i aiisma'jM
 
 SOUTHERN BRANCH. 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNt*, 
 
 LIBRARY, 
 
 iLOS ANGELES, CALIF.

 
 NOVE SOLBAKKEN, ARNE, AND 
 EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES 
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE NORSE 
 
 BY 
 
 RASMUS B. ANDERSON 
 
 AUTHOR OF " NORSE MYTHOLOGY," " VIKING TALES OF THE NORTH,' 
 "AMERICA NOT DISCOVEB ' bUS," 
 
 AND OTIIEK ' 
 
 3tutt)or'? tuition 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 New York : 11 East Seventeenth Street 
 
 @&e fitoetsi&e pres?, <aTamliri&ge 
 1885
 
 Copyright, 1881, 1882, 
 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge! 
 Eleotrotyped and Printed by B, 0. Houghton & Co.
 
 E 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 -♦- 
 
 PAGE 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF BJORNSTJERNE BJORN- 
 SON 5 
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN 25 
 
 PREFACE TO ARNE , 5 
 
 ARNE 
 
 EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The Railroad and the Churchyard .... 203 
 
 Tiirokd 248 
 
 A Dangerous Wooing 264 
 
 The Bear Hunter 272 
 
 The Father 284 
 
 The Eagle's Nest 290
 
 PUBLISHERS' NOTE. 
 
 The present edition of Bjornstjerne Bjorn- 
 son's works is published by special arrangement 
 with the author. Mr. Bjornson has designated 
 Prof. Rasmus B. Anderson as his American 
 translator, cooperates with him, and revises 
 each work before it is translated, thus giving 
 his personal attention to this edition.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 BJOBNSTJER^E BJOE^SOJST. 
 
 Only a very condensed sketch can here be given 
 of the great Norse poet, novelist, dramatist, orator, 
 and political leader, whose works are now offered to 
 the American public. 
 
 Bjornstjerne Bjbrnson was born December 8, 1832, 
 in Kvikne, a rural district in the central part of Nor- 
 way, at the foot of the beautiful Dovre Mountains, 
 where his father was a Lutheran priest. The scen- 
 ery is grand and majestic, though rather austere ; 
 and life is of a somewhat solitary character, for the 
 farm-houses here, as elsewhere in Norway, are widely 
 separated from each other. 
 
 While the poet was yet a mere boy, his father was 
 transferred to the celebrated Romsdal, one of the 
 finest valleys in Western Norway. Here the sombre 
 hues of the mountain-masses are mingled with the 
 variegated splendor cf the valley. Dark fjords 
 stretch then- long arms into the country. The mount- 
 ains, whose summits are crowned with ice and snow, 
 rise almost perpendicularly from the water's edge in
 
 G BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 some places, while in others golden fields, green mead- 
 ows, and fine forests lie between the fjord and the 
 mountain. The ravines on the mountain-tops are 
 filled with mighty glaciers, that clasp their frosty 
 arms around the valley, and send down, like streams 
 of tears along the weather-beaten cheeks of the mount- 
 ains, countless waterfalls and cascades, overarched 
 by beautiful rainbows, and falling in endless variety 
 into the valley and fjord below. 
 
 The environments are of no slight importance in 
 the development of genius, and we find the impres- 
 sions inspired by the weird scenes amid which Bjorn- 
 sou spent the days of his childhood, constantly unfold- 
 ing blossoms in his poems, novels, and dramas. Nor is 
 it alone the impressions that these scenes made upon 
 him that are to be taken into account. The Norse 
 folk have been looking upon these same silver-crested 
 mountains, from which the summer sun never de- 
 parts, upon the same ocean, islands, lakes, fjords, and 
 flower-clad valleys, and have listened to the same 
 melodious brooks, babbling streams, thundering riv- 
 ers, roaring waterfalls, and soughing groves, for gen- 
 erations. These surroundings have more or less 
 colored the Noi"se myths, epics, folk-lore tales, bal- 
 lads, melodies, proverbs, eddas, sagas, customs, man- 
 ners ; in short, all the products of the Norse mind and 
 heart, the whole life of the Norsemen. In estimat- 
 ing Bjonison's genius, therefore, the influence of the 
 environments and of Norse traditions upon countless 
 generations of his forefathers must not be over-
 
 BJORNSTJERNE bjornson. 7 
 
 looked. We hope to be understood when we say, 
 briefly, that the external, physical nature of Norway 
 largely modified and moulded the ancient Norsemen's 
 character ; that nature and the Norse character thus 
 formed gave color to the Norsemen's religion, tales, 
 traditions, and other intellectual products ; that the 
 climate and scenery of Norway, together with the 
 accumulative influence of the national character and 
 the popular traditions and literature upon the people 
 from generation to generation, produced a full-blown 
 flower in the genius of Bjornstjerne Bjornson ; and, 
 finally, that this principle may be applied to any great 
 national writer or artist in any country. Nor do we 
 by this statement mean to exclude the influence exer- 
 cised by foreign nations and foreign literatures upon 
 Bjornson himself, and upon his ancestors. 
 
 At the age of twelve Bjornson was sent to the 
 Molde grammar school. Molde is a small coast town 
 in Romsdal, which is celebrated on account of the 
 grand and beautiful scenery with which it is sur- 
 rounded. But he was a dull scholar. When he was 
 admonished to apply himself, in order that he might 
 learn enough to enter the university, he answered, 
 " They want me to study and read so much, while I 
 would prefer to write." He had already begun to 
 think of becoming a poet, and of course the greatest 
 of all poets, though he was constantly reminded that 
 he was thought stupid. People called the boy an 
 agitator. When he was only fifteen years old, he 
 organized a society of boys and founded a paper
 
 8 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 written by hand. Its name was, as might be ex- 
 pected, " Liberty." In the society political matters 
 were discussed, and Bjornson was the leader of the 
 republican party. This was in the year 1848, when 
 revolutionary ideas found their way even to the re- 
 motest valleys of Norway. Bjornson's society had a 
 debate on the election of president of the French 
 republic, and he voted for Lamartine, while the ma- 
 jority voted for Louis Napoleon. 
 
 Nor did Bjornson distinguish himself at the uni- 
 versity in Christiania, whither he was sent in 1852. 
 He continued to neglect his regular studies, and de- 
 voted himself to poetry and journalism. Caring but 
 little for books, he studied all the more earnestly 
 the volumes of nature and human society, both of 
 which he has interpreted with remarkable force and 
 beauty. It is related that a Swede, who visited 
 Christiania in 1853, and was struck by the fine ap- 
 pearance of a young man in a gathering of students, 
 turned to one near him and inquired who that young 
 man was. The answer was, " Bjornstjerne Bjornson, 
 a young man who wants to become a genius." One 
 of the by-standers, who had listened to the com 
 tion, added, " I would rather call him a young genius 
 who wants to become a man." "While pursuing his 
 .miversity course, which he never completed, lie pro- 
 luced his first literary work of any considerable 
 length. It was a drama, entitled " Valborg." It 
 was accepted by the managers of the theatre, but, 
 before it was played, he took it back and destroyed
 
 BJOEXSTJERNE BJORNSON. 9 
 
 it. He had already outgrown it, and decided that it 
 would not do him credit. For some time afterward 
 (1854-56) he devoted his time mainly to dramatic 
 criticism and to reviewing books for " Aftenhladet," 
 later also for " Morgenbladet," and to corresponding 
 for provincial newspapers. 
 
 Norway, since her separation from Denmark in 
 1814, had been striving to create a national literature, 
 and when Bjornson entered the university in 1852, 
 the first literary epoch of the young and free nation 
 (the Wergeland-Welhaven epoch) was about being 
 completed. It had produced Maurits Christoffer 
 Hansen, the founder of the Norwegian novel ; Johan 
 Welhaven, the leader of the conservative party, 
 which aimed to build up a Norwegian literature on 
 the foundation of foreign, particularly Danish cult- 
 ure ; and his great opponent, Henrik Wergeland, 
 under whose banner gathered all the liberal spirits, 
 all who had faith in the ability of Norway to develop 
 an entirely independent national literature, art, and 
 life. Their object was to root out every trace of 
 foreign influence. This first epoch had also produced 
 Asbjbrnson and Moe, the collectors of the popular 
 tales of Norway ; the great poet, Andreas Munch ; 
 the historians, P. A. Munch and Rudolf Keyser ; 
 wnd a considerable number of eminent scholars, 
 i.mong whom may be noted Sars the naturalist, Han- 
 ften the astronomer, Abel the mathematician, Aasen 
 the linguist and creator of a new language for 
 Norway, based on the dialects. The famous violin"
 
 10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 1st, Ole Bull, also belongs to this epoch, and around 
 him cluster a magnificent group of musical com- 
 posers, painters, and other artists. 
 
 With the beginning of the second half of this cent- 
 ury we enter upon the second epoch of modern Nor- 
 wegian literature — the so-called Bjbrnson - Ibsen 
 epoch. The poets of this period are Bjornstjerne 
 Bjbrnson, Henrik Ibsen, Jonas Lie, and Kristofer 
 Janson. Of these Bjbrnson is decidedly the most 
 conspicuous, and may be said to be the legitimate 
 successor to Henrik YVergeland, with whom he has 
 much in common both as poet and political leader. 
 He is in fact carrying forward the work left unfin- 
 ished by Wergeland ; while "VVelhaven, the great an- 
 tagonist of "Wergeland, has found no eminent suc- 
 cessor in the ranks of living Norse writers. 
 
 Bjbrnson's literary career really begins with the 
 year 1857, when he published his first novel. Since 
 then his life has been singularly varied and active, 
 and in the midst of his many conflicting occupations 
 he has been an exceedingly prolific writer. 
 
 Twice he has been director of a theatre : the first 
 time in 1858, when Ole Bull put the theatre which 
 he had founded in Bergen into his hands; and the 
 second time in 1865, when the management of the 
 Christiania royal theatre was intrusted to him. He 
 held both positions, however, only I'm- a brief space 
 of time. Three times he has entered the field of 
 journalism; the first in 1856, US editor of his own 
 oaper, the " Hlustreret Folkehlad;" the second in
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON. 11 
 
 1859, as co-editor of " Af tenbladet ; " and the third 
 in 1866, as editor and publisher of " Norsk Folke- 
 blad." Since 1856 he has been a constant and dili- 
 gent contributor to the public press on all ques- 
 tions of national interest. His articles and addresses 
 would alone, if collected, fill many large volumes. 
 His winters he has frequently spent abroad, in Den- 
 mark, Germany, France, and Italy, and he is at this 
 writing visiting the United States, whose citizens 
 everywhere give an enthusiastic welcome to the tall, 
 erect, broad-shouldered, and silver-tongued son of the 
 frozen North. 
 
 His first novel, produced iu 1857, was " Synnbve 
 Solbakken," the volume now presented to our readers 
 in an English dress. It at once made a profound im- 
 pression, and established his reputation both at home 
 and abroad, not only on account of the simple and 
 charming plot, but also for the short, direct, pithy, 
 saga style in which it was written ; and here we may 
 add that the author has been growing increasingly 
 terse and concise in his style from that day to this. 
 It became the corner-stone of a new school of litera- 
 ture, and when we take into consideration that the 
 "Wergeland-Welhaven epoch continued to be more or 
 less deeply imbued with Danish culture, modern Nor- 
 wegian literature may fairly be said to begin with 
 " Synnbve Solbakken." It was the first great national 
 work unimpressed with the old Danish stamp. As is 
 the case in the old Norse sagas, portraits of the char- 
 acters are not drawn, nor are his works marred by
 
 12 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 lengthy dissertations from a moral standpoint. In- 
 steatl of long, fine-spun declamations of this sort, he 
 lets his characters speak for themselves, and leaves it 
 to the reader to judge whether they are good or had. 
 He does not stop to describe separately the details of 
 features and dress, but he watches his opportunity to 
 give glimpses of them as the story progresses. He por- 
 trays his men and women while he tells what they do 
 and say, and thus the reader knows, when he has fin- 
 ished the book, how Synnove, or Thorbjorn, or Aslak 
 must have appeared to the author. As before stated, 
 there has been no interruption in Bjornson's literary 
 activity, and he has given the world a series of novels 
 and dramas, which have found their way into all lands 
 and been translated into many tongues. They all 
 reveal a startling psychological insight and acquaint- 
 ance with the deepest laws of human life. His novels 
 are, besides " Synnove Solbakken ; " " Arne ; " "A 
 Happy Boy ; " " The Fisher Maiden ; " " The Bridal 
 March ; " " Magnhild ; " " Guiseppe Mansana ; " and 
 several short stories. His dramas are: " Halte I Iul- 
 da ; " "Mellem Slagene " (Between the Battles); 
 'Kong Svserre;" "Sigurd Slembe;" " Maria Stu- 
 art ; " " De Nygif te " (The Honeymoon) ;" Sigurd 
 Jorsalfar" (Sigurd the Crusader); "En Fallit " (A 
 Bankrupt) ; " Redaktoren " (The Editor) ; " Kon 
 gen" (The King); "Leonarda;" and '• Det Ny 
 System" (The New System). His lyric and national 
 songs are published in one volume, and he is also lht3 
 author of an epic poem, published in a separate vol-
 
 BJORXSTJERXE BJORNSON. 13 
 
 ume, entitled " Arnljot Gelline." When we add to 
 this a small volume, "Vis Knut" (Wise Knut), and 
 his little volume " Republiken " (The Republic), 
 issued late in I860, we have completed the list of his 
 pablished works. 
 
 Mr. Bjornson is without a peer in the north of 
 Europe as novelist, national and lyric poet, orator, 
 and contributor to the daily press ; and as dramatist 
 he knows but one competitor for the first rank, Hen- 
 rik Ibsen, whose "Love's Comedy," " Brand," and 
 " Peer Gynt " Edm. W. Gosse, in his " Studies in the 
 Literature of Northern Europe" (London, 1879), 
 characterizes as " a trilogy, perhaps, for sustained 
 vigor of expression, for affluence of execution, and for ' 
 brilliance of dialogue, the greatest of modern times." 
 On the other hand, it is interesting to notice that 
 Robert Buchanan, an equally high authority in liter- 
 ature, pronounces Audhild, one of the female charac- 
 ters in " Sigurd Slembe," Bjornson's great dramatic 
 trilogy, " a creation worthy of Goethe at his best," — 
 worthy, in his opinion, " to rank with ' Clarchen,' 
 ' Marguerite,' and ' Mignon ' as a masterpiece of deli- 
 cate characterization." Bjornson has never been 
 surpassed in his delineation of delicate female types, 
 both in his novels and dramas, and this furnishes one 
 of the best proofs of his claim to rank among the 
 master poets of any age. Bjornson's dramas have 
 nad a boundless influence upon modern thought in 
 Scandinavia, and we might include Germany, and 
 when properly translated they will not fail to secure 
 him the homage of England and America.
 
 14 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 It may be said that Bjornson's great work, or 
 rather the red thread running through all of Bjorn- 
 son's works, is a struggle for the independence of 
 Norway ; an effort to secure an emancipation and de- 
 velopment of all those intellectual energies that Nor- 
 way may properly call her own. We discover this 
 tendency alike in his novels, poems, dramas, and in 
 his miscellaneous writings. He loves his country, 
 and therefore takes a profound interest in every 
 question that concerns its welfare ; and it is safe to 
 say that his name is intimately connected with every 
 important issue that has been raised in Norway dur- 
 ing the past twenty years. In every question his 
 words and his songs have been heard either pro or 
 con. In many movements he has been the first who 
 has spoken. His literary works are thoroughly im- 
 bued with the progressive spirit of the age., In his 
 novel " Magnhild " and in his drama "Leonarda" he 
 has championed the rights of women and exposed the 
 wrongs in private and domestic life in a manner thai 
 would delight the heart of Julia Ward Howe or T. 
 W. Higginson. He saw the corruption of the press 
 «n«l wrote his drama " The Editor." He saw the 
 corruption in the world of trade and commerce, and 
 wrote his drama "The Bankrupt;" a play, by the 
 way, which it seems might be made very successful 
 on the American stage. Presented by an actor like 
 our Barrett, it could not fail to make a powerful im- 
 pression. In his drama "The King," Bjornsou lias 
 given the fullesl and Freest expression to his repub-
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON. 15 
 
 lican tenets. He there represents monarckism as a lie, 
 and lets the king kimself advocate tke republic as tke 
 ideal form of government. To tkose wko suggest ex- 
 cuses for and favor tke monarchy as a temporary evil, 
 as a necessary school, in which the nation is to be edu- 
 cated and ripened for self-government, he makes the 
 king, who has come to look at kis royal position as 
 false and abnormal, address this striking question : 
 " Is it, tken, necessary tkat a people, on their eternal 
 progress toward the truth, should march with a lie as 
 their leader?" That a drama enunciating such prin- 
 ciples could not be played at the royal theatre, needs 
 not to be stated; but those who have embraced the 
 doctrine that all men are created equal and endowed 
 with an inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pur- 
 suit of happiness, hail in Bjornson the promise of a 
 Norwegian republic. With a keen eye to discover 
 corruption and hypocrisy in the church as well as 
 elsewhere, he has broken many a lance with the 
 priests, and has dealt many a blow to the orthodox 
 bigots of his time. 
 
 Bjornson's political speeches are landmarks in the 
 national development of Norway ; and his lectures 
 are models of eloquence, both as regards style and 
 delivery. One of the most splendid efforts of his 
 life as an orator was his address at Ole Bull's grave, 
 on August 24, 1880, to an audience of more than 
 twenty thousand people. Ole Bull's funeral was 
 riore magnificent and solemn than if he had been a 
 king; but the greatest honor of the day was en*
 
 16 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 bodied in Bjornson's remarks, of which every word 
 was a diamond in the crown of the violinist's immor- 
 tal fame. 
 
 When Bjornson writes a national song it is at once 
 taken up and sung by the whole nation, from Lindes- 
 nes to North Cape. The national hymn of Norway 
 to-day is his song written in 1859, of which we will 
 attempt to translate two or three stanzas : — 
 
 "Yes, we love with fond devotion 
 
 Norway's mountain domes, 
 Rising, storm-lashed, o'er the ocean, 
 
 With their thousand homes; 
 Love our country, while we're bending 
 
 Thoughts to fathers grand, 
 And to saga-night that's sending 
 
 Dreams upon our land. 
 
 " Harald Norway's throne ascended 
 
 By his mighty sword ; 
 Hakon Norway's rights defended 
 
 Helped by Oyvind's word ; 
 From the blood of Olaf sainted 
 
 Christ's red cross arose; 
 From its peaks King Sverre tainted 
 
 Bishops dared oppose. 
 
 "Peasants all (heir axes brightened, 
 Ready for each foe ; 
 # Tordenskjold in battles lightened 
 Set the land aglow. 
 Even women did assemble 
 
 On the bloody plain; 
 Others could but weep and tremble, 
 But 't was not in vain." 
 
 Another very popular BOUg by lijornson is his 
 ''Over lie huie Fjselde " (Over the Lofty Mountains)
 
 BjORNSTJERNE bjornson. 17 
 
 which is very characteristic of the author's style, and 
 expresses in sublime verses the longings and aspiration 
 of the young Norsemen. It is, in fact, an expression 
 of the yearning of the young Norway, and is not in- 
 applicable to the ambitious struggles of the young 
 Bjornson himself. Mr. Bjornson told us, when we 
 visited him in 1873, that he considered it his best 
 poem. We are happy to be able to give a spirited 
 and faithful metrical version of it from the pen of 
 Auber Forestier, the author of " Echoes from Mist- 
 land, and translator of Kristofer Janson's " The 
 Spell-Bound Fiddler," and various other works. 
 
 " Oh, how I wonder what I should see 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 Snow here shuts out the view from me. 
 Round about stands the green pine-tree, 
 Longing to hasten over ; 
 Dare it become a rover V 
 
 " Soars the eagle, with strong wing play, 
 Over the lofty mountains ; 
 
 Rows through the young and vigorous day, 
 
 Sating his courage in quest of prey; 
 
 "When he will, swooping downward, 
 Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward. 
 
 " Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go 
 Over the lofty mountains V 
 
 Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow, 
 
 Thou wilt till next time wait, I know; 
 All of these birds art swinging, 
 Knowing not what they 're singing. 
 
 " He who for twenty years long'd to flee 
 Over the lofty mountains, 
 2
 
 - 18 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 Nor beyond them can hope to see, 
 Smaller each year feels himself to be; 
 Hears what the birds are singing, 
 Thou art with confidence swinging. 
 
 " Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here, 
 Over the lofty mountains ? 
 Fairer the lands beyond must appear, 
 Higher the trees, and the skies far more clear; 
 Wouldst thou but longing be bringing, 
 "Bird, but no wings with thy singing? 
 
 " Shall I the journey never take 
 Over the lofty mountains ? 
 Most my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break? 
 Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make, 
 Shutting at last in around me, 
 Till for my-tomb it surround me ? 
 
 " Forth will I ! forth ! Oh, far, far away, 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 0k ^ I will be crushed and consumed if I stay ; 
 
 Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way, 
 Let it its flight now be taking, 
 Not on this rock-wall be breaking ! 
 
 " One day I know I shall wander afar 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 Lord, my God, is thy door ajar ? 
 Good is thy home, where the blessed are; 
 Keep it, though closed a while longer, 
 Till my deep longing grow stronger." 
 
 The stirring music written for both of these poems 
 will be found in the " Norway Music Album," re- 
 cently published by Oliver Ditson & Co., Boston. 
 
 We cannot close this brief sketch of Mr. Bjornson 
 without giving. an account of an interesting -'ncident
 
 BJOENSTJEBNE BJOKNSON. 19 • 
 
 ivhich occurred in Madison, "Wisconsin, during his 
 visit here in the beginning of January, 1881. 
 
 "While Mr. Bjornson was stopping at the hotel in 
 this city, an elderly man came to see him. At tho 
 sight of Bjornson the man was very much moved, — 
 sobbed like a child, the tears choking his voice, while 
 he attempted to greet the great skald of the North. 
 Mr. Bjornson also appeared to be deeply touched by 
 the sudden appearance of his guest, and, grasping his 
 hand, he exclaimed, " Why, are you here, my dear 
 Arne ? " The scene of their meeting was intensely 
 affecting, and the reason for it will be evident from 
 the following explanation : 1 Arne is not the " Arne " 
 of Bjornson's novel of that name, but Arne Kulter- 
 stad, a Norwegian, whose life he had saved twenty 
 years ago. He is a man about fifty years old, has 
 a large frame, and in his younger days must have 
 been the very picture of strength and beauty. 
 
 Some twenty-five years ago, Arne, a fine-looking, 
 vigorous youug man, who had been a sergeant in th< j 
 Norwegian army, and as such had become noted for 
 his athletic strength, as well as for his kindly disposi- 
 tion and honest character, had a serious feud with 
 one of his neighbors in his mountain home in Val- 
 ders, a valley in the central part of Norway. His 
 tnemy was a dissipated, mean, cringing, and bas^ 
 villain, who at a party succeeded in getting Arne 
 
 1 Mr. BjiJrnson told the story in detail, in my presence, to a 
 reporter of the Madison Slate Journal, from which I have, in. 
 part, transcribed it for these pages.
 
 20 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 drunk, and persuaded him to sign papers by which 
 he lost his old homestead. The feud grew in bitter- 
 ness from year to year. One day, when business 
 had brought both to the same place, it came to 
 blows between them, and his foe drew a knife, and 
 gave Arne severe wounds in his hand and arm, the 
 marks of which he bears to this day. There were 
 many other aggravating circumstances, among which 
 may be mentioned, as the worst, the fact that upon 
 the farm which his enemy had gotten possession 
 of Arne's father lived and received his annual al- 
 lowance, according to Norwegian law. When the 
 father lay upon his death-bed, Arne visited him, and 
 learned that he had been ill-treated, and that his 
 death had probably been hastened by the cruelty of 
 the owner of the farm. This so enraged Arne that 
 revenge was a mere question of time and opportunity. 
 The opportunity was not easily found, for the villain 
 feared Arne, and shrewdly avoided meeting him. 
 lie never went out alone. One morning, early, he 
 had, however, deemed it safe to go a short distance 
 from home with his team. But it so happened that 
 Arne too had gone out that morning with his rifle to 
 mint, when on returning he saw his enemy, and at 
 once determined to give him a mark at least as severe 
 as the one he bore himself. He raised his gun to 
 take sight. He was one of the best marksmen in the 
 country, and had brought down many a bird on the 
 wing; but, unfortunately, as his enemy was walking 
 by the side of his team, he happened to stumble just
 
 BJORXSTJERNE BJOENSON. 21 
 
 at the moment when Arne pulled the trigger, and, in- 
 stead of giving him a severe wound in the arm, as he 
 intended, the bullet entered his breast, and he soon 
 after expired. 
 
 Arne was convicted of murder, and sentenced to 
 death. This was in the lower court. The case was 
 appealed. Mark now the remarkable incident which 
 occurred ! Having been sentenced to death by this 
 lower court, he was to be transferred to an adjoining 
 bailiwick. The bailiff who had him in charge, know- 
 ing his prisoner's honesty and truthfulness, did what 
 probably no other bailiff ever did. The bailiff was 
 very busy, and Arne, knowing this, told him that 
 there was no necessity of his going with him or send- 
 ing any guards, for he would go alone and place 
 himself in the hands of the officer in the next baili- 
 wick ; and such confidence had the bailiff in Arne's 
 uprightness and integrity that he unhesitatingly sent 
 him alone, without any guard, and Arne promptly did 
 as he had agreed ! 
 
 The sentence of the lower court was confirmed by 
 the supreme court, without any recommendation to 
 pardon. As there was no direct evidence in the case, 
 Arne's lawyer had advised the defendant to deny 
 everything. The effect of a confession was now re- 
 sorted to, but without avail. He was locked up in 
 prison, and in a few days he was to be beheaded. 
 The young and enthusiastic poet Bjornson was at 
 this time in the capital. He had heard of the case, 
 aad read all that had been said about it in the press,
 
 .,.. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF 
 
 and had become so much interested in it that he 
 went to the prison, partly to see this remarkable 
 criminal, partly out of curiosity to see a man who 
 stood at the threshold of execution. He had a long 
 talk with Arne, and was much affected by his man- 
 ner and by his story of the aggravating circum- 
 stances which had led to his great crime. As he was 
 about to leave the prison-cell, Arne arose, stretched 
 out both arms to Bjoruson, and besought him in 
 tones of deepest agony : " Oh, save me ! " These 
 words rang in the ears of the poet, and he determined 
 to move heaven and earth, if this were possible, to 
 procure a pardon. He immediately set himself to 
 work, and wrote for the press what he still considers 
 the most masterly article of his life ; indeed, such an 
 article as but few others than Bjornson could write. 
 It set the whole community, the whole land, in com- 
 motion. The wives and daughters of the judges who 
 had pronounced the sentence and the wives of the 
 members of the king's cabinet were the first to sign a 
 petition to the government for his pardon. The death- 
 sentence was changed by the king to imprisonment for 
 life. For twenty long years Arne had to remain in 
 prison, and not until the summer of 1880 was he re- 
 leased. By this time his wife had died, and hi.s family 
 was scattered. He found himself alone and friendless 
 in a dreary world. After twenty years of confinement 
 within the walls of a prison, liberty itself scarcely 
 seemed a boon. He came to Wisconsin, where he 
 bad a married daughter. Hearing of Bjornsou's arri
 
 bjornstjerne bjornson. 23 
 
 val in Madison, he immediately came to visit him ; 
 and the meeting of these two men was indeed an 
 affecting scene. " You are my second father, Bjoru- 
 son, and I cannot tell you how much I love you," 
 said Arne to his benefactor. " I owe my life to 
 you." Arne is poor, and feels nowhere at home. 
 America seems no place for him. The poet, with his 
 usual kindness, received him as cordially as a brother. 
 He offered to care for the unfortunate man in his old 
 age, and directed me to advance to Arne the neces- 
 sary funds for defraying his expenses back to Nor- 
 way, where he will have a home and employment on 
 Bjornson's estate. 
 
 This unvarnished tale, besides furnishing a real 
 Arne by the side of the hero of his novel " Arne," 
 gives Bjornson a well-earned place among the philan- 
 thropists of the world. 
 
 Of the translation it is needless to say that pains 
 have been taken to make it as faithful and readable 
 as possible. 
 
 It remains only to be added that in the prepara- 
 tion of this American edition of Bjornson's stories I 
 have availed myself of the experienced and valuable 
 assistance of Auber Forestier, whose kind services 
 are hereby gratefully acknowledged. 
 
 RASMUS B. ANDERSON. 
 
 Madison, Wis., April, 1881.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In a large valley it often happens that there 
 is a high spot, open on every side, which the 
 sun paints with his pencils from early dawn 
 until twilight has faded away. And they who 
 live nearer the foot of the mountains, and sel- 
 domer get the sun, call this spot a Solbakke. 1 
 The person of whom this story tells lived in 
 such a spot as this, and from it the gard 2 took 
 its name. There the snow was last to cover 
 the ground in the autumn, and there it first 
 melted in the spring. 
 
 The owners of the gard were Haugians, 8 and 
 were called Readers, because they read the 
 Bible more diligently than other people. The 
 man's name was Guttorm, his wife's Karen. 
 Their first child was a son ; but death took him 
 from them, and for three years they never went 
 
 1 A sunny hill. 
 
 2 A Norwegian farm. 
 
 8 Followers of Hans Nielsen Hauge, a Norwegian revivalist in 
 he early part of this century.
 
 26 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 on the east side of the church. At the end of 
 this time a girl was giVen to them, whom they 
 named after the boy; his name had been Syvert, 
 and she was christened Synnov, as they could 
 not find anything nearer. But the mother 
 called her Synnove, because she had a habit, as 
 long as the child'was small, of adding " mine " 
 to the name, and so this seemed to come easier. 
 However this might be, as the girl grew up 
 every one called her Synnove, as her mother 
 did, and most|people said that, in the memory 
 of man, there had not been in the parish so 
 fair a girl as Synnove Solbakken. She was 
 not many years old before they took her with 
 them to church every Sunday there was serv- 
 ice, although at first Synnove knew no better 
 than to think the priest .was standing there 
 scolding at Slave Bent, whom she saw sitting 
 right down below the pulpit. Her father, how- 
 ever, wanted her to go with4hem, — " to form 
 the habit," he said ; and her mother wished 
 it, too, "because no one knew how the child 
 would be taken care of at home while they were 
 gone." If there chanced to be a lamb, a kid, 
 or some little pig on the gard that did not 
 thrive, or a cow that anything was the matter 
 with, it was always given over into Synnove's 
 possession; and the mother seemed to feel sure
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 27 
 
 that from that moment it did welL The father 
 did not quite believe fhis to be the cause ; 
 but " after all it did not matter which of them 
 owned the beasts, so that these only prospered." 
 On the opposite sid#*of the valley, and close 
 to the foot of a high mountain, there was a 
 gard named Granliden, 1 so ©ailed because it 
 lay in the midst of a great spruce forest, the 
 only one for many miles around. The owner's 
 great-grandfather had been among those who 
 lay in waiting for the Russians»i^Holstein ? and 
 from that expedition he had brought home in 
 his knapsack many foreign and strange-looking 
 seeds. These he planted round about his house ; 
 but in the course of time one kind after another 
 had died out ; meanwhile some spruce cones, 
 which, oddly enough, had been mixed in with 
 the rest, had produced* a dense forest, which 
 now shaded the house on every side. The Hol- 
 stein soldier's name had been Thorbjorn, after 
 his grandfather ; that of his eldest son Seemund, 
 after his father ; and thus the owners of the 
 gard had alternately been named Thorbjorn 
 and Sgemund, from time out of mind. But it 
 was said that only every other man at Granli- 
 den had good luck, and it was not he who t»ore 
 the name Therbjorn. The present owner, Saa 
 
 1 The spruce slope.
 
 28 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 mund, had thought the matter over from vari- 
 ous points of view, when his fh'st son was born, 
 but scarcely liked to break the family custom, 
 and so called him Thorbjorn. He pondered 
 much upon whether the boy might not be so 
 brought up that he would escape the fate gossip 
 had laid in his way. He was not altogether 
 sure, but he thought he detected a willful dis- 
 position in the boy. " That shall be plucked 
 out," said he to the mother ; and when Thor- 
 bjorn was only three years old the father would 
 sometimes sit with the switch in his hand, and 
 compel him to carry all the sticks of fire-wood 
 back to their place ; to pick up the cup he had 
 thrown down ; to stroke the cat he had pinched. 
 But the mother preferred to leave the room 
 when the father was in this mood. 
 
 Ssemund was surprised to find that the older 
 the boy grew the more there was to correct in 
 him, and this in spite of the fact that he was 
 dealt with more and more strictly. He set him 
 early to reading, and took him out in the fields 
 with him in order to have an eye upon him. 
 The mother had a large house and small chil- 
 dren ; she could do no more than caress and ad- 
 monish him every morning, while she was dress- 
 ing him, and talk gently with the father when 
 Sabbaths brought them together. But Thor-
 
 STATE N 
 Los Ang - 
 
 synnove solbakken. 29 
 
 bjorn, when he got a whipping because a-b 
 spelled a6, and not ba, and because he was not 
 allowed to administer the rod to little Ingrid, 
 as his father did to him, thought, " It is strange 
 that I must have such a hard time, while all my 
 little brothers and sisters have everything so 
 nice." 
 
 As he passed most of his time with his father, 
 and did not dare say much to him, he talked 
 little, but thought the more. Once, though, 
 while they were hauling in the wet hay, the 
 words escaped him, — 
 
 " Why is all the hay dry and in over there 
 at Solbakken, while here it is still wet ? " 
 
 " Because they have the sun oftener than we." 
 
 This was the first time he had noticed that 
 the bright sunshine over there, which he so 
 many times had sat and looked at with pleas- 
 ure, was something that he was shut out from. 
 After that day his eye fell oftener on Solbak- 
 ken than before. 
 
 " Do not sit gaping there," said his father, 
 and gave him a push. " Over here we have to 
 drudge all we can, both old and young, if we 
 are to get anything housed." 
 
 Ssemund changed his servant-boy when Thor- 
 bjorn was about seven or eight. Aslak was the 
 name of the new servant, and he had already
 
 30 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 been about a good deal, though he was yet a 
 mere boy. The evening he came Thorbjorn 
 had gone to bed ; but the next day, as he sat 
 reading, the door was pushed open with a kick, 
 the like of which he had never heard before. It 
 was Aslak, who came rushing in with a large 
 armful of wood, and flung it down with such 
 force that the sticks flew in every direction. 
 Then he jumped up and down to stamp the 
 snow off of him, and with every jump he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " It is cold, said the troll-bride, as she sat in 
 ice up to her waist ! " 
 
 The father was not in, but the mother swept 
 together the snow and carried it out, without a 
 word. 
 
 " What are you staring at ? " said Aslak to 
 Thorbjorn. 
 
 "Not at anything," said the latter, for he 
 was frightened. 
 
 " Have you seen the rooster you have in the 
 back of your book there ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He has a lot of hens around him when the 
 book is shut ; have you seen that?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 « Well, then, look." 
 
 The boy did so.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 31 
 
 " You are a dunce ! " said Aslak to him. 
 But from that moment no one had the power 
 over him that Aslak had. 
 
 " You do not know anything," said Aslak, 
 one day, to Thorbjorn, who was trotting after 
 him, as usual, to watch what he was doing. 
 
 " Yes, I do. I know as far as the fourth part 
 in my catechism." 
 
 " Pooh ! No, you have not even heard of 
 the troll who danced with the girl until the sun 
 rose, and then burst like a calf that has been 
 eating sour milk ! " 
 
 In all his days, Thorbjorn had never heard 
 any one display so much knowledge at once. 
 
 " Where was that? " he asked. 
 
 "Where? Why, it was — yes, it was over 
 there at Solbakken ! " 
 
 Thorbjorn stared. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of the man who sold 
 himself to the devil for a pair of old boots? " 
 
 Thorbjorn forgot to answer, so astonished 
 was he. 
 
 " I suppose you are thinking of where that 
 was, hey ? It was also over there at Solbak- 
 ken, right down there in that brook which you 
 see. Lord help us ! Your religious knowledge 
 does not amount to much," added he. " I 
 fancy you have not even heard of Kari, with 
 the wooden petticoat."
 
 32 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 No, Thorbjorn had not heard of anything. 
 And while Aslak was working fast he was tell- 
 ing still faster, and it was about Kari with the 
 wooden petticoat, about the mill that ground 
 salt at the bottom of the sea, about the devil 
 with the wooden shoes, about the troll that got 
 his beard caught in the branch of a tree, about 
 the seven green maidens who pulled the hair out 
 of Peter Hunter's legs while he slept and could 
 not possibly awaken ; and it all took place over 
 there at Solbakken. 
 
 " What, in the name of Heaven, ails the 
 boy ? " said the mother, the next day. " He 
 has been on his knees on the bench yonder, 
 looking over at Solbakken, ever since it was 
 light." 
 
 " Yes, he keeps very busy to-day," said the 
 father, who lay taking his rest the long Sunday. 
 
 " Oh, folks say that he has captured Synnove 
 Solbakken," Aslak was saying; "but folks say 
 so many strange things," added he. 
 
 Thorbjorn did not exactly understand him, 
 but nevertheless his whole face grew fiery red. 
 When Aslak commented on this, he crept down 
 from the bench, took his catechism, and seated 
 himself to read. 
 
 " Yes, you may as well console yourself with 
 the word of God," said Aslak ; "you will never 
 get her, any way."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 33 
 
 When the week was so far advanced that he 
 thought they had forgotten this, he asked his 
 mother, quite softly, for he felt bashful about 
 it,— 
 
 " Say, who is Synnove Solbakken ? " 
 
 " She is a little girl who will one day own 
 Solbakken." 
 
 " Has she, then, not a wooden petticoat? " 
 
 The mother looked at him in surprise. " What 
 is that you say ? " said she. 
 
 He felt that he must have said something 
 stupid, and was silent. 
 
 " A prettier child has never been seen than 
 she is," added the mother, " and that is her re- 
 ward from the Lord because sbe is always kind 
 and good and is an industrious reader." 
 
 Now he knew that, too. 
 
 One day, when Ssemund had been out in the 
 field with Aslak, he said in the evening to 
 Thorbjorn, — 
 
 " You must not go with Ashik any more." 
 
 But Thorbjorn gave little heed to this. So 
 after a while the order came : — 
 
 " If you are found with him any more, it will 
 not be well for you ! " 
 
 Then Thorbjorn stole after Aslak, when the 
 father did not see him. Saemund surprised 
 them, though, one day, when they sat talking
 
 t4 SYNNOVE SOLCAKKEN. 
 
 together; tlien Thorbjorn got a thrashing, and 
 was told to go in. But afterward Thorbjorn 
 watched his chance to be with Aslak when his 
 father was not at home- 
 One Sunday, while the father was at church, 
 Thorbjorn got his hands into mischief at home. 
 Aslak and he were throwing snow-balls at each 
 other. 
 
 " Oh, stop ! you are choking me ! " begged 
 Thorbjorn. "Let us throw together at some- 
 thing else." 
 
 Aslak was ready at once, and so they threw 
 first at the slender spruce over by the store- 
 house, then at the store-house door, and finally 
 at the store-house window. 
 
 " Not at the window itself," said Aslak, " but 
 at the frame around it." Meanwhile, Thor- 
 bjorn hit the window-pane, and turned pale. 
 
 " Pooh, who will know it ? Try it again." 
 
 He did so, but hit another. 
 
 " Now I will not throw any more," said he. 
 
 At that moment his eldest sister, little In- 
 grid, came out. 
 
 " Throw at her, Thorbjorn ! " 
 
 Thorbjorn did so immediately. The girl 
 cried, and the mother came out. She bade him 
 stop. 
 
 " Throw, throw ! " whispered Aslak.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 35 
 
 Thorbjorn was hot and excited ; be did so. 
 
 " Why, you must be losing your senses ! " 
 Baid the mother, and rushed toward him, — he 
 ran before, she after, all round the grounds. 
 Aslak laughed and the mother scolded. She 
 caught Thorbjorn at last in a snow-drift, and 
 began to give him a good drubbing. 
 
 " I will strike back again, I will ! " said he. 
 " That is the way they do here." 
 
 The mother ceased in surprise, and looked at 
 him. 
 
 "That some one else has taught you," she 
 then said, and taking him silently by the hand, 
 led him in. She spoke not another word to 
 him, but kindly cared for his little brothers and 
 sisters, and told them their father would now 
 soon come home from church. Then it began 
 to grow pretty hot in the room. Aslak asked 
 leave to visit a relative ; he got it at once; but 
 Thorbjorn felt much smaller when Aslak was 
 gone. He had a terrible pain in his stomach, 
 and his hands were so clammy that they made 
 his book moist when he took hold of it. If 
 only his mother would not say anything to his 
 father, when he came home; but Thorbjorn 
 could not bring himself to ask it. Everything 
 his eye fell on kept changing looks, and the 
 clock said, Spanking, spanking, — spanking
 
 36 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 spanking. He had to get up to the window 
 and look over at Solbakken. It alone, all cov- 
 ered with snow, lay quiet and sparkling in the 
 sunshine, just as usual ; the house stood and 
 laughed out of all the window-panes, and there 
 was surely not one of them broken ; the smoke 
 rose with such tremendous joy from the chim- 
 ney that he judged that over there, too, they 
 were getting dinner for the church people. No 
 doubt Synnove was watching for her father, 
 and was not to have a whipping when he got 
 home. Thorbjorn did not know what to do 
 with himself, and all at once became so affec- 
 tionate to his sisters that there was no end to 
 it. To Ingrid he was so good that he gave her 
 a bright button he had received from Aslak. 
 She put her arms about his neck, and he put 
 his arms about hers, saying, — 
 
 " Dear little Ingrid mine, are you angry with 
 me ? " 
 
 "No, little Thorbjorn ! You may throw as 
 much snow at me as you like." 
 
 But there was some one stamping the snow 
 cff in the hall. Yes, sure enough, it was the 
 father. He appeared to be in a good humor, 
 and that made the mutter still worse. 
 
 " Well? " said he, looking around, — and it 
 was astonishing that the clock did not tumble
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 37 
 
 down. The mother put the dinner on the ta- 
 ble. 
 
 " How have things been going here ? " asked 
 the father, as he seated himself and took up his 
 spoon. 
 
 Thorbjorn looked at his mother until the 
 tears came into his eyes. 
 
 " Oh — well," said she, with incredible slow- 
 ness ; and she meant to say more, — that he 
 plainly saw. " I gave Aslak permission to go 
 out," said she. 
 
 " She did not do it this time," thought Thor- 
 bjorn. He began to play with Ingrid, as though 
 he were thinking of nothing else in the world. 
 The father had never taken so long to eat his 
 dinner, and Thorbjorn set to work, at last, to 
 count every bite ; but when he came to the 
 fourth he wanted to see how many he could 
 count between the fourth and the fifth, and 
 then he lost track of it. Finally, the father rose 
 and went out. The window-panes ! the window- 
 panes ! kept ringing in his ears, and he looked 
 round to see whether those in the room were 
 whole. Yes, they were all whole. But now 
 bis mother also went out. Thorbjorn took lit- 
 tle Ingrid in his lap, and said, so gently that 
 she stared at him in amazement, — 
 
 " Come, let us two play the gold princess 
 in the meadow."
 
 38 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 That she would like to do. And so he sang 
 while his legs trembled under him : - 
 
 "Little blossom, 
 Meadow blossom, 
 Hearken now to me ! 
 If you will be my sweetheart so true, 
 A velvet cloak I '11 give to you, 
 Adorned with gold 
 And pearls untold. 
 Ditteli, dutteli, deadow, — 
 The sun now shines on the meadow ! " 
 
 Then she answered, — 
 
 "Gold princess, 
 Jewel princess, 
 Hearken now to me ! 
 I '11 never be your sweetheart so true, 
 I '11 have no velvet cloak from you, 
 Adorned with gold 
 And pearls untold. 
 Ditteli, dutteli, deadow, — 
 The sun now shines on the meadow! " * 
 
 But just as this game was well under way, 
 his father came in, and fixed knowing eyes on 
 him. Thorbjorn drew Ingrid closer up in his 
 lap, and did not fall from his chair. 
 
 The father turned away, said nothing. Half 
 an hour passed ; he had not yet said anything, 
 and Thorbjorn was almost about to be happy, 
 Vt did not dare. He knew not what to think 
 when the father himself helped to undress him 
 
 1 Aubcr Eorestier's translation.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 39 
 
 he began gradually to tremble again. Then his 
 father patted him on the head and stroked his 
 cheek ; this he had not done as far back as the 
 boy could remember, and therefore Thorbjorn 
 grew so warm about his heart and over his 
 whole body that fear melted off him like ice 
 beneath a sunbeam. He did not know how 
 he got into bed, and as he could take neither 
 to singing nor shouting, he folded his hands, 
 said Our Father six times forwards and back- 
 wards, quite softly, and felt, as he fell asleep, 
 that there was no one on God's green earth he 
 loved so dearly as his father. 
 
 The next day he awakened in a terrible 
 fright, because he could not scream ; for he was 
 now to have a thrashing, after all. "When he 
 opened his eyes, he became aware, to his great 
 relief, that he had only dreamed it; but soon 
 also became aware that some one else was just 
 about to have a thrashing, and that was Aslak. 
 Saemund was pacing the floor, and Thorbjorn 
 well knew that step. The rather short but 
 square-built man looked now and then from 
 under his bushy brows in such a way at Aslak 
 that the latter felt plainly what was in the 
 wind ; Aslak was perched on the top of a great 
 barrel, from the side of which his legs now 
 dangled, now were drawn up. As usual, he
 
 40 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 had his hands in his pockets and his cap drawu 
 down lightly on his head, so that the matted 
 locks of thick black hair protruded from under 
 the fore-piece. The little crooked mouth was 
 more crooked than ever ; he held his whole 
 head slightly aslant, and looked sideways at 
 Sasmund from beneath his half-closed eyelids. 
 
 " Yes, that boy of yours is bad enough," 
 said he ; " but, worse still, your horse is troll- 
 scared." 
 
 Ssemund paused. " You are a fool ! " said 
 he, so that it rang through the room, and As- 
 lak drew his eyelids more closely than ever 
 together. 
 
 Ssemund strode on qgain ; Aslak sat still a 
 while. 
 
 " I tell you he is troll-scared," repeated he, 
 and stole a glance after him to see what effect 
 that had. 
 
 *' No ; but he is woods-scared, — that is what 
 he is," said Ssemund, moving on. " You felled a 
 tree over him in the field, you careless slouch, 
 and that is why no one can get him to pass 
 there quietly any more." 
 
 Aslak listened to this a while. 
 
 " Well, believe so, if you choose. It is no 
 disgrace to believe a thing. But I doubt if 
 that will set your horse right again," he added,
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 41 
 
 at the same time drawing himself farther back 
 on the barrel, and shading his face with one 
 hand. Ssemund came right over to him, and 
 said in alow, but rather dismal tone, — 
 
 "You are a wicked " 
 
 " Saemund ! " was heard from the hearth. It 
 was Ingebjorg, his wife, who sat there hushing 
 him as she had hushed the youngest child, who 
 was frightened, and had wanted to scream. 
 The child had been quieted before, and now 
 Saemund, too, was silent ; but he stuck his fist, 
 which was a very small one for such a square- 
 built man, right up under Aslak's nose, and 
 held it there a while, as he bent forward and 
 fairly scorched the boy's face with his eyes. 
 Then he walked on as before, bestowing on him 
 every now and then a hasty glance. Aslak was 
 very pale, but he laughed over at Thorbjorn 
 with one half of his face, while he kept the 
 half turned toward Saemund very straight. 
 
 " Lord grant us good patience ! " he ex- 
 claimed, after a little while ; but at the same 
 time he drew up his elbow, as though to ward 
 off a blow. Saemund stopped suddenly, and 
 chrieked at the top of his voice, as he brought 
 his foot down on the floor, so that Aslak was 
 completely silenced, — 
 
 1 Do not you dare name Him 1 "
 
 42 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 Ingebjorg arose with the infant, and took 
 Ssemund gently by the arm. He did not look 
 at her, but still he let his arm drop. She went 
 to her seat ; he walked to and fro once more ; 
 but neither said anything. As this lasted a 
 while, Aslak had to break the silence again : — 
 
 " Aye, He has a great deal to do at Gran- 
 liden, — that He has ! " 
 
 " Ssemund ! Ssemund ! " whispered Ingebjorg, 
 but before the words reached him Ssemund had 
 already rushed at Aslak, who thrust out his 
 foot. It was pushed down, the fellow seized 
 by it and his jacket collar, lifted up, and then 
 set against the closed door with such violence 
 that the panel gave way, and he went through 
 it head foremost. The wife, Thorbjorn, and all 
 the children screamed and begged for him, and 
 the whole house was in one wail. But Ssemund 
 darted out after him, not remembering to open 
 the door properly, but kicking the remainder 
 Aside, seized him again, carried him through 
 the passage out into the yard, raised him high 
 in the air, and flung him down again with all 
 his might. And when Ssemund perceived that 
 there was too much snow for him to be hurt 
 badly enough, he planted his knee on Aslak's 
 breast and beat him right in his face, lifted 
 him the third time, bore him to a place that
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 43 
 
 was more free from snow, like a wolf that is 
 dragging after him a dog he has been tearing 
 to pieces, let him fall again, and this time more 
 savagely than before, then sprang on him with 
 his knees ; and no one knows how it might 
 have ended had not Ingebjorg rushed between 
 with the infant in her arms. 
 
 " Do not bring ruin upon us ! " she shrieked. 
 
 A while later Ingebjorg sat in the family 
 room ; Thorbjorn was dressing; the father "was 
 pacing the floor once more, and only paused 
 now and then to drink a little water, but his 
 hand shook so that the water flew over his head 
 and splashed on the floor. Aslak did not come 
 in, and presently Ingebjorg made a movement 
 to go out. " Stay in," said Ssemund, as though 
 it were not to her he was speaking ; and she 
 stayed in. But a little later he went out him- 
 self. He did not come in again. Thorbjorn 
 took his book and read incessantly, without 
 looking up, although he did not understand a 
 single sentence. 
 
 A little later in the forenoon the house was 
 in the old order, although every one had a feel- 
 ing as though strangers had been visiting them. 
 Thorbjorn ventured to go out, and the first per- 
 son he met outside the door was Aslak, who had 
 packed all his things on a sled; but the sled
 
 3t4 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 was Thorbjorn's. Thorbjorn stared at him ; 
 for he looked ugly. The blood had dried on 
 his face, and was smeared all over ; he coughed 
 and clutched often at his breast. He looked for 
 a moment silently at Thorbjorn, and then he 
 burst out violently, — 
 
 w I do not like your eyes, boy ! " 
 
 With this he got astride of the sled, seated 
 himself, and started down the hill. 
 
 " You can get your sled back where you can 
 find it ! " said he, and laughed, as he turned once 
 more and stuck out his tongue at him. Thus 
 departed Aslak. 
 
 But during the week that followed the lens- 
 mand J made his appearance at the house ; the 
 father was sometimes absent ; the mother wept, 
 and she also was away several times. 
 
 " What is it, mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, Aslak is the cause of it all ! " 
 
 One day they caught little Ingrid, as she sat 
 and sang : — 
 
 "0 blessed world, I am weary 
 
 Now of thy doings so dreary! 
 Once the girl puts foot in sight, 
 
 Reason leaves the boy outright ; 
 Wat'ry food the housewife makes, 
 
 Ease her lazy husband takes ; 
 Puss beyond the rest is keen and wily, 
 
 For cream she 's stealing so slyly." a 
 
 1 Bailiff. 
 
 2 Aubcr Fo-estier's translation.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 45 
 
 There was of course a query as to whom she 
 could have learned this snatch of a song from. 
 As was expected, it proved to be from Thor- 
 bjorn. He became much alarmed, and said he 
 had learned it from Aslak. He was then made 
 to understand that if he sang any more such 
 verses himself, or taught them to his sister, he 
 would get a whipping. Shortly after this lit- 
 tle Ingrid happened to swear. Thorbjorn was 
 again called up, and Saemund thought he might 
 as well give him a taste of the rod now ; but he 
 cried and made such fair promises for himself 
 that he was allowed to escape this time. 
 
 The next Sunday there was service, his father 
 said to him, " You will not have any chance to 
 get into mischief at home to-day; you are going 
 with me to church."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The church stands, in the peasant's fancy, on 
 a lofty eminence, apart by itself, consecrated to 
 peace, with the solemnity of the grave about it, 
 and the cheerfulness of the mass within. It is 
 the sole house in the valley upon which he has 
 bestowed any ornamentation, a'nd its spire, there- 
 fore, actually reaches up a little farther than it 
 appears to reach. Its bells greet him on his 
 way thither, of a bright; Sunday morning, and 
 he always uncovei>-his head to them, as though 
 he would return with thanks their greeting! 
 There is a covenant between him and them 
 which no one can fully estimate. Early in life 
 he doubtless stood by the open door and heark- 
 ened to them, while the church people moved 
 past in silent procession down on the road ; his 
 father was getting ready, but he himself was 
 too small to go. He combined then many 
 ideas with those heavy, sonorous tones which 
 reigned supreme among the mountains for an 
 hour or two, reechoing from one to the other ; 
 but one was inseparably connected therewith :
 
 SYXXOVE SOLBAKKEN. -47 
 
 clean, new clothes, gay-clad women, and well- 
 groomed horses, with bright harnesses. 
 
 And when these bells ring thus one Sunday 
 over his own happiness; when in brand-new, 
 but too large, clothes he walks with dignified 
 assurance by his father's side, on his way to 
 church for the first time, aye, then there is ex- 
 ultation in them. Then, surely, they can fling 
 open all the doors to what he is going to see. 
 And on the way home, when they still keep up 
 their clanging over his head, rocking the sing- 
 ing, the mass, the words of the sermon, in their 
 reverberations, there is chased back and forth 
 what engrossed the eye during the service, — 
 the altar-piece, the costumes, the people ; then, 
 once for all, they arch over the previously gath- 
 ered impressions, and consecrate the smaller 
 church which henceforth he bears within him. 
 
 When a little older, he has to tend the herds 
 on the mountains, but of a fine, dewy Sunday 
 morning, as he sits on the stone, with the cattle 
 below him, and listens to the church-bells rising 
 above the tinkle of their bells, he grows melan- 
 choly. For there rings through them some- 
 thing bright, cheerful, alluring, from down be- 
 low : thoughts of acquaintances at church ; of 
 the joy when one is there, and the still greater 
 joy, when one has been there, of the good dinner
 
 48 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 at home; of father, mother, brothers, and sis- 
 ters ; of the merriment on the green in the glad 
 Sunday evening, — and the little heart rebels 
 within his breast. But it always ends with the 
 thought that those were the church-bells that 
 were ringing. He reflects a little, and finds 
 stored away in his mind a fragment of some 
 hymn he has learned ; this he sings, hands 
 folded, and eyes peering far down into the 
 valley below, repeats a little prayer, besides, 
 springs up, ieels happy, and blows such a blast 
 on his loor that it resounds through the mount- 
 ains. 
 
 Here in the little mountain valley the church 
 has its special language for each age, its peculiar 
 look to each eye; much may have been built up 
 between the individual and it, but never any- 
 thing over it. It stands full-grown and ready, 
 in the eyes of the candidate for confirmation, 
 with finger pointing upward, half threatening, 
 half inviting, for the youth whose choice is 
 made ; broad-shouldered and strong over the 
 sorrows of manhood ; with plenty of room and 
 full of tenderness for weary old age. During 
 divine service, young children are brought in 
 and baptized, and it is well known that during 
 this act the devotion is greatest. 
 
 Therefore, it is impossible to describe Norse
 
 STNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 49 
 
 peasants, corrupted or uncorrupted, without 
 coming into contact at one point or other with 
 the church. There will seem to be a dull uni- 
 formity in this ; but it is, perhaps, not of the 
 worst sort. Let this be said once for all, and 
 not especially on account of the church visit 
 which here follows. 
 
 Thorbjorn rejoiced at the thought of the 
 walk to church and the sights he was to see ; 
 his eyes were dazzled with the manifold colors 
 without the church ; he felt the weight of the 
 stillness which hung over everybody and every- 
 thing within before the mass began ; and al- 
 though he did not remember to bow his head 
 himself when the prayer was read, it seemed as 
 though it were bowed by the sight of many hun- 
 dred bowed heads. The singing began, and all 
 sang at once around him, so that it almost ap- 
 palled him. So absorbed did he sit there that 
 he started up as from a dream when their pew 
 door was softly opened for some one who came 
 in. After the singing was over the father took 
 this new-comer by the hand, and asked, — 
 
 « Is all well at Solbakken ? " 
 
 Thorbjorn raised his eyes ; but whatever he 
 saw, or did not see, there was little connection 
 to be traced between this man and any kind of 
 witchcraft. He was a gentle-looking, fair-eum 
 
 4
 
 50 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 plexioned man, with large blue eyes, a high 
 brow, and he looked tall in his seat ; he smiled 
 when he was spoken to, and said " yes " to 
 every remark Saemund made, but was, on the 
 whole, a man of few words. 
 
 " If you look over there you will see Syn- 
 nove," said the father, as he stooped down to 
 Thorbjorn, took him on his knee, and pointed 
 over to the pew opposite, on the women's side. 
 There was a little girl kneeling on the bench 
 and looking over the railing. She was still 
 fairer than the man, — so fair that he had 
 never seen her equal. She had a red streamer 
 to her cap, light yellow hair beneath this, and 
 now smiled at him, so that for a long time he 
 could not see anything but her white teeth. 
 She held a shining hymn-book in one hand, and 
 a folded orange-colored silk handkerchief in the 
 other, and was now amusing herself by strik- 
 ing the handkerchief on the hymn-book. The 
 more he stared, the more she smiled ; and now 
 he chose also to kneel on the bench, just as 
 she was doing. Then she nodded. He looked 
 gravely at her a moment, then he nodded. She 
 smiled and nodded once more ; he nodded again, 
 and once more, and still once more. She smiled, 
 but did not nod any more, for a little while, 
 until he had quite forgotten it ; then she nod- 
 ded.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 51 
 
 " I want to see, too ! " he heard behind him, 
 and at the same moment felt some one pull him 
 by the legs to the floor, so that he came near 
 falling ; it was a thick-set little fellow, who now 
 scrambled valiantly up into Thorbjorn's place. 
 He, too, had light, but bristling hair, and a 
 snub-nose. Aslak had probably taught Thor- 
 bjorn how the bad boys he met at church and 
 school should be dealt with. Thorbjorn there- 
 fore pinched the boy in return so hard that he 
 wanted to scream, but did not, and crawled in- 
 stead very quickly down from the bench, and 
 seized Thorbjorn by both ears. The latter 
 made a grab at his hair, and pulled him down 
 under himself ; still the boy did not scream, but 
 bit Thorbjorn in the thigh. Thorbjorn drew it 
 back, and dashed the boy's face right against 
 the floor. Then he was himself seized by the 
 jacket-collar, and lifted up as though he were a 
 bag full of straw ; it was his father, who took 
 Thorbjorn on his lap. 
 
 " If it were not in church, you would get 
 a thrashing ! " he whispered in his ear, and 
 squeezed his hand so that it hurt clear down in 
 his foot. He remembered Synnove, and looked 
 over at her ; she was still there on her knees, 
 but was staring before her with such a vacant 
 look that he began to realize what he had done,
 
 52 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 and that it must be something very wrong. As 
 soon as she noticed that he was looking at her 
 she crept down from the bench, and was no 
 more to be seen. 
 
 The chorister came forward, and then the 
 priest ; he listened to and watched them closely. 
 Again the chorister came forward, and again the 
 priest ; but still he sat on his father's knee, and 
 thought, " Will she not soon look up again ? " 
 The little fellow who had dragged him down 
 from the bench sat on a foot-stool, farther up 
 in the pew, and every time he wanted to rise 
 he got a thrust in the back from an old per- 
 son, who sat and nodded, but awakened regu- 
 larly every time the child made a move to rise. 
 " Will she not soon look up again ? " thought 
 Thorbjorn ; and every red ribbon he saw stir- 
 ring round about reminded him of the one she 
 wore, and every flashy painting in the old 
 church was either just as large as, or a little 
 smaller than, she. Yes, now she stretched up 
 her head; but as soon as she saw him she 
 gravely drew it down again. Once more the 
 chorister came forward, and once more the 
 priest ; the bell was rung, and every one arose. 
 The father talked again in a low tone to the 
 fair-complexioned man ; they went together 
 over to the pew where the women were, who
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 53 
 
 had already arisen. The first person who came 
 out from there was a fair-complexioned woman, 
 who smiled as the man did, but more faintly ; 
 she was rather small and pale, and held Syn- 
 nove by the hand. Thorbjorn went right over 
 to the latter ; but she went quickly away from 
 him, round her mother's dress. 
 
 " Let me alone ! " said she. 
 
 " This little boy has never been at church 
 before," said the fair woman, and laid her hand 
 on him. 
 
 " No, and that is the reason why he got to 
 fighting the first time," said Saemund. 
 
 Thorbjorn looked bashfully up at her, and 
 then at Synnove, who seemed to him graver than 
 ever. They all went out, — the older ones in 
 conversation, but Thorbjorn following Synnove, 
 who drew closer to her mother whenever he ap- 
 proached her. The other boy he saw no more. 
 Outside of the church they paused, and began 
 a longer conversation. Thorbjorn several times 
 heard Aslak named, and as he feared they might 
 talk a little about him also, at the same time, he 
 vetreated a few steps. 
 
 "This is not for you to hear! "said Synnove's 
 mother to her. "Go away a little, my dear; go 
 away, I say." 
 
 Synnove drew lingeringly back. Thorbjorn
 
 54 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 then went nearer her, and looked at her, and 
 she looked at him ; and thus they stood for a 
 long while, just looking at each other. Finally 
 she said, — 
 
 " Fy ! " 
 
 " Why do you say fy ? " asked he. 
 
 " Fy ! " said she once more. " Fy ! For 
 shame ! " she added. 
 
 " Why, what have I done ? " 
 
 "You have been fighting in church, and while 
 the priest stood there saying mass. Fy ! " 
 
 " Yes, but that was a long time ago." 
 
 This made an impression on her, and she 
 said presently, — 
 
 " Are you the boy whose name is Thorbjorn 
 Granliden ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and is it you they call Synnove Sol- 
 bakken ? " 
 
 " Yes. I have always heard that you were 
 such a good boy." 
 
 " No, that is not true ; for I am the worst 
 one of all of us at home," said Thorbjorn. 
 
 "Well, I have never heard" — said Synnove, 
 and clasped her small hands. " Mother, mother ! 
 he says " — 
 
 " Hush ! Be quiet, and go away ! " met her 
 xrom that quarter, and she paused, then went 
 slowly and backwards to her place, her largo 
 blue eyes fixed on her mother.
 
 SYXNOVE SOLBAKKEX. 55 
 
 " I have always heard that you were good," 
 said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " Yes, that may be sometimes when I have 
 been reading," she replied. 
 
 " Is it true that you have such a lot of nisses 
 and trolls and other bad things over your way ? " 
 asked he, placing his hands on his sides, with 
 one foot thrust forward, and resting on the 
 other, just as he had seen Aslak do. 
 
 " Mother, mother ! Do you know what he 
 says ? He says " — 
 
 " Let me alone ! Do you hear ? And do 
 not come here before I call you ! " 
 
 She had to retreat again, slowly and back- 
 wards ; as she did so she put a corner of her 
 handkerchief in her mouth, bit it hard, and 
 pulled at it. 
 
 " Is it not true at all that every night there 
 is music inside of the hills over there ? " 
 
 « No ! " 
 
 " Have you never seen trolls, then ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "But, in the name of Jesus " — 
 
 ' Fy ! You must not say that ! " 
 
 " Oh, pshaw ! — that is nothing ! " said he, 
 spitting between his teeth to show how far he 
 could spit. 
 
 " Yes, it is," she replied ; " for if you talk so 
 vou will go to hell."
 
 56 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEX. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked he, decidedly 
 more humble; for he had only thought that he 
 might get a whipping for it, and his father 
 was now standing so far away. " Who, for in- 
 stance, is the strongest over your way?" asked 
 he, and pushed his cap a little more to one 
 side. 
 
 " I am sure I do not know." 
 
 " Well, over our way it is father. He is so 
 strong that he thrashes Aslak ; and Aslak is 
 strong, I can tell you." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " 
 
 " Once he lifted a horse." 
 
 " A horse ? " 
 
 " Yes ; that is as true, as true — for he told 
 me so himself." 
 
 Then she could have no doubts, either. 
 
 " Who is Aslak ? " asked she. 
 
 " He is a very bad boy, I can assure you. 
 Father whipped him so hard that in the whole 
 world there never was any one whipped so hard 
 before." 
 
 " Do you fight over there at your house ? " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, when — Do not you do 
 bo over at your house ? " 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " What do you do there, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, mother gets the meals ready, knits, and
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 57 
 
 sews ; Kari does these things, too, but not as 
 well as mother, for Kari is so lazy. But Randi 
 takes care of the cows ; father and the boys work 
 out in the field, or else keep busy at home." 
 This seemed to him a satisfactory explanation. 
 " Then every evening we read and we sing," she 
 continued, " and we do so on Sundays, too." 
 
 " All of you ? " 
 
 "Yes." * 
 
 " That must be tedious." 
 
 " Tedious ? Mother, he says " — but then 
 she remembered that it was forbidden her to 
 bother her mother. " Oh, you had better be- 
 lieve I own ever so many sheep," said she. 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 "Yes. Three of them are going to have 
 lambs this winter, and one of them, I am quite 
 sure, will have two." 
 
 " And so you have sheep, have you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I have cows and pigs, too. Have 
 you none ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " If you will come over to see me, you shall 
 have a lamb. Then you will surely get more 
 from it." 
 
 " That would be too nice for anything." 
 
 They were silent for a while. " Cannot In- 
 tjrid have a lamb, too ? " asked he.
 
 58 synnove solbakken. 
 
 "Who is Ingrid?" 
 
 " Why, Ingrid, — little Ingrid." 
 
 No, she did not know her. 
 
 " Is she smaller than you ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course she is smaller than I, — just 
 about like you." 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! You must bring her along 
 do you hear ? " 
 
 Yes, he would do so. 
 
 " But," said she, " if you get a lamb, she can 
 have a pig." 
 
 This he, too, thought was far wiser; and then 
 they talked a little about their common ac- 
 quaintances, of whom, to be sure, they had not 
 many. Their parents were now ready, and they 
 must go home. 
 
 That night he dreamed about Solbakken, and 
 he thought he saw only white lambs over there, 
 and a little fair girl with red ribbons in the 
 midst of them. Ingrid and he talked every 
 single day about going to Solbakken. They 
 had so many lambs and little pigs to tend that 
 they knew not which way to turn among them. 
 Meanwhile, they wondered greatly that they 
 could not go over there at once. 
 
 "Just because that little girl asked you?" 
 said the mother. "Did you ever hear the like!' 
 
 (t Never mind ; you just wait till the next
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 5c> 
 
 Sunday there is service," thought Thorbjorn 
 "and then you shall see." 
 
 It came. 
 
 "You are said to be so bad about boasting 
 and lying and swearing," said Synnove to him, 
 " that you cannot be allowed to come until you 
 have stopped your bad habits." 
 
 " Who says so? " asked Thorbjorn, surprised. 
 
 " Mother." 
 
 Ingrid waited in suspense for his coming 
 home, and he told her and the mother what 
 had happened. 
 
 " Now you see ! " said the mother. Ingrid 
 said nothing ; but after this both she and the 
 mother reminded him every time he swore or 
 boasted. Ingrid and he, meanwhile, fell into a 
 quarrel about whether " the dog take me " was 
 swearing or not. Ingrid got a whipping, and 
 after that he kept using " the dog take me" the 
 whole day. But toward evening his father 
 heard it. " Yes, he shall take you ! " said he, 
 and gave him a blow that sent him reeling. 
 Thorbjorn felt most ashamed before Ingrid, but 
 after a little while she came over to him and 
 patted him. 
 
 A few months later they both made a visit 
 to Solbakken ; Synnove afterward came to visit 
 them: they over to Solbakken again; and thus
 
 60 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 it continued all the while they were growing 
 up. Thorbjorn and Synnove were rivals in their 
 studies ; they went to the same school, and he 
 became at last the more clever scholar of the 
 two, — so clever that the priest interested him- 
 self in him. Ingrid did not get on so well ; and 
 both the others therefore helped her. She and 
 Synnove became so inseparable that people 
 called them the " ptarmigans," because they 
 always flew together, and both had very fair 
 hair and complexions. 
 
 It happened, occasionally, that Synnove got 
 angry with Thorbjorn, because he was so ex- 
 citable and fell into so many squabbles. Ingrid 
 always acted as peacemaker, and then they be- 
 came good friends again as before. But if Syn- 
 nove's mother heard of his fighting, he was not 
 allowed to come to Solbakken that week, and 
 hardly the next. No one dared tell Saemund 
 anything about such things ; " he is so severe 
 with the lad," said his wife, and imposed silence 
 upon all. 
 
 As they grew up, all three became good-look- 
 ing, although each in his own way. Synnove 
 grew tall and slender, had flaxen hair, a finely 
 moulded, bright face, with calm blue eyes. 
 When she spoke, she smiled, and people soon 
 Baid it was a blessing to come within the atmos
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEX. 61 
 
 phere of her smiles. Ingrid was smaller, but 
 stouter, had still lighter hair, and a very little 
 face that was soft and round. Thorbjorn be- 
 came of medium height, but was extremely well 
 formed, had dark hair, dark blue eyes, a sharply 
 cut face, and strong limbs. He had a habit of 
 saying of himself, when he was angry, that he 
 could read and write just as well as the school- 
 master, and feared no man in the valley, — ex- 
 cept his father, he thought, but he did not add 
 that, 
 
 Thorbjorn wished to be confirmed early ; but 
 that could not be. " As long as you are not 
 confirmed you are only a boy, and I can better 
 control you ! " said his father. So it chanced 
 that he, Synnove, and Ingrid went to the priest 
 at the same time. Synnove, too, had waited un 
 usually long ; she was fifteen, in her sixteenth 
 year. " We never can know enough when we 
 come to make our confirmation vow," her 
 mother had always said ; and her father, Gut- 
 torm Solbakken, had answered " yes " to this. 
 So it was not strange that a couple of suitors 
 began to put in an appearance : one the son of 
 people of the better class, another a rich neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 " It is too bad ! She is not yet confirmed ! " 
 " Well, then, we must have her confirmed,"
 
 62 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 said the father. But Synnove herself knew 
 nothing of this. 
 
 At the parsonage, the ladies of the priest's 
 family thought so well of Synnove that they in- 
 vited her in, to talk with her. Ingrid and Thor- 
 bjorn waited outside among the rest, and when a 
 boy said to the latter, " So you did not get in 
 with her ? They are surely going to take her 
 away from you ! " it cost that boy a black eye. 
 From this time forth, it got to be a habit among 
 the other boys to tease him about Synnove, and 
 it became apparent that nothing could throw 
 him into a greater rage. In a grove below the 
 parsonage there took place, at last, by agree- 
 ment, a big fight, which had this teasing for its 
 cause ; the fight had grown to such an extent 
 that Thorbjorn had to deal with a whole crowd 
 at once. The girls had gone on in advance, so 
 there was no one to part them, and the fight 
 grew, therefore, worse and worse. He did not 
 want to give up; several attacked him at once, 
 and so he defended himself as best he could, 
 and the blows he dealt about him betrayed 
 afterwards what had taken place. The cause 
 came out at the same time, and it made a great 
 deal of talk in the parish. 
 
 The next Sunday there was service Thor- 
 bjorn would not go to church ; and the next day
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 63 
 
 they were to go to the priest he feigned illness. 
 And so Ingrid went alone. He asked her, on 
 her return home, what Synnove had said. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 When he joined the others again, he thought 
 that every one looked at him, and that the rest 
 of the class giggled. But Synnove came later 
 than the others, and passed much time with the 
 priest's family that day. He feared a scolding 
 from the priest, but soon became aware that the 
 only two in the parish who knew nothing of the 
 fight 'were his own father and the priest. This 
 matter was not so bad, after all ; but how he 
 should gain access to Synnove again, he knew 
 not, for it was the first time that he did not 
 really like to ask Ingrid to intercede. After 
 the recitation was over, Synnove was again in 
 at the priest's ; he waited as long as there was 
 any one else in the grounds, but at last he too 
 had to go. Ingrid had gone among the first. 
 
 The next day, Synnove had come before all 
 the others, and was walking in the garden with 
 one of the young ladies and a young gentleman. 
 The young lady took up some flowering plants, 
 and gave them to Synnove ; the gentleman as- 
 sisted ; and Thorbjorn stood among the rest 
 outside, and looked on. They explained to her 
 qiuite loud, so they all heard it, how these plants
 
 64 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEX. 
 
 were to be set out, and Synnove promised to 
 attend to them herself, that everything might 
 be just as they said. " You cannot do it alone," 
 said the gentleman, and Thorbjorn pondered 
 over this. When Synnove came out to the oth- 
 ers, they showed far more respect for her than 
 usual, but Synnove went over to Ingrid, greeted 
 her gently, and asked her to accompany her 
 down to the green. There they seated them- 
 selves, for it was long since they had had a 
 good talk together. Thorbjorn again was left 
 with the others, and looked at Synnove's pretty, 
 strange flowers. 
 
 That day Synnove went at the same time as 
 the rest. " May I carry your flowers for you? " 
 said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " Yes, if you like," she answered, kindly, but 
 without looking at him, and taking Ingrid by 
 the hand, went on ahead. At the foot of Sol- 
 bakken she paused, and bade Ingrid farewell. 
 " I can carry them myself the short distance 
 that remains," said she, and took up the basket 
 Thorbjorn had set down. The whole way he 
 had been thinking about offering to plant the 
 flowers for her, but now he could not muster 
 the courage, for she turned away so abruptly. 
 But afterwards he thought of nothing el> 
 vpt that he, still, ought to have helped her 
 with those flowers.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKF.N. G5 
 
 " What were you two talking about ? " he 
 asked Ingrid. 
 
 " About nothing." 
 
 When the rest were well in bed, he quietly- 
 dressed himself again and went out. It was a 
 beautiful evening, balmy and still ; the sky was 
 faintly overcast with bluish-gray clouds, here 
 and there torn asunder, so that it seemed as 
 though some one might be peering out from 
 the dark blue as from an eye. No one was to 
 be seen about the houses or farther away ; but 
 the grasshoppers were chirping all through 
 the grass, a rail piping on the right was an- 
 swered on the left, and then there began a 
 singing in the grass from place to place, so that 
 it seemed to the wanderer as though he were 
 attended by a large company of followers, al- 
 though he did not see a single one. The forest 
 stretched upwards, now blue, now dark and 
 still darker toward the rocky waste, and looked 
 like a great sea of mist. But through this he 
 heard the heath-cock strike up its note, a single 
 owl shriek, and the force chant its old, vigorous 
 rhymes louder than ever, now that all had set- 
 tled down to give ear thereto. Thorbjorn 
 looked over toward Solbakken, and went on- 
 ward. He turned off from the usual path, 
 quickly reached the gard, and very soon stood 
 5
 
 66 synnove solbakken. 
 
 in the little garden that belonged to Synnove, 
 and that lay directly beneath the one loft win- 
 dow he knew so well, that of the chamber 
 in which she slept. He listened and peered 
 afound, but all was still. Then he searched 
 about the garden for working implements, and 
 sure enough there he found both spade and hoe. 
 The spading of a bed had been commenced ; 
 only a small corner was finished, but in it two 
 plants were already set out, probably to see 
 how they looked. " She became tired, poor girl, 
 and left it," he thought. " It takes a man to 
 do this," he thought further, and set to work. 
 He did not feel the slightest desire for sleep; 
 indeed, it even seemed to him that he had never 
 performed so easy a task. He remembered how 
 they were to be set out, remembered also the 
 parsonage garden, and planted them accord- 
 ingly. Night passed away, but he was not 
 aware of it ; he scarcely paused to rest, and had 
 the whole bed spaded, the flowers set out, one 
 here and there planted over again to give a 
 better effect, and ever and anon he would steal 
 a glance up at the chamber window to see 
 whether any one was watching him. But 
 neither there nor elsewhere was any one to be 
 seen, nor did he hear so much as the barking 
 of a dog before the cock began to crow, awaken
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 67 
 
 ing the forest birds, who then, one after another, 
 piped up their '* good-morning " song. While 
 he stood there patting down the earth around, 
 the bed, he thought of the tales Aslak had told 
 him, and how once he had believed that trolls 
 and nisses grew over at Solbakken. He looked 
 up at Synnbve's window, and smiled, as he 
 wondered what she would think now in the 
 morning hour. It had become pretty light, the 
 birds were already making a terrible racket, 
 and so he leaped over the fence and hastened 
 home. No one should be able to say that it 
 was he who had been there and set out flowers 
 in Svnnove SoVbakken's garden.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Soon all kinds of things were said in the 
 parish ; but no one knew anything with cer- 
 tainty. Thorbjorn was not seen any more at 
 Solbakken after he and Synnove were confirmed, 
 and this was what people could least under- 
 stand. Ingrid often went over there ; Synnove 
 and she would then usually take a walk in the 
 wood. " Do not stay away too long ! " the mother 
 would call after them. " Oh, no," Synnove 
 would answer, and not come home before the 
 dusk of the evening. The two suitors presented 
 themselves anew. " She will have to attend to 
 the matter herself," said the mother; the father 
 thought the same. But when Synnove was 
 taken aside and questioned, they were rejected. 
 Then several others made their appearance, but 
 no one heard that they brought good luck home 
 with them from Solbakken. Once, when her 
 mother and she stood scouring some wooden 
 milk-pans, the mother asked whom it was she 
 was really thinking about. The question came 
 so suddenly upon her that she blushed. " Have
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 69 
 
 you given any one a promise ? " the mother 
 asked, and fixed her eyes on her. " No," an- 
 swered Synnove, promptly. There was noth- 
 ing further said upon the subject. 
 
 As she was the best match in the parish, 
 she was followed by eager eyes when she ap- 
 peared at church, the only place where she was 
 to be seen outside of her own home ; that is 
 to say, she was never found at any dance or 
 other merry-making, because her parents were 
 Haugians. Thorbjorn sat directly opposite her 
 at church, but they never talked together, so 
 far as people could observe. Nevertheless, each 
 and every one felt assured that there must be 
 something between them ; and as they did not 
 go about together in the same way as other 
 young lovers in the valley, there began to be a 
 great deal of talk. Thorbjorn did not seem to 
 be much liked. He probably felt this himself ; 
 for he was pretty rough in his conduct when 
 several were together, as, for example, at dances 
 and weddings ; and so it happened that now 
 and then he would rush into a fight. There 
 came a lull, however, after several had learned 
 how strong he was ; and so Thorbjorn early 
 formed the habit not to brook having any one 
 stand the least in his way. " You are now re- 
 sponsible to yourself alone," said Ssemund, his
 
 70 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 father ; "but you will do well to remember that 
 perhaps I am stronger than you." 
 
 Autumn and winter passed away; spring 
 came, and still people knew nothing definite. 
 There were circulated so many rumors con- 
 cerning the refusals Synnove had given that 
 her company almost ceased to be sought. But 
 Ingrid was her constant companion. They two 
 were to go together to the saeter 1 this year, 
 the Solbakken family having purchased a share 
 in the Granlid saeter. Thorbjorn was heard 
 singing up in the mountains, for he was get- 
 ting ready one thing and another for them. 
 
 One beautiful day, when it was already draw- 
 ing toward evening, and his work was done, he 
 sat down to think matters over. His thoughts 
 probably dwelt chiefly upon what was being 
 talked of in the parish. He laid himself on 
 his back in the red and brown heather, and 
 with hands under his head he fell to gazing up 
 at the sky, which moved so blue and glittering 
 above the dense tree-tops. The green leaves 
 and pine needles flowed out over it in a quiver- 
 ing stream, and the dark branches which cut 
 through this made strange, wild designs therein. 
 But the sky itself could only be seen when a 
 leaf was wafted aside; farther away, through 
 
 » The mountain pasture.
 
 SYNXOVE SOLBAKKEN. 71 
 
 the tree-tops, which did not touch one another, 
 it burst forth like a broad river, in whimsical 
 oscillations, and flowed over. This attuned his 
 mood, and he began to think of what he saw. 
 
 The birch laughed again, with its thousand 
 eyes, up at the spruce ; the fir stood there with 
 silent contempt, its spikes bristling on every 
 side, for as the breeze gradually became more 
 caressing, more and more of the saplings quick- 
 ened, darted upward, and thrust their fresh foli- 
 age right under the nose of the fir. " Where 
 were you, I wonder, last winter? " inquired the 
 fir, waving to and fro, and perspiring rosin, in 
 an intolerable heat. " This is almost too bad \ 
 — so far to the north. Whew ! " 
 
 But then there was an old, gray, bald fir, that, 
 towering above all the others, could still reach 
 down a many-fingered branch, almost perpen- 
 dicularly, and seize a courageous linden by its 
 topmost poll, and make it shiver clear down to 
 its knees. This fathom-thick fir had had its 
 branches lopped by man, higher and higher up, 
 until at last, weary and disgusted, it suddenly 
 shot so far upward that the slender spruce at 
 its side became frightened, and asked whether 
 it, too, remembered winter's storms. 
 
 "Do I remember them?" said 'the fir, and 
 with the aid of the north wind boxed the
 
 72 synnove solbakkex. 
 
 spruce's ears so smartly that it was not far from 
 losing its balance, and that was bad enough. 
 The large-limbed, dusky-hued fir had now 
 planted such a mighty foot in the ground that 
 its toes stuck out at least six yards off, and 
 were even thicker than the thickest part of the 
 willow, as the latter shyly whispered, one even- 
 ing, to the love-sick hop-vine that twined it- 
 self up over it. The bearded fir was conscious 
 of its power, and said to man, as far beyond his 
 reach it put forth branch after branch, " Strip 
 me if you can ! " 
 
 " No, they cannot strip you ! " said the eagle, 
 as he graciously alighted on the fir, folded his 
 wings with dignity, and brushed some miserable 
 sheep's blood off his feathers. " I really think 
 I shall ask the queen to settle here ; she has 
 some eggs she must lay," he added more softly, 
 and looked down at his bald legs ; for he was 
 ashamed because there came rushing over him 
 a quantity of tender memories of those earliest 
 spring days, during which one is apt to become 
 rather foolish with the first warmth of the sun. 
 Soon he raised his head again, and gazed from 
 beneath his feather-shaded brows up into the 
 dark mountain waste, in order to see whether 
 the queen, egg-laden and suffering, might not 
 be sailing about there. Off he then flew, and
 
 synnove solbakken. 73 
 
 the fir could soon see the pair far away toward 
 the clear, blue ether, where they were sailing 
 as high as the loftiest mountain peak, and were 
 discussing their household concerns. It cannot 
 be denied that the fir was a trifle anxious ; for, 
 proud though it felt, it would be still prouder 
 to get a brace of young eagles to cradle. The 
 pair came down, and directly to it. The} r did 
 not speak to each other, but set right to work 
 to fetch twigs. The fir expanded, if possible, 
 more than ever; nor was there any one who 
 could hinder it from doing this. 
 
 But through the rest of the forest there was 
 a busy chatter, when it was seen what honor 
 had been bestowed on the great fir. Thus there 
 was a small, comely birch that stood mirroring 
 itself in a pond, and thought it had a right to 
 expect a little love from a gray wagtail that 
 was in the habit of taking a noonday nap on 
 its branches. It had buried the wagtail in fra- 
 grance clear up to its beak ; it had covered 
 its leaves with insects, so that they were easy 
 enough to catch ; nay, finally it had, in the heat, 
 built and bent together a well-sheltered little 
 house of twigs, thatched with fresh leaves, so 
 that the wagtail really was about to establish it- 
 self there for the summer. Now, however, the 
 eagle had taken up his abode in the great fir,
 
 74 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 and off it must go. Here, indeed, was sorrow! 
 It trilled out a parting song, but very softly, 
 that the eagle might not notice it. 
 
 Some small sparrows, in the alder bush yon- 
 der, did not fare much better. They had kept 
 up such a clatter that a thrush, up in an ash 
 hard by, had never got to sleep at the right 
 time, had become furiously angry sometimes, 
 and had made a fuss. A solemn woodpecker 
 in the neighboring tree had laughed until it 
 had almost lost its footing. But then the eagle 
 was seen in the great fir ! and the thrush and 
 the little sparrows and the woodpecker, and 
 every creature that had wings, must be off in 
 a great hurry, over and under the branches. 
 The thrush had sworn, as he flew away, that 
 he would never again take a house where he 
 had sparrows for neighbors. 
 
 So the whole forest stood there, forsaken, and 
 musing amidst the cheerful sunshine. It was 
 to have all its joy in the great fir, but that was 
 a poor joy. The forest bowed down anxiously 
 every time the north wind stirred, the great fii 
 beat the air with its mighty branches, and the 
 eagle flew in a circle around it, calm and com- 
 posed, as though this were merely a creeping 
 puff of wind, that was bearing upward some 
 paltry perfumes from the forest. But the whole
 
 synnOve solbakken. 75 
 
 fir family was glad. Not one remembered that 
 it would get no nest to rock this year. 
 
 " Away ! " said the fir-trees ; " we are of the 
 same family." 
 
 " What are you lying tnere and thinking 
 about?" asked Ingrid, who smilingly advanced 
 from between some shrubs she was bending 
 aside. 
 
 Thorbjorn started up. 
 
 " Oh, so many things can play in one's 
 mind," said he, and gazed defiantly over the 
 trees. " Besides, there is so much talk in the 
 parish, in these days," he added, as he brushed 
 some dust from his clothes. 
 
 " Why do you always trouble yourself so 
 much about what people say ? " 
 
 " Oh, I do not know, exactly ; but — people 
 have never yet said anything that was not in 
 my mind, whether it was in my actions or not." 
 
 " That is a naughty thing to say." 
 
 " So it is," said he. Presently he added, 
 " But it is true." 
 
 She sat down on the greensward ; he stood 
 with his eyes fixed on the ground. 
 
 " I can easily become what they want me 
 to be ; they had better let me be as I am." 
 
 " Then it really is your own fault, after all."
 
 76 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " That may be, but the rest have a share 
 in it. I tell you, I want peace ! " he almost 
 shouted, and looked up at the eagle. 
 
 " Why, Thorbjorn ! " whispered Ingrid. 
 
 He turned toward her, and laughed. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " said he. " As I told you, 
 many things can play in one's mind. Have 
 you spoken with Synnove to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes. She has already gone to the saeter." 
 
 « To-day ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " With the Solbakken cattle ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Tralala! 
 The sun does his tree afar behold, 
 
 Triumlire! 
 ' Art thou there, thou, my own glittering gold? ' 
 Triumlit, triumling! 
 Wakes the bird, with a spring. 
 ' What is the matter? ' " 
 
 " To-morrow we let loose oar cattle," said 
 Ingrid. She wanted to turn his thoughts in 
 another direction. 
 
 " I am to go along and drive them ! " said 
 Thorbjorn. 
 
 "No, father wants to go himself." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! " observed he, and was silent. 
 
 " He asked for you to-day," said she. 
 
 '' Did he ? " said Thorbjorn, and cutting off 
 a twig with his sheath knife, he began to strip 
 the bark from it.
 
 SYKNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 77 
 
 " You should talk more with father than 
 you do," said she, gently. " He thinks a great 
 deal of you," she added. 
 
 " That may be so," replied he. 
 
 " He often talks of you when you are out." 
 
 "All the less frequently when I am in." 
 
 " That is your fault." 
 
 "Perhaps it is." 
 
 "You must not talk so, Thorbjornj you knew 
 very well what there is between you." 
 
 " What is there ? " 
 
 "Shall 7 repeat it?" 
 
 " It may as well come out at once, Ingrid , 
 you know as much as I do." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. You will go your own 
 way, and that you know he does not like." 
 
 "No; he would rather keep me in leading- 
 strings." 
 
 " Yes, especially when you are going to 
 fight." 
 
 " Are people to be allowed to do and say 
 whatever they choose ? " 
 
 " No ; but you can keep out of their way. 
 That is what father has done himself, and he 
 has become a respected man by so doing." 
 
 " Perhaps he has been less tormented than 
 1 have been." 
 
 Ingrid was silent a little while ; then she
 
 78 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 continued, after glancing around her : " There 
 is no use in speaking of this again ; but still, 
 whenever you know that enemies are in wait- 
 ing, you ought to keep out of the way." 
 
 " No ; that is just where I want to be ! My 
 name is not Thorbjorn Granliden for nothing." 
 
 He had stripped the bark from the twig ; 
 now he cut the latter in two. Ingrid fixed her 
 eyes on him, and asked, rather slowly, " Are 
 you going to Nordhoug on Sunday?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 After having sat silent for a while, without 
 looking at him, she said again, " Do you know 
 that Knud Nordhoug has come home to his 
 sister's wedding? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Now she looked at him. "Thorbjorn! Thor- 
 bjorn ! " 
 
 " Shall he be allowed now any more than 
 before to interfere between me and others ? " 
 
 " He does not interfere, — not more than 
 others wish." 
 
 "Nobody knows what others may wish." 
 
 " Yes, you do know well enough." 
 
 " At all events, she never says anything her- 
 eelf." 
 
 " Oh, how you do talk ! " said Ingrid, looking 
 displeased ; and then, getting up, she glanced 
 over her shoulder.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 79 
 
 He flung away his bits of twig, put liis knife 
 into its sheath, and turned toward her. 
 
 " Listen ! I sometimes get tired of this. 
 People ruin both my honor and hers with their 
 gossip, for nothing is done openly. And, on 
 the other hand, — I cannot so much as go 
 over to Solbakken, — because her parents do 
 not like me, she says. I am not allowed to 
 visit her as other lads go to see their girls, 
 because she is now one of the saints — to be 
 sure ! " 
 
 " Thorbjorn ! " said Ingrid, becoming rather 
 uneasy. 
 
 But he continued: "Father will not put in 
 a word for me. ' If I deserve her I will get 
 her,' he says. Stuff, nonsense, on the one side, 
 and no compensation for it all on the other ! 
 \Vl13r, I do not as much as know whether she 
 really " — 
 
 Ingrid started forward, and placed her hand 
 over his mouth, looking behind her as she did 
 so. Just then the bushes were bent aside, and a 
 tall, slender person, blushing rosy red, stepped 
 forward : it was Synnove. 
 
 " Good-evening ! " said she. 
 
 Ingrid looked at Thorbjorn as though she 
 would say: "There, you can see for yourself ! " 
 Thorbjorn glanced at Ingrid as though he
 
 80 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 wanted to say, " You should not have dune 
 so." Neither looked at Synnove. 
 
 " I suppose I may be allowed to sit down a 
 while : I have walked so much to-day," and she 
 seated herself. 
 
 Thorbjorn turned his head as if to see 
 whether it was dry where she had sat down. 
 Ingrid had let her eyes wander over to Gran- 
 liden, and now she suddenly cried out, — 
 
 " Oh dear ! oh dear ! Fagerlin has got loose, 
 and is going across the new-plowed field. The 
 horrid beast! What, Kelleros, too? Well, 
 that is really too much ; it is time for us to be 
 off to the saeter ! " and she started down the 
 slope, without even saying farewell. Synnove 
 arose at once. 
 
 " Are you going ? " asked Thorbjorn 
 
 " Yes," said she ; but she stood still. 
 
 " You might as well wait a little," he ob- 
 served, without looking at her. 
 
 " Another time," replied she, gently. 
 
 " That may be a long time hence." 
 
 She raised her eyes. He was looking at her 
 uk>, now; but it was quite a while before either 
 spoke. 
 
 u Sit down again," said he, a little em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 ** No," she answered, and remained standing
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 81 
 
 He felt a sense of defiance rising within him ; 
 but just then she did something which he had 
 not expected : she advanced a step, bent her- 
 self forward to him, looked up into his eyes, 
 and said, with a smile, — 
 
 ' Are you angry with me ? " 
 
 And when he ventured to return her look 
 she began to cry. 
 
 " No !" replied he, his face flaming. He held 
 out his hand ; but as her eyes were full of 
 tears, she did not see it, and he drew it back. 
 Presently he said, " So you have heard it?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, then looked up and 
 smiled. But there were now more tears in 
 her eyes than before. He knew not what he 
 should do and say ; therefore the words escaped 
 his lips, — 
 
 " I have no doubt behaved too badly." 
 
 This was spoken very gently. She looked 
 down and turned half away. " You should 
 not judge what you know nothing about." 
 
 This was said in a half-choked voice, and it 
 grieved him ; he felt like a helpless boy, and 
 so he said, as he could not think of anything 
 else : "I beg your pardon." 
 
 But now she actually burst out crying. This 
 he could not bear, but went over to her, put 
 his arm about her waist, and, bending down
 
 82 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 over her, said, "Do you really care for me, 
 then, Synnove ? " 
 
 " Yes," she sobbed. 
 
 " But you are not happy ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " But you are not happy ? " repeated he. 
 
 She now wept more than ever, and tried to 
 draw herself away. 
 
 " Synnove ! " said he, and tightened his hold. 
 She, still weeping, nestled up to him. "Come, 
 we must talk a little together," continued he, 
 and he helped her to a seat in the heather ; he 
 himself sat down by her side. She dried her 
 eyes, and tried to smile ; but she could not. 
 He took one of her hands, and looked into her 
 face. " Dear, why cannot I come over to Sol- 
 bakken ? " 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Have you never urged this ? " 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 " Why have you not done so ? " he asked, 
 and now drew her hand nearer to him. 
 
 " I dare not," said she, quite softly. 
 
 His face grew dark ; he moved one foot a 
 little toward him, and, resting his elbow on his 
 knee, laid his head in his hand. 
 
 " In this way, I shall probably never get over 
 there," said ho, finally.
 
 synnOve solbakkex. 83 
 
 Instead of replying, she began to pull up the 
 heather. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have no doubt done many 
 things which were not as they should be. 
 But indeed, people might bear a little with me. 
 I am not wicked" — he hesitated a moment; 
 "besides, I am still young, — only a little over 
 twenty years old, but" — he could not finish the 
 sentence at once. " But any one who is really 
 fond of me," he added, "ought to" — and 
 here he stopped outright. Then he heard, in 
 suppressed tones at his side, — 
 
 "You must not talk so; you do not know 
 how much one — I dare not even tell Ingrid 
 about it" — and again she burst into tears. 
 "I — suffer — so — much ! " 
 
 He threw his arms around her, and drew her 
 close to him. " Talk to your parents," whis- 
 pered he, " and all will come right, you will 
 see." 
 
 " It will be as you wish," she sobbed. 
 
 " As I wish ? " 
 
 Then Synnove turned, and put her arm 
 about his neck. " If you only cared for me as 
 much as I do for you," said she, very lovingly, 
 and with an attempt to smile. 
 
 " And do I not ? " asked he, softly and ten- 
 derly.
 
 34 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " No, no ; you never take ray advice. You 
 know what will bring us together, but you 
 never do it. Why do you not do it?" And 
 as she now at length had begun to speak, her 
 words flowed freely, and she continued in the 
 s;ime strain : " Ah me ! if you only knew how 
 I have longed for the day when I might see 
 you over at Solbakken. But there is always 
 something to hear which is not as it ought to 
 be, and your own parents are the people who 
 bring it over to us." 
 
 There was kindled, as it were, a light within 
 him ; and he now distinctly saw her moving 
 about at Solbakken, waiting for a little peace- 
 ful moment when she might quietly speak of 
 him to her parents ; but he never gave her 
 such a moment. 
 
 " You should have told me this before, 
 Synnove ! " 
 
 " And have I not done so ? " 
 
 " No, not as now." 
 
 She thought this over a little ; presently she 
 said, carefully laying small folds in her apron, 
 " Then I suppose it was because — I did not 
 quite dare." 
 
 But the idea of her being afraid of him 
 touched him so deeply that, for the first time 
 in his life, he gave her a kiss.
 
 SYNNCVE SOLBAKKEX. 85 
 
 This so astonished her that she suddenly 
 stopped crying ; her eyes grew unsteady, as she 
 tried to smile, looked down, then up at him, 
 and now really smiled. They talked no more, 
 but they found each other's hand again; neither 
 ventured upon the slightest pressure. Then she 
 drew gently back, began to wipe her eyes and 
 her face, and to smooth her hair, as it had be- 
 come somewhat disordered. He sat there think- 
 ing to himself, as he looked at her, " If she is 
 more shy than the other girls in the parish, 
 and wants to be treated in a different way, it 
 will not do to make any objections." 
 
 He accompanied her up to the sseter, which 
 lay not very far distant. He would have liked 
 to walk hand in hand with her, but there 
 had come something over him that made him 
 scarcely dare touch her, and feel that it was 
 strange that he was allowed to walk by her 
 side. 
 
 When they parted, he said, " It shall be 
 some time before you hear anything bad of me 
 again." 
 
 At home, he found his father engaged in 
 carrying grain from the store-house to the mill ; 
 for the people in tne parish round about had 
 their grinding done at the Gran lid mill, when 
 the water in their own brooks had given out ;
 
 86 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 the Granlicl mill-stream was never dry. There 
 were a great many bags to carry, some pretty 
 heavy, some exceedingly large. The women 
 stood near by, wringing the clothes they had 
 in the wash. Thorbjorn went over to his fa- 
 ther, and laid hold of a bag. " Would you like 
 me to help you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I can do it very well alone," said Sae- 
 mnnd, as he briskly lifted a bag on his back 
 and moved away toward the mill. 
 
 " There are many of them," said Thorbjorn ; 
 and seizing two large ones, put his back up 
 against them, and drew them over his shoul- 
 ders, each with one hand, while he steadied 
 them on either side with his elbow. Midway, 
 he met Ssemund, who was returning for more; 
 his father gave him a hasty glance, but said 
 nothing. As Thorbjorn, in his turn, went back 
 to the store-house, he met Ssemund with two 
 still larger bags. This time Thorbjorn took 
 a small one, and went with it ; when Ssemund 
 met him he looked at him again, and longer 
 than the first time. So it happened that at 
 last they met at the store-house. 
 
 " There has come a message from Nordhong," 
 said Ssemund ; " they want to have you at tht 
 wedding on Sunday." 
 
 Ingrid looked imploringly over at him from 
 her work ; his mother, too.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 87 
 
 "Ah, indeed," answered Thorbjorn, dryly, 
 but took this time the largest two bags he 
 could find. 
 
 " Are you going ? " asked Saemund, in a 
 gloomy temper 
 
 « No."
 
 CHAPTER TV. 
 
 The Granlid saeter was beautifully situated, 
 sommanding a fine view of the parish; of Sol 
 bakken, first and foremost, with its many-hued 
 groves about it, and then of the other gards, 
 which lay forest-encircled, so that the green 
 patch with houses in its midst looked like a 
 peace-stead that had been discovered and 
 forcibly snatched from the wild woodlands. 
 There were fourteen gards that could be counted 
 from the Granlid saiter ; of the houses of the 
 Granlid gard the roofs alone could be seen, and 
 even these only from the extreme end of the 
 Salter lawn. Nevertheless, the girls often sat 
 watching the smoke which rose from the chim- 
 neys. 
 
 " Now, mother is cooking dinner," said In- 
 grid. " To-day they will have corned beef and 
 bacon." 
 
 " Listen ! they are calling the men," said 
 Synnove. " I wonder where they are work- 
 ing to-day," and the eyes of both girls followed 
 the smoke that darted up in giddy haste through
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 89 
 
 the clear, glad, sunny air, but soon slackened its 
 speed, considered a while, then spread out in a 
 broad processional sweep, growing ever thinner 
 and thinner, until at last it became like a flut- 
 tering veil, and soon was scarcely visible. Many 
 thoughts would then arise in their minds, and 
 wander out over the parish. To-day the guests 
 were all assembled at Nordhoug. It was a 
 couple of days after the wedding, but as the 
 festivities were to last six days, there reached 
 them every now and then the report of a gun, 
 and the voices of those who could shout the 
 loudest. 
 
 " They are having a merry time there," re- 
 marked Ingrid. 
 
 " I do not envy them," said Synnove, and 
 took up her knitting. 
 
 " Still it would be interesting to be there," 
 said Ingrid, who was sitting on her heels, and 
 looking toward the gard, where the people were 
 walking to and fro among the houses, — some 
 going toward the store-house, where probably 
 tables of refreshments were spread, others in 
 pairs, separated from the rest, in confidential 
 conversation. 
 
 " I do not quite know what there is to de- 
 sire over there," said Synnove. 
 
 " I scarcely know myself," replied Ingrid,
 
 90 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 who sat as before. " I suppose it must be the 
 dancing," she added. 
 
 Synnove made no reply to this. 
 
 " Have you never danced?" asked Ingrid. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Do you think, then, that dancing is a sin ? " 
 
 " I really do not know." 
 
 Ingrid said nothing more upon the subject 
 just then, for she remembered that the Hau- 
 gians strictly forbade dancing, and she did not 
 care to inquire further into the position Syn- 
 nove's parents took with her in this particular. 
 But whatever train of thought she might have 
 fallen into, she said, presently, "A better dancer 
 than Thorbjorn I have never seen." 
 
 Synnove paused a while before she said, 
 " Yes, he is said to dance well." 
 
 " You should see him dance ! " burst out In- 
 grid, turning toward her. 
 
 But Synnove answered abruptly, " No, I do 
 not wish to see that." Ingrid was a little sur- 
 prised at this. Synnove bent over her knit- 
 ting, and began to count the stitches. Sud- 
 denly she let her knitting fall in her lap, gazed 
 vacantly before her, and said, " So intensely 
 happy, though, as I am to-day, I have not been 
 for a long time." 
 
 " Why ? " inquired Ingrid.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 91 
 
 " Oh — because lie is not dancing at Nord- 
 houg to-day." 
 
 Ingrid sat lost in her own thoughts. " Well, 
 there are, no doubt, many girls who would like 
 to have him there," said she. 
 
 Synnove parted her lips as though she were 
 about to speak, but she did not utter a word, 
 knit off the last stitch of a needle, and began 
 on another. 
 
 " Thorbjorn probably longs to be there him- 
 self ; I feel sure of that," said Ingrid ; but did 
 not, until it was too late, consider what she had 
 said, and looked at Synnove, who sat there over 
 her knitting, blushing crimson. 
 
 Now Ingrid was able to take a hasty review 
 of the whole conversation ; she clasped her 
 hands, moved on her knees over the heather 
 until she brought herself in front of her, and 
 began to look Synnove squarely in the face ; 
 but Synnove went on knitting. 
 
 Then Ingrid laughed, and said, " Now, for 
 many a long day you have been hiding some- 
 thing from me, again." 
 
 " What do you say ? " asked Synnove, and 
 cast a questioning look at her. 
 
 " You are not angry because Thorbjorn 
 dances," said Ingrid, laughing as before. The 
 other did not answer. Ingrid's face was one
 
 92 synnOve solbakken. 
 
 broad smile, and now she put her arms about 
 Synnove's neck, and whispered in her ear, 
 "But you are angry because he dances with 
 others than you ! " 
 
 "How you do talk!" said Synnove, tore 
 herself away, and arose. Ingrid got up also, 
 and followed her. 
 
 " It is a pity that you cannot dance, Syn- 
 nove," said she, and laughed, — " really a great 
 pity ! Come, now, I might just as well teach 
 you at once ! " 
 
 She took Synnove by the waist. 
 
 " What are you going to do ? " inquired 
 Synnove. 
 
 " Teach you to dance, that you may not have 
 such sorrow in the world as to have him dance 
 with others than you ! " 
 
 Now Synnove too had to laugh, or at least 
 make a show of lauffhinsj. 
 
 " Some one might see us," said she. 
 
 " Bless you for that answer, stupid as it was," 
 replied Ingrid, and began forthwith to sing 
 " tra-la-la," and move Synnove round in step 
 to it. 
 
 " No, no ! It is not possible ! " 
 
 " You have not been so happy for many a 
 day, you said a while ago. Now, come ! " 
 
 " If it only were possible ! "
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 93 
 
 " Just try, and you will see that it is possi- 
 ble ! " 
 
 " You are so giddy, In grid ! " 
 
 " That is just what the cat said to the spar- 
 row, when the sparrow would not stand still 
 and let the cat catch him. Come, now ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I actually feel inclined to, myself 
 but" — 
 
 "Now I am Thorbjorn, and you are his 
 young wife, who will not have him dance with 
 any one but yourself." 
 
 "But" — 
 
 Ingrid sang again "tra-la-la." 
 
 " But " — Synnove still insisted ; yet she was 
 already dancing ! It was a spring-dance, and 
 Ingrid went on in advance with great strides 
 and manly swing of the arms; Synnove fol- 
 lowed with short steps and downcast eyes* — 
 and Ingrid sang : — 
 
 " The fox once lay 'neath the birch-tree's root, 
 By the heather ; 
 The hare came hopping there, on tripping foot, 
 O'er the heather. 
 1 Well, this, indeed, is a sunny day, 
 And glitt'ring beams all around here play, 
 O'er the heather.' 
 
 " The fox then laughed in his quiet lair, 
 By the heather ; 
 In wanton mood came frolicking the hare, 
 O'er the heather.
 
 94 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 ' I feel so glad over everything, 
 Heigho ! — but j t ou make a daring spring, 
 O'er the heather.' 
 
 " The fox lay quietly waiting there, 
 By the heather; 
 And tumbling right toward him came the hare, 
 
 O'er the heather. 
 ' Good gracious ! why, is that you, my dear ? 
 Pray, how can you dare come dancing here 
 O'er the heather ? ' " 1 
 
 " There ! was it not possible?" asked Ingrid 
 as they paused, out of breath. 
 
 Synnove laughed, and declared she would 
 like better to waltz. " Why, there is nothing 
 in the way of that," observed Ingrid, and they 
 prepared for it at once by Ingrid showing her 
 how she should place her feet; "for waltzing is 
 difficult," said she. 
 
 " Oh, it is easy enough, if we can only keep 
 time," said Synnove ; and so Ingrid suggested 
 that they should try. 
 
 So they did, Ingrid singing and Synnove 
 joining in, at first only humming, then aloud. 
 But suddenly Ingrid paused, let go of her, 
 and clasped her hands in sheer astonishment. 
 " Why, you can waltz ! " she broke out. 
 
 " Hush ! Do not let us talk about it any 
 more," said Synnove, and again took hold of 
 Ingrid to continue. 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 95 
 
 "But where did you learn " — 
 
 "Tra-la-la, tra-la-la!" and Synnove swung 
 In grid round. 
 
 Then Insrid danced to her heart's content, 
 while singing, — 
 
 "See, sunbeams dance on old Haukelid high; 
 Dance, my sweetheart, for shades of evening draw nigh ! 
 The stream now leaps tow'rd the glitt'ring wave ; 
 Leap, too, rollicking youth, leap on to thy grave ! 
 See, birch-trees bend to the wind's giddy play ; 
 Bend, thou confident maid ! What now did give way ? 
 See"i — 
 
 What curious songs you are singing ! " said 
 Synnove, and stopped dancing. 
 
 " I do not know what I am singing ; I have 
 heard Thorbjorn sing them." 
 
 " They are Slave Bent's songs," said Syn- 
 nove. " I know them." 
 
 "Are they?" asked Ingrid, and felt a little 
 uneasy. She sat with her eyes fixed on the 
 ground, and said nothing. All at once her 
 attention was drawn to some one down on the 
 road below. " Say, there is some one driving 
 down from Granliden, and taking the parish 
 road!" 
 
 Synnove looked that way, too. " Is it he ? ' 
 asked she. 
 
 " Yes, it is Thorbjorn ; he is going to town." 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 96 synnove solbakken. 
 
 It was Tkorbjorn, and he was driving to 
 town. It was a long distance off. He had a 
 heavy load, and therefore drove leisurely along 
 the dusty road. This was so situated that it 
 could be seen from the sseter, and when he 
 heard the shouting from above he knew who 
 was there stood up on his load and shouted 
 back again, so that it resounded through the 
 mountains. Then the loor was played down to 
 him ; he sat and listened, and when it stopped 
 he stood up again and shouted. This continued 
 as he drove on, and it put him in high spirits. 
 He looked at Solbakken, and thought it had 
 never had so much sun as now. But while he 
 sat there looking at it, he entirely forgot his 
 driving, so that the horse went its own way. 
 Suddenly he was startled by its making a great 
 spring to one side, so that one thill cracked, and 
 off went the horse in a wild trot across the 
 Nordhoug fields ; for it was over them the road 
 lay. He stood up in the cart and drew in the 
 reins. There arose a struggle between him and 
 the horse; it was about dashing over a precipice, 
 and he held it back. He got it so far that it 
 reared, and then he sprang down, and before the 
 horse could start on again lie had caught hold of 
 a tree ; now the horse was forced to stand still. 
 The load was overturned, one thill broken, and
 
 STATt NUHNtAL i>unuuL, 
 Los Angeles, 
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 97 
 
 the horse stood and shivered. Thorbjorn went 
 forward to the animal, took it by the bridle, 
 and spoke gently to it ; he at once turned it, 
 to make sure of avoiding the precipice if it 
 should start off again. Stand still it could not, 
 so terrified was it, and he was compelled to fol- 
 low it, running along, farther and farther on, 
 straight up to the road again. He thus passed 
 directly by his own things, which lay over- 
 turned ; the pails and tubs broken, and their 
 contents partly destroyed. Hitherto he had 
 thought only of the danger ; now he began to 
 consider the consequences, and waxed wroth. It 
 was plain to him that there would be no trip to 
 town that day, and the more he reflected upon 
 it the more vexed he became. Reaching the 
 road, the horse gave another jump, then tried 
 with one bound to tear itself loose ; and now 
 Thorbjorn's anger broke out. While he held 
 the bridle with his left hand, with the great 
 riding-whip in his right, he gave the horse 
 lash after lash, lash after lash, on its flanks, 
 until it was so maddened that it struck out at 
 his breast with its fore-feet. But he held it 
 off from him, and beat it now harder than be- 
 fore, with all his might, and using the butt end 
 of his whip. 
 
 " I will teach you, you obstinate scamp ! " 
 7
 
 98 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 and he struck. The horse neighed and whin- 
 nied ; he struck. " Ha ! you shall make the 
 acquaintance of a fist that is strong ! " and he 
 struck. The horse snorted until the foam 
 rolled down over his hand ; but he struck. 
 " This shall be the first and last time, you crip- 
 ple ! There ! Once more ! So ! Ho, you 
 worthless nag, you shall learn how a man can 
 punish ! " and he struck. 
 
 Meanwhile, they had turned ; the horse had 
 ceased to offer any resistance, quivered and 
 quaked under every blow, and crouched, neigh- 
 ing, whenever it saw the whip approaching. 
 Then Thorbjorn became rather ashamed; he 
 paused. At the same time he espied a man, 
 who sat on the edge of a ditch by the road- 
 side, leaning on his elbow, and laughing at 
 him. He knew not how it happened ; it grew 
 dark before his eyes, and, holding the horse by 
 one hand, he started toward the man with up- 
 lifted whip. " I will give you something to 
 laugh at ! " he shouted. The blow fell, but 
 it half missed its mark, for with a shriek the 
 man rolled down into the ditch. There he re- 
 mained standing on all fours, but he raised his 
 head, squinted at Thorbjorn, puckered up his 
 mouth as for laughter ; yet the sound of laugh- 
 ter was not heard. Thorbjorn was startled, for
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 99 
 
 this face lie had seen before. Yes, it was 
 Aslak. 
 
 Thorbjorn did not know why, but there ran 
 a cold shiver down his back. " I suppose it 
 was you who frightened the horse both times," 
 said he. 
 
 " Why, I was only lying there asleep," an- 
 swered Aslak, and drew himself up a little ; 
 " and you woke me when you got so frantic 
 over your horse." 
 
 " It was you who made the horse frantic. 
 All animals are afraid of you," and he patted 
 the horse, from whom the sweat was pouring 
 in streams. 
 
 " I should think he would be more afraid of 
 you now than of me. I have never acted so to 
 any horse," said Aslak, who was now bolt-up- 
 right on his knees in the ditch. 
 
 " Do not use too strong language," said 
 Thorbjorn, and shook his whip menacingly. 
 
 Aslak arose then, and scrambled up out of 
 the ditch. 
 
 " I, you say, — I use strong language ? No ! " 
 " Where were you going, that you were driving 
 so fast?" said he, in a bland voice, as he ap- 
 proached Thorbjorn, but staggered from side 
 to side, for he was drunk. 
 
 "I shall not have much chance of going be-
 
 100 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 yond here to-day," said Thorbjorn, who was 
 unhitching his horse. 
 
 " That is really provoking," said Aslak ; and 
 he drew still nearer, touching his hat as he did 
 so. " Lord bless me ! " said he. " Such a great 
 fine fellow you have grown to be, since last I 
 saw you ! " 
 
 With both fists in his pockets, he stood, as 
 well as he could, contemplating Thorbjorn, who 
 could not get his horse loose from the wreck 
 of the cart. Thorbjorn needed help, but he 
 could not bring himself to ask it of this fellow ; 
 for Aslak looked ugly : his clothes were soiled 
 from the ditch, his hair hung in matted tangles 
 from under a glossy hat that was pretty old, 
 and the face, although partly the well-known 
 one of old, was now distorted into one contin- 
 ual broad grin, the eyes were still more closed 
 than ever, so that he had to throw his head a 
 little back and open his mouth a little, when 
 he looked at any one. His features had be- 
 come flabby, his whole form rigid ; for Aslak 
 drank. Thorbjorn had seen him frequently be- 
 fore, which Aslak did not let on that he knew. 
 As a peddler, he had been in the habit of going 
 the rounds of the parish, and was fond of being 
 where there was any merry-making, as he had 
 many songs to sing, told a good story, and got
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 101 
 
 his brandy in return. Thus he had now been 
 at the Nordhoug wedding, but had, as Thor- 
 bjorn afterwards learned, found it wise to absent 
 himself for a tirm., as he had, according to an 
 old trick of his, stirred the people up to a fight, 
 and it threatened to break over his own head. 
 
 " You might just as well fasten him to the 
 cart as try to get him loose from it," said he. 
 "You will have to go up to Nordhoug, any way, 
 to get things put in order again." 
 
 Thorbjorn had, no doubt, thought the same, 
 but would have preferred not to think so. 
 " There is a great wedding up there," said he. 
 
 " So much greater the help," replied Aslak. 
 
 Thorbjorn stood somewhat irresolute ; but 
 without aid he could neither get forward nor 
 backward, and so it was best to go up to the 
 gard. He fastened his horse for the time, and 
 started. Aslak followed. Thorbjorn looked 
 back at him. 
 
 " So I go back to the wedding in good com- 
 pany," said Aslak, and laughed. Thorbjorn 
 made no reply, but walked fast. Aslak came 
 on behind, singing, — 
 
 " Two peasants once fared to the wedding feast," etc., — 
 
 an old, well-known ballad. " I say, you are 
 walking fast," said he, presently. " You will 
 get there, any way," he added.
 
 102 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 Thorbjorn made no reply. 
 
 Sounds of dancing and music met them. 
 Faces were visible peering out at them through 
 the open windows in the great two-story build- 
 ing. Groups gathered together outside. He 
 saw that they vvere querying among themselves 
 as to who the new-comers could be ; presently, 
 that he was recognized, and that by degrees 
 they descried the horse down yonder, and the 
 pails and tubs which lay scattered over the 
 ground. The dancing ceased ; the whole crowd 
 swarmed out into the gard just as Thorbjorn 
 and Aslak came up. 
 
 " Here comes an unwilling wedding guest ! " 
 cried Aslak, as he finally approached the group, 
 behind Thorbjorn. 
 
 The people greeted Thorbjorn, and speedily 
 encircled him. 
 
 " God bless the gathering ! Good ale on the 
 table, pretty women on the floor, and good fid- 
 dlers on the stool! " cried Aslak, pushing him- 
 self, as he spoke, right into their midst. 
 
 Some laughed, others looked grave ; one said, 
 "Aslak. the peddler, is always in good spirits."' 
 
 Thorbjorn at once found acquaintances, whom 
 he had to tell about his accident ; they would 
 not allow him to go himself after his horse 
 and things, but bade others go. The bride-
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 103 
 
 groom, a young man, and former school-mate, 
 asked him in to taste of the wedding- brewing ; 
 and now they passed on into the house. Some 
 wanted to continue the dancing, especially the 
 women; others wished to have a little time for 
 drinking, and to get Aslak to tell them stories, 
 since he had now returned to the gard again, in 
 spite of everything. 
 
 " But you will have to be a little more on 
 your guard than last time," one added. 
 
 Thorbjorn inquired where all the people 
 were. 
 
 " Oh," was the reply, " there was a little 
 disturbance here a while ago ; now some have 
 gone to rest, others are over yonder in the barn, 
 playing cards, and some are sitting where Knucl 
 Nordhoug is." 
 
 He did not ask where Knud Nordhoug was. 
 
 The bridegroom's father, an old man, who 
 sat smoking a clay pipe and drinking ale, now 
 said, " Come, out with a yarn, you Aslak ! It 
 will be entertaining for once." 
 
 " Are there others who ask me ? " inquired 
 Aslak, who had seated himself astride a stool, 
 a little distance from the table, around which 
 several others sat. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," said the bridegroom, and 
 gave him a dram ; " now I ask you."
 
 104 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " Are there many who ask in this way ? " 
 said Aslak. 
 
 " It may be," said a young woman over on a 
 side bench, and offered him a stoup of wine. 
 It was the bride, a woman of about twenty 
 years of age, light complexioned, but very thin 
 and haggard, with large eyes, and rigid lines 
 about the mouth. " I like your stories very 
 well," she added. 
 
 The bridegroom looked at her, and his father 
 looked at him. 
 
 " Yes, Nordhoug folks have always liked my 
 yarns ! " said Aslak. " Honor be to them ! " 
 he exclaimed, and drained a glass which was 
 handed him by one of the groomsmen. 
 
 "Come, then, out with something!" shouted 
 several. 
 
 " About Sigrid, the gypsy woman," cried one. 
 
 " No, that is awful ! " said others, especially 
 women. 
 
 " About the battle of Lier ! " begged Svend, 
 the drummer. 
 
 " No ; rather something amusing ! " then said 
 a very erect lad, who stood in his shirt sleeves, 
 leaning up against the wall, while his right 
 band, which hung relaxed at his side, rather too 
 frequently found its way into the hair of some 
 young girls who sat near him. They scolded, 
 but they did not stir.
 
 SYXXOVE SOLBAKKEN. 105 
 
 " Yes, that is what I will tell, — yes, I will," 
 said Aslak. 
 
 " The deuce ! " muttered an elderly man, 
 who lay across the bed smoking. One leg hung 
 down ; with the other he kept kicking a fine 
 jacket, which hung over the bed-post. 
 
 " Let my jacket alone ! " called out the lad 
 who stood up against the wall. 
 
 " Let my daughters alone ! " rejoined he who 
 lay on the bed. 
 
 Now the girls moved away. 
 
 " Ho, I will tell what I please ! "' cried 
 Aslak. "For the brandy cup stirs the courage 
 up!" said he, clapping together the palms of 
 bis hands. 
 
 " Tell us what we please," reiterated the man 
 on the bed ; " for the brandy is ours." 
 
 "What does that signify?" inquired Aslak, 
 with wide-opened eyes. 
 
 " Oh, the pig we fatten we kill, too," an- 
 swered the man, dangling his leg. 
 
 Aslak closed his eyes, but sat still, without 
 changing the position of his head ; then it fell 
 on his breast, and he was silent. Several spoke 
 to him, but he did not hear them. " The 
 brandy has got the better of him," said he who 
 lay on the bed. 
 
 Presently, Aslak looked up, once more as-
 
 106 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 sumed his usual smile, and remarked, " Yes, 
 now you shall hear a jovial tale. Lord bless 
 me ! how jovial ! " said he, after a while, open- 
 ing wide his mouth as though he were laughing, 
 without any sound of laughter being heard. 
 
 " He is really in fine spirits to-day," said the 
 bridgroom's father. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, he is! " cried Aslak. " A glass 
 before starting, then ! " said he, and stretched 
 out his hand. 
 
 It was handed him. He drained it slowly, 
 held his head a little back with the last drop in 
 his mouth, then swallowed it, and, turning to 
 him on the bed, said, " There, now, I am your 
 pig ! " and laughed as before. He clasped his 
 hands about his knee, and thus raised his foot 
 up and down, while he himself rocked to and 
 fro, and then he began : — 
 
 " Well, once there was a girl who lived off 
 in a valley. What the valley was called does 
 not matter, nor what the girl's name was. But 
 the girl was pretty; so thought the owner of the 
 ^ard at — hist ! — and it was at his place she 
 served. She received good wages, she did, and 
 she got more than she should have had, — she 
 got a child. Folks said that it was by him ; but 
 he did not say so, for he was married, nor did 
 ehe say so, for she was proud, the poor wretch.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 107 
 
 So there was, no doubt, a lie told at the christ- 
 ening ; and the child she had brought into the 
 world was an outcast of a boy, so that it really 
 did not matter if he was christened in a lie. A 
 tenant house down below the gard was given 
 to her, which the wife at the gard did not like, 
 as might have been expected. Whenever the 
 girl came up there she spit after her, and when 
 the little lad of hers came to play with the 
 gard-boys she told them to drive the bastard 
 away ; he deserved nothing better, she said. 
 
 " The wife begged her husband, both by 
 night and by day, to turn the wretched girl on 
 the parish. The man resisted so long as there 
 was anything of a man left in him ; but at last 
 he fell to drinking, and then his wife got the 
 upper hand. After that the poor wretch had a 
 hard time of it ; every year it grew worse, and 
 got so at last that she was on the verge of starv- 
 ing to death, with her little boy, who would not 
 go away from his mother. 
 
 " So it continued, year after year, until eight 
 of them had passed by ; still the girl had not 
 left the place, although now she was forced to 
 go away. And so she went. But first the 
 entire gard was in a fine blaze, and the man 
 ourned to death, for he was drunk. The wife 
 Baved herself and the children, and she said it
 
 108 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 was that miserable girl down at the tenant 
 house who had kindled the fire. It might be 
 that this was so. And it might also be other- 
 wise. That was a singular boy of hers. For 
 eight years he had seen his mother roughing 
 it, and knew well where the fault lay, for she 
 had often told him when he asked why she was 
 always crying. She had done so the day be- 
 fore she was to leave, and that was why he had 
 gone off at night. But she was imprisoned for 
 life, because she told the judge herself that it 
 was she who had made the fine blaze up at the 
 gard. The boy lived on the parish, and got 
 help from everybody, because he had such a 
 wicked mother. Then he left this parish, and 
 went far away to another, where he did not 
 receive much aid, for there he found no one 
 who knew what a wicked mother he had. I 
 do not think he told of it himself. The last I 
 heard of him he was drunk, and they say he 
 has given himself up to drink of late : whether 
 this be true or not shall remain unsaid ; but it 
 is true that I do not know what better he could 
 do. He is a bad, wicked fellow, that is certain ; 
 he does not love people, loves them still less 
 when they are good to one another, and least 
 of all when they are good to him. And he 
 wants others to be like himself, although he
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 109 
 
 says so onl} 7 when he is drunk. And then he 
 cries, too, cries so that it hails, about nothing 
 in the world ; for what should he have to cry 
 about ? He has not stolen a shilling from any 
 one, nor done a single one of the wild things 
 many others do; so he really has nothing to cry 
 about. Nevertheless, he does cry, and cries so 
 that it hails. And if you should see him cry 
 never believe in it, for it is only when he is 
 drunk, and then he is not to be noticed." 
 
 Here Aslak fell back on the stool in a. loud fit 
 of weeping, which was soon over, for he dropped 
 asleep. 
 
 " Now the swine is drunk," said the man on 
 the bed ; " that is the way he always lies blub- 
 bering in his sleep." 
 
 " That was horrid," said the women, and 
 arose to go away. 
 
 " I have never heard him tell anything dif- 
 ferent when he was allowed to choose for him- 
 self," now said an old man, over by the door, 
 getting up. " The Lord knows why folks will 
 listen to him," he added, looking at the bride.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Some went out ; others tried to get the fid- 
 dler to come in again, that the dancing might 
 begin ; but the fiddler was asleep in a corner 
 of the passage, and a few begged for him that 
 he might be left in peace. " Since Lars, his 
 comrade," they said, " was hurt in the fight, 
 Ole had been obliged to hold out over twenty- 
 four hours." 
 
 The men had arrived at the gard with Thor- 
 bjorn's horse and things ; his horse was hitched 
 to another cart, since, in spite of all urging, he 
 would insist on going again. It was the bride- 
 groom, in especial, who tried to detain him. 
 " There may, perhaps, not be as much happi- 
 ness for me here as it would seem," said he ; 
 and this suggested a thought to Thorbjorn ; 
 but he nevertheless resolved to leave before 
 evening came. When they saw that he was 
 firm, they scattered over the grounds ; there 
 were many people present, but there was an 
 oppressive stillness, and, indeed, little appear- 
 ance of a wedding. Thorbjorn needed a new
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. Ill 
 
 harness-pin, and went off to find one ; at the 
 •gar'd there was no suitable material, and so he 
 went a little outside, and came to a wood-shed, 
 which he entered slowly and quietly, for the 
 words of the bridegroom haunted him. He 
 found what he wanted, but furthermore, with- 
 out being conscious of what he was doing, he 
 seated himself against the one wall, with a 
 knife and the pin in his hand. Then he heard 
 a groaning near by ; it was on the other side 
 of the thin wall, in the carriage-house, and 
 Thorbjorn listened. 
 
 " Is that — really — you?" he heard, uttered 
 with a long interval between the words, and by 
 a man who spoke with difficulty. Then he 
 heard some one weeping, but that was not a 
 man. 
 
 " Oh, why did you come here ? " was asked ; 
 and it must have been by the one who was 
 weeping, for the voice choked with tears. 
 
 " Hm ! At whose wedding should I play, if 
 it was not at yours ? " said the first. 
 
 " It must be Lars, the fiddler, who lies there," 
 thought Thorbjorn. Lars was a strong, hand- 
 some fellow, whose old mother was tenant of a 
 houseman's place, belonging to the gard. But 
 the other must be the bride. 
 
 " Why have you never spoken? " said she, in
 
 112 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 a smothered voice, but slowly, as though deeply 
 moved. • 
 
 " I did not think it was necessary, between 
 us two," was his short answer. 
 
 There was silence for a while ; then she be- 
 gan again : " You knew, though, that he came 
 to see me." 
 
 " I thought you were stronger." 
 
 He heard nothing now but weeping ; finally, 
 she burst out once more, " Why did you not 
 speak ? " 
 
 " It would have been of little use for old 
 Birthe's son to speak to the daughter of Nord- 
 houg," was answered, after a pause, during 
 which he drew his breath heavily, and often 
 groaned. A reply was waited for. 
 
 " We have had our eyes on each other for 
 many a year," came at last. 
 
 " You were so proud, I did not exactly dare 
 speak to you. Yet there was nothing in the 
 world I desired more. I expected every day 
 — when we met — I thought the next time 
 I would offer myself. Then I thought you 
 slighted me." 
 
 All was still again. Thorbjorn heard no 
 reply, no weeping ; nor did he even hear the 
 sick man's breathing. 
 
 Thorbjorn thought of the bridegroom, whom
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 113 
 
 he believed to be a worthy man, and he felt 
 troubled for him. Then she, too, said, "I am 
 afraid he will have little happiness in me, — 
 he, who " — 
 
 "He is a good man," said the sick one, and 
 began to break down again, for his chest, no 
 doubt, pained him. 
 
 It seemed as though this gave her pain, too, 
 for she said, "It is pretty hard for you now 
 — but — we would most likely never have 
 chanced to talk together, had not this thing 
 happened. When you struck Knud, I under- 
 stood you for the first time." 
 
 " I could bear it no longer," said he ; and 
 then, presently, " Knud is base." 
 
 " He is not good," said Knud's sister. 
 
 They were silent for a while ; then he said, 
 " I wonder if I shall ever get over this. Ah, 
 well, though, it is all one now." 
 
 " If you have a hard time, it is worse for 
 me," and hereupon followed convulsive weep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Are you going ? " asked he. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply ; and then, " Ah, woe, 
 woe is me ! What a life this will be ! " 
 
 " Do not cry so ! " said he. " The Lord will 
 soon put an end to it for me, and then you 
 shall see that it will be better for you, too."
 
 114 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " Alas, alas, if you had only spoken ! " she 
 cried, in a suppressed voice, and as though she 
 were wringing her hands. 
 
 Thorbjorn thought she must either have gone 
 away at the same time, or at least be unable to 
 talk longer ; for he heard nothing for a while, 
 and went away. 
 
 Of the first person he met in the gard Thor- 
 bjorn asked, " What has happened between 
 Lars, the fiddler, and Knud Nordhoug ? " 
 
 "Ha! Between them? Well," said Per, 
 the houseman, wrinkling his face as though he 
 wanted to hide something in the folds, "you 
 may well ask, for it was little enough : Knud 
 only inquired of Lars whether his fiddle gave 
 out good tones at this wedding." 
 
 Just then the bride went past them. She had 
 her face averted, but when she heard Lars men- 
 tioned she turned it, and showed them a pair of 
 large red eyes, which were unsteady in their 
 gaze ; otherwise her countenance was very cold, 
 so cold that Thorbjorn did not recognize her 
 words again in it. He began then to under- 
 stand more. 
 
 Farther on in the gard the horse stood wait- 
 ing. Thorbjorn fastened in his pin, and looked 
 around for the bridegroom, in order to take his 
 leave. He did not feel like searching for him
 
 SYXNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 115 
 
 Boon saw that lie was not coming, and took his 
 seat upon the cart. Then there was heard the 
 sound of noisy talking and shouting on the left 
 side of the gard, over in the direction of the 
 barn. There was a great crowd pouring out of 
 the barn ; a large man, who walked on in ad- 
 vance, was crying, " Where is he ? Is he hid- 
 ing ? Where is he ? " 
 
 " There, there ! " said some. 
 
 " Do not let him come here," said others ; 
 " only mischief will arise from it." 
 
 " Is that Knud ? " inquired Thorbjorn of a 
 little boy who stood at the side of his cart. 
 
 " Yes ; he is drunk, and when he is he always 
 wants to fight." 
 
 Thorbjorn was already seated on his load, and 
 now he whipped up his horse. 
 
 " No, stop, comrade ! " he heard behind him. 
 He reined in his horse, but as it started off in 
 spite of this, he let it go. " Ho ! Are you 
 afraid, Thorbjorn Granliden ? " was shouted 
 nearer him. Now he reined in still more firmly, 
 but did not look back. 
 
 " Get down now, and come into good com- 
 pany ! " some one cried. 
 
 Thorbjorn turned his head. " Thank you, I 
 must go home," said he. 
 
 Now they consulted together a little, and im-
 
 116 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 mediately the whole crowd flocked to the cart. 
 Knud went forwai'd to the horse ; he first 
 patted it, then took it by the head to look at 
 it. Knud was very tall ; had light but straight 
 hair, and a snub nose ; the mouth was large 
 and heavy ; his eyes were light blue, but bold. 
 He bore little resemblance to his sister ; yet 
 there was something about the mouth which 
 was similar, and he had the same kind of square 
 forehead, but smaller, although all her fine 
 features were coarse with him. 
 
 " What will you take for your nag?" asked 
 Knud. 
 
 " I do not want to sell it," said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " You think, perhaps, I cannot pay for it," 
 said Knud. 
 
 " I do not know whether you can or not." 
 
 " So ? You doubt it ? You had better take 
 care," said Knud. 
 
 The lad who had stood against the wall in 
 the house fingering the hair of those girls now 
 said to a neighbor, " Knud really does not dare 
 this time." 
 
 This Knud heard. "I dare not? Who says 
 bo ? I dare not ? " he shrieked. 
 
 More and more came flocking up. " Make 
 way ! See the horse ! " shouted Thorbjorn, and 
 sracked his whip ; he wanted to start.
 
 SYNNOVE solbakken. 117 
 
 "Are you saying ' make way' to me?" asked 
 Knud. 
 
 " I spoke to the horse ; I must go on," said 
 Thorbjorn, but did not turn aside himself, 
 either. 
 
 "What! will you drive right over me?" 
 asked Knud. 
 
 " Then move away ! " and the horse had to 
 throw back his head, else it would have seut it 
 right against Knud's breast. Then Knud took 
 the horse by the bridle, and the animal that 
 remembered being held so on the road, began 
 to tremble. This, however, touched Thorbjorn, 
 who repented what he had done to the horse ; 
 now he vented his feelings on Knud ; for he 
 started up with the whip in his hand, and gave 
 Knud a blow on the head. 
 
 " Do you strike ? " shrieked Knud, and came 
 nearer. Thorbjorn sprang from the load. 
 
 " You are a villain ! " said he, pale as death, 
 and threw the reins to the lad from the house, 
 as he had come forward and offered his serv- 
 ices. 
 
 But the old man who had risen from his 
 seat over by the door, when Aslak was through 
 with his story, now approached Thorbjorn, and 
 pulled him by the arm. " Saemund Granliden 
 is too good a man to have his son fight wit*» 
 such a bully," said he.
 
 118 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 This quieted Thorbjorn down, but Knud 
 shouted, "la bully ? That he is as well as I, 
 and my father is just as good as his ! Come 
 on ! It is absurd that the parish folks do not 
 know which of us two is the champion," he 
 added, and pulled off his neck-tie. 
 
 " We will test that soon enough," said Thor- 
 bjorn. 
 
 Then the man who had been lying on the 
 bed before said, " They are like two cats ; they 
 have to growl courage into each other, both of 
 them." 
 
 Thorbjorn heard this, but made no reply. 
 One and another of the crowd laughed ; others 
 said it was abominable to have all these fights 
 at this wedding, and to pick a quarrel with a 
 stranger, who wanted to go away peaceably. 
 Thorbjorn looked around for his horse ; it was 
 his intention to drive off. But the lad who 
 had taken charge of it had turned it round, and 
 led it away quite a distance; the lad himself 
 stood just behind them. 
 
 " What are you looking for ? " asked Knud. 
 " Synnove is a long way off now." 
 
 " What is she to you ? " 
 
 " Nothing. Such hypocritical women-folks 
 are nothing to me," said Knud. "But perhaps 
 it is she who has stolen your courage away."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 119 
 
 This was too much for Thorbjorn ; they no- 
 ticed that he glanced around, to make sure of 
 the lay of the ground. Now some of the older 
 people interfered, and remarked that Knud had 
 done mischief enough for this wedding. 
 
 " He shall do me none ! " said Thorbjorn ; 
 and when they heard this they were silent. 
 
 Others said, " Let them wrestle, and then 
 they will be good friends ; these two have long 
 enough been throwing spiteful glances at each 
 other." 
 
 " Yes," said one, " they both want to be first 
 in the parish ; let us see how it is." 
 
 " Have you people seen anything of a certain 
 Thorbjorn Granliden about here ? " remarked 
 Knud. " I thought he was at the gard, just 
 now. 
 
 " Yes, here he is," said Thorbjorn, and at the 
 same time he gave Knud a blow on the right 
 ear that sent him reeling against some men 
 who stood there. Now all was still. Knud got 
 up again, and darted forward, without saying a 
 word. Thorbjorn was ready for him. There 
 now followed a long hand-to-hand fight, each 
 trying to get at the other ; but both were well 
 accustomed to hold off an opponent. Thor- 
 bjorn's blows fell rather oftener, and some said 
 were somewhat more severe.
 
 120 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " There, Knud has found his man," said he 
 who had taken the horse. Make way ! " 
 
 The women fled ; only one stood high up on 
 a step, in order to see better ; it was the bride. 
 Thorbjb'rn caught a glimpse of her, and hesi- 
 tated a little ; then he saw a knife in Knud's 
 hand, remembered her saying that Knud was 
 not good, and with a well-aimed blow he hit 
 Knud's arm on the wrist, making the knife 
 drop, and paralyzing the arm. 
 
 " Oh, how you hit ! " said Knud. 
 
 " Do you think so? " said the other, and now 
 rushed at him. 
 
 Knud was at a disadvantage, having the use 
 of only one arm , he was lifted up and borne on, 
 but he made resistance before he was pros- 
 trated. He was several times thrown to the 
 ground, with such force that any one else 
 would have yielded, but his was a good back. 
 Thorbjorn moved on with Knud ; the people 
 gave way, but Thorbjorn kept coming on with 
 him ; and thus it continued around the entire 
 gard, until they came to the steps, where Thor- 
 bjorn tossed Knud once more into the air, and 
 (lung him down with such violence that his 
 knees gave way, and Knud fell across the stone 
 slab, so that it sang within him. He lay there 
 without stirring, gave vent to a deep groan
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 121 
 
 and closed his eyes; Thorbjorn straightened 
 himself, and looked up ; his eyes fell directly 
 on the bride, who stood motionless, and looked 
 on. " Take something and lay it under his 
 head," said she, turned, and went in. 
 
 Two old women went by ; one of them said 
 to the other, " Good God ! there lies some one 
 again ! Who is it now ? " 
 
 A man answered, " It is Knud Nordhoug." 
 
 Then the older woman said, " Well, perhaps 
 there will be less of fighting after this. They 
 might have some other use to put their strength 
 to." 
 
 " That was a true word you said, Randi," 
 said the first. " The Lord help them on so 
 far that they can look beyond one another, and 
 up to something better.' 1 '' 
 
 This had a curious effect on Thorbjorn's 
 mind ; he had not uttered a word, but still 
 stood motionless, watching those who were 
 busied with Knud. Several spoke to him, but 
 he made no reply. He turned away from 
 them, and fell into a reverie ; Synnove was up- 
 permost in it, and he became much ashamed. 
 He wondered what explanation he should give 
 her, and he thought that it was, after all, not 
 so easy for him to stop fighting as he had be- 
 lieved. Just then, he heard some one behind
 
 122 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 him say, " Beware, Thorbjorn ! " but before he 
 could turn, he was seized by the shoulders from 
 behind, was bent down, and felt nothing but a 
 burning pain, the locality of which he did not 
 precisely know. He heard voices about him ; 
 was conscious that some one was driving ; even 
 thought, at times, that he was driving himself, 
 but was not sure of it. 
 
 This lasted a very long time. It grew cold, 
 soon warm again, and then he felt so light, so 
 light, that he seemed to be floating. And now 
 he understood it : he was borne on the tree- 
 tops, from one to the other, and thus went up 
 the slope ; higher up, as far as the sseter ; still 
 higher up, as far as the highest mountain. 
 There Synnove bowed over him, and wept, and 
 said that he should have spoken. She wept 
 sorely, and said that he must have seen, him- 
 self, how Knud Nordhoug got in his way, con- 
 tinually in his way, and so she was obliged to 
 take Knud. And then she stroked him gently 
 down one side, so that it grew warm there, and 
 she wept until his clothes became wet in the 
 place where her tears fell. But Aslak sat on 
 his heels upon a great peaked stone, and set 
 fire to the tree-tops round about him, so that 
 they crackled and burned, and the twigs drifted 
 about him ; then he laughed, with wide gaping
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 123 
 
 mouth, and said, " It is not I, it is my mother, 
 who is doing this ! " And SaBmund, his father, 
 stood a little to one side, and tossed up bags of 
 grain so high that the clouds drew them up to 
 themselves, and spread out the grain like a 
 mist; and it seemed strange to him that the 
 grain could float out over the whole sky. When 
 he looked over at Ssemund himself, the latter 
 had grown so small, so very small, that at last 
 he scarcely reached above the ground ; but still 
 he went on tossing the bags up higher and 
 higher, and said, "Do that like me, if you 
 can ! " Far away, in the clouds, was the church, 
 and the fair woman from Solbakken stood up 
 in the steeple, waving an orange-colored hand- 
 kerchief in one hand and a hymn-book in the 
 other, and said, " Hither you shall not come, 
 until you have laid aside fighting and swear- 
 iner." And when he came to look there, it was 
 not the church, but Solbakken, and the sun 
 shone so brightly on all the hundred window- 
 panes that it hurt his eyes, and he had to close 
 them tight. 
 
 " Take care, take care, Soemund ! " he heard, 
 and was awakened as though from slumber by 
 beino; carried onward- and when he looked 
 about him he had come into the family-room 
 ut Granliden. A great fire was burning on
 
 124 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 the hearth ; his mother stood beside him and 
 wept; his father just then put his hands under 
 him ; he wanted to carry him into a side room. 
 Then his father laid him gently down again. 
 " There is still life in him ! " said he, with a 
 quivering voice, and turned to the mother. 
 
 She burst out, " The Lord help me ! he is 
 looking up ! Thorbjorn, Thorbjorn ! My 
 blessed boy, what have they done to you ? " 
 and she bent over him and stroked his cheek, 
 while her warm tears fell on his face. 
 
 Ssemund wiped his eyes with one arm, then 
 drew the mother tenderly aside. " I might just 
 as well take him at once," said he; and he took 
 firm hold under the shoulders with one hand, 
 and a little farther down the back with the 
 other. " You hold his head, mother, if he has 
 not strength to carry it himself." She walked 
 on before and supported his head ; Samund 
 tried to keep step with her, and soon Thor- 
 bjorn lay on the bed in the other room. After 
 they had covered him and placed him just right, 
 Ssemund asked whether the boy had started. 
 
 " There he is ! " said the mother, and pointed 
 toward the window. 
 
 Ssemund opened the window, and called out, 
 " If you are there in an hour you shall have 
 your year's wages doubled ! It does not mat> 
 ter if you break the horse's wind."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 125 
 
 He went over to the bed again. Thorbjorn 
 fixed on hirn his large clear eyes ; the father 
 was forced to return the gaze, and then his own 
 grew moist. " I knew it would end so," said 
 he softly, turned and went out. 
 
 The mother sat on a stool at the foot of the 
 bed and wept, but she did not speak. Thor- 
 bjorn wanted to talk, but he felt that it was 
 difficult, and therefore he was silent. But he 
 stared incessantly at his mother, and she had 
 never seen such lustre in his eyes, nor had they 
 ever been so beautiful, which seemed to her a 
 bad omen. " May the Lord help you ! " she 
 burst out, at last. " I know that Saemund will 
 break down completely the day you leave us." 
 Thorbjorn looked at her with immovable eyes 
 and face. That look went right through her, 
 and she began to say the Lord's Prayer for 
 him ; for she thought his time might be short. 
 While she sat there it ran through her mind 
 how dear he, beyond the others, had been to 
 them all ; and now none of his brothers and 
 sisters were at home. She sent word up to the 
 sseter for Ingrid and a younger brother ; then 
 came back and seated herself as before. He 
 still looked at her, and that look was to her a 
 psalm, which gently guided her thoughts to bet- 
 ter things ; and old Ingebjorg grew very devout,
 
 126 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 brought forth the Bible, and said, " Now I will 
 read aloud to you, and it will do you good." 
 And as she had no spectacles at hand she opened 
 at a place that she had nearly known by heart 
 since she was a girl, and this was in the Gospel 
 of John. She was not sure that he heard her ; 
 for he lay motionless as before, merely staring 
 at her ; but still she read on, if not for him, at 
 least for herself. 
 
 Ingrid soon came home to relieve her in the 
 watch ; but then Thorbjorn was asleep. Ingrid 
 wept without ceasing ; she had commenced cry- 
 ing before she left the sseter, for she thought of 
 Synnove, to whom nothing had been told. Now 
 the doctor came and examined him. He had 
 been stabbed with a knife in the side, had been 
 beaten besides ; but the doctor said nothing, and 
 thei*e was no one who questioned him. Sse- 
 mund went with him into the sick-room, stood 
 there watching uninterruptedly the doctor's face, 
 went out when he went, helped him up in his 
 cariole, and touched his cap when the doctor 
 said he would come again the following day. 
 Then Saemund turned to his wife, who had ac- 
 companied him : " When that man does not 
 opeak, it is alarming." His mouth quivered ; 
 he turned on his heel, and went away across 
 the field.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 127 
 
 No one knew what became of him ; for he 
 did not come home that evening, nor in the 
 night either, but appeared first the next morn- 
 ing; and then he seemed so gloomy that no 
 one dared ask him anything. He said him- 
 self, « Well ? " 
 
 " He has slept," said Ingrid, "but he is so 
 weak that he cannot raise a hand." 
 
 The father wanted to go in and look at him, 
 but he turned when he came to the door. 
 
 The doctor was there, and he came the next 
 day, and several days in succession. Thorbjorn 
 could, speak, but was not allowed to stir. In- 
 grid sat most of the time with him ; also his 
 mother and younger brother ; but he did not 
 ask them about any tiling, nor they him. The 
 father was never in there. This they saw the 
 patient noticed ; every time the door opened lie 
 grew attentive, and they thought it must be be- 
 cause he was expecting his father. At last In- 
 grid asked if he would not like to see others of 
 'lie family. " Oh, they most likely do not want 
 to see me," replied he. This was told, to See- 
 mund, who made no immediate reply ; but that 
 day he was away when the doctor came. When 
 the doctor had proceeded a piece along the road, 
 he saw Saemund, who sat by the wayside wait- 
 ing for him. After having greeted him, Sas- 
 tnund inquired about his son.
 
 128 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " He lias been roughly handled," was the 
 short reply. 
 
 " Will he get over it ? " asked Saemund, and 
 fell to adjusting the horse's saddle-girth. 
 
 " Thank you, that is all right," said the doc- 
 toif. 
 
 " It was not tight enough," replied Saemund. 
 
 There was a brief silence, in which the doc- 
 tor looked at him ; but Saemund was zealously 
 tightening the girth, and did not look up. 
 
 " You asked whether he would get over it ; 
 yes, I think he will," said the doctor, slowly. 
 
 Saemund glanced up, hastily. " Is there hope 
 of life?" asked he. 
 
 " There has been for several days," replied 
 the doctor. 
 
 Then a few tears trickled down from Sae- 
 mund's eyes ; he strove to brush them away, 
 but they came again. " It is really a shame 
 that I am so fond of the lad," he gasped ; " but 
 you see, doctor, a finer fellow there has never 
 been in the parish ! " 
 
 The doctor was touched. " Why have you 
 not wished to know anything before ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " I have not had the courage to hear it," re- 
 plied Ssemund, and had another struggle with 
 his tears, which he could not force back
 
 synnove solbakken. 129 
 
 " And then there were the women-folks," he 
 continued ; " they were constantly on the look- 
 out to see whether I would ask, and then I 
 could not." The doctor gave him time to com 
 pose himself, and then Stem and looked fixedly 
 at him. " Will he get his health back again ? " 
 asked he, suddenly. 
 
 " In a certain way, although we cannot yet 
 be sure of it." 
 
 Then Saemund grew calm and thoughtful. 
 " In a certain way," he muttered. He stood 
 looking down, and the doctor would not disturb 
 him, because there was something about the 
 man which forbade it. Suddenly Saemund 
 raised his head. " Thank you for the informa- 
 tion," said he, held out his hand, and started 
 for home. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ingrid was sitting with the pa- 
 tient. "If you feel able to listen, I will tell 
 you something about father," said she. 
 
 "Tell me," replied Thorbjorn. 
 
 " "Well, then, the first evening the doctor had 
 been here father disappeared, and no one knew 
 where he was. Now it seems that he had gone 
 over to the wedding-party, and all the people 
 there felt ill at ease when he came in. They 
 say that he sat down among them and drank 
 with them, and the bridegroom tells that he 
 
 9
 
 130 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 thinks he grew half tipsy. Then first he began 
 to question about the fight, and got the full 
 particulars as to how it had happened. ' Knud 
 came in ; father wanted to have him tell all 
 about it, and made him go with him out to the 
 spot where you two wrestled. All the people 
 went with them. Knud then told how you had 
 treated him after you had lamed his hand ; but 
 when Knud did not want to say anything more, 
 father drew himself up, and asked if this was 
 the way it went on afterward^ — and at the 
 same time he seized Knud about the chest, 
 raised him, and laid him down on the stone, 
 which still had your blood on it. He held him 
 down with his left hand, and drew out his knife 
 with the right. Knud changed color, and all 
 the guests were silent. There were people 
 there who saw father shed tears, but he did 
 nothing to Knud. Knud himself did not stir. 
 Father then lifted Knud up, but laid him down 
 again after a while. 'It is hard to let you go,' 
 he said, and stood staring at him, while he still 
 held him. 
 
 " Two old women went past, and one of them 
 said, ' Think of your children, Sremund Gran- 
 liden ! ' They say that father at once let go of 
 Knud, and that pretty soon after he was gone 
 from the gard ; but Knud left the wedding,
 
 SYNXOVE SOLBAKKEX. 131 
 
 made his way on from house to house, and was 
 Been there no more." 
 
 Scarcely was Tngrid through with her narra- 
 tion when the door opened; some one looked 
 in, and it was the father. She went out at 
 once, and Sasmund came in. What father and 
 son then talked about no one ever knew ; the 
 mother, who stood up against the door that she 
 might listen, thought once that she heard them 
 speaking about whether Thorbjorn could re- 
 cover his health or not. But she was not sure 
 of it, nor did she like to go in as long as Sse- 
 mund was there. 
 
 "When Ssemund came out he was very gentle, 
 and rather red about the eyes. " He will be 
 spared to us," he said to Ingebjorg, as he passed 
 by ; " but the Lord only knows whether he will 
 get his health back again." Ingebjorg began 
 to cry, and went out with her husband ; on the 
 store-house steps they sat down, side by side, 
 and many things were talked over between the 
 two. 
 
 But when Ingrid came softly in again to 
 Thorbjorn, he lay there with a little note in one 
 hand, and said calmly and slowly, " This you 
 may give to Synnove the next time you see 
 her." 
 
 When Ingrid had read what was in it she
 
 132 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 turned away and wept; for the note ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " To the highly esteemed maiden, Synnove, Guttorm's 
 daughter, Solbakken : — 
 
 " When you have read these lines, all must 
 be over between us two. For I am not the one 
 you ought to have. The Lord be with us both. 
 " Thorbjorn, S-emund's son, Granliden."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Synnove had learned of the disaster the day 
 after Thorbjorn had been at the wedding. His 
 younger brother had been sent up to the saeter 
 with word about it ; but Ingrid had detained 
 him out in the passage, just as he was starting, 
 and had charged him with what he was to say. 
 Synnove, therefore, only knew that Thorbjorn 
 had overturned his load, and that he therefore 
 had been obliged to go up to Nordhoug for 
 help ; that Knud and he had met, and that 
 Thorbjorn had been somewhat hurt. He was in 
 bed, but it was nothing dangerous. This was 
 news calculated to make Synnove more vexed 
 than alarmed. And the more she thought 
 about it, the more disheartened she became. 
 Whatever he might promise, he was sure to act 
 so that her parents would have some fault to 
 find with him. But they two ought not to be 
 separated now, any way, thought Synnove. 
 
 There were not many messages sent up to 
 the sseter, and so time dragged before Synnove 
 got further news. The uncertainty weighed
 
 134 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 heavily upon her mind, and as Ingrid did not 
 come back again, there must be something 
 amiss. She was not able to sing the cattle 
 home in the evening, as she had been in the 
 habit of doing, and she did not sleep well at 
 night, for she missed Ingrid. The effect of 
 this was that she felt weary by day, and this 
 did not make her heart any lighter. She went 
 about her daily duties, scoured the wooden 
 pans and bowls, made the cheese, and prepared 
 the curds, but took little satisfaction in it ; and 
 both Thorbjorn's younger brother and the lad 
 who tended the herds with him felt sure now 
 that there must be something between her and 
 Thorbjorn, which furnished them with a theme 
 for many conversations up in the pasture. 
 
 The afternoon of the eighth clay after Ingrid 
 had been summoned home she felt more op- 
 pressed than ever. So long a time had now 
 passed away, and still no tidings. She left her 
 work to sit clown and gaze over the parish, for 
 this seemed to her a sort of company, and she 
 did not want to be alone now. As she sat 
 there, she grew very tired, laid her head down 
 on her arm, and directly fell asleep; but the 
 sun scorched, and it was a restless sleep. She 
 was over at Solbakken, up in the loft, where 
 her things were, and where she used to sleep
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 135 
 
 from the flowers in the garden there was wafted 
 np a most delicious fragrance, although not 
 that which she was accustomed to, but some- 
 thing different, almost like that of heather. 
 " What can this come from ? " she thought, and 
 bowed her head clown out of the open window. 
 Yes, truly, there stood Thorbjorn, down in the 
 garden, planting heather. " Why, my dear, 
 what are you doing ? " asked she. " Oh, the 
 flowers will not grow," replied he, and went on 
 working in the garden. This made her sorry 
 for the flowers, and she finally begged him to 
 bring them up to her. " Yes, I will, if you 
 wish," said he, and then he gathered them up, 
 and came toward the house with them. But 
 she did not seem to be in the loft any more, for 
 he could come right in to where she was. At 
 that moment her mother appeared. " Good gra- 
 cious ! Is that horrid Granlid boy coming in 
 here to you ? " cried the mother, as she sprang 
 forward, and stationed herself directly in his 
 way. But he insisted upon coming in, not- 
 withstanding this ; and now a struggle arose 
 between the two. " Mother, mother ! he is 
 only bi-inging my flowers back to me ! " said 
 S ynnove, beseechingly, and wept. " Oh, that 
 makes no difference," said the mother, and con- 
 tinued to struggle. And Synnove was fright-
 
 136 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 ened, terribly frightened, for she knew not 
 which of them she wanted to win ; but neither 
 of them must lose. " Be careful of my flow- 
 ers ! " cried she. But they struggled now 
 harder than ever, and the pretty flowers were 
 strewn around everywhere ; the mother trod 
 upon them, and so did Thorbjorn. Synnove 
 wept. But when Thorbjorn had dropped the 
 flowers, he looked so ugly, so very ugly ; his 
 hair grew, his face, too ; his eyes had a wicked 
 look, and he stuck long claws into her mother. 
 " Take care, mother! Do you not see that it is 
 some one else, — take care ! " she shrieked, and 
 made a move to go over and help her mother, 
 but she could not stir from the spot. Then 
 some one called her, and called a second time. 
 Immediately Thorbjorn disappeared, the mother 
 also. Then some one cried again. 
 
 " Yes ! " said Synnove, and awakened. 
 
 " Synnove ! " the voice called. 
 
 " Yes ! " answered she, and looked up. 
 
 " Where are you ? " was asked. 
 
 " It is mother who is calling," thought Syn- 
 nove, as she rose, and went back toward the 
 sseter lawn, where the mother stood, with a 
 lunch box in one hand, and shading her eyes 
 with the other, looking toward her. 
 
 " You were actually lying there asleep on 
 the bare ground ! " said the mother.
 
 synnove solbakken. 137 
 
 " I grew so sleepy," replied Synnove, " that 
 T just lay down for a little while, and before I 
 knew it I was asleep." 
 
 " You must be careful not to let such things 
 happen, my child. Here is something for you 
 in this box ; I baked yesterday, as father is 
 going on a long journey." 
 
 But Synnove felt clearly that her mother 
 had not come for this, and she thought that 
 she had not been dreaming of her for nothing. 
 Karen (that was the mother's name) was, as has 
 been said before, small of stature and slender, 
 had fair hair, and blue eyes that were constantly 
 in motion. She smiled a little when she spoke, 
 but it was only when she talked with strangers. 
 Her face had grown rather sharp. She was 
 quick in her movements, and was always busy. 
 Synnove thanked her for her gift, took off the 
 lid, and looked to see what was in the box. 
 
 " There, there you can do that another time," 
 said the mother. " I noticed that your bowls 
 had not been washed yet; you must see to 
 ihat, my child, before you take your rest." 
 
 " Yes ; but that has only happened to-day." 
 
 " Come, then, I must help you, since I am 
 here," said the mother, and rolled up her skirts. 
 " You must accustom yourself to order, whether 
 you are under my eyes or not."
 
 138 synnove solbakken. 
 
 She moved on to the dairy, and Synnove 
 followed slowly. They took every article out 
 and washed it. The mother then inspected all 
 the work, and found that it was not bad ; gave 
 much advice and helped to clean up ; and thus 
 an hour or two passed. While they were work- 
 ing she told what was going on at home, and 
 how busy she was now and would be until she 
 got father off. Then she asked if Synnove re- 
 membered to read the word of God before she 
 went to bed at night. " For you must not for- 
 get that," she observed, " or else the work will 
 fare badly the next day." 
 
 As soon as they were through, they went 
 out on the lawn, and sat down there to wait 
 for the cows. And when they were well seated 
 the mother inquired after Ingrid, and asked if 
 she was not soon coming up to the dairy again. 
 Synnove knew no more about this than her 
 mother. " Aye, to think that folks should act 
 so ! " said the mother ; and Synnove clearly 
 understood that it was not Ingrid she meant. 
 She would have liked to change the subject, but 
 had not the courage to do so. " They who 
 never have our Lord in their hearts are found 
 out by Him sometimes when they are least ex- 
 pecting it," continued the mother. Synnove 
 spoke not a word. " Well, this I have alwaya
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 139 
 
 said : the boy will never amount to anything. 
 But to act so — it is a shame ! " They were 
 sitting side side by there, and gazing out over 
 the landscape beyond ; but they did not look at 
 each other. " Have you heard how he is get- 
 ting on ? " asked the mother, and now glanced 
 hastily at her. 
 
 " No," answered Synnove. 
 
 " They say he is in a bad way," said the 
 mother. 
 
 Synnove's heart grew faint. "Is it, then, 
 serious ? " asked she. 
 
 " Oh, he was stabbed with a knife in the 
 side ; and then he had some pretty severe blows, 
 besides." 
 
 Synnove felt that she was blushing crimson ; 
 at once she turned a little more away, so that 
 her mother could not see her. " Well, it is 
 not a very serious matter, I presume ? " said 
 she, as calmly as she could. 
 
 But her mother had observed that her breast 
 heaved violently, and so she answered, " Oh, 
 no. I cannot say that, either." 
 
 Now Synnove began to suspect that some- 
 thing dreadful had happened. " Is he in bed ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Why, bless me ! of course he is in bed ! It 
 is a pity for his parents, such worthy people as
 
 140 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 they are. He has been well brought up, too, 
 so that the Lord has nothing to blame them 
 for." Synnbve was now so anxious that she 
 knew not what she should do. Presently her 
 mother continued, " Now it proves to be well 
 that no one is bound to him. The Lord has 
 clone everything here also for the best." Syn- 
 nove grew very dizzy, and it seemed as though 
 she would glide down the side of the mountain. 
 " Well, I always said to father, God have 
 mercy on us ! said I. We have only this one 
 daughter, and we must take care of her. Now 
 he is rather inclined to be too yielding, excel- 
 lent man as he otherwise is ; therefore it is 
 a good thing that he takes counsel where he 
 finds it, and that is in the word of God." 
 
 But at the mere thought of her father, and 
 how gentle he always was, Synnove had still 
 more difficulty in forcing down the tears, and 
 this time no resistance was of any avail ; she 
 began to weep. 
 
 " Are you crying ? " asked her mother, and 
 looked at her, without being able to see her 
 face. 
 
 " Yes ; I was thinking of father, and then ' 
 — and she burst out crying, in good earnest. 
 
 " But, my dear child, what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Oh, I do not really know ! It came ovei
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 141 
 
 me — perhaps some harm will come to him on 
 this journey," sobbed Synnove. 
 
 " How you do talk ! " said the mother. "All 
 should not go well with him ? Going to town 
 on a smooth country road ? " 
 
 " Yes, but remember — what happened — to 
 the other," faltered Synnove. 
 
 " To him? Yes ! But your father does not 
 go dashing ahead like a fool-hardy simpleton, 
 I should think. He will come home again un- 
 harmed, — provided the Lord will watch over 
 and guide him." 
 
 The mother began to get an idea from the 
 weeping, which now it seemed impossible to 
 stop. Presently, without moving from her 
 place, she said, "There are many things in 
 the world which are hard to bear, but we must 
 take consolation in knowing that they might 
 be far worse." 
 
 " Aye, but that is poor consolation," said 
 Synnove, and wept sorely. 
 
 The mother did not really have the heart 
 to answer what she thought ; she merely said, 
 " The Lord himself ordains many things for 
 us in a plainly visible way ■ He has doubtless 
 done so in this case also." And then she arose, 
 for the cows were beginning to come lowing 
 up the ridge, the bells tinkled, the herd-boys
 
 142 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 shouted, and they came down slowly, for the 
 cows were well filled and quiet. She stood 
 and looked on ; then bade Synnove come with 
 her and see to the cows. Synnove now arose, 
 too, and followed her, but they went slowly. 
 
 Karen Solbakken busied herself with wel- 
 coming the cattle. The cows came up one by 
 one, and they knew her and lowed ; she patted 
 them, talked to them, and felt happy when she 
 saw how they had all improved. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said she, " the Lord is near to 
 those who keep themselves near to Him." 
 
 She now helped Synnove to put them in ; 
 for Synnove made slow progress to-day. The 
 mother did not comment on this. She helped 
 her also to milk, although by so doing she re- 
 mained up there longer than she had intended. 
 When they had finished straining the milk, the 
 mother began to prepare to go home, and Syn- 
 nove wanted to go with her part of the way. 
 
 " Oh, no," said her mother, " you are doubt- 
 less tired, and would like to be left in peace." 
 And she took the empty box, held out her 
 hand, and said, looking fixedly at her, " I will 
 come up again soon to see how things are go- 
 ing with you. Cling to us, and do not think 
 of others." 
 
 Scarcely was the mother out of sight before
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 143 
 
 she began to consider how she could most 
 quickly get a message down to Granlid. She 
 called Thorbjorn's brother. She wanted to send 
 him down, but when he came she found that 
 it would be embarrassing to confide in him, and 
 so she said, " It was nothing." She then 
 thought about going herself. Certainty she 
 must have, and it was a pity Ingrid had sent 
 her no word. The night was quite light, and 
 the gard was not so far off but that she could 
 easily walk that distance, when such a matter 
 as this drew her down there. While she sat 
 thinking of this, she summed up in her thoughts 
 all that her mother had said, and began to 
 weep afresh. But this time she was not slow; 
 she threw a kerchief about her, and took a 
 roundabout way, so that she might escape the 
 notice of the boys. 
 
 The farther she advanced, the more she has- 
 tened, and at last she sprang down the foot- 
 path, so that the small stones were loosened, 
 rolled down, and frightened her. Although 
 she knew it was only the stones rolling, she 
 thought there must be some one near by, and 
 she was compelled to stand still and listen. It 
 was nothing, and she hurried on faster than be- 
 fore. Then it chanced that she came down with 
 a bound on a large stone, whose one end pro-
 
 144 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 truded into the road, but which now gave way, 
 dashed on and past her. It made a terrible 
 racket, the bushes crackled, and she was afraid, 
 but grew still more so when she really fancied 
 that there was some one who rose and moved 
 farther on down the road. First she thought 
 that it might be a wild beast. She paused, 
 and held her breath ; down below on the road, 
 what she had seen also paused. 
 
 " Hoy ! " cried a voice. It was her mother. 
 
 The first thing Synnove did was to hasten 
 away and hide. She kept still a good while, in 
 order to find out whether her mother had rec- 
 ognized her, and was coming back ; but she 
 went on. Then she waited still longer, in 
 order that her mother might get well out of 
 the way. When she started on again, she 
 walked slowly, and was soon approaching the 
 houses. 
 
 When she saw these, she began to grow op- 
 pressed again, and she grew more faint the 
 nearer she came to Thorbjorn's home. All 
 was still there. The implements of labor 
 stood leaning up against the wall ; the wood 
 was chopped and piled up, and the axe stuck 
 fast in the block. She walked past these, 
 and on to the door ; there she paused, looked 
 around, and listened ; but nothing stirred. As
 
 synnove solbakken. 145 
 
 she stood there, uncertain whether she should 
 go up-stairs to Ingrid or not, it came into her 
 mind that it must have been on such a night, 
 some years ago, that Thorbjorn had been over 
 and planted her flowers. Swiftly she pulled 
 off her shoes, and stole up the stairs. 
 
 Ingrid was much frightened when she woke 
 up, and saw that it was Synnove who had 
 awakened her. "How is he getting on ? " 
 whispered Synnove. Now Ingrid recalled every- 
 thing, and she wanted to begin to dress, in or- 
 der to avoid answering Synnove immediately. 
 But Synnove seated herself on the edge of the 
 bed, begged her to lie still, and repeated her 
 question. 
 
 " He is better now," said Ingrid, in a whis- 
 per. " I am soon coining up to the sseter." 
 
 " Dear Ingrid, hide nothing from me ; you 
 can tell me nothing so bad that I have not fan- 
 cied something worse." 
 
 Ingrid still tried to spare her, but Synnove's 
 alarm increased, and there was no opportu- 
 nity for evasive answers. In a whisper were 
 dropped the questions, in a whisper the an- 
 swers ; the deep silence round about heightened 
 the seriousness of both questions and answers, 
 so that it grew to be one of those solemn mo- 
 ments in which people dare to look the worst 
 10
 
 146 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 truth directly in the face. But this much they 
 both seemed to decide upon, that Thorbjorn's 
 fault was small this time, and that nothing 
 bad on his side intruded itself between him 
 and their sympathy for him. They both wept 
 freely, but quietly, and Synnove wept the most ; 
 she sat quite crushed on the edge of the bed, 
 Ingrid tried to cheer her by reminding her of 
 how much happiness they three had had to- 
 gether ; but, as is so often the case, every little 
 remembrance from those days over which sun- 
 shine played, now in their sorrow melted into 
 tears. 
 
 " Has he asked after me ? " whispered Syn- 
 nove. 
 
 " He has scarcely spoken at all." Ingrid 
 now thought of the note, and it began to weigh 
 upon her. 
 
 " Is he, then, not able to talk ? " 
 
 " I do not know how it is with him ; he 
 probably thinks the more." 
 
 " Does he read ? " 
 
 " Mother has read to him ; now she has to 
 do so every day." 
 
 " What does he say then ? " 
 
 " Oh, he saj'S almost nothing, as I told yoxi 
 He only lies there and looks." 
 
 " It is in the painted chamber he lies ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 147 
 
 " And turns his head toward the window ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 They both were silent for a moment ; then 
 Ingrid said, " The little St. John's toy you 
 once gave him hangs in the window, and keeps 
 turning round." 
 
 " Yes, it is the same," said Synnove, sud- 
 denly and firmly. " Never in the world shall 
 any one get me to give him up, whichever way 
 it may turn ! " 
 
 Ingrid felt greatly distressed. " The doctor 
 does not know whether he will recover his 
 health," she whispered. 
 
 Now Synnove stopped crying, raised her 
 head, looked at her without saying a word, 
 then let it fall again, and sat still, lost in 
 thought ; the last tears trickled slowly down 
 her cheeks, but no new ones followed them. 
 She clasped her hands, but otherwise did not 
 stir ; it was as though she sat there forming a 
 great resolve. She then suddenly arose, with 
 a smile, stooped down over Ingrid, and gave 
 her a warm, long kiss. " If he becomes an 
 invalid, then I will take care of him. Now 
 I will speak with my parents." This touched 
 Ingrid deeply ; but before she could find words 
 she felt her hand grasped. " Farewell, Ingrid ! 
 Now I will go up alone." And she turned 
 away, hastily.
 
 148 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " There was that note," whispered Ingrid 
 after her. 
 
 " That note ? " questioned Synnove. 
 
 Ingrid was already up, had found it, and went 
 over to her with it ; but as with her left hand 
 she thrust it into Synnove's bosom, she put her 
 right about her neck and kissed her, while Syn- 
 nove felt her great, warm tears fall on her face. 
 Then Ingrid softly pushed her out of the door, 
 and closed it ; for she had not the courage to 
 see any more. 
 
 Synnove went slowly down the stairs, in her 
 stocking feet ; but when her thoughts became 
 too much for her, she inadvertently made a 
 noise, grew alarmed, hurried out of the pass- 
 age, seized her shoes, and, with them in her 
 hand, hastened away past the houses, across 
 the fields, and over to the gate. Here she 
 paused, put them on, began to go up the path, 
 and made haste, for her blood coursed rapidly 
 through her veins. She walked on, singing 
 softly to herself, and hurried more and more, 
 so that at last she grew weary, and had to sit 
 down. Then she remembered the note. 
 
 When the shepherd dogs began to make a 
 noise the next morning, the herd-boys had 
 awakened, and the cows were to be milked and 
 set free, Synnove had not yet returned.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 149 
 
 As the boys stood wondering where she could 
 be, and discovered that she had not been in bed 
 the whole night, Synnove appeared. She was 
 very pale and quiet. Without a word, she be- 
 gan getting breakfast for the herd-boys, put up 
 their lunches, and afterwards helped to milk. 
 
 The fog still hung heavily over the low 
 ridges ; the heather glittered with dew all over 
 the sorrel-tinted heights. It was rather chilly, 
 and when the dog barked he was answered on 
 every side. The cattle were set free ; lowing 
 they greeted the fresh morning air, and the 
 cows, one by one, started off over the foot-path ; 
 but there in front of them sat the dog, ready to 
 receive them and hinder them from passing un- 
 til every one had been let loose, whereupon he 
 also let them go. The bells vibrated along the 
 ridge; the dog barked, making the welkin ring; 
 the herd-boys tried which of them could shout 
 the loudest. From all this noise Synnove moved 
 away down to that part of the seeter where In- 
 grid and she were in the habit of sitting. She 
 did not weep, sat there quietly with her eyes 
 fixed before her, and gave heed now and then 
 to the tumultuous noise which was gradually be- 
 coming more distant, and which blended the 
 better the farther away it got. Meanwhile, 
 she began to hum softly to herself, then to
 
 150 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 sing louder, and at last with a clear, high 
 voice, the following song. She had adapted it 
 from another one she had known from the 
 time she was a child : — 
 
 "Now thanks for all since we two were small, 
 In groves we plaj'ed, at each merry-making; 
 I thought our sports would float onward all 
 'Till Time's gray twilight was breaking. 
 
 "I thought our sports from the birch would rise, 
 
 Leaf-crowned and glad, and would upward wander 
 To where bright Solbakken meets the eyes, 
 The old red church seeking yonder. 
 
 "Of evenings oft I did sit and wait, 
 
 The spruce-grown forest there watching ever; 
 The mountains darkened, the hour grew late, 
 But thou, ah thou, earnest never! 
 
 "I sat and waited, and oft I thought: 
 
 When day declines he will venture over; 
 But fading light flick'ring flashes brought, 
 The days they came and passed over. 
 
 "The weary eye is accustomed now 
 
 To seek one way, 't would be slow at changing; 
 It burns and aches here beneath the brow, 
 Yet still one way it is ranging. 
 
 " At Fagerlid, in the church, they say, 
 I'll comfort find, as is surely fitting; 
 But ask me not to go there, I pray, 
 For he, by my side, there is sitting. 
 
 "And yet so well who it was, I know, 
 
 Who placed our homes there so near together, 
 And cut a way for the eye to go 
 Through woods, o'er flowery heather.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 151 
 
 "And yet so well who it was, I know, 
 
 "Who placed the seats at the Lord's own table, 
 And caused that people in pairs to go 
 Toward the chancel are able." l 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Some time after this, Guttorm Solbakken 
 and Karen sat together over in the great, light 
 sitting-room at Solbakken, and read aloud to 
 each other from some new books they had pro- 
 cured from the neighboring town. They had 
 been at church in the forenoon, for it was Sun- 
 day ; then they had taken a little walk to- 
 gether through the grounds to examine the 
 condition of the fields, and to consider which 
 land should be allowed to lie fallow and which 
 should be plowed up for the next year. They 
 had sauntered from one pasture and field to an- 
 other, and it seemed to them that the gard had 
 improved greatly in their time. " God knows 
 how it will prosper when we are gone ! " Karen 
 had remarked. Then it was that Guttorm had 
 begged her to come in with him that they 
 might read in the new books ; " for one does 
 best to avoid such thoughts." 
 
 But now the books had been examined, and 
 Karen was of opinion that the old ones were 
 better. " People only write over again what 
 is in the old books," said she.
 
 synnOve solbakken. 153 
 
 " There may be something in that. Sannund 
 said to me to-day in church that children were 
 only their parents over again." 
 
 " Yes, you and Ssemund evidently talked of 
 many things to-day." 
 
 " Ssemund is a sensible man." 
 " But he seeks his Lord and Saviour too lit- 
 tle, I am afraid." 
 
 To this Guttorm made no reply. 
 " What became of Synnove ? " asked the 
 mother. 
 
 " She is up-stairs," answered Guttorm. 
 " You were sitting there with her yourself, 
 a while ago ; what frame of mind was she in ? " 
 « Oh " — 
 
 " You should not have allowed her to stay 
 there alone." 
 
 " Some one came in." 
 
 The wife was silent for a while. " Pray, 
 who was it ? " 
 
 " Ingrid Granliden." 
 " I thought she was still at the saeter." 
 " She was at home to-day in order that her 
 mother might be able to go to church." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, we saw her there for once." 
 " She has a great deal to do." 
 "Others have the same; nevertheless, one 
 generally manages to go where one longs to 
 W
 
 154 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 Guttorm made no reply to this. 
 
 After a while Karen said, " All the Granlid 
 family were there to-day except Ingrid." 
 
 " Yes, it was probably to accompany Thor- 
 bjorn the first time." 
 
 " He looked poorly." 
 
 " No better could be expected. I only won- 
 der he appeared so well." 
 
 " Yes, he has had to suffer for his folly." 
 
 Guttorm looked down a little, as he replied, 
 " He is only in his youth yet." 
 
 " There is no good foundation there ; one 
 can never feel sure of him." 
 
 Guttorm, who sat with his elbows on the ta- 
 ble, twirling a book round with one hand, now 
 opened it, and just as though he were reading 
 softly dropped the sentence, " He is said to be 
 quite sure of fully regaining his health." 
 
 The mother now took up a book also. " That 
 is, indeed, a good thing for such a fine-looking 
 lad," said she. " May the Lord teach him to 
 use it better ! " 
 
 They both read ; but presently Guttorm said, 
 as he turned over a leaf, " He did not look 
 toward her once during the whole day." 
 
 " Yes, and I noticed, too, that he kept his seat 
 m the pew until she had gone out." 
 
 After a while, Guttorm asked, " You think 
 he will forget her ? "
 
 synnove solbakken. 155 
 
 " That would at all events be best." 
 
 Guttorra read on ; the wife turned over the 
 leaves. "I do not care much to have Ingrid 
 stay here," said she. 
 
 " Synnove has scarcely any one else to talk 
 with." 
 
 " She has us." 
 • Now the father glanced over at her. " We 
 must not be too strict." 
 
 The wife was silent. Soon she said, " Nor 
 have I ever forbidden her to visit with Ingrid." 
 
 The father closed his book, arose, and looked 
 out of the window. " There goes Ingrid," said 
 he. 
 
 Scarcely had the mother heard this than she 
 hastily left the room. The father remained 
 for some time at the window ; then turned and 
 walked up and down. The wife came in again, 
 and he paused. 
 
 " Yes, it was as I thought," said she. " Syn- 
 nove is sitting up there crying, but rummages 
 about in her trunk when I come in." And then 
 she added, shaking her head, "No, it is not 
 well to have Ingrid coming here ; " and she be- 
 took herself to preparing the evening meal, 
 passing often in and out. 
 
 Once while she was out Synnove came in, 
 rather flushed from weeping and quiet ; she
 
 156 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 walked close by her father, into whose face she 
 looked up as she passed, and over to the table, 
 where she sat down and took a book. Presently, 
 she closed this, and asked her mother if she 
 should help her. 
 
 " Yes, do so ! " said the latter. " Work is 
 good for all things." 
 
 It became her task to set the table ; it stood 
 over by the window. The father, who thus far 
 had been walking to and fro, went over there 
 now and looked out. " I believe that barley 
 field the rain beat down is straightening up 
 again," said he. Synnove took her stand by his 
 side, and looked out, too. He turned ; his wife 
 was in, and so he merely stroked the back of 
 Synnove's head with one hand, after which he 
 began pacing the floor again. 
 
 They ate their supper, but very quietly. The 
 mother said grace that day both before and after 
 the meal, and when they had arisen she lesired 
 them to read and sing, which they did, too. 
 " The word of God gives peace ; it is after all 
 the greatest blessing in a house." With this 
 the mother looked over at Synnove, who had 
 cast down her eyes. " Now I am going to tell 
 you a story," said the mother; "it is true, 
 every word, and not bad for those who will re- 
 flect upon it."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 157 
 
 And then she began as follows : " There was, 
 in my younger days, a young girl at Houg, who 
 was the granddaughter of a learned old lens- 
 mand. He early took her under his own care, 
 that he might have joy in her in his old days, 
 and of course taught her the word of God and 
 good behavior. She was quick at learning and 
 delighted in knowledge, so that in the course 
 of time she was far in advance, while we stood 
 behind ; she wrote and ciphered, knew all her 
 school-books and twenty-five chapters in the Bi- 
 ble, when she was fifteen years old. I remem- 
 ber it as though it were yesterday. She cared 
 more for reading than for dancing, so that she 
 rarely was to be found at the merry-makings, 
 but oftener in her grandfather's loft-chamber, 
 where he kept his many books. It so hap- 
 pened that whenever we did meet her she 
 always seemed to be somewhere else, and we 
 said to one another, ' Were we only as wise as 
 Karen Hougen ! ' She was to inherit the old 
 man's property, and many a good fellow offered 
 himself to share it with her ; but they all got 
 refusals. About this time the pi'iest's son came 
 home from the priest-school. Things had not 
 gone well with him, because he had more taste 
 for carousing and mischief than for proper 
 things ; now he drank. ' Beware of him ! ' said
 
 158 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 the old lensmand. 'I have been much with peo- 
 ple of the upper classes, and it is my experience 
 that they are less worthy of our confidence than 
 peasants.' Karen constantly heeded his voice 
 beyond that of others. And when, by and by, 
 she began to come into contact with the priest's 
 son she avoided him, for he sought her. Soon 
 she could go nowhere without meeting him. 
 ' Away ! ' ci'ied she ; 'it will do you no good.' 
 But he persisted, and thus it happened that at 
 last she was forced to pause and listen. He 
 was handsome enough, but when he told her 
 that he could not live without her he frightened 
 her. He was always hanging about the house, 
 but she did not come out ; he stood outside of 
 her window at night, but she did not appear ; 
 he said he would put an end to himself, but 
 Karen knew what she knew. And then he 
 would take to drinking again. ' Beware of him ! 
 These are all the devil's snares,' said the old 
 lensmand. One day the fellow appeared in her 
 room ; no one knew how he had come there. 
 Now I am going to kill you,' said he. ' Yes, 
 io so if you dare,' said she. But then he shed 
 tears, and told her that it was in her power to 
 nake a respectable man of him. 'If you could 
 abstain from drinking even half a year,' said 
 Bhe. And so he kept from drinking half a
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 159 
 
 year. ' Do you trust me now? ' asked lie. ' Not 
 until you have given up all kinds of gayety and 
 merry-making for half a year.' This he did. 
 ' Do you trust me now? ' asked he. ' Not until 
 you go away and finish your studies for the 
 priesthood.' He did this, too, and the next 
 year came back with his studies completed. 
 ' Do you trust me now ? ' asked he, and even 
 had on gown and collar. ' Now I should like 
 to hear you preach a few times,' said Karen. 
 And he preached strictly in accordance with 
 the word of God, as it behooves a priest to do ; 
 he spoke of his own weakness, and how easy it 
 was to conquer if one could only begin, and 
 how good the word of God was when once it 
 was found. After this he again sought Karen. 
 ' Yes, now I believe you live up to what you 
 have learned,' said Karen. ' And now I will 
 tell you that for three years I have been be- 
 trothed to my cousin, Anders Hougen ; you 
 shall publish the bans for us next Sunday.' " 
 
 Here the mother concluded. Synnove had 
 paid little attention in the beginning, but had 
 gradually roused up more and more, and at the 
 last hung upon every word. " Is there any 
 more?" inquired she, much alarmed. 
 
 " No," answered the mother. The father 
 ..ooked at the mother, and then her gaze grew
 
 160 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 unsteady and avoided his ; and after a little re- 
 flection, daring which she drew her finger along 
 the table, she continued, " Perhaps there might 
 be something more ; but it does not matter." 
 
 " Is there more ? " asked Synnove, turning 
 to her father, who seemed to know about it. 
 
 " Oh — yes ; but it is as mother says ; it does 
 not matter." 
 
 " What became of him ? " asked Synnove. 
 
 " Ay, that is just it," said the father, and 
 looked toward the mother. She had leaned 
 back against the wall, and was looking at the 
 two. 
 
 " Did he become unhappy?" asked Synnove, 
 softly. 
 
 " We must end where the end ought to be," 
 said the mother, and arose. The father did 
 likewise. Synnove slowly arose after them.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Some weeks later, early in the morning, the 
 entire Solbakke household was preparing for 
 church-going. There was to be confirmation, 
 which took place a little earlier this year than 
 usual, and on an occasion of this kind the 
 house was always locked up, for all wanted to 
 go. They were not going to drive, as the 
 weather was clear, although rather cold and 
 blustering in the morning ; the day promised 
 to be fine. The road wound about the parish ; 
 and past Granliden, then took an abrupt turn 
 to the right, and fully two miles farther on lay 
 the church. The grain was in most places cut 
 and put on poles for drying. The cows had 
 nearly all been brought down from the mount- 
 ains, and were tethered. The fields were either 
 covered with their second growth of green, or 
 where the earth was poor were of a grayish- 
 white hue. Round about stood the many-col- 
 ored forests : the birch already drooping, the 
 aspen quite yellow, the rowan with dry, shriv- 
 eled leaves, but with berries. It had rained 
 11
 
 162 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 hard for several days ; the small brush that 
 lined the roadside, and stood sneezing in the 
 sand, was now washed clean and fresh. But 
 the mountain sides began to beetle more darkly 
 over the valley, now that the devastating au- 
 tumn had dismantled them and made them 
 look sober; whereas the mountain brooks, 
 which had only occasionally shown life during 
 the summer, rolled swollen and leaped down 
 with a great noise. The Granlid force fell 
 more heavily and with more gravity, especially 
 when it came to the rocky waste of the Granlid 
 slope, where the mountain suddenly refuses to 
 accompany it any farther, and makes an ab- 
 rupt curve inward. It braced itself in the rock, 
 and then rushed onward, and shouted so that 
 the mountain trembled. The rock was well 
 washed for its treason, for the force sent a pro- 
 voking jet of spray right up into its face. 
 Some inquisitive alder bushes, which had ap- 
 proached the edge of the precipice, had nearly 
 reeled clown in the flood ; they stood gasping 
 in the shower-bath, for the force was not spar- 
 ing to-day. 
 
 Thorbjorn, both his parents, his brother and 
 sister, and the rest of the household passed by 
 and beheld this. He was now well again, and 
 had already taken vigorous hold of his father's
 
 SYNXOVE SOLBAKKEN. 163 
 
 work, as before. The two were continually to- 
 gether, and so they were to-day. 
 
 " I almost think those are the Solbakke peo- 
 ple we have right behind us," said the father. 
 
 Thorbjorn did not look back, but the mother 
 said, " Yes, so they are ; but I do not see — oh, 
 yes, far back there." 
 
 Either because the Granlid family went 
 faster after this, or because the Solbakke fam- 
 ily slackened their speed, the distance between 
 them became greater and greater ; at last they 
 could scarcely see one another. 
 
 It looked as if the church would be crowded ; 
 the long parish road was black with people, 
 walking, driving, and riding. The horses, now 
 in the autumn, were full of mettle and little 
 accustomed to being together ; the result of 
 which was that they went neighing along, and 
 were so unruly that the trip was dangerous, al- 
 though quite lively. The nearer they drew to 
 the church, the greater noise the horses kept 
 up; for each one that arrived called out to 
 those who already stood tied there, and they 
 in turn tugged at their tethers, stamped on the 
 ground with their hind hoofs, and whinnied at 
 the new-comers. All the dogs of the parish, 
 who the whole week long had sat listening to 
 one another, scolding and teasing one another,
 
 164 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 now met here at chm*ch, and rushed into the 
 most desperate fights, in couples and in great 
 knots, all over the grounds. The people stood 
 quiet in rows along the church wall and along 
 the houses, spoke in whispers, and merely 
 looked at one another out of the corners of 
 their eyes. The road leading past the wall was 
 not broad ; the houses on the opposite side 
 were close by ; and the women generally stood 
 along the church wall, the men directly oppo- 
 site, along the houses. Not until later did they 
 venture to cross over and mingle together ; and 
 even if acquaintances espied one another at a 
 distance they acted as though they did not 
 know one another until that time came. It 
 might then happen that when a fresh party 
 came up some of those already there stood so 
 directly in their way that a greeting could not 
 be avoided ; but it was given, in such cases, 
 with half-averted face and few words, where- 
 upon the new-comers were apt to withdraw 
 each to his side. When the Granlid family 
 approached, the prevailing stillness, if possi- 
 ble, increased. Saemund did not have many 
 to greet, and so he quickly passed down the 
 line ; the women, on their part, at once fast- 
 ened themselves against the wall, and remained 
 standing there among the foremost. The re-
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 165 
 
 suit of this was that when it was time to go 
 into church the men had to cross over again 
 after the women. Just as they were doing so, 
 three vehicles, one after the other, came driv- 
 ing up more rapidly than any of the preced- 
 ing ones, and did not slacken their speed as 
 they turned in among the people. Sasmund 
 and Thorbjorn, who came near being run over, 
 both looked up at once ; in the first vehicle sat 
 Knud Nordhoug and an old man, in the sec- 
 ond his sister and her husband, and in the third 
 his parents. Father and son looked at each 
 other ; not a feature of Ssemund's face moved. 
 Thorbjorn was very pale. They both gazed 
 away and looked directly before them ; then 
 they saw the Solbakke family, who had just 
 paused directly opposite to greet Inge bj org and 
 Ingrid Granliden. The vehicles had come in 
 between ; conversation had grown stiff ; their 
 eyes still hung on those who had driven on, 
 and it was some time before they could with- 
 draw them. After one and the other had be- 
 gun to recover from the surprise, and let their 
 eyes wander around to seek something to di- 
 vert their attention, they fell on Saemund and 
 Thorbjorn, who stood staring there in the road. 
 Guttorm Solbakken turned away, but his wife 
 at once sought Thorbjorn's eyes. Synnove,
 
 166 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 who had probably caught these, turned to In- 
 grid Granliden, and took her hand to greet her, 
 although she had done so once before. But 
 they all at the same time became conscious that 
 their servants and acquaintances were every one 
 observing them, and Ssemund went right over 
 and, without looking at him, took Guttorin by 
 the hand. 
 
 " Thanks for last," 1 said he. 
 
 " Thanks to yourself for last." 
 
 To Guttorm's wife too he said, " Thanks for 
 last." 
 
 "Thanks to yourself for last;" but she did 
 not look up as she spoke. 
 
 Thorbjorn followed, and did as his father had 
 done. The latter had now come to Synnove, who 
 was the first person he looked at. She looked 
 up at him, too, and forgot to say, " Thanks for 
 last." Thorbjorn appeared just then ; he said 
 nothing, she nothing. They took each other by 
 the hand, but lightly ; neither could raise an 
 eye, neither could stir a foot. 
 
 " It is surely going to be blessed weather, to- 
 day," remarked Karen Solbakken, and glanced 
 hastily from one to the other. 
 
 It was Ssemund who answered : " Oh, yes ; 
 that wind is driving the clouds away." 
 
 i A common greeting in Norway, equivalent to " Thanks for the 
 last time we were together."
 
 synnOte solbakken. 167 
 
 " That is a good tiling for the grain that is 
 standing out and needs dry weather," said In- 
 gebjorg Granliden, and began to brash the 
 back of Saemund's jacket, probably because she 
 thought it was dusty. 
 
 " The Lord has given us a good year ; but it 
 is rather uncertain whether we shall get every- 
 thing under cover," began Karen Solbakken, 
 and glanced over again at the two, who had 
 not stirred since the last time she looked. 
 
 " That depends upon how strong a force we 
 can muster," replied Ssemund, and turned in 
 such a way toward her that she could not very 
 well look where she wanted. " I have often 
 thought that a couple of gards might unite 
 their forces; we would surely do better in that 
 way." 
 
 " It might happen that they would want to 
 make use of the dry weather at the same time," 
 said Karen Solbakken, and took a step to one 
 side. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," answered Ingebjb'rg, and 
 stationed herself close beside her husband, so 
 that Karen could not look where she desired 
 now either. " But in some places the crop 
 ripens earlier than in others ; Solbakken is 
 often a fortnight in advance of us." 
 
 " Yes, and so we could very well help each
 
 168 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 other," observed Guttorm slowly, and drew a 
 step nearer. Karen gave him a hasty glance 
 " However, there are many circumstances which 
 can come in the way," added he. 
 
 " That there are," said Karen, and moved a 
 step to one side, a step to the other, and still 
 anothe", but glanced back again. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is often a great deal in one's 
 way," said Ssemund; and a smile seemed to 
 play about his lips. 
 
 " That is no doubt so," said Guttorm. 
 
 But his wife interposed, " Man's power does 
 not extend far ; that of God is the greatest, I 
 should think, and it depends upon Him." 
 
 " Do you think He is likely to have anything 
 especial against our helping one another with 
 the harvesting at Granliden and Solbakken ? " 
 
 " No," remarked Guttorm. " He cannot have 
 anything against that," and he looked gravely 
 at his wife. She turned the subject. 
 
 " There are a great many people at church 
 to-day," said she ; " it does one good to see 
 them seek the house of God." 
 
 No one seemed to want to reply ; finally Gut 
 torm observed, " I really believe the fear of 
 God is increasing ; there is a larger attendance 
 at church now than there was in my young 
 days."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 169 
 
 " Oh, yes, — the people are increasing," re- 
 marked Ssemund. 
 
 "No doubt there are some among them, per- 
 haps the greater part, who merely come over 
 here from habit," said Karen Solbakken. 
 
 " Perhaps the younger ones," observed In- 
 gebjorg. 
 
 " The younger ones like to meet one another," 
 said Ssemund. 
 
 " Have you heard that the priest is going to 
 apply for another parish? " asked Karen, thus 
 turning the conversation a second time. 
 
 " That would be too bad," said Ingebjorg. 
 " He has both baptized and confirmed all my 
 children." 
 
 " I suppose you would like him to marry 
 them also, first," said Saemund, and chewed 
 away at a chip he had picked up. 
 
 " I wonder if it will not soon be church 
 time ! " exclaimed Karen, and looked over at 
 the door. 
 
 "Yes, it is pretty warm out here to-day," 
 said Scemund, chewing away as before. 
 
 " Come now, Synnove, let us go in." 
 
 Synnove started, and turned, for she had 
 doubtless been talking with Thorbjorn. 
 
 " Will you not wait until the bell rings?" 
 asked Ingrid Granliden, and stole a glance at 
 Synnove.
 
 170 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " Then we can all go in together," added 
 Ingebjorg. 
 
 Synnove knew not what she should answer. 
 
 Sasmund looked over his shoulder at her. 
 '' Wait, and it will ring soon for you," said he. 
 
 Synnove grew very red; her mother looked 
 sharply up at hiin. But he smiled with his 
 eyes fixed on her. 
 
 " It will be now as the Lord wishes : was not 
 that what you said a while ago?" said he, and 
 sauntered on in advance toward the church, the 
 others following. 
 
 At the church door there was a crowd, and 
 when they came to look it was not open. Just 
 as they drew nearer to inquire into the cause of 
 this, the door was opened, and the people poured 
 in ; but some of them stepped back, and this 
 separated those who were entering. Up against 
 tlie wall stood two people, in conversation, one 
 of them tall and heavily built, with light but 
 straight hair and snub nose; and this was Knud 
 Nordhoug, who, when he saw the Granlid family 
 approach, stopped talking, looked rather em- 
 barrassed, but stood still, nevertheless. Sasmund 
 was obliged now to go right past him, and fixed 
 on him a pair of eyes, as he did so ; but Knud 
 did not lower his either, although their gaze 
 was not steady. Now came Synnove, and the
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 171 
 
 moment she so unexpectedly caught sight of 
 Knud she grew deathly pale. Then Knud cast 
 down his eyes, and straightened himself up 
 from the wall to go. He had taken only a few 
 steps when he saw four faces turned to his ; 
 these were Guttorm's, his wife's, Ingrid's, and 
 Thorbjorn's. As one bewildered, he went 
 straight toward them, so that without know- 
 ing what he was doing he soon stood face to 
 face with Thorbjorn himself ; the latter at once 
 made a movement to turn aside ; but several 
 people had come up, and this could not so eas- 
 ily be done. This occurred on the stone slab 
 lying outside of the Fagerlid church. Upon 
 the threshold of the vestibule Synnove had 
 paused, and Ssemund farther in ; as they stood 
 higher than the others, they could distinctly see 
 every one outside, and be seen by them. Syn- 
 nove had forgotten all else around her, and only 
 stared at Thorbjiirn ; the same with SaBmuud, 
 his wife, the Solbakke couple, and Ingrid. 
 Thorbjorn felt this, and stood as one nailed to 
 the spot ; but Knud thought he must do some- 
 thing here, and so he stretched out one hand 
 a little way, but said nothing. Thorbjorn also 
 put his forward a little, but not so that the 
 two hands could touch. 
 
 " Thanks for " — began Knud, but remem-
 
 172 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 bered at once that this was not the proper 
 greeting here, and drew back a step. 
 
 Thorbjorn looked up, and his eye fell on 
 Synnove, who was as white as snow. With a 
 long stride forward and a vigorous grasp of 
 Knud's hand, he said, so that those nearest 
 could hear it, " Thanks for last, Knud ; we may 
 have gained much good from it, both of us." 
 
 Knud gave vent to a sound, almost like a sob, 
 and it seemed two or three times as though he 
 tried to speak, but the effort was in vain. Thor- 
 bjorn had nothing further to say, he waited, 
 did not look up, — only waited. There was ut- 
 tered, meanwhile, not a word ; and as Thorbjorn 
 now stood there twirling his hymn-book, it 
 chanced that he dropped it. At once Knud 
 stooped, picked it up, and handed it to him. 
 
 " Thank you ! " said Thorbjorn, who had half 
 stooped himself. He raised his eyes, but as 
 Knud looked down again, Thorbjorn thought, 
 " It is best for me to go." And so he went. 
 
 The others went, too, and when Thorbjorn 
 had been seated for a while, and ventured to 
 look over at the women's pew, his gaze met 
 In gebj org's face, beaming with a motherly smile 
 on him, and that of Karen Solbakken too, who 
 evidently had been waiting for him to look over 
 there ; for the moment he did so she nodded
 
 synnove solbakken. 173 
 
 at him three times, and when he hesitated she 
 nodded again three times, still more gently 
 than before. Ssenmnd, his father, whispered in 
 his ear, " I thought so." They had heard the 
 opening prayer, sung a hymn, and the confirma- 
 tion candidates were already taking their places 
 before he whispered to him the next time : 
 " But Knud does not know much about being 
 good ; let it ever be far from Granliden to 
 Nordhoug." 
 
 The confirmation began by the priest coming 
 forward and the children uniting in sinking 
 Kingo's confirmation hymn. To hear them sing 
 all at once and without accompaniment, their 
 fresh young voices so full of trusting hope, is 
 calculated to touch people, and especially those 
 who are not too far advanced in life to remem- 
 ber their own day. When after this deep si- 
 lence ensues, and the priest, the same now as 
 more than twenty years ago, the same who has 
 taken such pains to find an occasional little 
 hour wherein he has talked for the improve- 
 ment of every single one of them, — when now 
 he clasps his hands over his breast and joins in 
 the hymn, there is indeed much emotion. But 
 the children begin to shed tears when the priest 
 talks of their parents, and wishes them to pray 
 to the Lord for their children. Thorbjorn, who
 
 174 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 but recently lay at the point of death, and still 
 more recently believed that he would be an in- 
 valid all his life, wept much, but especially 
 when the children took upon them their vow, 
 and all seemed so sure of being able to keep it. 
 He did not once look over at the women's pew, 
 but at the end of the service he went over to 
 Ingrid, his sister, and whispered something to 
 her, whereupon he hurriedly pressed forward 
 and went out ; and some were under the im- 
 pression that he had gone up over the slope and 
 through the woods, instead of by the road, but 
 they were not sure of this. Saemund searched 
 for him ; gave it up, though, when he saw that 
 Ingrid too was gone. He then looked round 
 for the Solbakke people; they were seeking 
 everywhere for Synnove, whom no one had 
 seen. Then they started for home, each sepa- 
 rately, and without their children. 
 
 But already far on their way were both Syn- 
 nove and Ingrid. 
 
 " I am almost sorry that I came along," said 
 the former. 
 
 " It is no longer serious now that father 
 knows of it," said the latter. 
 
 " Yes, but he is not my father," replied Syn 
 uove. 
 
 u Who knows?" replied Ingrid; and then 
 they said nothing more upon that subject.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 175 
 
 " This must be where we were to wait," re- 
 marked Ingrid, as the road made an abrupt 
 curve, and they entered a dense wood. 
 
 " He has taken a long, roundabout way./' 
 said Synnove. 
 
 " Already come ! " interposed Thorbjorn ; he 
 arose from behind a great stone. 
 
 He had ready in his mind all that he wanted 
 to say, and that was not a little. But to-day 
 things could not go wrong ; for his father knew 
 his wishes and approved them, of which he felt 
 sure, after what had occurred at church. This 
 oportunity was what he had been longing for 
 the whole summer, and he surely would be 
 more able to speak now than he had ever been 
 before. " We had better take the road through 
 the woods," observed he ; " we will get on faster 
 that way." The girls said nothing, but went 
 with him. Thorbjorn thought about speaking 
 to Synnove, but first he wanted to wait until 
 they got up over the hill, afterward until they 
 were across the marsh ; yet when they were 
 well across, he decided that it was best not to 
 begin until they had come into the woods, far- 
 ther on. Ingrid, who probably thought they 
 were getting on pretty slowly, began to slacken 
 her pace, and fell more and more behind, until 
 she was scarcely visible. Synnove pretended
 
 176 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 she did not notice this, but began to pick here 
 and there a berry which thrust itself forward 
 on the roadside. 
 
 " It would be strange if I could not find words 
 for myself," thought Thorbjorn ; and so he re- 
 marked, " The weather proved to be fine to-day, 
 after all." 
 
 " So it did," answered Synnove. And then 
 they walked on a piece again. She picked ber- 
 ries, and he kept moving. 
 
 " It was kind of you to come with me," said 
 he ; but to this she made no answer. " It has 
 been a long summer," he continued „ but to 
 this she made no answer, either. 
 
 "No, as long as we are walking," thought 
 Thorbjorn, "we will never get the conversa- 
 tion started. I think we had better wait a lit- 
 tle for Ingrid," said he. 
 
 " Yes, let us do so," answered Synnove, and 
 stood, still. 
 
 There were no berries here to stoop for, — 
 this Thorbjorn had plainly seen ; but Synnove 
 had picked up a large straw, and now she stood 
 and threaded the berries on the straw. 
 
 " To-day I have been strongly reminded of 
 the time when we went together to confirma- 
 tion," said he. 
 
 " I, too, thought of it," replied she.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 177 
 
 "Many things have happened since that 
 time," said he ; and as she made no answer, he 
 continued : " but most of them have been dif- 
 ferent from what we expected." 
 
 Synnove was very industriously threading her 
 berries on the straw, and held her head bowed 
 down as she did so. He advanced a little in 
 order to look into her face ; but, as though she 
 observed this, she managed to make it neces- 
 sary for her to turn again. Then he grew al- 
 most afraid that he should not be able to say 
 what he desired. 
 
 " Synnove, you must have something to say, 
 too." 
 
 She looked up and laughed. " What shall I 
 say ? " asked she. 
 
 He recovered all his courage, and wanted to 
 put his arm right around her waist ; but when 
 he came near her, he did not exactly dare to do 
 so. He therefore merely asked, very timidly, 
 " Ingrid has talked with you, I presume?" 
 
 " Yes," replied she. 
 
 " Then I dare say you know something, too," 
 said he. She was silent. " Then I dare say 
 you know something, too," he repeated, and 
 drew nearer the second time. 
 
 " You know something, too, I suppose," an- 
 swered she. 
 
 12
 
 178 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 He could not see her face. 
 
 " Yes," said he, and tried to take hold of 
 one of her hands ; but she was more industrious 
 now than ever. " It is so provoking," continued 
 he ; " you steal my courage away." He could 
 not see whether she smiled to this, and there- 
 fore he did not know what he should add. " To 
 cut the matter short," said he, suddenly, speak- 
 ing in a loud tone, although the voice was not 
 quite steady, " what have you done with that 
 note ? " 
 
 She made no reply, but turned away. He 
 moved after her, laid one hand on her shoulder, 
 and bent over her. 
 
 " Answer me," he whispered. 
 
 " I have burnt it." 
 
 He quickly seized hold of her and turned 
 her toward him ; but then he saw that she was 
 about to cry, and so he did not dare to do 
 anything but let go his hold of her again. " It 
 is too bad that her tears come so easily," 
 thought he. 
 
 Just at that moment she said, " Why did 
 you write the note ? " 
 
 " That Ingrid has told you." 
 
 " Yes, of course ; but — it was hard in you.' 
 
 " Father wished that " — 
 
 " Nevertheless " —
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 179 
 
 " He believed that I would be a broken- 
 down invalid all my life ; hereafter I shall take 
 care of you," said he. 
 
 Ingrid appeared at the foot of the hill, and 
 they started at once to go on. 
 
 " It seemed as though I cared most for you 
 when I no longer thought I should be able to 
 get you," he continued. 
 
 "One knows one's self best when one is 
 alone," said she. 
 
 " Yes ; then we find out who has the great- 
 est power over us," said Thorbjorn, in a clear 
 voice, and walked gravely by her side. 
 
 She picked no more berries. 
 
 " Will you have these ? " asked she, handing 
 him the straw. 
 
 " Thank you ! " said he, and held fast to the 
 hand that reached him the berries. " So then 
 it is best that things go on in the old way," 
 said he, in rather a faint voice. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, scarcely audibly, and 
 turned away. 
 
 Then they went onward, and so long as she 
 was silent he did not either dare touch her or 
 speak ; but he felt no weight at all in his body, 
 and therefore came pretty near tumbling over. 
 There was a burning in his eyes, and when, 
 just then, they reached an elevation from which
 
 180 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 Solbakken was plainly visible it seemed to him 
 as though he had lived there all his life, and 
 longed to get home. 
 
 " I might just as well go over with her at 
 once," thought he; and, drinking in courage 
 from the view, he grew stronger in his resolve 
 with every step. "Father will help me," 
 thought he. " I cannot bear this any longer ; 
 •I must go over there, — I must ! " He walked 
 faster and faster, looking straight before him ; 
 there seemed to be a glow over parish and gard. 
 " Yes, to-day ; not an hour longer will I wait ; " 
 and he felt so strong that he knew not which 
 way he should turn. 
 
 " You are leaving me behind," he heard from 
 a sweet voice just back of him. 
 
 It was Synnove, who had scarcely been able 
 to follow him, and now had to give up. He 
 felt ashamed, turned, and walked back with 
 outstretched arms, thinking, "I will lift her 
 right over my head ; " but when he came near, 
 he did not do so at all. 
 
 " I walk so fast," said he. 
 
 " You do," replied she. 
 
 They were near the parish road ; Ingrid, who 
 for some time had been out of sight, came up 
 right behind them. 
 
 " Now you two shall not walk together any 
 'onger," said she.
 
 SYXNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 181 
 
 Tliorbjorn was startled at this ; it came too 
 soon for him. Synnove became also a little em 
 barrassed. 
 
 "I have so much I ought to say to you," 
 whispered Thorbjorn. She could not avoid 
 smiling. " Oh, well," said he, "another time " 
 — and he took her hand. 
 
 She looked up with a clear, full gaze ; he 
 grew warm under it, and promptly it ran 
 through his mind, " I will go with her at once ! " 
 Then she discreetly withdrew her hand, turned 
 calmly to Ingrid, bade her farewell, and went 
 slowly down toward the road. He was left 
 standing behind. 
 
 The brother and sister went home through 
 the woods. 
 
 " Did you now have a talk together ? " in- 
 quired Ingrid. 
 
 " No, the road was too short," said he, walk- 
 ing fast, as though he did not want to hear 
 more. 
 
 " Well ? " asked Ssemund, looking up from 
 his dinner, as the two entered the room. Thor- 
 bjorn made no reply, but went over to the 
 bench opposite, probably to take off his things; 
 Ingrid followed, laughing slyly. Saemund be- 
 eran to eat again : now and then he looked over
 
 182 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 at Thorbjorn, who seemed very busy, smiled, 
 and ate on. " Come and eat," said lie ; " the 
 dinner will be cold." 
 
 " Thank you, I do not want anything," said 
 Thorbjorn, and sat down. 
 
 "So?" and Seemund went on eating. Pres- 
 ently he said, " You were in a great hurry to 
 get away from church to-day." 
 
 " There were some people we had to talk 
 with," said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " Well, did you get to talk with them ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know," said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " The deuce you do not ! " cried Ssemund, and 
 went on eating. Shortly after he finished, and 
 arose ; he walked over to the window, stood 
 a while looking out, then turned, and said, 
 " See here, let us go out and look at the 
 crops." Thorbjorn arose. " No, you might 
 as well put your coat on." Thorbjorn, who was 
 in his shirt-sleeves, laid hold of an old jacket 
 that hung above him. " You see, I have put 
 on a new one," said Ssemund. Thorbjorn did 
 the same, and they went out; Sasmund leading 
 the way, Thorbjorn following. 
 
 They went down toward the road. " Shall 
 we not go over to the barley ? " asked Thor- 
 bjorn. 
 
 " No, we will go yonder to the wheat," re*
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 183 
 
 plied Stem and. Just as they reached the road, 
 a cart came slowly driving along. " That is 
 one of the Nordhoug carts," said Sasmund. 
 
 " Yes, those are the young people from Nord- 
 houg," added Thorbjorn. By the young people 
 he meant the newly-married couple. 
 
 The cart halted as it came near the Granlid 
 men. " She is really a proud woman, that Ma- 
 rit Nordhoug," whispered Ssemund, and could 
 not take his eyes from her. She sat leaning 
 back in the cart, with one kerchief loosely tied 
 about her head, and another drawn around her. 
 She was looking fixedly out at the two ; there 
 was not the slightest emotion in her clear-cut, 
 strong features. Her husband was very pale 
 and thin, had a still more gentle look than for- 
 merly, much as one who has a sorrow he can- 
 not speak of. 
 
 " Are you men out looking at the grain ? " 
 asked he. 
 
 " It seems so," replied Ssemund. 
 
 " It is doing well this year." 
 
 " Oh, yes, it might have done worse." 
 
 " You are late," said Thorbjorn. 
 
 " There were a great many acquaintances to 
 take leave of," said the man. 
 
 "Why — are you going on a journey?" 
 asked Saemund.
 
 184 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " I expect to, yes." 
 
 " Are you going far? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " How far, for example ? " 
 
 " To America." 
 
 " To America ! " exclaimed both men in a 
 breath. " A new-married man ! " added Ste- 
 mund. 
 
 The man smiled, and said, " ' I think I will 
 stay here for the sake of my foot,' said the fox, 
 when he had been caught in the trap." 
 
 Marit looked at him, and then at the others, 
 and a slight flush overspread her face ; other- 
 wise it was unchanged. 
 
 "I suppose your wife will go with you?" 
 said Sremund. 
 
 " No, she will not, either.' 
 
 " They say it is easy to gain position in 
 America," said Thorbjorn ; he felt that the 
 conversation should not be allowed to come to 
 a stand-still. 
 
 "Oh — yes," said the man. 
 
 " But Nordhoug is a good gard," remarked 
 Sasmund. 
 
 " There are too many people on it," re- 
 plied the man. His wife looked at him 
 again. " One stands in the way of the other,' 
 be added.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 185 
 
 " Well, good luck on your journey," said 
 Ssemund, and took bis hand. " The Lord grant 
 you what you wish to find ! " 
 
 Thorbjorn looked his old school-mate ear- 
 nestly in the eye. " I will talk with you by 
 and by," said he. 
 
 "It is good to have some one to talk with," 
 said the man, and scraped the bottom of the 
 cart with his whip. 
 
 "Do come over to our house," said Marit ; 
 and Thorbjorn, as well as Saemund, looked up 
 in surprise ; they had really forgotten that she 
 had so pleasant a voice. 
 
 They drove on ; the cart moved slowly 
 away ; a little cloud of dust encircled them, — 
 the evening sun fell directly on it ; against 
 his wadmal clothes her silken kerchief glist- 
 ened. They came to a hill, and disappeared. 
 
 The father and son walked on for a long 
 time before they said anything. 
 
 " I have a foreboding that it will be long be- 
 fore he returns," observed Thorbjorn, finally. 
 
 " That is best, I suppose," remarked S33- 
 mund, " when one has not secured happiness 
 at home ; " and once more they walked silently 
 on. 
 
 "You are going past the wheat field," said 
 Thorbjorn.
 
 186 synnOye solbakken. 
 
 "We can look at that on our way back," 
 and they went farther on. Thorbjorn did not 
 altogether like to ask where they were going; 
 for they had now passed the Granlid grounds.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Guttoem and Karen Solbakken had already 
 finished their dinner when Synnove, flushed an I 
 out of breath, entered. 
 
 " Why, my dear child, where have' you 
 been ? " asked her mother. 
 
 " I stayed behind with Ingrid," answered 
 Synnove, and remained standing, while she 
 took off a couple of kerchiefs. Her father was 
 searching in the cupboard for a book. 
 
 " What could you two have to talk about 
 that took such a long time ? " 
 
 " Oh, not anything." 
 
 " Then it would have been better if you had 
 kept with the church people, my child." Ka- 
 ren got up and placed Synnove's dinner before 
 her. When Synnove had taken her seat at the 
 table, and her mother had sat down directly 
 opposite, the latter said, " I suppose there were 
 others you were talking with." 
 
 " Yes, there were many," replied Synnove. 
 
 " The child may surely be allowed to talk 
 with folks," said Guttorm.
 
 188 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " To be sure she may," said the mother, 
 rather more gently ; " but still she ought to 
 come home with her parents." 
 
 To this no reply was made. 
 
 " It was a blessed church day," remarked the 
 mother. " It does me good to see the young 
 folks come forward in church." 
 
 "It makes one think of one's own children," 
 said Guttorm. 
 
 " You are right there," said the mother, and 
 sighed. " No one can tell how things will go 
 with them." 
 
 Guttorm sat silent for a long time. " We 
 have much to thank God for," said he at last ; 
 " He has allowed us to keep one of ours." 
 
 The mother sat drawing her finger along the 
 table, and did not look up. " She is our great- 
 est joy," said she, softly ; " and she has done 
 well," she added, still more softly. There fol- 
 lowed a long silence. 
 
 " Yes, she has given us much happiness," said 
 Guttorm ; and later, in a soft voice, " The 
 Lord make her happy ! " 
 
 The mother was still drawing her finger along 
 the table ; there fell now a tear upon it, which 
 she kept wiping away. 
 
 " Why are you not eating ? " said the father, 
 looking up, a little while later.
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 189 
 
 " Thank you, I have done," replied Synnove. 
 
 "But you have not eaten anything," now 
 spoke up the mother, too ; "and you have had 
 a long walk." 
 
 " I am not able to," said Synnove, and bus- 
 ied herself with an end of her kerchief. 
 
 " Eat, my child," said the father. 
 
 " I cannot," said Synnove, and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " But, dear, why are you crying ? " 
 
 " I do not know," and she sobbed. 
 
 " She does cry so easily," said the mother. 
 
 The father got up and walked to the win- 
 dow. " There are two men coming up this 
 way," said he. 
 
 " Why — is that so, at this time of day ? " 
 inquired the mother, and she too went to the 
 window. They looked for a long time down 
 the hill. 
 
 "Dear, who can it be?" said Karen, at last, 
 but not quite as though she were seeking in- 
 formation. 
 
 " I do not know," replied Guttorm, and they 
 stood and watched. 
 
 " Really, I cannot undei'stand it," said she. 
 
 " Nor I either," said he. 
 
 The men came nearer. 
 
 "It must be they, nevertheless," said she, 
 finally.
 
 190 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," said Guttorm. 
 
 The men came nearer and nearer. The elder 
 of the two paused and looked back ; the younger 
 one did the same ; then they continued onward. 
 
 " Can you imagine what they want? " asked 
 Karen, in about the same way as the first time. 
 
 " No, I cannot," replied Guttorm. 
 
 The mother turned, went over to the table, 
 removed the dishes, and cleared up a little, 
 " You had better put on your kerchief, my 
 child," said she to Synnove ; " for here come 
 some strangers." 
 
 Scarcely had she said this before S^emund 
 opened the door and came in, Thorbjorn di- 
 rectly behind him. " Bless the company ! " 
 said Sfemund, paused a little at the door, then 
 went quietly to greet those within ; Thorbjorn 
 followed. They came last to Synnove, who 
 still stood in a corner, with her kerchief in her 
 hand, and did not know whether she should 
 put it on or not ; indeed, perhaps scarcely 
 knew that she held it in her hands. 
 
 " Pray, be seated," urged the mistress of the 
 house. 
 
 " Thank you ; it is not far over here," said 
 SaBmund, but sat down nevertheless. Thor- 
 bjorn took a seat by his side. 
 
 " We lost sight of you altogether at the 
 church to-day," said Karen.
 
 SYNNOVE solbakken. 191 
 
 " Yes ; I was looking for you," said Ssemund. 
 
 " There were many people there," said Gut- 
 tor m. 
 
 " A great many," repeated Sosmund ; "and 
 it was a fine church day, too." 
 
 " Yes, we were just talking about it," said 
 Karen. 
 
 " A confirmation is a very touching sight to 
 any one who has children himself," added Gut- 
 torm ; his wife moved a little on the bench. 
 
 " That it is," said Sseinund ; " it sets one to 
 thinking seriously about them ; and that is 
 why I wandered over here this evening," he 
 added, looking about him with an air of se- 
 curity, and he changed his quid of tobacco, lay- 
 ing the old one cautiously aside in his brass to- 
 bacco-box. Guttorm, Karen, and Thorbjorn, let 
 their eyes wander in different directions. 
 
 " I thought I would accompany Thorbjorn 
 over here," began Ssemund slowly; " it would 
 take him a long time to get here alone, I fancy, 
 — and he would make poor work of it, besides, 
 I am afraid." He cast a sly look at Synnove, 
 who was conscious of it. " Now, it is just this 
 way : he has set his heart on Synnove from the 
 time he was old enough to understand anything 
 about such matters ; and it is not very sure but 
 she also has set her heart on him. And so I
 
 192 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 think it is best for tliem to come together. I 
 was little in favor of this in the days when 
 I saw he was scarcely able to manage himself, 
 to say nothing of other things, but now I think 
 I can vouch for him ; and if I cannot she can, 
 for her power is now the greatest, I suppose. 
 What do you two think of our making a match 
 for them ? There is no need of any haste, but I 
 do not know, either, why we should wait. You, 
 Guttorm, are pretty well off; I, to be sure, 
 rather less so, and have more to divide among; 
 but I fancy that will be all right. You will 
 have to say now what you think of this, — I 
 will ask her afterwards ; for I am pretty sure I 
 know what she wishes." 
 
 Thus spoke Saemund. Guttorm sat in a stoop- 
 ing position ; kept alternately placing his hands 
 one above the other ; made several signs to raise 
 his head, each time drawing his breath more 
 heavily, but did not succeed until the fourth or 
 fifth time ; then at last lie straightened his back, 
 stroked his knees up and down, looked over at 
 his wife, so that the glance now and then took 
 in Synnove. The latter did not stir ; no one 
 could see her face. Karen sat drawing her fin- 
 ger on the table. 
 
 " The fact is — it is a fine offer," said she. 
 
 " Yes, and it seems to me we might as well
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 193 
 
 accept it with thanks," said Guttorm, in a loud 
 voice, as though he were considerably relieved, 
 and looked from her to Ssemund, who had folded 
 his arms and leaned up against the wall. 
 
 "We have only this one daughter," added 
 Karen; "we have to consider a little." 
 
 " There is reason in that," said Ssemund ; 
 " but I cannot see what objection there can be 
 to giving an answer at once, as the bear said, — 
 he had been asking the peasant whether he 
 could have his cow." 
 
 " We might as well answer at once," re- 
 marked Guttorm, and glanced at his wife. 
 
 " What I thought was that perhaps Thor- 
 bjorn might be a little wild," said she, but did 
 not look up. 
 
 " That, I think, has righted itself," suggested 
 Guttorm ; " you know yourself what you said 
 to-day." 
 
 The husband and wife exchanged looks ; this 
 lasted probably a whole minute. " If we could 
 only be sure of him," said she. 
 
 " Well," said Ssemund, joining in the con- 
 versation again, " so far as that matter goes, I 
 can only say what I have said before ; it is all 
 right with the load when she holds the reins. 
 It is astonishing what power she has over him ; 
 I had proof of that when he lay ill at home, 
 
 13
 
 194 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 and did not know how things were going with 
 him, — whether he would get well or not." 
 
 " You should not be so hard to please," said 
 Guttorm. "You know what she wants herself, 
 and you know it is for her we live ! " 
 
 Then Synnove looked up for the first time, 
 and turned a pair of large thankful eyes on her 
 father. 
 
 " Oh, yes," sighed Karen, after a moment's 
 silence ; and now she drew her finger along the 
 table a little more vigorously than before. " If 
 I bave held out against it the longest, it was 
 because I meant well by it, I suppose. Per- 
 haps I was not so hard as my words." She 
 looked up and smiled ; but the tears would 
 come. 
 
 At this Guttorm arose. " Then, in God's 
 name, that has come to pass that I have most 
 wanted of all things in the world," said he, and 
 crossed the floor to Synnove. 
 
 " I have never doubted that," said Scemund, 
 also rising. " Those who are meant to come to- 
 gether come together." He crossed the floor. 
 
 " Well, what have you to say to this, my 
 child? " said the mother, she too going over to 
 Synnove. 
 
 She still kept her seat ; the rest stood about 
 her, all except Thorbjorn, who sat where he 
 had first taken his place.
 
 i« Angel.- 
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 195 
 
 " You must get up, my child," whispered the 
 mother to her; whereupon she arose, smiled, 
 turned away, and wept. " The Lord be with 
 you now and always ! " said the mother, threw 
 her arms around her, and wept too. The two 
 men walked across the floor, each in his own 
 direction. " You will have to go over to him," 
 said the mother, still weeping, as she let go of 
 her, and stole a loving glance at her. 
 
 Synnove took a step forward ; then stood 
 still, because she could not get any farther. 
 Thorbjorn sprang up and went toward her, 
 seized her hand, held it, knew not what more 
 to do, and stood there holding it until she 
 gently withdrew it. Then they stood silent 
 by each other's side. 
 
 The door opened noiselessly ; a head was 
 thrust into the room. "Is Synnove there?" 
 was asked, in a cautious voice ; it was Ingrid 
 Granliden. 
 
 k ' Yes, she is here ; come in ! " cried the father. 
 Ingrid seemed to hesitate a little. " Come now ; 
 all is well here," he added. They all looked at 
 her. 
 
 She appeared rather embarrassed. " There 
 may be somebody else outside," said she. 
 
 " Who is it?" inquired Guttorm. 
 
 '* It is mother," replied she, softly.
 
 196 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 
 
 " Let her come in ! " said four voices at once. 
 
 And the Solbakken wife went to the door, 
 while the others exchanged pleased glances. 
 
 " You may as well come in, mother," they 
 heard Ingrid say. And so Ingebjorg Granli- 
 den, in her glittering head gear, entered. 
 
 " I knew what was going on," said she, "al- 
 though Saemund never can tell anything. And 
 so Ingrid and I could not help coming over 
 here." 
 
 " Yes, it is just as you want it to be here," 
 said Seeinund, and moved so that she might ap- 
 proach. 
 
 " God bless you for drawing him over to 
 you ! " said she to Synnove, putting her arm 
 about her neck, and patting her. " You have 
 been very faithful, my child ; it has ended after 
 all as you desired," and she stroked her cheek 
 and hair. Her tears ran down over her face ; she 
 paid no heed to these, but carefully wiped away 
 Synnove's. " Yes, it is a fine boy you are get- 
 ting," added she, " and now I feel perfectly 
 safe about him," and she embraced her once 
 more. 
 
 " I tell you, mother has found out more in 
 her kitchen about this matter," said Saemund, 
 " than we others who have been right in the 
 midst of it."
 
 SYNNOVE SOLBAKKEN. 197 
 
 The weeping and emotion were calming down 
 a little. The housewife began to bethink her 
 of the evening meal, and spoke to little Ingrid 
 about helping her, " for Synnove is not fit for 
 it this evening." And so Ingrid and she set 
 to work to cook the cream-porridge. The men 
 got to talking about that year's harvesting, 
 and what its results might be. Thorbjorn had 
 taken his seat by the window, and Synnove 
 glided over to him and laid her hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " "What are you looking at ? " she whispered. 
 
 He turned his head, gave her a long, tender 
 look, then directed his gaze out of the window 
 again. " I am looking over at Granliden," said 
 he ; " it seems so strange to look at it from 
 here."
 
 ARNE.
 
 PKEFACE. 
 
 " Arne " was written in 1858, one year later than 
 " Synnove Solbakken," and is thought by many to 
 be Bjornson's best story, though it is, in my opinion, 
 surpassed in simplicity of style and delicate analysis 
 of motives, feelings, and character by " A Happy 
 Boy," his third long story, the translation of which is 
 now in progress, and which will follow this volume. 
 
 Norway's most eminent composers have written 
 music for many of Bjornson's poems, and made them 
 favorite songs, not only with the cultivated classes, 
 but also with the common people. To the songs 
 in " Arne " melodies were composed by Bjornson's 
 brilliant cousin, Rikard Nordraak, who died in 1865, 
 only twenty-three years old, but who had already won 
 a place as one of Norway's greatest composers. 
 
 "With a view of popularizing these melodies in this 
 country, all the poems have been given in precisely 
 the same metre and rhyme as the original, and those 
 caring to know how the tunes are supposed to have 
 sounded on the lips of Arne are referred to " The 
 Norway Music Album," edited by Auber Forestier 
 and myself, and published by Oliver Ditson & Co. of
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 Boston. In it will be found, together with the origi- 
 nal and English words, Rikard Nordraak's music to 
 the following five songs from " Arne " : — 
 
 1. " Oh, my pet lamb, lift your head," from chap- 
 ter v. 
 
 2. " It was such a pleasant, sunny day," from chap- 
 ter viii. 
 
 3. " The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their 
 brown," from chapter xii. 
 
 4. " Oh how I wonder what I should see 
 
 Over the lofty mountains," * from chapter 
 xiv. 
 
 5. " He went in the forest the whole day long," 
 from chapter xiv. 
 
 Mr. Bjbrnson returned to Norway in May, 1881 ; 
 he was welcomed with enthusiasm, and on the 17th 
 of the same month, Norway's natal day, he delivered 
 the oration at the dedication of the Wergeland Monu- 
 ment to a gathering of more than ten thousand peo- 
 ple. His visit to America was a brilliant success. 
 His addresses to his countrymen in America were 
 chiefly on the constitutional struggle of Norway, on 
 which subject an article by him will be found in the 
 February (1881) issue of " Scribner's Monthly." As 
 a souvenir of his pleasant sojourn among us, I will 
 here attempt an English translation of the poem 
 " Olaf Trygvason " with which he usually greeted his 
 hearers at his lectures. It is one of his most popular 
 songs. 
 
 1 To this there will also be found in the Album a melody by 
 Halfdan Kjerulf.
 
 PREFACE. « 
 
 Spreading sails o'er the North Sea speed; 
 High on deck stands at dawn, indeed, 
 Erling Skjalgson from Sole. 
 Spying o'er the sea towards Denmark : 
 " Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason ? " 
 
 Six and fifty the dragons are ; 
 Sails are furled .... toward Denmark stare 
 Sun-scorched men .... then rises : 
 "Where stays the King's Long Serpent? 
 Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason ? " 
 
 But when sun on the second day 
 Saw the watery, mastless way, 
 Like a great storm it sounded : 
 "Where stays the King's Long Serpent ? 
 Wherefore comes not Olaf Trygvason ? " 
 
 Quiet, quiet, in that same hour 
 Stood they all ; for with endless power, 
 Groaning, the sea was splashing : 
 "Taken the King's Long Serpent! 
 Fallen is Olaf Trygvason! " 
 
 Thus for more than an hundred years 
 Sounds in every seaman's ears, 
 Chiefly in moon-lit watches : 
 " Taken the King's Long Serpent! 
 Fallen is Olaf Trygvason ! " 
 
 The reader will not fail to be reminded by this 
 song by Bjornson of Longfellow's " Saga of King 
 Olaf " (the Musician's Tale), in his " Tales of a Way- 
 side Inn," and especially of those beautiful poems in 
 this collection, " The Building of the Long Serpent," 
 and " The Crew of the Long Serpent." 
 
 Hoping the translation of these stories and songs
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 will enable the reader to appreciate in some degree 
 the secret of Bjornson's great popularity in the fair 
 land that lies beneath the eternal snow and the un- 
 setting sun, I now offer " Arne " to the American 
 public. 
 
 EASMUS B. ANDERSON. 
 Asgaed, Madison, Wis., 
 August, 1881.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was a deep gorge between two 
 mountains ; through this gorge a large, full 
 stream flowed heavily over a rough and stony 
 bottom. Both sides were high and steep, 
 and so one side was bare ; but close to its 
 foot, and so near the stream that the latter 
 sprinkled it with moisture every spring and 
 autumn, stood a group of fresh-looking trees, 
 gazing upward and onward, yet unable to ad- 
 vance this way or that. 
 
 " What if we should clothe the mountain ? " 
 said the juniper one day to the foreign oak, to 
 which it stood nearer than all the others. The 
 oak looked down to find out who it was that 
 spoke, and then it looked up again without 
 deigning a reply. The river rushed along so 
 violently that it worked itself into a white 
 foam ; the north wind had forced its way 
 through the gorge and shrieked in the clefts 
 of the rocks ; the naked mountain, with its 
 great weight, hung heavily over and felt cold. 
 "What if we should clothe the mountain?"
 
 10 ARNE. 
 
 said the juniper to the fir on the other side. 
 " If anybody is to do it, I suppose it must be 
 we," said the fir, taking hold of its beard and 
 glancing toward the birch. " What do you 
 think?" But the birch peered cautiously up 
 at the mountain, which hung over it so threat- 
 eningly that it seemed as if it could scarcely 
 breathe. " Let us clothe it in God's name ! " 
 said the birch. And so, though there were but 
 these three, they undertook to clothe the mount- 
 ain. The juniper went first. 
 
 When they had gone a little way, they met 
 the heather. The juniper seemed as though 
 about to go past it. " Nay, take the heather 
 along," said the fir. And the heather joined 
 them. Soon it began to glide on before the 
 juniper. " Catch hold of me," said the heather. 
 The juniper did so, and where there was only a 
 wee crevice, the heather thrust in a finger, 
 and where it first had placed a finger, the ju- 
 niper took hold with its whole hand. They 
 crawled and crept along, the fir laboring on be- 
 hind, the birch also. " This is well worth do- 
 ing," said the birch. 
 
 But the mountain began to ponder on what 
 manner of insignificant objects these might be 
 that were clambering up over it. And after it 
 had been considering the matter a few hundred
 
 ARNE. 11 
 
 years it sent a little brook down to inquire. It 
 was yet in the time of the spring freshets, and 
 the brook stole on until it reached the heather. 
 " Dear, dear heather, cannot yon let me pass ; I 
 am so small." The heather was very busy; 
 only raised itself a little and pressed onward. 
 In, under, and onward went the brook. " Dear, 
 dear jnniper, cannot yon let me pass ; I am so 
 small." The juniper looked sharply at it ; but 
 if the heather had let it pass, why, in all rea- 
 son, it must do so too. Under it and onward 
 went the brook ; and now came to the spot 
 where the fir stood puffing on the hill-side. 
 " Dear, dear fir, cannot you let me pass ; I am 
 really so small," said the brook, — and it kissed 
 the fir's foot and made itself so very sweet. 
 The fir became bashful at this, and let it pass. 
 But the birch raised itself before the brook 
 asked it. " Hi, hi, hi ! " said the brook and 
 grew. " Ha, ha, ha ! " said the brook and grew. 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! " said the brook, and flung the 
 heather and the juniper and the fir and the 
 birch flat on their faces and backs, up and 
 down these great hills. The mountain sat for 
 many hundred years musing on whether it had 
 not smiled a little that day. 
 
 It was plain enough : the mountain did not 
 want to be clad. The heather fretted over
 
 12 ARNE. 
 
 this until it grew green again, and then it 
 started forward. " Fresh courage ! " said the 
 heather. 
 
 The juniper had half raised itself to look at 
 the heather, and continued to keep this posi- 
 tion, until at length it stood upright. It 
 scratched its head and set forth again, taking 
 such a vigorous foothold that it seemed as 
 though the mountain must feel it. " If you 
 will not have me, then I will have you." The 
 fir crooked its toes a little to find out whether 
 they were whole, then lifted one foot, found it 
 whole, then the other, which proved also to be 
 whole, then both of them. It first investigated 
 the ground it had been over, next where it 
 had been lying, and finally where it should go. 
 After this it began to wend its way slowly 
 along, and acted just as though it had never 
 fallen. The birch had become most wretch- 
 edly soiled, but now rose up and made itself 
 tidy. Then they sped onward, faster and faster, 
 upward and on either side, in sunshine and in 
 rain. " What in the world can this be ? " said 
 the mountain, all glittering with dew, as the 
 summer sun shone down on it, — the birds sang, 
 the wood-mouse piped, the hare hojjped along, 
 and the ermine hid itself and screamed. 
 
 Then the day came when the heather could
 
 ARNE. 13 
 
 peep with one eye over the edge of the mount- 
 ain. " Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear ! " said the 
 heather, and away it went. "Dear me! what 
 is it the heather sees ? " said the juniper, and 
 moved on until it could peer up. " Oh dear, 
 oh dear ! " it shrieked, and was gone. " What 
 is the matter with the juniper to-day ? " said 
 the fir, and took long strides onward in the 
 heat of the sun. Soon it could raise itself on 
 its toes and peep up. " Oh dear! " Branches 
 and needles stood on end in wonderment. It 
 worked its way forward, came up, and was gone. 
 " What is it all the others see, and not I ? " 
 said the birch ; and, lifting well its skirts, it 
 tripped after. It stretched its whole head up 
 at once. " Oh, — oh ! — is not here a great 
 forest of fir and heather, of juniper and birch, 
 standing upon the table-land waiting for us ? " 
 said the birch; and its leaves quivered in the 
 sunshine so that the dew trembled. " Aye, 
 this is what it is to reach the goal ! " said the 
 juniper.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Up on the hill-top it was that Arne was 
 born. His mother's name was Margit, and she 
 was the only child at the houseman's place, — 
 Kampen. 1 Once, in her eighteenth year, she 
 stayed too long at a dance ; her companions had 
 left her, and so Margit thought that the way 
 home would be just as long whether she waited 
 until the dancing was over or not. And thus 
 it happened that she kept her seat until the 
 fiddler, known as Nils the tailor, suddenly laid 
 aside his fiddle, as was his wont when drink 
 took possession of him, let others troll the 
 tune, seized the prettiest girl, moved his foot 
 as evenly as the rhythm of a song, and with 
 his boot-heel took the hat from the head of 
 the tallest person present. " Ho ! " said he. 
 
 When Margit went home that evening, the 
 moon-beams played on the snow with most won- 
 drous beauty. After she had reached her bed- 
 chamber she was moved to look out once more. 
 
 1 The top of a hill is called in Norwegian "Kamp," and the 
 Houseman's place took its name from its situation.
 
 ARNE. 15 
 
 She took off her boddice, but remained stand- 
 ing with it in her hand. Then she felt that 
 she was cold, closed the door hastily, undressed, 
 and nestled in under the robe. That night 
 Margit dreamed about a great red cow that had 
 wandered into the field. She went to drive 
 it out, but though she tried hard, she could not 
 stir from the spot ; the cow stood calmly graz- 
 ing there until it grew plump and well fed, 
 and every now and then it looked at her, with 
 large, heavy eyes. 
 
 The next time there was a dance in the par- 
 ish Margit was present. She cared little for 
 dancing that evening ; she kept her seat to 
 listen to the music, and it seemed strange to 
 her that there were not others also who pre- 
 ferred this. But when the evening had worn 
 on, the fiddler arose and wanted to dance. 
 All at once he went directly to Margit Kam- 
 pen. She scarcely knew what she was about, 
 but she danced with Nils the tailor. 
 
 Soon the weather grew warm, and there was 
 no more dancing. That spring Margit took 
 such interest in a little lamb that had fallen 
 ill, that her mother almost thought she was 
 overdoing it. 
 
 " It is only a little lamb," said the mother. 
 
 " Yes, but it is ill," replied Margit.
 
 16 ARNE. 
 
 It was some time since she had been to 
 church ; she wished to have her mother go, she 
 said, and some one must be at home. One 
 Sunday, later in the summer, the weather was 
 so fine that the hay could well be left out for 
 twenty-four hours, and the mother said that 
 now they surely might both go. Margit could 
 not reasonably object to this, and got ready 
 for church ; but when they were so far on their 
 way that they could hear the church-bells, 
 she burst into tears. The mother grew deathly 
 pale: but they went on, the mother in ad- 
 vance, Margit following, listened to the ser- 
 mon, joined in all the hymns to the very last, 
 followed the prayer, and heard the bell ring 
 before they left. But when they were seated 
 in the family-room at home again, the mother 
 took Margit's face between her hands and 
 said : — 
 
 " Hide nothing from me, my child." 
 There came another winter when Maredt did 
 not dance. But Nils the tailor fiddled, took 
 more strong drink than ever, and always, to- 
 ward the close of the evening, swung the pret- 
 tiest girl at the party. In those days, it was 
 told as a certain fact that he could marry 
 whom he pleased among the daughters of the 
 first gard-owners in the parish ; some added
 
 ARNE. 17 
 
 that Eli Boen herself had courted him for her 
 daughter Birgit, who was madly in love with 
 him. 
 
 But just at that time an infant of the house- 
 man's daughter at Kampen was brought to bap- 
 tism ; it was christened Arne, and tailor Nils 
 was spoken of as its father. 
 
 The evening of the same day Nils was at a 
 large wedding ; there he got drunk. He would 
 not play, but danced all the time, and scarcely 
 brooked having others on the floor. But when 
 he crossed to Birgit Boen and asked her to 
 dance, she declined. He gave a short laugh, 
 turned on his heel, and caught hold of the first 
 girl he encountered. She resisted. He looked 
 down ; it was a little dark maiden who had 
 been sitting gazing fixedly at him, and who 
 was now pale. Bowing lightly over her, he 
 whispered, — 
 
 " Will you not dance with me, Karen ? " 
 
 She made no reply. He asked once more. 
 Then she answered in a whisper, as he had 
 asked, — 
 
 " That dance might go farther than I 
 wished." 
 
 He drew slowly back, but once in the middle 
 of the floor, he made a spring and danced the 
 
 2
 
 18 ARNE. 
 
 hailing 1 alone. No one else was dancing; the 
 others stood looking on in silence. 
 
 Afterwards he went out in the barn, and 
 there he lay down and wept. 
 
 Margit kept at home with the little boy. 
 She heard about Nils, how he went from dance 
 to dance, and she looked at the child and 
 wept, — looked at him again and was happy. 
 The first thing she taught him was to say papa ; 
 but this she dared not do when the mother, or 
 the grandmother, as she was henceforth called, 
 chanced to be near. The result of this was 
 that it was the grandmother whom the boy 
 called papa. It cost Margit much to break 
 him of this, and thus she fostered in him an 
 early shrewdness. He was not very large be- 
 fore he knew that Nils the tailor was his 
 father , and when he reached the age in 
 which the romantic acquires a flavor, he be- 
 came also aware what sort of a man tailor 
 Nils was. The grandmother had strictly for- 
 bidden even the mention of his name ; what 
 she mainly strove for was to have the house- 
 man's place, Kampen, become an independent 
 gard, so that her daughter and her boy might 
 be free from care. She availed herself of the 
 gard-owner's poverty, effected the purchase of 
 
 1 A popular dance in two-fourths time, described in this chapter.
 
 ARNE. 19 
 
 the place, paid off a portion of the money each 
 year, and managed the business like a man, for 
 she had been a widow for fourteen years. 
 Kampen was a large place, and had been ex- 
 tended until now it fed four cows, sixteen 
 sheep, and a horse in which she was half owner. 
 
 Nils the tailor meanwhile took to roving 
 about the parish ; his business had fallen off, 
 partly because he felt less interest in it, partly 
 also because he was not liked as before. He 
 gave, therefore, more time to fiddling ; this led 
 oftener to drinking and thence to fighting and 
 evil days. There were those who had heard 
 him say he was unhappy. 
 
 Arne might have been about six years old, 
 when one winter day he was frolicking in the 
 bed, whose coverlet he had up for a sail, while 
 he was steering with a ladle. The grandmother 
 sat spinning in the room, absorbed in her own 
 thoughts, and nodded occasionally as though 
 she would make a fixed fact of something she 
 was thinking about. The boy knew that he 
 was unheeded, and he fell to singing, just as he 
 had learned it, the rough, wild song about 
 tailor Nils : — 
 
 " Unless 't was only yesterday hither first you came, 
 You've surely heard already of Nils the tailor's fame. 
 
 Cl Unless 't was but this morning you came among us first, 
 You've heard how he knocked over tall Johan Knutson Kirst;
 
 20 ARNE. 
 
 " How, in his famous barn-fight with Ola Stor-Johann, 
 He said, ' Bring down your porridge when we two fight again.' 
 
 " That fighting fellow, Bugge, a famous man was he: 
 His name was known all over fjord and fell and sea. 
 
 " ' Now, choose the place, you tailor, where I shall knock yov 
 down, 
 And then I '11 spit upon it, and there I '11 lay your crown.' 
 
 " ' Ah, only come so near, I may catch your scent, my man, 
 Your bragging hurts nobody; don't dream it ever can.' 
 
 " The first round was a poor one, and neither man could beat ; 
 But both kept in their places, aud steady on their feet. 
 
 " The second round, poor Bugge was beaten black and blue. 
 ' Little Bugge, are you tired? It 's going hard with you. 1 
 
 " The third round, Bugge tumbled, and bleeding there he lay. 
 Now, Bugge, where 's your bragging V ' ' Bad luck to mt 
 to-day!' "i 
 
 More the boy did not sing ; but there were 
 two other stanzas which his mother was not 
 likely to have taught him : — 
 
 " Have you seen a tree cast its shadow on yesterday's snow? 
 Have you seen how Nils does his smiles on the girls bestow ? 
 
 " Have you looked at Nils when to dance he just commences ? 
 Come, my girl, you must go; it is too late, when you 've lost 
 your senses." 
 
 These two stanzas the grandmother knew, 
 and they came all the more distinctly into her 
 mind because they were not sung. She said 
 
 1 Translated by Augusta Plesner and S- Rugeley-Powers.
 
 ARNE. 21 
 
 nothing to the boy ; but to the mother she 
 said, " Teach the boy well about your own 
 shame ; do not forget the last verses." 
 
 Nils the tailor was so broken down by 
 drink that he was no longer the man he had 
 been, and some people thought his end could 
 not be far distant. 
 
 It so happened that two American gentle- 
 men were visiting in the parish, and having 
 heard that a wedding was going on in the 
 vicinity, wanted to attend it, that they might 
 learn the customs of the country. Nils was 
 playing there. They gave each a dollar to the 
 fiddler, and asked for a hailing ; but no one 
 would come forward to dance it, however much 
 it was urged. Several begged Nils himself to 
 dance. " He was best, after all,' they said. 
 He refused, but the request became still more 
 urgent, and finally unanimous. This was what he 
 wanted. He gave his fiddle to another player, 
 took off his jacket and cap, and stepped smil- 
 ing into the middle of the room. He was fol- 
 lowed by the same eager attention as of old, 
 and this gave him his old strength. The 
 people crowded closely together, those who 
 were farthest back climbing upon tables and 
 benches. Some of the girls were perched up 
 higher than all the rest, and foremost among
 
 22 ARNE. 
 
 these — a tall girl with sunny brown hair of 
 a varying tint, with blue eyes deeply set be- 
 neath a strong forehead, a large mouth that 
 often smiled, drawing a little to one side as 
 it did so — was Birgit Boen. Nils saw her, 
 as he glanced up at the beam. The music 
 struck up, a deep silence followed, and he 
 began. He dashed forward along the floor, his 
 body inclining to one side, half aslant, keeping 
 time to the fiddle. Crouching down, he bal- 
 anced himself, now on one foot, now on the 
 other, flung his legs crosswise under him, 
 sprang up again, stood as though about to make 
 a fling, and then moved on aslant as before. 
 The fiddle was handled bv skillful fingers, and 
 more and more fire was thrown into the tune. 
 Nils threw his head farther and farther back, 
 and suddenly his boot-heel touched the beam, 
 sending the dust from the ceiling in showers 
 over them all. The people laughed and 
 shouted about him ; the girls stood well-nigh 
 breathless. The tune hurrahed with the rest, 
 stimulating him anew with more and more 
 strongly-marked accents, nor did he resist the 
 exciting influences. He bent forward, hopped 
 along in time to the music, made ready appar- 
 ently for a fling, but only as a hoax, and then 
 moved on, his body aslant as before; and when
 
 ARNE. 23 
 
 he seemed the least prepared for it, his boot- 
 heel thundered against the beam again and 
 again, whereupon lie turned summersaults for- 
 wards and backwards in the air, landing each 
 time erect on his feet. He broke off abruptly, 
 and the tune, running through some wild varia- 
 tions, worked its way down to a deep tone in 
 the bass, where it quivered and vibrated, and 
 died away with a long-drawn stroke of the bow. 
 The crowd dispersed, and loud, eager conversa- 
 tion, mingled with shouts and exclamations, 
 broke the silenre. Nils stood leaning against 
 the wall, and the American gentlemen went 
 over to him, with their interpreter, and each 
 gave him five dollars. 
 
 The Americans talked a little with the inter- 
 preter, whereupon the latter asked Nils if he 
 would go with them as their servant ; he should 
 have whatever wages he wanted. " Whither ? " 
 asked Nils. The people crowded about them 
 as closely as possible. " Out into the world,'" 
 was the reply. " When ? " asked Nils, and 
 looking around with a shining face, he caught 
 Birgit Boen's eyes, and did not let them go 
 again. " In a week, when we come back here," 
 was the answer. " It is possible I will be 
 ready," replied Nils, weighing his two five-dollar 
 pieces. He had rested one arm on the shoulder
 
 24 ARNE. 
 
 of a man standing near him, and it trembled 
 so that the man wanted to help him to the 
 bench. 
 
 " It is nothing," replied Nils, made some 
 wavering steps across the floor, then some firm 
 ones, and, turning, asked for a spring-dance. 1 
 
 All the girls had come to the front. Cast- 
 ing a long, lingering look about him, he went 
 straightway to one of them in a dark skirt ; it 
 was Birgit Boen. He held out his hand, and 
 she gave him both of hers ; then he laughed, 
 drew back, caught hold of the girl beside her, 
 and danced away with perfect abandon. The 
 blood coursed up in Birgit's neck and face. A 
 tall man, with a mild countenance, was standing 
 directly behind her ; he took her by the hand 
 and danced off after Nils. The latter saw this, 
 and — it might have been only through heedless- 
 ness — he danced so hard against them that the 
 man and Birgit were sent reeling over and fell 
 heavily on the floor. Shouting and laughter 
 arose about them. Birgit got up at last, went 
 aside, and wept bitterly. 
 
 The man with the mild face rose more slowly 
 and went straight over to Nils, who was still 
 dancing. " You had better stop a little," said 
 the man. Nils did not hear, and then the man 
 
 1 A popular dance, in three-fourths time.
 
 ARNE. 25 
 
 took him by the arm. Nils tore himself away 
 and looked at him. " I do not know you," said 
 he, with a smile. " No ; but you shall learn to 
 know me," said the man with the mild face, and 
 with this he struck Nils a blow over one eye. 
 Nils, who was wholly unprepared for this, was 
 plunged heavily across the sharp-edged hearth- 
 stone, and when he promptly tried to rise, he 
 found that he could not ; his back was broken. 
 At Kampen a change had taken place. The 
 grandmother had been growing very feeble of 
 late, and when she realized this she strove 
 harder than ever to save money enough to pay 
 off the last installment on the gard. " Then 
 you and the boy will have all you need," she 
 said to her daughter. " And if you let any one 
 come in and waste it for you, I will turn in my 
 grave." During the autumn, too, she had the 
 pleasure of being able to stroll up to the former 
 head -gard with the last remaining portion of 
 the debt, and happy was she when she had 
 taken her seat again, and could say, " Now that 
 is done ! " But at that very time she was at- 
 tacked by her last illness ; she betook herself 
 forthwith to her bed, and never rose again. 
 Her daughter buried her in a vacant spot in the 
 churchyard, and placed over her a handsome 
 cross, whereon was inscribed her name and age,
 
 26 AENE. 
 
 with a verse from one of Kingo's ] hymns. A 
 fortnight after the grandmother was laid in her 
 grave, her Sunday gown was made over into 
 clothes for the boy, and when he put them on, 
 he became as solemn as though he were his 
 gTandmother come back again. Of his own 
 accord, he went to the book with big print and 
 large clasps she had read and sung from every 
 Sunday, opened it, and there inside found her 
 spectacles. These the boy had never been per- 
 mitted to touch during his grandmother's life- 
 time ; now he timidly took them up, put them 
 on his nose, and looked through them into the 
 book. All was misty. " How strange," thought 
 the boy, " it was through them grandmother 
 could read the word of God." He held them 
 high up toward the light to see what the mat- 
 ter was, and — the spectacles lay on the floor. 
 
 He was much alarmed, and when the door 
 at that moment opened, it seemed to him as 
 though his grandmother must be coming in , 
 but it was his mother, and behind her, six men, 
 who, with much tramping and noise, were 
 bearing in a litter, which they placed in the 
 middle of the floor. For a long time the door 
 was left open, so that it grew cold in the room. 
 
 On the litter lay a man with dark hair and 
 
 1 A Dane, the most noted psalmist of Scandinavia.
 
 ARNE. 27 
 
 pale face ; the mother moved about weeping. 
 " Lay him carefully on the bed," she begged, 
 herself lending a helping hand. But while the 
 men were moving with him, something made 
 a noise under their feet. " Oh, it is only 
 grandmother's spectacles," thought the boy, but 
 he did not say so.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was in the autumn, as before stated. A 
 week after Nils the tailor was borne into Mar- 
 git Kampen's home, there came word to him 
 from the Americans that he must hold himself 
 in readiness to start. He lay just then writh- 
 ing under a terrible attack of pain, and, gnash- 
 ing his teeth, he shrieked, " Let them go to 
 hell! " Margit stood motionless, as though 
 he had made no answer. He noticed this, and 
 presently he repeated slowly and feebly, " Let 
 them — go." 
 
 As the winter advanced, he improved so much 
 that he was able to sit up, although his health 
 was shattered for life. The first time he act- 
 ually sat up, he took out his fiddle and tuned it, 
 but became so agitated that he had to go to 
 bed again. He grew very taciturn, but was 
 not hard to get along with ; and as time wore 
 on, he taught the boy to read, and began to take 
 work in at home. He never went out, and 
 would not talk with those who dropped in to 
 see him. At first Margit used to bring him the
 
 ARNE. 29 
 
 parish news ; be was always gloomy afterwards, 
 so she ceased to do so. 
 
 When spring bad fairly set in, he and Mar- 
 git would sit longer than usual talking together 
 after the evening meal. The boy was then sent 
 off to bed. Some time later in the spring their 
 bans were published in church, after which they 
 were quietly married. 
 
 He did his share of work in the fields now, 
 and managed everything in a sensible, orderly 
 way. Margit said to the boy, " There is both 
 profit and pleasure in him. Now you must be 
 obedient and good, that you may do your best 
 for him." 
 
 Margit had remained tolerably stout through 
 all her sorrow ; she had a ruddy face and very 
 large eyes, which looked all the larger because 
 there was a ring round them. She had full 
 lips, a round face, and looked healthy and 
 strong, although she was not very strong. At 
 this period of her life, she was looking better 
 than ever ; and she always sang when she was 
 at work, as had ever been her wont. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon, father and son went 
 out to see how the crops were thriving that 
 year. Arne ran about his father, shooting with 
 a bow and arrow. Nils had himself made 
 them for the boy. Thus they passed on directly
 
 30 ARNE. 
 
 up toward the road leading past the church 
 and parsonage, down to what was called the 
 broad valley. Nils seated himself on a stone 
 by the roadside and fell to dreaming ; the boy- 
 shot into the road and sprang after his arrow, — 
 it was in the direction of the church. " Not 
 too far away!" said the father. While the 
 boy was playing there, he paused, as though 
 listening. " Father, I hear music ! " The 
 father listened too ; they heard the sounds of 
 fiddling, almost drowned at times by loud 
 shouts and wild uproar ; but above all rose the 
 steady rumbling of cart-wheels and the clat- 
 ter of horses' feet ; it was a bridal procession, 
 wending its way home from church. " Come 
 here, boy T ," shouted the father, and Arne knew 
 by the tones of the voice that he must make 
 haste. The father had hurriedly risen and 
 hidden behind a large tree. The boy has- 
 tened after him. " Not here, over there ! " cried 
 the father, and the boy stepped behind an 
 alder-copse. Already the carts were winding 
 round the birch-grove ; they came at a wild 
 speed, the horses were white witli foam, drunken 
 people were crying and shouting ; father and 
 Bon counted cart after cart, — there wen' in all 
 fourteen. In the first sat two fiddlers, and the 
 wedding march sounded merrily through the
 
 ARNE. 31 
 
 clear air, — a boy stood behind and drove. 
 Afterwards came a crowned bride, who sat on 
 a high seat and glittered in the sunshine ; she 
 smiled, and her mouth drew to one side ; beside 
 her sat a man clad in blue and with a mild face. 
 The bridal train followed, the men sat on the 
 women's laps ; small boys were sitting behind, 
 drunken men were driving, — there were six 
 people to one horse ; the man who presided at 
 the feast came in the last cart, holding a keg of 
 brandy on his lap. They passed by screaming 
 and singing, and drove recklessly down the 
 hill ; the fiddling, the voices, the rattling of 
 wheels, lingered behind them in the dust ; the 
 breeze bore up single shrieks, soon only a dull 
 rumbling, and then nothing. Nils stood mo- 
 tionless ; there was a rustling behind him, he 
 turned ; it was the boy who was creeping for- 
 ward. 
 
 " Who was it, father? " But the boy start- 
 ed, for his father's face was dreadful. Arne 
 stood motionless waiting for an answer ; then 
 he remained where he was because he got none. 
 After some time he became impatient and ven- 
 tured again. " Shall we go ? " Nils was still 
 gazing after the bridal train, but he now con- 
 trolled himself and started on. Arne followed 
 after. He put an arrow into the bow. shot it,
 
 32 ARNE. 
 
 and ran. " Do not trample down the grass,' 
 said Nils gruffly. The boy let the arrow lie 
 and came back. After a while he had forgot- 
 ten ibis, and once when his father paused, he 
 lay down and turned summersaults. " Do not 
 trample down the grass, I say." Here Arne 
 was seized by one arm, and lifted by it with 
 such violence that it was almost put out of 
 joint. Afterward, he walked quietly behind. 
 
 At the door Margit awaited them ; she had 
 just come in from the stable, where she had evi- 
 dently had pretty hard work, for her hair was 
 tumbled, her linen soiled, her dress likewise, 
 but she stood in the door smiling. " A couple 
 of the cows got loose and have been into mis- 
 chief ; now they are tied again." 
 
 " You might make yourself a little tidy on 
 Sunday," said Nils, as he went past into the 
 house. 
 
 " Yes, there is some sense in tidying up now 
 that the work is done," said Margit, and fol- 
 lowed him. She began to fix herself at once, 
 and sang while she was doing so. Now Margit 
 sang well, but sometimes there was a little 
 huskiness in her voice. 
 
 " Stop that screaming," said Nils ; he had 
 thrown himself on his back across the bed. 
 Margit stopped.
 
 ARXE. 33 
 
 Then the boy came storming in. " There 
 has come into the yard a great black dog, a 
 dreadful looking " — 
 
 " Hold your tongue, boy," said Nils from the 
 bed, and thrust out one foot to stamp on the 
 floor with it. " A devilish noise that boy is al- 
 ways making," he muttered afterward, and drew 
 his foot up again. 
 
 The mother held up a warning finger to the 
 boy. " You surely must see that father is not 
 in a good humor," she meant. " Will you not 
 have some strong coffee with syrup in it ? " said 
 she ; she wanted to put him in a good humor 
 again. This was a drink the grandmother had 
 liked, and the rest of them too. Nils did not 
 like it at all, but had drunk it because the 
 others did so. " Will you not have some strong 
 coffee with syrup in it ? " repeated Margit ; for 
 he had made no reply the first time. Nils 
 raised himself up on both elbows and shrieked, 
 " Do you think I will pour down such slops ? " 
 
 Margit was struck with surprise, and, taking 
 the boy with her, went out. 
 
 They had a number of things to attend to 
 outside, and did not come in before supper- 
 time. Then Nils was gone. Arne was sent 
 out into the field to call him, but found him no- 
 where. They waited until the supper was 
 
 3
 
 34 ARNE. 
 
 nearly cold, then ate, and still Nils had not 
 come. Margit became uneasy, sent the boy to 
 bed, and sat down to wait. A little after mid- 
 night Nils appeared. 
 
 " Where have you been, dear? " asked she. 
 
 " That is none of your business," he an- 
 swered, and slowly sat down on the bench. 
 
 He was drunk. 
 
 After this, Nils often went out in the parish, 
 and always came home drunk. " I cannot stand 
 it at home here with you," said he once when 
 he came in. She tried gently to defend herself, 
 and then he stamped on the floor and bade her 
 be silent : if he was drunk, it was her fault ; if 
 he was wicked, it was her fault too ; if he was 
 a cripple and an unfortunate being for his whole 
 life, why, she was to blame too, and that in- 
 fernal boy of hers. 
 
 " Why were you always dangling after me ? " 
 said he, and wept. " What harm had I done 
 you that you could not leave me in peace ? " 
 
 " Lord have mercy on me ! " said Margit. 
 " Was it I who went after you ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was ! " he shrieked as he arose, and 
 amid tears he continued : " You have succeeded 
 in getting what you wanted. I drag myself 
 about from tree to tree. I go every day and 
 look at my own grave. But I could have lived
 
 ARNE. 35 
 
 in splendor with the finest gard girl in the 
 parish. I might have traveled as far as the sun 
 goes, had not you and your damned boy put 
 yourselves in my way." 
 
 She tried again to defend herself. " It was, 
 at all events, not the boy's fault." 
 
 " If you do not hold your tongue, I will 
 strike you ! " — and he struck her. 
 
 After he had slept himself sober the next 
 day, he was ashamed, and was especially kind 
 to the boy. But soon he was drunk again, and 
 then he struck the mother. At last he got to 
 striking her almost every time he was drunk. 
 The boy cried and lamented ; then he struck 
 him too. Sometimes his repentance was so 
 deep that he felt compelled to leave the house. 
 About this time his fondness for dancing re- 
 vived. He began to go about fiddling as in for- 
 mer days, and took the boy with him to carry 
 the fiddle-case. Thus Arne saw a great deal. 
 The mother wept because he had to go along, 
 but dared not say so to the father. " Hold 
 faithfully to God, and learn nothing evil," she 
 begged, and tenderly caressed her boy. But 
 at the dances there was a great deal of diver- 
 sion ; at home with the mother there was none 
 at all. Arne turned more and more from her 
 and to the father; she saw this and was silent.
 
 36 ARNE. 
 
 At the dances Arne learned many songs, and 
 be sang them at home to his father ; this 
 amused the latter, and now and then the boy 
 could even get him to laugh. This was so flat- 
 tering to Arne that he exerted himself to learn 
 as many songs as possible; soon he noticed 
 what kind the father liked best, and what it 
 was that made him laugh. When there was 
 not enough of this element in the songs he was 
 singing, the boy added to it himself, and this 
 early gave him practice in adapting words to 
 music. It was chiefly lampoons and odious 
 things about people who had risen to power and 
 prosperity, that the father liked and the boy 
 sang. 
 
 The mother finally concluded to take him 
 with her to the stable of evenings ; numerous 
 were the pretexts he found to escape going, but 
 when, nevertheless, she managed to take him 
 with her, she talked kindly to him about God 
 and good things, usually ending by taking him 
 in her arms, and, amid blinding tears, begging 
 him, entreating him not to become a bad man. 
 
 The mother taught the boy to read, and he 
 was surprisingly quick at learning. The father 
 was proud of this, and, especially when he was 
 drunk, told Arne he had his head. 
 
 Soon the father fell into the habit, when
 
 ARNE. o7 
 
 drink got the better of him, of calling on Arne 
 at dancing-parties to sing for the people. The 
 boy always obeyed, singing song after song 
 amid laughter and uproar ; the applause pleased 
 the son almost more than it did the father, and 
 finall}' there was no end to the songs Arne 
 could sing. Anxious mothers who heard this, 
 went themselves to his mother and told her of 
 it ; their reason for so doing being that the 
 character of these songs was not what it should 
 be. The mother put her arms about her boy 
 and forbade him, in the name of God and all 
 that was sacred, to sing such songs, and now it 
 seemed to Arne that everything he took delight 
 in his mother opposed. For the first time he 
 told his father what his mother had said. She 
 had to suffer for this the next time the father 
 was drunk ; he held his peace until then. But 
 no sooner had it become clear to the boy what 
 he had done than in his soul he implored par- 
 don of God and her ; he could not bring him- 
 self to do so in spoken words. His mother was 
 just as kind as ever to him, and this cut him to 
 the quick. 
 
 Once, however, he forgot this. He had a 
 faculty for mimicking people. Above all, he 
 could talk and sing as others did. The mother 
 came in one evening when Arne was entertain-
 
 38 ARNE. 
 
 ing his father with this, and it occurred to the 
 father, after she had gone out, that the boy- 
 should imitate his mother's singing. Arne re- 
 fused at first, but his father, who lay over on the 
 bed and laughed until it shook, insisted finally 
 that he should sing like his mother. She is 
 gone, thought the boy, and cannot hear it, and 
 he mimicked her singing as it sounded some- 
 times when she was hoarse and choked with 
 tears. The father laughed until it seemed al- 
 most hideous to the boy, and he stopped of him- 
 self. Just then the mother came in from the 
 kitchen ; she looked long and hard at the boy, 
 as she crossed the floor to a shelf after a milk- 
 pan and turned to carry it out. 
 
 A burning heat ran through his whole body ; 
 she had heard it all. He sprang down from 
 the table where he had been sitting, went out, 
 cast himself on the ground, and it seemed as 
 though he must bury himself out of sight. He 
 could not rest, and got up feeling that he must 
 go farther on. He went past the barn, and be- 
 hind it sat the mother, sewing on a fine, new 
 shirt, just for him. She had always been in 
 the habit of singing a hymn over her work 
 when she sat sewing, but now she was not sing- 
 ing. She was not weeping, either ; she only 
 sat and sewed. Arne could bear it no longer ;
 
 ARNE. 39 
 
 he flung himself down in the grass directly in 
 front of her, looked up at her, and wept and 
 sobbed bitterly. The mother dropped her work 
 and took his head between her hands. 
 
 " Poor Arne ! " said she, and laid her own 
 beside his. He did not try to say a word, but 
 wept as he had never clone before. " I knew 
 you were good at heart," said the mother, and 
 stroked down his hair. 
 
 " Mother, you must not say no to what I am 
 going to ask for," was the first thing he could 
 say. 
 
 " That you know I cannot do," answered 
 she. 
 
 He tried to stop crying, and then stammered 
 out, with his head still in her lap : " Mother, 
 sing something for me." 
 
 " My dear, I cannot," said she, softly. 
 
 " Mother, sing something for me," begged 
 the boy, " or I believe I will never be able to 
 look at you again." 
 
 She stroked his hair, but was silent. 
 
 "Mother, sing, sing, I say ! Sing," he begged. 
 " or I will go so far away that I will never 
 come home any more." 
 
 And while he, now fourteen, in his fifteenth 
 year as he was, lay there with his head in his 
 mother's lap, she began to sing over him : —
 
 40 ARNE. 
 
 " Father, stretch forth Thy mighty hand, 
 Thy Holy Spirit send yonder: 
 Bless Thou the child on the lonely strand, 
 
 Nor in its sports let it wander. 
 Slipp'iy the way, the water deep, — 
 Lord, in Thy arm but the darling keep, 
 Then through Thy mercy 't will never 
 Drown, but with Thee live forever. 
 
 " Missing her child, in disquiet sore, 
 Much for its safety fearing, 
 Often the mother calls from her door, 
 
 Never an answer hearing, — 
 Then comes the thought : where'er it be, 
 Blessed Lord, it is near to Thee ; 
 Jesus will guide his brother 
 Home to the anxious mother." l 
 
 She sang several verses. Arne lay still : there 
 descended upon him a blessed peace, and under 
 its influence he felt a refreshing weariness. 
 The last thing he distinctly heard was about 
 Jesus : it bore him into the midst of a great 
 light, and there it seemed as though twelve or 
 thirteen were singing ; but the mother's voice 
 rose above them all. A lovelier voice he had 
 never heard ; he prayed that he might sing- 
 thus. It seemed to him that if he were to sing 
 right softly he might do so; and now he sang 
 softly, tried again softly, and still more softly, 
 and then, rejoiced at the bliss that seemed ut- 
 most dawning for him, he joined in with full 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 ARNE. 41 
 
 voice, and the spell was broken. He awakened, 
 looked about him, listened, but heard nothing, 
 save the everlasting, mighty roar of the force, 
 and the little creek that flowed past the barn, 
 with its low and incessant murmuring. The 
 mother was gone, — she had laid under his head 
 the half-finished shirt and her jacket.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 When the time came to take the herds up 
 into the woods, Arne wanted to tend them. 
 His father objected ; the boy had never tended 
 cattle, and he was now in his fifteenth year. 
 But he was so urgent that it was finally ar- 
 ranged as he wished; and the entire spring, 
 summer, and autumn he was in the woods by 
 himself the livelong day, only going home to 
 sleep. 
 
 He took his books up there with him. He 
 read and carved letters in the bark of the trees ; 
 he went about thinking, longing, and singing. 
 When he came home in the evening his father 
 was often drunk, and beat the mother, cursed 
 her and the parish, and talked about how he 
 might once have journeyed far away. Then 
 the longing for travel entered the boy's mind 
 too. There was no comfort at home, and the 
 books opened other worlds to him; sometimes 
 it seemed as though the air, too, wafted him far 
 away over the lofty mountains. 
 
 So it happened about midsummer that he
 
 ARNE. 43 
 
 met Kristian, the captain's eldest son, who came 
 with the servant boy to the woods after the 
 horses, in order to get a ride home. He was a 
 few years older than Arne, light-hearted and 
 gay, unstable in all his thoughts, but neverthe- 
 less firm in his resolves. He spoke rapidly and 
 in broken sentences, and usually about two 
 things at once ; rode horseback without a sad- 
 dle, shot birds on the wing, went fly-fishing, 
 and seemed to Arne the goal of his aspirations. 
 He also had his head full of travel, and told 
 Arne about foreign lands until everything about 
 them was radiant. He discovered Arne's fond- 
 ness for reading, and now carried up to him 
 those books he had read himself. After Arne 
 had finished reading these, Kristian brought 
 him new ones ; he sat there himself on Sundays, 
 and taught Arne how to find his way in the 
 geography and the map ; and all summer and 
 autumn Arne read until he grew pale and 
 thin. 
 
 In the winter he was allowed to read at 
 home ; partly because he was to be confirmed 
 the next year, partly because he always knew 
 how to manage his father. He began to go to 
 school ; but there he took most comfort when 
 he closed his eyes and fancied himself over his 
 books at home ; besides, there were no longer
 
 44 ARNE. 
 
 any companions for him among the peasant 
 boys. 
 
 His father's ill-treatment of the mother in- 
 creased with years, as did also his fondness for 
 drink and his bodity suffering. And when 
 Arne, notwithstanding this, had to sit and 
 amuse him, in order to furnish the mother 
 with an hour's peace, and then often talk of 
 things he now, in his heart, despised, he felt 
 growing within him a hatred for his father. 
 This he hid far down in his heart, as he did 
 his love for his mother. When he was with 
 Kristian, their talk ran on great journeys and 
 books ; even to him he said nothing about how 
 things were at home. But many times after 
 these wide-ranging talks, when he was walking 
 home alone, wondering what might now meet 
 him there, he wept and prayed to God, in the 
 starry heavens, to grant that he might soon be 
 allowed to go away. 
 
 In the summer he and Kristian were con- 
 firmed. Directly afterward, the latter carried 
 out his plan. His father had to let him go 
 from home and become a sailor. He presented 
 Arne with his books, promised to write often 
 to him, — and went away. 
 
 Now Arne was alone. 
 
 About this time he was again filled with a
 
 ARNE. 45 
 
 desire to write songs. He no longer patched 
 up old ones ; he made new ones, and wove into 
 them all that grieved him most. 
 
 But his heart grew too heavy, and his sorrow 
 broke forth in his songs. He now lay through 
 long, sleepless nights, brooding, until he felt 
 sure that he could bear this no longer, but must 
 journey far away, seek Kristian, and not say a 
 word about it to any one. He thought of his 
 mother, and what would become of her, — and 
 he could scarcely look her in the face. 
 
 He sat up late one evening reading. When 
 his heart became too gloomy, he took refuge in 
 his books, and did not perceive that they in- 
 creased the venom. His father was at a wed- 
 ding, but was expected home that evening ; his 
 mother was tired, and dreaded her husband's 
 return ; had therefore gone to bed. Arne started 
 up at the sound of a heavy fall in the pas- 
 sage and the rattling of something hard, which 
 struck against the door. It was his father who 
 had come home. 
 
 Arne opened the door and looked at him. 
 
 " Is that you, my clever boy? Come and help 
 your father up ! " 
 
 He was raised up and helped in toward the 
 bench. Arne took up the fiddle-case, carried 
 it in, and closed the door.
 
 46 AENE. 
 
 "Yes, look at me, you clever boy. I am not 
 handsome now ; this is no longer tailor Nils. 
 This I say — to you, that you — never shall 
 drink brandy ; it is — the world and the flesh 
 and the devil — He resisteth the proud but 
 giveth grace unto the humble. — Ah, woe, woe 
 is me ! — How far it has gone with me ! " 
 
 He sat still a while, then he sang, weeping, — 
 
 " Merciful Lord, I come to Thee; 
 Help, if there can be help for me; 
 Though by the mire of sin defiled, 
 I 'm still thine own dear ransomed child." l 
 
 " Lord, I am not worthy that Thou should est 
 come uuder my roof ; but speak the word 
 only " — He flung himself down, hid his face 
 in his hands, and sobbed convulsively. Long 
 he lay thus, and then he repeated word for 
 word from the Bible, as he had learned it prob- 
 ably more than twenty years before : " Then 
 she came and worshiped Him, saying, Lord, 
 help me ! But he answered and said, It is not 
 meet to take the children's bread, and to cast 
 it to dogs. And she said, Truth, Lord, yet the 
 dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their 
 master's table!" 
 
 He was silent now, and dissolved in a flood 
 of tears. 
 
 i Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powere.
 
 ARNE. 47 
 
 The mother had awakened long since, but 
 had not dared raise her eyes, now that her 
 husband was weeping like one who is saved ; 
 she leaned on her elbows and looked up. 
 
 But scarcely had Nils descried her, than he 
 shrieked out : " Are you staring at me ; you, 
 too ? — you want to see, I suppose, what you 
 have brought me to. Aye, this is the way I 
 look, exactly so ! " He rose up, and she hid 
 herself under the robe. " No, do not hide, I 
 will find you easily enough," said he, extend- 
 ing his right hand, and groping his way along 
 with outstretched forefinger. " Tickle, tick- 
 le ! " said he, as he drew off the covers and 
 placed his finger on her throat. 
 
 " Father ! " said Arne. 
 
 " Oh dear ! how shriveled up and thin you 
 have grown. There is not much flesh here. 
 Tickle, tickle." 
 
 The mother convulsively seized his hand 
 with both of hers, but could not free herself, 
 and so rolled herself into a ball. 
 
 " Father ! " said Arne. 
 
 " So life has come into you now. How she 
 writhes, the fright ! Tickle, tickle ! " 
 
 " Father ! " said Arne. The room seemed to 
 swim about him. 
 
 " Tickle, I say ! "
 
 48 ARNE. 
 
 She let go his bands and gave up. 
 
 " Father ! " shouted Arne. He sprang to the 
 corner, where stood an axe. 
 
 " It is only from obstinacy that you do not 
 scream. You had better not do so either; I 
 have taken such a frightful fancy. Tickle, 
 tickle ! " 
 
 " Father ! " shrieked Arne, seizing the axe, 
 but remained standing as though nailed to the 
 spot, for at that moment the father drew him- 
 self up, gave a piercing cry, clutched at his 
 breast, and fell over. " Jesus Christ ! " said 
 he, and lay quite still. 
 
 Arne knew not where he stood or what he 
 stood over ; he waited, as it were, for the room 
 to burst asunder, and for a strong light to break 
 in somewhere. The mother began to draw her 
 breath heavily, as though she were rolling off 
 some great weight. She finally half rose, and 
 saw the father lying stretched out on the floor, 
 the son standing boside him with an axe. 
 
 " Merciful Lord, what have you done ? " 
 she shrieked, and started up out of bed, threw 
 her skirt about her, and came nearer ; then 
 Arne felt as if his tongue were unloosed. 
 
 "He fell down himself," said he. 
 
 "Arne, Arne, I do not believe you," cried 
 the mother, in a loud, rebuking tone. " Now
 
 ARNE. 49 
 
 Jesus be with you ! " and she flung herself over 
 the corpse, with piteous lamentation. 
 
 Now the boy came out of his stupor, and 
 dropping clown on his knees, exclaimed, "As 
 surely as I look for mercy from God, he fell as 
 he stood there." 
 
 " Then our Lord himself has been here," 
 said she, quietly ; and, sitting on the floor, she 
 fixed her eyes on the corpse. 
 
 Nils lay precisely as he fell, stiff, with open 
 eyes and mouth. His hands had drawn near 
 together, as though he had tried to clasp them, 
 but had been unable to do so. 
 
 " Take hold of your father, you are so strong, 
 and help me lay him on the bed." 
 
 And they took hold of him and laid him on 
 the bed. Margit closed his eyes and mouth, 
 stretched him out and folded his hands. 
 
 Mother and son stood and looked at him. All 
 they had experienced until then neither seemed 
 so long nor contained so much as this moment. 
 If the devil himself had been there, the Lord 
 had been there also; the encounter had been 
 short. All the past was now settled. 
 
 It was a little after midnight, and they had 
 
 to be there with the dead man until day 
 
 dawned. Arne crossed the floor, and made a 
 
 great fire on the hearth, the mother sat down 
 
 4
 
 50 ARNE. 
 
 by it. And now, as she sat there, it rushed 
 through her mind how many evil days she had 
 had Avith Nils ; and then she thanked God, in 
 a loud, fervent prayer, for what He had done. 
 "But I have truly had some good days also," 
 said she, and wept as though she regretted her 
 recent thankfulness ; and it ended in her taking 
 the greatest blame on herself who had acted 
 contrary to God's commandment, out of love 
 for the departed one, had been disobedient to 
 her mother, and therefore had been punished 
 through this sinful love. 
 
 Arne sat down directly opposite her. The 
 mother's eyes were fixed on the bed. 
 
 " Arne, you must remember that it was for 
 your sake I bore it all," and she wept, yearn- 
 ing for a loving word in order to gain a sup- 
 port against her own self-accusations, and com- 
 fort for all coming time. The boy trembled 
 and could not answer. " You must never leave 
 me," sobbed she. 
 
 Then it came suddenly to his mind what she 
 had been, in all this time of sorrow, and how 
 boundless would be her desolation should he, 
 as a reward for her great fidelity, forsake her 
 now. 
 
 " Never, never ! " he whispered, longing to go 
 to her, yet unable to do so.
 
 ARNE. 51 
 
 They kept their seats, but their tears flowed 
 freely together. She prayed aloud, now for the 
 dead man, now for herself and her boy ; and 
 thus, amid prayers and tears, the time passed. 
 Finally she said : — 
 
 " Arne, you have such a fine voice, you 
 must sit over by the bed and sing for your 
 father." 
 
 And it seemed as though strength was forth- 
 with given him to do so. He got up, and went 
 to fetch a hymn-book, then lit a torch, and 
 with the torch in one hand, the hymn-book in 
 the other, he sat down at the head of the bed 
 and, in a clear voice, sang Kingo's one hundred 
 and twenty-seventh hymn : — 
 
 "Turn from us, gracious Lord, thy dire displeasure 1 
 Let not thy bloody rod, beyond all measure, 
 Chasten thy children, laden with sore oppressions, 
 For our transgressions." 1 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 CHAPTER \. 
 
 Arne became habitually silent and shy. He 
 tended cattle and made songs. He passed his 
 nineteenth birthday, and still he kept on tend- 
 ing cattle. He borrowed books from the priest 
 and read ; but he took interest in nothing else. 
 
 The priest sent word to him one day that he 
 had better become a school-master, " because 
 the parish ought to derive benefit from your tal- 
 ents and knowledge." Arne made no reply to 
 this ; but the next day, while driving the sheep 
 before him, he made the following song : — 
 
 " Oh, my pet lamb, lift your head, 
 Though the stoniest path you tread, 
 Over the mountains lonely, 
 Still your bells follow only. 
 
 " Oh, my pet lamb, walk with care, 
 Lest you spoil all your wool beware, 
 Mother must soon be sewing 
 Skins for the summer 's going. 
 
 " Oh, my pet lamb, try to grow 
 Fat and fine wheresoe'er you go ! 
 Know you not, little sweeting, 
 A spring lamb is dainty eating! " 
 
 i Adapted to the metre of the original from the translation of 
 Augusta Plcsner and S. Rugeley-Powers.
 
 ARNE. 53 
 
 One day in his twentieth year Arne chanced 
 to overhear a conversation between his mother 
 and the wife of the former gard owner ; they 
 were disputing about the horse they owned in 
 common. 
 
 " I must wait to hear what Arne says," re- 
 marked the mother. 
 
 " That lazy fellow ! " was the reply. " He 
 would like, I dare say, to have the horse go 
 ranging about the woods as he does himself." 
 
 The mother was now silent, although before 
 she had been arguing her own case well. 
 
 Arne turned as red as fire. It had not oc- 
 curred to him before that his mother might 
 have to listen to taunting words for his sake, 
 and yet perhaps she had often been obliged to 
 do so. Why had she not told him of this ? 
 
 He considered the matter well, and now it 
 struck him that his mother scarcely ever talked 
 with him. But neither did he talk with her. 
 With whom did he talk, after all? 
 
 Often on Sunday, when he sat quietly at 
 home, he felt a desire to read sermons to his 
 mother, whose eyes were poor ; she had wept 
 too much in her day. But he did not have the 
 courage to do so. Many times he had wanted 
 to offer to read aloud to her from his own 
 books, when all was still in the house, and he
 
 54 ARNE. 
 
 thought the time must hang heavily on her 
 hands. But his courage failed him for this 
 too. 
 
 " It cannot matter much. I must give up 
 tending the herds, and move down to mother." 
 
 He let several days pass, and became firm 
 in his resolve. Then he drove the cattle far 
 around in the wood, and made the following 
 song : — 
 
 " The vale is full of trouble, but here sweet Peace may reign ; 
 Within this quiet forest no bailiffs may distrain; 
 None fight, as in the vale, in the Blessed Church's name, 
 Yet if a church were here, it would no doubt be just the same. 
 
 " How peaceful is the forest : — true, the hawk is far from kind, 
 I fear he now is striving the plumpest sparrow to find; 
 I fear yon eagle 's coming to rob the kid of breath, 
 And yet perchance if long it lived, it might be tired to death. 
 
 " The woodman fells one tree, and another rots away, 
 The red fox killed the lambkin white at sunset yesterday; 
 The wolf, though, killed the fox, and the wolf itself must die, 
 For Arne shot him down to-day before the dew was dry. 
 
 " I '11 hie me to the valley back — the forest is as bad ; 
 And I must see to take good heed, lest thinking drive me mad. 
 I saw a boy in my dreams, though where I cannot tell — 
 But I know he had killed his father — I think it was in Hell." x 
 
 He came home and told his mother that she 
 might send out in the parish after another 
 herd-boy ; he wanted to manage the gard him- 
 Belf. Thus it was arranged ; but the mother 
 
 1 Adapted to the metre of the original, from the translation of 
 Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.
 
 ARNE. 55 
 
 was always after him with warnings not to 
 overtax himself with work. She used also to 
 prepare such good meals for him at this time 
 that he often felt ashamed ; but he said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 He was working at a song, the refrain of 
 
 which was " Over the lofty mountains." He 
 
 I never succeeded in finishing it, and this was 
 
 i chiefly because he wanted to have the refrain 
 
 in every other line ; finally he gave it up. 
 
 But many of the songs he made got out 
 among the people, where they were well liked ; 
 there were those who wished very much to talk 
 with him, especially as they had known him 
 from boyhood up. But Arne was shy of all 
 whom he did not know, and thought ill of 
 them, chief!}'' because he believed they thought 
 ill of him. 
 
 His constant companion in the fields was a 
 middle-aged man, called Upland Knut, who had 
 a habit of singing over his work ; but he always 
 sang the same song. After listening to this 
 for a few months, Arne was moved to ask him 
 if he did not know any others. 
 " No," was the man's reply. 
 Then after the lapse of several days, once 
 when Knut was singing his song, Arne asked : 
 "■ How did you chance to learn this one f "
 
 56 ARNE. 
 
 " Ob, it just happened so," said the man. 
 
 Arne went straight from him into the house ; 
 but there sat his mother weeping, a sight he had 
 not seen since his father's death. He pretended 
 not to notice her, and went toward the door 
 again ; but he felt his mother looking sorrow- 
 fully after him again and he had to stop. 
 
 " What are you crying for, mother ? " 
 
 For a while his words were the only sound in 
 the room, and therefore they came back to him 
 again and again, so often that he felt they had 
 not been said gently enough. He asked once 
 more : — 
 
 " What are you crying for ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am sure I do not know ; " but now 
 she wept harder than ever. 
 
 He waited a long time, then was forced to 
 say, as courageously as he could : — 
 
 " There must be something you are crying 
 about ! " 
 
 Again there was silence. He felt very 
 guilty, although she had said nothing, and he 
 knew nothing. 
 
 " It just happened so," said the mother. 
 Presently she added, " I am after all most fort- 
 unate," and then she wept. 
 
 But Arne hastened out. and he felt drawn 
 toward the Kamp gorge. lie sat down to look
 
 ARNE. ° ' 
 
 into it, and while he was sitting there, he too 
 wept. " If I only knew what I was crying for," 
 mused Arne. 
 
 Above him, in the new-plowed field, Upland 
 Knut was singing his song : — 
 
 " Ingerid Sletten of Willow-pool 
 Had no costly trinkets to wear ; 
 But a cap she had that was far more fair, 
 Although it was only of wool. 
 
 " It had no trimming, and now was old, 
 But her mother who long had gone 
 Had given it her, and so it shone 
 To Ingerid more than gold. 
 
 " For twenty years she laid it aside, 
 That it might not be worn away; 
 ' My cap I '11 wear on that blissful day 
 When I shall become a bride.' 
 
 M For thirty j-ears she laid it aside 
 Lest the colors might fade away: 
 ' My cap I '11 wear when to God I pray 
 A happy and grateful bride.' 
 
 " For forty years she laid it aside, 
 Still holding her mother as dear ; 
 ' My little cap, I certainly fear 
 I never shall be a bride.' 
 
 " She went to look for the cap one day 
 In the chest where it long had lain ; 
 But ah ! her looking was all in vain, — 
 The cap had moldered away." i 
 
 Arne sat and listened as though the words 
 had been music far away up the slope. He 
 went up to Knut. 
 
 1 Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.
 
 58 ARNE. 
 
 " Have you a mother? " asked he. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Have you a father ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; I have no father." 
 
 " Is it long since they died?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it is long since." 
 
 " You have not many, I dare say, who care 
 for you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; not many." 
 
 " Have you any one here ? " 
 
 "No, not here." 
 
 " But yonder in your native parish ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; not there either." 
 
 " Have you not any one at all who cares for 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; I have not." 
 
 But Arne went from him loving his own 
 mother so intensely that it seemed as though 
 his heart would break ; and he felt, as it were, 
 a blissful light over him. " Thou Heavenly 
 Father," thought he, " Thou hast given her to 
 me, and such unspeakable love with the gift, 
 and I put this away from me ; and one day 
 when I want it, she will be perhaps no more ! " 
 He felt a desire to go to her, if for nothing 
 else only to look at her. But on the way, it 
 suddenly occurred to him : " Perhaps because 
 you did not appreciate her you may soon have
 
 ARNE. 59 
 
 to endure the grief of losing her ! " He stood 
 still at once. " Almighty God ! what then 
 would become of me ? " 
 
 He felt as though some calamity must be 
 happening at home. He hastened toward the 
 house ; cold sweat stood on his brow ; his feet 
 scarcely touched the ground. He tore open 
 the passage door, but within the whole atmos- 
 phere was at once filled with peace. He softly 
 opened the door into the family-room. The 
 mother had gone to bed, the moon shone full in 
 in her face, and she lay sleeping calmly as a 
 child.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Some days after this, mother and son, who of 
 late had been more together, agreed to be pres- 
 ent at the wedding of some relatives at a 
 neighboring gard. The mother had not been to 
 any party since she was a girl. 
 
 They knew few people at the wedding, save 
 by name, and Arne thought it especially strange 
 that everybody stared at him wherever he went. 
 
 Once some words were spoken behind him 
 in the passage ; he was not sure, but he fan- 
 cied he understood them, and every drop of 
 blood rushed into his face whenever he thought 
 of them. 
 
 He could not keep his ej'es off the man who 
 had spoken these words ; finally, he took a seat 
 beside him. But as he drew up to the table 
 he thought the conversation took another turn. 
 
 " Well, now I am going to tell you a story, 
 which proves that nothing can be buried so 
 deep down in night that it will not find its way 
 into daylight," said the man, and Arne was 
 sure he looked at him. He was an ill-favored
 
 AKNE, 61 
 
 man, with thin, red hair encircling a great, 
 round brow. Beneath were a pair of very 
 small eyes and a little bottle-shaped nose ; but 
 the month was yery large, with very pale, nut- 
 turned lips. When he laughed, he showed 
 his gums. His hands lay on the table : they 
 were clumsy and coarse, but the wrists were 
 slender. He looked sharp and talked fast, but 
 with much effort. People nicknamed him the 
 Rattle-tongue, and Arne knew that tailor Nils 
 had dealt roughly with him in the old days. 
 
 " Yes, there is a great deal of wickedness in 
 this world ; it comes nearer home to us than 
 we think. But no matter ; you shall hear now 
 of an ugly deed. Those who are old remember 
 Alf, Scrip Alf. ' Sure to come back ! ' said 
 Alf ; that saying comes from him ; for when 
 he had struck a bargain — and he could trade, 
 that fellow ! — he flung his scrip on his back. 
 ' Sure to come back,' said Alf. A devilish good 
 fellow, fine fellow, splendid fellow, this Alf, 
 Scrip Alf ! 
 
 " Well, there was Alf and Big Lazy-bones — 
 aye, you knew Big Lazy-bones ? — he was big 
 and he was lazy too. He looked too long at 
 a shining black horse Scrip Alf drove and had 
 trained to spring like a summer frog. And 
 before Big Lazy-bones knew what he was
 
 62 ARNE. 
 
 about, he had given fifty dollars for the nag ! 
 Big Lazy-bones mounted a carriole, 1 as large as 
 life, to drive like a king with his fifty-dollar 
 horse ; but now he might lash and swear until 
 the gard was all in a smoke ; the horse ran, for 
 all that, against all the doors and walls that 
 were in the way ; he was stone blind. 
 
 "Afterwards, Alf and Big Lazy-bones fell to 
 quarreling about this horse all through the par- 
 ish, just like a couple of dogs. Big Lazy-bones 
 wanted his money back; but you may believe 
 he never got so much as two Danish shillings. 
 Scrip Alf thrashed him until the hair flew. 
 ' Sure to come back,' said Alf. Devilish good 
 fellow, fine fellow, splendid fellow, this Alf — 
 Scrip Alf. 
 
 " Well, then, some years passed by without 
 his being heard of again. 
 
 " It might have been ten years later that he 
 was published on the church hill ; 2 there had 
 been left to him a tremendous fortune. Big 
 Lazy-bones was standing by. ' I knew very 
 well,' said he, ' that it was money that was cry- 
 ing for Scrip Alf, and not people.' 
 
 " Now there was a great deal of gossip about 
 Alf ; and out of it all was gathered that he had 
 
 1 A kind of road-sulky used by travelers in Norway. 
 
 2 Important announcements are made to the people in front 
 of the church after service.
 
 ARNE. 03 
 
 been seen last on this side of Roren, and not on 
 the other. Yes, you remember the Roren road 
 — the old road ? 
 
 But Big Lazy-bones had succeeded in rising 
 to great power and splendor, owning both farm 
 and complete outfit. 
 
 Moreover, he had professed great piety, and 
 everybody knew he did not become pious for 
 nothing — any more than other folks do. Peo- 
 ple began to talk about it. 
 
 It was at this time that the Roren road was 
 to be changed, old-time folks wanted to go 
 straight ahead, and so it went directly over 
 Roren ; but we like things level, and so the 
 road now runs down by the river. There was 
 a mining and a blasting, until one might have 
 expected Roren to come tumbling down. All 
 sorts of officials came there, but the amtmand x 
 oftenest of all, for he was allowed double mile- 
 age. And now, one day while they were dig- 
 ging down among the rocks, some one went to 
 pick up a stone, but got hold of a hand that 
 was sticking out of the rocks, and so strong was 
 this hand that it sent the man who took hold of 
 it reeling backwards. Now he who found this 
 hand was Big Lazy-bones. The lensmand 2 
 
 1 The chief magistrate of an amt jr county. 
 
 2 Bail f£.
 
 64 ARNE. 
 
 was sauntering about there, he was called, and 
 the skeleton of a whole roan was dug out. The 
 doctor was sent for too ; he put the bones so 
 skillfully together that now only the flesh was 
 wanting. But people claimed that this skele- 
 ton was precisely the same size as Scrip Alf. 
 ' Sure to come back ! ' said Alf. 
 
 " Every one thought it most strange that a 
 dead hand could upset a fellow like Big Lazy- 
 bones, even when it did not strike at all. The 
 lensmand talked seriously to him about it, — of 
 course when no one was by to hear. But then 
 Big Lazy-bones swore until everything grew 
 black about the lensmand. 
 
 " ' Well, well,' said the lensmand, ' if you 
 had nothing to do with this, you are just the 
 fellow to go to bed with the skeleton to-night ; 
 hey ? ' 'To be sure I am,' replied Big Lazy- 
 bones. And now the doctor jointed the bones 
 firmly together, and placed the skeleton in one 
 of the beds of the barracks. In the other Big 
 Lazy-bones was to sleep, but the lensmand laid 
 down in his gown, close up to the wall. When 
 it grew dark and Big Lazy-bones had to go in 
 to his bed-fellow, it just seemed as though the 
 door shut of itself, and he stood in the dark. 
 But Big Lazy-bones fell to singing hymns, for 
 he had a strong voice. ' Why are you singing
 
 ARXE. 65 
 
 hymns ? ' asked the lensmand, outside of the 
 wall. ' No one knows whether he has had the 
 choi'ister,' answered Big Lazy-bones. After- 
 ward he fell to praying with all his might. 
 ' Why are you praying? ' asked the lensmand, 
 outside of the wall. ' He has no doubt been a 
 great sinner,' answered Big Lazy-bones. Then 
 for a long time all was still, and it really 
 seemed as though the lensmand must be sleep- 
 ing. Then there was a shriek that made the 
 barracks shake. ' Sure to come back ! ' An in- 
 fernal noise and uproar arose : ' Hand over those 
 fifty dollars of mine ! ' bellowed Big Lazy-bones, 
 and there followed a screaming and a wrest- 
 ling ; the lensmand flung open the door, people 
 rushed in with sticks and stones, and there 
 lay Big Lazy-bones in the middle of the floor, 
 and on him was the skeleton." 
 
 It was very still around the table. Finally 
 a man who was about to light his clay pipe, 
 said : — 
 
 " He surely went mad after that day." 
 
 " He did." 
 
 Arne felt every one looking at him, and 
 therefore he could not raise his eyes. 
 
 " It is, as I have said," put in the first 
 speaker ; " nothing can be buried so deep
 
 66 ARNE. 
 
 down in night that it will not find its way into 
 daylight ! " 
 
 " Well, now I will tell about a son who beat 
 his own father," said a fair, heavily-built man, 
 with a round face. Arne knew not where he 
 was sitting. 
 
 " It was a bully of a powerful race, over in 
 Hardanger; he was the ruin of many people. 
 His father and he disagreed about the yearly 
 allowance, and the result of this was that the 
 man had no peace at home or in the parish. 
 
 " Owing to this he grew more and more 
 wicked, and his father took him to task. ' I 
 will take rebuke from no one,' said the son. 
 ' From me you shall take it as long as I live,' 
 said the father. ' If you do not hold your 
 tongue I will beat you,' said the son, and sprang 
 to his feet. ' Aye, do so if you dare, and you 
 will never prosper in the world,' answered the 
 father, as he too rose. ' Do you think so ? ' — 
 and the son rushed at him and knocked him 
 down. But the father did not resist; he crossed 
 his arms and let his son do as he chose witli 
 him. 
 
 " The son beat him, seized hold of him and 
 dragged him to the door. ' I will have peace 
 in the house ! ' But when they came to the 
 door, the father raised himself up. ' Not far-
 
 ARNE. 67 
 
 tlier than to the door,' said he, ' for so far I 
 dragged my own father.' The son paid no heed 
 to this, but dragged his head across the thresh- 
 old. ' Not farther than to the door, I say ! ' 
 Here the old man flung his son down at his 
 feet, and chastised him, just as though he were 
 a child." 
 
 " That was badly done," said several. 
 
 " Did not strike his father, though," Arne 
 thought some one said ; but he was not sure 
 of it. 
 
 " Now I shall tell you something," said Arne, 
 rising up, as pale as death, not knowing what 
 he was going to say. He only saw the words 
 floating about him like great snow-flakes. " I 
 will make a grasp at them hap-hazarcl ! " and 
 he began. 
 
 " A troll met a boy who was walking along 
 a road crying. ' Of whom are you most 
 afraid ? ' said the troll, ' of yourself, or of 
 others ? ' But the boy was crying, because he 
 had dreamed in the night that he had been 
 forced to kill his wicked father, and so he an- 
 swered, ' I am most afraid of myself.' ' Then 
 be at peace with yourself, and never cry any 
 more ; for hereafter you shall only be at war 
 with others.' And the troll went his way. But 
 the first person the boy met laughed at him,
 
 68 ARNE. 
 
 and so the boy bad to laugb back again. Tbe 
 next person he met struck hirn ; tbe boy bad 
 to defend himself, and struck back. The third 
 person he met tried to kill him, and so tbe boy 
 had to take his life. Then everybody said 
 hard things about him, and therefore he knew 
 only hard things to say of everybody. They 
 locked their cupboards and doors against him, 
 so he had to steal his way to what he needed ; 
 he even had to steal his night's rest. Since 
 they would not let him do anything good, he 
 had to do something bad. Tben the parish 
 said, ' We must get rid of this boy ; he is 
 so bad; and one fine day they put him out of 
 the way. But the boy had not the least idea 
 that he had done anything wicked, and so after 
 death he came strolling right into the presence 
 of the Lord. There on a bench sat the father 
 he had not slain, and right opposite, on another 
 bench, sat all those who had forced him to do 
 wrong. 
 
 " ' Which bench are you afraid of?' asked 
 the Lord, and tbe boy pointed to the long one. 
 
 " ' Sit down there, beside your father,' said 
 the Lord, and the boy turned to do so. 
 
 " Then the father fell from the bench, with 
 a great gash in his neck. In his place there 
 came one in the likeness of the boy, with re-
 
 ARNE. 69 
 
 pentant countenance and ghastly features ; then 
 another with drunken face and drooping form ; 
 still another with the face of a madman, with 
 tattered clothes and with hideous laughter. 
 
 " ' Thus it might have been with you,' said 
 the Lord. 
 
 " ' Can that really be ? ' replied the boy, 
 touching the hem of the Lord's garment. 
 
 " Then both benches fell down from heaven, 
 and the boy stood beside the Lord again and 
 laughed. 
 
 " ' Remember this when you awaken,' said 
 the Lord, and at that moment the boy awoke. 
 
 " Now the boy who dreamed thus is I, and 
 they who tempted him by thinking him wicked 
 are you. I no longer fear myself, but I am 
 afraid of you. Do not stir up my evil pas- 
 sions, for it is doubtful whether I may get hold 
 of the Lord's garment. 
 
 He rushed out, and the men looked at each 
 other.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was the next day, in the barn of the same 
 gard. Arne had been drunk for the first time 
 in his life, was ill in consequence of it, and 
 had been lying in the barn almost twenty-four 
 hours. Now, turning over, he had propped 
 himself up on his elbows, and thus talked with 
 himself : — 
 
 " Everything I look at becomes cowardice. 
 That I did not run away when I was a boy, 
 was cowardice ; that I listened to father rather 
 than to mother, was cowardice ; that I sang 
 those wicked songs for him was cowardice ; I 
 became a herd-boy, that was from cowardice ; 
 
 — I took to reading — oh, yes ! that was from 
 cowardice, too; I wanted to hide away from 
 myself. Even after I was grown up, I did not 
 help mother against father — cowardice ; that 
 I did not that night — ugh ! — cowardice ! I 
 should most likely have waited until she was 
 killed. I could not stand it at home after that 
 
 — cowardice; neither did I go my way — cow- 
 ardice ; I did nothing, I tended cattle — cow-
 
 ARNE. 71 
 
 ardice. To be sure, I had promised mother to 
 stay with her ; but I should actually have been 
 cowardly enough to break the promise, had I 
 not been afraid to mingle with people. For I 
 am afraid of people chiefly because I believe 
 they see how bad I am. And it is fear of peo- 
 ple makes me speak ill of them — cursed cow- 
 ardice ! I make rhymes from cowardice. I 
 dare not think in a straightforward manner 
 about my own affairs, and so I turn to those 
 of others — and that is to be a poet. 
 
 " I should have sat down and cried until the 
 hills were turned into water, that is what I 
 should have done ; but instead I say : ' Hush, 
 hush!' and set myself to rocking. And even 
 my songs are cowardly ; for were they cour- 
 ageous they would be better. I am afraid of 
 strong thoughts ; afraid of everything that is 
 strong ; if I do rise up to strength, it is in a 
 frenzy, and frenzy is cowardice. I am more 
 clever, more capable, better informed than I 
 seem to be. I am better than my words ; but 
 through cowardice I dare not be what I am. 
 Fy ! I drank brandy from cowardice ; I wanted 
 to deaden the pain ! Fy ! it hurt. I drank, 
 nevertheless; drank, nevertheless; drank my 
 father's heart's blood, and yet I drank ! The 
 fact is, my cowardice is beyond all bounds ;
 
 i '1 ARNE. 
 
 but the most cowardly thing of all is that I can 
 sit here and say all this to myself. 
 
 " Kill myself ? Pooh ! For that I am too 
 cowardly. And then I believe in God, — yes, 
 I believe in God. I long to go to Him ; but 
 cowardice keeps me from Him. From so great 
 a change a cowardly person winces. But what 
 if I tried as well as I am able? Almighty 
 God ! What if I tried ? I might find a cure 
 that even my milksop nature could bear ; for 
 I have no bone in me any longer, nor gristle ; 
 
 only something fluid, slush What if I 
 
 tried, with good, mild books, — I am afraid 
 of the strong ones, — with pleasant stories and 
 legends, all such as are mild ; and then a ser- 
 mon every Sunday and a prayer every evening, 
 and regular work, that religion may find fruit- 
 ful soil ; it cannot do so amid slothfulness. 
 What if I tried, dear, gentle God of my 
 childhood, — what if I tried ? " 
 
 But some one opened the barn-door, and 
 hurried across the floor, pale as death, although 
 drops of sweat rolled down the face. It was 
 Arne's mother. It was the second day she had 
 been seeking for her son. She called his name, 
 but did not pause to listen ; only called and 
 rushed about, till he answered from the hay- 
 mow, where he was lying. She gave a loud
 
 ARNE. * 6 
 
 shriek, sprang to the mow more lightly than 
 a boy, and threw herself upon him. 
 
 " Arne, Arne, are you here ? So I have 
 really found you. I have been looking for you 
 since yesterday ; I have searched the whole 
 night ! Poor, poor Arne ! I saw they had 
 wounded you. I wanted so much to talk with 
 you and comfort you ; but then I never dare 
 talk with you ! Arne, I saw you drink ! O 
 God Almighty ! let me never see it again !" 
 
 It was long before she could say more. " Je- 
 sus have mercy on you, my child ; I saw you 
 di-ink ! Suddenly you were gone, drunk and 
 crushed with grief as you were, and I ran 
 around to all the houses. I went far out in the 
 field ; I did not find you. I searched in every 
 copse ; I asked every one. I was here, too, but 
 you did not answer me — Arne, Arne ! I 
 walked along the river ; but it did not seem to 
 be deep enough anywhere " — She pressed up 
 close to him. " Then it came with such relief 
 to my mind that you might have gone home, 
 and I am sure I was not more than a quarter of 
 an hour getting over the road. I opened the 
 door and looked in every room, and then first 
 remembered that I myself had the key ; you 
 could not possibly have entered. Arne, last 
 night I searched along the road on both sides ;
 
 74 ARNE. 
 
 I dared not go to the Kamp gorge. I know 
 not how I came here ; no one helped me ; but 
 the Lord put it into my heart that you must 
 be here ! " 
 
 He tried to soothe her. 
 
 " Arne, indeed, you must never drink brandy 
 again." 
 
 " No, you may be sure of that." 
 
 " They must have been very rough with you. 
 Were they rough with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; it was I who was cowardly." He 
 laid stress on the word. 
 
 " I cannot exactly understand why they 
 should be rough with you. What was it they 
 did to you ? You will never tell me anything," 
 and she began to weep again. 
 
 "■You never tell me anything, either," said 
 Arne, gently. 
 
 " But you are most to blame, Arne. I got 
 so into the habit of being silent in your father's 
 day that you ought to have helped me a little 
 on the way ! My God ! there are only two of 
 us, and we have suffered so much together! " 
 
 " Let us see if we cannot do better," whis- 
 pered Arne. " Next Sunday I will read the 
 6ermon to you." 
 
 " God bless you for that ! Arne ? " 
 
 "Yes?"
 
 ARNE. 75 
 
 " I have something I ought to say to you." 
 
 " Say it, mother." 
 
 " I have sinned greatly against you ; I have 
 done something wrong." 
 
 " You, mother ? " And it touched him so 
 deeply that his own good, infinitely patient 
 mother should accuse herself of having sinned 
 against him, who had never been really good to 
 her, that he put his arm round her, patted her, 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 " Yes, I have ; and yet I could not help it." 
 
 " Oh, you have never wronged me in any 
 way." 
 
 " Yes, I have, — God knows it ; it was only 
 because I was so fond of you. But you must 
 forgive me ; do you hear ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will forgive you." 
 
 " Well, then, I will tell you about it anotner 
 time ; but you will forgive me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, mother ! " 
 
 " You see, it is perhaps because of this that 
 it has been so hard to talk with you ; I have 
 sinned against you." 
 
 " I beg of you not to talk so, mother." 
 
 " I am happy now, having been able to say 
 so much." 
 
 " We must talk more together, we two, 
 mother."
 
 76 AENE. 
 
 " Yes, that we must ; and then you will 
 really read the sermon for me ? " 
 " Yes, I will do so." 
 " Poor Arne ! God bless you ! " 
 " I think it is best for us to go home." 
 " Yes, we will go home." 
 " Why are you looking round so, mother ? " 
 " Your father lay in this barn, and wept." 
 " Father ? " said Arne, and grew very pale. 
 " Poor Nils ! It was the day you were chris- 
 tened. Why are you looking round, Arne ? "
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 From the day that Arne tried with his whole 
 heart to live closer to his mother his relations 
 with other people were entirely changed. He 
 looked on them more with the mother's mild 
 eyes. But he often found it hard to keep true 
 to his resolve ; for what he thought most deeply 
 about his mother did not always understand. 
 Here is a song from those days : — 
 
 " It was such a pleasant, sunny day, 
 
 In-doors I could not think of staying : 
 I strolled to the wood, on rny back I lay, 
 
 And rocked what my mind was saying; 
 But there crawled emmets, and gnats stung there, 
 The wasps and the clegs brought dire despair. 
 
 " ' My dear, will you not go out in this pleas- 
 ant weather ? ' said mother. She sat singing on 
 the porch. 
 
 " It was such a pleasant, sunny day, 
 
 In-doors I could not think of staying : 
 I strayed to a field, on my back I lay, 
 
 And sang what my mind was saying ; 
 But snakes came out to enjoy the sun, 
 Three ells were they long, and away I run. 
 
 " ' In such pleasant weather we can go bare-
 
 78 ARNE. 
 
 foot,' said mother, and she pulled off her stock- 
 ings. 
 
 " It was such a pleasant, sunny day, 
 In-doors I could no longer tarry : 
 I stepped in a boat, on my back I lay, 
 
 The tide did me onward carry ; 
 The sun, though, scorched till my nose was burned ; 
 There 's limit to all, so to shore I turned. 
 
 " ' What fine days these are for drying the 
 hay ! ' said mother, as she shook it with a rake. 
 
 " It was such a pleasant, sunny day, 
 
 In-doors I could not think of staying : 
 I climbed up a tree, and thought there I 'd stay, 
 
 For there were cool breezes playing. 
 A grub to fall on my neck then there chanced ; 
 I sprang down and screamed, and how madly I danced. 
 
 " ' Well, if the cow does not thrive such a day 
 as this, she never will,' said mother, as she 
 gazed up the slope. 
 
 " It was such a pleasant, sunny day, 
 
 In-doors I could no peace discover: 
 I made for the force that did loudly play, 
 
 For there it must surely hover ; 
 But there I drowned while the sun still shone. 
 If you made this song, it is surely not my own. 1 
 
 " ' It would take only about three such sunny 
 days to get everything under cover,' said moth- 
 er ; and off she started to make my bed." 
 
 Nevertheless, this companionship with his 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 ARNE. 79 
 
 mother brought every day more and more com- 
 fort to Arne. What she did not understand 
 formed quite as much of a tie between them as 
 what she did understand. For the fact of her 
 not comprehending a thing made him think it 
 over oftener, and she grew only the dearer to 
 him because he found her limits on every side. 
 Yes, she became infinitely dear to him. 
 
 As a child, Arne had not cared much for 
 nursery stories. Now, as a grown person, he 
 longed for them, and the}'' led to traditions and 
 ancient ballads. His mind was filled with a 
 wonderful yearning ; he walked much alone, 
 and many of the places round about, which for- 
 merly he had not noticed, seemed strangely 
 beautiful. In the days when he had gone with 
 those of his own age to the priest's to prepare 
 for confirmation, he had often played with them 
 by a large lake below the parsonage, called 
 Black Water, because it was deep and black. 
 Ke began to think of this lake now, and one 
 evening he wended his w r ay thither. 
 
 He sat down behind a copse, just at the foot 
 of the parsonage. This lay on the side of a very 
 steep hill, which towered up beyond until it 
 became a high mountain ; the opposite bank 
 was similar, and therefore huge shadows were 
 cast over the lake from both sides, but in its
 
 80 ARNE. 
 
 centre was a stripe of beautiful silvery water. 
 All was at rest ; the sun was just setting ; a 
 faint sound of tinkling bells floated over from 
 the opposite shore ; otherwise profound silence 
 reigned. Arne did not look right across the 
 lake, but first turned his eyes toward its lower 
 end, for there the sun was shedding a sprink- 
 ling of burning red, ere it departed. Down there 
 the mountains had parted to make room be- 
 tween them for a long, low valley, and against 
 this the waves dashed ; and it seemed as though 
 the mountains had gradually sloped together to 
 form a swing in which to rock this valley, which 
 was dotted with its many gards. The curling 
 smoke rose upward, and passed from sight ; the 
 fields were green and reeking ; boats laden with 
 hay were approaching the landings. Arne saw 
 many people passing to and fro, but could 
 hear no noise. Thence the eye wandered be- 
 yond the shore, where God's dark forest alone 
 loomed up. Through the forest and along the 
 lake men had drawn a road, as it were, witli 
 a finger, for a winding streak of dust plainly 
 marked its course. This Arne's eye followed 
 until it came directly opposite to where he was 
 sitting ; there the forest ended ; the mountains 
 made a little more room, and straightways gavd 
 after gard lay spread about. The houses were
 
 ARNE. 81 
 
 still larger than those at the lower end, were 
 painted red, and had higher windows, which 
 now were in a blaze of light. The hills sparkled 
 in dazzling sunshine ; the smallest child playing 
 about could be plainly seen ; glittering white 
 sand lay dry on the shore, and upon this little 
 children bounded with their dogs. But sud- 
 denly the whole scene became desolate and 
 gloomy; the houses dark red, the meadows 
 dingy green, the sand grayish-white, and the 
 children small clumps : a mass of mist had 
 risen above the mountains, and had shut out 
 the sun. Arne kept his eye fixed on the lake ; 
 there he found everything again. The fields 
 were rocking there, and the forest silently 
 joined them ; the houses stood looking down, 
 doors open, and children going out and in. 
 Nursery tales and childish things came throng- 
 ing into his mind, as little fish come after a 
 bait, swim away, come back again, but do not 
 nibble. 
 
 " Let us sit clown here until your mother 
 comes ; the priest's lady will surely get through 
 some time." 
 
 Arne was startled ; some one had sat down 
 just behind him. 
 
 " But I might be allowed to stay just this one 
 night," said a beseeching voice, choked with
 
 82 ARNE. 
 
 tears ; it seemed to be that of a young girl, not 
 quite grown up. 
 
 " Do not cry any more ; it is shocking to cry 
 because you must go home to your mother." 
 This last came in a mild voice that spoke slowly 
 and belonged to a man. 
 
 " That is not the reason I am crying." 
 
 " Why are you crying, then ? " 
 
 " Because I shall no longer be with Ma- 
 thilde." 
 
 This was the name of the priest's only 
 daughter, and reminded Arne that a peasant 
 girl had been brought up with her. 
 
 " That could not last forever, any way." 
 
 " Yes, but just one day longer, dear ! " and 
 she sobbed violently. 
 
 " It is best you should go home at once ; per- 
 haps it is already too late." 
 
 " Too late ? Why so ? Who ever heard of 
 such a thing ? " 
 
 " You are peasant-born, and a peasant you 
 shall remain ; we cannot afford to keep a fine 
 lady." 
 
 " I should still be a peasant, even if I re- 
 mained here." 
 
 " You are no judge of that." 
 
 " I have always worn peasant's clothes." 
 
 " It is not that which makes the difference."
 
 ARNE. 83 
 
 " I have been spinning and weaving and 
 cooking." 
 
 " It is not that, either." 
 
 " I can talk just as you and mother do." 
 
 " Not that, either." 
 
 " Then I do not know what it can be," said 
 the girl, and laughed. 
 
 " Time will show. Besides, I am afraid you 
 already have too many ideas." 
 
 " Ideas, ideas ! You are always saying that. 
 I have no ideas." She wept again. 
 
 "Oh, you are a weathercock, — that you 
 are!" 
 
 " The priest never said so." 
 
 " No, but now /say so." 
 
 " A weathercock ? Who ever heard of such 
 a thing ? I will not be a weathercock." 
 
 " Come, then, what will you be ? " 
 
 " What will I be ? Did you ever hear the 
 like ? I will be nothing." 
 
 " Very good, then ; be nothing." 
 
 Now the girl laughed. Presently she said, 
 gravely, " It is unkind of you to say I am 
 nothing." 
 
 " Dear me, when that was what you wanted 
 to be yourself !" 
 
 " No, I do not want to be nothing." 
 
 " Very good, then ; be everything."
 
 84 ARNE. 
 
 The girl laughed. Presently, with a sorrow- 
 ful voice, " The priest never fooled with me in 
 this way."' 
 
 " No, he onlj made a fool of you." 
 
 " The priest ? You have never been so kind 
 to me as the priest has." 
 
 " No, for that would have spoiled you." 
 
 " Sour milk can never become sweet." 
 
 " Oh, yes, when it is boiled to whey." 
 
 Here the girl burst out laughing. 
 
 " There comes your mother." 
 
 Then she grew sober again. 
 
 " Such a long-winded woman as the priest's 
 lady I have never met in all the days of my 
 life," here interposed a shrill, rattling voice. 
 " Make haste, now, Baard. Get up and push 
 the boat out. We will not get home to-night. 
 The lady wished me to see that Eli kept 
 her feet dry. Dear me, you will have to see 
 to that yourself. Every morning she must 
 take a walk, for the sake of her health. It 
 is health, health, from morning till night. 
 Get up, now, Baard, and push out the boat. 
 Just think, I have to set sponge this even- 
 ing ! " 
 
 " The chest has not come yet," said he, and 
 lay still. 
 
 " But the chest is not to come, either ; it is
 
 ARNE. 85 
 
 to remain until the first Sunday there is -serv- 
 ice. Do you hear, Eli ? Pick yourself up ; 
 take your bundle, and come. Get up, now, 
 Baard ! " 
 
 She led the way, and the girl followed. 
 
 " Come, now, I say, — come now ! " resounded 
 from below. 
 
 " Have you looked after the ping in the 
 boat ? " asked Baard, still without rising. 
 
 "Yes, it is there ; " and Arne heard her just 
 then hammering it in with the scoop. " But 
 get up, I say, Baard ! Surely we are not to 
 stay here all night ? " 
 
 " I am waiting for the chest." 
 
 " But, my dear, bless you, I have told you it 
 is to wait until the first Sunday there is serv- 
 ice." 
 
 " There it comes," said Baard, and they 
 heard the rattling of a cart. 
 
 " Why, I said it was to wait until the first 
 Sunday there is service." 
 
 " I said we were to take it along." 
 
 Without anything further, the wife hastened 
 up to the cart, and carried the bundle, the lunch- 
 box, and other small things down to the boat. 
 Then Baard arose, went up, and took the chest 
 himself. 
 
 But behind the cart there came rushing along
 
 86 ARNE. 
 
 a girl in a straw hat, with floating hair ; it was 
 the priest's daughter. 
 
 "Eli ! Eli ! " she called, as she ran. 
 
 " Mathilde ! Mathilde ! " Eli answered, and 
 ran toward her. 
 
 They met on the hill, put their arms about 
 each other, and wept. Then Mathilde took up 
 something she had set down on the grass : it 
 was a bird-cage. 
 
 " You shall have Narrifas ; yes, you shall. 
 Mother wishes it, too. You shall, after all, have 
 Narrifas, — indeed, you shall ; and then you 
 will think of me. And very often row — row 
 — row over to me," and the tears of both flowed 
 freely. 
 
 " Eli ! Come, now, Eli ! Do not stand 
 there ! " was heard from below. 
 
 " But I want to go along," said Mathilde. " I 
 want to go and sleep with you to-night ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! " and with arms twined about 
 each other's necks they moved down toward the 
 landing. 
 
 Presently Arne saw the boat out on the 
 water. Eli stood high on the stern, with the 
 bird-cage, and waved her hand ; Mathilde was 
 left behind, and sat on the stone landing weep- 
 ing. 
 
 She remained sitting there as long as the
 
 ARNE. 87 
 
 boat was on the water ; it was but a short dis- 
 tance across to the red house, as said before ; 
 and Arne kept his seat, too. He watched the 
 boat, as she did. It soon passed into the dark- 
 ness, and he waited until it drew up to the 
 shore : then he saw Eli and her parents in the 
 water ; in it he followed them up toward the 
 houses, until they came to the prettiest one of 
 them all. He saw the mother go in first, then 
 the father with the chest, and last of all the 
 daughter, so far as he could judge from their 
 size. Soon after the daughter came out again, 
 and sat down in front of the store-house door, 
 probably that she might gaze over at the other 
 side, where at that moment the sun was shed- 
 ding its parting rays. But the young lady 
 from the parsonage had already gone, and Arne 
 alone sat watching Eli in the water. 
 
 " I wonder if she sees me ! " 
 
 He got up and moved away. The sun had 
 set, but the sky was bright and clear blue, as it 
 often is of a summer night. Mist from land 
 and water rose and floated over the mountains 
 on both sides ; but the peaks held themselves 
 above it, and stood peering at one another. 
 He went higher up. The lake grew blacker and 
 deeper, and seemed, as it were, to contract. 
 The upper valley shortened, and drew closer to
 
 88 ARNE. 
 
 the lake. The mountains were nearer to the eye, 
 but looked more like a shapeless mass, for the 
 light of the sun defines. The sky itself ap- 
 peared nearer, and all surrounding objects be- 
 came friendly and familiar.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Love and woman were beginning to play a 
 prominent part in his thoughts ; in the ancient 
 ballads and stories of the olden times such 
 themes were reflected as in a magic mirror, 
 just as the girl had been in the lake. He 
 constantly brooded over them, and after that 
 evening he found pleasure in singing about 
 them ; for they seemed, as it were, to have come 
 nearer home to him. But the thought glided 
 away, and floated back again with a song that 
 was unknown to him ; he felt as though another 
 had made it for him, — 
 
 " Fair Venevill bounded on lithesome feet 
 
 Her lover to meet. 
 He sang till it sounded afar away, 
 
 ' Good-day, good-day,' 
 While blithesome birds were singing on every blooming spray 
 
 * On Midsummer Day 
 
 There is dancing and play; 
 But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay.' 
 
 41 She wove him a wreath of corn-flowers blue : 
 
 ' Mine eyes so true.' 
 He took it, but soon away it was flung : 
 
 ' Farewell ! ' he sung ; 
 And still with merry singing across the fields he sprung. 
 
 'On Midsummer Day,' etc.
 
 90 AENE. 
 
 " She wove him a chain. ' Oh, keep it with care! 
 
 'T is made of my hair.' 
 She yielded him then, in an hour of bliss, 
 
 Her pure first kiss ; 
 But he blushed as deeply as she the while her lips met his. 
 
 ' On Midsummer Day,' etc. 
 
 " She wove him a wreath with a lily-band : 
 
 ' My true right hand.' 
 She wove him another with roses aglow: 
 
 ' My left hand, now.' 
 He took them gently from her, but blushes dyed his brow. 
 
 ' On Midsummer Day,' etc. 
 
 M She wove him a wreath of all flowers round: 
 
 ' All I have found.' 
 She wept, but she gathered and wove on still: 
 
 ' Take all you will.' 
 Without a word he took it, and fled across the hill. 
 
 ' On Midsummer Day,' etc. 
 
 " She wove on, bewildered and out of breath : 
 
 'My bridal wreath.' 
 She wove till her fingers aweary had grown: 
 
 'Now put it on.' 
 But when she turned to see him, she found that he had gone. 
 
 ' On Midsummer Day,' etc. 
 
 " She wove on in haste, as for life and death, 
 
 Her bridal wreath ; 
 But the Midsummer sun no longer shone, 
 
 And the flowers were gone ; 
 But though she had no flowers, wild fancy still wove on. 
 
 'On Midsummer-Day 
 
 There is dancing and play; 
 But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay." 
 
 i Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Kugeley-Powers.
 
 ARNE. 91 
 
 It was his own intense melancholy that 
 called forth the first image of love that glided 
 so gloomily through his soul. A twofold long- 
 ing, — to have some one to love and to become 
 something great, — blended together and be- 
 came one. At this time he was working again 
 at the song, " Over the lofty mountains," alter- 
 ing it, and all the while singing and thinking 
 quietly to himself, "Surely I will get 'over' 
 some day ; I will sing until I gain courage." 
 He did not forget his n\pther in these his 
 thoughts of roving ; indeed, he took comfort 
 in the thought that as soon as he got firm 
 foothold in the strange land, he would come 
 back after her, and offer her conditions which 
 he never could be able to provide for her at 
 home. But in the midst of all these mighty 
 yearnings there played something calm, cheer- 
 ing, refined, that darted away and came again, 
 took hold and fled, and, dreamer that he had 
 become, he was more in the power of these 
 spontaneous thoughts than he himself was 
 aware. 
 
 There lived in the parish a jovial man whose 
 name was Ejnar Aasen. When he was twenty 
 years old he had broken his leg ; since then 
 he had walked with a cane ; but wherever he 
 came hobbling along, there was always mirth
 
 02 
 
 ARNE. 
 
 afoot. The man was rich. On his property 
 there was a lai'ge nut-wood, and there was sure 
 to be assembled, on one of the brightest, pleas- 
 antest days in autumn, a group of merry girls 
 gathering nuts. At these nutting-parties he 
 had plenty of feasting for his guests all clay, 
 and dancing in the evening. For most of 
 these girls he had been godfather ; indeed, he 
 was the godfather of half the parish; all the 
 children called him godfather, and from them 
 every one else, both old and young, learned 
 to do so. 
 
 Godfather and Arne were well acquainted, 
 and he liked the young man because of the 
 verses he made. Now godfather asked Arne to 
 come to the nutting-party. Arne blushed and 
 declined ; he was not used to being with girls, 
 he said. 
 
 " Then you must get used to it," replied 
 godfather. 
 
 Arne could not sleep at night because of 
 this ; fear and yearning were at war within 
 him ; but whatever the result might be, he 
 went along, and was about the only youth 
 among all these girls. He could not deny that 
 he felt disappointed ; they were neither those 
 he had sung about, nor those he had feared 
 to meet. There was an excitement and mer-
 
 ARNE. 93 
 
 riment, the like of which he had never known 
 before, and the first thing that struck him was 
 that they could laugh over nothing in the 
 world ; and if three laughed, why, then, five 
 laughed, simply because those three laughed. 
 They all acted as though they were members 
 of the same household ; and yet many of them 
 had not met before that day. If they caught, 
 the bough they were jumping after, they 
 laughed at that, and if they did not catch it, 
 they laughed at that, too. The}' fought for 
 the hook to draw it down with ; those who 
 got it laughed, and those who did not get it, 
 laughed also. Godfather hobbled after them 
 with his cane, and offered all the hindrance 
 in his power. Those whom he caught laughed 
 because he caught them, and those whom he 
 did not catch laughed because he did not catch 
 them. But they all laughed at Arne for being 
 sober, and when he tried to laugh, they laughed, 
 because he was laughing at last. 
 
 They seated themselves finally on a large hill, 
 godfather in the centre, and all the girls around 
 him. The hill commanded a fine outlook ; the 
 sun scorched ; but the girls heeded it not, they 
 sat, casting nut-husks and shells at one another, 
 giving the kernels to godfather. He tried to 
 quiet them at last, striking at them with his
 
 94 ARNE. 
 
 cane, as far as he could reach ; for now he 
 wanted them to tell stories, above all, some- 
 thing amusing. But to get them started seemed 
 more difficult than to stop a carriage on a hill- 
 side. Godfather began himself. There were 
 many who did not want to listen ; for they 
 knew already everything he had to tell ; but 
 they all ended by listening attentively. Be- 
 fore they knew what they were about, they sat 
 in the centre, and each took her turn in fol- 
 lowing his example as best she could. Now 
 Arne was much astonished to find that just 
 in proportion to the noise the girls had made 
 before was the gravity of the stories they now 
 told. Love was the chief theme of these. 
 
 " But you, Aasa, have a good one ; I re- 
 member that from last year," said godfather, 
 turning to a plump girl with a round, pleasant 
 face, who sat braiding the hair of a younger 
 sister, whose head was in her lap. 
 
 " Several that are here may know that," said 
 she. 
 
 " Well, give it to us anyway," they begged. 
 
 "I will not have to be urged long," .said 
 she, and, still braiding, she told and sang, as 
 follows : — 
 
 " There was a grown-up youth who tended 
 cattle, and he was in the habit of driving his
 
 AENE. 95 
 
 herds upward, along the banks of a broad 
 stream. High up on his way, there was a crag 
 which hung out so far over the stream, that 
 when he stood on it he could call out to any 
 one on the other side. For on the other side 
 of the stream there was a herd-girl whom he 
 could see all day long, but he could not come 
 over to her. 
 
 ' Now, tell me thy name, thou girl that art sitting, 
 Up there with thy sheep, so busily knitting ? ' 
 
 he asked, over and over again, for many days, 
 until at last one day there came the answer, — 
 
 1 My name floats about like a duck in wet weather ; — 
 Come over, thou boy in the cap of brown leather.' 
 
 " But this made the youth no wiser than 
 before, and he thought he would pay no further 
 heed to the girl. This was not so easy, though, 
 for, let him drive the cattle where he would, 
 he was always drawn back to the crag. Then 
 the youth grew alarmed, and called over : — 
 
 ' Well, who is your father, and where are you biding? 
 On the road to the church I have ne'er seen you riding.' 
 
 " The youth more than half believed her, in 
 fact, to be a milder. 1 
 
 ' My house is burned down, and my father is drowned, 
 And the road to the church-hill I never have found.' 
 
 1 The bidder dwells in forests and mountains, appears like a 
 beautiful woman, and usually wears a blue petticoat and a white 
 hood. She has a long tail, which she tries to conceal when she 
 is among people. Sin- is fond of cattle.
 
 96 ARNE. 
 
 " Now tins also made the youth no wiser 
 than before. By day he lingered on the crag, 
 and by night he dreamed that she was dancing 
 around him, and gave him a lash with a great 
 cow's-tail each time he tried to take hold of 
 her. Soon he could not sleep at all, neither 
 could he work, and the poor youth was in a 
 wretched state. Again he called aloud, — 
 
 'If thou art a hulder, then pray do not spell me, — 
 If thou art a maiden, then hasten to tell me? ' 
 
 "But there came no answer, and then he 
 was sure that this was a hulder. He gave 
 up tending cattle, but it was just as bad, 
 for wherever he went, or whatever he did, he 
 thought of the fair hulder who blew on the 
 horn. 
 
 " Then one day, as he stood chopping wood, 
 there came a girl through the yard who actu- 
 ally looked like the hulder. But when she 
 came nearer, it was not she. He thought 
 much about this ; then the girl came back, and 
 in the distance it was the hulder, and he ran 
 directly toward her. But the moment he came 
 near her it was not she. 
 
 " After this, let the youth be at church, at 
 a dance, at other social gatherings, or where 
 he would, the girl was there too ; when he 
 was far from her, she seemed to be the hulder ;
 
 ARNE. 97 
 
 near to her, she seemed to be another ; he 
 asked her then whether it were she or not ; 
 but she laughed at him. It is just as well to 
 spring into it as to creep into it, thought the 
 youth, and so he married the girl. 
 
 " No sooner was this done than the youth 
 ceased to like the girl. Away from her, he 
 longed for her ; but when with her, he longed 
 for one he did not see ; therefore he was 
 harsh toward his wife ; she bore this and was 
 silent. 
 
 " But one day, when he was searching for 
 the horses, he found his way to the crag, and 
 sitting down, he called out, — 
 
 ' Like fairy moonlight to me thou seemest, 
 Like midsummer fires from afar thou gleamest.' 
 
 " He thought it did him good to sit there, 
 and he fell into the way of going thither when- 
 ever anything went amiss at home. The wife 
 wept when she was left alone. 
 
 "But one day, while the youth was sitting 
 on the crag, the hulder, her living self, ap- 
 peared on the opposite side, and blew her horn. 
 He eagerly cried, — 
 
 'Ah, dear, art thou come! all around thee is shining 1 
 Ah, blow now again ! I am sitting here pining.' 
 
 " Then she answered, — 
 
 7
 
 98 ARNE. 
 
 ' Away from thy mind the dreams I am blowing, — 
 The rye is all rotting for want of mowing.' 
 
 " But the youth was frightened, and went 
 home again. Before long, though, he was so 
 tired of his wife that he felt compelled to wan- 
 der off to the wood and take his seat on the 
 crag. Then a voice saner, — 
 
 ' I dreamed thou wast here ; ho, hasten to bind me! 
 No, not over there, but behind you will find me.' l 
 
 " The youth started up, looked about him, 
 and espied a green skirt disappearing through 
 the woods. He pursued. Now there was a 
 chase through the woods. As fleet of foot as 
 the hulder was, no mortal could be ; he cast 
 steel 2 over her again and again ; she ran on the 
 same as before. By and by she began to grow 
 tired. The youth knew this from her foot-fall, 
 though her form convinced him that it was the 
 hulder herself, and none other. ' You shall 
 surely be mine now,' thought the youth, and 
 suddenly flung his arms about her with such 
 force that both he and she rolled far down the 
 hill before they could stop. Then the hulder 
 laughed until the youth thought the mountains 
 
 1 Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers. 
 
 2 Shooting or flinging steel over the head of hulders, trolls, 
 etc.. makes tin' witchery vanish. Thus also a piece of steel laid 
 in the cradle prevents hulders from exchanging little children for 
 th.;ir own.
 
 ARNE. 99 
 
 fairly rang ; lie took her on his knee, and she 
 looked so fair, just as he had once thought his 
 wife would look. 
 
 " ' Oh, clear, who are you that are so fair ? ' 
 asked the youth, and as he caressed her, he felt 
 that her cheeks were warm and glowing. 
 
 " ' Why, good gracious, I am your wife,' said 
 she." 
 
 The girls laughed, and thought the youth 
 was very foolish. But godfather asked Arne 
 if he had been listening. 
 
 " Well, now, I will tell you something," said 
 a little girl, with a little round face, and such 
 a very little nose. 
 
 " There was a little youth who wanted very 
 much to woo a little maiden ; they were both 
 grown up, yet were both very small indeed. 
 But the youth could not muster up courage 
 enough to begin his wooing. He always joined 
 her after church, but they did not then get be- 
 yond the weather in their talk ; he sought her 
 at the dances, and he danced her almost to 
 death, but talk with her he could not. ' You 
 must learn to write, and then you will not 
 have to,' said he to himself, and so the youth 
 took to writing; but he never thought he could 
 do well enough, and so he wrote a whole year 
 before he dared think of a letter. Then the
 
 100 ARNE. 
 
 trouble was how to deliver it so that no one 
 should see, and he waited until once they 
 chanced to meet alone behind the church. 
 
 " ' I have a letter for you,' said the youth. 
 
 " ' But I cannot read writing,' answered the 
 maiden. 
 
 " And the youth got no further. 
 
 " Then he took service at her father's house, 
 and hung round her the whole day long. Once 
 he came very near speaking to her ; he had 
 already opened his mouth, when there flew 
 into it a large fly. ' If only no one comes and 
 takes her from me,' thought the youth. But 
 there came no one to take her from him, be- 
 cause she was so small. 
 
 " Some one did come along, though, at last, 
 for he was small too. The youth well knew 
 what he was after, and when he and the girl 
 went up-stairs together, the youth made his 
 way to the key-hole. Now he who was within 
 offered himself. ' Alas, dunce that I am, not 
 to have made more haste ! ' thought the youth. 
 He who was inside kissed the girl right on the 
 lips. k That must have tasted good,' thought 
 tli<' youth. But he who was inside had drawn 
 the girl down on his knee. ' What a world 
 we live in! 'said the youth, and wept. This 
 the girl heard, and went to tin door.
 
 ARNE. 101 
 
 " ' What do you want of me, you ugly boy, 
 that you never give me any peace ? ' 
 
 " ' I ? — I only wanted to ask you if I might 
 be your groomsman.' 
 
 " ' No ; my brothers are to be the grooms- 
 men,' answered the girl, — and slammed the 
 door in his face. 
 
 " And the youth got no further." 
 
 The girls laughed a great deal at this story, 
 and sent a shower of husks flying round after it. 
 
 Godfather now wanted Eli Boen to tell 
 something. 
 
 What should it be ? 
 
 Why, she might tell what she had told over 
 on the hill, when he was with them, the time 
 she gave him the new garters. It was a good 
 while before Eli was ready, for she laughed so 
 hard, but at last she told : — 
 
 " A girl and a boy were walking together on 
 the same road. ' Why, see the thrush that is 
 following us,' said the girl. ' It is I whom it is 
 following,' said the boy. 'It is just as likely 
 to be me,' answered the girl. ' That we can 
 soon see,' remarked the boy; ' now you take the 
 lower road, and I will take the upper one, and 
 we will meet at the top of the hill.' They did 
 so. ' Was it not following me ? ' asked the boy, 
 when they met. ' ' No, it was following me,'
 
 102 ARNE. 
 
 answered the girl. ' Then there must be two.' 
 They walked together again a little way, but 
 then there was only one thrush ; the boy thought 
 it flew on his side ; but the girl thought it flew 
 on hers. ' The deuce ! I '11 not bother my head 
 any more about that thrush,' said the boy. ' Nor 
 I either,' replied the girl. 
 
 " But no sooner had they said this than the 
 thrush was gone. ' It was on your side,' said 
 the boy. ' No, I thank you ; I saw plainly it 
 was on yours. But there ! There it comes 
 again ! ' called out the girl. ' Yes, it is on my 
 side ! ' cried the boy. But now, the girl be- 
 came angry. ' May all the plagues take me if 
 I walk with you any longer ! ' and she went her 
 own. way. Then the thrush left the boy, and 
 the way became so tedious that he began to 
 call out. She answered. ' Is the thrush with 
 you ? ' shouted the boy. ' No, it is with you.' 
 ' Oh, dear ! You must come here again, then 
 perhaps it will come too.' And the girl came 
 again; they took each other by the hand and 
 talked together. 'Kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit ! ' was 
 heard on the girl's side. ' Kvit, kvit, kvit, 
 kvit ! ' was heard on the boy's side. ' Kvit, kvit, 
 kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit, kvit ! ' was heard on 
 both sides, and when they came to look, there 
 were a thousand million thrushes round about
 
 ARNE. 
 
 103 
 
 them. 'Why, bow strange ! ' said the girl, and 
 looked up at the boy. ' Bless you ! ' said the 
 boy, and caressed the girl." 
 
 This story all the girls thought fine. 
 
 Then godfather suggested that they should 
 tell what they had dreamed the night before, 
 and he would decide who had had the finest 
 dream. 
 
 What ! tell their dreams ? No, indeed ! 
 And there was no end to the laughing and whis- 
 pering. But then one after another began to 
 remark that she had had such a fine dream last 
 night ; others, again, that, fine as the ones they 
 had had, it could not by any means be. And 
 finally, they all were seized with a desire to tell 
 their dreams. But it must not be out loud, it 
 must only be to one, and that must by no 
 means be godfather. Arne was sitting quiet- 
 ly on the hill, and so he was the one to whom 
 they dared tell their dreams. 
 
 Arne took a seat beneath a hazel, and then 
 she who had told the first story came to him. 
 She thought a long time, and then told as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 " I dreamed I stood by a great lake. Then 
 I saw some one go on the water, and it was 
 one whom I will not name. He climbed up in 
 a large pond-lily, and sat and sang. But I
 
 104 ARNE. 
 
 went out on one of those large leaves that the 
 pond-lily has, and which lie and float; on it 
 I wanted to row over to him. But no sooner 
 had I stepped on the leaf than it began to sink 
 with me, and I grew much alarmed and cried. 
 Then he came rowing over to me in the pond- 
 lily, lifted me up to where he sat, and we rowed 
 all over the lake. Was not that a nice dream ? " 
 
 The little maiden who had told the little 
 story now came. 
 
 " I dreamed I had caught a little bird, and 
 I was so happy that I did not want to let it go 
 until I got home. But there I did not dare 
 let go of it, lest father and mother should tell 
 me I must let it out again. So I went up in 
 the garret with it, but there the cat was lurk- 
 ing, and so I could not let go of it there either. 
 Then I did not know what to do, so I took it 
 up in the hay-loft ; but, good gracious ! there 
 were so many cracks there that it could easily 
 fly away ! Well, then I went out in the yard 
 again, and there I thought .stood one whom I 
 will not name He was playing with a large, 
 black dog. ' I would rather play with that 
 bird of yours,' said he, and came close up 
 to me. But I thought I started to run, and 
 he and the large dog after me, and thus I ran 
 all round the yard ; but then mother opened
 
 ARNE. 105 
 
 the front door, drew me quickly in, and slammed 
 the door. Outside, the boy stood laughing, 
 with his face against the window-pane. ' See, 
 here is the bird ! ' said he, — and, just think, he 
 really had the bird ! Was not that a funny 
 dream ? " 
 
 Then she came who had told about all the 
 thrushes, — Eli they had called her. It was 
 the Eli he had seen that evening in the boat and 
 in the water. She was the same and yet not 
 the same, so grown-up and pretty she looked as 
 she sat there, with her delicately cut face and 
 slender form. She laughed immoderately, and 
 therefore it was long before she could control 
 herself ; but then she told as follows : — 
 
 " I had been feeling so glad that I was com- 
 ing to the nutting-party to-day that I dreamed 
 last night I was sitting here on the hill. The 
 sun shone brightly, and I had a whole lapful 
 of nuts. But then there came a little squirrel, 
 right in among the nuts, and it sat on its hind 
 legs in my lap and ate them all up. Was not 
 that a funny dream ? " 
 
 Yet other dreams were told Arne, and then 
 he was to decide which was the finest. He 
 had to take a long time to consider, and mean- 
 while godfather started off with the whole 
 crowd for the gard. and Arne was to follow.
 
 106 ARNE. 
 
 They sprang down the hill, formed in a row 
 when they had reached the plain, and sang all 
 the way to the house 
 
 Arne still sat there listening to the singing. 
 The sun fell directly on the group, it shone 
 on their white sleeves ; soon they twined their 
 arms about each other's waists ; they went danc- 
 ing across the meadow, godfather after them 
 with his cane, because they were treading down 
 his grass. Arne thought no more about the 
 dreams. Soon he even left off watching the 
 girls; his thoughts wandered far beyond the 
 valley, as did the fine sunbeams, and he sat 
 alone there on the hill and spun. Before he 
 was aware of it, he was entangled in a close web 
 of melancholy ; he yearned to break away, and 
 never in the world before so ardently as now. 
 He faithfully promised himself that when he 
 got home he would talk with his mother, come 
 of it what would. 
 
 His thoughts grew stronger, and drifted into 
 the song, — 
 
 " Over the lofty mountains." 
 
 Words had never flowed so readily as now, nor 
 had they ever blended so surely into verse, — 
 they almost seemed like girls sitting around on 
 a hill. He had a scrap of paper about him, 
 and placing it on his knee, he wrote. When
 
 ARNE. 107 
 
 the song was complete, he arose, like one who 
 was released, felt that he could not see people, 
 and took the forest road home, although he 
 knew that the night, too, would be needed for 
 this. The first time he sat down to rest on the 
 way, he felt for the song, that he might sing it 
 aloud as he went along, and let it be borne all 
 over the parish ; but he found he had left it in 
 the place where it was written. 
 
 One of the girls went up the hill to look for 
 him, did not find him, but found his song.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 To talk with the mother was more easily 
 thought than done. Arne alluded to Kristian 
 and the letter that never came ; but the mother 
 went away from him, and for whole days after 
 he thought her eyes looked red. He had also 
 another indication of her feelings, and that was 
 that she prepared unusually good meals for 
 him. 
 
 He had to go up in the woods to fetch an 
 armful of fuel one day; the road led through 
 the forest, and just where he was to do his 
 chopping was the place where people went to 
 pick whortleberries in the autumn. He had 
 put down his axe in order to take off his jacket, 
 and was just about beginning, when two girls 
 came walking along with berry pails. It was 
 his wont to hide himself rather than meet girls, 
 and so he did now. 
 
 " O dear, O dear ! What a lot of berries ! 
 Eli, Eli ! " 
 
 " Yes, dear, I see them." 
 
 " Well, then, do not go any farther ; hero 
 are many pailfuls ! "
 
 ARNE. 
 
 109 
 
 " I thought there was a rustling in that bush 
 Dver there ! " 
 
 " Oh, you must be mad! " and the girls rushed 
 at each other, and put their arms about each 
 other's waists. They stood for a long while so 
 still, that they scarcely breathed. 
 
 " It is surely nothing ; let us go on pick- 
 ing ! " 
 
 " Yes, I really think we will." 
 
 And so they began to gather berries. 
 
 " It was very kind of you, Eli, to come over 
 to the parsonage to-day. Have you anything 
 to tell me?" 
 
 " I have been at godfather's." 
 
 " Yes, you told me that ; but have you noth- 
 ing about him, — you know who ? " 
 
 « Oh, yes ! " 
 
 " Oh, oh ! Eli, is that so ? Make haste ; tell 
 me!" 
 
 " He has been there again ! " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; both father and mother pre- 
 tended they did not see it, but I went up in the 
 garret and hid." 
 
 " More, more ! Did he follow you there ? " 
 
 " I think father told him where I was ; he is 
 always so provoking." 
 
 " And so he came ? Sit down, sit down here 
 beside me. Well, so he came ? "
 
 110 ARNE. 
 
 " Yes ; but he did not say much, for he was 
 bo bashful." 
 
 " Every word ! Do you hear ? every word ! " 
 
 " ' Are you afraid of me ? ' said he. ' Why 
 should I be afraid ? ' said I. ' You know what 
 it is I want of you,' said he, and sat down on 
 the chest beside me." 
 
 "Beside you ! " 
 
 " And then he put his arm round my waist." 
 
 " His arm round your waist ? Are you 
 wild?" 
 
 " I wanted to get away from him, but he 
 would not let me go. ' Dear Eli,' said he," — 
 she laughed, and the other girl laughed too. 
 
 "Well? well?" 
 
 "' Will you be my wife?'" 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 
 And then both — " Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Finally, the laughter, too, had to come to an 
 end, and then a long silence ensued. After a 
 while, the first one asked, but softly, " Say, — 
 was it not too bad that he put his arm round 
 your waist ? " 
 
 Either the other one made no reply to this, 
 or else she spoke in such a low tone that it 
 could not be heard ; perhaps, too, she answered 
 only with a smile. Presently the first one 
 asked : —
 
 ARNE. Ill 
 
 " Have neither your father nor your mother 
 Baid anything since ?" 
 
 " Father came up and looked at me, but I 
 kept hiding ; for he laughed every time he saw 
 me." 
 
 " But your mother ? " 
 
 " Why, she said nothing ; but she was less 
 harsh than usual." 
 
 " Well, you certainly refused him ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 Then there was a long silence again. 
 
 "Eli!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Do you think any one will ever come that 
 way to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure." 
 
 » How you talk ! O — h ! say, Eli ? What 
 if he should put his arm round my waist ? " 
 She covered her face. 
 
 There was much laughter, afterwards whis- 
 pering and tittering. 
 
 The girls soon went away. They had neither 
 seen Arne, nor the axe and the jacket, and he 
 was glad. 
 
 Some days later he put Upland Knut in the 
 houseman's place under Kampen. 
 
 " You shall no longer be lonely," said Arne. 
 
 Arne himself took to steadv work. He had
 
 112 ARNE. 
 
 early learned to cut with the hand-saw, for he 
 had himself added much to the house at home. 
 Now he wanted to work at his trade, for he 
 knew it was well to have some definite occupa- 
 tion ; it was also good for him to get out among 
 people ; and so changed had he gradually be- 
 come, that he longed for this whenever he had 
 kept to himself for a while. Thus it came to 
 pass that he was at the parsonage for a time 
 that winter doing carpentering, and the two 
 girls were often together there. Arne won- 
 dered, when he saw them, who it could be that 
 was now courting Eli Boen. 
 
 It so happened one day, when they went out 
 for a ride, that Arne had to drive for the young 
 lady of the parsonage and Eli ; he had good 
 ears, yet could not hear what they were talking 
 about ; sometimes Matkilde spoke to him, at 
 which Eli laughed and hid her face. Once 
 Mathilde asked if it was true he could make 
 verses. " No ! " he said promptly : then they 
 both laughed, chattered, and laughed. This 
 made him indignant, and he pretended not to 
 see them. 
 
 Once he was sitting in the servants' hall, 
 when there was dancing there. Mathilde and 
 Eli both came in to look on. They were dis- 
 puting about something in the corner where
 
 ARNE. 113 
 
 they stood. Eli would not, but Mathilde would, 
 and she won. Then they both crossed the floor 
 to him, courtesied, and asked whether he could 
 dance. He answered " No," and then they 
 both turned, laughed, and ran away. " They 
 keep up a perpetual laughter," thought Arne, 
 and became sober. But the priest had a little 
 adopted son, about ten or twelve years old, 
 of whom Arne thought a good deal; from this 
 boy Arne learned to dance when no one else 
 was present. 
 
 Eli had a little brother about the same age 
 as the priest's adopted son. These two were 
 playmates, and Arne made sleds, skees, 1 and 
 snares for them ; and he often talked with them 
 about their sisters, especially about Eli. One 
 day Eli's brother brought word that Arne 
 should not be so careless with his hair. 
 
 " Who said so ? " 
 
 " Eli said so ; but I was not to tell that she 
 said so." 
 
 Some days after, Arne sent a message to Eli 
 that she should laugh a little less. The boy 
 came back with the reply that Arne should 
 laugh a little more. 
 
 Once the boy asked for something he had 
 written. Arne let him have it, and thought 
 
 1 A kind of long snow-shoe.
 
 114 ARNE. 
 
 no more of it. After a while the boy thought 
 he would please Arne with the tidings that 
 both the girls liked his writing very much. 
 " Why, have they seen it ? " 
 " Yes, it was for them I wanted it." 
 Arne asked the boys to bring him something 
 their sisters had written ; they did so. Arne 
 corrected the mistakes with a carpenter's pen- 
 cil. He asked the boys to place the paper where 
 it could easily be found. Afterwards he found 
 it again in his jacket pocket, but at the bot- 
 tom was written, " Corrected by a conceited 
 fellow ! " 
 
 The next day Arne finished his work at the 
 parsonage, and set out for home. So gentle as 
 he was this winter, his mother had never seen 
 him since those sorrowful days after his father's 
 death. He read the sermon for her, went with 
 her to church, and was very kind to her. But 
 she well knew it was all to get her consent to 
 journey away from her when spring came. 
 Then one day he had a message from Boen to 
 know if he would come there and do some car- 
 pentering. 
 
 Arne was quite startled, and answered "Yes," 
 as though he scarcely knew what he was say- 
 ing. No sooner had the messenger gone than 
 the mother said, —
 
 STATE NORMAL SI 
 Los Ant. 
 
 ARNE. 115 
 
 " You may well be astonished ! From Bb'en?" 
 
 " Is that so strange ? " asked Arne, but did 
 not look at her as he spoke. 
 
 " From Boen ! " cried the mother, once more. 
 
 " Well, why not as well from there as from 
 another gard ? " Arne now looked up a little. 
 
 " From Boen and Birgit Boen ! Baard, who 
 gave your father the blow that was his ruin, 
 and that for Birgit Boen's sake ! " 
 
 "What do you say?" now cried the youth. 
 " Was that Baard Boen ? " 
 
 Son and mother stood and looked at each 
 other. Between the two a whole life was un- 
 folded, and this was a moment wherein they 
 could see the black thread which all along had 
 been woven through it. They fell later to talk- 
 ing about the father's proud days, when old Eli 
 Boen herself had courted bim for her daughter 
 Birgit, and got a refusal. They went through 
 his whole life just as far as where he was 
 knocked down, and both found out that Baard's 
 fault had been the least. Nevertheless, it was 
 he who had given the father that fatal blow, — 
 he it was. 
 
 "Am I not yet done with father?" then 
 thought Arne, and decided at the same mo- 
 ment to go. 
 
 When Arne came walking, with the hand-
 
 116 ARNE. 
 
 saw on his shoulder, over the ice and up toward 
 Boen, it seemed to him a pretty gard. The 
 house always looked as though it were newly 
 painted ; he was a little chilled, and that was 
 perhaps why it seemed so cozy to him. He did 
 not go directly in, but went beyond toward the 
 stable, where a flock of shaggy goats were stand- 
 ing in the snow, gnawing at the bark of some 
 fir branches. A shepherd dog walked to and 
 fro on the barn-bridge, and barked as though 
 the devil himself was coming to the gard ; but 
 the moment Arne stood still, he wagged his tail 
 and let him pat him. The kitchen door on the 
 farther side of the house was often opened, and 
 Arne looked down there each time ; but it was 
 either the dairy-maid, with tubs and pails, or 
 the cook, who was throwing something out to 
 the goats. Inside the barn they were thresh- 
 ing with frequent strokes, and to the left, in 
 front of the wood-shed, stood a boy chopping 
 wood ; behind him there were many layers of 
 wood piled up. 
 
 Arne put down his saw and went into the 
 kitchen ; there white sand was spread on the 
 floor, and finely cut juniper leaves strewed over 
 it; on the walls glittered copper kettles, and 
 crockery stood in rows. They were cooking 
 dinner. Arne asked to speak with Baard. " Go
 
 ARNE. 117 
 
 into the sitting-room," some one said, pointing 
 to the door. He went ; there was no latch to 
 the door, but a brass handle ; it was cheerful 
 in there, and brightly painted, the ceiling was 
 decorated with many roses, the cupboards were 
 red, with the owner's name in black, the bed- 
 stead was also red, but bordered with blue 
 stripes. By the stove sat a broad-shouldered 
 man, with a mild face, and long, yellow hair ; 
 he was putting hoops about some pails ; by the 
 long table sat a tall, slender woman, with a high 
 linen cap on her head, and dressed in tight-fit- 
 ting clothes; she was sorting corn into two 
 heaps. Besides these there were no others in 
 the room. 
 
 " Good day, and bless the work ! " said Arne, 
 drawing off his hat. Both looked up ; the man 
 smiled, and asked who it was. 
 
 " It is he who is to do carpentering." 
 
 The man smiled more, and said, as he nodded 
 his head and began his work again, — 
 
 " Well, then, it is Arne Kampen ! " 
 
 " Arne Kampen ? " cried the wife, and stared 
 fixedly before her. 
 
 The man looked up hastily, and smiled again. 
 " The son of tailor Nils," he said, and went on 
 once more with his work. 
 
 After a while, the wife got up, crossed the
 
 118 ARNE. 
 
 floor to the shelf, turned, went to the cupboard, 
 turned again, and as she at last was rummaging 
 in a table drawer, she asked, without looking 
 up, — 
 
 " Is lie to work here V 
 
 " Yes, that he is," said the man, also without 
 looking up. " It seems no one has asked you to 
 sit down," he observed, addressing himself to 
 Arne. 
 
 The latter took a seat; the wife left the 
 room, the man continued to work; and so 
 Arne asked if he too should begin. 
 
 " Let us first have dinner." 
 
 The wife did not come in again ; but the next 
 time the kitchen-door opened it was Eli who 
 came. She appeared at first not to notice Arne ; 
 when he rose to go to her, she stood still, and 
 half turned to give him her hand, but she did not 
 look at him. They exchanged a few words; 
 the father worked on. Eli had her hair braided, 
 wore a tight-sleeved dress, was slender and 
 straight, had round wrists and small hands. 
 She laid the table ; the working-people dined 
 in the next room, but Arne with the family in 
 this one ; it so happened that they had their 
 meals separately to-day; usually they all ate at 
 the same table in the large, light kitchen. 
 
 " Is not mother coming ? " asked the man.
 
 ARNE. 119 
 
 " No, she is up-stairs weighing wool." 
 
 " Have you asked her ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but she says she does not want any- 
 thing." 
 
 There was silence for a while. 
 
 " But it is cold up-stairs." 
 
 " She did not want ine to make a fire." 
 
 After dinner Arne began work; in the even- 
 ing lie was again with the family in the sitting- 
 room. Then the wife, too, was there. The 
 women were sewing. The husband was busy 
 with some trifles, and Arne helped him; there 
 was a prolonged silence, for Eli, who usually led 
 in conversation, was also silent. Arne thought 
 with dismay that it probably was often thus at 
 his own home ; but he realized it now for the 
 first time. Eli drew a long breath at last, as 
 though she had restrained herself long enough, 
 and then she fell to laughing. Then the father 
 also laughed, and Arne, too, thought it was 
 laughable, and joined in. From this time forth 
 they talked of various things ; but it ended in 
 Arne and Eli doing most of the talking, the fa- 
 ther putting in an occasional word. But once, 
 when Arne had been speaking for some time 
 and happened to look up, he met the eyes of the 
 mother, Birgit; she had dropped her sewing, 
 and sat staring fixedly at him. Now she
 
 120 ARNE. 
 
 picked up her work again, but at the first word 
 he spoke she raised her eyes. 
 
 Bed-time came, and each one went his way. 
 Arne thought he would notice the dream he 
 had the first night in a new place ; but there 
 seemed to be no sense in it. The whole day 
 long he had talked little or none with the mas- 
 ter of the gard, but at night it was of him he 
 dreamed. The last thing was that Baard sat 
 playing cards with tailor Nils. The latter was 
 very angry and pale in the face ; but Baard 
 smiled and won the game. 
 
 Arne remained several days, during which 
 time there was scarcely any talking, but a great 
 deal of work. Not only those in the family 
 room were silent, but the servants, the tenants, 
 even the women. There was an old dog on the 
 gard that barked every time strangers came ; 
 but the gard people never heard the dog without 
 saying "hush ! " and then he went growling off 
 and laid down again. At home at Kampen 
 there was a large weather-vane on the house, 
 which turned with the wind ; there was a still 
 larger vane here, to which Arne's attention was 
 attracted because it did not turn. When there 
 was a strong current of wind, the vane strug- 
 gled to get loose, and Arne looked at it until he 
 felt compelled to go up on the roof and set the
 
 ARNE. 121 
 
 vane free. It was not frozen fast, as he had 
 supposed, but a pin was stuck through it that 
 it might be kept still. This Arne took out and 
 threw down ; the pin struck Baard, who came 
 walking along. He glanced up. 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " 
 
 " I am letting loose the vane." 
 
 " Do not do so ; it makes such a wailing 
 noise when it is in motion." 
 
 Arne sat astride the gable. 
 
 " That is better than always being quiet." 
 
 Baard looked up at Arne, and Arne looked 
 down on Baard ; then Baard smiled. 
 
 " He who has to howl when he talks had 
 much better keep silent, I am sure." . 
 
 Now it often happens that words haunt us 
 long after they were uttered, especially when 
 they were the last ones heard. So these words 
 haunted Arne when he crept down in the cold 
 from the roof, and were still with him in the 
 evening when he entered the family room. Eli 
 was standing, in the twilight, by a window, gaz- 
 ing out over the ice which lay glittering be- 
 neath the moon's beams. Arne went to the 
 other window and looked out as she was do 
 ing. Within all was cozy and quiet, without it 
 was cold ; a sharp wind swept across the val- 
 ley, so shaking the trees that the shadows they
 
 122 ARNE. 
 
 cast in the moonlight did not lie still, but went 
 groping about in the snow. From the parsonage 
 there glimmered a light, opening out and clos- 
 ing in, assuming many shapes and colors, as 
 light is apt to do when one gazes at it too 
 long. The mountain loomed up beyond, dark 
 and gloomy, with romance in its depths and 
 moonshine on its upper banks of snow. The 
 sky was aglow with stars, and a little flickering 
 northern light appeared in one quarter of the 
 horizon, but did not spread. A short distance 
 from the window, clown toward the lake, there 
 •were some trees whose shadows kept prowling 
 from one to the other, but the great ash stood 
 alone, writing on the snow. 
 
 The night was very still, — only now and 
 then something shrieked and howled with a 
 long, wailing cry. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Arne. 
 
 " It is the weather- vane," said Eli ; and after- 
 wards she continued more softly, as though to 
 herself : " It must have been let loose." 
 
 But Arne had been feeling like one who 
 wanted to speak and could not. Now lie said : — 
 
 " Do you remember the story about the 
 thrushes that sang ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 '' Why, to be sure, it was you who told that 
 one ! It was a pretty story."
 
 ARNE. 123 
 
 She said, in so gentle a voice that it seemed 
 as though it were the first time he heard it, — 
 
 " I often think there is something that sings 
 when it is quite still." 
 
 " That is the good within ourselves." 
 
 She looked at hi in as though thei'e were 
 something too much in that answer ; they 
 were both quiet afterward. Then she asked, 
 as she traced figures with one finger on the 
 window-pane, — 
 
 " Have you made any songs lately ? " 
 
 He blushed ; but this she did not see. There- 
 fore she asked again, — 
 
 " How do you manage when you make 
 songs ? " 
 
 " Would you really like to know ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " I hoard up the thoughts that others are 
 in the habit of letting go," he answered eva- 
 sively. 
 
 She was long silent, for she had doubtless 
 been making an attempt at a song or two. 
 What if she had had those thoughts and let 
 them go. 
 
 " That is strange, said she, as though to 
 herself, and fell to tracing figures on the pane 
 again . 
 
 " I made a song after I had seen you the first 
 time."
 
 124 ARNE. 
 
 " Where was that ? " 
 
 " Over by the parsonage, the evening you left 
 there. I saw you in the lake." 
 
 She laughed, then was still a while. 
 
 " Let me hear that song." 
 
 Arne had never before done such a thing, but 
 now he sang for her the song, — 
 
 " Fair Venevill bounded on lithesome feet, 
 Her lover to meet," etc. 
 
 Eli stood there very attentive ; she stood 
 there long after he was through. At last she 
 burst out, — 
 
 " Oh, how I pity her ! " 
 
 " It seems as though I had not made it my- 
 self," said Arne, for he felt ashamed at having 
 produced it. Nor did he understand how he 
 had come to do so. He remained standing there 
 as if looking after the song. 
 
 Then she said : " But I hope it will not be 
 that way with me ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! I was only thinking of my- 
 self." 
 
 " Is that to be your fate, then ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; but I felt so at that time 
 — indeed, I do not understand it now, but I 
 ance had such a heavy heart." 
 
 " That was strange." She began to write on 
 the window-pane again.
 
 ARNE. 125 
 
 The next day, when Arne came in to dinner 
 he went over to the window. Outside it was 
 gray and foggy, within warm and pleasant ; but 
 on the window-pane a finger had traced "Arne, 
 Arne, Arne ! " and over again " Arne." It 
 was the window where Eli had stood the pre- 
 ceding evening. 
 
 But Eli did not come down-stairs that day ; 
 she was feeling ill. She had not been well at 
 all of late ; she had said so herself, and it was 
 plainly to be seen.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A DAY later Arne came in and announced 
 that he had just heard on the gavd that the 
 priest's daughter Mathilde had that very mo- 
 ment started for the town, as she thought, for 
 a few days, but, as hud been decided, to stay 
 there for a year or two. Eli had heard noth- 
 ing of this before, and fell fainting. 
 
 It was the first time Arne had seen any one 
 faint, and he was much alarmed ; he ran for 
 the maid-servants, they went for the parents, 
 who started at once; there was confusion all 
 over the gard, even the shepherd-dog barked 
 on the barn-bridge. When Arne came in 
 again, later, the mother was on her knees by 
 the bedside, the father stood holding the sick 
 girl's head. The maid-servants were running, 
 one for water, another for medicine, which was 
 kept in a cupboard, a third was unfastening 
 Eli's jacket at the throat. 
 
 " The Lord help and bless us ! " cried the 
 mother. " It was certainly wrong that we 
 said nothing to her ; it was you, Baard, who
 
 ARNE. 127 
 
 would have it so. The Lord help and bless 
 us ! " 
 
 Baard made no reply. 
 
 " I said we had better tell her ; but nothing 
 i^ ever done as I wish. The Lord help and 
 bless us ! You are always so underhand with 
 her, Baard ; you do not understand her ; you 
 do not know what it is to care for any one." 
 
 Baard still made no reply. 
 
 " She is not like others ; they can bear sor- 
 row, but it completely upsets her, poor thing, 
 she is so slight. And especially now when she 
 is not well at all. Wake up again, my dear 
 child, and we will be kind to you ! Wake up 
 again, Eli, my own clear child, and do not grieve 
 us so ! " 
 
 Then Baard said, — 
 
 " You are either too silent, or you talk too 
 much ; " and he looked over at Arne, as though 
 he did not wish him to hear all this, but to go 
 away. As the maid-servants remained in the 
 room, however, Arne thought that he might 
 stay, too, but he walked to the window. Now 
 the patient rallied so far that she could look 
 about her and recognize people ; but at the 
 same moment her memory returned ; she 
 shrieked " Mathilde," burst into hysterical weep- 
 ing, and sobbed until it was painful to be in the
 
 128 ARNE. 
 
 room with her. The mother tried to comfort 
 her; the father had placed himself where he 
 might be seen ; but the sick girl waved her 
 hand to them. " Go away ! " she cried, " I do 
 not love you ! " 
 
 " Good gracious ! You do not love your par- 
 ents? " said the mother. 
 
 "No ! You are cruel to me, and take from 
 me the only joy I have ! " 
 
 " Eli, Eli ! Do not speak such dreadful 
 words ! " begged the mother. 
 
 "Yes, mother," she shrieked; "now I must 
 say it ! Yes, mother ! You want me to marry 
 that hateful man, and I will not. You shut me 
 up here, where I am never happy, except when 
 I am to go out ! You take Mathilde from me, 
 the only person I love and long for in the 
 world ! O God, what will become of me when 
 Mathilde is no longer here — especially now 
 that I have so much, so much I cannot manage 
 when I have no one to talk with ? " 
 
 " But you really have so seldom been with 
 her lately," said Baard. 
 
 " What did that matter when I had her over 
 at the window yonder ! " answered the sick girl, 
 and she cried in such a child-like way, that it 
 seemed to Arne as though he had never before 
 seen anything like it.
 
 ARNE. 129 
 
 " But you could not see her there," said 
 Baard. 
 
 " I could see the gard," answered she ; and 
 the mother added, hotly, — 
 
 " You do not understand such things at all." 
 
 Then Baard said no more. 
 
 " Now I can never go to the window ! " said 
 Eli. " I went there in the morning when I got 
 up; in the evening I sat there in the moonlight: 
 and I went there when I had no one else to go 
 to. Mathilde, Mathilde ! " 
 
 She writhed in the bed, and again gave way 
 to hysterical weeping. Baard sat down on a 
 stool near by and watched her. 
 
 But Eli did not get over this as soon as her 
 parents may have expected. Toward evening 
 they first saw that she was likely to have a 
 protracted illness, the seeds of which had doubt- 
 less been gathering for some time ; and Arne was 
 called in to assist in carrying her up to her own 
 room. She was unconscious, and lay very pale 
 and still ; the mother sat down beside her ; the 
 father stood at the foot of the bed and looked 
 on ; afterwards he went down to his work. 
 Arne did the same ; but that night when he 
 went to bed he prayed for her, prayed that she, 
 young and fair as she was, might have a happy 
 
 9
 
 1.80 ARNE. 
 
 life, and that no one might shut out joy from 
 her. 
 
 The following day the father and mother sat 
 talking together when Arne came in; the 
 mother had been shedding tears. Arne asked 
 how things were going ; each waited for the 
 other to speak, and therefore it was long before 
 he got a reply ; but finally the father said, "It 
 looks pretty bad." 
 
 Later, Arne heard that Eli had been delir- 
 ious the whole night ; or, as the father said, had 
 been raving. Now she lay violently ill, knew 
 no one, would not take any food, and thepai'ents 
 were just sitting there, deliberating whether 
 they should call in the doctor. When, later, 
 they went up-stairs to the sick girl, and Arne 
 was left alone again, he felt as though life and 
 death were both up there, but he sat outside. 
 
 In a few days, though, she was better. Once 
 when the father was keeping watch, she took 
 a fancy to have Narrifas, the bird which Ma- 
 thilde had given her, standing beside the bed. 
 Then Baard told her the truth, that in all this 
 confusion the bird had been forgotten, and that 
 it was dead. The mother came just while Baard 
 was telling this, and she burst out in the 
 door, — " Good gracious me ! how heedless you 
 are, Baard, to tell such things to that sick
 
 ARNE. 131 
 
 child ! See, now she is fainting away again ; 
 Heaven forgive you for what you have done! " 
 
 Every time the patient revived she screamed 
 for the bird, said that it would never go well 
 with Mathilde since Narrifas was dead, wanted 
 to go to her, and fell into a swoon again. Baard 
 stood there and looked on until he could bear 
 it no longer ; then he wanted to help wait on 
 her too ; but the mother pushed him away, 
 saying that she would take care of the sick girl 
 alone. Then Baard gazed at both of them a 
 long while, after which he put on his cap with 
 both hands, turned, and went out. 
 
 The priest and his wife came over later ; for 
 the illness had taken fresh hold on Eli, and had 
 become so bad that they knew not whether it 
 was tending to life or death. 
 
 Both the priest and the priest's wife rea- 
 soned with Baard, and urged that he was too 
 harsh with Eli ; they had heard about the bird, 
 and the priest told him bluntly that such con- 
 duct was rough ; he would take the child home 
 to the parsonage, he said, as soon as she had 
 improved enough to be moved. The priest's 
 wife finally would not even see Baard ; she 
 wept and sat with the sick girl, sent for the 
 doctor, took his orders herself, and came over 
 several times each day to carry them out.
 
 132 ARNE. 
 
 Baard went wandering about from place to 
 place in the yard, going chiefly where he could 
 be alone ; he would often stand still for a long 
 time, then straighten his cap with both hands, 
 and find something to do. 
 
 The mother did not speak to him any more ; 
 they scarcely looked at each other. Baard went 
 up to the sick giiTs room several times each 
 day ; he took off his shoes at the bottom of the 
 stairs, laid down his hat outside of the door, 
 which he opened cautiously. The moment he 
 came in, Birgit would turn as though she had 
 not seen him, and then sit as before, with her 
 head in her hand, looking straight before her 
 and at the sick girl. The latter lay still and 
 pale, unconscious of anything about her. Baard 
 would stand a while at the foot of the bed, look 
 at them both, and say nothing. Once, when Eli 
 moved as though about to awaken, he stole 
 away directly as softly as he had come. 
 
 Arne often thought that words had now been 
 exchanged between husband and wife and par- 
 ents and child, which had been long brewing, 
 and which would not soon be forgotten. He 
 longed to get away, although he would have 
 liked first to know how Eli's illness would end. 
 But this he could learn even if he left, he 
 thought ; he went, therefore, to Baard, and said
 
 ARNE. 133 
 
 that he wished to go home ; the work for which 
 he had come was done. Baard sat outside on 
 the chopping-block when Arne came to tell him 
 this. He sat digging in the snow with a pin. 
 Arne knew the pin ; for it was the same that 
 had fastened the weather vane. "Without look- 
 ing up Baard said, — 
 
 " I suppose it is not pleasant to be here now, 
 but I feel as if I did not want you to leave." 
 
 Baard said no more ; nor did Arne speak. 
 He stood a while, then went away and busied 
 himself with some work, as though it were de- 
 cided that he should remain. 
 
 Later, when Arne was called in to dinner, 
 Baard still sat on the chopping-block. Arne 
 went over to him and asked how Eli was get- 
 ting on. 
 
 "I think she must be pretty bad to-day," 
 said Baard ; " I see that mother is crying." 
 
 Arne felt as though some one had bidden 
 him to sit down, and he sat down directly op- 
 posite Baard on the end of a fallen tree. 
 
 " I have been thinking of your father these 
 days," said Baard, so unexpectedly, that Arne 
 could make no reply. . " You know, I dare say, 
 what there was between us two ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know." 
 
 " Ah, well, you only know half, as might
 
 1C4 ARNE. 
 
 have been expected, and naturally lay the great- 
 est blame on me." 
 
 Arne answered presently : " You have doubt- 
 less settled that matter with your God, as my 
 father has surely done." 
 
 "Ah, well, that may be as one takes it," an- 
 swered Baard. " When I found this pin again, 
 it seemed so strange to me that you should 
 come here and loosen the vane. Just as well 
 first as last, thought I." He had taken off his 
 cap and sat looking into it. 
 
 Arne did not yet understand that by this 
 Baard meant that he now wanted to talk with 
 him about his father. Indeed, he still did not 
 understand it, even after Baard was well under 
 way, so little was this like the man. But what 
 had been working before in his mind, he grad- 
 ually comprehended as the story advanced, and 
 if he had hitherto had respect for this blunder- 
 ing but thoroughly good man, it was not les- 
 sened now. 
 
 " I might have been about fourteen years 
 old," said Baard, then paused, as he did from 
 time to time throughout his whole story, said 
 a few words more, and paused again in such a 
 manner that his story bore the strong impress 
 of having every word weighed. " I might have 
 been about fourteen years old when I became
 
 ARNE. 135 
 
 acquainted with your father, who was of the 
 same age. He was very wild, and could not bear 
 to have any one above him. And what he never 
 could forgive me was, that I was the head of 
 the class when we were confirmed, and he was 
 number two. He often offered to wrestle with 
 me, but nothing ever came of it ; I suppose be- 
 cause we were neither of us sure of ourselves. 
 But it is strange that he fought every day, and 
 no misfortune befell him ; the one time I tried 
 my hand it turned out as badly as could be ; 
 but, to be sure, I had waited a long time too. 
 
 " Nils fluttered about all the girls and they 
 about him. There was only one I wanted, but 
 he took her from me at every dance, at every 
 wedding, at every party ; it was the one to 
 whom I am now married. ... I often had a 
 desire, as I sat looking on, to make a trial of 
 strength with him, just because of this matter; 
 but I was afraid I might lose, and I knew that 
 if I did so I should lose her too. When the 
 others had gone, I would lift the weights he 
 had lifted, kick the beam he had kicked, but 
 the next time he danced away from me with 
 the girl, I did not dare tackle him, although it 
 chanced once, as Nils stood joking with her 
 right before my face, that I laid hold of a good 
 sized fellow who stood by and tossed him against
 
 136 AKNE. 
 
 the beam, as though for sport. Nils grew pale, 
 too, that time. 
 
 "If he had only been kind to the girl; but 
 he was false to her, and that evening after even- 
 ing. I almost think she cared more for him 
 each time. Then it was that the last thing 
 happened. I thought now it must either break 
 or bear. Nor did the Lord want him to go 
 about any longer ; and therefore he fell a little 
 more heavily than I had intended. I never saw 
 him after that." 
 
 They sat for a long time silent. Finally 
 Baard continued : — 
 
 " I offered myself again. She answered 
 neither yes nor no ; and so I thought she 
 would like me better afterwards. We were 
 married ; the wedding took place down in the 
 valley, at the house of her father's sister, who 
 left her property to her ; we began with plenty, 
 and what we then had has increased. Our 
 gards lay alongside of each other, and they have 
 since been thrown into one, as had been my idea 
 from boyhood up. But many other things did 
 not turn out as I had planned." 
 
 He was long silent ; Arne thought, for a 
 while, he was weeping ; it was not so. But he 
 spoke in a still gentler tone than usual when he 
 began again, —
 
 ARNE. 137 
 
 "At first she was quiet and very sorrowful. 
 I had nothing to say for her comfort, and so I 
 was silent. Later, she fell at times into that 
 commanding way that you have perhaps no- 
 ticed in her ; yefc it was after all a change, and 
 so I was silent then, too. But a truly happy 
 day I have not had since I was married, and 
 that has been now for twenty years." 
 
 He broke the pin in two ; then he sat a while 
 looking at the pieces. 
 
 " When Eli grew to be a large girl, I thought 
 she would find more happiness among strangers 
 than here. It is seldom that I have insisted on 
 anything ; it usually has been wrong, too, when 
 I have ; and so it was with this. The mother 
 yearned for her child, although only the lake 
 parted them ; and at last I found out that Eli 
 was not under the best influences over at the 
 parsonage, for there is really much good-nat- 
 ured nonsense about the priest's family; but I 
 found it out too late. Now she seems to care 
 for neither father nor mother." 
 
 He had taken his cap off again ; now his 
 long hair fell over his eyes ; he stroked it aside, 
 and put on his cap with both hands, as 
 though about to go ; but as in getting up he 
 turned toward the house, he stopped and added, 
 with a glance at the chamber window, —
 
 138 ARNE. 
 
 " I thought it was best she and Mathilde 
 should not bid each other good-by; but that 
 proved to be wrong. I told her the little bird 
 was dead, for it was my fault, you know, and it 
 seemed to me right to confess ; but that was 
 wrong too. And so it is with everything. I 
 have always meant to do the best, but it has 
 turned out to be the worst ; and now it has 
 gone so far that they speak ill of me, both wife 
 and daughter, and I am alone here." 
 
 A girl now called out to them that dinner 
 was getting cold. Baard got up. " I hear the 
 horses neighing," said he, " somebody must 
 have forgotten them ; " and with this he went 
 over to the stable to give them hay.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Eli was very weak after her illness ; the 
 mother sat over her night and day, and was 
 never down-stairs ; the father made his usual 
 visits up to the sick-room in his stocking feet, 
 and leaving his cap outside of the door. Arne 
 was still at the gard ; he and the father sat to- 
 gether of evenings ; he had come to think a 
 good deal of Baard, who was a well-educated 
 man, a deep thinker, but seemed to be afraid of 
 what he knew. Arne helped him to get things 
 right in his mind and told him much that he 
 did not know before, and Baard was very 
 grateful. 
 
 Eli could now sit up at intervals ; and as she 
 began to improve she took many fancies into 
 her head. Thus it was that one evening as 
 Arne sat in the room below Eli's chamber sing- 
 ing songs in a loud voice, the mother came down 
 and brought word that Eli wanted to know if 
 he would not come up-stairs and sing that she 
 might hear the words. Arne had undoubtedly 
 been singing for Eli all along ; for when her
 
 140 ARNE. 
 
 mother gave him the message he grew red, and 
 rose as though he would deny what he had been 
 doing, although no one had charged him with 
 it. He soon recovered his composure, and said 
 evasively that there was very little he could 
 sing. But the mother remarked that it did not 
 seem so when he was alone. 
 
 Arne yielded and went. He had not seen 
 Eli since the day he had helped carry her up- 
 stairs ; he felt that she must now be greatly 
 changed, and was almost afraid to see her. But 
 when he softly opened the door and entered, it 
 was so dark in the room that he saw no one. 
 He paused on the threshold. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Eli, in a clear, low 
 voice. 
 
 " It is Arne Kampen," he answered, in a 
 guarded tone, that the words might fall softly. 
 
 " It was kind of you to come." 
 
 " How are you now, Eli ? " 
 
 " Thank you, I am better." 
 
 " Please sit down, Arne," said she, pres- 
 ently, and Arne felt his way to a chair that 
 stood by the foot of the bed. " It was so nice 
 to hear you singing, you must sing a little for 
 me up here." 
 
 " If I only knew anything that was suitable." 
 
 There was silence for a moment ; then she
 
 ARNE. 141 
 
 said, " Sing a hymn," and he did so ; it was a 
 part of one of the confirmation hymns. When 
 he had finished, he heard that she was weeping, 
 and so he dared not sing any more ; but pres- 
 ently she said, " Sing another one like that," 
 and he sang another, choosing the one usually 
 sung when the candidates for confirmation are 
 standing in the church aisle. 
 
 " How many things I have thought of while 
 I have been lying here," said Eli. He did not 
 know what to answer, and he heard her weep- 
 ing quietly in the dark. A clock was ticking 
 on the wall, it gave warning that it was about 
 to strike, and then struck; Eli drew a long 
 breath several times as though she would ease 
 her breast, and then she said, " One knows so 
 little. I have known neither father nor mother. 
 I have not been kind to them, — and that is 
 why it gives me such strange feelings to hear 
 that confirmation hymn." 
 
 When people talk in the dark, they are al- 
 ways more truthful than when they see each 
 other face to face ; they can say more, too. 
 
 " It is good to hear your words," replied 
 Arne ; he was thinking of what she had said 
 when she was taken ill. 
 
 She knew what he meant ; and so she re- 
 marked, " Had not this happened to me, God
 
 142 AENE. 
 
 only knows how long it might have been before 
 I had found my mother." 
 
 " She has been talking with you now ? " 
 
 " Every day ; she has done nothing else." 
 
 " Then, I dare say, you have heard many 
 things." 
 
 " You may well say so." 
 
 " I suppose she talked about my father ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Does she still think of him ? " 
 
 « She does." 
 
 " He was not kind to her." 
 
 " Poor mother ! " 
 
 " He was worst of all, though, to himself." 
 
 Thoughts now arose that neither liked to 
 express to the other. Eli was the first to break 
 the silence. 
 
 " They say you are like your father." 
 
 " So I have heard," he answered, evasively. 
 
 She paid no heed to the tone of his voice ; 
 and so, after a while, she continued, " Could he, 
 too, make songs?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Sing a song for me, — one you have made 
 yourself." 
 
 But Arne was not in the habit of confessing 
 that the songs' he sang were his own. " I have 
 none," said he.
 
 AKNE. 143 
 
 " Indeed you have, and I am sure you will 
 sing them for me if I ask it." 
 
 What he had never done for others, he now 
 did for her. He sang the following song : — 
 
 " The tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown: 
 ' Shall I take them away? ' said the frost, sweeping down. 
 
 'No, dear; leave them alone 
 
 Till blossoms here have grown,' 
 Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown. 
 
 " The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung: 
 ' Shall I take them away ? ' said the wind, as it swung. 
 ' No, dear; leave them alone 
 Till berries here have grown,' 
 Said the tree, while its leaflets all quivering hung. 
 
 " The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow: 
 Said the girl, ' May I gather thy berries or no ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, all thou canst see; 
 
 Take them; all are for thee,' 
 Said the tree, while it bent down its laden boughs low." * 
 
 This song almost took her breath away. He, 
 too, sat there silent, after he was through, as 
 though he had sung more than he cared to say 
 to her. 
 
 Darkness has great power over those who 
 are sitting in it and dare not speak ; they are 
 never so near each other as then. If Eli only 
 turned, only moved her hand on the bed-cover, 
 only breathed a little more heavily than usual, 
 Arne heard it. 
 
 1 Adapted to the metre of the original from the translation of 
 Augusta Plesner and S. Rugeley-Powers.
 
 144 ARNE. 
 
 " Arne, could not you teach me to make 
 
 songs ? " 
 
 " Have you never tried ? " 
 
 " Yes, these last few days I have ; but I have 
 not succeeded." 
 
 " Why, what did you want to have in 
 them?" 
 
 " Something about my mother, who cared so 
 much for your father." 
 
 " That is a sad theme." 
 
 " I have cried over it, too." 
 
 " You must not think of what you are going 
 to put in your songs ; it comes of itself." 
 
 " How does it come? " 
 
 " As other precious things, when you least 
 expect it." 
 
 They wei*e both silent. 
 
 "I wonder, Arne, that you are longing to 
 go away when you have so much that is beau- 
 tiful within yourself." 
 
 " Do you know that I am longing? " 
 
 She made no reply to this, but lay still a few 
 moments, as though in thought. 
 
 " Arne, you must not go away ! " said she, 
 and this sent a glow through him. 
 
 " Well, sometimes I have less desire to go." 
 
 " Your mother must be very fond of you. I 
 should like to see your mother."
 
 ARNE. 145 
 
 " Come over to Kampen when you are well." 
 
 And now all at once be pictured her sit- 
 ting in the cheerful room at Kampen, looking 
 out on the mountains ; his chest began to heave, 
 the blood rushed to his head. " It is warm in 
 here," said he, getting up. 
 
 She heard this. " Are you going, Arne ? " 
 asked she, and he sat down again. 
 
 " You must come over to us often ; mother 
 likes you so much." 
 
 " I should be glad to come myself ; but I must 
 have some errand, though." 
 
 Eli was silent for a while, as if she were 
 considering something. " I believe," said she, 
 " that mother has something she wants to ask 
 of you." 
 
 He heard her turn in bed. There was no 
 sound to be heard, either in the room or out- 
 side, save the ticking of the clock on the wall. 
 At last she burst out, — 
 
 " How I wish it were summer ! " 
 
 " That it were summer? " and there rose up 
 in his mind, blended with fragrant foliage and 
 the tinkling of cattle bells, shouts from the 
 mountains, singing from the valleys, Black 
 Water glittering in the sunshine, the gards 
 rocking in it, and Eli coming out and sitting 
 down, as she had done that evening long ago. 
 
 10
 
 146 AENE. 
 
 "If it were summer," said she, "and I 
 
 were sitting on the hill, I really believe 1 
 
 could sing a song." 
 
 He laughed and asked : " What would it be 
 
 about ? " 
 
 " Oh, something easy, about — I do not know 
 
 myself — " 
 
 " Tell me, Eli ! " and he sprang up in de- 
 light ; then, recollecting himself, he sat down 
 
 again. 
 
 " No ; not for all the world ! " She laughed. 
 
 " I sang for you when you asked me." 
 
 " Yes, you did ; but — no ! no ! " 
 
 " Eli, do you think I would make sport of 
 
 your little verse ? " 
 
 " No ; I do not think so, Arne ; but it is 
 
 not anything I have made myself." 
 " It is by some one else, then." 
 " Yes, it just came floating of itself." 
 " Then you can surely repeat it to me." 
 " No, no ; it is not altogether that either, 
 
 Arne. Do not ask me any more." She must 
 
 have hid her face in the bedclothes, for the last 
 
 words seemed to come out of them. 
 
 " You are not as kind to me now, Eli, as I 
 
 was to you ! " he said, and rose. 
 
 " Arne, there is a difference — you do not 
 
 understand me — but it was — I do not know
 
 ARNE. 147 
 
 myself — another time — do not be angry with 
 me, Arne ! Do not go away from me ! " She 
 began to weep. 
 
 "Eli, what is the matter?" He listened. 
 " Are you feeling ill ? " He did not think she 
 was. She still wept ; he thought that he must 
 either go forward or backward. 
 
 "Eli!" 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 They both spoke in whispers. 
 
 " Give me your hand ! " 
 
 She did not answer ; he listened intently, 
 eagerly, felt about on the coverlid, and clasped 
 a warm little hand that lay outside. 
 
 They heard steps on the stairs, and let go of 
 each other's hands. It was Eli's mother, who 
 was bringing in a light. " You are sitting 
 quite too long in the dark," said she, and put 
 the candlestick on the table. But neither Eli 
 nor Arne could bear the light ; she turned 
 toward the pillow, he held his hand up before 
 his eyes. " Oh, yes ; it hurts the eyes a little 
 at first," said her mother ; " but that will soon 
 pass off." 
 
 Arne searched on the floor for the cap he 
 did not have with him, and then he left the 
 room.
 
 148 ARNE. 
 
 The next day he heard that Eli was coming 
 down-stairs for a little while after dinner. He 
 gathered together his tools, and said good-by. 
 When she came down he was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Spring comes late in the mountains. The 
 mail that passed along the highway during the 
 winter three times a w r eek, in April only passes 
 once, and the inhabitants know then that in 
 the outside world the snow is thawed, the ice 
 broken ; that the steamers are running, and the 
 plow put into the earth. Here, the snow still 
 lies three ells deep ; the cattle low in the stalls, 
 and the birds come, but hide themselves, shiv- 
 ering with the cold. Occasionally some traveler 
 arrives, saying he has left his cart down in the 
 valley, and he has flowers with him, which he 
 shows, — he has gathered them by the wayside. 
 Then the people become restless, go about talk- 
 ing together, look at the sky and down in the 
 valley, wondering how much the sun gains each 
 day. They strew ashes on the snow, and think 
 of those who are now gathering flowers. 
 
 It was at such a time that old Margit Kam- 
 pen came walking up to the parsonage and asked 
 to speak with "father." 1 She was invited into 
 
 1 The peasants call the priest father.
 
 150 ARNE. 
 
 the study, where the priest, a slender, fair- 
 haired, gentle-looking man with large eyes and 
 spectacles, received her kindly, knew who she 
 was, and asked her to sit down. 
 
 " Is it now something about Arne again ? " 
 he inquired, as though they had often talked 
 together about him. 
 
 " Heaven help me ! " said Margit ; " it is 
 never anything but good I have to say of him, 
 and yet my heart is so heavy. She looked 
 very sad as she spoke. 
 
 " Has that longing come back again ? " 
 asked the priest. 
 
 " Worse than ever," said the mother. " I 
 do not even believe he will stay with me until 
 spring comes to us here." 
 
 " And yet he has promised never to leave 
 you." 
 
 " True enough ; but, dear me, he must man- 
 age for himself now ; when the mind is set upon 
 going, go one must, I suppose. But what will 
 become of me ? " 
 
 " Still I will believe, as long as possible, that 
 he will not leave you," said the priest. 
 
 " Certainly not ; but what if he should never 
 be content at home? I would then have it on 
 my conscience that I stood in his way. There 
 are times when I think I ought to ask him 
 myself to go away."
 
 ARNE. 151 
 
 " How do you know that lie is longing now 
 more than ever? " 
 
 " Oh, from many things. Since midwinter 
 he has not worked out in the parish a single 
 day. On the other hand, he has made three 
 trips to town, and has stayed away a long while 
 each time. He scarcely ever talks now when 
 he is working, as he often used to do. He sits 
 for hours by the little window up-stairs, and 
 looks out over the mountains in the direction 
 of the Kamp gorge ; he sometimes stays there 
 a whole Sunday afternoon, and often when it is 
 moonlight, he sits there far into the night." 
 
 " Does he never read to you ? " 
 
 " Of course he reads and sings to me every 
 Sunday ; but he always seems in a hurry, ex- 
 cept now and then, when he overdoes it." 
 
 " Does he never come and talk with you ? " 
 
 " He often lets so long a time pass without 
 saying a word, that I cannot help crying when 
 l sit alone. Then, I suppose, he sees this, for 
 he begins to talk with me, but it is always 
 about trifles, never about anything serious." 
 
 The priest was walking up and down ; now 
 he stopped and asked, " Why do you not speak 
 with him about it?" 
 
 It was some time before she made any reply 
 to this; she sighed several times, she looked
 
 152 ARNE. 
 
 first downward, then on either side, — she folded 
 the handkerchief she carried. 
 
 " I came here to-day to have a talk with fa- 
 ther about something that lies heavily on my 
 heart." 
 
 " Speak freely, it will lighten the burden." 
 
 " I know that ; for I have now dragged it 
 along alone these many years, and it grows 
 heavier each year." 
 
 " What is it, my good woman? " 
 
 There was a brief pause ; then she said, " I 
 have sinned greatly against my son," — and she 
 began to cry. 
 
 The priest came close up to her. " Confess 
 it to me," said he, "then we will together pray 
 God that you may be forgiven." 
 
 Margit sobbed and dried her eyes, but began 
 to weep afresh as soon as she tried to speak, 
 and this was repeated several times. The 
 priest comforted her, and said she surely could 
 not have been guilty of anything very sinful, 
 that she was no doubt too strict with herself, 
 and so on. Margit wept, however, and could 
 not muster the courage to begin until the priest 
 had seated himself by her side and spoken 
 kindly words to her. Then, in broken sen- 
 tences, she faltered forth her confession : — 
 
 " He had a hard time of it when he was a
 
 ARNE. 153 
 
 boy, and so his mind became bent on travel. 
 Then he met Kristian, he who has grown so 
 very rich over there where they dig for gold. 
 Kristian gave Arne so many books that \r x 
 ceased to be like the rest of us ; they sat to- 
 gether in the long evenings, and when Kristian 
 went away, my boy longed to follow him. Just 
 at that time, though, his father fell down dead, 
 and Arne promised never to leave me. Yet I 
 was like a hen that had brooded a duck's egg, 
 when the young duckling had burst the shell, 
 he wanted to go out on the great water, and I 
 remained on the bank screaming. If he did 
 not actually go away himself, his heart went in 
 his songs, and every morning I thought I would 
 find his bed empty. 
 
 " Then there came a letter for him from a 
 far-off country, and I knew it must be from 
 Kristian. God forgive me, I hid it ! I thought 
 that would be the end of the matter, but still 
 another one came, and as I had kept the first 
 from him, I had to keep the second one too 
 But, indeed, it seemed as though they would 
 burn a hole in the chest where they lay, for 
 my thoughts would go there from the time I 
 opened my eyes in the morning until I closed 
 them at night. And you never have known 
 anything so bad as this, for there came a third!
 
 154 ARNE. 
 
 I stood holding it in my hand for a quarter of 
 an hour ; I carried it in my bosom for three 
 days, weighing within me whether I should 
 give it to him or lay it away with the others^ 
 but perhaps it would have power to lure the 
 boy away from me, and I could not help it, I 
 put the letter away with the others. Now I 
 went about in sorrow every day, both because 
 of those that were in the chest and because of 
 the new ones that might come. I was afraid 
 of every person who came to our house. When 
 we were in the house together, and there came 
 a knock at the door, I trembled, for it might be 
 a letter, and then he would get it. When he 
 was out in the parish, I kept thinking at home 
 that now perhaps he would get a letter while 
 he was away, and that it might have something 
 in it about those that had come before. When 
 he was coming home, I watched his face in the 
 distance, and, dear me ! how happy I was when 
 I saw him smiling, for then I knew he had no 
 letter ! He had grown so handsome, too, just 
 like his father, but much fairer and more gen- 
 tle-looking. And then he had such a voice for 
 singing : when he sat outside of the door at 
 sunset, singing toward the mountain ridge and 
 listening for the echo, I felt in my heart that I 
 never could live without him ! If I only saw
 
 ARNE. 155 
 
 him, or if I knew he was anywhere around, and 
 he looked tolerably happy, and would only give 
 me a word now and then, I wished for nothing 
 more on earth, and would not have had a single 
 tear unshed. 
 
 " But just as he seemed to be getting on bet- 
 ter, and to be feeling more at ease among peo- 
 ple, there came word from the parish post-office 
 that a fourth letter had now come, and that in 
 it there were two hundred dollars ! I thought 
 I should drop right down on the spot where I 
 stood. What should I do now? The letter, of 
 course, I could get out of the way ; but the 
 money ? I could not sleep for several nights 
 on account of this money. I kept it up in the 
 garret for a while, then left it in the cellar be- 
 hind a barrel, and once I was so beside myself 
 that I laid it in the window so that he might 
 find it. When I heard him coming, I took it 
 away again. At last I found a way, though 
 I gave him the money and said it had been out 
 at interest since mother's lifetime. He spent 
 it in improving the gard, as had been in my 
 own mind, and there it was not lost. But then 
 it happened that same autumn that he sat one 
 evening wondering why Kristian had so entirely 
 forgotten him. 
 
 "Now the wound opened afresh, and the
 
 156 ARNE. 
 
 money burned: What I had done was a sin, 
 and the sin had been of no use to me ! 
 
 " The mother who has sinned against hel 
 own child is the most unhappy of all mothers, 
 — and yet I only did it out of love. So I shall 
 be punished, I dare say, by losing what is dear- 
 est to me. For since midwinter he has taken 
 up again the tune he sings when he is longing ; 
 he has sung it from boyhood up, and I never 
 hear it without growing pale. Then I feel I 
 could give up all for him, and now you shall see 
 for yourself," — she took a scrap of paper out 
 of her bosom, unfolded it, and gave it to the 
 priest, — " here is something he is writing at 
 from time to time ; it certainly belongs to that 
 song. I brought it with me, for I cannot read 
 such fine writing; please see if there is any- 
 thing in it about his going away." 
 
 There was only one stanza on this paper. For 
 the second one there were half and whole lines 
 here and there, as if it were a song he had for- 
 gotten, and was now calling to mind again, verse 
 by verse. The first stanza ran, — 
 
 " Oh, how I wonder what I should see 
 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 Snow here shuts out the view from me, 
 Round about stands the green pine-tree, 
 
 Longing to hasten over — 
 
 Dare it become a rover?
 
 ARNE. 157 
 
 " Is it about his going away ? " asked Margit, 
 her eyes fixed eagerly on tbe priest's face. 
 
 " Yes, it is," answered be, and let tbe paper 
 drop. 
 
 " Was I not sure of it ! Ab, me ! I know 
 tbat tune so well ! " Sbe looked at tbe priest, 
 ber bands folded, anxious, intent, wbile tear 
 after tear trickled down ber cbeek. 
 
 But the priest knew as little bow to advise 
 as she. " Tbe boy must be left to himself in 
 this matter," said he. " Life cannot be altered 
 for his sake, but it depends on himself whether 
 he shall one day find out its meaning. Now 
 it seems he wants to go away to do so." 
 
 " But was it not just so with the old wom- 
 an ? " said Margit. 
 
 "With tbe old woman?" repeated the priest. 
 
 " Yes ; she wbo went out to fetch the sun- 
 shine into ber house, instead of cutting win- 
 dows in tbe walls." 
 
 The priest was astonished at her shrewd- 
 ness ; but it was not the first time she bad sur- 
 prised him when she was on this theme ; »for 
 Margit, indeed, had not thought of anything 
 else for seven or eight years. 
 
 "Do you think he will leave me? What 
 shall I do ? And the money ? And the let- 
 ters ? " All this crowded upon her at once.
 
 158 ARNE. 
 
 " Well, it was not right about the letters. 
 You can hardly be justified in withholding 
 from your son what belonged to him. It was 
 still worse, however, to place a fellow Chris- 
 tian in a bad light when it was not deserved, 
 and the worst of all was that it was one whom 
 Arne loved and who was very fond of him in 
 return. But we will pray God to forgive you, 
 we will both pray." 
 
 Margit bowed her head; she still sat with 
 her hands folded. 
 
 " How earnestly I would pray him for for- 
 giveness, if I only knew he would stay ! " She 
 was probably confounding in her mind the 
 Lord and Arne. 
 
 The priest pretended he had not noticed 
 this. " Do you mean to confess this to him at 
 once? " he asked. 
 
 She looked down and said in a low tone, 
 " If I dared wait a little while I should like to 
 do so." 
 
 The priest turned aside to hide a smile, as he 
 asked, " Do you not think your sin becomes 
 greater the longer you delay the confession ? " 
 
 Both hands were busied with her handker- 
 chief : she folded it into a very small square, 
 and tried to get it into a still smaller one, but 
 that was not possible.
 
 ARNE. 159 
 
 " If I confess about the letters, I am afraid 
 he will leave me." 
 
 "You dare not place your reliance on the 
 Lord, then ? " 
 
 " Why, to be sure T do ! " she said hurriedly; 
 then she added softly, " But what if he should 
 go anyway ? " 
 
 " So, then, you are more afraid of Arne's 
 leaving you than of continuing in sin ? " 
 
 Margit had unfolded her handkerchief again ; 
 she put it now to her eyes, for she was begin- 
 ning to weep. 
 
 The priest watched her for a while, then he 
 continued: "Why did you tell me all this 
 when you did not mean it to lead to any- 
 thing ? " He waited a long time, but she did 
 not answer. " You thought, perhaps, your sin 
 would become less when you had confessed 
 it?" 
 
 "I thought that it would," said she, softty, 
 with her head bowed still farther down on her 
 breast. 
 
 The priest smiled and got up. " Well, well, 
 my dear Margit, you must act so that you will 
 have joy in your old age." 
 
 " If I could only keep what I have ! " said she ; 
 and the priest thought she dared not imagine 
 any greater happiness than living in her con-
 
 160 ARNE. 
 
 stant state of anxiety. He smiled as he lit 
 his pipe. 
 
 " If we only had a little girl who could get 
 hold of him, then you should see that he would 
 stay ! " 
 
 She looked up quickly, and her eyes followed 
 the priest until he paused in front of her. 
 
 » Eli Boen? What " — 
 
 She colored and looked down again ; but she 
 made no reply. 
 
 The priest, who had stood still, waiting, said 
 finally, but this time in quite a low tone : 
 " What if we should arrange it so that they 
 should meet oftener at the parsonage ? " 
 
 She glanced up at the priest to find out 
 whether he was really in earnest. But she did 
 not quite dare believe him. 
 
 The priest had begun to walk up and down 
 again, but now he paused. " See here, Margit ! 
 When it comes to the point, perhaps this was 
 your whole errand here to-day, hey ? " 
 
 She bowed her head far down, she thrust 
 two fingers into the folded handkerchief, and 
 brought out a corner of it. " Well, yes, God 
 help me ; that was exactly what I wanted." 
 
 The priest burst out laughing, and rubbed 
 his hands. " Perhaps that was what you 
 wanted the last time you were here, too ? "
 
 AKNE. 161 
 
 She drew the corner of the handkerchief far- 
 ther out ; she stretched it and stretched it. 
 " Since you ask me, yes, it was just that." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Ah, Margit ! Margit ! 
 We shall see what we can do ; for, to tell the 
 truth, my wife and daughter have for a long 
 time had the same thoughts as you." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " She looked up, at once 
 so happy and so bashful, that the priest had 
 his own delight in her open, pretty face, in 
 which the childlike expression had been pre- 
 served through all sorrow and anxiety. 
 
 " Ah, well, Margit, you, whose love is so great, 
 will, I have no doubt, obtain forgiveness, for 
 love's sake, both from your God and from your 
 son, for the wrong you have done. You have 
 probably been punished enough already in the 
 continual, wearing anxiety you have lived in ; 
 we shall, if God is willing, bring this to a 
 speedy end, for, if He ivishes this, He will help 
 us a little now." 
 
 She drew a long sigh, which she repeated 
 again and again ; then she arose, gave her 
 thanks, dropped a courtesy, and courtesied 
 again at the door. But she was scarcely well 
 outside before a change came over her. She 
 cast upward a look beaming with gratitude, 
 and she hurried more and more the farther she 
 H
 
 162 AENE. 
 
 got away from people, and lightly as she tripped 
 down toward Kampen that day, she had not 
 done for many, many years. When she got 
 so far on her way that she could see the thick 
 smoke curling gayly up from the chimney, she 
 blessed the house, the whole gard, the priest, 
 and Arne, — and then remembered that they 
 were going to have smoked beef for dinner, — 
 her favorite dish !
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Kampen was a beautiful gard. It lay in the 
 midst of a plain, bordered below by the Kamp 
 gorge, and above by the parish road ; on the 
 opposite side of the road was a thick wood, a 
 little farther beyond, a rising mountain ridge, 
 and behind this the blue, snow-capped mount- 
 ains. On the other side of the gorge there 
 was also a broad mountain range, which first 
 entirely surrounded Black Water on the side 
 where Boen lay, then grew higher toward 
 Kampen, but at the same time turned aside 
 to make way for the broad basin called the 
 lower parish, and which began just below, for 
 Kampen was the last gard in the upper parish. 
 
 The front door of the dwelling-house was 
 turned toward the road ; it was probably about 
 two thousand paces off ; a path with leafy birch- 
 trees on either side led thither. The wood lay 
 on both sides of the clearing; the fields and 
 meadows could, therefore, extend as far as the 
 owners themselves wished ; it was in all re- 
 spects a most excellent gard. A little garden
 
 164 ARNE. 
 
 lay in front of the house. Arne managed it as 
 his books directed. To the left were the sta- 
 bles and other out-houses. They were nearly 
 all new built, and formed a square opposite the 
 dwelling-house. The latter was painted red, 
 with white window-frames and doors, was two 
 stories high, thatched with turf, and small 
 shrubs grew on the roof ; the one gable had a 
 vane staff, on which turned an iron cock, with 
 high, spread tail. 
 
 Spring had come to the mountain districts. 
 It was a Sunday morning ; there was a little 
 heaviness in the air, but it was calm and with- 
 out frost ; mist hung over the wood, but Mar- 
 git thought it would lift during the day. Arne 
 had read the sermon for his mother and sung 
 the hymns, which had done him good ; now he 
 was in full trim, ready to go up to the parson- 
 age. He opened the door, the fresh perfume of 
 the leaves was wafted toward him, the garden 
 lay dew-covered and bowed by the morning 
 mist, and from the Kamp gorge there came 
 a roaring, mingled at intervals with mighty 
 booms, making everything tremble to the ear 
 and the eye. 
 
 Arne walked upward. The farther he got 
 from the force the less awe-inspiring became its 
 roar, which finally spread itself like the deep 
 tones of an organ over the whole landscape.
 
 ARNE. 165 
 
 " The Lord be with him on his way ! " said 
 the mother, opening the window and looking 
 after him until the shrubbery closed about him. 
 The fog lifted more and more, the sun cut 
 through it ; there was life now about the fields 
 and in the garden ; all Arne's work sprouted 
 out in fresh growth, sending fragrance and joy 
 up to the mother. Spring is lovely to those 
 who long have been surrounded by winter. 
 
 Arne had no fixed errand at the parsonage, 
 but still he wanted to learn about the papers 
 he and the priest took together. Recently he 
 had seen the names of several Norsemen who 
 had done remarkably well digging gold in 
 America, and among them was Kristian. Now 
 Arne had heard a rumor that Kristian was ex- 
 pected home. He could, no doubt, get infor- 
 mation about this at the parsonage, — and if 
 Kristian had really returned, then Arne would 
 go to him in the interval between spring and 
 haying time. This was working in his mind 
 until he had advanced so far that he could see 
 Black Water, and Boen on the other side. The 
 fog had lifted there, too ; the sun was playing 
 on the green, the mountain loomed up with 
 shining peak, but the fog was still lying in its 
 lap ; the wood darkened the water on the right 
 Bide, but in front of the house the ground was
 
 166 ARNE. 
 
 more flat, and its white sand glittered in the 
 sunshine. Suddenly his thoughts sped to the 
 red-painted building with white doors and win- 
 dow-frames, that he had had in mind when he 
 painted his own. He did not remember those 
 first gloomy days he had passed there ; he only 
 thought of that bright summer they had both 
 seen, he and Eli, up beside her sick-bed. Since 
 then he had not been to Boen, nor would he go 
 there, not for the whole world. If only his 
 thoughts barely touched on it, he grew crimson 
 and abashed ; and yet this happened again 
 every day, and many times a day. If there 
 was anything which could drive him out of the 
 parish, it was just this ! 
 
 Onward he went, as though he would flee 
 from his thoughts, but the farther he walked 
 the nearer opposite Boen he came, and the more 
 lie gazed upon it. The fog was entirely gone, 
 the sky clear from one mountain outline to the 
 other, the birds sailed along and called aloud to 
 one another in the glad sunny air, the fields re- 
 sponded with millions of flowers ; the Kamp 
 force did not here compel gladness to bow the 
 knee in submission and awe, but buoyant and 
 frolicsome it tumbled over, singing, twinkling, 
 rejoicing without end ! 
 
 Arne had walked till he was in a glowing
 
 ARNE. 1G7 
 
 heat ; he flung himself down in the grass at the 
 foot of a hill, looked over towards Bb'en, then 
 turned away to avoid seeing it. Presently he 
 heard singing above him, pure and clear, as song 
 had never sounded to him before ; it floated out 
 over the meadow, mingled with the chattering 
 of the birds, and he was scarcely sure of the 
 tune before he recognized the words too, — for 
 the tune was his favorite one, and the words 
 were those that had been working in his mind 
 from the time he was a boy, and forgotten the 
 same day he had brought them forth ! He 
 sprang up as though he would catch them, then 
 paused and listened ; here came the first stanza, 
 here came the second, here came the third and 
 the fourth of his own forgotten song stream 
 ing down to him : — 
 
 " Oh, how I wonder what I should see 
 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 Snow here shuts out the view from me, 
 Round about stands the green pine-tree, 
 
 Longing to hasten over — 
 
 Dare it become a rover ? 
 
 " Soars the eagle with strong wing play, 
 Over the lofty mountains; 
 
 Rows through the young and vigorous day, 
 
 Sating his courage in quest of prey; 
 
 When he will swooping downward, 
 Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward.
 
 168 ARNE. 
 
 " Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go 
 Over the lofty mountains? 
 Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow, 
 Thou wilt till next time wait, I know ; 
 All of these birds art swinging, 
 Knowing not what they 're singing. 
 
 " He who for twenty years longed to flee 
 Over the lofty mountains, 
 Nor beyond them can hope to see, 
 Smaller each year feels himself to be; 
 Hears what the birds are singing, 
 Thou art with confidence swinging. 
 
 " Bird, with thy chatt'ring, what wouldst thou here 
 Over the lofty mountains ? 
 Fairer the lands beyond must appear, 
 Higher the trees and the skies far more clear. 
 Wouldst thou but longing be bringing, 
 Bird, but no wings with thy singing ? 
 
 " Shall I the journey never take 
 
 Over the lofty mountains ? 
 
 Must my poor thoughts on this rock-wall break ? 
 
 Must it a dread, ice-bound prison make, 
 Shutting at last in arouud me, 
 Till for my tomb it surround me ? 
 
 " Forth will I ! forth ! Oh, far, far away, 
 Over the lofty mountains ! 
 
 I will be crushed and consumed if I stay; 
 
 Courage tow'rs up and seeks the way, 
 Let it its flight now be taking, 
 Not on this rock-wall be breaking 1 
 
 M One day I know I shall wander afar 
 Over the lofty mountains! 
 Lord, my Ood, is thy door ajar ?
 
 ARNE 169 
 
 Good is thy home where the blessed are ; 
 
 Keep it though closed a while longer, 
 Till my deep longing grow stronger." 1 
 
 Arne stood still until the last verse, the last 
 word, had died away. Again he heard the birds 
 sporting and twittering, but he knew not 
 whether he himself dared stir. Find out who 
 had been singing, though, he must ; he raised 
 his foot and trod so carefully that he could 
 not hear the grass rustle. A little butterfly- 
 alighted on a flower, directly at his feet, had 
 to start up again, flew only a little piece far- 
 ther, had to start up again, and so on all over 
 the hill as he crept cautiously up. Soon he 
 came to a leafy bush, and cared to go no far- 
 ther, for now he could see. A bird flew up 
 from the bush, gave a startled cry and darted 
 over the sloping hill-side, and then she who 
 was sitting within view looked up. Arne 
 stooped far down, holding his breath, his heart 
 throbbing so wildly that he heard its every 
 beat, listening, not daring to move a leaf, for 
 it was, indeed, she, — it was Eli whom he 
 saw ! 
 
 After a long, long while, he looked up just 
 a little, and would gladly have drawn a step 
 nearer • but he thought the bird might per- 
 
 1 Auber Forestier's translation.
 
 170 ARNE. 
 
 haps have its nest under the bush, and was 
 afraid he would tread on it. He peered out be- 
 tween the leaves as they blew aside and closed 
 together again. The sun shone directly on 
 her. She wore a black dress without sleeves, 1 
 and .had a boy's straw hat perched lightly on 
 her head, and slanting a little to one side. In 
 her lap lay a book, and on it a profusion of wild 
 flowers ; her right hand was dreamily toying 
 with them ; in her left, which rested on her 
 knee, her head was bowed. She was gazing 
 in the direction of the bird's flight, and it really 
 seemed as though she had been weeping. 
 
 Anything more lovely Arne had neither seen 
 nor dreamed of in his whole life ; the sun, too, 
 had scattered all its gold over her and the spot 
 where she was sitting, and the song still floated 
 about her, although its last notes had long since 
 been sung, so that he thought, breathed — aye, 
 even his heart beat in time to it. 
 
 She took up the book and opened it, but soon 
 closed it again and sat as before, beginning to 
 hum something else. It was, " The tree's early 
 leaf-buds were bursting their brown." He 
 knew it at once, although she did not quite 
 remember either the words or the tune, and 
 
 1 Peasants wear an under-garnient high in the neck with long 
 sleeves.
 
 ARNE. 171 
 
 made many mistakes. The stanza she knew 
 best was the last one, therefore she often re- 
 peated it ; but she sang it thus : — 
 
 " The tree bore its berries, so mellow and red: 
 ' May I gather thy berries ? ' a sweet maiden said. 
 'Yes, dear; all thou canst see; 
 Take them ; all are for thee ; ' 
 Said the tree — trala-lala, trala, lala — said." * 
 
 Then suddenly she sprang up, scattering the 
 flowers all around her, and sang aloud, so that 
 the tune, as it quivered through the air, could 
 easily be heard all the way over to Boen. And 
 then she ran away. Should he call after her ? 
 No! There she went skipping over the hills, 
 singing, trolling ; her hat fell off, she picked it 
 up again ; and then she stood still in the midst 
 of the tallest grass. 
 
 " Shall I call after her ? She is looking 
 round ! " 
 
 He quickly stooped down. It was a long 
 while before he dared peep forth again ; at first 
 he only raised his head ; he could not see her: 
 then he drew himself up on his knees, and still 
 could not see her ; finally, he got all the way 
 up. No, she was gone ! 
 
 He no longer wanted to go to the parsonage. 
 He wanted nothing! 
 
 1 Adapted to the original metre from the translation of Augusta 
 Plesner and S. Rugeley -Powers.
 
 172 ARNE. 
 
 Later lie sat where she had been sitting, still 
 sat there until the sun drew near the meridian. 
 The lake was not ruffled by a single ripple ; the 
 smoke from the gards began to curl upward ; 
 the land-rails, one after another, had ceased 
 their call ; the small birds, though, continued 
 their sportive gambols, but withdrew to the 
 wood ; the dew was gone and the grass looked 
 sober ; not a breath of wind stirred the leaves ; 
 it was about an hour from noon. Arne scarcely 
 knew how it was that he found himself seated 
 there, weaving together a little song ; a sweet 
 melody offered itself for it, and into a heart 
 curiously full of all that was gentle, the tune 
 came and went until the picture was complete. 
 He sang the song calmly as he had made it : — 
 
 " He went in the forest the whole day long, 
 The whole day long ; 
 For there he had heard such a wonderful song, 
 A wonderful song. 
 
 " He fashioned a flute from a willow spray, 
 A willow spray, 
 To see if within it the sweet tune lay, 
 The sweet tune lay. 
 
 " It whispered and told him its name at last, 
 Its name at last ; 
 But then, while lie listened, away it passed, 
 Away it passed. 
 
 " But oft when he slumbered, again it stole, 
 Again it stole,
 
 ARNE. 
 
 With touches of love upon his soul, 
 Upon his soul. 
 
 " Then he tried to catch it, and keep it fast, 
 And keep it fast; 
 But he woke, and away in the night it passed, 
 In the night it passed. 
 
 " ' My Lord, let me pass in the night, I pray, 
 In the night, I pray ; 
 For the tune has taken my heart away, 
 My heart away.' 
 
 " Then answered the Lord, 'It is thy friend, 
 It is thy friend, 
 Though not for an hour shall thy longing end, 
 Thy longing end ; 
 
 " ' And all the others are nothing to thee, 
 Nothing to thee, 
 To this that thou seekest and never shalt see, 
 Never shalt see.' " 1 
 
 l Translated by Augusta Plesner and S. Eugeley-Powere. 
 
 173
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was a Sunday evening in midsummer ; 
 the priest had returned from church, and Mar- 
 git had been sitting with him until it was nearly 
 seven o'clock. Now she took her leave, and 
 hastened down the steps and out into the yard, 
 for there she had just caught sight of Eli Boen, 
 who had been playing for some time with the 
 priest's son and her own brother. 
 
 " Good evening ! " said Margit, standing still, 
 " and God bless you all ! " 
 
 " Good evening ! " replied Eli, blushing crim- 
 son, and showing a desire to stop playing, al- 
 though the boys urged her to continue ; but 
 she begged to be excused, and they had to let 
 her go for that evening. 
 
 "It seems to me I ought to know you," said 
 Margit. 
 
 " That is quite likely," was the reply. 
 
 " This surely never can be Eli Boen ? " 
 
 Yes, it was she. 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! So you are Eli Boen ! Yes, 
 now I see you are like your mother."
 
 ARNE. 175 
 
 Eli's auburn hair had become unfastened, so 
 that it floated carelessly about her ; her face was 
 as hot and as red as a berry, her bosom heaved, 
 she could not speak, and laughed because she 
 was so out of breath. 
 
 " Yes, that is the way with young people." 
 Mare-it looked at Eli with satisfaction as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " I suppose you do not know me ? " 
 Eli had no doubt wanted to ask who she was, 
 but could not command the courage to do so, 
 because the other was so much older than she ; 
 now she said that she did not remember having 
 seen her before. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, that is scarcely to be ex- 
 pected ; old folks seldom get out. You may 
 perhaps know my son, Arne Kampen. I am 
 his mother." She stole a sly glance, as she 
 spoke, at Eli, on whom these words wrought a 
 considerable change. " I am inclined to think 
 he worked over at Boen once, did he not ? " 
 
 Yes, it was Eli's impression, too, that he had 
 done so. 
 
 " The weather is fine this evening. We 
 turned our hay to-day, and got it in before I 
 left home ; it is really blessed weather." 
 
 " There will surely be a good hay-harvest this 
 year," Eli observed.
 
 17G ARNE. 
 
 " Yes, you may well say so. I suppose every- 
 thing looks splendidly over at Boen." 
 
 " They are through harvesting there." 
 
 " Oh, of course ; plenty of help, stirring peo- 
 ple. Are you going home this evening ? " 
 
 No, she did not intend to do so. They talked 
 together about one thing and another and grad- 
 ually became so well acquainted that Margit 
 felt at liberty to ask Eli to walk a short dis- 
 tance with her. 
 
 " Could you not keep me company a few 
 steps? " said she. " I so seldom find any one to 
 talk with, and I dare say it will make no differ- 
 ence to you." 
 
 Eli excused herself because she had not her 
 jacket on. 
 
 " Well, I know, it is really a shame to ask 
 such a thing the first time I meet a person ; but 
 then one has to bear with old folks." 
 
 Eli said she was quite willing to go, she only 
 wanted to fetch her jacket. 
 
 It was a close-fitting jacket ; when it was 
 hooked, she looked as if she wore a complete 
 dress ; but now she only fastened the two low- 
 est hooks, she was so warm. Her fine linen had 
 a small turned down collar, and was fastened 
 at the throat with a silver button, in the form 
 of a bird with outspread wings. Such a one
 
 ARNE. 177 
 
 tailor Nils had worn the first time Margit Kam- 
 pen had danced with him. 
 
 " What a handsome button," she remarked, 
 looking at it. 
 
 " My mother gave it to me," said Eli. 
 
 " Yes, so I thought," and Margit helped the 
 girl adjust it as she spoke. 
 
 Now they walked on along the road. The 
 new-mown hay was lying about in heaps. Mar- 
 git took up a handful, smelled it, and thought 
 it was good. She asked about the live stock at 
 the parsonage, was led thereby to inquire about 
 that at Boen, and then told how much they 
 had at Kampen. 
 
 " The gard has prospered finely of late years, 
 and it can be made as much larger as we our- 
 selves wish. It feeds twelve milch cows now, 
 and could feed more ; but Arne reads a great 
 many books, and manages according to them, 
 and so he must have his cows fed in a first- 
 rate way." 
 
 Eli made no reply to all this, as was quite 
 natural ; but Margit asked her how old she was. 
 She was nineteen. 
 
 " Have you taken any part in the house- 
 work ? You look so dainty, I suppose it has 
 not been much." 
 12
 
 178 ARNE. 
 
 Oh, yes, she had helped in various ways, es- 
 pecially of late. 
 
 " Well, it is a good thing to become accus- 
 tomed to a little of everything ; if one should 
 get a large house of one's own, there might be 
 many things to be done. But, to be sure, when 
 one finds good help already in the house, it 
 does not matter so very much." 
 
 Eli now thought she ought to turn back, for 
 they had gone far beyond the parsonage lands. 
 
 " It will be some time yet before the sun 
 sets ; it would be kind if you would chat with 
 me a little longer." And Eli went on. 
 
 Then Margit began to talk about Arne. " I 
 do not know if you are very well acquainted 
 with him. He can teach you something about 
 everything. Bless me ! how much that boy has 
 read ! " 
 
 Eli confessed that she was aware he had read 
 a great deal. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; that is really the least that can 
 be said of him. Why, his conduct to his mother 
 all his days is something far beyond that. If 
 the old saying is true, that one who is good to 
 his mother is sure to be good to his wife, the 
 girl Arne chooses will not have very much to 
 grumble about. What is it you are looking 
 for, child ? "
 
 ARNE. 179 
 
 " I only lost a little twig I had in my hand." 
 
 They were both silent after this, and walked 
 on without looking at each other. 
 
 " He has such strange ways," began the 
 mother, presently; "he was so often frightened 
 when he was a child that he got into the habit 
 of thinking everything over to himself, and 
 such folks never know how to put themselves 
 forward." 
 
 Now Eli insisted on turning back, but Mar- 
 git assured her that it was only a short distance 
 now to Kampen, and see Kampen she must, as 
 she was so near. But Eli thought it was too 
 late that day. 
 
 " There is always some one who can go home 
 with you," said Margit. 
 
 " No, no," promptly replied Eli, and was 
 about to leave. 
 
 " To be sure, Arne is not at home," said 
 Margit ; " so it will not be he ; but there will 
 be sure to be some one else." 
 
 Now Eli had less objection to going; besides, 
 she wanted very much to see Kampen. " If 
 only it does not grow too late," said she. 
 
 " Well, if we stand here much longer talking 
 about it, I suppose it may grow too late," and 
 they went on. 
 
 "You have read a great deal, I dare say; 
 you who were brought up at the priest's ? "
 
 180 ARNE. 
 
 Yes, Eli had read a good deal. 
 
 " That will be useful," Margit suggested, 
 " when you are married to one who knows less 
 than you." 
 
 Eli thought she would never be married to 
 such a person. 
 
 " Ah, well, it would perhaps not be best 
 either ; but in this parish there is so little 
 learning." 
 
 Eli asked where the smoke rising yonder in 
 the wood came from. 
 
 " It comes from the new houseman's place 
 belonging to Kampen. A man called Upland 
 Knut lives there. He was alone in the world, 
 and so Arne gave him that place to clear. He 
 knows what it is to be lonely, my poor Arne." 
 
 Soon they reached an ascent whence the gard 
 could be seen. The sun shone full in their 
 faces ; they held up their hands to shade their 
 eyes and gazed down at Kampen. It lay in the 
 midst of a plain, the houses red painted and 
 with white window-frames ; the grass in the 
 surrounding meadows had been mown, the hay 
 might still be seen in heaps here and there, the 
 grain-fields lay green and rich among the pale 
 meadows ; over by the cow-house all was stir 
 and bustle : the cows, sheep, and goats were 
 just coming home, their bells were tinkling,
 
 ARNE. 181 
 
 the clogs were barking, the milk-maids shout- 
 ing, while above all rose with awful din the 
 roar of the force in the Kamp gorge. The 
 longer Eli looked, the more completely this 
 grand tune rilled her ears, and at last it seemed 
 so appalling to her that her heart throbbed 
 wildly ; it roared and thundered through her 
 head until she grew bewildered, and at the 
 same time felt so warm and tender that invol- 
 untarily she took such short, hesitating steps, 
 that Margit begged her to walk a little faster. 
 
 She started. "I never heard anything like 
 that waterfall," said she; " I am almost afraid 
 of it." 
 
 " You will soon get used to it," said the 
 mother ; " at last you would even miss it if 
 you could not hear it." 
 
 " Dear me ! do you think so ? " cried Eli. 
 
 " Well, you will see," said Margit, smil- 
 ing. 
 
 " Come now, let us first look at the cat- 
 tle," she continued, turning off from the main 
 road. " These trees on each side Nils planted. 
 He wanted to have everything nice, Nils did ; 
 that is what Arne likes too ; look ! there you 
 can see the garden my boy has laid out." 
 
 " Oh, how pretty ! " cried Eli, running over 
 to the garden fence. She had often seen Kam-
 
 1 12 AENE. 
 
 pen, but only from a distance, where the garden 
 was not visible. 
 
 " We will look at that after a while," said 
 Margit. 
 
 Eli hastily glanced through the windows, as 
 she went past the house ; there was no one in- 
 side. 
 
 They stationed themselves on the barn-bridge 
 and watched the cows as they passed lowing 
 into the stable. Margit named them to Eli, 
 told how much milk each one gave, and which 
 of them calved in the summer, which did not. 
 The sheep were counted and let into the fold ; 
 they were of a large, foreign breed ; Arne had 
 raised them from two lambs he got from the 
 south. " He gives much attention to all such 
 things, although you would not think it of 
 him." 
 
 They now went into the barn, and examined 
 the hay that had been housed, and Eli had 
 to smell it — " for such hay is not to be found 
 everywhere." Margit pointed through the 
 barn-hatch over the fields, and told what each 
 one yielded and how much was sown of each 
 kind of seed. 
 
 They went out toward the house ; but Eli, 
 who had not spoken a word in reply to all 
 that had been said, as they passed by the gar-
 
 ARNE. 183 
 
 den, asked if she might go into it. And when 
 leave had been given her to go, she begged to 
 be allowed to pluck a flower or two. There 
 was a little bench away in one corner ; she 
 went and sat down on it, only to try it, ap- 
 parently, for she rose at once. 
 
 " We must hurry now, if we would not be 
 too late," said Margit, standing in the door. 
 And now they went in. Margit asked Eli if 
 she should offer her some refreshments on this 
 her first visit ; but Eli blushed and hastily de- 
 clined. Then the girl's eyes wandered all 
 around the room they had entered ; it was 
 where the family sat in the day-time, and the 
 windows opened on the road ; the room was 
 not large but it was cozy, and there was a 
 clock and a stove in it. On the wall hung 
 Xils's fiddle, dingy and old, but with new 
 strings. Near it also hung a couple of guns 
 belonging to Arne, an English angling-rod and 
 other rare things which the mother took down 
 and showed to Eli, who looked at them and 
 handled them. The room was without paint, 
 for Arne disliked it ; nor was there any paint- 
 ing in the room looking toward the Kamp 
 gorge, with the fresh green mountains directly- 
 opposite and the blue ones in the background ; 
 u liis latter room, — which was in the new part
 
 184 ARNE. 
 
 of the building, as was the entire half of the 
 house it was in, — was larger and prettier than 
 the first. The two smaller rooms in the wing 
 were painted, for there the mother was to live 
 when she was old, and Arne had brought a 
 wife into the house. They went into the kitch- 
 en, the store-house, the bake-house, Eli spoke 
 not a single word ; indeed, she viewed every- 
 thing about her as though from afar off; only 
 when anything was held out for her inspec- 
 tion she touched it, but very daintily. Mar- 
 git, who had kept up an unbroken stream of 
 chatter the whole way, now led her into the 
 passage again ; they must go and take a look 
 up-stairs. 
 
 There also were well-arranged rooms, cor- 
 responding with those below ; but they were 
 new and had scarcely yet been occupied, ex- 
 cept one, which looked toward the gorge. In 
 these rooms "were kept all sorts of articles 
 which were not in daily household use. Here 
 hung a whole lot of robes, together with other 
 bedclothes ; the mother took hold of them, lifted 
 them up, and now and then insisted on having 
 Eli do the same. Meanwhile, it actually seemed 
 as though the young girl were gaining a little 
 courage, or else her pleasure in these things in- 
 creased ; for to some of them she went back a
 
 ARNE. 185 
 
 second time, asked questions about them, and 
 became more and more interested. 
 
 Finally the mother said, " Now at last we 
 will go into Arne's own room ; " and then they 
 went into the room overlooking the Kamp 
 gorge. Once more the awful din of the force 
 smote upon their ears, for the window was 
 open. They were up so high tliat they could 
 see the spi'ay rising between the mountains, but 
 not the force itself, save in one spot farther on, 
 where a fragment had fallen from the cliff, just 
 where the torrent, with all its might, took its 
 final leap into the depths below. Fresh turf 
 covered the upward turned side of this fallen 
 piece of rock, a few fir cones had buried them- 
 selves in it, and sent forth a growth of trees 
 withjiheir roots in the crevices. The wind 
 had tugged at and shaken the trees, the force 
 had washed them so completely that there was 
 not a branch four ells from the roots; they 
 were crooked in the knees, their boughs 
 knotted and gnarled, yet they kept their foot- 
 ing, and shot far up between the rocky walls. 
 This was the first thing Eli noticed from the 
 window; the next, the dazzling white snow- 
 capped peaks rising above the green mountains. 
 She turned her eyes away, let them wander 
 over the peaceful, fruitful fields, and finally
 
 186 AKNE. 
 
 about the room where she stood ; the roar of 
 the force had hitherto prevented this. 
 
 How calm and cheerful it was within, com- 
 pared with the scene without. She did not 
 look at any single article, because one blended 
 into the other, and most of them were new to 
 her, for Arne had centred his affections in this 
 room, and, simple as it was, it was artistic in 
 almost every particular. It seemed as though 
 the sound of his songs came floating toward 
 her, while she stood there, or as though he him- 
 self smiled at her from every object. The first 
 thing her eyes singled out in the room, was a 
 broad, handsomely carved book-shelf. There 
 were so many books on it that she did not be- 
 lieve the priest had more. A pretty cabinet 
 was the next thing she noticed. Here he^ kept 
 many rare things, his mother said. Here, too, 
 he had his money, she added, in a whisper. 
 They had twice had property left to them, she 
 told afterwards ; they would have one more in- 
 heritance besides, if things went as they should. 
 " But money is not the best thing in the world, 
 after all. Arne may get what is far better." 
 
 There were many little trinkets in the room 
 which were interesting to examine, and Eli 
 looked at them all, as happy as a child. 
 
 Margit patted her on the shoulder, saying, as
 
 AKXE. 187 
 
 she looked brightly into her eyes, " I have 
 never seen you before to-day, my child, but I 
 am already very fond of you." Before Eli had 
 time to feel embarrassed, Margit pulled at her 
 dress, and said, quite softly, " You see that lit- 
 tle red chest ; there is something nice in that, 
 I can tell you." 
 
 Eli looked at the chest : it was a small, square 
 one, which she at once longed to call her own. 
 
 " Arne does not want me to know what is in 
 that chest," whispered the mother, " and he al- 
 ways keeps the key hid." She walked up to 
 some clothes hanging on the wall, took down a 
 velvet waistcoat, felt in the watch-pocket, and 
 there found the key. " Come, now, you shall 
 see," she whispered. 
 
 Eli did not think the mother was doing 
 quite right, but women are women, — and these 
 two now crossed softly over to the chest and 
 knelt in front of it. As the mother raised the 
 lid, so pleasant a perfume rose towai'd them that 
 Eli clapped her hands even before she had seen 
 anything. Spread over the top was a kerchief 
 which the mother took away. " Now you shall 
 see," she whispered, as she took up a fine, black 
 silk neckerchief, such a one as men do not wear. 
 " It looks just as if it were for a girl," said the 
 mother. " Here is another," she added.
 
 188 ARNE. 
 
 Eli could not help taking bold of this ; but 
 when the mother insisted upon trying it on her, 
 she declined, and bung her head. The mother 
 carefully folded them up again. 
 
 " See ! " she then said, taking up some pretty 
 silk ribbons; "everything here looks as if it 
 were meant for a girl." 
 
 Eli grew red as fire, but not a sound escaped 
 her ; her bosom heaved, her eyes had a shy 
 look, otherwise she stood immovable. 
 
 " Here are more things still ! " The mother 
 took hold of a beautiful black dress pattern, as 
 she spoke. " This is fine goods, I dare say," 
 said she, as she held it up to the light. 
 
 Eli's hands trembled, when the mother asked 
 her to take hold of the cloth, she felt the blood 
 rushing to her head ; she would gladly have 
 turned away, but this was not easy to do. 
 
 " He has bought something every time he 
 has been to town," said the mother. 
 
 Eli could scarcely control herself any longer ; 
 her eyes roamed about the chest from one arti- 
 cle to another, and back again to the dress 
 goods ; she, in fact, saw nothing else. But the 
 mother persisted, and the last thing she took 
 up was wrapped in paper ; they slowly un- 
 wrapped it; this became attractive again. Eli 
 grew eager ; it proved to be a pair of small
 
 ARNE. 189 
 
 shoes. They had never seen anything like 
 these, either one of them ; the mother won- 
 dered how they could be made. Eli said noth- 
 ing, but when she went to touch the shoes, 
 all her fingers made marks on them ; she felt so 
 ashamed that she came very near bursting into 
 tears. She longed most of all to take her 
 leave, but she dared not speak, nor dare she 
 do anything to make the mother look up. 
 
 Margit was wholly occupied with her own 
 thoughts. " Does it not look just as if he had 
 bought them one by one for some one he had 
 not the courage to give them "to ? " said she, as 
 she put each article back in the place where 
 she had found it ; she must have had practice 
 in so doing. " Now let us see what there is in 
 this little box," she added, softly opening it, as 
 though now they were going to find something 
 really choice. 
 
 There lay a buckle, broad enough for a belt ; 
 that was the first thing she showed Eli ; the 
 next was two gold rings, tied together, and 
 then the girl caught sight of a velvet hymn-book 
 with silver clasps ; further she could not look, 
 for on the. silver of the book was engraved, in 
 small letters, " Eli, Baardsdatter Boen." 1 
 
 Margit called her attention to something, got 
 1 The Norse word (latter means daughter.
 
 190 ARXE. 
 
 no reply, but saw that tear after tear was trick- 
 ling clown on the silk kerchief, and spreading 
 over it. Then the mother laid down the brooch 
 she held in her hand, closed the little box, 
 turned round and clasped Eli in her arms. 
 The daughter wept on her shoulder, and the 
 mother wept over her, but neither of them 
 spoke a word. 
 
 A little while later, Eli was walking alone 
 in the garden : the mother had gone into the 
 kitchen to prepare something good for supper, 
 for now Arne would soon be home. By and 
 by, Margit came out into the garden to look 
 for her young friend, and found her sitting 
 writing in the sand. As the mother joined 
 her, Eli quickly smoothed the sand over what 
 she had written, — looked up and smiled ; she 
 had been weeping. 
 
 " There is nothing to cry about, my child,"' 
 said Margit, and gave her a pat. 
 
 They saw a black object moving between the 
 bushes on the road. Eli stole into the house, 
 the mother followed her. Here a bounteous 
 repasl was awaiting them : cream pudding, 
 smoked meat, and cakes; but Eli had no eyes 
 for these tilings; she crossed the floor to the 
 corner where the clock stood, sat down on a
 
 ARNE. 191 
 
 chair close to the wall, and trembled if she 
 only heard a cat stir. The mother stood by 
 the table. Firm steps were heard on the flag- 
 stones, a short, light step in the passage, the 
 door was gently opened, and Arne came in. 
 
 The first object his eyes lighted on was Eli 
 in the clock corner ; he let go of the door and 
 stood still. This made Eli yet more embar- 
 rassed ; she got up, regretted at once having 
 done so, and turned towards the wall. 
 
 "Are you here?" said Arne, softly, blushing 
 crimson. 
 
 Eli shaded her eyes with one hand, as one 
 does when the sun shines too full in the face. 
 
 "How — ?" He could get no farther, but 
 he advanced a step or two. 
 
 She put her hand down again, turned toward 
 him, then, bowiug her head, she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " God bless you, Eli ! " said he, and drew his 
 arm around her ; she nestled close up to him. 
 He whispered something in her ear ; she made 
 no reply, but clasped her hands about his neck. 
 
 They stood thus for a long time, and not a 
 sound was heard save the roar of the force, 
 sending forth its eternal song. By and by 
 some one was heard weeping near the table ; 
 Arne looked up : it was the mother.
 
 192 ARNE. 
 
 " Now I am sure you will not leave me, 
 Arne," said she, approaching him. She wept 
 freely, but it did her good, she said. 
 
 When Arne and Eli walked home together 
 in the bright summer evening, they did not talk 
 much about their new-born happiness. They let 
 Nature herself take the lead in the conversa- 
 tion, — so quiet, bright, and grand, she seemed, 
 as she accompanied them. But it was on his 
 way back to Kampen from this their first 
 summer-night's walk, with his face turned to- . 
 ward the rising sun, that he laid the founda- 
 tions of a poem, which he was then in no frame 
 of mind to construct, but which, later, when it 
 was finished, became for a while his daily 
 song. It ran thus : — 
 
 " I hoped to become something great one day; 
 I thought it would be when I got away. 
 Each thought that my bosom entered 
 On far-off journeys was centred. 
 A maiden then into my eyes did look ; 
 
 My rovingssoon lost their pleasure. 
 The loftiest aim my heart can brook 
 
 Is her to proclaim my treasure. 
 
 " I hoped to become something great one day; 
 I thought it would be when I got away. 
 To meet with the great in learning 
 Intensely my heart was yearning. 
 She taught me, she did, for she spoke a word : 
 ' The best gift of God's bestowing
 
 ARNE. 193 
 
 Is not to be called a distinguished lord, 
 But ever a man to be growing. 
 
 " I hoped to become something great one day ; 
 I thought it would be when I got away. 
 My home seemed so cold, neglected, 
 I felt like a stranger suspected. 
 When her I discovered, then love I did see 
 
 In every glance that found me; 
 Wherever I turned friends waited for me, 
 And life became new around me." 
 
 There came afterwards many a summer even- 
 ing walk, followed, by many a song. One of 
 these must be recorded : — 
 
 " The cause of this all is beyond my knowing; 
 No storm there has been and no floods have been flowing. 
 A sparkling and glittering brook, it would seem, 
 Has poured itself into the broader stream 
 Which constantly growing seeks the ocean. 
 
 " There is something we can from our lives not sever; 
 In need it is near and forsakes us never, — 
 A power that draws, a loving breast, 
 Which sadness, shyness, and all unrest 
 Can gather in peace in a bridal present. 
 
 " Could I but by spirits through life be attended, 
 As pure as the thought which has now me befriended ! 
 The ordering spirit of God it was. 
 He ruleth the world with sacred laws. 
 Toward goodness eternal I am progressing." 
 
 But perhaps none of them better expressed 
 his fervent gratitude than the following : — 
 
 13
 
 194 ARNE. 
 
 " The power that gave me my little song 
 
 Has caused that as rain has been my sadness, 
 And that as sunshine has been my gladness, 
 The spring-time wants of my soul along. 
 Whate'er betided 
 It did no harm ; 
 My song all guided 
 To love so warm. 
 
 " The power that gave me my little song 
 
 Has given me friendship for all that 's yearning. 
 For freedom's blessings my blood is burning; 
 The foe I am of every wrong. 
 I sought my station, 
 Spite every storm. 
 And found salvation 
 In love so warm. 
 
 " The power that gave me my little song 
 Must make me able to sing the others, 
 And now and then to make glad my brothers 
 Whom I may meet in the worldly throng, — 
 For there was never 
 A sweeter charm 
 Than singing ever 
 In love so warm."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was late in the autumn ; the harvesters 
 were at work housing the grain. The day was 
 clear, it had rained during the night ; and in 
 the morning, therefore, the air was as mild as 
 in summer-time. It was a Saturday, and yet 
 many boats were making their way across 
 Black Water toward the church; the men, in 
 their shirt sleeves, were rowing; the women 
 sat in the stern, with light-colored kerchiefs on 
 their heads. A still greater number of boats 
 were steering over to Boen, in order to move 
 away from there later in grand procession, for 
 on this day Baard Boen gave a wedding for his 
 daughter Eli and Arne Nils' son Kanrpen. 
 
 All the doors were open ; people were going 
 in and out ; children, with pieces of cake in 
 their hands, stood about the yard, afraid of 
 their new clothes, and looking shyly at one- 
 another; an old woman sat upon the store- 
 house steps alone, — it was Margit Kampen. 
 She wore a large silver ring, with several small 
 rings fastened to the upper silver plate; now
 
 196 ARNE. 
 
 and then she looked at it ; Nils had given it to 
 her the day of their wedding and she had never 
 worn it since. 
 
 The man who presided at the feast, and the 
 two young groomsmen, the priest's son and 
 Eli's brother, went about in the two or three 
 rooms, offering refreshments to the wedding 
 guests as they arrived to be present on this 
 great occasion. Up-stairs in Eli's room were 
 the bride, the priest's wife, and Mathilde, — 
 the last-named had come from town for the 
 sole purpose of decking the bride ; this the 
 girls had promised each other from their child- 
 hood. Arne — wearing a broadcloth suit, with 
 close-fitting roundabout and with a collar that 
 Eli had made — stood in one of the down-stairs 
 rooms by the window on which Eli had written 
 " Arne." 
 
 Outside in the passage two pei*sons met as 
 they came each from some duty of the day. 
 One of them was on his way from the landing- 
 place, where he had been helping to put the 
 church boats in order ; he wore a black broad- 
 cloth roundabout, with blue wadmal trousers, 
 whose dye rubbed off, so that his hands were 
 blue ; his white collar looked well with his fair 
 face and long light hair ; his high forehead was 
 calm ; about the mouth played a smile. It was
 
 ARNE. 197 
 
 Baard. Slie whom he met in the passage was 
 just coming from the kitchen. She was dressed 
 for church, was tall and slender, and walked 
 with a firm though hurried step through the 
 door. When she met Baard she paused, and 
 her mouth drew up to one side. It was Birgit, 
 his wife. Each had something to say, but it 
 only found expression through both standing 
 still. Baard was the most embarrassed of the 
 two ; he smiled more and more, but it was his 
 embarrassment that came to his aid, forcing 
 him to start up-stairs without further delay. 
 " Perhaps you will come too," he said, as he 
 passed, and Birgit followed him. Up-stairs in 
 the garret they were entirely alone ; yet Baard 
 locked the door after them, and he was a long 
 time about it. When finally he turned, Birgit 
 stood by the window gazing out ; it was in 
 order to avoid looking into the room. Baard 
 brought forth a small flask from his breast 
 pocket and a little silver cup. He wanted to 
 pour out some wine for his wife, but she would 
 not have any, although he assured her that it 
 was wine that had been sent from the parson- 
 age. Then he drank himself, but paused sev- 
 eral times to offer the cup to her. He corked 
 the flask, put both it and the cup away in his 
 breast-pocket again, and sat down on a chest.
 
 198 ARNE. 
 
 It very evidently pained him that his wife 
 would not drink with him. 
 
 He breathed heavily several times. Birgit 
 stood leaning with one hand against the win- 
 dow frame. Baard had something to say, but 
 now it seemed even harder to speak than be- 
 fore. 
 
 " Birgit ! " said he, " I dare say you are think- 
 ing of the same to-day that I am." 
 
 Then he heard her move from one side of the 
 window to the other, and again she leaned her 
 head on her arm. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you know who I mean. He it 
 was who parted us two. I thought it would 
 not go beyond the wedding, but it has lasted 
 much longer." 
 
 He heard her sigh, he saw her again change 
 her place ; but he did not see her face. He 
 himself was struggling so hard that he had to 
 wipe his face with his jacket sleeve. After a 
 long conflict he began again : " To-day a son 
 of his, well-educated and handsome, becomes 
 one of us, and to him we have given our only 
 daughter. Now, how would it be, Birgit, if we 
 two were to have our wedding to-day ? " 
 
 His voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. 
 Birgit, who had raised her head, now leaned it 
 on her arm again, but said nothing. Baard
 
 ARNE. 199 
 
 waited for some time ; he heard her breathe, 
 but he got no answer, — and he had nothing 
 further to say himself either. He looked up 
 and grew very pale ; for she did not even turn 
 her head. Then he rose. 
 
 At the same moment there was a gentle 
 knock at the door, and a soft voice asked, " Are 
 you coming, mother ? " It was Eli. There 
 was something in the tone that made Baard 
 involuntarily pause and glance at Birgit. Bir- 
 git also raised her head ; she looked towards 
 the door, and her eyes fell on Baard's pale face. 
 " Are you coming, mother ? " was once more 
 asked from without. 
 
 " Yes, I am coming now ! " said Birgit, in a 
 broken voice, as she firmly crossed the floor to 
 where Baard stood, gave him her hand, and 
 burst into the most passionate weeping. The 
 two hands met, they were both toil-worn now, 
 but they clasped as firmly as though they had 
 been seeking each other for twenty years. They 
 still clung together as they went toward the 
 door, and when a while later the bridal proces- 
 sion was passing down to the landing-place, 
 and Arne gave his hand to Eli to take the lead, 
 Baard, seeing it, took his wife by the hand, 
 contrary to all custom, and followed them, 
 smiling contentedly.
 
 200 ARNE. 
 
 Behind them, Margit Kampen walked alone, 
 as was her wont. 
 
 Baard was in high spirits that day ; he sat 
 talking with the rowers. One of these who 
 kept looking up at the mountains remarked, 
 that it was strange that even such a steep rock 
 could be clad. 
 
 " It must, whether it would or no," said 
 Baard, and his eyes wandered all along the 
 procession until they rested on the bridal pair 
 and his wife. " Who could have foretold this 
 twenty years ago ? " said he.
 
 EARLY TALES AND SKETCHES.
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE 
 CHURCHYARD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Knud Aakre belonged to an old family in 
 the parish, where it had always been renowned 
 for its intelligence and its devotion to the pub- 
 lic welfare. His father had worked his way up 
 to the priesthood, but had died early, and as 
 the widow came from a peasant stock, the chil- 
 dren were brought up as peasants. Knud had, 
 therefore, received only the education afforded 
 by the public schools of his day ; but his fa- 
 ther's library had early inspired him with a 
 love of knowledge. This was further stimu- 
 lated by his friend Henrik Wergeland, who 
 frequently visited him, sent him books, seeds, 
 and much valuable counsel. Following some 
 of the latter, Knud early founded a club, which 
 in the beginning had a very miscellaneous ob- 
 ject, for instance: " to give the members prac-'
 
 204 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 tice in debating and to study the constitution," 
 but which later was turned into a practical 
 agricultural society for the entire bailiwick. 
 According to Wergeland's advice, he also 
 founded a parish library, giving his father's 
 books as its first endowment. A suggestion 
 
 DC 
 
 from the same quarter led him to start a Sunday- 
 school on his garcl, for those who might wish to 
 learn writing, arithmetic, and history. All this 
 drew attention to him, so that he was elected 
 member of the parish board of supervisors, of 
 which he soon became chairman. In this ca- 
 pacity, he took a deep interest in the schools, 
 which he. brought into a remarkably good con- 
 dition. 
 
 Knud Aakre was a short man, brisk in his 
 movements, with small, restless eyes and very 
 disorderly hair. He had large lips, which were 
 in constant motion, and a row of splendid teeth 
 which always seemed to be working with them, 
 for they glistened while his words were snapped 
 out, crisp and clear, crackling like sparks from 
 a great fire. 
 
 Foremost among the many he had helped to 
 
 gain an education was his neighbor Lars Hog- 
 
 stad. Lars was not much younger than Knud, 
 
 but he had developed more slowly. Knud 
 
 •liked to talk about what he read and thought,
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 205 
 
 and he found in Lars, whose manner was quiet 
 and grave, a good listener, who by degrees 
 grew to be a man of excellent judgment. The 
 relations between them soon became such that 
 Knud was never willing to take any impor- 
 tant step without first consulting Lars Hog- 
 stad, and the matter on hand was thus likely 
 to gain some practical amendment. So Knud 
 drew his neighbor into the board of supervisors, 
 and gradually into everything in which he him- 
 self took part. They always drove together 
 to the meetings of the board, where Lars never 
 spoke ; but on the way back and forth Knud 
 learned his opinions. The two were looked 
 upon as inseparable. 
 
 One fine autumn day the board of supervisors 
 convened to consider, among other things, a 
 proposal from the bailiff to sell the parish grain 
 magazine and with the proceeds establish a 
 small savings-bank. Knud Aakre, the chair- 
 man, would undoubtedly have approved this 
 measure had he relied on his unbiased judg- 
 ment. But he was prejudiced, partly because 
 the proposal came from the bailiff, whom Wer- 
 geland did not like, and who was consequently 
 po favorite of Knud's either, and partly be- 
 cause the grain magazine had been built by hia
 
 20 G THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 influential paternal grandfather and by him 
 presented to the parish. Indeed, Knud was 
 rather inclined to view the proposition as a 
 personal insult, therefore he had not spoken of 
 it to any one, not even to Lars, and the latter 
 never entered on a topic that had not first been 
 set afloat by some one else. 
 
 As chairman, Knud Aakre read the proposal 
 without adding any comments; but, as was his 
 wont, his eyes sought Lars, who usually sat or 
 stood a little aside, holding a straw between his 
 teeth, — he always had one when he took part 
 in a conversation ; he either used it as a tooth- 
 pick, or he let it hang loosely in one corner of 
 his mouth, turning it more rapidly or more 
 slowly, according to the mood he was in. To 
 his surprise Knud saw that the straw was mov- 
 ing very fast. 
 
 " Do you think we should agree to this ? " 
 he asked, quickly. 
 
 Lars answered, dryly, — 
 
 " Yes, I do." 
 
 The whole board, feeling that Knud held 
 quite a different opinion, looked in astonishment 
 at Lars, but the latter said no more, nor was lie 
 further questioned. Knud turned to another 
 matter, as though nothing had transpired. Not 
 until the close of the meeting did he resume the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 207 
 
 subject, and then asked, with apparent indiffer- 
 ence, if it would not be well to send the propo- 
 sal back to the bailiff for further consideration, 
 as it certainly did not meet the views of the 
 people, for the parish valued the grain maga- 
 zine. No one replied. Knud asked whether he 
 should enter the resolution in the register, the 
 measure did not seem to be a wise one. 
 
 " Against one vote," added Lars. 
 
 " Against two," cried another, promptly. 
 
 " Against three," came from a third ; and be- 
 fore the chairman could realize what was taking 
 place, a majority had voted in favor of the pro- 
 posal. 
 
 Knud was so surprised that he forgot to offer 
 any opposition. He recorded the proceedings 
 and read, in a low voice : " The measure is rec- 
 ommended, — adjourned." 
 
 His face was fiei'y red as he rose and put up 
 the minute-book ; but he determined to bring 
 forward the question once more at the meeting 
 of the representatives. Out in the yard, he put 
 his horse to the wagon, and Lars came and took 
 his seat at his side. They discussed various 
 topics on their way home, but not the one they 
 had nearest at heart. 
 
 The next day Knud's wife sought Lars's wife 
 to inquire if there was anything wrong between
 
 208 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHUICHYARD. 
 
 the two men, for Knud had acted so strangely 
 when he came home. A short distance above 
 the gard buildings she met Lars's wife, who was 
 on her way to ask the same question, for her 
 husband, too, bad been out of sorts the day be- 
 fore. Lars's wife was a quiet, bashful person, 
 somewhat cowed, not by harsh words, but by 
 silence, for Lars never spoke to her unless she 
 had done something amiss, or he feared that 
 she might do wrong. Knud Aakre's wife, on the 
 other hand, talked more with her husband, and 
 particularly about the board, for lately it had 
 taken his thoughts, work, and affection away 
 from her and the children. She was as jealous 
 of it as of a woman ; she wept at night over the 
 board and quarreled with her husband about 
 it during the day. But for that ver}' reason 
 she could say nothing about it now when for 
 once he had returned home unhappy ; for she 
 immediately became more wretched than he, 
 and for her life she could not rest until she had 
 discovered what was the matter. Consequently, 
 when Lars's wife could not give her the desired 
 information, she had to go out in the parish to 
 seek it. Here she obtained it, and of course 
 was at once of her husband's opinion ; she found 
 Lars incomprehensible, not to say wicked. 
 When, however, she let her husband perceive
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 209 
 
 this, she felt that as yet there was no breach 
 between Lars and him ; that, on the contrary, 
 he clung warmly to him. 
 
 The representatives met. Lars Hogstad drove 
 over to Aakre in the morning ; Knud came out 
 of the house and took his seat beside him. 
 They exchanged the usual greetings, spoke 
 perhaps rather less than was their wont on the 
 way, and not of the proposal. All the mem- 
 bers of the board were present; some, too, had 
 found their way in as spectators, which Knud 
 did not like, for it showed that there was a 
 stir in town about the matter. Lars was armed 
 with his straw, and he stood by the stove warm- 
 ing himself, for the autumn was beginning to 
 be cold. The chairman read the proposal, in a 
 subdued, cautious manner, remarking when he 
 was through, that it must be remembered this 
 came from the bailiff, who was not apt to be 
 a ery felicitous in his propositions. The build- 
 ing, it was well known, was a gift, and it is not 
 customary to part with gifts, least of all when 
 there is no need of doing so. 
 
 Lars, who never before had spoken at the 
 meetings, now took the floor, to the astonish- 
 ment of all. His voice trembled, but whether 
 it did so out of regard for Knud, or from anxiety 
 lest his own cause should be lost, shall remain 
 14
 
 210 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 unsaid. But his arguments were good and 
 plear, and full of a logic and confidence which 
 had scarcely been heard at these meetings be- 
 fore. And when he had gone over all the 
 ground, he added, in conclusion : — 
 
 " What does it matter if the proposal does 
 come from the bailiff? This affects the ques- 
 tion as little as who erected the building, or in 
 what way it came into the public possession." 
 
 Knud Aakre had grown very red in the face 
 (he blushed easily), and he shifted uneasily 
 from side to side, as was his wont when he was 
 impatient, but none the less did he exert him- 
 self to be circumspect and to speak in a low 
 voice. There were savings-banks enough in the 
 country, he thought, and quite near at hand, 
 he might almost say too near. But if, after all, 
 it was deemed expedient to have one, there 
 were surely other wa}'S of reaching it than those 
 hading over the gifts of the dead and the love 
 of the living. His voice was a little unsteady 
 when he said this, but quickly recovered as he 
 proceeded to speak of the grain magazine in it- 
 self, and to show what its advantages were. 
 
 Lars answered him thoroughly on the last 
 point, and then added, — 
 
 " However, one thing and another lead me to 
 doubt whether this parish is managed for the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 211 
 
 sake of the living or the dead ; furthermore, 
 ■whether it is the love and hatred of a single 
 family which controls matters here, or the good 
 of the whole." 
 
 Knud answered quickly, — 
 
 " I do not know whether he who has just 
 spoken has been least benefited by this family, 
 — both by the dead and by him who now 
 lives." 
 
 The first shot was aimed at the fact thai 
 Knud's powerful grandfather had saved the 
 gard for Lars's paternal grandfather, when the 
 latter, on his part, was absent on a little excur- 
 sion to the penitentiary. 
 
 The straw which long had been in brisk mo- 
 tion, suddenly became still. 
 
 " It is not my way to keep talking every- 
 where about myself and my family," said Lars, 
 then turned again with calm superiority to the 
 subject under discussion, briefly reviewing all 
 the points with one definite object. Knud had 
 to admit to himself that he had never viewed 
 the matter from such a broad standpoint ; in- 
 voluntarily he raised his eyes and looked at 
 Lars, who stood before him, tall, heavily built, 
 with clearness on the vigorous brow and in the 
 deep eyes. The lips were tightly compressed, 
 the straw still played in the corner of his
 
 212 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 mouth ; all the surrounding lines indicated 
 vigor. He kept his hands behind him, and 
 stood rigidly erect, while his voice was as deep 
 and as hollow as if it proceeded from the 
 depths of the earth. For the first time in his 
 life Knud saw him as he was, and in his inmost 
 soul he was afraid of him ; for this man must 
 always have been his superior. He had taken 
 all Knud himself knew and could impart ; he 
 had rejected the tares and retained what had 
 produced this strong, hidden growth. 
 
 He had been fostered and loved by Knud, 
 but had now become a giant who hated Knud 
 deeply, terribly. Knud could not explain to 
 himself why, but as he looked at Lars he in- 
 stinctively felt this to be so, and all else becom- 
 ing swallowed up in this thought he started 
 up, exclaiming, — 
 
 " But Lars ! Lars ! what in Heaven's name 
 is the matter with you?" His agitation over- 
 came him, — "you, whom I have — you who 
 have " — 
 
 Powerless to utter another word, he sat 
 down ; but in his effort to gain the mastery 
 over the emotion he deemed Lars unworthy of 
 seeing, lie brought his fist down with violence 
 on the table, while his eyes flashed beneath his 
 stiff, disorderly hair, which always hung over
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 213 
 
 them. Lars acted as if lie had not been inter- 
 rupted, and turning toward the others he asked 
 if this was to be the decisive blow ; for if such 
 were the case there was no need for further re- 
 marks. 
 
 This calmness was more than Knud could 
 endure. 
 
 " What is it that has come among us ? " cried 
 he. " We who have, until to-day, been actu- 
 ated by love and zeal alone, are now stirred up 
 against each other, as though goaded on by 
 some evil spirit," and he cast a fiery glance at 
 Lars, who replied, — 
 
 " It must be you yourself who bring in this 
 spirit, Knud ; for I have kept strictly to the 
 matter before us. But you never can see the 
 advantage of anything you do not want your- 
 self ; now we shall learn what becomes of the 
 love and the zeal when once this matter is de- 
 cided as we wish." 
 
 " Have I then illy served the interests of the 
 parish? " 
 
 There was no reply. This grieved Knud, 
 and he continued, — 
 
 " I really did persuade myself that I had 
 accomplished various things — various things 
 which have been of advantage to the parish; 
 but perhaps I have deceived myself."
 
 214 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 He was again overcome by his feelings ; for 
 his was a fiery nature, ever variable in its 
 moods, and the breach with Lars pained him 
 so deeply that he could scarcely control him- 
 self. Lars answered, — 
 
 " Yes, I know you appropriate the credit for 
 all that is done here, and if one should judge 
 by the amount of speaking at these meetings, 
 you certainly have accomplished the most." 
 
 " Is that the way of it ? " shouted Knud, 
 looking sharply at Lars. "It is you who de- 
 serve the entire honor ? " 
 
 " Since we must finally talk about ourselves," 
 said Lars, "I am free to admit that every ques- 
 tion has been carefully considered by both of 
 us before it was introduced here." 
 
 Here little Knud Aakre regained his ready 
 speech : — 
 
 " Take the honor, in God's name ; I am 
 quite able to live without it ; there are other 
 things that are harder to lose ! " 
 
 Involuntarily Lars evaded his gaze, but said, 
 as he set the straw in very rapid motion, — 
 
 " If I were to express my opinion, I should 
 say that there is not very much to take credit 
 for. No doubt the priest and the school-mas- 
 ters are content with what has lien done ; hut 
 certainly the common people say that up to the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 215 
 
 present time the taxes of this parish have grown 
 heavier and heavier." 
 
 Here arose a murmur in the crowd, and the 
 people grew very restless. Lars continued, — 
 
 " Finally, to-day we have a matter brought 
 before us that might make the parish some lit- 
 tle amends for all it has paid out ; this is per- 
 haps the reason why it encounters such opposi- 
 tion. This is a question which concerns the 
 parish ; it is for the welfare of all ; it is our 
 duty to protect it from becoming a mere family 
 matter." 
 
 People exchanged glances, and spoke in half- 
 audible tones ; one of them remarked, as he 
 rose to go for his dinner-pail, that these were 
 the truest words he had heard in these meetings 
 for many years. Now all rose from their seats, 
 the conversation became general, and Knud 
 Aakre, who alone remained sitting, felt that all 
 was lost, fearfully lost, and made no further ef- 
 fort to save it. The truth was, he possessed 
 something of the temperament attributed to 
 Frenchmen : he was very good at a first, sec- 
 ond, or even third attack, but poor at self-de- 
 fense, for his sensibilities overwhelmed his 
 thoughts. 
 
 He was unable to comprehend this, nor could 
 he sit still any longer, and so resigning his
 
 216 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 place to the vice-chairman, he left. The others 
 could not refrain from a smile. 
 
 He had come to the meeting in company with 
 Lars, but went home alone, although, the way 
 was long. It was a cold autumn day, the forest 
 was jagged and bare, the meadow gray-yellow, 
 frost was beginning here and there to remain 
 on the road-side. Disappointment is a terrible 
 companion. Knud felt so small, so desolate, as 
 he walked along ; but Lars appeared every- 
 where before him, towering up to the sky, in 
 the dusk of the evening, like a giant. It vexed 
 him to think it was his own fault that this had 
 been the decisive battle ; he had staked too much 
 on one single little issue. But surprise, pain, 
 anger, had mastered him ; they still burned, 
 tingled, moaned, and stormed within him. He 
 heard the rumbling of cart-wheels behind him ; 
 il was Lars driving his superb horse past him, 
 in ;i brisk trot, making the hard road resound 
 like distanl thunder. Knud watched the broad- 
 shouldered form that sat erect in the cart, while 
 the horse, eager for home, sped onward, with- 
 out any effort on the part of Lars, who merely 
 gave him a loose rein. It was but a picture of 
 this man's power: he was driving onward to 
 the goal! Knud felt himself cast out of his 
 cart, to stagger on alone in the chill autumn air.
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. £17 
 
 In his home at Aakre Knud's wife was wait- 
 ing for him. She knew that a battle was inevit- 
 ble; she had never in her life trusted Lavs, and 
 now she was positively afraid of him. It had 
 been no comfort to her that he and her husband 
 had driven away together ; it would not have 
 consoled her bad they returned in the same way. 
 But darkness had fallen and they had not come. 
 She stood in the doorway, gazing out on the 
 road in front of the house ; she walked down the 
 hill and back again, but no cart appeared. 
 
 Finally she hears a rattling on the hard 
 road, her heart throbs as the wheels go round, 
 she clings to the casement, peering out into the 
 night ; the cart draws near ; only one is in it ; 
 she recognizes Lars, who sees and recognizes 
 her, but drives past without stopping. Now she 
 became thoroughly alarmed. Her limbs gave 
 way under her, she tottered in and sank down 
 on the bench by the window. The children 
 gathered anxiously about her, the youngest one 
 asked for papa ; she never spoke with them but 
 of him. He had such a noble disposition, and 
 this was what made her love him ; but now his 
 heart was not with his family, it was engrossed 
 in all sorts of business which brought him only 
 unhappiness, and consequently they were all 
 unhappy.
 
 218 THE EAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 If only no misfortune had befallen him ! 
 Knud was so hot-tempered. Why had Lars 
 com?, home alone ? Why did he not stop ? 
 Should she run after him, or down the road 
 after her husband ? She was in an agony of dis- 
 tress, and the children pressed around her, ask' 
 ing what was the matter. But this she would 
 not tell them, so rising she said they must eat 
 supper alone, then got everything ready and 
 helped them. All the while she kept glancing 
 out on the road. He did not come. She un- 
 dressed the children and put them to bed, and 
 the youngest repeated the evening prayer while 
 she bowed over him. She herself prayed with 
 such fervor in the words which the. infant lips 
 so soothingty uttered that she did not heed the 
 steps outside. 
 
 Knud stood upon the threshold, gazing at his 
 little company at prayer. The mother drew 
 herself up ; all the children shouted : " Papa ! " 
 but he seated himself at once, and said, softly : 
 
 " Oh, let him say it once more ! " 
 
 The mother turned again to the bedside, that 
 he, meanwhile, should not see her face, for it 
 would have seemed like intruding on his grief 
 before he felt the need of revealing it. The 
 little one folded its hands over its hreast, all 
 the rest did likewise, and it repeated, —
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 219 
 
 "I, a little child, pray Heaven 
 That my sins may be forgiven, 
 With time I '11 larger, wiser grow, 
 And my father and mother joy shall know, 
 If only Thou, dearest, dearest Lord, 
 Will help me to keep Thy precious word ! 
 And now to our Heavenly Father's merciful keeping 
 Our souls let us trust while we 're sleeping." 
 
 What peace now fell upon the room ! Not a 
 minute had elapsed ere all the children were 
 sleeping as in the arms of God ; but the mother 
 moved softly away and placed supper before 
 the father, who was, however, unable to eat. 
 But after he had gone to bed, he said, — 
 " Henceforth I shall be at home." 
 And his wife lay at his side trembling with 
 joy which she dared not betray ; and she 
 thanked God for all that had happened, for 
 whatever it might be it had resulted in good ! 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In the course of a year Lars had become 
 chairman of the parish board of supervisors, pres- 
 ident of the savings-bank, and leading commis- 
 sioner in the court of reconciliation ; in short, 
 he held every office to which his election had 
 been possible. In the board of supervisors for
 
 220 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 the amt (county) he was silent during the first 
 year, but the second year he created the same 
 sensation when he spoke as in the parish board ; 
 for here, too, coming forward in opposition to 
 him who had previously been the guiding 
 power, he became victorious over the entire 
 rank and file and was from that time himself 
 the leader. From this his path led him to the 
 storthing (parliament), where his fame had 
 preceded him, and where consequently there 
 was no lack of challenges. But here, although 
 steady and firm, he always remained retiring. 
 He did not care for power except where he was 
 well known, nor would he endanger his leader- 
 ship at home by a possible defeat abroad. 
 
 For he had a pleasant life at home. When 
 he stood by the church wall on Sundays, and 
 the congregation walked slowly past, saluting 
 him and stealing side glances at him, and one 
 after another paused in order to exchange a 
 few words with him, — then truly it might be 
 said that he controlled the entire parish with a 
 straw, for of course this hung in the corner of 
 his mouth. 
 
 He deserved his honors. The road leading 
 to the church, he had opened ; the new church 
 they were standing beside, he had built ; this 
 and much more was the fruit of the savings-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 221 
 
 bank which he had founded and now managed 
 himself. For its resources were further made 
 fruitful, and the parish was constantly held up 
 as an example to all others of self-management 
 and good order. 
 
 Knud Aakre had entirely withdrawn from 
 the field, although at first he attended a few 
 of the meetings of the board, because he had 
 promised himself that he would continue to of- 
 fer his services, even if it were not altogether 
 pleasing to his pride. In the first proposal 
 he had made, he became so greatly perplexed 
 by Lars, who insisted upon having it repre- 
 sented in all its details, that, somewhat hurt, 
 he said: "When Columbus discovered America 
 he did not have it divided into parishes and 
 deaneries ; this came gradually ; " whereupon 
 Lars, in his reply, compared the discovery of 
 America with Knud's proposal, — it so hap- 
 pened that this treated of stable improvements, 
 — and afterwards Knud was known by no other 
 name in the board than " Discovery of Amer- 
 ica." So Knud thought that as his usefulness 
 had ceased, so too had his obligations to work, 
 and he refused to accept further reelections. 
 
 But he continued to be industrious; and in 
 order that he might still have a field for use- 
 fulness, he enlarged his Sunday-school, and
 
 222 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 placed it, by means of small contributions from 
 the attendants, in communication with the 
 mission cause, of which he soon became the 
 centre and leader in his own and the surround- 
 ing counties. Thereupon Lars Hogstad re- 
 marked, that if ever Knud undertook to collect 
 money for any purpose, he must know before- 
 hand that it was to do good thousands of miles 
 from home. 
 
 There was, be it observed, no more strife 
 between them. To be sure, they no longer 
 associated with each other, but they bowed and 
 spoke when they met. Knud always felt a 
 little pain at the mere thought of Lars, but 
 strove to suppress it, and persuade himself 
 that matters could not have been otherwise. 
 At a large wedding-party, many years after- 
 ward, where both were present and both were 
 in good spirits, Knud mounted a chair and pro- 
 posed a toast for the chairman of the parish 
 board, and the first representative their amt 
 had sent to the storthing! He spoke until 
 he became deeply moved, and, as usual, ex- 
 pressed himself in an exceedingly handsome 
 way. Every one thonghl it was honorably 
 done, and Lars came up to him, and his 
 was unsteady as he said that for much of what 
 he knew and was he. was indebted tn lini.
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 223 
 
 At the next election of the board of super- 
 visors Knud was again made chairman ! 
 
 But had Lars Hogstad foreseen what now 
 followed, he would certainly not have used his 
 influence for this. "Every event happens in its 
 own time," says an old proverb, and just as 
 Knud Aakre again entered the board, the best 
 men of the parish were threatened with ruin, 
 as the result of a speculation craze which had 
 long been raging, but which now first began to 
 demand its victims. It was said that Lars Hog- 
 stad was the cause of this great disaster, for he 
 had taught the parish to speculate. This penny 
 fever had originated in the parish board of 
 supervisors, for the board itself was the great- 
 est speculator of all. Every one down to the 
 laboring youth of twenty years desired in his 
 transactions to make ten dollars out of one ; a 
 beginning of extreme avarice in the efforts to 
 hoard, was followed by an excessive extrava- 
 gance, and as all minds vjere bent only on mon- 
 ey, there had at the same time developed a 
 spirit of suspicion, of intolerance, of caviling, 
 which resulted in lawsuits and hatred. This 
 also was due to the example of the board, it 
 was said, for among the first things Lars had 
 done as chairman was to sue the venerable old 
 priest for holding doubtful titles. The priest
 
 224 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 had lost, but had also immediately resigned. 
 At that time some had praised, some censured 
 this suit ; but it had proved a bad example. 
 Now came the consequences of Lars's manage- 
 ment, in the form of loss to every single man 
 of property in the parish, consequently public 
 opinion underwent a sharp change ! The op- 
 posing force, too, soon found a leader, for Knud 
 Aakre had come into the board, introduced 
 there by Lars himself! 
 
 The struggle began forthwith. All those 
 youths to whom Knud in his time had given 
 instructions, were now grown up and were the 
 most enlightened men in the parish, thorough- 
 ly at home in all its transactions and public 
 affairs. It was against these men that Lars 
 now had to contend, and they had borne him a 
 grudge from their childhood up. When of an 
 evening after one of these stormy proceedings 
 he stood on the steps in front of his house, gaz- 
 ing over the parish, he could hear a sound as 
 of distant rumbling thunder rising toward him 
 from the large gards, now lying in the storm. 
 He knew that the day they met their ruin, 
 the savings-bank and himself would be over- 
 thrown, and all his long efforts would culminate 
 in imprecations heaped on his head. 
 
 In these days of conflict and despair, a party
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 22.5 
 
 of railroad commissioners, who were to survey 
 the route for a new road, made their appear- 
 ance one evening at Hogstad, the first gard at 
 the entrance to the parish. In the course of 
 conversation during the evening, Lars learned 
 that there was a question whether the road 
 should run through this valley or another par- 
 allel to it. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning it darted through 
 his mind that if he could succeed in having it 
 laid here, all property would rise in value, and 
 not only would he himself be saved but his fame 
 would be transmitted to the latest posterity ! 
 He could not sleep that night, for his eyes were 
 dazzled by a glowing light, and sometimes he 
 could even hear the sound of the cars. The 
 next day he went himself with the commis- 
 sioners while they examined the locality ; his 
 horse took them, and to his gard they returned. 
 The next day they drove through the other 
 valley ; he was still with them, and he drove 
 them back again to his house. They found a 
 brilliant illumination at Hogstad ; the first men 
 of the parish had been invited to be present at 
 a magnificent party given in honor of the 
 commissioners ; it lasted until morning. But 
 to no avail, for the nearer they came to a final 
 issue, the more plainly it appeared that the 
 
 15
 
 226 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 road could not pass through this locality with- 
 out undue expense. The entrance to the valley 
 lay through a narrow gorge, and just as it 
 swung into the parish, the swollen river swung 
 in also, so that the railroad would either have 
 to take the same curve along the mountain that 
 the highway now made, thus running at a 
 needlessly high altitude and crossing the river 
 twice, or it would have to run straight for- 
 ward, and thus through the old, now unused 
 churchyard. Now the church had but recently 
 been removed, and it was not long since the 
 last burial had taken place there. 
 
 If it only depended on a bit of old churchyard, 
 thought Lars, whether or not this great blessing 
 came into the parish, then he must use his 
 name and his energy for the removal of this 
 obstacle ! He at once set forth on a visit to the 
 priest and the dean, and furthermore to the 
 diocese council ; he talked and he negotiated, 
 for he was armed with all possible facts con- 
 cerning the immense advantage of the railroad 
 on one hand, and the sentiments of the parish 
 on the other, and actually succeeded in winning 
 all parties. It was promised him that by a re- 
 moval of part of the bodies to the new church- 
 yard the objections might be considered set 
 aside, and the royal permission obtained for the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 227 
 
 churchyard to be taken for the line of railroad. 
 It was told hirn that nothing was now needed 
 but for him to set the question afloat in the 
 board of supervisors. 
 
 The parish had grown as excited as himself : 
 the spirit of speculation which for many years 
 had been the only one prevailing in the parish, 
 now became madly jubilant. There was nothing 
 spoken or thought of but Lars's journey and its 
 possible results. When he returned with the 
 most magnificent promises, they made much of 
 him ; songs were sung in his praise ; indeed, if 
 at that time the largest gards had gone to de- 
 struction, one after another, no one would have 
 paid the slightest attention to it : the specula- 
 tion craze had given way to the railroad craze. 
 
 The board of supervisors assembled : there 
 was presented for approval a respectful petition, 
 that the old churchyard might be appropriated 
 as the route of the railroad. This was unan 
 imously adopted ; there was even mention of 
 giving Lars a vote of thanks and a coffee-pot 
 in the form of a locomotive. But it was finally 
 thought best to wait until the whole plan was 
 tarried into execution. The petition came back 
 from the diocese council, with a demand for a 
 list of all bodies that would have to be re- 
 moved. The priest made out such a list, but in-
 
 228 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 stead of sending it direct, be had his own reasons 
 for sending it through the parish board. One 
 of the members carried it to the next meeting. 
 Here it fell to the lot of Lars, as chairman, to 
 open the envelope and read the list. 
 
 Now it chanced that the first body to be dis- 
 interred was that of Lars's own grandfather! A 
 little shudder ran through the assembly! Lars 
 himself was startled, but nevertheless continued 
 to read. Then it furthermore chanced that the 
 second body was that of Knud Aakre's grand- 
 father, for these two men had died within a 
 short time of each other. Knud Aakre sprang 
 from his seat; Lars paused ; every one looked 
 up in consternation, for old Knud Aakre had 
 been the benefactor of the parish and its best 
 beloved man, time out of mind. There was a 
 dead silence, which lasted for some minutes. At 
 last Lars cleared his throat and went on read- 
 ing. But the further he proceeded the worse 
 the matter grew; for the nearer they came to 
 their own time, the dearer were the dead. 
 When he had finished, Knud Aakre asked 
 quietly whether the others did not agree with 
 him in thinking that the air about them was 
 filled with spirits. It was just beginning to 
 grow dark in the room, and although they were 
 mature men and were sitting in numbers to-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 229 
 
 gether, they could not refrain from feeling 
 alarmed. Lars produced a bundle of matches 
 from his pocket and struck a light, dryly re- 
 marking, that this was no more than they knew 
 beforehand. 
 
 "Yes, it is," said Knud pacing the floor, "it 
 is more than I knew before. Now I begin to 
 think that even railroads can be purchased too 
 dearly." 
 
 These words sent a quiver through the au- 
 dience, and observing that they had better 
 further consider the matter, Knud made a mo- 
 tion to that effect. 
 
 " In the excitement which had prevailed," he 
 said, " the benefit likely to be derived from the 
 road had been overestimated. Even if the rail- 
 road did not pass through this parish, there 
 would have to be stations at both ends of the 
 valley ; true, it would always be a little more 
 troublesome to drive to them than to a station 
 right in our midst ; yet the difficulty would not 
 be so very great that it would be necessary be- 
 cause of it to violate the repose of the dead." 
 
 Knud was one of those who when his 
 thoughts were once in rapid motion could pre- 
 sent the most convincing arguments ; a mo- 
 ment before what he now said had not occurred 
 to his mind, nevertheless it struck home to all.
 
 230 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Lars felt the danger of his position, and con- 
 cluding that it was best to be cautious, ap- 
 parently acquiesced in Knud's proposition to 
 reconsider. Such emotions are always woi'se 
 in the beginning, he thought ; it is wisest to 
 temporize with them. 
 
 But he had miscalculated. In ever increas- 
 ing waves the dread of touching the dead of 
 their own families swept over the inhabitants 
 of the parish ; what none of them had thought 
 of as long as the matter existed merely in the 
 abstract, now became a serious question when it 
 was brought home to themselves. The women 
 especially were excited, and the road near the 
 court-house was black with people the day of 
 the next meeting. It was a warm summer day, 
 the windows were removed, and there were as 
 many without the house as within. All felt 
 that a great battle was about to be fought. 
 
 Lars came driving up with his handsome 
 horse, and was greeted by all ; he looked calmly 
 and confidently around, not seeming to be sur- 
 prised at anything. He took a seat near the 
 window, found his straw, and a suspicion of a 
 smile played over his keen face as he saw Knud 
 Aakre rise to his feet to act as spokesman for 
 all the dead in the old Hogstad churchyard. 
 
 But Knud Aakre did not begin with the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 231 
 
 churchyard. He began with an accurate exposi- 
 tion of how greatly the profits likely to accrue 
 from having the railroad run through the par- 
 ish had been overestimated in all this turmoil. 
 He had positive proofs for every statement he 
 made, for he had calculated the distance of each 
 gard from the nearest station, and finally he 
 asked, — 
 
 " Why has there been so much ado about 
 this railroad, if not in behalf of the parish ? " 
 
 This he could easily explain to them. There 
 were those who had occasioned so great a dis- 
 turbance that a still greater one was required to 
 conceal it. Moreover, there were those who in 
 the first outburst of excitement could sell their 
 gards and belongings to strangers who were 
 foolish enough to purchase. It was a shameful 
 speculation which not only the living but the 
 dead must serve to promote ! 
 
 The effect of his address was very consid- 
 erable. But Lars had once for all resolved to 
 preserve his composure let come what would. 
 He replied, therefore, with a smile, that he had 
 been under the impression that Knud himself 
 was eager for the railroad, and certainly no one 
 would accuse him of having any knowledge of 
 speculation. (Here followed a little laugh.) 
 Knud had not evinced the slightest objection to
 
 232 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 the removal of the bodies of common people for 
 the sake of the railroad ; but when his own 
 grandfather's body was in question then it sud- 
 denly affected the welfare of the whole com- 
 munity ! He said no more, but looked with a 
 faint smile at Knud, as did also sevei'al others. 
 Meanwhile, Knud Aakre surprised both him 
 and them by replying : — 
 
 " I confess it ; I did not comprehend the 
 matter until it touched my own family feel- 
 ings ; it is possible that this may be a shame, 
 but it would have been a far greater one not 
 to have realized it at last — as is the case with 
 Lars ! Never," he concluded, " could this rail- 
 lery have been more out of place ; for to peo- 
 ple with common decency the whole affair is 
 absolutely revolting." 
 
 " This feeling is something that has come up 
 quite recently," replied Lars, " we may there- 
 fore hope that it will soon pass over again. 
 May it not perhaps help the matter a little to 
 think what the priest, dean, diocese council, en- 
 gineers, and government will all say if we first 
 unanimously set the ball in motion, then come 
 and beg to have it stopped ? If we first are 
 jubilant and sing songs, then weep and deliver 
 funeral orations ? If they do not say that we 
 have gone mad in this parish, they must at all
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 233 
 
 events say that we have acted rather strangely 
 of late." 
 
 " Yes, God knows, they may well think so ! " 
 replied Knud. " We have, indeed, acted very 
 strangely of late, and it is high time for us to 
 mend our ways. Things have come to a serious 
 pass when we can each disinter his own grand- 
 father to make way for a railroad ; when we 
 can disturb the resting-place of the dead in 
 order that our own burdens may the more 
 easily be carried. For is not this rooting in our 
 churchyard in order to make it yield us food 
 the same thing ? What is buried there in the 
 name of Jesus, we take up in Moloch's name 
 — this is but little better than eating the bones 
 of our ancestors." 
 
 " Such is the course of nature," said Lars, 
 dryly. 
 
 "Yes, of plants and of animals." 
 
 " And are not we animals ? " 
 
 " We are, but also the children of the living 
 God, who have buried our dead in faith in 
 Him : it is He who shall rouse them and not 
 we." 
 
 " Oh, you are talking idly ! Are we not 
 obliged to have the graves dug up at any rate, 
 when their turn comes? What harm is there 
 vn having it happen a few years earlier ? "
 
 234 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 " I will tell you. What was born of them 
 still draws the breath of life ; what they built 
 up yet remains ; what they loved, taught, and 
 suffered for, lives about us and within us ; and 
 should we not allow them to rest in peace ? " 
 
 " Your warmth shows me that you are think- 
 ing of your own grandfather again," replied 
 Lars, " and I must say it seems to me high time 
 the parish should be rid of him. He monopo- 
 lized too much space while he lived ; and so it 
 is scarcely worth while to have him lie in the 
 way now that he is dead. Should his corpse 
 prevent a blessing to this parish that would ex- 
 tend through a hundred generations, we may 
 truly say that of all who have been born here, 
 he has done us the greatest harm." 
 
 Knud Aakre tossed back his disorderly hair, 
 his eyes flashed, his whole person looked like a 
 bent steel spring. 
 
 " How much of a blessing what you are 
 speaking about may be, I have already shown. 
 It has the same character as all the other bless- 
 ings with which you have supplied the parish, 
 namely, a doubtful one. It is true, you have 
 provided us with a new church, but you have 
 also filled it with a new spirit, — and it is not 
 that of love. True, you have furnished us with 
 new roads, but also with new roads to de-
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 235 
 
 struction, as is now plainly manifest in the mis- 
 fortunes of many. True, you have diminished 
 our public taxes, but you have increased our 
 private ones ; lawsuits, promissory notes, and 
 bankruptcies are no fruitful gifts to a commu- 
 nity. And you dare dishonor in his grave the 
 man whom the whole parish blesses? You dare 
 assert that he lies in our way ; aye, no doubt 
 he does lie in your way, this is plain enough 
 now, for his grave will be the cause of your 
 downfall ! The spirit which has reigned over 
 you, and until to-day over us all, was not born 
 to rule but to enter into servitude. The church- 
 yard will surely be allowed to remain in peace ; 
 but to-day it shall have one grave added to 
 it, namely, that of your popularity which is now 
 to be buried there." 
 
 Lars Hogstad rose, white as a sheet ; his lips 
 parted, but he was unable to utter a word, and 
 the straw fell. After three or four vain efforts 
 to find it again and recover his powers of speech, 
 he burst forth like a volcano with, — 
 
 " And so these are the thanks I get for all 
 my toil and drudgery ! If such a woman- 
 preacher is to be allowed to rule — why, then, 
 may the devil be your chairman if ever I set 
 my foot here again ! I have kept things to- 
 gether until this day, and after me your trash
 
 236 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 will fall into a thousand pieces, but let it turn 
 ble down now — here is the register ! " And he 
 flung it on the table. " Shame on such an 
 assembly of old women and brats ! " Here he 
 struck the table with great violence. " Shame 
 on the whole parish that it can see a man re- 
 warded as I am now." 
 
 He brought down his fist once more with 
 such force that the great court-house table 
 shook, and the inkstand with its entire con- 
 tents tumbled to the floor, marking for all 
 future generations the spot where Lars Hogstad 
 fell in spite of all his prudence, his long rule, 
 and his patience. 
 
 He rushed to the door and in a few moments 
 had left the place. The entire assembly re- 
 mained motionless ; for the might of his voice 
 and of his wrath had frightened them, until 
 Knud Aakre, remembering the taunt he had 
 received at the time of his fall, with beaming 
 countenance and imitating Lars's voice, ex- 
 claimed : — 
 
 " Is this to be the decisive blow in the 
 matter ? " 
 
 The whole assembly burst into peals of mer- 
 riment at these words ! The solemn meeting 
 ended in laughter, talk, and high glee ; only a 
 few left the place, those remaining behind
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 237 
 
 called for drink to add to their food, and a night 
 of thunder succeeded a day of lightning. Every- 
 one felt as happy and independent as of yore, 
 ere the commanding spirit of Lars had cowed 
 their souls into dumb obedience. They drank 
 toasts to their freedom ; they sang, indeed, 
 finally they danced, Knud Aakre and the vice- 
 chairman taking the lead and all the rest fol- 
 lowing, while boys and girls joined in, and 
 the young folks outside shouted "Hurrah ! " for 
 such a jollification they had never before seen ! 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Lars moved about in the large rooms at Hog- 
 stad, without speaking a word. His wife, who 
 loved him, but always in fear and trembling, 
 dared not come into his presence. The man- 
 agement of the gard and of the house might be 
 carried on as best it could, while on the other 
 hand there kept growing a multitude of letters, 
 which passed back and forth between Hogstad 
 and the parish, and Hogstad and the post-office ; 
 for Lars had claims against the parish board, 
 and these not being satisfied he prosecuted ;
 
 238 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 against the savings-bank, which were also un- 
 satisfied, and so resulted in another suit. He 
 took offense at expressions in the letters he 
 received and went to law again, now against 
 the chairman of the parish board, now against 
 the president of the savings-bank. At the same 
 time there were dreadful articles in the news- 
 papers, which report attributed to him, and 
 which were the cause of great dissension in 
 the parish, inciting neighbor against neighbor 
 Sometimes he was absent whole weeks, no one 
 knew where, and when lie returned he lived as 
 secluded as before. At church he had not been 
 seen after the great scene at the representa- 
 tives' meeting. 
 
 Then one Saturday evening the priest brought 
 tidings that the railroad was to run through 
 the parish after all, and across the old church- 
 yard! It struck like lightning into every 
 home. The unanimous opposition of the par- 
 ish board had been in vain, Lars Hogstad's 
 influence had been stronger. This was the 
 inclining of his journeys, this was his work ! 
 Involuntary admiration of the man and his 
 stubborn persistence tended to suppress the 
 dissatisfaction of the people at their own defeat, 
 and the more they discussed the matter the 
 more reconciled they became ; for a fact accom
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 239 
 
 plished always contains within itself reasons 
 why it is so, which gradually force themselves 
 upon us after there is no longer possibility 
 of change. The people assembled about the 
 church the next day, and they could not help 
 laughing as they met one another. And just 
 as the wjiole congregation, young and old, men 
 and women, aye, even children, were all talking 
 about Lars Hb'gstad, his ability, his rigorous 
 will, his immense influence, he himself with 
 his whole household came driving up in four 
 conveyances, one after the other. It was two 
 years since his last visit there ! He alighted 
 and passed through the crowd, while all, as by 
 one impulse, unhesitatingly greeted him, but he 
 did not deign to bestow a glance on either side, 
 nor to return a single salutation. His little 
 wife, pale as death, followed him. Inside of 
 the church, the astonishment grew to such a 
 pitch that as one after another caught sight of 
 him they stopped singing and only stared at 
 him. Knud Aakre, who sat in his pew in front 
 of Lars, noticed that there was something the 
 matter, and as he perceived nothing remarkable 
 in front of him, he turned round. He saw Lars 
 bowed over his hymn-book, searching for the 
 place. 
 
 He had not seen him since that evening at
 
 240 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 the meeting, and such a complete change he 
 had not believed possible. For this was no 
 victor! The thin, soft hair was thinner than 
 ever, the face was haggard and emaciated, the 
 eyes hollow and bloodshot, the giant neck had 
 dwindled into wrinkles and cords. Knud com- 
 prehended at a glance what this man had gone 
 through ; he was seized with a feeling of strong 
 sympathy, indeed, he felt something of the old 
 love stirring within his breast. He prayed for 
 Lars to his God, and made a resolute vow that 
 he would seek him after service ; but Lars had 
 started on ahead. Knud resolved to call on 
 him that evening. His wife, however, held him 
 back. 
 
 " Lars is one of those," said she, " who can 
 scarcely bear a debt of gratitude : keep away 
 from him until he has an opportunity to do 
 you some favor, and then perhaps he will come 
 to you!" 
 
 But he did not come. Pie appeared now and 
 then at church, but nowhere else, and he as- 
 sociated with no one. On the other hand, he 
 now devoted himself to his gard and other busi- 
 ness with the passionate zeal of one who had 
 determined to make amends in one year for the 
 neglect of many ; and, indeed, there were those 
 who said that this was imperative.
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 241 
 
 Bailroad operations in the valley began very- 
 soon. As the line was to go directly past Lars's 
 gard, he tore down the portion of his house 
 that faced the road, in order to build a large 
 and handsome balcony, for he was determined 
 that his gard should attract attention. This 
 work was just being done when the temporary 
 rails for the conveyance of gravel and timber 
 to the road were laid and a small locomotive 
 was sent to the spot. It was a beautiful au- 
 tumn evening that the first gravel car was to 
 pass over the road. Lars stood on his front 
 steps, to hear the first signal and to see the first 
 column of smoke ; all the people of the gard 
 were gathered about him. He gazed over the 
 parish, illumined by the setting sun, and he 
 felt that he would be remembered as long as a 
 train should come roaring through this fertile 
 valley. A sense of forgiveness glided into his 
 soul. He looked toward the churchyard, a part 
 of which still remained, with crosses bowed 
 down to the ground, but a part of it was now 
 the railroad. He was just endeavoring to 
 define his own feeling when the first signal 
 whistled, and presently the train came slowly 
 working its way along, attended by a cloud of 
 smoke, mingled with sparks, for the locomotive 
 Was fed with pine wood. The wind blew to- 
 
 16
 
 242 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 ward the house so that those standing without 
 were soon enveloped in a dense smoke, but as 
 this cleared away Lars saw the train working 
 its way down through the valley like a strong 
 will. 
 
 He was content, and entered his house like 
 one who has come from a long day's work. 
 The image of his grandfather stood before him 
 at this moment. This grandfather had raised 
 the family from poverty to prosperity ; true, a 
 portion of his honor as a citizen was consumed 
 in the act, but he "had advanced nevertheless ! 
 His faults were the prevailing ones of his time: 
 they were based on the uncertain boundary 
 lines of the moral conceptions of his day. 
 Every age has its uncertain moral distinctions 
 and its victims to the endeavor to define them 
 properly. 
 
 Honor be to him in his grave, for he had suf- 
 fered and toiled ! Peace be with him ! It must 
 be good to rest in the end. But he was not 
 allowed to rest because of his grandson's vast 
 ambition ; his ashes were thrown up Math tin; 
 stones and the gravel. Nonsense ! he would 
 only smile that his grandson's work passed over 
 his head. 
 
 Amid thoughts like these Lars had undressed 
 and gone to bed. Once more his grandfather's
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 243 
 
 image glided before him. It was sterner now 
 than the first time. Weariness enfeebles us, 
 and Lars began to reproach himself. Bat he 
 defended himself also. What did his grand- 
 father want ? Surely he ought to be satisfied 
 now, for the family honor was proclaimed in 
 loud tones above his grave. Who else had such 
 a monument ? And yet what is this ? These 
 two monstrous eyes of fire and this hissing, 
 roaring sound belong no longer to the loco- 
 motive, for they turn away from the railroad 
 track. And from the churchyard straight to- 
 ward the house comes an immense procession. 
 The eyes of fire are his grandfather's, and the 
 long line of followers are all the dead. The 
 train advances steadily toward the gard, roar- 
 ing, crackling, flashing. The windows blaze 
 in the reflection of the dead men's eyes. Lais 
 made a mighty effort to control himself, for 
 this was a dream, unquestionably but a dream. 
 Only wait until I am awake ! There, now I am 
 awake. Come on, poor ghosts ! 
 
 And lo ! they really did come from the 
 churchyard, overthrowing road, rails, locomo- 
 tive and train, so that these fell with a mighty 
 crash to the ground, and the green sod ap- 
 peared in their stead, dotted with graves and 
 crosses as before. Like mighty champions they
 
 244 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 advanced, and the hymn, " Let the dead repose 
 in peace ! " preceded them. Lars knew it ; 
 for through all these years it had been sighing 
 within his soul, and now it had become his re- 
 quiem ; for this was death and death's visions. 
 The cold sweat started out over his whole body, 
 for nearer and nearer — and behold, on the 
 window pane ! there they are now, and he 
 heard some one speak his name. Overpowered 
 with dread he struggled to scream ; for he was 
 being strangled, a cold hand was clinching his 
 throat and he regained his voice in an ago- 
 nized : " Help me ! " and awoke. The win- 
 dow had been broken in from the outside ; the 
 pieces flew all about his head. He sprang up. 
 A man stood at the window, surrounded by 
 smoke and flames. 
 
 " The gard is on fire, Lars ! We will help 
 you out ! " 
 
 It was Knud Aakre. 
 
 AVhen Lars regained his consciousness, lie 
 was lying outside in a bleak wind, which chilled 
 his limbs. There was not a soul with him ; he 
 saw the flaming gard to the left ; around him 
 his cattle were grazing and making their voices 
 heard ; the sheep were huddled together in a 
 frightened flock ; the household goods were 
 scattered about, and when he looked again he
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 245 
 
 saw some one sitting on a knoll close by, weep- 
 ing. It was bis wife. He called her by name. 
 She started. 
 
 " The Lord Jesus be praised that you are 
 alive ! " cried she, coming forward and seating 
 herself, or rather throwing herself down in 
 front of him. " O God ! O God ! We surely 
 have had enough of this railroad now ! " 
 
 " The railroad ? " asked he, but ere the words 
 had escaped his lips, a clear comprehension of 
 the case passed like a shudder over him ; for, 
 of course, sparks from the locomotive that had 
 fallen among the shavings of the new side wall 
 had been the cause of the fire. Lars sat there 
 brooding in silence; his wife, not daring to utter 
 another word, began to search for his clothes ; 
 for what she had spread over him, as he lay 
 senseless, had fallen off. He accepted her atten- 
 tions in silence, but as she knelt before him to 
 cover his feet, he laid his hand on her head. 
 Falling forward she buried her face in his lap 
 and wept aloud. There were many who eyed 
 her curiously. But Lars understood her and 
 said, — 
 
 " You are the only friend I have." 
 
 Even though it had cost the gard to hear 
 these words, it mattered not to her ; she felt so 
 happy that she gained courage, and rising up
 
 246 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 and looking humbly into her husband's face, 
 she said, — 
 
 " Because there is no one else who under- 
 stands you." 
 
 Then a hard heart melted, and tears rolled 
 down the man's cheeks as he clung to his wife's 
 hand. 
 
 Now he talked to her as to his own soul. 
 Now too she opened to him her mind. They 
 also talked about how all this had happened, or 
 rnther he listened while she told about it. 
 Knud Aakre had been the first to see the fire, 
 had roused his people, sent the girls out over 
 Ills parish, while he had hastened himself with 
 men and horses to the scene of the conflagra- 
 tion, where all were sleeping. He had engi- 
 neered the extinguishing of the flames and the 
 rescuing of the household goods, and had him- 
 self dragged Lars from the burning room, and 
 carried him to the left side of the house from 
 where the wind was blowing and had laid him 
 out here in the churchyard. 
 
 And while they were talking of this, some 
 Dne came driving rapidly up the road and 
 turned into the churchyard, where he alighted. 
 It was Knud, who had been home after his 
 church-cart, — the one in which they had so 
 many times ridden together to and from the
 
 THE RAILROAD AND THE CHURCHYARD. 247 
 
 meetings of the parish board. Now he re- 
 quested Lars to get in and ride home with him. 
 They grasped each other by the hand, the one 
 sitting, the other standing. 
 
 " Come with me now," said Knud. 
 
 Without a word of reply, Lars rose. Side by 
 side they walked to the cart. Lars was helped 
 in ; Knud sat down beside him. What they 
 talked about as they drove along, or afterwards 
 in the little chamber at Aakre, where they re- 
 mained together until late in the morning, has 
 never been known. But from that day they 
 were inseparable as before. 
 
 As soon as misfortune overtakes a man, 
 every one learns what he is worth. And so the 
 parish undertook to rebuild Lars Hogstad's 
 houses, and to make them larger and hand- 
 somer than any others in the valley. He was 
 reelected chairman, but with Knud Aakre at 
 his side ; he never again failed to take counsel 
 of Knud's intelligence and heart — and from 
 that day forth nothing went to ruin.
 
 THROND. 
 
 There was once a man named Alf, who had 
 raised great expectations among his fellow-par- 
 ishioners because he excelled most of them both 
 in the work he accomplished and in the advice 
 he gave. Now when this man was thirty years 
 old, he went to live up the mountain and cleared 
 a piece of land for farming, about fourteen 
 miles from any settlement. Many people won- 
 dered how he could endure thus depending on 
 himself for companionship, but they were still 
 more astonished when, a few years later, a 
 young girl from the valley, and one, too, who 
 had been the gayest of the gay at all the social 
 gatherings and dances of the parish, was will- 
 ing to share his solitude. 
 
 This couple were called " the people in the 
 wood," and the man was known by the name 
 "Alf in the wood." People viewed him with 
 inquisitive eyes when they met him at church 
 or at work, because they did not understand
 
 THROND. 249 
 
 him ; but neither did he take the trouble to 
 give them any explanation of his conduct. His 
 wife was only seen in the parish twice, and on 
 one of these occasions it was to present a child 
 for baptism. 
 
 This child was a son, and he was called 
 Thrond. When he grew larger his parents 
 often talked about needing help, and as they 
 could not afford to take a full-grown servant, 
 they hired what they called " a half : " they 
 brought into their house a girl of fourteen, who 
 took care of the boy while the father and 
 mother were busy in the field. 
 
 This girl was not the brightest person in the 
 world, and the boy soon observed that his moth- 
 er's words were easy to comprehend, but that it 
 was hard to get at the meaning of what Ragn- 
 hild said. He never talked much with his 
 father, and he was rather afraid of him, for the 
 house had to be kept very quiet when he was 
 at home. 
 
 One Christmas Eve — they were burning 
 two candles on the table, and the father was 
 drinking from a white flask — the father took 
 the boy up in his arms and set him on his 
 lap, looked him sternly in the eyes and ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " Ugh, boy ! " Tl'en h Q added more gently : 
 
 '*'
 
 250 THEOND. 
 
 " Why, you are not so much afraid. Would you 
 have the courage to listen to a story ? " 
 
 The boy made no reply, but he looked full in 
 his father's face. His father then told him 
 about a man from Vaage, whose name was 
 Blessom. This man was in Copenhagen for 
 the purpose of getting the king's verdict in a 
 law-suit he was engaged in, and he was detained 
 so long that Christmas Eve overtook him there. 
 Blessom was greatly annoyed at this, and as he 
 was sauntering about the streets fancying him- 
 self at home, he saw a very large man, in a 
 white, short coat, walking in front of him. 
 
 " How fast you are walking ! " said Blessom. 
 
 " I have a long distance to go in order to get 
 home this evening," replied the man. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To Vaage," answered the man, and walked 
 on. 
 
 "Why, that is very nice," said Blessom, 
 " for that is where I was going, too." 
 
 " Well, then, you may ride with me, if you 
 will stand on the runners of my sledge," an- 
 swered the man, and turned into a side street 
 where his horse was standing. 
 
 He mounted his seat and looked over his 
 shoulder at Blessom, who was just getting on 
 the runners.
 
 THROND. 251 
 
 " You had better bold fast," said tbe stran- 
 ger. 
 
 Blessom did as be was told, and it was well 
 he did, for tbeir journey was evidently v.ot by 
 land. 
 
 " It seems to me that you are driving on the 
 water," cried Blessom. 
 
 " I am," said tbe man, and tbe spray whirled 
 about them. 
 
 But after a while it seemed to Blessom theii 
 course no longer lay on the water. 
 
 " It seems to me we are moving through the 
 air," said he. 
 
 " Yes, so we are," replied the stranger. 
 
 But when they had gone still farther, Bles- 
 som thought he recognized the parish they were 
 driving through. 
 
 " Is not this Vaage ? " cried he. 
 
 " Yes, now we are there," replied the stran- 
 ger, and it seemed to Blessom that they had 
 gone pretty fast. 
 
 "Thank you for tbe good ride," said be. 
 
 " Thanks to yourself," replied the man, and 
 added, as he whipped up his horse, " Now you 
 had better lot look after me." 
 
 " No, indeed," thought Blessom, and started 
 over the hills for home. 
 
 But just then so loud and terrible a crash
 
 252 THROND. 
 
 was heard behind him that it seemed as if the 
 whole mountain must be tumbling down, and 
 a bright light was shed over the surrounding 
 landscape ; he looked round and beheld the 
 stranger in the white coat driving through the 
 crackling flames into the open mountain, which 
 was yawning wide to receive him, like some 
 huge gate. Blessom felt somewhat strange in 
 regard to his traveling companion; and thought 
 he would look in another direction ; but as he 
 had turned his head so it remained, and never 
 more could Blessom get it straight again. 
 
 The boy had never heard anything to equal 
 this in all his life. He dared not ask his father 
 for more, but early the next morning he asked 
 his mother if she knew any stories. Yes, of 
 course she did ; but hers were chiefly about 
 jjrincesses who were in captivity for seven 
 years, until the right prince came along. The 
 boy believed that everything he heard or read 
 about took place close ai'ound him. 
 
 He was about eight years old when the first 
 stranger entered their door one winter evening. 
 He had black hair, and this was something 
 Thrond had never seen before. The stranger 
 saluted them with a short " Good-evening ' " 
 and came forward. Thrond grew frightened 
 *nd sat down on a cricket bv the hearth. The
 
 THROND. 253 
 
 mother asked the man to take a seat on the 
 bench along the wall ; he did so, and then the 
 mother could examine his face more closely. 
 
 "Dear me! is not this Knud the fiddler?" 
 cried she. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure it is. It has been a long 
 time since I played at your wedding." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; it is quite a while now. Have 
 you been on a long journey ? " 
 
 " I have been playing for Christmas, on the 
 other side of the mountain. But half way 
 down the slope 1 began to feel very badly, and 
 I was obliged to come in here to rest." 
 
 The mother brought forward food for him ; 
 he sat down to the table, but did not say " in 
 the name of Jesus," as the boy had been accus- 
 tomed to hear. When he had finished eating, 
 he got up from the table, and said, — 
 
 " Now I feel very comfortable ; let me rest a 
 little while." 
 
 And he was allowed to rest on Thrond's bed. 
 
 For Thrond a bed was made on the floor. 
 As the boy lay there, he felt cold on the side 
 that was turned away from the fire, and that 
 was the left side. He discovered that it was 
 because this side was exposed to the chill night 
 air ; for he was lying out in the wood. How 
 came he in the wood ? He got up and looked
 
 254 THROND. 
 
 about him, and saw that there was fire burning 
 a long distance off, and that he was actually 
 alone in the wood. He longed to go home to 
 the fire ; but could not stir from the spot. 
 Then a great fear overcame him; L.- wild 
 beasts might be roaming about, trolls and ghosts 
 might appear to him ; he must get home to the 
 fire ; but he could not stir from the spot. Then 
 his terror grew, he strove with all his might to 
 gain self-control, and was at last able to cry, 
 " Mother," and then he awoke. 
 
 " Dear child, you have had bad dreams," 
 said she, and took him up. 
 
 A shudder ran through him, and he glanced 
 round. The stranger was gone, and he dared 
 not inquire after him. 
 
 His mother appeared in her black dress, and 
 started for the parish. She came home with 
 two new strangers, who also had black hair 
 and who wore flat caps. They did not say " in 
 the name of Jesus," when they ate, and they 
 talked in low tones with the father. After- 
 ward the latter and they went into the barn, 
 and came out again with a large box, which 
 the men carried between them. They placed it 
 on a sled, and said farewell. Then the mother 
 said : — 
 
 " Wait a little, and take with you the smallei 
 box he brought here with him."
 
 THROND. 255 
 
 And she went in to get it. But one of the. 
 men said, — 
 
 " He can have that," and he pointed at 
 Thrond. 
 
 "Use it as well as he who is now lying here," 
 added the other stranger, pointing at the large 
 box. 
 
 Then they both laughed and went on. 
 Thrond looked at the little box which hus 
 came into his possession. 
 
 " What is there in it ? " asked he. 
 
 " Carry it in and find out," said the mother. 
 
 He did as he was told, but his mother helped 
 him open it. Then a great joy lighted up his 
 face; for he saw something very light and fine 
 lying there. 
 
 " Take it up," said his mother. 
 
 He put just one finger down on it, but quickly 
 drew it back again, in great alarm. 
 
 " It cries," said he. 
 
 "Have courage," said his mother, and he 
 grasped it with his whole hand and drew it 
 forth from the box. 
 
 He weighed it and turned it round, he 
 laughed and felt of it. 
 
 " Dear me ! what is it ? " asked he, for it 
 was as light as a toy. 
 
 " It is a fiddle."
 
 256 THROND. 
 
 This was the way that Thrond Alfson got 
 his first violin. 
 
 The father could play a little, and he taught 
 the boy how to handle the instrument ; the 
 mother could sing the tunes she remembered 
 from her dancing days, and these the boy 
 learned, but soon began to make new ones for 
 himself. He played all the time he was not at 
 his books ; he played until his father once told 
 him he was fading away before his eyes. All 
 the boy had read and heard until that time was 
 put into the fiddle. The tender, delicate string 
 was his mother ; the one that lay close beside 
 it, and always accompanied his mother, was 
 Ragnhild. The coarse string, which he seldom 
 ventured to play on, was his father. But of the 
 last solemn string he was half afraid, and he 
 gave no name to it. When he played a wrong 
 note on the E string, it was the cat ; but when 
 he took a wrong note on his father's string, it 
 was the ox. The bow was Blessom, who drove 
 from Copenhagen to Vaage in one night. And 
 every tune he played represented something. 
 The one containing the long solemn tones was 
 his mother in her black dress. The one that 
 jerked and skipped was like Moses, who stut- 
 tered and smote the rock with his staff. The 
 one that had to be played quietly, with the bow
 
 THROND. 257 
 
 moving lightly over the strings, was the hulder 
 in yonder fog, calling together her cattle, where 
 no one but herself could see. 
 
 But the music wafted him onward over the 
 mountains, and a great yearning took posses- 
 sion of his soul. One day when his father told 
 about a little boy who had been playing at the 
 fair and who had earned a great deal of money, 
 Thrond waited for his mother in the kitchen 
 and asked her softly if he could not go to the 
 fair and play for people. 
 
 " Who ever heard of such a thing ! " said his 
 mother ; but she immediately spoke to his fa- 
 ther about it. 
 
 "He will get out into the world soon enough," 
 answered the father ; and he spoke in such a 
 way that the mother did not ask again. 
 
 Shortly after this, the father and mother 
 were talking at table about some new settlers 
 who had recently moved up on the mountain 
 and were about to be married. They had no 
 fiddler for the wedding, the father said. 
 
 " Could not I be the fiddler? " whispered the 
 boy, when he was alone in the kitchen once 
 more with his mother. 
 
 " What, a little boy like you ? " said she ; but 
 she went out to the barn where his father was 
 and told him -about it. 
 17
 
 258 THROND. 
 
 " He has never been in the parish," she 
 added, " he has never seen a church." 
 
 " I should not think you would ask about 
 such things," said Alf ; but neither did he say 
 anything more, and so the mother thought she 
 had permission. Consequently she went over 
 to the new settlers and offered the boy's serv- 
 ices. 
 
 " The way he plays," said she, " no little 
 boy has ever played before ; " and the boy 
 was to be allowed to come. 
 
 What joy there was at home ! Thrond 
 played from morning until evening and prac- 
 ticed new tunes ; at night he dreamed about 
 them : they bore him far over the hills, away 
 to foreign lands, as though he were afloat on 
 sailing clouds. His mother made a new suit of 
 clothes for him ; but his father would not take 
 part in what was going on. 
 
 The last night he did not sleep, but thought 
 out a new tune about the church which he had 
 never seen. He was up early in the morning, 
 and so was his mother, in order to get him his 
 breakfast, but he could not eat. He put on 
 his new clothes and took his fiddle in his hand, 
 and it seemed to him as though a bright light 
 were glowing before his eyes. His mother ac- 
 companied him out on the flng-stone, and stood
 
 THROND. 259 
 
 watching hiui as lie ascended the slopes ; — it 
 was the first time he had left home. 
 
 His father got quietly out of bed and walked 
 to the window ; he stood there following the 
 boy with his eyes until he heard the mother 
 out on the flag-stone, then he went back to bed 
 and was lying down when she came in. 
 
 She kept stirring about him, as if she wanted 
 to relieve her mind of something. And finally 
 it came out : — 
 
 " I really think I must walk down to the 
 church and see how things are going." 
 
 He made no reply, and therefore she con- 
 sidered the matter settled, dressed herself and 
 started. 
 
 It was a glorious, sunny day, the boy walked 
 rapidly onward; he listened to the song of the 
 birds and saw the sun glittering among the 
 foliage, while he proceeded on his way, with 
 liis fiddle under his arm. And when he reached 
 the bride's house, he was still so occupied with 
 his own thoughts, that he observed neither the 
 bridal splendor nor the procession ; he merely 
 asked if they were about to start, and learned 
 that they were. He walked on in advance with 
 his fiddle, and he played the whole morning 
 into it, and the tones he produced resounded 
 through the trees.
 
 260 THROND. 
 
 " WiU ^re soon see the church ? " he asked 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 For a long time he received only " No " for 
 an answer, but at last some one said : 
 
 " As soon as you reach that crag yonder, you 
 will see it." 
 
 He threw his newest tune into the fiddle, the 
 bow danced on the strings, and he kept his 
 eyes fixed intently before him. There lay the 
 parish right in front of him ! 
 
 The first thing he saw was a little light 
 mist, curling like smoke on the opposite mount- 
 ain side. His eyes wandered over the green 
 meadow and the large houses, with windows 
 which glistened beneath the scorching rays of 
 the sun, like the glacier on a winter's day. The 
 houses kept increasing in size, the windows in 
 number, and here on one side of him lay the 
 enormous red house, in front of which horses 
 were tied ; little children were playing on a hill, 
 dogs were sitting watching them. But every- 
 where there penetrated a long, heavy tone, that 
 shook him from head to foot, and everything he 
 saw seemed to vibrate with that tone. Then 
 suddenly lie saw a large, straight house, with a 
 tall, glittering staff reaching up to the skies. 
 And below, a hundred windows blazed, so that 
 the house seemed to be enveloped in flames.
 
 THROXD. 261 
 
 This must be the church, the boy thought, and 
 the music must come from it ! Round about 
 stood a vast multitude of people, and they all 
 looked alike ! He put them forthwith into re- 
 lations with the church, and thus acquired a 
 respect mingled with awe for the smallest child 
 he saw. 
 
 " Now I must play," thought Thrond, and 
 tried to do so. 
 
 But what was this ? The fiddle had no 
 longer any sound in it. There must be some 
 defect in the strings ; he examined, but could 
 find none. 
 
 " Then it must be because I do not press on 
 hard enough, and he drew his bow with a 
 firmer hand; but the fiddle seemed as if it were 
 cracked. 
 
 He changed the tune that was meant to rep- 
 resent the church into another, but with equal- 
 ly bad results ; no music was produced, only 
 squeaking and wailing. He felt the cold sweat 
 start out over his face, he thought of all these 
 wise people who were standing here and per- 
 haps laughing him to scorn, this boy who at 
 home could play so beautifully but who here 
 failed to bring out a single tone ! 
 
 " Thank God that mother is not here, to see 
 my shame ! " said he softly to himself, as he
 
 262 THROND. 
 
 played among the people ; but lo ! there she 
 stood, in her black dress, and she shrank farther 
 and farther away. 
 
 At that moment he beheld far up on the 
 spire, the black-haired man who had given him 
 the fiddle. " Give it back to me," he now 
 shouted, laughing and stretching out his arms, 
 and the spire went up and down with him, up 
 and down. But the boy took the fiddle under 
 one arm, screaming, " You shall not have it ! " 
 and turning, ran awa}^ from the people, beyond 
 the houses, onward through meadow and field, 
 until his strength forsook him, and then sank 
 to the ground. 
 
 There he lay for a long time, with his face 
 toward the earth, and when finally he looked 
 round he saw and heard only God's infinite 
 blue sky that floated above him, with its ever- 
 lasting sough. This was so terrible to him that 
 he had to turn his face to the ground again. 
 When he raised his head once more his eyes 
 fell on his fiddle, which lay at his side. 
 
 "This is all your fault!" shouted the boy, 
 and seized the instrument with the intention of 
 dashing it to pieces, but hesitated as he looked 
 at it. 
 
 "We have had many a happy hour together," 
 said he, then paused. Presently he said : "The
 
 THROND. 263 
 
 strings must be severed, for they are worth- 
 less." And he took out a knife and cut. 
 " Oh ! " cried the E string, in a short, pained 
 tone. The boy cut. " Oh ! " wailed the next; 
 but the boy cut. " Oh ! " said the third, 
 mournfully ; and he paused at the fourth. A 
 sharp pain seized him ; that fourth string, to 
 which he never dared give a name, he did not 
 cut. Now a feeling came over him that it was 
 not the fault of the strings that he was unable 
 to play, and just then he saw his mother walk- 
 ing slowly up the slope toward where he was 
 lying, that she might take him home with her. 
 A greater fright than ever overcame him ; he 
 held the fiddle by the severed strings, sprang to 
 his feet, and shouted down to her, — 
 
 "No, mother! I will not go home again until 
 I can play what I have seen to-day."
 
 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 
 
 When" Aslaug had become a grown-up girl, 
 there was not much peace to be had at Huseby ; 
 for there the finest boys in the parish quarreled 
 and fought night after night. It was worst of 
 all on Saturday nights ; but then old Knud 
 Huseby never went to bed without keeping his 
 leather breeches on, nor without having a birch 
 stick by his bedside. 
 
 " If I have a daughter, I shall look after her, 
 too," said old Huseby. 
 
 Thore Nseset was only a houseman's son ; 
 nevertheless there were those who said that he 
 was the one who came oftenest to see the gard- 
 man's daughter at Huseby. Old Knud did not 
 like this, and declared also that it was not true, 
 "for he had never seen him there." But peo- 
 ple smiled slyly among themselves, and thought 
 that had he searched in the corners of the room 
 instead of fighting with all those who were 
 making a noise and uproar in the middle of the 
 floor, he would have found Thore.
 
 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 265 
 
 Spring came and Aslaug went to the sseter 
 with the cattle. Then, when the day was 
 warm down in the valley, and the mountain 
 rose cool above the haze, and when the bells 
 tinkled, the shepherd dog barked, and Aslaug 
 sang and blew the loor on the mountain side, 
 then the hearts of the young fellows who were 
 at work down on the meadow would ache, and 
 the first Saturday night they all started up to 
 the mountain saater, one faster than the other. 
 But still more rapidly did they come down 
 again, for behind the door at the saster there 
 stood one who received each of them as he 
 came, and gave him so sound a whipping that 
 he forever afterward remembered the threat 
 that followed it, — 
 
 " Come again another time and you shall 
 have some more." 
 
 According to what these young fellows knew, 
 there was only one in the parish who could use 
 his fists in this way, and that was Thore Naeset. 
 And these rich gardmen's sons thought it was 
 a shame that this houseman's son should cut 
 them all out at the Huseby soeter. 
 
 So thought, also, old Knud, when the matter 
 reached his ears, and said, moreover, that if 
 there was nobody else who could tackle Thore, 
 then he and his sons would try it. Knud, it is
 
 266 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 
 
 true, was growing old, but although he was 
 nearly sixty, he would at times have a wrestle 
 or two with his eldest son, when it was too dull 
 for him at some party or other. 
 
 Up to the Huseb}^ saeter there was but one 
 road, and that led straight through the gard. 
 The next Saturday evening, as Thore was going 
 to the sseter, and was stealing on his tiptoes 
 across the yard, a man rushed right at his 
 breast as he came near the barn. 
 
 " What do you want of me ? " said Thore, 
 and knocked his assailant flat on the ground. 
 
 " That you shall soon find out," said another 
 fellow from behind, giving Thore a blow on the 
 back of the head. This was the brother of the 
 former assailant. 
 
 " Here comes the third," said old Knud, rush- 
 ing forward to join the fray. 
 
 The danger made Thore stronger. He was 
 as limber as a willow and his blows left their 
 marks. He dodged from one side to the other. 
 Where the blows fell he was not, and where 
 his opponents least expected blows from him, 
 they got them. He was, however, at last com- 
 pletely beaten; but old Knud frequently said 
 afterwards that a stouter fellow he had scarcely 
 ever tackled. The fight was continued untiJ 
 blood flowed, but then Huseby cried, —
 
 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 267 
 
 " Stop ! " and added, " If you can manage to 
 get by the Huseby wolf and his cubs next Sat- 
 urday night, the girl shall be yours." 
 
 Thore dragged himself homeward as best he 
 could ; and as soon as he got home he went to 
 bed. 
 
 At Huseby there was much talk about the 
 fight ; but everybody said, — 
 
 " What did he want there ? " 
 
 There was one, however, who did not say so, 
 and that was Aslaug. She had expected Thore 
 that Saturday night, and when she heard what 
 had taken place between him and her father, 
 she sat down and had a good cry, saying to 
 herself, — 
 
 " If I cannot have Thore, there will never 
 be another happy day for me in this world.'' 
 
 Thore had to keep his bed all day Sunday ; 
 and Monday, too, he felt that he must do the 
 same. Tuesday came, and it was such a beau- 
 tiful day. It had rained during the night. 
 The mountain was wet and green. The fra- 
 grance of the leaves was wafted in through the 
 open window ; down the mountain sides came 
 the sound of the cow-bells, and some one was 
 heard singing up in the glen. Had it not been 
 for his mother, who was sitting in the room, 
 Thore would have wept from impatient vexa- 
 tion.
 
 268 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 
 
 Wednesday came and still Thore was in bed ; 
 but on Thursday he began to wonder whether 
 he could not get well by Saturday ; and on Fri- 
 day he rose. He remembered well the words 
 Aslaug's father had spoken : " If you can man- 
 age to get by the Huseby wolf and his cubs 
 next Saturday, the girl shall be yours." He 
 looked over toward the Huseby saster again and 
 again. " I cannot get more than another 
 thrashing," thought Thore. 
 
 Up to the Huseby soeter there was but one 
 road, as before stated ; but a clever fellow might 
 manage to get there, even if he did not take 
 the beaten track. If he rowed out on the fjord 
 below, and past the little tongue of land yon- 
 der, and thus reached the other side of the 
 mountain, he might contrive to climb it, though 
 it was so steep that a goat could scarcely ven- 
 ture there — and a goat is not very apt to be 
 timid in climbing the mountains, you know. 
 
 Saturday came, and Thore stayed without 
 doors all day long. The sunlight played upon 
 the foliage, and every now and then an allur- 
 ing song was heard from the mountains. As 
 evening drew near, and the mist was stealing 
 up the slope, he was still sitting outside of the 
 door. He looked up the mountain, and all was 
 still. He looked over toward the Huseby gavel
 
 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 269 
 
 Then he pushed out his boat and rowed round 
 the point of land. 
 
 Up at the sffiter sat Aslaug, through with 
 her day's work. She was thinking that Thore 
 would not come this evening, hut that there 
 would come all the more in his stead. Pres- 
 ently she let loose the dog, but told no one 
 whither she was going. She seated herself 
 where she could look down into the valley ; 
 but a dense fog was rising, and, moreover, she 
 felt little disposed to look down that way, for 
 everything reminded her of what had occurred. 
 So she moved, and without thinking what she 
 was doing, she happened to go over to the other 
 side of the mountain, and there she sat down 
 and gazed out over the sea. There was so 
 much peace in this far-reaching sea-view ! 
 
 Then she felt like singing. She chose a song 
 with long notes, and the music sounded far into 
 the still night. She felt gladdened by it, and 
 so she sang another verse. But then it seemed 
 to her as if some one answered her from the 
 glen far below. " Dear me, what can that 
 be ? " thought Aslaug. She went forward to 
 the brink of the precipice, and threw her arms 
 around a slender birch, which hung trembling- 
 over the steep. She looked down but saw 
 nothing. The fjord lay silent and calm. Not
 
 270 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 
 
 even a bird ruffled its smooth surface. Aslaug 
 sat down and began singing again. Then she 
 was sure that some one responded with the 
 same tune and nearer than the first time. " It 
 must be somebody, after all." Aslaug sprang 
 up and bent out over the brink of the steep ; 
 and there, down at the foot of a rocky wall, 
 she saw a boat moored, and it was so far down 
 that it appeared like a tiny shell. She looked 
 a little farther up, and her eyes fell on a red 
 cap, and under the cap she saw a young man, 
 who was working his way up the almost per- 
 pendicular side of the mountain. " Dear me, 
 who can that be ? " asked Aslaug, as she let go 
 of the birch and sprang far back. 
 
 She dared not answer her own question, for 
 she knew very well who it was. She threw 
 herself down on the greensward and took hold 
 of the grass with both hands, as though it were 
 she who must not let go her hold. But the 
 grass came up by the roots. 
 
 She cried aloud and prayed God to help 
 Thore. But then it struck her that this con- 
 duct of Thore's was really tempting God, and 
 therefore no help could be expected. 
 
 " Just this once ! " she implored. 
 
 And she threw her arms around the dog, as 
 if it were Thore she were keeping from loosing
 
 A DANGEROUS WOOING. 271 
 
 bis hold. She rolled over the grass with him, 
 and the moments seemed years. But then the 
 dog tore himself away. " Bow-bow," he barked 
 over the brink of the steep and wagged his tail. 
 " Bow-wow," he barked at Aslaug, and threw 
 his forepaws up on her. " Bow-wow," over the 
 precipice again ; and a red cap appeared over 
 the brow of the mountain and Thore lay in her 
 arms. 
 
 Now when old Knud Huseby heard of this, 
 he made a very sensible remark, for he said, — 
 
 " That boy is worth having ; the girl shall 
 be his."
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 A woese boy to tell lies than the priest's 
 oldest son could scarcely be found in the whole 
 parish ; he was also a very good reader ; there 
 was no lack on that score, and what he read 
 the peasants were glad to hear, but when it 
 was something they were well pleased with, he 
 would make up more of the same kind, as much 
 as he thought they wanted. His own stories 
 were mostly about strong men and about love. 
 
 Soon the priest noticed that the threshing up 
 in the barn was being done in a more and more 
 lazy manner ; he went to see what the matter 
 w 7 as, and behold it was Thorvald, who stood 
 there telling stories. Soon the quantity of 
 wood brought home from the forest became 
 wonderfully small ; he went to see what the 
 trouble was, and there stood Thorvald again, 
 telling stories. There must be an end to this, 
 thought the priest; and he sent the boy to the 
 nearest school.
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER. 273 
 
 Only peasant children attended this school, 
 but the priest thought it would be too expen- 
 sive to keep a private tutor for this one boy. 
 But Thorvald had not been a week among the 
 scholars, before one of his schoolmates came in 
 pale as a corpse, and said he had met some of 
 the underground folk coming along the road. 
 Another boy, still paler, followed, and said that 
 he had actually seen a man without a head walk- 
 ing about and moving the boats down by the 
 landing-place. And what was worst of all, little 
 Knud Pladsen and his young sister, one even- 
 ing, as they were returning home from school, 
 came running back, almost out of their senses, 
 crying, and declaring that they had heard the 
 bear up near the parsonage ; nay, little Marit 
 had even seen his. gray eyes sparkle. But now 
 the school-master got terribly angry, struck the 
 table with his ferule, and asked what the deuce 
 — God pardon me my wicked sin — had gotten 
 into the school-children. 
 
 " One is growing more crazy than the other," 
 said he. " There lurks a hulder in every bush ; 
 there sits a merman under every boat ; the bear 
 is out in midwinter! Have you no more faith 
 in your God or in your catechism," quoth he, 
 " or do you believe in all kinds of deviltry, 
 and in all the terrible powers of darkness, and 
 
 1S
 
 274 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 in bears roaming about in the middle of win- 
 ter ? " 
 
 But then he calmed down somewhat after a 
 while, and asked little Marit whether she really 
 did not dare to go home. The child sobbed 
 and cried, and declared that it was utterly im- 
 possible. The school-master then said that 
 Thorvald, who was the eldest of those remain- 
 ing, should go with her through the wood. 
 
 " No, he has seen the bear himself," cried 
 Marit ; " it was he who told us about it." 
 
 Thorvald shrank within himself, where he 
 was sitting, especially when the school-master 
 looked at him and drew the ferule affection- 
 ately through his left hand. 
 
 " Have you seen the bear? " he asked, quietly. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, I know," said Thorvald, 
 " that our overseer found a bear's den up in the 
 priest's wood, the day he was out ptarmigan 
 shooting." 
 
 " But have you seen the bear yourself ? " 
 
 "It was not one, it was two large ones, and 
 perhaps there were two smaller ones besides, 
 as the old ones generally have their last year's 
 cubs and this year's, too, with them." 
 
 " But have you seen them ? " reiterated the 
 school-master, still more mildly, as he kept 
 drawing the ferule between his fingers.
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER. 275 
 
 Thorvald was silent for a moment. 
 
 " I saw the bear that Lars, the hunter, felled 
 last year, at any rate." 
 
 Then the school-master came a step nearer, 
 and asked, so pleasantly that the boy became 
 frightened, — 
 
 " Have you seen the bears up in the parson- 
 age wood, I ask ? " 
 
 Thorvald did not say another word. 
 
 " Perhaps your memory did not serve you 
 quite right this time? " said the school-master, 
 taking the boy by the jacket collar and strik- 
 ing his own side with the ferule. 
 
 Thorvald did not say a w T ord ; the other chil- 
 dren dared not look that way. Then the 
 school-master said earnestly, — 
 
 " It is wicked for a priest's son to tell lies, 
 and still more wicked to teach the poor peasant 
 children to do such things." 
 
 And so the boy escaped for that time 
 
 But the next day at school (the teacher had 
 been called up to the priest's and the children 
 were left to themselves) Marit was the first one 
 to ask Thorvald to tell her something about the 
 bear again. 
 
 " But you get so frightened," said he. 
 
 " Oh, I think I will have to stand it," said 
 she, and moved closer to her brother.
 
 276 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 " Ah, now you had better believe it will be 
 shot ! " said Thorvald, and nodded his head. 
 " There has come a fellow to the parish who 
 is able to shoot it. No sooner had Lavs, the 
 hunter, heard about the bear's den up in the 
 parsonage wood, than he came running through 
 seven whole parishes with a rifle as heavy as 
 the upper mill-stone, and as long as from here 
 to Hans Volden, who sits yonder." 
 
 "Mercy ! " cried all the children. 
 
 " As long ? " repeated Thorvald ; " yes, it is 
 certainly as long as from here to yonder 
 bench." 
 
 "Have you seen it?" asked Ole Boen. 
 
 " Have I seen it, do you say ? Why, I have 
 been helping to clean it, and that is what Lars 
 will not allow everybody to do, let me tell you. 
 Of course I could not lift it, but that made no 
 difference ; I only cleaned the lock, and that is 
 not the easiest work, I can tell you." 
 
 " People say that gun of Lars's has taken to 
 missing its mark of late," said Hans Volden, 
 leaning back, with both his feet on the desk. 
 " Ever since that time when Lars shot, up at 
 Osmark, at a bear that was asleep, it misses 
 6re twice and misses the mark the third time." 
 
 " Yes, ever since he shot at a bear that was 
 asleep," chimed in the girls.
 
 THE BEAR* HUNTER. 277 
 
 " The fool ! " added the boys. 
 
 " There is only one way in which this diffi- 
 culty with the rifle can be remedied," said ( He 
 Boen, " and that is to thrust a living snake 
 down its barrel." 
 
 "Yes, we all know that," said the girls. 
 They wanted to hear something new. 
 
 "It is now winter, and snakes are not to be 
 found, and so Lars cannot depend very much 
 upon his rifle," said Hans Volden, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " He wants Niels Boen along with him, does 
 he not?" asked Thorvald. 
 
 " Yes," said the boy from Boen's, who was, 
 of course, best posted in regard to this ; " but 
 Niels will get permission neither from his 
 mother nor from his sister. His father cer- 
 tainly died from the wrestle he had with the 
 bear up at the steter last year, and now they 
 have no one but Niels." 
 
 " Is it so dangerous, then ? " asked a little 
 boy. 
 
 " Dangerous ? " cried Thorvald. " The bear 
 has as much sense as ten men, and as much 
 strength as twelve." 
 
 " Yes, we know that," said the girls once 
 more. They were bent on hearing something 
 new.
 
 278 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 " But Niels is like his father; I dare say he 
 will go along," continued Thorvald. 
 
 " Of course he will go along," said Ole 
 Boen ; " this morning early, before any one was 
 stirring over yonder at our gard, I saw Niels 
 Boen, Lars the hunter, and one man more, 
 going up the mountain with their rifles. I 
 should not be surprised if they were going to 
 the parsonage wood." 
 
 " Was it early ? " asked the children, in con- 
 cert. 
 
 " Very early ! I was up before mother, and 
 started the fire." 
 
 " Did Lars have the long rifle ? " asked 
 Hans. 
 
 " That I do not know, but the one he had 
 was as long as from here to the chair." 
 
 " Oh, what a story ! " said Thorvald. 
 
 " Why, you said so yourself," answered Ole. 
 
 " No, the long rifle which I saw, he will 
 scarcely use any more." 
 
 " Well, this one was, at all events, as long — 
 as long — as from here, nearly over to the 
 chair." 
 
 " Ah ! perhaps he had it with him then, 
 after all." 
 
 " Just think," said Marit, "now they are up 
 among the bears."
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER. 279 
 
 " And at this very moment they may be in a 
 fight," said Thorvald. 
 
 Then followed a deep, nay, almost solemn 
 silence. 
 
 " I think I will go," said Thorvald, taking 
 his cap. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! then you will find out some- 
 thing," shouted all the rest, and they became 
 full of life again. 
 
 " But the school-master ? " said he, and 
 stopped. 
 
 " Nonsense ! you are the priest's son," said 
 Ole Boen. 
 
 " Yes, if the school-master touches me with a 
 finger ! " said Thorvald, with a significant nod, 
 in the midst of the deep silence of the rest. 
 
 " Will you hit him back ? " asked they, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Who knows?" said Thorvald, nodding, 
 and went away. 
 
 They thought it best to study while he was 
 gone, but none of them were able to do so, — 
 they had to keep talking about the bear. They 
 began guessing how the affair would turn out. 
 Hans bet with Ole that Lars's rifle had missed 
 fire, and that the bear had sprung at him. Lit- 
 tle Knud Pladsen thought they had all fared 
 badly, and the girls took his side. But there 
 «ame Thorvald.
 
 280 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 " Let ns go," said he, as lie pulled open the 
 door, so excited that he could scarcely speak. 
 
 " But the school-master? " asked some of the 
 children. 
 
 "The deuce take the school-master ! The 
 bear ! The bear ! " cried Thorvald, and could 
 say no more. 
 
 " Is it shot? " asked one, very softly, and the 
 others dared not draw their breath. 
 
 Thorvald sat panting for a while, finally he 
 got up, mounted one of the benches, swung his 
 cap, and shouted, — 
 
 " Let us go, I say. I will take all the re- 
 sponsibility." 
 
 " But where shall we go ? " asked Hans. 
 
 " The largest bear has been borne down, the 
 others still remain. Niels Boen has been badly 
 hurt, because Lars's rifle missed its mark, and 
 the bears rushed straight at them. The boy 
 who went with them saved himself only by 
 throwing himself flat on the ground, and pre- 
 tending to be dead, and the bear did not touch 
 him. As soon as Lars and Niels had killed 
 their bear, they shot his also. Hurrah ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! " shouted all, both girls and boys, 
 and up from their seats, and out through the 
 door, they sprang, and off they ran over field 
 and wood to Boen, as though there was no such 
 thing as a school-master in the whole world.
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER. 281 
 
 The girls soon complained that they were 
 not able to keep up, but the boys took them by 
 the hand and away they all rushed. 
 
 " Take care not to touch it ! " said Tliorvald ; 
 " it sometimes happens that the bears become 
 alive again." 
 
 " Is that so ? " asked Marit. 
 
 " Yes, and they appear in a new form, so 
 have a care ! " 
 
 And they kept running* 
 
 " Lars shot the largest one ten times before it 
 fell," he began again. 
 
 " Just think ! ten times ! " 
 
 And they kept running. 
 
 " And Niels stabbed it eighteen times with 
 his knife before it fell ! " 
 
 " Mercy ! what a bear ! " 
 
 And the children ran so that the sweat 
 poured down from their faces. 
 
 Finally they reached the place. Ole Boen 
 pushed the door open and got in first. 
 
 " Have a care ! " cried Hans after him. 
 
 Marit and a little girl that Tliorvald and 
 Hans had led between them, were the next ones, 
 and then came Thorvald, who did not go far 
 forward, but remained standing where he could 
 observe the whole scene. 
 
 " See the blood ! " said he to Hans.
 
 282 THE BEAR HUNTER. 
 
 The others hardly knew whether they should 
 venture in just yet. 
 
 " Do you see it ? " asked a girl of a boy, who 
 stood by her side in the door. 
 
 Yes, it is as large as the captain's large 
 horse," answered he, and went on talking to 
 her. It was bound with iron chains, he said, 
 and had even broken the one that had been 
 put about its fore-legs. He could see distinctly 
 that it was alive, and the blood was flowing 
 from it like a waterfall. 
 
 Of course, this was not true ; but they forgot 
 that when they caught sight of the bear, the 
 rifle, and Niels, who sat there with bandaged 
 wounds after the fight with the bear, and when 
 they heard old Lars the hunter tell how all had 
 happened. So eagerly, and with so much in- 
 terest did they look and listen, that they did 
 not observe that some one came behind them 
 who also began to tell his story, and that in 
 the following manner : — 
 
 " I will teach you to leave the school with- 
 out my permission, that I will ! " 
 
 A cry of fright arose from the whole crowd, 
 and out through the door, through the veranda, 
 and out into the yard they ran. Soon they ap- 
 peared like a lot of black balls, rolling one by 
 one, over the snow-white field, and when the
 
 THE BEAR HUNTER 283 
 
 Bchool- master on his old legs followed them to 
 the school-house, he could hear the children 
 reading from afar off ; they read until the walls 
 fairly rattled. 
 
 Aye, that was a glorious day, the day when 
 the bear-hunter came home ! It began in sun- 
 shine and ended in rain, but such days are 
 usually the best growing days.
 
 THE FATHER. 
 
 The man whose story is here to be told was 
 the wealthiest and most influential person in 
 his parish ; his name was Thord Overaas. He 
 appeared in the priest's study one day, tall and 
 earnest. 
 
 " I have gotten a son," said he, " and I wish 
 to present him for baptism." 
 
 " What shall his name be ? " 
 
 " Finn, — after my father." 
 
 " And the sponsors ? " 
 
 They were mentioned, and proved to be the 
 best men and women of Thord's relations in the 
 parish. 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " inquired the 
 priest, and looked up. 
 
 The peasant hesitated a little. 
 
 " I should like very much to have him bap- 
 tized by himself," said he, finally. 
 
 " That is to say on a week-day ? " 
 
 " Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock noon."
 
 THE FATHER. 285 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " inquired the 
 priest. 
 
 " There is nothing else ; " and the peasant 
 twirled his cap, as though he were about to go. 
 
 Then the priest rose. " There is yet this, 
 however," said he, and walking toward Thord, 
 he took him by the hand and looked gravely 
 into his eyes : " God grant that the child may 
 become a blessing to you ! " 
 
 One day sixteen years later, Thord stood 
 once more in the priest's study. 
 
 " Really, you carry your age astonishingly 
 well, Thord," said the priest ; for he saw no 
 change whatever in the man. 
 
 " That is because I have no troubles," re- 
 plied Thord. 
 
 To this the priest said nothing, but after a 
 while he asked : " What is your pleasure this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " I have come this evening about that son of 
 mine who is to be confirmed to-morrow." 
 
 " He is a bright boy." 
 
 " I did not wish to pay the priest until I 
 heard what number the boy would have when 
 he takes his place in church to-morrow." 
 
 " He will stand number one." 
 
 " So I have heard ; and here are ten dollars 
 for the priest."
 
 286 THE FATHER. 
 
 " Is there anything else I can do for you ? " 
 inquired the priest, fixing his eyes on Thord. 
 
 " There is nothing else." 
 
 Thord went out. 
 
 Eight years more rolled by, and then one 
 day a noise was heard outside of the priest's 
 study, for many men were approaching, and at 
 their head was Thord, who entered first. 
 
 The priest looked up and recognized him. 
 
 " You come well attended this evening, 
 Thord," said he. 
 
 " I am here to request that the bans may be 
 published for my son : he is about to marry 
 Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who 
 stands here beside me." 
 
 " Why, that is the richest girl in the par- 
 ish." 
 
 " So they say," replied the peasant, stroking 
 back his hair with one hand. 
 
 The priest sat a while as if in deep thought, 
 then entered the names in his book, without 
 making any comments, and the men wrote their 
 signatures underneath. Thord laid three dol- 
 lars on the table. 
 
 " One is all I am to have," said the priest. 
 
 " I know that very well ; but he is my only 
 child ; I want to do it handsomely." 
 
 The priest took the money
 
 THE FATHER. 287 
 
 " This is now the third time, Thord, that 
 you have come here on your son's account." 
 
 " But now I am through with him," said 
 Thord, and folding up his pocket-book he said 
 farewell and walked away. 
 
 The men slowly followed him. 
 
 A fortnight later, the father and son were 
 rowing across the lake, one calm, still day, to 
 Storliden to make arrangements for the wed- 
 ding. 
 
 " This thwart is not secure," said the son, 
 and stood up to straighten the seat on which 
 he was sitting. 
 
 At the same moment the board he was stand- 
 ing on slipped from under him ; he threw out 
 his arms, uttered a shriek, and fell overboard. 
 
 " Take hold of the oar ! " shouted the father, 
 springing to his feet and holding out the our. 
 
 But when the son had made a couple of ef- 
 forts he grew stiff. 
 
 " Wait a moment ! " cried the father, and 
 began to row toward his son. 
 
 Then the son rolled over on his back, gave 
 his father one long look, and sank. 
 
 Thord could scarcely believe it ; he held the 
 boat still, and stared at the spot where his son 
 had gone down, as though he must surely come 
 to the surface again. There rose some bubbles,
 
 288 THE FATHER. 
 
 then some more, and finally one large one that 
 burst ; and the lake lay there as smooth and 
 bright as a mirror again. 
 
 For three days and three nights people saw 
 the father rowing round and round the spot, 
 without taking either food or sleep ; he was 
 dragging the lake for the body of his son. And 
 toward morning of the third day he found it, 
 and carried it in his arms up over the hills to 
 his gard. 
 
 It might have been about a year from that 
 day, when the priest, late one autumn evening, 
 heard some one in the passage outside of the 
 door, carefully trying to find the latch. The 
 priest opened the door, and in walked a tall, 
 thin man, with bowed form and white hair. 
 The priest looked long at him before he recog- 
 nized him. It was Thord. 
 
 " Are you out walking so late ? " said the 
 priest, and stood still in front of him. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! it is late," said Thord, and took 
 a seat. 
 
 The priest sat down also, as though waiting. 
 A long, long silence followed. At last Thord 
 said, — 
 
 " I have something with me that I should 
 like to give to the poor ; I want it to be in 
 vested as a legacy in mv son's name."
 
 THE FATHER. 289 
 
 He rose, laid some money on the table, and 
 sat down again. The priest counted it. 
 
 " It is a great deal of money," said he. 
 
 " It is half the price of my gard. I sold it 
 to-day." 
 
 The priest sat long in silence. At last he 
 asked, but gently, — 
 
 " What do you propose to do now, Thord ? " 
 
 " Something better." 
 
 They sat there for a while, Thord with down- 
 cast eyes, the priest with his eyes fixed on 
 Thord. Presently the priest said, slowly and 
 softly, — 
 
 " I think your son has at last brought you a 
 true blessing." 
 
 " Yes, I think so myself," said Thord, look- 
 ing up, while two big tears coursed slowly down 
 his cheeks. 
 
 19
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 The End regards was the name of a small 
 solitary parish, surrounded by lofty mountains. 
 It lay in a flat and fertile valley, and was in- 
 tersected by a broad river that flowed down 
 from the mountains. This river emptied into 
 a lake, which was situated close by the parish, 
 and. presented a fine view of the surrounding 
 country. 
 
 Up the Endre-Lake the man had come row- 
 ing, who had first cleared this valley ; his name 
 was Endre, and it was his descendants who 
 dwelt here. Some said he had fled hither on 
 account of a murder he had committed, and that 
 was why his family were so dark ; others said 
 this was on account of the mountains, which 
 shut out the sun at five o'clock of a midsum- 
 mer afternoon. 
 
 Over this parish there hung an eagle's nest. 
 It was built on a cliff far up the mountains ; all 
 could see the mother eagle alight in her nest,
 
 THE eagle's nest. 291 
 
 but no one could reach it. The male eagle 
 went sailing over the parish, now swooping 
 down after a lamb, now after a kid ; once he 
 had also taken a little child and borne it away ; 
 therefore there was no safety in the parish as 
 long as the eagle had a nest in this mountain. 
 There was a tradition among the people, that 
 in old times there were two brothers who had 
 climbed up to the nest and torn it down ; but 
 nowadays there was no one who was able to 
 reach it. 
 
 Whenever two met at the Endregards, they 
 talked about the eagle's nest, and looked up. 
 Every one knew, when the eagles reappeared in 
 the new year, where they had swooped down 
 and done mischief, and who had last endeav- 
 ored to reach the nest. The youth of the place, 
 from early boyhood, practiced climbing mount- 
 ains and trees, wrestling and scuffling, in order 
 that one day they might reach the cliff and de- 
 molish the nest, as those two brothers had 
 done. 
 
 At the time of which this story tells, the 
 best boy at the Endregards was named Leif, and 
 he was not of the Endre family. He had curly 
 hair and small eyes, was clever in all play, and 
 was fond of the fair sex. He early said of him- 
 Belf, that one day he would reach the eagle's
 
 292 the eagle's nest. 
 
 nest ; but old people remarked that he should 
 not have said so aloud. 
 
 This annoyed him, and even before he had 
 reached his prime he made the ascent. It was 
 one bright Sunday forenoon, early in the sum- 
 mer ; the young eagles must be just about 
 hatched. A vast multitude of people had gath- 
 ered together at the foot of the mountain to 
 behold the feat; the old people advising him 
 against attempting it, the young ones urging 
 him on. 
 
 But he hearkened only to his own desires, 
 and waiting until the mother eagle left her nest, 
 he gave one spring into the air, and hung in a 
 tree several yards from the ground. The tree 
 grew in a cleft in the rock, and from this cleft 
 he began to climb upward. Small stones loos- 
 ened under his feet, earth and gravel came roll- 
 ing down, otherwise all was still, save for the 
 stream flowing behind, with its suppressed, 
 ceaseless murmur. Soon he had reached a point 
 where the mountain began to project ; here lie 
 hung long by one hand, while his foot groped 
 for a sure resting-place, for he could not sec. 
 Many, especially women, turned away, saving 
 he would never have done this had he had par- 
 ents living. He found footing at last, however, 
 Bought again, now with the hand, now with
 
 THE eagle's nest. 293 
 
 the foot, failed, slipped, then hung fast again. 
 They who stood below could hear one another 
 breathing. 
 
 Suddenly there rose to her feet, a tall, young 
 girl, who had been sitting on a stone apart 
 from the rest ; it was said that she had been 
 betrothed to Leif from early childhood, although 
 he was not of her kindred. Stretching out Inn- 
 arms she called aloud': "Leif, Leif, why do 
 you do this ? " Every eye was turned on her. 
 Her father, who was standing close by, gave 
 her a stern look, but she heeded him not. 
 " Come down again, Leif," she cried ; " I love 
 you, and there is nothing to be gained up 
 there ! " 
 
 They could see that he was considering ; he 
 hesitated a moment or two, and then started 
 onward. For a long time all went well, for he 
 was sure-footed and had a strong grip ; but 
 after a while it seemed as if he were growing- 
 weary, for he often paused. Presently a little 
 stone came rolling down as a harbinger, and 
 every one who stood there had to watch its 
 course to the bottom. Some could endure it no 
 longer, and went away. The girl alone still 
 stood on the stone, and wringing her hands 
 continued to gaze upward. 
 
 Once more Leif took hold with one hand :
 
 294 the eagle's nest. 
 
 but it slipped ; she saw this distinctly ; then he 
 tried the other ; it slipped also. " Leif ! " she 
 shouted, so loud that her voice rang through 
 the mountains, and all the others chimed in 
 with her. " He is slipping ! " they cried, and 
 stretched up their hands to him, both men and 
 women. He was indeed slipping, carrying with 
 him sand, stones, and earth ; slipping, continu- 
 ally slipping, ever faster and faster. The peo- 
 ple turned away, and then they heard a rust- 
 ling and scraping in the mountain behind them, 
 after which, something fell with a heavy thud, 
 like a great piece of wet earth. 
 
 When they could look round again, he was 
 lying there crushed and mutilated beyond rec- 
 ognition. The girl had fallen down on the 
 stone, and her father took her up in his arms 
 and bore her away. 
 
 The youths who had taken the most pains to 
 incite Leif to the perilous ascent now dared 
 not lend a hand to pick him up ; some were 
 even unable to look at him. So the old people 
 had to go forward. The eldest of them, as he 
 took hold of the body, said : " It is very sad ; 
 but," he added, casting a look upward, " it is, 
 after all, well that something hangs so high 
 that it cannot be reached by every one." 

 
 } 3 
 
 

 
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