
 
 By and by there came more ladies, both married and 
 unmarried, but Bagger had almost forgotten what errand 
 they could have with him. At last Miss Brandt came 
 
 * In Sweden and Norway when the guest meets the host or 
 hostess for the first time after an entertainment, the first greet- 
 ing on the part of the former is always, "Thank you for the 
 last time."
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 33 
 
 also, accompanied by her sister. As she opened the door, 
 and saw Bagger by the side of Miss Hjelm, she gave a 
 little, a very little, cry, or, more properly, gasped aloud 
 for breath, and made a movement, as if something kept 
 her back. 
 
 " Oh ! my dress caught," she said, arranged it a little, 
 and then approached Mrs. Canuteson, with smiling face, 
 to offer her congratulation. 
 
 Bagger looked at the watch : he had been there two 
 hours ! After yet lingering to exchange a few polite 
 words with Miss Brandt, he took leave. His visit had in 
 all respects been so unusual, and had given occasion for 
 so much comment, that it required more time than could 
 be given there ; and his name was not at all mentioned 
 after he left.
 
 V. 
 
 NOW it is certainly true, that whenever Counsellor 
 Bagger was seen for quite a time, he was mostly 
 dreaming and suffering ; and people who have not them- 
 selves experienced something similar, or have not a fancy 
 for putting themselves in his place, will say, perhaps, that 
 they could have managed themselves better. But, at all 
 events, it cannot be said, that from this time forward he 
 was unpractical^ for within eight days from Mrs. Can- 
 utesori's birthday he had not only learned where Miss 
 Hjelm lived, but had established himself in a tavern close 
 by the farm, and obtained admittance to the house, which 
 last was not so difficult, since Mrs. Hjelm was a friendly, 
 hospitable lady, and since neither her daughter nor niece 
 thought they ought to prejudice her against him. 
 
 In this manner four or five days passed away, which, 
 to judge from Bagger's appearance, were to him very 
 pleasant. He wrote to his colleagues in the Superior 
 Court, that one could only value an autumn in Nature's 
 lap after so laborious and health-destroying work as his 
 life for many years had been. Then one day he received 
 a letter from the unknown, reading thus : 
 
 " Be more successful than last time, at Mrs. Emmy 
 Lund's on Tuesday, two o'clock. Please notice, two 
 o'clock precisely." 
 
 "Does she mean so? Is she really coquettish ? Yet 
 I think I have been successful so far," said Bagger to
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 35 
 
 himself, and waited for the Tuesday with comparative 
 ease ; in truth he did not at all understand why he 
 should be troubled to go to town. 
 
 As early on Tuesday forenoon as proper, he went over 
 to the farm, and was somewhat surprised that there was 
 to be seen no preparation for a town journey. Ingeborg, 
 in her usual morning dress, was seated at the sewing- 
 table. He waited until towards twelve o'clock, calculat- 
 ing that two hours was the least she needed in which to 
 dress and drive to town. The long hand threatened to 
 touch the short hand at the number twelve, without any 
 appearance of Ingeborg's noticing it. She only now and 
 then cast a stealthy look at him, for it had not escaped 
 her, nor the others, that he was in expectancy and excite- 
 ment. When the clock struck twelve, he was just 
 alone with her, he asked suddenly, in a quick trembling 
 voice : 
 
 " Miss Hjelm, you know I am Superior Court Coun- 
 sellor?" 
 
 "No : that I did not know," she said almost with dread, 
 and arose. " No : that I have never known ! " 
 
 " But allow me, dear lady, so you know it now," he 
 said, surprised that the title or profession produced so 
 strong an effect. 
 
 " Yes, now I know it," she said, and held her hand 
 upon her heart. "Why do you tell me that? What 
 does that signify?" 
 
 " Nothing else, Miss Hjelm, than that you may under- 
 stand that I don't believe in witchcraft." 
 
 A speaker's physiognomy is often more intelligible 
 than his words ; and as Miss Hjelm saw the both hearty 
 and spirited or jovial expression in the counsellor's face, 
 she had not that inclination, which she under other cir- 
 cumstances would have had, quickly to break off the
 
 36 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 conversation and go away. It is possible, also, that his 
 situation as Superior Court Counsellor as that counsellor 
 mentioned by Miss Brandt did not, after 1 - a moment's 
 consideration, appear to her so dreadful as at the first 
 moment of surprise. So she answered, 
 
 " But, Mr. Counsellor, is there then anybody who has 
 accused you of believing in witchcraft?" 
 
 "No, dear madam ; but for all that I can assure you, 
 that at the moment the clock struck twelve I thought 
 that you, by two o'clock, must fly away in the form of a 
 bird." 
 
 "As the clock struck twelve now, at noon? not at mid- 
 night?" 
 
 " No, just a little since." 
 
 " That is remarkable. Can you satisfy my curiosity, 
 and tell me why?" 
 
 " Because under ordinary circumstances it appears to 
 me impossible for a lady to make her toilette and drive 
 ten miles in less than two hours." 
 
 " That is quite true, Mr. Counsellor ; but neither do I 
 intend to drive ten miles to-day." 
 
 " It was for that reason that I said, fly." 
 
 " Neither fly. And to convince you and quite certainly 
 rid you of the idea of witchcraft, you can stay here, if 
 you please, until what time was it ?" 
 
 " Two o'clock." 
 
 " That is two long hours ; but the Counsellor can, if he 
 please, lay that offering upon the altar of education." 
 
 " Oh ! I know another altar, upon which I would rather 
 offer the two only all too short hours " 
 
 " Let it now be upon that of education. You promised 
 my cousin and me that you would read to us about popu- 
 lar science of nature and interesting facts in the life of 
 animals."
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 37 
 
 "Yes, dear madam; but /cannot fly: my carriage 
 stands waiting at the tavern." 
 
 " Oh, I beg pardon ! an agreeable journey, Mr. Coun- 
 sellor. 
 
 " Yes ; but I don't understand why I shall drive the ten 
 miles." 
 
 " Every one knows his own concerns best." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! that is true. But I at least don't know 
 mine." 
 
 Miss Hjelm made no answer to this, and there was a 
 little pause. 
 
 " I would," continued the counsellor, somewhat puzzled, 
 " take the great liberty to propose that you should ride 
 with me." 
 
 " I have already told the Counsellor that I did not intend 
 to go to town to-day," answered Miss Hjelm, coldly. 
 
 "Yes," continued Bagger, following his own ideas, 
 " and so I thought, also, that we could as well stay 
 here." 
 
 At this moment Bagger was so earnest and impassioned, 
 that Ingeborg, in hearing words so very wide of what she 
 regarded as reasonable, began to suspect his mind of 
 being a little disordered, and with an inquiring anxious- 
 ness looked at him. 
 
 Meeting the look from these eyes, Bagger could no 
 longer continue the inquisition which he had carried on 
 for the sake of involving Miss Hjelm in self-contradiction 
 and bringing her to confession. He himself came to con- 
 fession, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Miss Ingeborg, I ask you for Heaven's sake have pity 
 on me, and tell me if you expect me at two o'clock to- 
 day at Mrs. Lund's ! " 
 
 " I expect you at Mrs. Lund's ! " exclaimed Miss Hjelm. 
 
 " Is it not you, then, who have written me that "
 
 ^ THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 V 
 
 " I have never written to you ! " cried Ingeborg, and 
 almost tore away the hand which Bagger tried to hold. 
 
 " For God's sake, don't go, Miss ! My dear madam, 
 
 you must forgive me : you shall know all ! " 
 
 And now he began to tell his tale, not according to 
 rules of rhetoric and logic, but on the contrary in a way 
 which certainly showed how little even our abler lawyers 
 are educated to extemporize. 
 
 But, however, there was in his words a certain almost 
 wild eloquence ; and, beside, Miss Hjelm had some fore- 
 knowledge, that helped her to understand and fill up 
 what was wanting under the counsellor's restless elo- 
 quence. At last he came to the point ; while his words 
 were of whirlwind and letters, his tone and eye spoke 
 unconsciously to him a true, honest, though fanciful lan- 
 guage of passion ; and however comical a disinterested 
 spectator might have found it, it sounded very earnest to 
 her who was the object aAd sympathetic listener. 
 
 " Yes ; but what then ? " at last asked Ingeborg, with a 
 soft smile and not withdrawing the hand that Bagger had 
 seized. " The proper meaning of what you have told me 
 is that your troth is plighted to another, unknown lady." 
 
 " No : that isn't the proper meaning " 
 
 " But yet it is a fact. At the moment when you stand 
 at the altar with one, another can step forward and claim 
 you." s 
 
 " Oh, that kind of a claim ! A piece of paper without 
 signature, sent away in the air ! In law it has no validity 
 at all, and morally it has no power, when I love another 
 as I love you, Ingeborg ! " 
 
 " That I am not sure of. It appears to me there is 
 something painful in not being faithful to one's youth and 
 its promises, and in the consciousness of having deceived 
 another."
 
 THE FLYING MAIL. 39 
 
 " You say this so earnestly, Ingeborg, that you make 
 me desperate. I confess that there is something . . . 
 "something I would wish othei - wise . . . but for Heaven's 
 sake, make it not so earnest ! " 
 
 As Ingeborg knew so well about it, she could not re- 
 gard the matter as earnestly as her words denoted ; but 
 for another reason she had suddenly conceived or felt an 
 earnestness. It would not do to have a husband with so 
 much fancy as Bagger, always having something un- 
 known, fairy-like, lying out upon the horizon, holding 
 claim upon him from his youth ; and on the other hand it 
 was against her principles, notwithstanding her confi- 
 dence in his silence, to convey to him the knowledge that 
 it was Miss Brandt who played fairy. 
 
 She said to him, "You must have your letter, your 
 obligation, your marriage promise back." 
 
 " Yes," he answered with a sigh of discouragement : 
 " it is true enough I ought ; but where shall I turn ? That 
 is just the immeasurable difficulty." 
 
 " Write by the same mail as before." 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 " Let the whirlwind, that brought the first letter to its 
 destination, also take care of this, in which you demand 
 your word back." 
 
 " Oh, that you do not mean ! Or if you mean it, then 
 I may honestly confess that I am not young any more or 
 have not received another youth. I have not courage to 
 write any thing, for fear it should come to others than to 
 you." 
 
 " So I see that, after all, I may act as witch to-day. 
 Write, and I will take care of the letter : do you hesi- 
 tate?" 
 
 " No : only it took me a moment to comprehend the 
 promise, involved in this that you will take care of
 
 40 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 my letter. I obey you blindly ; but what shall I 
 write ? " 
 
 "Write: 'Dear fairy, Since I woo Miss Hjelm's 
 hand and heart,'" 
 
 " Oh, you acknowledge it ! O Ingeborg, the Lord's 
 blessing upon you ! " said Bagger, and would rise. 
 
 " ' I ask you to send me my billet back.' Have you 
 that?" 
 
 " Yes, Ingeborg, my Ingeborg, my unspeakably loved 
 Ingeborg ! How poor language is, when the heart is so 
 full ! " 
 
 "Now name, date, and address. Have you that? 
 ' Postscriptum. I give you my word of honor, that I 
 neither know who you are, or how this letter shall reach 
 you.' Have you that?" 
 
 " That I can truly give. I am as blind as "... 
 
 " Let me add the witch-formulas." 
 
 " O Ingeborg, you will write upon the same paper 
 with me, in a letter where I have written your name ! " 
 
 " Hand me the pen. We must have the letter sent to 
 the mail before two o'clock." 
 
 " Two o'clock. How queer ! The last letter reads : 
 ' Take notice of the striking two.'" 
 
 " That we will," said Ingeborg. 
 
 She wrote : " Dear Miss Brandt, I, too, ask you to send 
 the Counsellor his billet, and I pray you to write upon it : 
 ' Given me by Miss Hjelm.' It is best for all parties that 
 the fun does not come out in gossip. You shall by return 
 of mail receive back your letters."
 
 VI. 
 
 IT is allowed to charitable minds to remain in doubt 
 about what had really been Miss Brandt's design. 
 Perhaps she only wished to make roguish psychological 
 experiments, to convince herself to how many forenoon 
 congratulatory visits a Counsellor of Justice of the Su- 
 perior Court could be brought to appear. The emotion 
 she almost exposed, when at Mrs. Canuteson's she saw 
 Bagger by Miss Hjelm's side, may have been pure sur- 
 prise at the working of the affair. Every one of the rest 
 of us who have been conversant with the whirlwind, the 
 letter, and Ingeborg's relinquishment of the same, would 
 also have been surprised at seeing her and the letter- 
 writer brought together notwithstanding, and would not, 
 perhaps, been able with as much ease and success to hide 
 our surprise. The letter to Bagger, in which Miss Bi'andt 
 contrary to her better knowledge, spoke of him as mar- 
 ried, may have been a sincere attempt to end the whole 
 in a way which repentance and anxiety quickly seized 
 upon to put an insurmountable hindrance before herself; 
 but it may surely enough have had also the aim to see 
 how far Bagger had gone and how much spirit and fancy 
 he had to carry the intrigue out. The more one thinks upon 
 it, the less one feels able to give either of the two interpreta- 
 tions absolute preference. Yet one will have remarked, 
 that Ingeborg herself in her little note mentioned the mat- 
 ter as " fun." On the other side, if it was earnestness, if she 
 had felt " somewhat" for Counsellor Bagger, then let us 
 
 3
 
 42 THE FLYING MAIL. 
 
 take comfort in the fact that Miss Brandt was a well cul- 
 tivated girl, and that her intellect held dominion over her 
 heart. She could with one eye see that the campaign 
 had ended, and further, that she, by receiving peace pure 
 and simple, had certainly not gained any conquest, but 
 obtained the status quo ante bellum, which often between 
 antagonists has been considered so respectable, that both 
 parties officially have sung Te Deum, although surely 
 only one could sing it from the heart. Now it is and 
 may remain undecided what the real state of the case was : 
 from either point of view there was a plain and even line 
 drawn for her, and she followed it. Next day the letter 
 came in an envelope directed to the counsellor. 
 
 As Bagger in the presence of Ingeborg opened the 
 letter and again saw the long-lost epistle of his early days, 
 he trembled like a man before whom the spirit-world 
 apparently passes. But as he perceived the added words, 
 he exclaimed in utter perplexity : " Am I awake? Do I 
 dream? How is this possible?" 
 
 "Why should it not be possible?" asked Ingeborg. 
 " To whom else should the letter originally have come, 
 than to geb ?" 
 
 _Geb ? Geb ? Yes, who is geb ?" asked 
 Bagger with bewildered look. 
 
 " Who other than Ingeborg? is it not the third, fourth, 
 and fifth letters of my name?" 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Bagger, pressing his hand upon his 
 forehead, and, as he at the next moment seized Inge- 
 borg's hand, added with an eye which had become dim 
 with joy, " Truly, I have had more fortune than sense." 
 
 Ingeborg answered, smiling : 
 
 " That ought he to expect who intrusts his fate to the 
 wind's flying mail."
 
 OLD OLAF. 
 
 FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF MAGDALENE THORESEN.
 
 OLD O L A F. 
 
 A CALM, cloudless autumn day rested upon the 
 whole Vosse slope, at the foot of which a great 
 deep lake lay smiling, the glittering sunbeams refracted 
 upon its surface as upon a plain of polished steel. On 
 this side the slope, the shore lay like greensward pillows 
 amid the playing surf; while opposite, a dark, bold 
 mountain-range towered like a threatening border-senti- 
 nel, exhibiting in the clouds its forms, not fantastic, 
 but even and straightforward, as if conscious of its 
 power ; its dark crest being painted alike vividly on the 
 light-blue ground of heaven, and in the dim water. 
 Here were two grand aspects, eternity above and be- 
 low. Awhile the picture remained in undisturbed quiet. 
 There are moments in nature when it seems as if even 
 breath were suspended, while all things pause to listen 
 for the coming moment ; silent intervals between the 
 strains, which immediately afterward burst forth with 
 fuller strength to swell the chorus. 
 
 There was a space on a little descent toward the water, 
 where stood a gigantic tree ; not so very tall, but broad 
 and compact, covered with bright-red berries. Close to 
 its base a man lay in deep sleep, his head resting upon 
 a small red trunk, his knees drawn upward, and arms
 
 46 OLD OLAF. 
 
 stretched outward. In the top of the tree a flock of mag- 
 pies had alighted, swaying slightly the boughs as they skip- 
 ped from one to another, sharpening the beak, nipping a 
 full ripe berry, or turning the head now and then to look 
 archly down at the sleeper. Suddenly the man drew his 
 right hand over his face (driving a hungry mosquito from 
 its first bite, although he had satisfied hundreds before), 
 and turned his head upon its side. But at the same mo- 
 ment the trunk slipped out and tumbled down the descent. 
 The whole flock rose noisily from the tree and flew 
 frightened away. The man, rising quickly, gazed around 
 the landscape with sleepy eye, as if to ascertain his where- 
 abouts. Now his gaze fell upon the trunk, which had not 
 stopped in its fall until it reached the water, and there 
 lay swaying proudly with the waves like a buoy. In- 
 stantly this cleared his vision : he slipped quickly down, 
 ran out into the water, and after a couple of efforts laid 
 hold of the box. 
 
 Soon after he sat down again under the tree, wiping 
 his treasure, first with a small, spotted handkerchief, after- 
 ward with the palm of his hand, carefully, tenderly, like 
 a mother handling an infant. Then he opened it, and, 
 peeping in, took out a folded bosom, then a small pack- 
 age of printed scraps, wiping them carefully and laying 
 them beside him in the sunshine ; then lifted here and 
 there the other contents, and at last put all back again, 
 and shut the trunk. But this was all done in that queer, 
 guarded manner with which we protect an only secret. 
 The man of prosperity, who spreads his treasures over a 
 hundred places, knows nothing of the joy which a single 
 little hiding-place can give to him who has only a poor 
 trifle to take care of. 
 
 But the moment which seemed a pause in nature dis- 
 appeared, and now followed noise upon noise in unceas- 
 ing hurry.
 
 OLD OLAF. 47 
 
 Down from the mountain came the bellowing of a cow ; 
 flocks of birds flew eagerly from tree to tree, contending 
 for the highest seat at the spread board, and all the while 
 snatching the red berries from each other's beaks. Far 
 back, where the church stood on a little eminence, with the 
 small houses of the village in front, there arose a hum of 
 mixed sounds, in which each seemed striving for ascend- 
 ancy ; and from the nearest farm a boat was launched, 
 containing three men, who urged it swiftly as an arrow 
 over the quiet water-plain, leaving the deep furrow of the 
 keel behind. 
 
 Now the man, trunk in hand, arose and looked toward 
 the village, which appeared to be the central point of 
 active life. There was a nervous winking about his eyes, 
 and a restlessness in his whole manner: it seemed as if 
 he were half inclined to go forward, half backward. 
 His face was weather-beaten, with large features, the 
 forehead and cheeks bearing deep furrows, but not as if 
 made by the even pace of time ; for a look of youthful- 
 ness was still there : it seemed rather as if time had now 
 and then paused in wrath and stamped its impress, so 
 that carelessness might not again the next moment sweep 
 it away. In his stature nature seemed to have given him 
 a considerable size, which a hard life had gradually 
 diminished. His head was large and strongly formed, 
 with a disorderly covering of light-brown hair ; but his 
 neck was crooked, and looked as if the spinal column 
 had been forcibly taken away. His back was broad, but 
 one shoulder much lower than the other ; and the right leg 
 was bent at the knee-joint. 
 
 It was but a short time that he stood there hesitating 
 about the next step, but still long enough to give a pic- 
 ture of one who had never yet found himself at home ; 
 and who, every time conscience knocked and demanded
 
 48 OLD OLAF. 
 
 a little conversation concerning its account against him, 
 became so busily occupied with a hundred little matters 
 outside, that this claimant had necessarily to be deferred. 
 But procrastination is the thief of time, says the proverb. 
 
 At last he collected himself, and directed his course 
 toward the village, walking with difficulty ; for with every 
 step his body bent toward the earth, and his breathing 
 was short and heavy. However, he proceeded quick- 
 ly ; and, notwithstanding his infirmity, there was in his 
 form a singular consistency which is sometimes found in 
 nature after violent convulsion, where what has been 
 separated has eventually joined itself to the mass with 
 peculiar grace and harmony. 
 
 In the village from which the loud murmur of voices 
 proceeded, a numerous crowd was gathered ; for the 
 autumn horse-show was now going on. 
 
 A few booths and tables for refreshment were scattered 
 over the market-ground. Here was collected a moving 
 crowd of buyers and sellers, seeking or avoiding one 
 another, as offers of trade tempted or repelled ; but always 
 gathering, as of one mind, when the glass was filled. 
 
 There was a wild confusion of strife and of frolic, of 
 horse-neighing, whip 7 cracking, and swearing, amid which 
 the operations of trade were prominent, but not in a favor- 
 able aspect. And yet the day's brightness rested upon 
 this crowd, chasing away the fumes of strong drink ; and 
 there was a certain regard to decency, although excite- 
 ment now and then contracted the muscles in the broad 
 forehead of the Vosse-man, and, like presages of an 
 approaching storm, little flashes of lightning might be 
 detected in his intelligent eye. His hands were still 
 buried in his pockets, but the violent clench was not thus 
 concealed ; and the sudden shrugging of his shoulders 
 and backward toss of his head showed the uprising of a
 
 OLD OLAF. 49 
 
 wild, unsubdued nature, in opposition to either good or 
 evil. 
 
 " Hallo, Old Olaf!" shouted a youth, giving the lean 
 old horse he rode a crack of his whip, and aiming toward 
 the limping individual carrying the red box, who just 
 appeared around the corner of a house close to the market- 
 ground. 
 
 The man changed his trunk to the other hand, and 
 limped on, making no reply to the speaker. 
 
 "Come here and make an offer, Old Olaf!" sounded 
 from another direction. 
 
 "Ain't you a witness, Old Olaf! that I bought my horse 
 last fall and gave thirty-five dollars for it, and my pipe to 
 boot?" shouted a third, holding a small, worn-out horse 
 by the bridle, while a purchaser examined its mouth, and 
 gave its feet a crack of the whip to enliven it. But the 
 poor, discouraged animal didn't stir ; and if it had been 
 stung by a wasp, the effect would have been the same. 
 
 " I know nothing about it," muttered the man, evasively, 
 turning another way. 
 
 "Look out, Old Olaf! or I'll let my horse make a leap 
 over you," shouted a bold youth, who sat upon a glossy 
 brown, lively animal, letting it turn rapidly in every di- 
 rection, while he pressed his heels into its sides, so that 
 it reared and shied with rage, and pawed, making the 
 stones and dirt fly about over table and benches. 
 
 Old Olaf did not wait for a second warning, but fright- 
 ened turned away, and amid scoffs and jerks pushed at 
 last through the crowd to the main road, leading behind 
 the numerous small houses of the parsonage along the 
 water to a fir grove. 
 
 Soon he had passed the main road, and the green hedge 
 of the wood-path enclosed him. Now he slackened his 
 pace, and, looking back, wiped the perspiration from his
 
 5Q OLD OLAF. 
 
 forehead. But at this moment a company on horseback, 
 laughing and shouting, approached on the same road ; 
 and, like a chased deer, he rushed forward again through 
 the shady path, panting from the intolerable exertion, and 
 bending yet more, his alternate steps appearing like a rise 
 and a fall. 
 
 Not until he had reached a little eminence on the 
 mountain, which rose in uneven gradations behind the 
 wood, where the noise of the market-place only came as 
 a subdued echo, did Old Olaf feel safe. And here he 
 seated himself upon a rock, took the trunk in his lap, and 
 embraced it with fervency, as if it had been a living soul 
 which he had rescued from death and destination. 
 
 In this manner he sat for some time, with closed eyes, 
 and a melancholy expression about his mouth. But it 
 was not from fatigue he bowed, it was not rest he took ; 
 this was evident at the first glance : he was rather look- 
 ing back over the current of time, upon a picture of the 
 happiness of other days. 
 
 Now he seemed to catch an idea and concentrate his 
 thoughts upon it. Opening his trunk, he took piece after 
 piece from it as before, only with a little more hurry, 
 until he reached the bottom. There lay a little folded 
 piece of yellow paper, with large, awkward characters 
 upon it : this he unfolded upon his knee, smoothing it 
 with his hand to make it lie open, and then began to sing 
 the written words, slowly and mournfully, like a solemn 
 dirge, and yet they were not in the least adapted to the 
 tune. 
 
 But now, as the noise of the distant multitude rose and 
 fell with varying sounds, like those of billows clashing 
 against the rock, and while Old Olaf sung and drew the 
 back of his hand across his eyes, there stood on an upper 
 eminence, leaning against the wall of a mountain hut, a
 
 OLD OLAF. 51 
 
 small, light-haired girl, and at a short distance from her 
 a youth. 
 
 She seemed to evade him, looking in the direction of 
 the mountains on the opposite side, while he looked 
 downward toward the village. They both stood as if 
 struck dumb by a word, such a one as may either unite 
 or separate for life. 
 
 The hut door opened, and an old woman stepped out 
 with arms full of milk-pans, which she set to dry against 
 the wall. 
 
 This action startled the girl, who stepped forward to 
 move away ; but at the same time the youth advanced 
 toward her ; she looking downward, he looking upon 
 her. Her face was scarlet, but its whole expression de- 
 pressed ; her eyelids were half closed, her lips tightly 
 compressed, as if sealing up a strong but sad resolution. 
 
 His countenance, on the contrary, was dark and hard ; 
 his large features were handsome, but looked as if stiffened 
 with spite. In his eye was an unquiet gleam, which now 
 flashed with love, now with hate. 
 
 At last he broke the suspense, exclaiming, as he ad- 
 vanced toward her, 
 
 " You will have to retract." 
 
 She sorrowfully shook her head in reply. 
 
 " Do you think any other can love you as I do ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I have not thought of any other," she whispered. 
 
 " In that you do well, girl ; for if I should hear of such 
 a one, I should show him a quick way out of life ! " 
 
 " O Jesus ! " she sobbed, turning frightened away. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Sigrid," he exclaimed softly and fer- 
 vently, throwing his arm around her, drawing her toward 
 the precipice. " You are like food and sunshine to me ! 
 I take no pleasure in any thing when you are not with
 
 52 OLD OLAF. 
 
 me. ... I curse the sun, and I swallow my food, and 
 there follows no blessing. And you ! the prettiest girl 
 in the whole crowd ! Should you not have the prettiest 
 fellow? Yes: I think you ought! Thore Sten is the 
 man for Sigrid Bergslien. What are the rest worth? 
 Nothing, all together ! I understand a little of every 
 thing, you see : no one can stand before me ; where I 
 put my fist, I leave my mark." 
 
 " Oh ! don't come near me with your awful wildness," 
 interrupted the girl, withdrawing from him. 
 
 " Nonsense, girl!" he shouted angrily, pulling her to 
 himself again. " Is it worth being offended at? Every- 
 body can't be such a model ! I will sometime be steady 
 too : you can lead me as you will, Sigrid ! I forget 
 every thing when I look at you, for you are as beautiful 
 as a flower in the sunlight. And now our marriage can 
 take place at once, as soon as possible : do you hear, girl ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, Thore ! oh, no ! " she replied, in a frightened 
 whisper. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Sigrid, certainly it can ! I long for you so 
 that I am almost crazy. When I am with you, I have no 
 rest, for I know I must leave you again ; and when I am 
 away, I brave every thing to get to you again. What 
 does this mean?" 
 
 "I don't understand you, Thore : we must part for this 
 life." 
 
 " Take me as I am, girl : you can reform me better 
 than anybody else." 
 
 " O Heaven !" she sobbed submissively, and burst into 
 weeping. 
 
 "You have no love for me any more, perhaps?" he 
 asked impatiently. 
 
 " Yes, I have," she replied : " my love isn't changeable 
 like your resolutions."
 
 OLD OLAF. 53 
 
 " Well, then we will be united for life ! " he exclaimed 
 vehemently, seizing both her hands. " I shall remain all 
 day with you. Let old Kari manage up here, and we'll 
 go down to Bergslien : I'll have it arranged all right. If 
 you love me as I do you, our marriage shall take place in 
 a month." 
 
 " Oh, no, Thore ! I can't do this, indeed I can't : don't 
 be angry at me ! " she pleaded, weeping and trembling. 
 
 " The devil ! " he exclaimed, in overflowing wrath, and 
 threw her from him with such violence that she fell over 
 the ledge. 
 
 There came a shout from the hut, and he heard a 
 woman's voice calling his name ; but he heeded nothing. 
 Fugitive-like he fled down the mountain, leaping from 
 ledge to ledge, sliding great distances where the slope 
 was even, until in his speed he reached Old Olaf, who had 
 finished his song, and, after carefully replacing it in the 
 box, had set this down by his side, and was trying again 
 to make his weak limbs support him. 
 
 " Take your rubbish out of the way ! " shouted the boy, 
 kicking the box so that it followed him tumbling from 
 rock to rock until it stopped at the foot of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 " That was Thore Sten !" exclaimed Old Olaf imme- 
 diately afterward, losing all self control, and endeavoring, 
 as it were, to make the fact clear and fasten it in his 
 memory. Then he patiently let himself down, alternately 
 sliding and limping until he reached the trunk, when, 
 with this in hand, he toiled upward again the same diffi- 
 cult way he had gone two hours before. But now he 
 paused not in his ascent until he reached the first high 
 plain, where, on one hand, a fruitful mountain valley 
 stretched out, while on the other the mountain toward 
 the sea rose in even terraces to its summit.
 
 54 O LD OLAF. 
 
 Far back, where the valley was bounded by a wild 
 peak, lay the rich peasant farm, Bergslien, with an exten- 
 sive pasture on one side, and well-cultivated fields on the 
 other. A couple of cottages lay at some distance from 
 the farm-house, and, still further this way, a solitary hut. 
 
 A little opening in the roof, enclosed by a weak frame- 
 work of brick, signified a chimney ; and a small window 
 in front, the broken glass of which was here and there 
 patched with paper, or filled with an old rag, spoke of 
 life within. It might still be the abode of human beings, 
 however poor its appearance ; and so it was, the home of 
 an old maiden, who was commonly called Kari, but occa- 
 sionally more particularly distinguished as Knapstad 
 Kari. She had neither land nor stock of which to take 
 the care or profit ; and when she busied herself with them, 
 as she did almost every day while summer lasted, it was 
 the property of others : and in this way she maintained 
 herself the while. But when winter iced and darkened 
 all without and within, she spun, knitted a little, and 
 where there was a suffering neighbor or a sick animal, 
 nursed and cared for them according to their need. In 
 this way she had lived forty winters in the miserable 
 house, " the raven's nest," as she herself called it good 
 humoredly. 
 
 But as it stood there this afternoon, between heathy 
 hillocks and light-green juniper-bushes, with the sunshine 
 playing upon its small window-panes, it looked singularly 
 inviting, as when poverty presents its smiles and wel- 
 comes, although it has naught else to offer. 
 
 It was solitary and quiet on the mountain plain; only 
 the distant barking of a dog, mingled with the sound of 
 human voices, was faintly heard. Now a limping figure 
 lifted itself little by little upward, along the steep path 
 leading from the village : it was Old Olaf. He paused
 
 OLD OLAF. 55 
 
 a few moments to collect breath after the difficult ascent, 
 then took his way directly over toward Knapstad Kari's 
 house. 
 
 But, as he neared it, he slackened his steps, sighed 
 heavily, and finally made a long stop on the road, for the 
 sake, it appeared, of breathing more easily, or perhaps 
 to throw off some of the burden from his heart ; for he 
 sighed deeply and repeatedly, and then proceeded, but 
 not far before he stopped again. 
 
 It seemed almost as if the little house gilded by the 
 setting sun, and standing in relief against the emerald- 
 green juniper-ground, both tempted and awed him with 
 its sacredness. 
 
 At last he limped a little nearer, spying around ; then 
 listened at the door, and his countenance evinced, when 
 about venturing to knock, his fear that nobody was at 
 home ; but he must try. He opened the door and 
 peeped in, but instantly shut it again, for no one was 
 there. 
 
 Now disappointment and loneliness overwhelmed him 
 with such force, that he sank under it, and burst into 
 weeping like a little child ; and a child he was too, in 
 the highest degree, although he was fast approaching that 
 period of time when dust is given unto dust. Notwith- 
 standing what the law says, maturity does not come with 
 years : it is the will which gives it ; and Old Olaf was not 
 mature in any respect. 
 
 Restless and adventurous, he roved from parish to 
 parish, making himself a home wherever he came. He 
 was a kind of wandering missionary ; singing for the 
 family with whom he lodged a song or a hymn, inter- 
 spersing his melodies with reading accounts of the victory 
 of the gospel over heathen opposition. He could also 
 tell fearful tales concerning the savage treatment experi-
 
 56 OLD OLAF. 
 
 enced by bearers of the divine message, knowing well 
 how to set it forth in such a manner as to produce the 
 best effect upon his audience ; and this procured him help 
 for a time. 
 
 But all this was done with a certain kind of pride. 
 Occasionally, there would be a little blaze of strength in 
 his appearance ; but this was only a puff, through which 
 one discerned the failing fire, it was easily extin- 
 guished. 
 
 A triple strain ran through Old Olaf's life, but it was 
 discordant, wild, tuneless, and ending with a sigh ; it 
 spoke of unrestraint, despondency, and inefficiency. A 
 word of recklessness to him, and his nature flashed like a 
 rocket and soared apace ; but afterward repentance and 
 anguish overwhelmed him, and he was ready to sell 
 himself for a farthing, if conscience only went in the bar- 
 gain, so that he could escape its eternal reproaches. Then 
 followed the third condition, the usual one, in which his 
 mind alternated between indolence and the desire of self- 
 maintenance, but this was without ambition or will : it 
 was a sea-son in which his nature seemed reposing, after 
 one eruption, to gather strength for the next ; for beneath 
 indolence lie hidden the most violent passions. 
 
 " Kari is up at Bergslien, I guess," said a little cow- 
 boy, who had been watching Olaf in the distance. 
 
 Old Olaf seized his trunk with a scrutinizing look at 
 the boy. 
 
 " Sigrid has tumbled over the ledge," continued the 
 boy, stepping nearer. 
 
 Old Olaf looked toward Bergslien with a sad eye, and 
 made no answer. 
 
 "Ain't you the one they call Old Olaf?" asked the 
 boy, spitting. 
 
 But Old Olaf took no time to be offended : he was al-
 
 OLD OLAF. 57 
 
 ready on his way to a new goal, and, as before, one mo- 
 ment like one sure of welcome, the next timid, hesitating, 
 as if sure of nothing. 
 
 At length he struggled forward to Bergslien. On the 
 grass-plot, in front of the house, stood an old woman 
 busy with some small linen, which she wrung out and 
 hung over a couple of loose logs. 
 
 *' Good day, Kari ! " said Old Olaf, wiping the perspi- 
 ration from his brow. 
 
 The woman looked at him with two bright, prudent 
 eyes, set in an old careworn face, and gave a nod in reply ; 
 but it was short and indifferent enough, and neither said 
 go or stay. 
 
 " I have been at the house," he added awhile after, 
 seating himself on the logs beside her. There was little 
 courage left in him. 
 
 " I shall stay over night here," said Kari, after a little 
 pause, but she did not look at him. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! to be sure," he sighed submissively to his fate. 
 
 " Go there and make yourself comfortable," she added 
 awhile after. 
 
 " In the lonely house ? " he asked, with melancholy voice. 
 
 " I can't be both here and there," she interrupted. 
 
 " There is small comfort for me where you are not." 
 
 " Then it appears you need but little comfort," she 
 answered a little sneeringly. 
 
 " My heart will burst, I need it so much ! " he exclaimed, 
 in a little louder tone. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Kari, authoritatively, glancing toward 
 the house : " don't speak so loud that I cannot hear if they 
 call me, for Sigrid is sick." 
 
 " God grant I may lie as she does, then some one will 
 pity me too, and I'll not have to go around so like a leper," 
 sighed Olaf, his voice choked with weeping. 
 
 4
 
 58 OLD OLAF. 
 
 "You can't complain, Olaf; for one who never settles 
 himself firmly upon any thing, carries a disease with him 
 wherever he goes, and the worst disease is discontent," 
 said Kari, seating herself beside him. 
 
 " Yes : show me what I can settle upon," he moaned, 
 with increased weeping. 
 
 " Trust in our Lord." 
 
 " He is so far away ! " 
 
 " Well, then, it is you who make the distance," she 
 .answered firmly. 
 
 "You are always so stern, Kari," he sobbed, "one 
 can't come to you with grief." 
 
 " But it is a long time since you came with joy ; and, 
 after all, it is only once in a while that you find your way 
 up here to the mountain." 
 
 " There is such recklessness down there, one gets tired 
 of it." 
 
 " It is natural enough that one should grow tired of 
 being in all kinds of company," she replied, in an offended 
 manner. 
 
 " I could almost swear there is magic in it," said Olaf. 
 " It first attracts, then repels " 
 
 " I will tell you how that is, Olaf," she interrupted 
 suddenly. " You are just as if there were two men in 
 you : one a youth, attracted by this recklessness ; the other, 
 a poor cripple, longing for rest. You must put a barrier 
 between the two ; one can't be both old and young at the 
 same time : trifling and earnestness never harmonize." 
 
 " Yes : it is your lot to have order in all things ; but an- 
 other poor body's misfortune to have to struggle against 
 evil," sighed Old Olaf, a little comforted. 
 
 " We are all tempted by evil," said Kari, emphatically ; 
 "but the Lord God has said, 'Be not overcome by evil, 
 but overcome evil with good.' "
 
 OLD OLAF. 59 
 
 " Perhaps I am too old in evil," he said submissively, 
 but not from his heart. 
 
 " There is only one who is too old in the evil, and that 
 is the devil himself, Olaf ! " 
 
 " Don't be so severe, Kari ! " 
 
 " One has to be severe with indolence." 
 
 "Am I indolent?" asked Old Olaf, crestfallen: "I 
 don't allow myself rest anywhere." 
 
 " Yes : this is just the worst kind of indolence," she con- 
 tinued ; " for you only run from reflection. Every time 
 our Lord puts his hand upon you, and makes you pause, 
 you are like one possessed . . . Do you remember how 
 you struggled against reflection when you lay here many 
 weeks between life and death, after Lars Stordraget had 
 broken your back? Did your soul take rest then? Did 
 you bear the cross, Olaf? No : you threw it away and 
 seized it again, as your disease grew better or worse . . . 
 And, afterward, when your knee began to fester after the 
 stab you got at Bolstad eight years ago, was it any better 
 with you then ? No : no better ! " . . . 
 
 " Alas ! had you stood by me, Kari ! " he said, with a 
 sigh more from his heart. 
 
 " On what day or hour have I ever let go my hold of 
 you?" she asked sternly. 
 
 Old Olaf crept closer to the corner without answering, 
 as if unable to make himself diminutive enough in com- 
 parison with her strength and sternness ; for, however 
 much he objected to them, there was a tell-tale expres- 
 sion in his countenance, witnessing to the truth of her 
 words. 
 
 "Yes: in the eye of man it may appear so," she con- 
 tinued awhile after ; " but in the sight of God I have 
 never let you go." 
 
 " Maybe it isn't too late yet," whispered he, meekly.
 
 60 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " Too late for this life," she sighed, silently weeping. 
 
 " Didn't you say yourself, on that day when we broke 
 with each other, that if one only earnestly resolved, he 
 would succeed . . . and now I do so," he exclaimed, 
 drawing himself up. 
 
 " Yes : God grant it ! " she sighed, wiping her eyes. 
 " But you have two wills, that's the misfortune. It's of 
 little use to hitch two horses to the plough, when one will 
 pull this way and the other that. Either they remain on 
 one spot or break asunder, each running his own way 
 with a part of the wreck." 
 
 " Now I have pledged my word, and will stand by it," 
 he said, with a little more boldness, rising to go. 
 
 " Will you go to my house?" asked Kari. 
 
 " No : to the village again." 
 
 " If you meet Thore Sten, keep away from him : he is 
 a passionate boy," said Kari, rising suddenly. 
 
 " He came running down the mountain, past where I 
 sat taking a little rest, and gave such a kick to my trunk 
 that it tumbled to the bottom. I think he was crazy," 
 said Olaf. 
 
 " He is a boasting rascal, blowing his words about as 
 if no one could answer him." 
 
 " But that's a lad who dares venture upon the point of 
 a knife ! " exclaimed Olaf, a gleam of wild pleasure flash- 
 ing from his eye. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he begins where you did forty years ago," 
 said Kari, dryly. " You haven't heard what has hap- 
 pened ? But, of course not ; how could you ? You know 
 that Sigrid, the daughter here, was engaged to Thore 
 years ago ; for a while all went smoothly enough, but 
 then, afterward, the wrong way. He has begun trading 
 horses, and neither the girl nor her father likes that, for 
 it isn't necessary. Bergslien can feed its man without
 
 OLD OLAF. 6 1 
 
 that ; and of late, more than once, she has returned him his 
 promise. To-day, as he was up there at the mountain 
 hut, her rejection became very decided, notwithstanding 
 he tempted and coaxed like an evil spirit. But, as she 
 remained firm, in a moment of excitement he gave her a 
 push that sent her over the precipice, and knocked her 
 senseless : hadn't I been at the hut and witnessed it, so 
 that I could run to help her, I don't know what would 
 have been the result." 
 
 " To think ! he pushed her," exclaimed Old Olaf, shud- 
 dering. 
 
 " Oh ! after all, I don't think so much of that : after re- 
 ceiving the first injury, one could surely bear the second." 
 
 " Yes ; but her life, Kari." 
 
 " One would rather die by such an accident than lose 
 the joy of a whole lifetime," she sighed. 
 
 " Don't speak so, Kari ! " replied Olaf, mournfully. 
 
 " Alas ! there is little joy in life, when one only endures 
 it looking for the end," she added quietly, then turned 
 and went into the house. 
 
 " O God, O God ! " he cried ; but Kari heeded not, and 
 remained where she was. 
 
 She had so many times seen him in such anguish, that 
 she did not care to witness a repetition. His grief was 
 like that of a weeping child, who, at a distance, sees 
 sweetmeats in the comforter's hand. 
 
 And this Old Olaf himself knew : he understood 
 perfectly well his own weakness, and knew he was active 
 and vigorous in resolution, fickle and weak in perform- 
 ance, while Kari was slow to resolve and strong to ful- 
 fil. But, nevertheless, she was still his sole earthly desire, 
 and had been so for more than forty years. To be sure, 
 he had now and then cast this desire from him, and been 
 seized by it again ; but every time he possessed it anew
 
 62 OLD OLAF. 
 
 he had an unspeakable dread of its loss. And now he 
 could not go without one more word, although he knew 
 not at all what he wished to say : so he stole away to the 
 house and opened the door, meek and self-abased as a re- 
 pentant sinner ; but when he stood there, and their eyes 
 met in sorrowful, hopeless communion, he turned and left 
 without a word. 
 
 Kari gazed after him as his poor figure passed the win- 
 dow, disappearing behind the house, then quietly seated 
 herself, bent in mournful retrospection ; and her view 
 now was the same she had taken for forty years, neither 
 faded nor changed by time, but just as when, at the mo- 
 ment of decision, she had shut herself in with it. 
 
 Knapstad Kari, so named from her father, a poor 
 laborer named Nils Knapstad, was a light-hearted girl 
 twenty years of age, healthy and beautiful, when she 
 went to service at Gravseid, a farm of considerable size 
 in the neighboring parish. Her master the mistress 
 was dead long before was kind and considerate, treat- 
 ing her more as a daughter than a servant ; and her first 
 year was passed in comfort and happiness. 
 
 On the farm, Olaf was the youngest of three grown-up 
 sons, well known by all, and a favorite wherever he 
 went ; for, with good abilities, he combined beauty and 
 boldness. When Kari became a member of the family 
 at Gravseid, it was said at once, among the young people, 
 that this was the girl for Olaf, and he the boy suited to 
 her ; for at their first meeting they were just as two birds, 
 hopping and singing each on its branch, happy in every 
 thing, but happiest in each other. 
 
 Afterward, when winter came with drifting snow, they 
 abode under the common roof, taking mutual comfort and 
 joy ; for as each smoothed the path of the other, nothing
 
 OLD OLAF. 63 
 
 was in the way of their happiness. And when spring 
 came, and the birds again flew toward the wood, they, 
 too, met on a green branch, each with straw in beak for 
 the future nest. 
 
 Now, Olaf's father did not immediately give a joyful 
 assent to this engagement ; but Kari was a noble girl, in- 
 dustrious and clever, consequently the old man's dissatis- 
 faction soon disappeared, and sincere pleasure took its 
 place. 
 
 After the lapse of a year the father died. The eldest 
 son took possession of the farm, and the two younger 
 had to look out for other places in life ; meanwhile Kari 
 continued at Gravseid. 
 
 Now, Olaf began to trade : first in wool, fur, and other 
 articles of domestic use ; but, as this brought no profit ot 
 any consequence, afterward in horses. He exchanged 
 and sold, venturing boldly where others hesitated, never 
 allowing himself to be discouraged at a loss. Only one 
 winter should pass ere the consummation of the young 
 couple's happiness, for Olaf earned much money : he had 
 already bought a small house in the village, and their 
 marriage was to take place in the spring. 
 
 Meanwhile, Olaf did not gain all this shrewdness and 
 success in trade without sacrifice : no one perceived this 
 more clearly than Kari. He came no longer daily to 
 Gravseid, and, when there, had something in his deport- 
 ment better adapted to the treatment of an unmanageable 
 horse, which was to be subdued, than to a young girl, 
 delicate of thought and soul, who received a caress from 
 him as it were a gift from heaven. 
 
 And this grew upon him. Cause can be added to 
 cause an hundred-fold before the consequence is ripe. 
 The many journeys Olaf had necessarily to make har- 
 dened both soul and body ; for the winter was severe and
 
 64 OLD OLAF. 
 
 unyielding, evil must be brought to contend with evil, and 
 hardness with hardness, to attain success. So Olaf drank 
 with others, first to cheer and strengthen himself, after- 
 ward as a pastime, and finally to intoxication. He be- 
 came so in the habit of affirming a lie, that the truth 
 became as a lie to him, and a lie truth ; but now his 
 steadfastness was gone, and wherever he set his foot there 
 he slipped. 
 
 Yet still, around in the parish, it was said, 
 
 " Olaf Gravseid ! bold fellow he ! Measure knife-points 
 with him? as well challenge death ! " 
 
 Spring came, but brought no marriage-feast at Grav- 
 seid this time. Kari had not wept herself weak, yet 
 Olaf's sin and wickedness had caused her many bitter 
 tears. A moment came, however, when she gave vent 
 to her feelings ; for, though she herself had trembled at 
 the thought, she had quietly concealed her resolution 
 until it was tried and strong ; and this put the firmly 
 rooted barrier between them, which no argument, no 
 tears, no pleading, could demolish or shake. 
 
 " She would not have a hand in setting an enclosure 
 around the weeds of his planting in life. She would not 
 make a bed for sin, and read the Lord's prayer over false- 
 hood ! " 
 
 Now the bad spirit of Olaf sunk, but not like dark- 
 ness in the sea, the bright rosy morning dawning above 
 it, in 'strong pain-born resolutions. No : he wept first, 
 then drank, and finally quarrelled with all, by which he 
 gained the general ill-will ; and at last, with injured limbs 
 and weakened spirit, he wandered from parish to par- 
 ish, sustaining life by a small trade in religious tracts and 
 the like. Now people took the proud name " Olaf 
 Gravseid " away, christening him " Old Olaf," by which 
 name he was universally known, but not respected.
 
 OLD OLAF. 65 
 
 In the mean time Kari went her own way, and it was 
 a solitary one ; but this she liked. To be sure one and 
 another sought her ; for, although sorrow and disappoint- 
 ment had plucked the beautiful roses from her cheeks, 
 the clear light remained in her eye, and the glossy golden 
 hue upon her hair : but Kari went so firmly and unim- 
 pressibly past all, that at last she spread that desert 
 around her which a quiet uncommunicative sorrow al- 
 ways creates. 
 
 The years rolled away. Kari lived at last as an old 
 maiden, in the little house on Bergsli-farm, where, once 
 in a while, Olaf came to be healed of the wounds caused 
 by his bad temper and recklessness ; and yet Kari well 
 knew that her nursing only gave him strength to en- 
 counter new danger. 
 
 When he was thus comforted and healed, and had 
 regained sufficient courage to long anew for the scenes 
 beyond the mountain, Kari sat alone there, a little poorer 
 than before in earthly goods, and also a little poorer in 
 heart ; for it was now her only desire, her old heart's 
 golden dream, in her secret thoughts, to hold fast to " her 
 betrothed, Olaf Gravseid, the bold, faultless lad ! " And 
 this was so pleasant to her ! for better things must come 
 yet. So, light-hearted, she commenced her work ; and 
 this youthful thought more than half carried her through. 
 And when the week was ended, and the Sabbath came 
 with holy song and rest, the sacred work of afternoon 
 was taken out, a yellow piece of linen, containing much 
 ornamental sewing, it was Olafs bridal shirt. 
 
 And then came needle and thread upon the table. 
 The thimble was put upon the finger, the spectacles upon 
 the nose, and, humming, she began the difficult stitch- 
 ing, somewhat more difficult now than in her younger 
 days, when her sight was a clear guide to her steady hand.
 
 66 OLD OLAF. 
 
 And when the snow drifted around the house, forcing 
 its way through the rickety window-frame, she heeded 
 not: it melted immediately, for in the fireplace the fir 
 and juniper boughs blazed and crackled like a wonder- 
 ful firework of small stars and glittering sheaves scat- 
 tered around ; and the little room was both fragrant and 
 warm. Yes : even when it seemed as if the storm, with 
 its powerful arms, would lift the old house from the 
 ground and dance with it, in its mighty hand, out down the 
 mountain side, still she heeded not ! This sport it had 
 threatened so often, that it no longer terrified her : nay, it 
 was even pleasant, and sounded as if many men's voices 
 mingled in the roar. ..." Yes : even Olaf's too ; for, 
 when that boy shouted, he was heard above the greatest 
 din ! " 
 
 But then when Old Olaf came again, limping up the 
 mountain toward the house, timid and suffering, like one 
 shipwrecked, a sudden pain ran through her whole body ; 
 for at that moment the shining web burst, and she stood 
 face to face with the sorrowful reality. So, sighing, she 
 folded the bridal shirt, and went to the hearth to prepare 
 supper ; awhile after, Olaf sat snugly and comfortably 
 benched, a steaming pudding between himself and 
 Kari. 
 
 The words interchanged signified little ; they were 
 only such as on the common road pass from mouth to 
 mouth, without touching either soul or thought. Had 
 Kari uttered a single one of those with which she spoke 
 to her young memory, then Olaf, too, could have done 
 the same ; and their words would have been as questions 
 and answers from the heart of hearts. For when he 
 struggled up the mountain to her dwelling, bending and 
 panting, every step seeming to carry his poor body 
 toward the grave, he appeared to be borne forward,
 
 OLD OLAF. 67 
 
 with a strange yearning, toward the young, laughing Kari, 
 who was surely standing behind the door to startle him, 
 or dart out over the meadow, like an enticing fairy, chal- 
 lenging pursuit, and afterward coming in shyly to re- 
 ceive all his tender words with her happiest smile. 
 
 But they never spoke their thoughts ; and so they sat 
 so near, known to each other in soul and thought, and 
 yet so distant in word and manner. The tree of life 
 which at the same time had shot its root downward in 
 each of their hearts, and taken its sudden growth upward 
 in light and joy, was cut down in its spring time ; yet 
 sap enough remained in the root for its many sproutings, 
 although trunk and crown it had nevermore. 
 
 And such was Knapstad Kari's and Old OlaPs hard 
 life. In a certain sense they were as yet engaged ; for, 
 when apart, they lived in the past, and it drew them 
 toward each other. Quietly and unspoken each felt a 
 right to the other : the unattainable both separated and 
 united them. 
 
 To-day, for the first time in many years, Kari had 
 spoken to Olaf of the bygone years and his wasted life ; 
 but it was because, in the young girl she was nursing, she 
 had before her a picture of her own misery. The bit- 
 terness she had so long been gathering, drop by drop, 
 now overflowed her heart's brim, causing it to contract 
 with insufferable pain. She had never before seen the 
 truth so unvarnished as now. . . . " It was not Olaf Grav- 
 seid, it was Old Olaf." 
 
 " I think Olaf was more feeble to day than I have ever 
 before seen him," sighed Kari, after he had gone. 
 " God grant he may soon get through and go to rest ! " 
 
 " I think Kari was not as kind as usual," muttered 
 Old Olaf, as he sat upon a rock, taking a little rest be- 
 fore descending.
 
 68 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! . . . she is right," he sighed awhile after- 
 ward. " All I do is indolence. It seems as if one was 
 busy with such trade. It even becomes bustle. Ah, yes ! 
 if only one knew what to do with himself! There rises 
 something in me now and then like another man, stand- 
 ing gazing at me, as if it would speak, yes, I could 
 swear it is so ; but I get so frightened I am on the point 
 of screaming, and then it disappears. . . . Oh, yes ! God 
 help me ! " 
 
 At this moment the sun sank behind the mountain, 
 throwing a faint yellow hue over the western horizon. 
 A fresh breeze brought the hum from the market-place 
 up toward Old Olaf, where he sat gazing around, as if 
 seeking some object of comfort ; for the gloom he had 
 brought up here, had not, as usual, disappeared in Knap- 
 stad Kari's house. On the contrary, it had increased ; 
 and his soul was full to despair. 
 
 Now a shout was borne upward, then a sound of noisy 
 merriment. 
 
 " The hubbub is going again ! " he exclaimed sadly, 
 listening. 
 
 Again he heard the wild shouts mingled with laugh- 
 ter and boisterousness. 
 
 " I must go down there," he sighed, relieved, and 
 rose. " No one knows but I could sell something." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " came from a single voice in the crowd. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! " shouted Old Olaf, making a leap ; and 
 that moment he was transformed. His eyes shone, his 
 countenance rose, his shoulders straightened a little, and 
 his whole crestfallen appearance fell from him like a 
 dried husk, which had not imprisoned his boldness, 
 only concealed it while growing. 
 
 And so but little time elapsed between that, in which 
 he sat on the mountain, sighing over his sinful nature,
 
 OLD OLAF. 69 
 
 and this, when animated and lively he limped over the 
 smooth wood-path, toward the market-place. 
 
 "Hallo! Old Olaf!" shouted a hoarse voice to him, 
 from a small gathering of half-drunken men, standing 
 by a stall. " What have you in your trunk?" 
 
 " Food for the soul of us both," said Olaf, solemnly, 
 pushing nearer. 
 
 "Have you? "said the man. "Ah! then it is need- 
 ed, so come here with your trunk." 
 
 " You will have to. let me take care of my own things," 
 said Olaf, pushing him boldly from him. 
 
 " Is it true you have a song about the devil of Amer- 
 ica?" asked a tall boy with sleepy countenance, who, 
 with hands in his pockets, had pushed through the crowd 
 to him. 
 
 " I don't know as the devil is any different there from 
 what he is here," answered Old Olaf, stiffly. 
 
 "Yes," said the boy, with a knowing grin to the by- 
 standers. " He has both a cloven foot and horns of pure 
 gold ; and here they are no different from every bull's." 
 
 " Puh ! What ungodly prattle ! " exclaimed an old 
 woman, standing at a table selling drink. 
 
 " Never you care for that, mammy," laughed a tall, 
 stoutly built boy, with an open, sunburnt face. " How 
 is it with your humor, Old Olaf?" turning to him. " I 
 think you were weeping when you sat away there on the 
 mountain." 
 
 " I have not much more than I need, Thore," an- 
 swered Old Olaf, in a friendly way, trying to avoid him. 
 
 " Come here and drink, so it will increase," said he, 
 taking hold of his arm. " Besides, I must make up for 
 kicking your trunk down the mountain." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Old Olaf, timidly ; " but I 
 think I would rather not."
 
 7O OLD OLAF. 
 
 " Rather not ! " exclaimed Thore, holding a glass to 
 Olaf's lips. " There, drink ! must one ask you twice?" 
 
 Old Olaf stood a moment hesitatingly, but finally took 
 the glass and sipped. 
 
 " Down to the last drop, old hawk ! it's Thore Sten's 
 treat ! " 
 
 Olaf emptied the glass and limped to the table to set 
 it down ; but now there was no shyness about him : 
 he measured Thore with the same unshrinking eye as 
 anybody else. 
 
 " How many such glasses do you need to make you 
 a man?" asked Thore, laughing loudly. 
 
 "I think as many as you need to become a woman," 
 answered Olaf, swallowing at one draught another 
 glass. 
 
 " One can't see such a small dwarf: you must stand 
 on the table so we can look at you," said Thore, taking 
 him under both arms and lifting him up on a table by his 
 side. 
 
 And then Old Olaf became reckless ; and, like the 
 dwarf at the queen's court, he performed a dance among 
 rolling glasses and bottles, causing irrepressible laughter 
 from the whole crowd ; and at last leaped from the 
 table and flung himself around There's neck, who in- 
 stantly seized and threw him, like a bundle, to the other 
 side ; where he lay bewildered and senseless on the flat 
 ground, while the trunk tumbled from the table to the 
 road. 
 
 " Come here with his trunk," said Thore to a half- 
 grown boy, who was endeavoring to force open the lid. 
 
 " You sha'n't have it," was the reply : " I'm going to 
 see the song about his sweetheart." 
 
 "What business have you got with that?" shouted 
 Thore, laughing.
 
 OLD OLAF. 71 
 
 " I want to see how they write a love-ditty," continued 
 the lad, stubbornly pulling at the lid. 
 
 But now Old Olaf had recovered a little and crept up, 
 reaching for the trunk. 
 
 " Now you sha'n't have it till I've seen the song about 
 your sweetheart," cried the boy, holding on. 
 
 " The boy's right. A fellow's got to learn when he's, 
 young," said Thore, taking the trunk and forcing it open 
 with a jerk. 
 
 " Give me my trunk ! " panted Olaf, raising himself 
 up on his knee, and extending both arms toward it. 
 
 " Now, boy, look out for the song," exclaimed Thore, 
 as he turned the trunk bottom upward, scattering its con- 
 tents upon the ground. 
 
 " Don't you dare touch it ! " exclaimed Old Olaf, 
 creeping yet nearer. " Don't touch it," he repeated 
 imploringly, drawing himself together in helplessness 
 and pain. 
 
 But his threat and pleading were empty sounds which 
 no one heeded. Curiosity ovei'came regard ; and within 
 a couple of minutes all the scraps were seized by the 
 bystanders, each studying his, aloud or silently, as best 
 he liked. 
 
 " Here is the song ! " cried the boy, holding a worn, 
 folded paper high above his head. 
 
 " Let me see ! " shouted Thore, snatching at it. 
 
 " Get it and give it to me, Thore ! " asked Old Olaf, 
 rising again up on his knees. 
 
 " No : we've got to see what kind of a fellow you are, 
 if you can put together a real song," laughed Thore, 
 smoothing out the paper before a lantern which stood on 
 the table, throwing a weak gleam in the twilight. And 
 he read, in a fumbling way :
 
 72 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " There lives a maiden at Gravseid, 
 As fair as a lily-kerchiefed bride ; 
 A beautiful, healthy, happy thing, 
 And a bride she will be in the spring." 
 
 " Oh, no ! oh, no, Thore ! that you should bring me 
 such shame ! " panted Old Olaf, throwing his arms around 
 There's strong limbs, and looking up to him with burst- 
 ing eye. 
 
 " Let go my leg, dog ! " said Thore, angrily, kicking 
 him so that he fell over into the road, and then continued 
 singing : 
 
 " Her eyes are bright as the summer bloom, 
 And her cheeks as red as a rose of June ; 
 Graceful in motion, quick in word, 
 Just like a beautiful, twittering bird." 
 
 "Just like a beautiful, twittering bird," repeated the 
 boy, and a couple of twanging voices chimed i-n. 
 
 " Yes : my sweetheart shall be so, only pure sunshine 
 and summer ! " shouted the boy. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Thore : " one can't be heard for that 
 snipe." 
 
 " Give me my song, Thore," implored Olaf, who had 
 approached the crowd again. " It's the last thing I have 
 in this world," he gasped like one dying. 
 
 " Where is your handsome girl?" cried the boy: "I 
 want to know where she is." 
 
 " O poor one ! " said an old woman. " That flower 
 has withered long ago ! It is Knapstad Kari, I guess, 
 up there on the mountain." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Thore, and continued singing, while 
 all listened :
 
 OLD OLAF. 73 
 
 " There goes a youth o'er the hills away, 
 Who dreams of this maiden night and day; 
 He calls her name, and every time 
 Her voice replies in a loving chime." 
 
 " Nobody knows his path of joy, 
 
 Or sees its goal like the dreaming boy, 
 
 The glad spring budding, the loved by his side, 
 
 He a bridegroom, and she a bride." 
 
 " He a bridegroom, and she a bride," chimed in the 
 whole crowd, merrily. 
 
 But now a form rose before Thore : it was Old Olaf, 
 looking as if he had grown a foot since he last spoke ; 
 the crippled limbs were stretched with superhuman 
 strength, his visage was white as a linen cloth, and his 
 eyes shot pale lightning. 
 
 " What do you want of me? " asked Thore, deridingly, 
 endeavoring to push him back. 
 
 " I will give you to choose between your life and my 
 song," said Old Olaf, firmly. He looked at this moment 
 like a dying warrior, who raises himself for the combat, 
 but, his strength departing in the effort, sinks upon 
 his knees in death. 
 
 For a few moments they measured sight and will, the 
 one fully equal to the other. 
 
 Then Thore burst into a scornful laugh, and sung the 
 last verse : 
 
 " But the spring sun came, and summer noon, 
 And the autumn nights, and withered bloom; 
 But never the joyful message hied 
 That he was bridegroom, and she was bride." 
 
 "Do you like this measure?" asked Old Olaf, hold- 
 ing out his dirk a little from his side, with his thumb set 
 firmly against the middle of the blade. 
 
 5
 
 74 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " I can always take a little more than common meas- 
 ure," answered Thore, drawing his dirk, and placing his 
 thumb a little nearer the handle. 
 
 " Ho, ho ! we can afford to increase it, if you please," 
 exclaimed Old Olaf, laughing, and driving the point of 
 his blade into There's arm. 
 
 The moment Thore lifted his arm and suddenly set his 
 eye upon Olaf, a new thought seemed to enter his mind ; 
 and slowly he replaced his dirk in his sheath, while Old 
 Olaf madly continued stabbing, now his arms, now his 
 breast, the blood trickling over vest and coat. 
 
 " Enough of such play," said Thore, coolly, parrying 
 with his hand a blow, which Olaf, in uncontrollable fury, 
 aimed at his face ; but by this the knife was driven with 
 still greater force into the hollow of his hand, and re- 
 mained sticking in the wound. 
 
 " Uh ! " exclaimed Thore, maddened with pain, strik- 
 ing Olaf s arm with his doubled fist, so that it fell dis- 
 abled, and at the same time tearing from his hand the 
 knife and throwing it away. 
 
 " You want to have it appear to-night as if you were 
 Olaf Gravseid, Limpy ! " said Thore, sneering, " but I 
 will let you see who you are, my lad ; " and saying this 
 he took hold of Olaf's body with his broad hand, liftin'g 
 him above his head, and shaking him like a dusty gar- 
 ment, to the amusement and satisfaction of the whole 
 crowd. 
 
 " Do you see now it is Old Olaf? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " they answered in chorus. 
 
 " Yes ! then he isn't needed here," exclaimed Thore, 
 laughing ; and he threw him like a ball over towards the 
 meadow, where the hill rose up to the church. 
 
 Olaf lay awhile stunned by the fall : then he rose and 
 staggered a short distance, fell again ; rose, and the same
 
 OLD OLAF. 75 
 
 was repeated, until at last he tumbled down with a loos- 
 ened rock, which was balancing on the edge of a little 
 precipice. 
 
 For a while no one cared about him ; but when the 
 laughter and noise abated a little, one and another be- 
 gan to wonder that Old Olaf had given up ; for no one 
 had ever known him to do so, when once he had begun. 
 
 So they went to look for him ; and he was found lying 
 by the hill, the stone upon his back. When he was 
 carefully taken up, no one could tell whether life re- 
 mained or not. 
 
 A heavy feeling of remorse fell upon all ; for not one 
 could exempt himself from guilt in the affair. Not one 
 but had taken part in the scoffing laughter which had 
 maddened the unfortunate wretch. Not one of those 
 who now stood around the senseless body in bewildered 
 silence, had a little before considered how deeply a jeer- 
 ing word can sink into a wounded and despairing heart ; 
 for sensibility constitutes the depth of the heart, and only 
 this sensibility can measure it. Now, at once, they un- 
 derstood this. 
 
 A while before, none cared the least for Old Olaf; 
 however often they called him " Poor Cripple," and 
 " Poor helpless one," no feeling of compassion accom- 
 panied the words. They were empty sounds. Now a 
 multitude of anxious thoughts for him was thronging 
 every soul ; each one seeking carefully in memory for a 
 good word, or even thought, given Old Olaf, to atone a 
 little for their present sin ; and, had he just now opened 
 his eyes to life, he certainly would have expected hence- 
 forth to rest in Abraham's bosom. 
 
 But he opened them not. Immovable as death he 
 remained lying there. Now Thore came up and bent 
 forward ; while another boy, who accompanied him,
 
 76 OLD OLAF. 
 
 lifted the senseless body, carefully placing it on There's 
 back ; and then, quiet and strong, he arose and went away, 
 taking the woodpath up the mountain ; the boy who as- 
 sisted walking closely behind. 
 
 " Alas ! now he goes to his sweetheart," sighed the old 
 woman, bursting into tears. 
 
 But no one replied ; each was busy with his own 
 thoughts, and the crowd dispersed, crestfallen and sor- 
 rowful ; for here was a wrong committed for which they 
 could not atone; and such, in true unseared hearts, is a 
 worm that never dies. 
 
 A fresh, fragrant autumn breeze was fanning the' moun- 
 tain, as the next morning Kari wended her way from 
 Bergslien to her little house. 
 
 Alas ! she could hardly endure to look at it, standing 
 there in the daylight, as if the sunbeams were sporting 
 around it ; beckoning and winking to her, with a golden 
 brooch in each of its glittering panes. It seemed as if 
 all the comfort and peace it would fain welcome her to, 
 had been only so much taken from him ; for, for the first 
 time in many years, he had been shut from the door 
 which was always opened at the first sight of his stoop- 
 ing figure peering up over the mountain side. 
 
 But when she stepped into the only room in the house, 
 and saw Olaf lying, deathly pale, upon the bed, and 
 Thore sitting upon a little stool beside him, she experi- 
 enced neither dread nor agitation ; at a single glance she 
 saw to the bottom of what had happened, and quietly 
 took a seat by the door. 
 
 " I brought him here," whispered Thore, rising from 
 the stool, '" because I thought he would get the best nurs- 
 ing with you." 
 
 " Who struck him?" asked Kari firmly, looking Thore 
 directly in the eye.
 
 OLD OLAF. 77 
 
 " I didn't strike him, but I provoked him, which was 
 as bad, perhaps," answered Thore, humbly. 
 
 " You treated him as you did the girl, from whom you 
 took foothold and eyesight, and let the mountain do the 
 rest?" exclaimed Kari, a little scornfully, as she rose 
 and took a seat beside the bed. 
 
 Thore stood struck by her hard words, his eyes fixed 
 upon the floor. There was a dark contest in his soul 
 the while, a struggle between selfishness and conscience ; 
 and powerful champions they were, born and nourished 
 in the same heart. 
 
 A long time he stood thus. Deep silence rested upon 
 the room ; the breath of the sick man was unheard, and 
 Kari sat absorbed in her sorrow. Then Thore awoke as 
 it were from a dream, and passed his hand over his fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Kari ! " he exclaimed imploringly, and would have 
 said more, but his voice failed, and he gasped like a fish 
 on the shore. 
 
 Kari turned her grief-worn face towards him. He ut- 
 tered Sigrid's name, but again was unable to proceed, 
 and, sinking upon a bench, burst into tears. 
 
 " You may not care for her," said Kari, turning from 
 him again. 
 
 u I must know one thing," he whispered awhile after : 
 " I must know how the girl is?" 
 
 " The girl will get well, I think, if you only let her 
 have peace," answered Kari, dryly. 
 
 " She shall have peace, as far as I am concerned," said 
 Thore, rising with strong resolution. 
 
 But now the sick man began to pant and grasp with 
 his hands. 
 
 "My song!" he cried, opening widely his eyes, and 
 looking threateningly around.
 
 78 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " Here is your song, Olaf," said Thore, softly, taking a 
 soiled paper from his vest, and laying it upon the sick 
 one's bosom. 
 
 Now a great change came over Olaf. The stiff look 
 of death relaxed and little by little disappeared, while a 
 mild dew overspread his eye. He carried his right hand 
 to his breast and fumbled around for the paper, until he 
 felt it, then his hand clenched it, and his eye looked 
 up at Thore as if he would offer him defiance unto 
 death. 
 
 " I shall never in the world harm you or any other man 
 more," said Thore, patting tenderly Olaf 's arm. 
 
 " Our Lord help you to stand by those words," sighed 
 Kari, wiping the fast flowing tears. 
 
 " Hear, Kari," said Thore, in a tone of fervent entreaty : 
 " take a message from me to Sigrid, tell her Thore 
 goes down to the valley for awhile. Tell her he isn't 
 happy, for he has lost what was dearest to him. But if 
 he comes up again, it will be in a good hour and she can 
 receive him well." 
 
 " I shall tell her so," answered Kari. 
 
 " Don't venture there," panted old Olaf: " it won't be 
 well for you." 
 
 " One must be tried before he is proved," said Thore : 
 " I can reach farther than you, Olaf." 
 
 " The devil can reach farthest," replied Olaf, writhing 
 with pain. 
 
 " No : the Lord God in Heaven reaches farthest ! " ex- 
 claimed Kari ; " for the devil demolishes, but the Lord 
 builds up." 
 
 " Give me a good word, Olaf, it may help me in a 
 lonely hour," pleaded Thore, with sad fervency, bending 
 over the sick man. 
 
 "My trunk, Thore," he replied.
 
 OLD OLAF. 79 
 
 " You shall have it," said Thore, and bade good-by 
 to Knapstad Kari. 
 
 A while after he descended the mountain with a light 
 heart, borne high by his good resolution and strong will. 
 To be sure, he saw two masters on his road ; and knew 
 that he could serve either, but only one in uprightness. 
 He must make a choice ; and he understood, that, if it were 
 the right one, selfishness must be conquered, and humility 
 suffered to rule. 
 
 Humble he had been during this long night at the sick- 
 bed, so humble that he could find nothing with which to 
 comfort himself in any part of his past life. First he saw 
 himself in his pride, when, whatever path he took, he 
 always felt in the right ; then, in the midst of evil, and 
 conscience sat in constant judgment against him. True, 
 at the beginning of his self-examination it seemed as if 
 this were the only time he had ever committed a wrong ; 
 for such deep, insufferable dissatisfaction at himself he 
 had never before experienced. Taking this view of the 
 case, he could yet compare himself favorably with the 
 world around him ; but the similarity gradually grew 
 fainter as his sorrow sank deeper, and at last it disap- 
 peared like a web at a breath, the conduct of his whole 
 life seeming to him as one great wrong. But from this 
 again he rose in the strength of a new resolve, to steer, 
 henceforth, against the current by which he had hitherto 
 been borne. ... So the chrysalis bursts its cover for a 
 new life ; but before it has wings it must creep. 
 
 And now Knapstad Kari sat at the sick-bed, where she 
 was both doctor and minister. She had a peculiar per- 
 ception of the signs of life and death, which only came 
 by careful pondering ; and so long as she was still in 
 doubt she took no rest, but went very busily around,
 
 80 OLD OLAF. 
 
 doubtfully muttering to herself. When she became cer- 
 tain of the real condition of her patient, firmly and qui- 
 etly she seated herself at the bedside. And, better or 
 worse, the sick one felt safe in her presence ; for, whether 
 these indications were of life or death, her opinion was 
 easily read in her countenance and whole manner. She 
 made no effort to hide the truth. Whatever it was, " it was 
 God's will ; and no murmur was to be heard against 
 it." 
 
 Days and weeks passed. The sunlight paled, and only 
 at noon a faint yellow tinge glittered on the window-panes 
 of the old house, never falling in beyond the sill ; finally, 
 this, too, disappeared ; and the winter, with silent, unyield- 
 ing obstinacy, closed in around them. And yet this was 
 well enough, so long as it remained silent ; but when it 
 let out its powerful voice, speaking with the storm's 
 tongue, all animate and inanimate things shuddered in 
 their impotency ; and Kari's shaking dwelling, which 
 stood there in the middle of the mountain plain, with the 
 snow hills around the walls and reaching over upon the 
 lower roof, looked as if sunk upon knee to the invader, 
 and unable to rise. 
 
 Now it was hard for Kari to struggle along the snow- 
 drifted mountain, seeking once in a while what was nec- 
 essary for her patient. For herself she had no thought : 
 the little she needed became less each day ; for with sink- 
 ing nature sink also its demands. And yet, although 
 not the merriest, this was the happiest time of her 
 life. 
 
 The Bergsli house was her nearest resort, and there 
 she never applied in vain. Sigrid did not forget her 
 help in the moment of peril, and could never feel suffi- 
 ciently grateful to the one who had been her harbinger 
 from Thore ; for now she no longer shrank in dread from
 
 OLD OLAF. 8 1 
 
 a sudden and sad meeting in any path she might follow, 
 but she looked with comfort out over the winter with its 
 drifting snow to an expected summer. 
 
 However, it appeared to her, that Kari stooped more 
 and looked thinner every time she came, but the thought 
 only went as a twinkle through her mind. Sigrid had no 
 clear understanding of what now was : she only looked 
 longingly forward to that which was to be. 
 
 Meanwhile Olaf lay quietly musing, without any com- 
 prehension of what was so swiftly approaching. True, 
 he saw the snow drive past the small window-panes, 
 and, when the wind blew, filter like small dust-clouds 
 through crevices about the frame ; but notwithstanding, his 
 thoughts were always of the spring, fresh and beautiful 
 as ever, and how. trunk in hand, down the mountain he 
 was going, limping and tumbling, doing the best he 
 could, provided only he went quickly forward. 
 
 But at such times he felt that he must conceal the 
 thought from Kari ; for, just as the beautiful picture with 
 spring sun and flowers was completed, a frost-night would 
 fall upon it from her quiet eye, and then all was death 
 wherever he looked. . . . and no way of egress into 
 life. 
 
 So he struggled against the thought, scoffing and fret- 
 ting at it, and exhibiting the vigor of two trembling arms. 
 . . . Kari departed not from the truth. Then he would 
 implore and weep. Surely he must live, he, who had 
 such desire for life. 
 
 " Oh, no ! oh, no ! " sighed Kari, bowing herself in 
 humble weeping : " such a star glittering in the eye is 
 not a light for this earth ; such fire-red roses on a with- 
 ered cheek are not to twine in a wreath of life." 
 
 At length came the heavy moment in which, like a 
 waving cobweb suspended from tree to tree, his last hope
 
 82 OLD OLAF. 
 
 hung over him : still he grasped for it, gathering his 
 weakness for a strong effort. 
 
 " Kari," he exclaimed, turning toward her, and would 
 have said more, but the short breath took the word from 
 him. It was unneeded, she understood perfectly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my friend ! it is death," she whispered 
 mildly. 
 
 He gazed at her awhile with effort, then heavily 
 closed his eyes, and an expression of pain passed over 
 his face. 
 
 The cob-web had broken. 
 
 Kari rose from her seat beside his bed, and tottered 
 with her feeble body to the rose-painted chest, from 
 which she drew the old sewing-work that had made her 
 Sabbath joyful during so many years ; a hymn-book was 
 unrolled from a piece of cloth ; needle and thread were 
 taken from a small till in the chest ; and, with these in 
 hand, she crept softly back and resumed watch by the 
 sufferer. 
 
 A deep stillness pervaded the old house ; no clock 
 marked the passage of time ; no sound proclaimed the 
 victory of life. 
 
 And Kari sewed. The trembling hand drew the 
 thread with unsteady haste, and the red cross-stitches 
 connected themselves unevenly with each other ; but it 
 did not appear so to her. Her eye followed the needle 
 with fervent satisfaction : once in a while she held it up 
 to the light as if for a better view ; and it was all well 
 done. Icy cold was around her, but she perceived it 
 not : there was no thought for herself, and for the dying 
 there was warmth enough. 
 
 Suddenly Olaf opened his eyes, and fastened an in- 
 quiring look upon her : it seemed as if he were thinking 
 earnestly of something. Kari nodded tenderly to him.
 
 OLD OLAF. 83 
 
 " You look so happy, Kari," he whispered. 
 
 " Yes : I am so," she answered with a glad tone : 
 " when one finishes a work of forty years, one ought to 
 seem happy." 
 
 " It is your bridal shirt you understand?" said she, 
 spreading it out upon the bed before him. " Only the 
 name now, and it is done. You must have it on in the 
 presence of our Lord, so I have hurried ; and here you 
 have the name. . . . Here you see O, that is for Olaf ; 
 and here you see G, that is for Gravseid . . . Olaf 
 Gravseid . . . Something of a name that !" 
 
 At the same moment she looked up at the sick man, 
 who was panting heavily. A wild gleam shot from his 
 eye, and he began throwing up his arms, as if to pro- 
 tect himself against an enemy. 
 
 "Do you see him there?" he gasped: "Old Olaf! 
 . . . See how he creeps up here . . . seize him ! . . . 
 don't let go your hold ! . . . there ! down the mountain 
 with him." . . . 
 
 " In Jesus' name," sighed Kari, placing her hand 
 upon his breast. 
 
 " Now so ... let him lie there, the rascal," he con- 
 tinued, more quietly : " useless rag he was . . . boaster 
 and liar . . . God's words in his trunk, and the devil in 
 his heart . . . Shame ! " . . . 
 
 " So, let him lie where he is," interrupted Kari. 
 
 Suddenly, with full strength, he rose in bed, gazing at 
 her with his wild eye. 
 
 "Do you know who struck him?" he asked: . . . 
 " it was Olaf, the proud lad from Gravseid ! " 
 
 And with this the spear was broken by Him who eter- 
 nally bears victory. Mildly and submissively he yielded 
 to Kari, who laid him back upon his pillow ; and in- 
 stantly he fell into a quiet sleep, and the soul prepared 
 for its flight out over the borders of time.
 
 84 OLD OLAF. 
 
 It was already long past noon, and yet Olaf slept. A 
 varying expression now and then passed over his face, 
 a speaking without words, during which the old man 
 was gradually passing away ; and then clearness and 
 peace rested upon his visage. The struggle was over, 
 and the dust received its honor back. 
 
 Listening in breathless expectation, Kari sat bending 
 over him : it almost seemed as if she would catch the 
 flying soul, to give it her last loving farewell on its way. 
 
 Now Olaf opened his eyes, fixing upon her a look of 
 reciprocal tenderness. The wild expression was gone ; 
 and the gleam of the dawn of an eternal day shone 
 upon her. 
 
 "In Jesus' name?" she whispered, looking at him 
 with fervent, loving inquiry. 
 
 A slight effort to move the lips, a motion of the head, 
 and an indescribable look of responsive feeling was the 
 answer. Then he sank together ; and soul and body for 
 this life parted. 
 
 Day declined rapidly ; and, in the sunset, isolated 
 blood-red rays shot between the heavy masses of cloud, 
 Now and then a fierce blast of wind, with hollow sound, 
 like a threatening signal, swept over the mountain, whirl- 
 ing the snow in columns to the sky ; then suddenly, as by 
 a whim, letting go its powerful gripe, while silence and 
 dread spread themselves over the solitary plain. 
 
 But in the middle of this desert, busy and particular, 
 as if a whole world's attention was upon her work, Kari 
 took care of the dead. It should never be said that 
 Olaf Gravseid was laid as a rag in his coffin, she thought ; 
 and this, too, became the powerful driving-wheel that 
 kept her at work, when, without it, her trembling limbs 
 were useless. 
 
 At last the heavy task was completed, and Olaf lay in
 
 OLD OLAF. 85 
 
 his bridal shirt on the bed. A small table, covered with 
 a linen cloth, was placed at its side, upon which a lamp 
 was lighted, and a hymn-book lay open. Now Kari 
 stood awhile, contemplating her work. 
 
 " Nothing could be improved. Olaf had never looked 
 so beautiful as at this moment." And her thoughts in- 
 voluntarily turned toward herself. " Alas ! how she 
 looked ! it was little becoming an approaching feast . . . 
 and too, at daybreak, she must go out upon the moun- 
 tain for help . . . there was much yet to be done." 
 
 With these thoughts Kari sought out from the chest 
 her choicest dress, and laid aside the one she wore : but 
 for every new article she put on, there was a little hesi- 
 tation ; one thing was too large, another too small. 
 
 Finally her dressing was completed ; but ere this the 
 night was already far advanced. Yet Kari imagined that 
 she was both active and thoughtful ; and, as she was in 
 the habit of saying to herself, " not a child any longer." 
 But she did not quite understand, that it is the same with 
 the sinking as with the rising abilities : the one wills 
 what it cannot yet perform, the other cannot peform 
 what it yet wills. Weakness is the cause in both cases. 
 
 Awhile after Kari sat at the table firmly and solemnly, 
 for now all things were in order. She took the hymn- 
 book and began singing from her innermost heart what 
 seemed to her befiting. Out upon the night the storm in- 
 creased, going its wild, giant march around the shaking 
 house : the immense snow masses were loosened from 
 the ground and whirled upward, so that heaven and 
 earth disappeared in the endless thickening. Kari 
 heeded it not. She sang, and there was a strength in her 
 voice and a wonderful music in her tones ; yet no human 
 sound was audible, it was only in her imagination. 
 
 And stanza followed stanza . . Whence came the
 
 86 OLD OLAF. 
 
 swift flowing words? Why did they shine as glittering 
 gold upon a withered ground ? . . . They poured over 
 her faster and faster ; at last uniting, like a beautiful 
 handwriting of sun and stars ; and she closed her eye- 
 lids, because of her dazzled sight. But in behind them, 
 also, there arose a light which did not pain her eye, 
 weary with weeping ; softly, like a radiant day, it spread 
 out over mountain and plain, bearing upwai'd on a 
 shining cloud, the dark stone church. And there was 
 festival everywhere, where the tired soul was bidding 
 adieu to a vanishing life . . . Marriage festival was there ! 
 A bride stood amidst a gathering of smiling maidens, 
 she herself as fair as a sun of pure joy ; and the bridal 
 crown glittering in the day like yellow gold. . . . Op- 
 posite stood the bridegroom, erect and strong as a pine 
 on the mountain ; noble and bold among men. . . . 
 And how her heart yearned toward him ! Yearned so 
 it drew her every breath so it emptied her whole soul 
 and took the last sigh. 
 
 Daybreak came, and the evening twilight of both this 
 and the following day, and yet no Kari appeared along 
 the mountain. 
 
 Then Sigrid Bergslien became anxious ; for six days 
 Knapstad Kari had not been seen. What could have 
 happened? As long back as she could remember, 
 three days had never before passed in which she had not 
 spoken with her. . . Some misfortune must have 
 occurred. And when evening came and the day's work 
 was ended, taking with her an abundance of the neces- 
 saries of life, she hastened rapidly forward over the 
 frozen snow. 
 
 A heavy suspicion fell upon her, as she stood before 
 the door of Knapstad Kari's house. Such intense, in- 
 comprehensible silence had never before fallen upon her
 
 OLD OLAF. 87 
 
 soul. It was as if she stood there, the only living one 
 upon the whole earth, and eternity were yawning around 
 her. 
 
 She put her ear listening to the door : no sound was 
 heard from within. She crept tojthe window, the storm 
 had torn the rag from the sash. She peeped in : large 
 piles of snow lay inside, and, excepting this, she could 
 distinguish nothing clearly, for the pale reflection of the 
 snow was the only light, and she stepped back. 
 
 But, oh, thank God ! Some one rose and advanced 
 toward the door. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I was so scared, Kari ! " exclaimed the girl, 
 relieved as the door opened. But, as if rooted with dread, 
 she stood still before the step ; for it was not Kari, as she 
 had thought : it was Thore Sten who stepped out toward 
 her. 
 
 "Shall we meet so, Sigrid?" he whispered, in a trem- 
 bling voice. 
 
 Sigrid was unable to speak, and only gazed upon him. 
 
 "You look so good, Sigrid. You appear as if you 
 wished me well." 
 
 " I don't know as I have ever wished you ill," she said 
 quietly. 
 
 " Oh, no, my worst enemy was myself," he sighed ; 
 " but now I have proved my resolution, Sigrid, and all is 
 right excepting with you." 
 
 " Is this so? I am glad ! " whispered Sigrid mildly. 
 
 " Yes. I meant to spend the night here, and toward 
 morning go over to your house. . . Now it is as though 
 you had come to meet me, Sigrid. Let this be a good 
 sign ! " 
 
 " I have something here for Knapstad Kari ; she may 
 need it very much," said Sigrid, with emotion, stepping 
 upon the sill.
 
 50 OLD OLAF. 
 
 " Oh, no ! Sigrid dear ! " exclaimed Thore, sadly, tak- 
 ing both her hands : " neither Olaf nor Kari will need any 
 thing more in this world. They are both dead. I came 
 just at sundown, and since then have been sitting here, 
 thinking upon much. "if 
 
 Then he led the trembling girl into the room, where, 
 seating themselves upon Kari's rosy chest, they talked of 
 life as best they could with death before their eyes. And 
 so they remained during the night, neither by request or 
 consent, but as meeting in one thought. 
 
 When morning broke, they commenced putting the 
 room in order. The snow which lay upon every thing 
 was swept out ; and, at Thore's suggestion, a place was 
 arranged, where he laid Kari, side by side with her be- 
 loved. "For now 
 
 ' He is bridegroom, and she is bride,' 
 
 as it stands in her song," he exclaimed, looking into Si- 
 grid's mild countenance, with timid entreaty. 
 
 Again they met in one thought, which rose above their 
 sorrow just as bright and glad as the morning sun above 
 the snowy landscape ; and, comforted, they wended their 
 way homeward to Bergsli, while the sunbeams shed 
 their festal light around Old Olaf's and Knapstad Kari's 
 quiet bridal chamber.
 
 THE 
 
 RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 NORWEGIAN OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON.
 
 THE 
 
 RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 I. 
 
 CANUTE AAKRE belonged to an ancient family of 
 the parish, where it had always been distinguished 
 for its intelligence and care for the public good. His 
 father through self-exertion had attained to the ministry, 
 but had died early, and his widow being by birth a pea- 
 sant, the children were brought up as farmers. Con- 
 sequently Canute's education was only of the kind 
 afforded by the public school ; but his father's library 
 had early inspired him with a desire for knowledge, 
 which was increased by association with his friend 
 Henrik Wergeland, who often visited him or sent him 
 books, seeds for his farm, and much good counsel. 
 Agreeably to his advice, Canute early' got up a club for 
 practice in debating and study of the constitution, but 
 which finally became a practical agricultural society, for 
 this and the surrounding parishes. He also established 
 a parish library, giving his father's books as its first 
 endowment, and organized in his own house a Sunday- 
 school for persons wishing to learn penmanship, arith- 
 metic, and history. In this way the attention of the
 
 92 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 public was fixed upon him, and he was chosen a mem- 
 ber of the board of parish-commissioners, of which he 
 soon became chairman. Here he continued his endeavors 
 to advance the school interests, which he succeeded in 
 placing in an admirable condition. 
 
 Canute Aakre was a short-built, active man, with 
 small sharp eyes and disorderly hair. He had large lips 
 which seemed constantly working, and a row of excel- 
 lent teeth which had the same appearance, for they shone 
 when he spoke his clear sharp words, which came out 
 with a snap, as when the sparks are emitted from a 
 great fire. 
 
 Among the many he had helped to an education, his 
 neighbor Lars Hogstad stood foremost. Lars was not 
 much younger than Canute, but had developed more 
 slowly. Being in the habit of talking much of what he 
 read and thought, Canute found in Lars who bore a 
 quiet, earnest manner a good listener, and step by step 
 a sensible judge. The result was, that he went reluc- 
 tantly to the meetings of the board, unless first furnished 
 with Lars Hogstad's advice, concerning whatever mat- 
 ter of importance was before it, which matter was thus 
 most likely to result in practical impi'ovement. Canute's 
 influence, therefore, brought his neighbor in as a member 
 of the board, and finally into every thing with which he 
 himself was connected. They always rode together to 
 the meetings, where Lars never spoke, and only on the 
 road to and from, could Canute learn his opinion. They 
 were looked upon as inseparable. 
 
 One fine autumn day, the parish-commissioners were 
 convened, for the purpose of considering, among other 
 matters, a proposal made by the Foged, to sell the public 
 grain-magazine, and with the proceeds establish a sav-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 93 
 
 ings-bank. Canute Aakre, the chairman, would cer- 
 tainly have approved this, had he been guided by his 
 better judgment ; but, in the first place, the motion was 
 made by the Foged, whom Wergeland did not like, 
 consequently neither did Canute ; secondly, the grain- 
 magazine had been erected by his powerful paternal 
 grandfather, by whom it was presented to the parish. 
 To him the proposal was not free from an appearance of 
 personal offence ; therefore, he had not spoken of it to 
 any one, not even to Lars, who never himself introduced 
 a subject. 
 
 As chairman, Canute read the proposal without com- 
 ment, but, according to his habit, looked over to Lars, 
 who sat as usual a little to one side, holding a straw 
 between his teeth; this he always did when* entering 
 upon a subject, using it as he would a tooth-pick, letting 
 it hang loosely in one corner of his mouth, or turning it 
 more quickly or slowly, according to the humor he was 
 in. Canute now saw with surprise, that the straw moved 
 very fast. He asked quickly, "Do you think we ought 
 to agree to this ? " 
 
 Lars answered dryly, " Yes, I do." 
 
 The whole assembly feeling that Canute was of quite 
 a different opinion, seemed struck, and looked at Lars, 
 who said nothing further, nor was further questioned. 
 Canute turned to another subject, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, and did not again resume the question till toward 
 the close of the meeting, when he asked with an air of 
 indifference if they should send it back to the Foged 
 for closer consideration, as it certainly was contrary to 
 the mind of the people of the parish, by whom the grain 
 magazine was highly valued ; also, if he should put upon 
 the record, " Proposal deemed inexpedient." 
 
 " Against one vote," said Lars.
 
 94 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 " Against two," said another instantly. 
 
 " Against three," said a third, and before the chairman 
 had recovered from his surprise, a majority had declared 
 in favor of the proposal. 
 
 He wrote ; then read in a low tone, " Referred for 
 acceptance, and the meeting adjourned." Canute, ris- 
 ing and closing the " Records," blushed deeply, but 
 resolved to have this vote defeated in the parish meeting. 
 In the yard he hitched his horse to the wagon, and Lars 
 came and seated himself by his side. On the way home 
 they spoke upon various subjects, but not upon this. 
 
 On the following day Canute's wife started for Lars' 
 house, to inquire of his wife if any thing had happened 
 between their husbands ; Canute had appeared so queerly 
 when he- returned home the evening previous. A little 
 beyond the house she met Lars' wife, who came to make 
 the same inquiry on account of a similar peculiar be- 
 havior in her husband. Lars' wife was a quiet, timid 
 thing, easily frightened, not by hard words, but by 
 silence ; for Lars never spoke to her unless she had done 
 wrong, or he feared she would do so. On the contrary, 
 Canute Aakre's wife spoke much with her husband, and 
 particularly about the commissioners' meetings, for lately 
 they had taken his thoughts, work, and love from her 
 and the children. She was jealous of it as of a woman, 
 she wept at night about it, and quarrelled with her 
 husband concerning it in the day. But now she could say 
 nothing ; for once he had returned home unhappy ; she 
 immediately became much more so than he, and for the 
 life of her she must know what was the matter. So as 
 Lars' wife could tell her nothing, she had to go for in- 
 formation out in the parish, where she obtained it, and 
 of course was instantly of her husband's opinion, think- 
 ing Lars incomprehensible, not to say bad. But when
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 95 
 
 she let her husband perceive this, she felt that, notwith- 
 standing what had occurred, no friendship was broken 
 between them ; on the contrary, that he liked Lars very 
 much. 
 
 The day for the parish meeting came. In the morn- 
 ing, Lars Hogstad drove over for Canute Aakre, who 
 came out and took a seat beside him. They saluted each 
 other as usual, spoke a little less than they were wont on 
 the way, but not at all of the proposal. The meeting 
 was full ; some, too, had come in as spectators, which 
 Canute did not like, for he perceived by this a little 
 excitement in the parish, Lars had his straw, and stood 
 by the stove, warming himself, for the autumn had be- 
 gun to be cold. The chairman read the proposal in a 
 subdued and careful manner, adding, that it came from 
 the Foged, who was not habitually fortunate. The 
 building was a gift, and such things it was not custom- 
 ary to part with, least of all when there was no necessity 
 for it. 
 
 Lars, who never before had spoken in the meetings, to 
 the surprise of all, took the floor. His voice trembled ; 
 whether this was caused by regard for Canute, or anxiety 
 for the success of the bill, we cannot say ; but his argu- 
 ments were clear, good, and of such a comprehensive and 
 compact character as had hardly before been heard in 
 these meetings. In concluding, he said : 
 
 " Of what importance is it that the proposal is from 
 the Foged? none , or who it was that erected the 
 house, or in what way it became the public property?" 
 
 Canute, who blushed easily, turned very red, and 
 moved nervously as usual when he was impatient ; but 
 notwithstanding, he answered in a low, careful tone, 
 that there were savings banks enough in the country, he 
 thought, quite near, and almost too near. But if one
 
 96 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 was to be instituted, there were other ways of attaining 
 this end, than by trampling upon the gifts of the dead, 
 and the love of the living. His voice was a little un- 
 steady when he said this, but recovered its composure, 
 when he began to speak of the grain magazine as 
 such, and reason concerning its utility. 
 
 Lars answered him ably on this last, adding : " Be- 
 sides, for many reasons I would be led to doubt whether 
 the affairs of this parish are to be conducted for the best 
 interests of the living, or for the memory of the dead ; or 
 further, whether it is the love and hate of a single family 
 which rules, rather than the welfare of the whole." 
 
 Canute answered quickly : " I don't know whether 
 the last speaker has been the one least benefited not 
 only by the dead of this family, but also by its still living 
 representative." 
 
 In this remark he aimed first at the fact that his power- 
 ful grandfather, had, in his day, managed the farm for 
 Lars' grandfather, when the latter, on his own account, 
 was on a little visit to the penitentiary. 
 
 The straw, which had been moving quickly for a long 
 time, was now still : 
 
 " I am not in the habit of speaking everywhere of my- 
 self and family," said he, treating the matter with calm 
 superiority ; then he reviewed the whole matter in ques- 
 tion, aiming throughout at a particular point. Canute 
 was forced to acknowledge to himself, that he had never 
 looked upon it from that standpoint, or heard such rea- 
 soning ; involuntarily he had to turn his eye upon Lars. 
 There he stood tall and portly, with clearness marked 
 upon the strongly built forehead and in the deep eyes. 
 His mouth was compressed, the straw still hung playing 
 in its corner, but great strength lay around. He kept his 
 hands behind him, standing erect, while his low deep
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 97 
 
 intonations seemed as if from the ground in which he 
 was rooted. Canute saw him for the first time in his 
 life, and from his inmost soul felt a dread of him ; for 
 unmistakably this man had always been his superior ! 
 He had taken all Canute himself knew or could impart, 
 but retained only what had nourished this strong hidden 
 growth. 
 
 He had loved and cherished Lars, but now that he 
 had become a giant, he hated him deeply, fearfully ; he 
 could not explain to himself why he thought so, but he 
 felt it instinctively, while gazing upon him ; and in this 
 forgetting all else, he exclaimed : 
 
 " But Lars ! Lars ! what in the Lord's name ails you ? " 
 
 He lost all self-control, " you, whom I have " 
 " you, who have" he couldn't get out another word, 
 and seated himself, only to struggle against the excite- 
 ment which he was unwilling to have Lars see ; he drew 
 himself up, struck the table with his fist, and his eyes 
 snapped from below the stiff disorderly hair which 
 always shaded them. Lars appeared as if he had not 
 been interrupted, only turning his head to the assembly, 
 asking if this should be considered the decisive blow in 
 the matter, for in such a case nothing more need be said. 
 
 Canute could not endure this calmness. 
 
 "What is it that has come among us?" he cried. 
 " Us, who to this day have never debated but in love and 
 upright zeal? We are infuriated at each other as if 
 incited by an evil spirit ; " and he looked with fiery eyes 
 upon Lars, who answered : 
 
 " You yourself surely bring in this spirit, Canute, for 
 I have spoken only of the case. But you will look upon 
 it only through your own self-will ; now we shall see if 
 your love and upright zeal will endure, when once it is 
 decided agreeably to our wish."
 
 90 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 " Have I not then taken good care of the interests of 
 the parish?" 
 
 No reply. This grieved Canute, and he continued : 
 
 " Really, I did not think otherwise than that I had 
 accomplished something ; something for the good of 
 the parish ; but may be I have deceived myself." 
 
 He became excited again, for it was a fiery spirit 
 within him, which was broken in many ways, and the 
 parting with Lars grieved him, so he could hardly con- 
 trol himself. Lars answered : 
 
 " Yes, I know you give yourself the credit for all that 
 is done here, and should one judge by much speaking in 
 the meetings, then surely you have accomplished the 
 most." 
 
 " O, is it this ! " shouted Canute, looking sharply upon 
 Lars : " it is you who have the honor of it ! " 
 
 " Since we necessarily talk of ourselves," replied Lars, 
 " I will say that all matters have been carefully considered 
 by us before they were introduced here." 
 
 Here little Canute Aakre resumed his quick way of 
 speaking : 
 
 " In God's name take the honor, I am content to live 
 without it ; there are other things harder to lose ! " 
 
 Involuntarily Lars turned his eye from Canute, but 
 said, the straw moving very quickly : " If I were to 
 speak my mind, I should say there is not much to take 
 honor for; of course ministers and teachers may be 
 satisfied with what has been done ; but, certainly, the 
 common men say only that up to this time the taxes 
 have become heavier and heavier." 
 
 A murmur arose in the assembly, which now became 
 restless. Lars continued : 
 
 " Finally, to-day, a proposition is made which, if 
 carried, would recompense the parish for all it has laid
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 99 
 
 out ; perhaps, for this reason, it meets such opposition. 
 It is the affair of the parish, for the benefit of all its 
 inhabitants, and ought to be rescued from being a family 
 matter." 
 
 The audience exchanged glances, and spoke half 
 audibly, when one threw out a remark as he rose to go 
 to his dinner-pail, that these were " the truest words he 
 had heard in the meetings for many years." Now all 
 arose, and the conversation became general. Canute 
 Aakre felt as he sat there, that the case was lost, fearfully 
 lost ; and tried no more to save it. He had somewhat of 
 the character attributed to Frenchmen, in that he was 
 good for first, second, and third attacks, but poor for self- 
 defence his sensibilities overpowering his thoughts. 
 
 He could not comprehend it, nor could he sit quietly 
 any longer ; so, yielding his place to the vice-chairman, 
 he left, and the audience smiled. 
 
 He had come to the meeting accompanied by Lars, 
 but returned home alone, though the road was long. It 
 was a cold autumn day ; the way looked jagged and 
 bare, the meadow gray and yellow ; while frost had 
 begun to appear here and there on the roadside. Disap- 
 pointment is a dreadful companion. He felt himself so 
 small and desolate, walking there ; but Lars was every- 
 where before him, like a giant, his head towering, in the 
 dusk .of evening, to the sky. It was his own fault that this 
 had been the decisive battle, and the thought grieved him 
 sorely : he had staked too much upon a single little affair. 
 But surprise, pain, anger, had mastered him ; his heart 
 still burned, shrieked, and moaned within him. He 
 heard the rattling of a wagon behind ; it was Lars, who 
 came driving his superb horse past him at a brisk trot, 
 so that the hard road gave a sound of thunder. Canute 
 gazed after him, as he sat there so broad-shouldered in
 
 IOO THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 the wagon, while the horse, impatient for home, hurried 
 on umirged by Lars, who only gave loose rein. It was a 
 picture of his power ; this man drove toward the mark ! 
 He, Canute, felt as if thrown out of his wagon to stagger 
 along there in the autumn cold. 
 
 Canute's wife was waiting for him at home. She 
 knew there would be a battle ; she had never in her life 
 believed in Lars, and lately had felt a dread of him. It 
 had been no comfort to her that they had ridden away 
 together, nor would it have comforted her if they had 
 returned in the same way. But darkness had fallen, and 
 they had not yet come. She stood in the doorway, went 
 down the road and home again ; but no wagon appeared. 
 At last she hears a rattling on the road, her heart beats 
 as violently as the wheels revolve ; she clings to the door- 
 post, looking out ; the wagon is coming ; only one sits 
 there ; she recognizes Lars, who sees and recognizes 
 her, but is driving past without stopping. Now she is 
 thoroughly alarmed ! Her limbs fail her ; she staggers 
 in, sinking on the bench by the'window. The children, 
 alarmed, gather around, the youngest asking for papa, 
 for the mother never spoke with them but of him. She 
 loved him because he had such a good heart, and now 
 this good heart was not with them ; but, on the contrary, 
 away on all kinds of business, which brought him only 
 unhappiness ; consequently, they were unhappy too. 
 
 " Oh that no harm had come to him to-day ! Canute 
 was so excitable! Why did Lars come home alone? 
 why didn't he stop ? " 
 
 Should she run after him, or, in the opposite direction, 
 toward her husband? She felt faint, and the children 
 pressed around her, asking what was the matter ; but this 
 could not be told to them, so she said they must take 
 supper alone, and, rising, arranged it and helped them.
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. IOI 
 
 She was constantly glancing out upon the road. He did 
 not come. She undressed and put them to bed, and the 
 youngest repeated the evening prayer, while she bowed 
 over him, praying so fervently in the words which the 
 tiny mouth first uttered, that she did not perceive the steps 
 outside. 
 
 Canute stood in the doorway, gazing upon his little 
 congregation at prayer. She rose ; all the children 
 shouted " Papa ! " but he seated himself, and said 
 gently : 
 
 " Oh ! let him repeat it." 
 
 The mother turned again to the bedside, that meantime 
 he might not see her face ; otherwise it would have been 
 like intermeddling with his grief before he felt a necessity 
 of revealing it. The child folded its hands, the rest 
 followed the example, and it said : 
 
 " I am'now a little lad, 
 But soon shall grow up tall, 
 And make papa and mamma glad, 
 I'll be so good to all ! 
 When in Thy true and holy ways, 
 Thou dear, dear God wilt help me keep; 
 Remember now Thy name to praise 
 And so we'll try to go to sleep ! " 
 
 What a peace now fell ! Not a minute more had 
 passed ere the children all slept in it as in the lap of 
 God ; but the mother went quietly to work arranging 
 supper for the father, who as yet could not eat. But 
 after he had gone to bed, he said : 
 
 " Now, after this, I shall be at home." 
 
 The mother lay there, trembling with joy, not daring 
 to speak, lest she should reveal it ; and she thanked God 
 for all that had happened, for, whatever it was, it had 
 resulted in good.
 
 II. 
 
 IN the course of a year, Lars was chosen head Justice 
 of the Peace, chairman of the board of commis- 
 sioners, president of the savings-bank, and, in short, was 
 placed in every office of parish trust to which his election 
 was possible. In the county legislature, during the first 
 year, he remained silent, but afterward made himself as 
 conspicuous as in the parish council ; for here, too, 
 stepping up to the contest with him who had always 
 borne sway, he was victorious over the whole line, and 
 afterward himself manager. From this he was elected 
 to the Congress, where his fame had preceded him, and 
 he found no lack of challenge. But here, although steady 
 and independent, he was always retiring, never venturing 
 beyond his depth, lest his post as leader at home should 
 be endangered by a possible defeat abroad. 
 
 It was pleasant to him now in his own town. When 
 he stood by the church-wall on Sundays, and the com- 
 munity glided past, saluting and glancing sideways at 
 him, now and then one stepping up for the honor of ex- 
 changing a couple of words with him, it could almost 
 be said that, standing there, he controlled the whole 
 parish with a straw, which, of course, hung in the corner 
 of his mouth. 
 
 He deserved his popularity ; for he had opened a new 
 road which led to the church ; all this and much more 
 resulted from the savings-bank, which he had instituted 
 and now managed ; and the parish, in its self-manage-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 103 
 
 ment and good order, was held up as an example to all 
 others. 
 
 Canute, of his own accord, quite withdrew, not en 1 - 
 tirely at first, for he had promised himself not thus to 
 yield to pride. In the first proposal he made before the 
 parish board, he became entangled by Lars, who would 
 have it represented in all its details ; and, somewhat hurt, 
 he replied : " When Columbus discovered America, he 
 did not have it divided into counties and towns, this 
 came by degrees afterward;" upon which, Lars com- 
 pared Canute's proposition (relating to stable improve- 
 ments) to the discovery of America, and afterward by 
 the commissioners he was called by no other name than 
 " Discovery of America." Canute thought since his 
 influence had ceased there, so also, had his duty to work ; 
 and afterwards declined re-election. 
 
 But he was industrious, and, in order still to do some- 
 thing for the public good, he enlarged his Sunday-school, 
 and put it, by means of small contributions from the 
 pupils, in connection with the mission cause, of which 
 he soon became the centre and leader in his own and sur- 
 rounding counties. At this, Lars remarked that, if Canute 
 ever wished to collect money for any purpose, he must 
 first know that its benefit was only to be realized some 
 thousands of miles away. 
 
 There was no strife between them now. True, they 
 associated with each other no longer, but saluted and ex- 
 changed a few words whenever they met. Canute always 
 felt a little pain in remembei^ing Lars, but struggled to 
 overcome it, by saying to himself that it must have been 
 so. Many years afterward at a large wedding party, 
 where both were present and a little gay, Canute stepped 
 upon a chair and proposed a toast to the chairman of the 
 parish council, and the county's first congressman. He
 
 104 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 spoke until he manifested emotion, and, as usual, in an 
 exceedingly handsome way. It was honorably done, and 
 Lars came to him, saying, with an unsteady eye, that for 
 much of what he knew and was, he had to thank him. 
 
 At the next election, Canute was again elected chair- 
 man. 
 
 But if Lars Hogstad had foreseen what was to follow, 
 he would not have influenced this. It is a saying, that 
 " all events happen in their time," and just as Canute 
 appeared again in the council, the ablest men in the 
 parish were threatened with bankruptcy, the result of a 
 speculative fever which had been raging long, but now 
 first began to react. They said that Lars Hogstad had 
 caused this great epidemic, for it was he who had 
 brought the spirit of speculation into the parish. This 
 penny malady had originated in the parish board ; for 
 this body itself had acted as leading speculator. Down 
 to the youth of twenty years, all were endeavoring by 
 sharp bargains to make the one dollar, ten ; extreme 
 parsimony, in order to lay up in the beginning, was fol- 
 lowed by an exceeding lavishness in the end : and as the 
 thoughts of all were directed to money only, a disposi- 
 tion to selfishness, suspicion, and disunion, had developed 
 itself, which at last turned to prosecutions and hatred. It 
 was said that the parish board had set the example in 
 this also ; for one of the first acts, performed by Lars as 
 chairman, was a prosecution against the minister, con- 
 cerning doubtful prerogatives. The venerable pastor had 
 lost, but had also immediately resigned. At the time 
 some had praised, others denounced, this act of Lars ; but 
 it had proved a bad example. Now came the effects of 
 his management in the form of loss to all the leading 
 men of the parish ; and consequently, the public opinion 
 quickly changed. The opposite party immediately found
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 105 
 
 a champion ; for Canute Aakre had come into the parish 
 board, introduced there by Lars himself. 
 
 The struggle at once began. All those youths, who, 
 in their time, had been under Canute Aakre's instruction, 
 were now grown-up men, the best educated, conversant 
 with all the business and public transactions in the parish ; 
 Lars had now to contend against these and others like 
 them, who had disliked him from their childhood. One 
 evening after a stormy debate, as he stood on the plat- 
 form outside his door, looking over the parish, a sound 
 of distant threatening thunder came toward him from 
 the large farms, lying in the storm. He knew that that 
 day their owners had become insolvent, that he himself 
 and the savings-bank were going the same way : and 
 his whole long work would culminate in condemnation 
 * against him. 
 
 In these days of struggle and despair, a company of 
 surveyors came one evening to Hogstad, which was the 
 first farm at the entrance of the parish, to mark out the 
 line of a new railroad. In the course of conversation, 
 Lars perceived it was still a question with them whether 
 the road should run through this valley, or another par- 
 allel one. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning it darted through his mind, 
 that, if he could manage to get it through here, all real 
 estate would rise in value, and not only he himself be 
 saved, but his popularity handed down to future genera- 
 tions. He could not sleep that night, for his eyes were 
 dazzled with visions ; sometimes he seemed to hear 
 the noise of an engine. The next day he accompanied 
 the surveyors in their examination of the locality ; his 
 horses carried them, and to his farm they returned. The 
 following day they drove through the other valley, he 
 still with them, and again carrying them back home,
 
 106 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The whole house was illuminated, the first men of the 
 parish having been invited to a party made for the sur- 
 veyors, which terminated in a carouse that lasted until 
 morning. But to no avail ; for the nearer they came to 
 the decision, the clearer it was to be seen that the road 
 could not be built through here without great extra ex- 
 pense. The entrance to the valley was narrow, through 
 a rocky chasm, and the moment it swung into the. parish 
 the river made a curve in its way, so that the road would 
 either have to make the same crossing the river twice 
 or go straight forward through the old, now unused, 
 churchyard. But it was not long since the last burials 
 there, for the church had been but recently moved. 
 
 Did it only depend upon a strip of an old churchyard, 
 thought Lars, whether the parish should have this great 
 blessing or not? then he would use his name and energy 
 for the removal of the obstacle. So immediately he made 
 a visit to minister and bishop, from them to county legis- 
 lature and Department of the Interior ; he reasoned and 
 negotiated ; for he had possessed himself of all possible 
 information concerning the vast profits that would accrue 
 on the one side, and the feelings of the parish on the other, 
 and had really succeeded in gaining over all parties. It 
 was promised him that by the reinterment of some bodies 
 in the new churchyard, the only objection to this line 
 might be considered as removed, and the king's approba- 
 tion guaranteed. It was told him that he need only make 
 the motion in the county meeting. 
 
 The parish had become as excited on the question as 
 himself. The spirit of speculation, which had been prev- 
 alent so many years, now became jubilant. No one 
 spoke or thought of any thing but Lars' journey and its 
 probable result. Consequently, when he returned with 
 the most splendid promises, they made much ado about
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 1 07 
 
 him ; songs were sung to his praise, yes, if at that time 
 one after another of the largest farms had toppled over, 
 not a soul would have given it any attention ; the former 
 speculation fever had been succeeded by the new one of 
 the railroad. 
 
 The county board met : an humble petition that the 
 old churchyard might be used for the railroad was drawn 
 up to be presented to the king. This was unanimously 
 voted ; yes, there was even talk of voting thanks to Lars, 
 and a gift of a coffee-pot, in the model of a locomotive. 
 But finally, it was thought best to wait until everything 
 was accomplished. The petition from the parish to the 
 county boai'd was sent back, with a requirement of a list 
 of the names of all bodies which must necessarily be re- 
 moved. The minister made out this, but instead of send- 
 ing it directly to the county board, had his reasons for 
 communicating it first to the parish. One of the mem- 
 bers brought it to the next meeting. Here, Lars opened 
 the envelope, and as chairman read the names. 
 
 Now it happened that the first body to be removed 
 was that of Lars' own grandfather. A little shudder 
 passed through the assembly ; Lars himself was taken 
 by surprise ; but continued. Secondly, came the name 
 of Canute Aakre's grandfather ; for the two had died at 
 nearly the same time. Canute Aakre sprang from his 
 seat ; Lars stopped ; all looked up with dread ; for the 
 name of the elder Canute Aakre had been the one most 
 beloved in the parish for generations. There was a 
 pause of some minutes. At last Lars hemmed, and con- 
 tinued. But the matter became worse, for the further he 
 proceeded, the nearer it approached their own day, and 
 the dearer the dead became. When he ceased, Canute 
 Aakre asked quietly if others did not think as he, that 
 spirits were around them. It had began to grow dusk in
 
 1O8 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 the room, and although they were mature men sitting in 
 company, they almost felt themselves frightened. Lars 
 took a bundle of matches from his pocket and lit a 
 candle, somewhat dryly remarking that this was no more 
 than they had known beforehand. 
 
 " No," replied Canute, pacing the floor, " this is more 
 than I knew beforehand. Now I begin to think that 
 even railroads can be bought too dearly." 
 
 This electrified the audience, and Canute continued 
 that the whole affair must be reconsidered, and made a 
 motion to that effect. In the excitement which had pre- 
 vailed, he said it was also true, that the benefit to be 
 derived from the road had been considerably overrated ; 
 for if it did not pass through the parish, there would have 
 to be a depot at each extremity ; true, it would be a little 
 more trouble to drive there, than to a station within : yet 
 not so great as that for this reason they should dishonor 
 the rest of the dead. Canute was one of those who, 
 when his thoughts were excited, could extemporize and 
 present most sound reasons ; he had not a moment pre- 
 viously thought of what he now said : but the truth of it 
 struck all. Lars, seeing the danger of his position, 
 thought best to be careful, and so apparently acquiesced 
 in Canute's proposition to reconsider ; for such emotions, 
 thought he, are always strongest in the beginning ; one 
 must temporize with them. 
 
 But here he had miscalculated. In constantly increas- 
 ing waves the dread of touching their dead overswept 
 the parish : what no one had thought of as long as the 
 matter existed only in talk, became a serious question 
 when it came to touch themselves. The women particu- 
 arly were excited, and at the parish house, on the day of 
 the next meeting, the road was black with the gathered 
 multitude. It was a warm summer day, the windows
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 109 
 
 were taken out, and as many stood without as within. 
 All felt that that day would witness a great battle. 
 
 Lars came, driving his handsome horse, saluted by all ; 
 he looked quietly and confidently around, not seeming 
 surprised at the throng. He seated himself, straw in 
 mouth, near the window, and not without a smile 
 saw Canute rise to speak, as he thought, for all the dead 
 lying over there in the old churchyard. 
 
 But Canute Aakre did not begin with the churchyard. 
 He made a stricter investigation into the profits likely to 
 accrue from carrying the road through the parish, show- 
 ing that in all this excitement they had been overesti- 
 mated. He had calculated the distance of each farm 
 from the nearest station, should the road be taken through 
 the neighboring valley, and finally asked : 
 
 " Why has such a hurrah been made about this rail- 
 road, when it would not be for the good of the parish 
 after all?" 
 
 This he could explain : there were those who had 
 brought about such a previous disturbance, that a greater 
 was necessary in order that the first might be forgotten. 
 Then, too, there were those who, while the thing was 
 new, could sell their farms and lands to strangers, foolish' 
 enough to buy ; it was a shameful speculation, which not 
 the living only but the dead also must be made to pro- 
 mote ! 
 
 The effect produced by his address was very consider- 
 able. But Lars had firmly resolved, come what would, 
 to keep cool, and smilingly replied that he supposed 
 Canute Aakre himself had been anxious for the railroad, 
 and surely no one would accuse him of understanding 
 speculation. (A little laugh ensued.) Canute had had 
 no objection to the removal of bodies of common people 
 for the sake of the railroad, but when it came to that of
 
 IIO THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 his own grandfather, the question became suddenly of 
 vital importance to the whole parish. He said no more, 
 but looked smilingly at Canute, as did also several others. 
 Meanwhile, Canute Aakre surprised both him and them 
 by replying : 
 
 "I confess it ; I did not realize what was at stake until 
 it touched my own dead ; possibly this is a shame, but 
 really it would have been a greater one not even then to 
 have realized it, as is the case with Lars ! Never, I 
 think, could Lars' raillery have been more out of place ; 
 for folks with common feelings the thing is really revolt- 
 ing." 
 
 " This feeling has come up quite recently," answered 
 Lars, " and so we will hope for its speedy disappearance 
 also. It may be well to think upon what minister, bishop, 
 county officers, engineers, and Depai'tment will say, if we 
 first unanimously set the ball in motion and then come 
 asking to have it stopped ; if we first are jubilant and 
 sing songs, then weep and chant requiems. If they do 
 not say that we have run mad here in the parish, at least 
 they may say that we have grown a little queer lately." 
 
 " Yes, God knows, they can say so," answered Canute ; 
 " we have been acting strangely enough during the last 
 few days, it is time for us to retract. It has really 
 gone far when we can dig up, each his own grandfather, 
 to make way for a railroad ; when in order that our 
 loads may be carried more easily forward, we can violate 
 the resting place of the dead. For is not overhauling our 
 churchyard the same as making it yield us food? What 
 has been buried there in Jesus' name, shall we take up in 
 the name of Mammon? It is but little better than eating 
 our progenitors' bones." 
 
 " That is according to the order of nature," said Lars, 
 
 dryly-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. Ill 
 
 " Yes, the nature of plants and animals," replied 
 Canute. 
 
 "Are we not then animals?" asked Lars. 
 
 " Yes, but also the children of the living God, who 
 have buried our dead in faith upon him ; it is He who 
 shall raise them, and not we." 
 
 " Oh, you prate ! Are not the graves dug over at cer- 
 tain fixed periods anyway ? What evil is there in that it 
 happens some years earlier?" asked Lars. 
 
 " I will tell you ! What was born of them yet lives ; 
 what they built yet remains ; what they loved, taught 
 and suffered for, is all around us and within us ; and 
 shall we not then let their bodies rest in peace? " 
 
 " I see by your warmth that you are thinking of your 
 grandfather again," replied Lars ; " and will say it is high 
 time you ceased to bother the parish about him, for he 
 monopolized space enough in his life time ; it isn't worth 
 while to have him lie in the way now he is dead. Should 
 his corpse prevent a blessing to the parish that would 
 reach to a hundred generations, we surely would have 
 reason to say, that of all born here he has done us most 
 harm." 
 
 Canute Aakre tossed back his disorderly hair, his eyes 
 darted fire, his whole frame appeared like a drawn bow. 
 
 " What sort of a blessing this is that you speak of, I 
 have already proved. It is of the same character as all 
 the others which you have brought to the parish, namely 
 a doubtful one. True enough you have provided us with 
 a new church ; but, too, you have filled it with a new 
 spirit, and not that of love. True, you have made us 
 new roads, but also new roads to destruction, as is now 
 plainly evident in the misfortunes of many. True, you 
 have lessened our taxes to the public ; but, too, you have 
 increased those to ourselves ; prosecutions, protests and
 
 112 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 failures, are jio blessing to a community. And you dare 
 scoff at the man in his grave whom the whole parish 
 blesses! You dare say he lies in our way, yes, very 
 likely he lies in your way. This is plainly to be seen ; 
 but over this grave you shall fall ! The spirit which has 
 reigned over you, and at the same time until now over 
 us, was not born to rule, only to serve. The churchyard 
 shall surely remain undisturbed ; but to-day it numbers 
 one more grave, namely, that of your popularity, which 
 shall now be interred in it." 
 
 Lars Hogstad rose, white as a sheet ; he opened his 
 mouth, but was unable to speak a word, and the straw 
 fell. After three or four vain attempts to recover it and 
 to find utterance, he belched forth like a volcanoe : 
 
 " Are these the thanks I get for all my toils and strug- 
 gles? Shall such a woman-preacher be able to direct? 
 Ah, then, the devil be your chairman if ever more I set 
 my foot here ! I have kept your petty business in order 
 until to-day ; and after me it will fall into a thousand 
 pieces ; but let it go now. Here are the ' Records ! ' 
 (and he flung them across the table.) Out on such a 
 company of wenches and brats ! (striking the table with 
 his fist.) Out on the whole parish, that it can see a man 
 recompensed as I now am ! " 
 
 He brought down his fist once more with such force, 
 that the leaf of the great table sprang upward, and the 
 inkstand with all its contents downward upon the floor, 
 marking for coming generations the spot where Lars 
 Hogstad, in spite of all his prudence, lost his patience 
 and his rule. 
 
 He sprang for the door, and soon after was away from 
 the house. The whole audience stood fixed, for the 
 power of his voice and his wrath had frightened them, 
 until Canute Aakre, remembering the taunt he had
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 113 
 
 received at the time of his fall, with beaming counten- 
 ance and assuming Lars' voice, exclaimed : 
 " Is this the decisive blow in the matter?" 
 The assembly burst into uproarious merriment. The 
 grave meeting closed amid laughter, talk, and high glee ; 
 only few left the place, those remaining called for drink, 
 and made a night of thunder succeed a day of lightning. 
 They felt happy and independent as in old days, before 
 the time in which the commanding spirit of Lars had 
 cowed their souls into silent obedience. They drank 
 toasts to their liberty, they sung, yes, finally they danced, 
 Canute Aakre with the vice chairman taking lead, and 
 all the members of the council following, and boys and 
 girls too, while the young ones outside shouted " hur- 
 rah ! " for such a spectacle they had never before wit- 
 nessed.
 
 III. 
 
 LARS moved around in the large rooms at Hogstad 
 without uttering a word. His wife who loved him, 
 but always with fear and trembling, dared not so much 
 as shew herself in his presence. The management of the 
 farm and house had to go on as it would, while a multi- 
 tude of letters were passing to and fro between Hogstad 
 and the parish, Hogstad and the capital ; for he had 
 charges against the county board which were not acknow- 
 ledged, and a prosecution ensued ; against the savings- 
 bank, which were also unacknowledged, and so came 
 another prosecution. He took offence at articles in the 
 " Christiana Correspondence," and prosecuted again, 
 first the chairman of the county board, and then the 
 directors of the savings-bank. At the same time there 
 were bitter articles in the papers, which according to 
 report were by him, and were the cause of great strife in 
 the parish, setting neighbor against neighbor. Some- 
 times he was absent whole weeks at once, nobody know- 
 ing where, and after returning lived secluded as before. 
 At church he was not seen after the grand scene in the 
 representatives' meeting. 
 
 Then, one Saturday night, the mail brought news that 
 the railroad was to go through the parish after all, and 
 through the old churchyard. It struck like lightning into 
 every home. The unanimous veto of the county board 
 had been in vain ; Lars Hogstad's influence had proved 
 stronger. This was what his absence meant, this was
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 1 15 
 
 his work ! It was involuntary on the part of the people 
 that admiration of the man and his dogged persistency 
 should lessen dissatisfaction at their own defeat ; and the 
 more they talked of the matter the more reconciled they 
 seemed to become : for whatever has once been settled 
 beyond all change developes in itself, little by little, rea- 
 sons why it is so, which we are accordingly brought to 
 acknowledge. 
 
 In going to church next day, as they encountered each 
 other they could not help laughing ; and before the ser- 
 vice, just as nearly all were convened outside, young and 
 old, men and women, yes, even children, talking about 
 Lars Hogstad, his talents, his strong will and his great 
 influence, he himself with his household came driving 
 up in four carriages. Two years had passed since he 
 was last there. He alighted and walked through the 
 crowd, when involuntarily all lifted their hats to him 
 like one man ; but he looked neither to the right nor the 
 left, nor returned a single salutation. His little wife, 
 pale as death, walked behind him. In the house, the 
 surprise became so great that, one after another, noticing 
 him, stopped singing and stared. Canute Aakre, who 
 sat in his pew in front of Lars', perceiving the unusual 
 appearance and no cause for it in front, turned around 
 and saw Lars sitting bowed over his hymn book, looking 
 for the place. 
 
 He had not seen him until now since the day of the 
 representatives' meeting, and such a change in a man he 
 never could have imagined. This was no victor. His 
 head was becoming bald, his face was lean and con- 
 tracted, his eyes hollow and bloodshot, and the giant 
 neck presented wrinkles and cords. At a glance he per- 
 ceived what this man had endured, and was as suddenly 
 seized with a feeling of strong pity, yes, even with a
 
 Il6 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 touch of the old love. In his heart he prayed for him, and 
 promised himself surely to seek him after service ; but, ere 
 he had opportunity, Lars had gone. Canute resolved he 
 would call upon him at his home that night, but his wife 
 kept him back. 
 
 " Lars is one of the kind," said she, " who cannot 
 endure a debt of gratitude : keep away from him until 
 possibly he can in some way do you a favor, and then 
 perhaps he will come to you." 
 
 However, he did not come. He appeared now and then 
 at church, but nowhere else, and associated with no one. 
 On the contrary, he devoted himself to his farm and other 
 business with an earnestnees which showed a determina- 
 tion to make up in one year for the neglect of many ; and, 
 too, there were those who said it was necessary. 
 
 Railroad operations in the valley began very soon. As 
 the line was to go directly past his house, Lars remodeled 
 the side facing the road, connecting with it an elegant 
 verandah, for of course his residence must attract atten- 
 tion. They were just engaged in this work when the 
 rails were laid for the conveyance of gravel and timber, 
 and a small locomotive was brought up. It was a fine 
 autumn evening when the first gravel train was to come 
 down. Lars stood on the platform of his house to hear 
 the first signal, and see the first column of smoke ; all the 
 hands on the farm were gathered around him. He looked 
 out over the parish, lying in the setting sun, and felt that 
 he was to be remembered so long as a train should roar 
 through the fruitful valley. A feeling of forgiveness 
 crept into his soul. He looked toward the churchyard, 
 of which a part remained, with crosses bowing toward 
 the earth, but a part had become railroad. He was just 
 trying to define his feelings, when whistle went the first 
 signal, and a while after the train came slowly along,
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 117 
 
 puffing out smoke mingled with sparks, for wood was 
 used instead of coal ; the wind blew toward the house, 
 and standing there they soon found themselves enveloped 
 in a dense smoke ; but by and by, as it cleared away, 
 Lars saw the train working through the valley like a 
 strong will. 
 
 He .was satisfied, and entered the house as after 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 forehanded circumstances ; true, 
 a part of his citizen-honor had been lost, but forward he 
 had pushed nevertheless. His faults were those of his 
 time ; they were to be found on the uncertain borders of 
 the moral conceptions of that period, and are of no con- 
 sideration now. Honor to him in his grave, for he suf- 
 fered and worked ; peace to his ashes. It is good to rest 
 at last. But he could get no rest because of his grand- 
 son's great ambition. He was thrown up with stone and 
 gravel. Pshaw ! very likely he would only smile that his 
 grandson's work passed above his head. 
 
 With such thoughts he had undressed and gone to bed. 
 Again his grandfather's image glided forth. What did 
 he wish. Surely he ought to be satisfied now, with the 
 family's honor sounding forth above his grave ; who else 
 had such a monument? But yet, what mean these two 
 great eyes of fire? This hissing, roaring, is no longer the 
 locomotive, for see ! it comes from the churchyard directly 
 toward the house : an immense procession ! The eyes 
 of fire are his grandfather's, and the train behind are all 
 the dead. It advances continually toward the house, 
 roaring, crackling, flashing. The windows burn in the 
 reflection of dead men's eyes ... he made a mighty 
 effort to collect himself, " For it was a dream, of course, 
 only a dream ; but let me waken ! . . . See : now I am 
 awake, come ghosts ! "
 
 Il8 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 And behold : they really come from the churchyard, 
 overthrowing road, rails, locomotive and train with such 
 violence that they sink in the ground ; and then all is still 
 there, covered with sod and crosses as before. But like 
 giants the spirits advanced, and the hymn, " Let the dead 
 have rest ! " goes before them. He knows it ; for daily 
 in all these years it has sounded through his soul, and 
 now it becomes his own requiem ; for this was death and 
 its visions. The perspiration started out over his whole 
 body, for nearer and nearer, and see there, on the win- 
 dow pane ! there, there they are now ; and he heard his 
 name. Overpowered with dread he struggled to shout, 
 for he was strangling ; a dead, cold hand already clenched 
 his throat, when he regained his voice in a shrieking 
 " Help me ! " and awoke. At that moment the window 
 was burst in with such force that the pieces flew on to 
 his bed. He sprang up ; a man stood in the opening, 
 around him smoke and tongues of fire. 
 
 " The house is burning, Lars, we'll help you out!" 
 
 It was Canute Aakre. 
 
 When again he recovered consciousness, he was lying 
 out in a piercing wind that chilled his limbs. No one was 
 by him ; on the left he saw his burning house ; around 
 him grazed, bellowed, bleated, and neighed his stock ; 
 the sheep huddled together in a terrified flock ; the fur- 
 niture recklessly scattered : but, on looking around more 
 carefully, he discovered somebody sitting on a knoll near 
 him, weeping. It was his wife. He called her name. 
 She started. 
 
 " The Lord Jesus be thanked that you live," she ex- 
 claimed, coming forward and seating herself, or rather 
 falling down before him : " O God ! O God ! now we 
 have enough of that railroad ! " 
 
 " The railroad ? " he asked : but ere he spoke, it had
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 119 
 
 flashed through his mind how it was ; for, of course, the 
 cause of the fire was the falling of sparks from the loco- 
 motive among the shavings by the new side-wall. He 
 remained sitting, silent, and thoughtful ; his wife dared 
 say no more, but was trying to find clothes for him : the 
 things with which she had covered him, as he lay uncon- 
 scious, having fallen off. He received her attentions in 
 silence, but as she crouched down to cover his feet, he 
 laid a hand upon her head. She hid her face in his lap, 
 and wept aloud. At last he had noticed her. Lars un- 
 derstood, and said : 
 
 " You are the only friend I have." 
 
 Although to hear these words had cost the house, no 
 matter, they made her happy ; she gathered courage and 
 said, rising and looking submissively at him. 
 
 " That is because no one else understands you." 
 
 Now again they talked of all that had transpired, or 
 rather he remained silent, while she told about it. Canute 
 Aakre had been first to perceive the fire, had awakened 
 his people, sent the girls out through the Parish, while he 
 himself hastened with men and horses to the spot where 
 all were sleeping. He had taken charge of extinguishing 
 the fire and saving the property ; Lars himself he had 
 dragged from the burning room and brought him here on 
 the left, to the windward, here, out on the churchyard. 
 
 While they were talking of all this, some one came 
 driving rapidly up the road and turned off toward 
 them ; soon he alighted. It was Canute who had been 
 home after his church-wagon ; the one in which so many 
 times they had ridden together to and from the Parish 
 meetings. Now Lars must get in and ride home with 
 him. They took each other by the hand, one sitting, the 
 other standing. 
 
 " You must come with me now," said Canute. With-
 
 120 
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 out reply Lars rose : they walked side by side to the 
 wagon. Lars was helped in : Canute seated himself by 
 his side. What they talked about as they rode, or after- 
 ward in the little chamber at Aakre, in which they re- 
 mained until morning, has never been known ; but from 
 that day they were again inseparable. 
 
 As soon as disaster befalls a man, all seem to under- 
 stand his worth. So the parish took upon themselves to 
 rebuild Lars Hogstad's houses, larger and handsomer 
 than any others in the valley. Again he became chair- 
 man, but with Canute Aakre at his side, and from that 
 day all went well.
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 ENDREGAARDEN was the name of a small solitary 
 hamlet, surrounded by high mountains, from which 
 flowed a broad river that divided the flat and fertile valley 
 in two. 
 
 The river ran into a lake that lay close to the hamlet, 
 and from this spot there was a beautiful prospect. Once 
 there came a man rowing over Endre Water : his name 
 was Endre, and it was he who had first settled in the val- 
 ley, and his kindred who now lived there. Some said he 
 4iad decamped hither for murder's sake, and it was there- 
 fore his descendants were so dark : others said it was due 
 to the mountains, that shut out the sun at five o'clock on 
 midsummer day. 
 
 Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest from the 
 projecting cliffs up in the mountain ; and though all could 
 see when the eagle was sitting, the nest was quite out of 
 reach. The male bird sailed over the hamlet, pouncing 
 now on a lamb, now on a kid : once he had also taken a 
 little child and borne it away ; therefore there was no 
 security so long as the eagle had her nest in this mountain 
 fastness. 
 
 There was a tradition among the people, that, in the
 
 124 THE EAGLES NEST. 
 
 olden time, two brothers had climbed up and destroyed 
 the nest ; but now there was no one who could do it. 
 
 When two met in Endregaarden, they would speak of 
 the eagle's nest, and look up. Every one knew what 
 time in the new year the eagles had come back, where 
 they had pounced down and done mischief, and who had 
 last attempted to climb up. 
 
 In the hope of one day being able to achieve the feat 
 of the two brothers, the lads, from quite small boys, 
 would practise themselves in climbing trees and clifts, 
 wrestling, &c. 
 
 At the time of which we now speak, the first lad in 
 Endregaarden was not of the Endre kin : his name was 
 Leif, he had curly hair, and small eyes, was clever in all 
 play, and fond of the gentler sex. He said very early of 
 himself, that one day he would reach the eagle's nest ; but 
 people intimated he had better not have said it aloud. 
 
 This tickled him, and, before he was of full age, he 
 went aloft. It was a clear Sunday morning in the early 
 summer : the young birds would scarcely be hatched. 
 The people gathered in a crowd under the mountain to 
 see ; old and young alike advising him against the 
 attempt. 
 
 But he listened only to the voice of his own strong will, 
 and, waiting till the eagle left her nest, he made one 
 spring and hung in a tree several yards from the ground. 
 It grew in a cleft, and up this cleft he began to climb. 
 Small stones loosened from under his feet, and the soil 
 and gravel came tumbling down ; otherwise it was quite 
 still, save the sound of the river from behind, with its sub- 
 dued and ceaseless sough. 
 
 He soon reached that part where the mountain began 
 to project, and here he hung by one hand, groping with 
 his foot for a hold : he could not see. Many, especially
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 125 
 
 women, turned away, saying he would not have done 
 this if his parents had been living. At last he found a 
 footing, sought again, first with the hand, then with the 
 foot : he missed, slipped, then hung fast again. They 
 who stood below could hear each other breathing. 
 
 Then a tall young girl, who sat upon a stone apart 
 from the rest, rose up : they said she had promised her- 
 self to him from a child, although he was. not of the 
 Endre kin, and her parents would never give their con- 
 sent. She stretched out her arms and called aloud, 
 " Leif, Leif, why do you do this!" Every one turned 
 towards her : the father stood close by and gave her a 
 severe look, but she did not heed him. " Come down 
 again, Leif," she cried : "I I love you ; and there's 
 nothing to be gained up there ! " 
 
 One could see that he was considering; he waited a 
 moment or two, and then went further up. He found 
 a firm footing, and for a time he got on well ; then he 
 seemed to grow tired, for he often stopped. 
 
 A small stone came rolling down, as though it were a 
 forerunner, and all who stood there must watch its course 
 to the bottom. Some could not bear it longer, and went 
 away. The girl still standing high upon the stone, wrung 
 her hands and gazed up. Leif took hold again with one 
 hand ; it slipped, she saw it distinctly ; he made a grasp 
 with the other; it slipped also. "Leif!" she cried, so 
 that it rang in the mountain, and all the others joined in. 
 " He's slipping ! " they cried, and stretched out their 
 hands towards him, men and women. He continued to 
 slip with the sand, stone, and soil ; slip, slip, faster, 
 faster. The people turned away, and then they heard a 
 rustling and rattling on the mountain behind them, and 
 something heavy fall down like a great piece of wet earth. 
 When they looked round again, there he lay, torn and
 
 126 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 disfigured. The girl lay on the stone : the father took 
 her up and carried her away. 
 
 The lads who had the most excited Leif to climb, 
 dared not now go near to help him, some could not even 
 look at him ; so the old people had to come forward. 
 The eldest of them said, as he took him up, " Alas ! alas ! 
 but," he added, " it is well there is something hangs 
 so high that every one cannot reach it."
 
 THE FATHER. 
 
 FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON.
 
 THE FATHER. 
 
 THORD OVERAAS, of whom we are about to 
 .speak, was the wealthiest man in the parish. 
 
 His tall figure stood one day in the pastor's study : " I 
 have got a son," he said eagerly, " and I wish to have 
 him baptized." 
 
 '.'What shall he be called?" 
 
 " Finn, after my father." 
 
 "And his god-parents?" 
 
 They were named, being relatives of Thord, and the 
 best men and women in the district. 
 
 " Is there any thing else ? " asked the pastor, and looked 
 up. 
 
 The farmer stood a minute. 
 
 " I should like to have him baptized by himself," he 
 said. 
 
 " That is to say on a week day?" 
 
 "Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Is there any thing else ? " 
 
 " Nothing else." 
 
 The farmer took his hat and moved to go. 
 
 Then the pastor rose : " There is still this," he said, 
 and going up to Thord, he took his hand and looked
 
 130 THE FATHER. 
 
 him in the face : " God grant that the child may be a 
 blessing to you ! " 
 
 Sixteen years after that day, Thord stood again in the 
 pastor's study. 
 
 " You look exceedingly well, Thord," said the pastor : 
 he saw no change in him. 
 
 " I have no trouble," replied Thord. 
 
 The pastor was silent, but a moment after : " What is 
 your errand to-night?" he asked. 
 
 " I have come to-night about my son, who is to be con- 
 firmed to-morrow." 
 
 " He is a clever lad." 
 
 " I did not wish to pay the pastor, before I heard what 
 number he would get. I hear that, and here are ten 
 dollars for the pastor." 
 
 " Is there any thing else?" asked the pastor, looking at 
 Thord. 
 
 " Nothing else." Thord went. 
 
 Eight years more passed by, and so one day the pastor 
 heard a noise without his door, for many men were there, 
 and Thord first among them. The pastor looked up and 
 recognized him. 
 
 " You come with a powerful escort to-night." 
 
 " I have come to request that the banns may be pub- 
 lished for my son : he is to be married to Karen Storliden, 
 daughter of Gudmund, who is here with me." 
 
 " That is to say, to the richest girl in the parish." 
 
 " They say so," replied the farmer, stroking his hair 
 up with one hand. 
 
 The pastor sat a minute as in thought : he said nothing, 
 but entered the names in his books, and the men wrote 
 under. 
 
 Thord laid three dollars on the table. 
 
 " I should have only one," said the pastor.
 
 THE FATHER. 131 
 
 " Know that perfectly, but he is my only child ; will do 
 the thing well." 
 
 The pastor took up the money : u This is the third 
 time now, Thord, that you stand here on your son's 
 account.'' 
 
 " But now I am done with him," said Thord, and tak- 
 ing up his pocket-book, said good-night, and went. The 
 men slowly followed. 
 
 Just a fortnight after this, the father and son were row- 
 ing over the lake in still weather to Storliden, to arrange 
 about the wedding. 
 
 " The cushion is not straight," said the son : he rose up 
 to put it right. At the same moment his foot slipped: 
 he stretched out his arms, and with a cry fell into the 
 water. 
 
 " Catch hold of the oar ! " called the father : he stood 
 up and stu k it out. But when the son had made a few 
 attempts, he became stiff. 
 
 " Wa t a minute ! " cried the father, and began to row. 
 Then the son turned backwards over, gazed earnestly at 
 his father, and sank. 
 
 Thord could scarcely believe it to be true : he kept the 
 boat still, and stared at the spot where his son had sunk, 
 as though he would come up again. A few bubbles rose 
 up, a few more, then one great one: it burst and the 
 sea again lay bright as a mirror. 
 
 For three days and three nights the father was seen to 
 row round and round the spot without either food or 
 sleep : he was seeking for his son. On the morning of 
 the third day he found him, and carried him up over the 
 hills to his farm. 
 
 It would be about a year after that day when the pas- 
 tor, one autumn evening, heard something rustling outside 
 the door in the passage, and fumbling about the lock.
 
 132 THE FATHER. 
 
 The door opened, and in walked a tall, thin man, with 
 bent figure and white hair. The pastor looked long at 
 him before he recognized him : it was Thord. 
 
 "Do you come so late?" asked the pastor, and stood 
 still before him. 
 
 " Why, yes, I do come late," said Thord : he seated 
 himself. The pastor sat down also, as though waiting : 
 there was a long silence. 
 
 Then said Thord, " I have something with me that I 
 wish to give to the poor." He rose, laid some money 
 on the table, and sat down again. 
 
 The pastor* counted it : " It is a great deal of money," 
 he said. 
 
 " It is the half of my farm, which I have sold to-day." 
 
 The pastor remained long sitting in silence : at last he 
 asked, but gently : "What do you intend to do now?" 
 
 " Something better." 
 
 They sat there awhile, Thord with downcast eyes, 
 the pastor with his raised to Thord. Then the pastor 
 said slowly, and in a low tone : "I think at last your son 
 has really become a blessing to you." 
 
 " Yes, I think so myself also," said Thord : he looked 
 up, and two tears coursed slowly down his face. 
 
 Cambridge : Press of John Wilson and Son.
 
 SEVER, FRANCIS, & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 Boston and Cambridge 
 
 Uniformly print- 
 ed in i6mo, with 
 Vignette Titles. 
 
 Bound in Extra Vellum 
 Cloth, Morocco, and 
 Calf, in various styles. 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY. Edited by FRAN- 
 CIS TURNER PALGRAVE. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S GARLAND. Edited by 
 COVENTRY PATMORE. 
 
 THE BOOK OF PRAISE. Edited by ROUN- 
 DELL PALMER. 
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. By JOHN BUN- 
 
 VAN. 
 
 A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. By Miss 
 
 YONGE. 
 
 THE JEST BOOK. Edited by MARK LEMON. 
 THE BALLAD BOOK. Edited by WILLIAM 
 
 ALLINGHAM. 
 
 THE SUNDAY BOOK OF POETRY. Edited 
 by C. F. ALEXANDER. 
 
 DREAM CHILDREN. By the Author of " Seven 
 Little People and their Friends." 
 
 I
 
 The Works of the New Norwegian Writer ', 
 
 Bj orns tj erne Bj ornson. 
 
 ALREADY PUBLISHED : 
 
 ARNE. 
 
 THE HAPPY BOY. 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 
 London Athefueum. 
 
 Bjornstjerne Bjornson is the name of a young writer whose works a few short 
 stories, some poems, and a dramatic work have created an extraordinary sensa- 
 tion through Scandinavia From an obscure publisher in a small town in the north 
 of Norway, his book soon found its way to the right places ; and when it came to 
 the capital of Denmark, it caused equal pleasure and astonishment. The feeling 
 between Denmark and Norway has, unfortunately, in later years been less cordial ; 
 and a sort of peevish, suspicious tone on the side of the Danes, and a boastful 
 behavior on the part of the Norwegians, has not tended to strengthen the feeling of 
 friendship. That a book written by a Norwegian, whose subjects, style, and dia- 
 lect (the language generally spoken in Norway is Danish) so thoroughly represent 
 his nation, should immediately have gained unquestionable praise from all Danes 
 and Swedes, speaks strongly for its great intrinsic merit. But, after all, it is no 
 wonder. We know of nothing more beautiful than some of these stories. What 
 originality, purity, and simplicity ! what poetry ! His heroes are peasants, his 
 heroines peasant girls ; but how happy we feel in their society, how deeply inter- 
 ested in what they say and do I In style, these stories bear a slight resemblance to 
 the old sagas : the characters described are so true to nature, so real, that you seem 
 to feel their presence, and fancy them old acquaintances, after a few strokes of the 
 pen. With M. Bjbrnson a new era begins in Scandinavian literature. . . . 
 
 . . . We recommend " Arne " for the insight it gives into peasant life in Nor- 
 way, and for the singularity and pathos of the narrative, which oblige the reader, 
 when once he has taken it up, to read to the end. 
 
 The Independent. 
 
 In speaking specially of Bjornson, I wish to make his books an exception to 
 those titles which daily flame from the publishers' columns. He has stepped at 
 once into a new place, and made it his own. Or, if it is not a new world into which 
 we are introduced, we find the old one enveloped in a new atmosphere, and it 
 assumes under his touch an almost fairy significance. It may be said that much 
 of this freshness and simplicity come from the really little we know of Norway, 
 and the latent power in a simple theme simply treated. I think something like 
 this has been urged ; but when you refer the genius of an author in this broad way 
 to the choice treatment of a topic, you have rather asserted than explained it. Good
 
 choice and happy execution are what define for us all excellence of which art or 
 authorship is capable. I have spoken of Bjornson as a story-teller ; but he is a 
 poet, too, as much so as if he dealt directly with the accessories of verse. The 
 little bursts of song which are scattered through " Arne " are well done, and very 
 sweet in their place ; but I do not include his lyrical quality in these. Carrying 
 his art into prose, it is still poetic ; and there is hardly a page in " Arne " and the 
 " Happy Boy " that is not as perfect as if it were a summer idyl. . . " Arne " is as 
 delicious a story as any fairy tale can be, or ever was. Without shirking the plain, 
 prosaic conditions of genuine human life, it yet constantly appeals to our imagina- 
 tion, as the June landscapes at sunset intimate the Fortunate Islands beyond. 
 Its glimpses into nature are as true as Shakespeare's. 
 
 In forthright honesty of style he has set an example to his craft that the world 
 could not thank him too much for, if there was any likelihood it would be followed. 
 He knows how to say just enough, and make a few simple strokes in the picture 
 tell. It has the ease of good writing throughout. He evidently confides in the 
 reader's aptness, and believes he may leave many things to suggestion without 
 risk. Hence, we find him always saying the right thing at the right time and in 
 the right way, and leaving off when the chapter is done. The very first page of 
 "The Happy Boy" and of "Arne," too affords a marked illustration of the 
 pure sufficiency of a few words. The chapter of correspondence between Oeyvind, 
 Marit, and the schoolmaster, is not only na'ive and unique, but has a pathetic ten- 
 derness that almost moistens the eyes. 
 
 How long we shall continue to like stories like these, when their newness 
 has worn off and their slender framework is exposed, I do not assume to say. 
 But for the present they make a pleasant transition from the highly spiced litera- 
 ture so much in demand. Their simplicity and freshness, their delicate shading 
 of color, abounding pathos, subtle insight of moods and character, and dainty 
 reserve in expression, must win them, as fast as they become known, a welcome 
 under many roofs. They are not for the old alone, nor merely for the young ; 
 they weave their spell around the whole family-circle. 
 
 In no way, too, and by no writer have the sanctities of religion been so ten- 
 derly expressed. Their presence saturates the very texture of" The Happy Boy," 
 without the least impertinence of pietistic cant, and falls like a soothing benedic- 
 tion. The freedom and buoyancy of life, however, is nowhere checked; and 
 Sunday relaxation, the social dance, and the cup of ale do not seem, in Norway at 
 least, to interfere with the fullest duty to God and man. 
 
 The Nation. 
 
 One of Bjornson 's strong points is his skill in putting a landscape before us, not 
 by " word-painting," though for that matter " word-painting " never puts a land- 
 scape before us, but by a few happy sentences which serve as eyes, because they 
 are the words of one with a strong love of nature ; with an ability to see the pic- 
 turesqueness of a scene as well as to feel the sentiment of it ; with the ability, too, 
 and the will, to choose descriptive words, and with an incapacity of performing the 
 word-painter's trick of selecting fine phrases because they are fine. Touches of 
 this power now and again occur in the " Fisher Maiden," but not so frequently as 
 in " Arne." ... It is not then for his power as a thinker that Bjb'rnson is to be 
 admired. He is a lyrical poet. Capable of failing in drama, liable to seem weak 
 when he attempts to take philosophical views of life, he is yet gifted with such a 
 capacity of feeling, and he has so much of the poet's power to tell us with pre- 
 cision what moves his soul and appears to his vision, and so much of the artist's 
 power of selection and self-restraint, that he takes his place among the most genu- 
 ine and delightful of the minor poets of nature and of the affections.
 
 THE 
 
 .SUNDAY BOOK OF POETRY 
 
 SELECTED AND ARRANGED 
 
 BY C. F. ALEXANDER 
 i6mo. Vellum. Vignette Title. Price, <$ 1.75. 
 
 EVANGELIST. 
 
 " All the selections are in harmony with the general soirit of 
 the volume, while sprinkled here and there are many dear, old, 
 familiar hymns, which we heard sung in childhood by voices now 
 forever stilled, and which we hope to hear till they are lost on 
 'the dull cold ear of death.' Such pieces sanctify any collec- 
 tion. Hence we bid it God speed. Let it go on its way sinking 
 the songs of a better world in the ears of this wicked generation. 
 As for the getting up of this volume, it is in such perfect taste 
 that not Oxford or Paternoster Row can show anything more 
 exquisite. It is well it is so, for beautiful forms are the fitting 
 shrine for thoughts of such purity as have less of earth than of 
 heaven." 
 
 METHODIST. 
 
 " So rich and complete is the volume, that there is scarcely a 
 subject to which reference js not made. The craving of the soul 
 for spiritual nourishment on the Sabbath is fully satisfied by 
 drinking in the sweetness of sacred poetry." 
 
 LITERARY REGISTER. 
 
 " Its piety is not of the obtrusive kind, that repels, but it 
 breathes a gentle sweetness that glides into the spirit of the 
 reader, and possesses alike the intellect and the affections." 
 
 BOSTON POST. 
 
 " We cheerfully commend the collection to the Christian 
 Mothers of the land, that they receive aid in beautifying the 
 immortal and fadeless flowers lives running forever parallel 
 with their own placed in their keeping." 
 
 CONGREGATIONALISM 
 
 " One cannot open the book at random without finding some- 
 thing excellent. The gleaning is from harvest-fields of old and 
 new literature ; many of the later poems are from sources quite 
 unfamiliar, yet they are as beautiful as they are fresh." 
 
 9
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-32m-8,'57(.C8680s4)444