OVIND: 
 
 A STORY OF 
 
 NORWEGIAN COUNTRY LIFE 
 
 BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON
 
 X I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VLRSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 Tom Turner Collection
 
 L161-0-1096
 
 O V I N D: 
 
 Stay; xxf gauntly; Huie in 
 
 BY 
 
 BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE XORWECTAN 
 "EN GLAD c:UT," 
 
 SIVERT AND ELIZABETH HJEKLKID. 
 
 LONDON : SIMPKIX, MARSHALL, AND CO. 
 
 MIDDLESBROUGH : BURNETT AND HOOD. 
 1869.
 
 TRANSLATORS' PREFACE. 
 
 IN offering to the public our Translation of Ovind, 
 
 ' we wish to say that the work was commenced simply 
 
 , for the pleasure of it, and without any view to publi- 
 
 ~ cation ; but having completed it, we have decided to 
 
 * follow the advice of many of our friends who have 
 
 read the book, and who think it a pity to keep in 
 
 ;.' manuscript the translation of a work so original as 
 
 ^ this. It is therefore offered to the English reader, in 
 
 ^ the hope that it will meet with the same success in this 
 
 - country that it has done in others; for BJORNSTJERNE 
 
 * BJORNSON, that singular man who seemed so long 
 ' destined to be distinguished for naught but foolish 
 
 ; pranks as a boy, and inaptitude at school and college, 
 
 s has won for himself high literary honors, not only 
 
 in his native land but throughout Northern 
 
 ^^urope. A restless nature, wandering in a wilderness 
 
 of unfixed purpose, he has repeatedly been on the 
 
 rpoint of giving himself up as good for naught, until 
 
 ~ at last the sequestered valley, and the lowly and quiet 
 
 ^ life of his home, broke upon his wondering eye,
 
 IV TRANSLATORS PREFACE. 
 
 in forms he had been seeking in that dreamy half- 
 conscious instinct, which has so often been the har- 
 binger of greatness. . 
 
 The " Bonde," that sturdy aristocrat of a northern 
 settlement, a man of noble descent, a lord of his 
 ground, and the mainstay of his country, covering 
 under the rugged garb of his matter-of-fact life, a heart 
 that beats warm with attachment to his fellow man, 
 and an inborn pride, nurtured by Saga memories and 
 family traditions, is BJORNSON'S text, and a text he 
 handles well. His romances are true to nature, and 
 ths sombre grandeur of his land inspires him with 
 ideas which we meet with only in his writings, and 
 which are completely his own. There is a weird light 
 over his whole mind, reflected in his works, which 
 does not repel, but allures. In short, BJORNSON, of 
 all men living, seems to have entered most entirely 
 into the life of his nation as it is in its reality, the 
 life which exists on the national traditions, customs, 
 thought, handed down from generation to generation. 
 
 The story, which it has been our endeavour to 
 translate as literally as possible, is one of the author's 
 earliest works. In the original the chapters are 
 without headings, but we have added them as more 
 consonant with English taste and custom. As the 
 Norwegian title, " En glad Gut," scarcely bears 
 translation, we have given the name of the hero of 
 the story to the book. Thinking it would be accept-
 
 TRANSLATORS' PREFACE. v 
 
 able to our readers, we have added two of BjiiRN- 
 SON'S shorter pieces, " The Eagle's Nest," and " The 
 Father." 
 
 We should not feel to be doing HERR BJORNSON 
 justice, if we spoke only of his romances, and omitted 
 to mention his success as a poet and dramatist. In the 
 drama he has mostly chosen for his subjects, scenes 
 in old Norwegian history, but his play entitled, " Mary 
 Stuart," and another of more general interest, " The 
 newly-married couple," would perhaps be better suited 
 to the English reader. 
 
 NORTH ORMESBY, 
 
 MIDDLESBROUGH, OCTOBER, 1869.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 OVIND. 
 
 CHAP. I. PAGE. 
 THE LOST GOAT 9 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 AT SCHOOI 18 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY 28 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 Two BRIGHT BUTTONS AND ONE BLACK ..." 44 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 A NEW AIM IN LIFE 60 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 NOT QUITE FAIR 75 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE RlDGE 94 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 BE SURE THAT You BURN IT 106 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 OVIND THROWS HIS CAP IN THE AIR 124 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 TURN THE RIVER WHERE IT CAN FLOW ... ' 136
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 GATHERING KERRIKS 147 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 THE OLD MAN GETS HIS OWN WAY ... 166 
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST 188 
 
 THE FATHER 194
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 THE LOST GOAT. 
 
 HEY called him Ovind, and he cried 
 when he was born. Rut when he 
 could sit upon his mother's lap he 
 smiled, and when they lit the candle in the dusk, 
 he laughed and laughed again, but cried when 
 he couldn't come to it. 
 
 " This child will be something rare," said the 
 mother. 
 
 There, where he was born, the wild rocks 
 overhung. From the top of the ridge, the firs 
 and birch looked down upon the cottage ; the 
 bird cherry strewed its flowers on the roof. 
 
 And up on the roof grazed Ovind's little goat ; 
 B
 
 io (Dbinb. 
 
 they kept him there that he mightn't stray, and 
 Ovind gathered leaves and grass for him. One 
 fine morning the goat leapt down, and skipped 
 among the rocks, away where he had never 
 been before. When Ovind came out in the 
 afternoon, the goat was gone. He thought at 
 once of a fox, and grew hot and listened " Billy, 
 Billy, Billy, Bil-ly goat !" " Ba-a-a !" he answered 
 up from the ridge, laid his head to one side, and 
 looked down. 
 
 By the side of the goat sat a little girl. "Is 
 the goat yours ?" said she. 
 
 Ovind stood with open eyes and mouth, and 
 stuck both his hands in his pocket. " Who are 
 you ?" said he. 
 
 " I am Marit, my mother's pet, my father's 
 darling, the fairy in the house, granddaughter 
 to Ole Nordistuen at Heidegaard, four years 
 old in Autumn, two days after the frosty 
 nights !" 
 
 " Oh ! are you that !" said he, as he drew a
 
 alu Jfost $0at. n 
 
 long breath, for he had not stirred while she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Is the goat yours ?" said the little girl 
 again. 
 
 " Why, yes," said he, and looked up. 
 
 " I have taken such a fancy to this goat ; 
 you won't give it to me ?" 
 
 " No, that I won't." 
 
 She twisted herself, looked down upon him, 
 and said : " But if I give you a butter biscuit, 
 can I get the goat ?" 
 
 Ovind was of poor folk, he had only eaten 
 butter biscuit once in his life, that was when his 
 grandfather came, and the like he had never 
 tasted before or since. " Let me first see the 
 biscuit," said he. 
 
 She held up a large one " Here it is !" and 
 tossed it down. <& 
 
 " Oh ! it's broken !" said the boy, and he 
 carefully gathered up every crumb ; the small- 
 est bit he must taste, and it was so good that
 
 12 
 
 he must take just another, and another, till 
 before he knew it, the whole biscuit was 
 gone. 
 
 " Now the goat is mine," said the little girl. 
 
 The boy stopped with the last bit in his 
 mouth. The girl sat and smiled, the goat 
 standing by her side, with his white breast and 
 dark brown shaggy hair. 
 
 " Couldn't you wait for a while ?" begged 
 the boy, and his heart began to beat. 
 
 Then the little girl laughed the more, ancj 
 rose up on her knees. " No the goat is mine," 
 said she, and threw her arm round his neck, 
 untied her garter, and bound it round. 
 
 Ovind looked on. She rose and began to 
 pull at the goat, but he wouldn't go, and 
 stretched his neck over towards Ovind. " Ba- 
 a-a," said he. She took hold of him by the 
 hair with one hand, and drawing the cord in 
 with the other, said coaxingly, " Come now, 
 goaty, come, you shall come to the kitchen and
 
 oat. 13 
 
 I'll give you nice milk an,d bread," then she 
 sang : 
 
 " Come calf from my mother, 
 
 Come goat from the lad, 
 
 Come pussy mew kitty, 
 
 Oh ! I am so glad ! 
 
 Come ducklings so yellow, 
 
 Go each with your fellow, , 
 
 Come chickens and run, 
 
 Haste to join in the fun, 
 
 Come little doves cooing, 
 
 Your feathers are fine 
 
 The grass may be wet, 
 
 But the sun will still shine, 
 Early, early, early, in the summer sky, 
 Calling unto autumn that her days are nigh f 
 
 There stood the boy. He had tended the 
 goat since winter when he was born, and the 
 idea of losing him had never entered his mind, 
 but now he was gone all in a minute, and he 
 should never see him more. 
 
 The mother came singing up from the well. 
 She saw the boy sitting in the grass crying, 
 and went over to him. " What are you crying 
 for ?"
 
 14 (Obinb. 
 
 " Oh ! the goat, the goat." 
 
 " Yes, where is the goat ?" said the mother, 
 as she looked up to the roof. 
 
 " He won't come any more !" said the boy. 
 
 " Dear, how can that be ?" 
 
 Ovind wouldn't tell about it. 
 
 " Has the fox taken it ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I wish it was the fox !" 
 
 " Now what have you been doing ?" said the 
 mother.. " Where is the goat ?" 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh! I. ..I. ..sold the goat for 
 
 a biscuit !" 
 
 Just as he said the words, he felt what it was 
 to sell the goat for a biscuit, he had not thought 
 about it before. The mother said, " And what 
 do you say now the little goat thinks of you, 
 that you could sell him for a biscuit?" 
 Now the boy fully understood it, and he felt 
 sure he could never more be happy here, not 
 even with God, he thought again. 
 
 He felt so grieved,, that he made an agree-
 
 6oat. 15 
 
 ment with himself that he would never do 
 wrong any more, he wouldn't cut the spinning 
 thread, and he wouldn't lose the sheep, nor go 
 down to the sea alone. And as he lay, he fell 
 asleep, and dreamt that the goat had gone to 
 heaven ; the Lord sat there with a great beard 
 as in the catechism, and the goat stood and 
 nibbled the leaves from- a shining tree, but 
 Ovind sat alone upon the roof and couldn't 
 come up. 
 
 Suddenly he felt something wet against his 
 ear, and started up. " Ba-a-a !" it said. It was 
 the goat come back again. 
 
 " Oh, are you come again !" He sprang up, 
 took both the goat's forelegs, and danced with 
 him as a brother ; he pulled him by the beard, 
 and was just going in with him when he heard 
 something behind, and turning, he saw the little 
 girl sitting on the greensward.' Now he under- 
 stood it, and let the goat loose. " Is it you who 
 have brought him back ?"
 
 16 (Dbinb. 
 
 She sat and pulled the grass up. " They 
 wouldn't let me keep him. My grandfather's 
 up there waiting." 
 
 Just then they heard a shrill voice calling, 
 " Now !" Then she remembered what she 
 had to do. She rose and went to Ovind, put 
 one hand in his, looked down, and said : " For- 
 give me." But then her courage failed her ; she 
 cast herself over the goat, and wept. 
 
 " You shall keep the little goat," said Ovind, 
 and turned away. 
 
 " Be quick !" said the' grandfather up from 
 the hill. 
 
 Marit rose and walked slowly on. 
 
 " You've forgotten your garter," cried 
 Ovind. 
 
 She turned herself, looked first on the garter 
 and then on him, and at last mumbled " You 
 can keep that." 
 
 He went and took her by the hand, " Thank 
 you !" he said.
 
 <Tl)t JTost (goat. 17 
 
 " Oh, nothing to thank me for," she replied, 
 heaved a deep sigh, and went away. 
 
 But Ovind wasn't so happy with the goat as 
 he had been before.
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 AT SCHOOL. 
 
 Y the cottage side the goat was 
 tethered, but Ovind was looking up 
 towards the hill. His mother came 
 and sat by him ; he wished to hear stories 
 about things far away, for the goat could 
 no longer satisfy him. So he was told how 
 once all things could speak, the mountain 
 spoke to the brook, and the brook to the river, 
 and the river to the sea, and the sea to the sky ; 
 but then he asked if the sky spoke to nothing, 
 yes, the sky spoke to the clouds, and the 
 clouds to the trees, and the trees to the grass, 
 and the grass to the flies, and the flics to the
 
 ^t School. 19 
 
 animals, and the animals to children, and 
 children to old people, and so it went again 
 and again, and round and round, and no one 
 knew who began. Ovind looked on the moun- 
 tain, the trees, the sea, and the sky, and had in 
 reality never seen them before. The cat came 
 out and laid herself on the doorstep in the sun.. 
 " What does pussy say ?" said Ovind, and 
 pointed. The mother sang : 
 
 " Softly the sun sheds his evening rays, 
 Idly the cat on the doorstep lays. 
 * Two little wee mice, 
 
 Some cream from a cup, 
 
 And a dainty fish slice 
 
 Have I eaten up, 
 
 And I feel too lazy to stir, 
 
 I can only sit here and purr,' 
 
 Says tlie cat." 
 
 The cock with all his hens passed by. " What 
 does the cock say ?" asked Ovind, and clapped 
 his hands. The mother sang : 
 
 " Kindly the hen-mother spreads out her wings, 
 Proudly the cock stands on one leg and sings,
 
 20 
 
 ' Up in the air with plumage grey, 
 
 The wild goose swiftly his course may steer, 
 
 But, in intellect tell me I pray 
 
 Can he ever match with Sir Chanticleer ! 
 
 Come, come my hens, to rest, to rest 
 
 Soon will the sun sink down in the west,' 
 
 Says the cock." 
 
 Two little birds sat and sang up on the roof. 
 " What do the little birds say ?" asked Ovind, 
 and laflghed. 
 
 '" Oh ! how pleasant and sweet is life 
 Free from the turmoil of constant strife, ' 
 Say the little birds." 
 
 And so he got to hear what all things said, 
 even down to the ant that crept through the 
 moss, and the worm that bored in the bark. 
 
 The same summer his mother began to teach 
 him to read. He had often wondered how it 
 would be when the books began to talk, and 
 now all the letters were animals, birds, or any- 
 thing else he thought of ; but soon they began 
 to go together two and two ; A stood and 
 leaned against a tree, and called to B, then E
 
 21 
 
 came and did the same, but now there were 
 three or four together, and it seemed as if they 
 disagreed, the further he went the more he 
 forgot what they were. He could remember A 
 the longest, for he liked it the best, it was a 
 little black lamb and was friends with every- 
 body ; but soon he forgot A too. The book 
 had no stories, but was simply lessons. 
 
 One day his mother came in, and said to him 
 " To-morrow the school begins again, and I shall 
 take you there to the farm." Ovind had heard 
 that the school was a place where little boys 
 played together, and he had nothing to say 
 against it. He was delighted, and ran on before 
 his mother up the hill, full of glee and expecta- 
 tion. They reached the school-house, and a 
 busy hum greeted their ears, like the sound of 
 the water mill at home. He asked what it was. 
 " It is the children reading," she said : then he 
 was pleased, for he had read that way himself 
 before he knew his letters. When he came in
 
 22 Ofainb. 
 
 there were as many children sitting round the 
 table as he had ever seen at church. Others sat 
 on their dinner tins round the room, and some 
 stood in small groups before a black board. 
 The schoolmaster, an old grey-headed man, sat 
 on a stool by the fire filling his pipe. When 
 Ovind and his mother entered, they all looked 
 up, and the murmur ceased, as if the mill stream 
 were suddenly dammed. The mother said 
 " Good morning," and shook hands with the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 " Here I come with a little boy who will 
 learn to read," said the mother. 
 
 " What's the bairn's name ?" said the school- 
 master, as he delved in his pouch for the to- 
 bacco. 
 
 " Ovind," said the mother ;" he knows his 
 letters and a few short words." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed !" said the schoolmaster. 
 " Come here you little white head !" 
 
 Ovind went to him, the schoolmaster lifted
 
 M School. 23 
 
 him on to his knee, and took off his cap. 
 " Here's a nice little lad !" said he, and stroked 
 his hair. 
 
 Ovind looked up in his face and smiled. 
 
 " Is it me you're laughing at ?" and he 
 frowned. 
 
 " Yes, that it is," replied Ovind, and laughed 
 aloud. Then the schoolmaster laughed also, 
 and the mother, so the children saw they might 
 join, and they all laughed together. 
 
 This was the way in which Ovind entered 
 the school. 
 
 When he had to take his seat each one 
 wanted to make room for him, but he stood 
 looking round and round, from side to side, 
 with his cap in his hand and his book under 
 his arm, while they whispered and pointed. 
 
 " What then ?" said the schoolmaster, and 
 he took his pipe again. 
 
 As the boy turned round to the schoolmaster 
 he caught sight of Marit with the many names,
 
 24 Obinb. 
 
 sitting on a little red painted box in the chimney 
 corner : she hid her face in both her hands and 
 sat and peeped at him. 
 
 " I'll sit here !" said Ovind quickly, hopped 
 across the room, and set himself down by her 
 side. Now she lifted her arm and looked at 
 him from under her elbows ; then he did the 
 same. This went on till they all laughed again. 
 
 " Be quiet, you naughty, troublesome, gig- 
 gling gewgaws ! Come be good little children 
 now !" 
 
 It was the voice of the schoolmaster, who, if 
 he stormed, was sure to be calm before he 
 finished. 
 
 The children were soon quiet again, until 
 each began to con his lesson aloud. Then the 
 treble voices sounded high, while the bass 
 drummed louder and louder to overpower them, 
 and one and another chimed in between, till 
 Ovind thought he had never had such fun in 
 all his days.
 
 25 
 
 " Is it always like this ?" he whispered to Marit. 
 
 " Yes, it's always like this," she said. 
 
 By and bye they had to go up to the school- 
 master to read, then a little boy was set to hear 
 them, and they soon found a chance to slip 
 back to their corner again. 
 
 " I've got a little goat now, too," said Marit. 
 
 " Have you ?" 
 
 " Yes, but it's not so nice as yours." 
 
 " Why haven't you come up oftener to the 
 ridge ?" 
 
 " Grandfather was afraid lest I should fall 
 
 ft 
 down." 
 
 " But it isn't so high." 
 
 " Grandfather won't let me come though." 
 
 " My mother knows so many songs," said 
 
 Ovind. 
 
 " Oh ! so does grandfather." 
 
 " Yes, but not the same as mother sings." 
 
 " Grandfather knows a dancing song ! Will 
 
 vou hear it ?"
 
 26 (Dbinb. 
 
 " Oh yes !" 
 
 " Then come further away so that the school- 
 master shan't see us." 
 
 He came quite close to her, and she said the 
 song over and over again, till he knew it by 
 heart, and this was the first that he learnt at 
 the school, 
 
 " Dance ! cried the fiddle 
 
 In tuning the strings, 
 , Then suddenly upsprings 
 
 A youth and cries ' Ho !' 
 
 ' Hey !' said Erasmus, 
 Embracing fair Randi, 
 1 Come hasten to give me 
 The kiss that you owe !' 
 
 ' Nay,' answered Randi, 
 But slipped away shyly, 
 And nodding, said slyly, 
 ' From that you may know !' " 
 
 " Up youngsters," cried the schoolmaster, 
 " this is the first day at school, and you may 
 go early, but now we must have prayers and 
 singing." Up rushed the children, laughing and
 
 M School. 27 
 
 talking and scampering over the floor. " Silence ! 
 you little good-for-nothing chatter-boxes, be 
 good and walk nicely over the floor my children !" 
 said the schoolmaster, whereupon they quietly 
 took their places, the schoolmaster went in front 
 and said a short prayer, and then they sang. 
 He led in a deep bass voice, and all the children 
 stood with folded hands. Ovind and Marit 
 stood near the door they also folded their 
 hands, but they could not sing. 
 So ended the first day at school.
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY. 
 
 VI ND grew, and became a promising 
 lad. At school he was always among 
 the first, and at home he was indus- 
 trious, for at home he loved his mother and at 
 school the schoolmaster. He did not see much 
 of his father, who was either away fishing or 
 else attending to the mill. 
 
 That which at this time had the most in- 
 fluence over his mind, was the history of the 
 schoolmaster, which his mother told him one 
 night as they sat over the log fire. It entered 
 his books, it peeped out of every word the 
 schoolmaster said, and crept stealthily round
 
 <T br $cboolmasttr's Stern. 29 
 
 the school-room when all was still. It made 
 him obedient and respectful, and, as it were, 
 enlarged the powers of his mind. The story 
 ran thus: The schoolmaster's name was Baard, 
 and he had one only brother called Anders. 
 They were much attached to each other, they 
 enlisted together, served in the same company, 
 were together in the war, and were both made 
 corporals ; and, when after the war they re- 
 turned home, they were looked upon by every- 
 body as two brave fellows. 
 
 Soon after this their father died, leaving a 
 good deal of property not easy to divide. To 
 overcome the difficulty, they resolved to have 
 an auction sale, when they could share the 
 profits, and each could buy those things he 
 liked best. Now the father had left a large 
 gold watch, known through all the country side, 
 for it was the only gold watch the people there 
 had ever seen. When this watch was put up 
 at the sale there were many bids, until both the
 
 30 (Dbinb. 
 
 brothers began, and then others ceased. Now 
 Baard expected that Anders would let him 
 have the watch, and Anders thought the same 
 of Baard. When the watch had come up to 
 twenty dollars, Baard thought it wasn't nice of 
 his younger brother, and he bid again until it 
 was near thirty, but Anders would not give in. 
 Then Baard said forty dollars at one bid, and 
 looked no longer at his brother. There was a 
 deep silence in the room, broken only by the 
 auctioneer quietly naming the last bid. Anders 
 thought that if Baard could afford to pay forty 
 dollars, he could do it equally as well, and if 
 Baard would not let him have the watch, he 
 should pay dearly for it, so he bid higher. 
 Then Baard laughed " A hundred dollars and 
 my brotherhood into the bargain," he said, and 
 went out. A moment after, as he saddled his 
 horse, one came out and said to him, "The watch 
 is yours ; Anders gave in." As he heard this, a 
 deep pang shot through him, he thought of
 
 |jr Schoolmaster's Storg. 31 
 
 his brother and not of the watch. The horse 
 was saddled, but he seemed uncertain whether 
 to ride or not. Just then many of the people 
 came out, and Anders among them, who, seeing 
 Baard with his horse ready saddled and little 
 dreaming of his real thoughts, called out 
 aloud, 
 
 " Thank you, Baard, you shall never see the 
 day when I come in your way again !" 
 
 " Nor you the day when I set foot on this 
 farm," retorted Baard, pale as death, as he 
 swung himself into the saddle. 
 
 Neither of them ever trod again upon the 
 threshold of their father's house. 
 
 Soon after this Anders got married, but Baard 
 was not invited to the wedding. 
 
 During the same year, Anders' only cow was 
 found dead close to his house, and no one could 
 tell how it happened. One misfortune followed 
 another, and everything seemed to go wrong ; 
 at last, in the middle of the Winter, his hay loft
 
 32 Obinb. 
 
 and everything in it was burnt to the ground, 
 and it could not be found out how the fire ori- 
 ginated. " Some one who wishes me evil has 
 done this," said Anders, and he wept. He was 
 now reduced to poverty, and all his energy for 
 work was gone. 
 
 The next evening Baard appeared at his 
 brother's house ; Anders was lying down, but 
 sprang up at the unexpected sight. 
 
 " What do you want here ?" said he, then 
 stood fixedly gazing at him. 
 
 Baard waited a little before he answered, " I 
 came to help you, Anders; you are in trouble." 
 
 " Things have gone with me as you would 
 have them, Baard ! Go, or I cannot restrain 
 myself." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Anders, I regret..." 
 
 " Go Baard, or we are both victims !" 
 
 Baard retreated a few steps, then in a 
 trembling voice he said, " If you would like 
 the watch you shall have it."
 
 ffbr Schoolmaster's torg. 33 
 
 " Go, Baard !" screeched the other, and Baard 
 went. 
 
 Now with Baard things had been thus : 
 Finding his brother fared so ill, his heart was 
 softened, but pride held him back. He felt a 
 desire to go to church, and there he made good 
 resolutions, but failed in carrying them out. He 
 often went so near that he could see the house, 
 but either some one came out at the door, or 
 there was a stranger, or Anders stood and 
 chopped wood, there was always something in 
 the way. But one Sunday in the Winter, he 
 again went to church, and Anders was there 
 too. Baard saw him, he looked very pale and 
 thin, and he wore the same clothes he had done 
 when they lived together, but now they were 
 old and worn. During the sermon he looked 
 up at the pastor, and Baard thought he seemed 
 good and kind, and he remembered their child- 
 hood's years and what a good lad he had been. 
 
 Baard himself went up to the altar that day,
 
 34 Obinb. 
 
 and he made the solemn promise before God, 
 that he would be reconciled to his brother cost 
 him what it might. 
 
 This resolution took hold of him in the same 
 moment as he drank of the wine, and when he 
 rose he meant to go and sit by his brother, but 
 some one was in the way, and Anders did not 
 look up. After service there were also hinder- 
 ing things, there were so many people, his 
 wife walked beside him, and Baard did not know 
 her ; he thought it would be best to go home to 
 him alone, and talk openly with him. 
 
 When evening came, he went. As he reached 
 the room door, he listened, and heard his own 
 name mentioned ; it was by the wife. 
 
 " He came up to the altar to-day," said she, 
 " he was certainly thinking of you." 
 
 " No, he never thought of me," said Anders, 
 " I know him ; he thought only of himself." 
 
 Then there was a long pause ; Baard felt the 
 sweat upon his brow, although the night was
 
 oTbc Schoolmaster's Storjj. 35 
 
 cold. He heard the wife busy with the kettle ; 
 the fire blazed and crackled, a little baby cried 
 now and then, and Anders rocked the cradle. 
 
 Then she said these few words, " I believe 
 you both think of each other without admitting 
 it." 
 
 " Let us talk of something else," said Anders. 
 
 Soon after, he rose and went towards the door ; 
 Baard hid himself in the stick house, but just 
 there Anders came to get wood. Baard crouched 
 in the corner, and could see him distinctly ; he 
 had doffed the poor clothes he wore at church, 
 and had taken instead the uniform he had 
 brought home from the war, the same as Baard's, 
 and which they had promised each other never 
 to use, but to descend as heirlooms in the 
 family. Anders' was now all patched and torn. 
 His strong well-built body seemed enveloped in 
 a bundle of rags, and at the same moment 
 Baard heard the gold watch ticking in his own 
 pocket. Anders went to the spot where the
 
 36 
 
 wood lay, but instead of taking it he stood and 
 leaned against the pile, and gazing up into the 
 heavens, where the stars shone bright and clear, 
 he gave a sigh and said, "Yes, yes, yes, 
 my God ! my God !" 
 
 So long as Baard lived these words sounded 
 in his ears. He stepped forward towards him, 
 but just then his brother coughed, and it felt so 
 hard that he stopped. Anders took the bundle 
 of wood, and passed so close to Baard that the 
 branches touched his face. There he stood, 
 without moving, till a cold shudder ran through 
 him. This aroused him ; he went out, and con- 
 fessed to himself that he was too weak to face 
 his brother, and he therefore resolved upon 
 another plan. In the corner of the stick-house 
 he found a few pieces of charcoal ; then he 
 selected a piece of fir wood for a torch, went up 
 to the hay-loft, and struck fire. When he had 
 got the torch lighted, he sought for the nail 
 where Anders would hang his lamp when he
 
 <fbr Schoolmaster's Storg. 37 
 
 came in the morning to thrash. On this nail 
 Baard hung the gold watch, blew out the light, 
 and went down ; he felt so light-hearted that 
 he sprang over the snow like a young lad. 
 
 The day after, he heard that the hay-loft had 
 been burnt down the same night. Undoubtedly 
 a spark must have fallen from his torch while 
 he turned to hang up the watch. 
 
 This overpowered him so that he sat all day 
 as though he were ill ; then he took the psalm 
 book out and sang, so that the people in the 
 house could not think what was the matter. 
 But in the evening he went out. It was bright 
 moonlight ; he made his way to the ruins of the 
 hay-loft, and groped among the ashes. There, 
 sure enough, he found a little lump of gold ; it 
 was the watch. 
 
 It was with this in his hand, he went to his 
 brother that evening as before related, and 
 sought for a reconciliation. 
 
 A little girl had seen him groping among the
 
 38 
 
 ashes. He had also been observed going to- 
 wards the farm the foregoing Sunday evening ; 
 the people in the house told how strangely he 
 had behaved on Monday ; everybody knew that 
 he and his brother were not on good terms, and 
 he was reported and brought up for trial. 
 Nothing could be proved against him, but sus- 
 picion rested on him, and now more than ever 
 it seemed impossible to approach his brother. 
 
 Though Anders had said nothing, he had 
 thought of Baard when the hay-loft was burnt, 
 and when the evening after, he saw him enter the 
 room looking so pale and strange, he at once 
 concluded that now remorse had struck him, 
 but for such an offence, and against his own 
 brother, there was no pardon. On hearing the 
 circumstantial evidence against him, though 
 nothing had been proved at the trial, he firmly 
 believed that Baard was guilty. They met each 
 other at the trial, Baard in his good clothes, and 
 Anders in threadbare. Baard looked up as he
 
 |u Schoolmaster's Storg. 39 
 
 went in, with so imploring a glance that Anders 
 felt it deeply. " He does not want me to say 
 anything," thought Anders, and when he was 
 asked if he believed his brother guilty, he 
 answered clearly and decidedly, " No." 
 
 From that day Anders took to drinking, and 
 matters grew worse and worse with him. With 
 Baard it was little better, although he never 
 drank ; he was not like himself. 
 
 Late one evening a poor woman entered the 
 little room where Baard lived, and begged him 
 to go with her. He knew her : it was his 
 brother's wife. He understood the errand she 
 had come upon, turned deadly pale, and fol- 
 lowed without a word. There was a flickering 
 light from the window of Anders' room that 
 served to guide them, for there was no pathway 
 over the snow. They reached the house and 
 went in. On entering, Baard felt at once that 
 here reigned poverty ; the room was close ; a 
 little child sat on the hearth eating a piece of
 
 4 ft) fa i it & . 
 
 charcoal : its face was black all over, but it 
 looked up with its white teeth and grinned. 
 There on the bed, with all sorts of clothes to 
 cover him, lay Anders, thin and worn, with his 
 clear high forehead, looking mildly upon him. 
 Baard trembled in all his limbs, he sat down on 
 the bed foot, and burst into tears. The sick 
 man continued silently looking at him. At 
 last he told his wife to withdraw, but Baard 
 signed to her to remain, and the two brothers 
 began to speak together. They related each 
 his history, from the day when they bid on the 
 watch to the time they now met together, and it 
 was clearly shown that during all these years 
 they had never been happy for a single day. 
 Baard finished by taking out the little lump of 
 gold, which he always carried about with him. 
 
 Anders was not able to talk much, but as 
 long as he was ill, Baard continued to watch by 
 his bedside. " Now I am perfectly well," said 
 Anders, one morning when he awoke, " Now,
 
 |je Schoolmaster's Storjr. 4 1 
 
 my brother, we will always live together as in 
 the olden time !" But that day he died. 
 
 Baard took the wife and the child to live with 
 him, and they were well cared for from that 
 time. That which the brothers had said to 
 each other was soon known through the village, 
 and Baard became the most esteemed man 
 among them. Everybody met him as one who 
 had known great sorrow and again found joy, 
 or as one who had been long absent. Baard felt 
 strengthened by all this friendliness around him, 
 he loved God more, and felt a desire to be use- 
 ful ; so the old corporal became a schoolmaster. 
 That which he impressed first and last upon his 
 pupils, was love, and this precept was so ex- 
 emplified in himself, that the children were 
 attached to him as to a play-fellow and father 
 at the same time. 
 
 This was the story told of the old school- 
 master that had such effect upon Ovind, that 
 
 it became to him both religion and education. 
 D
 
 42 (Obinfc. 
 
 He looked upon the schoolmaster as a being 
 almost supernatural, although he sat there so 
 familiarly and corrected them. Not to know 
 his lessons was impossible, and if, after saying 
 them well, he got a smile or a stroke of the 
 head, he was glad and happy for the whole day. 
 It always made a strong impression upon the 
 children when, before singing, the schoolmaster 
 would sometimes speak a little to them, and, at 
 least once a week,, read aloud a few verses about 
 loving your neighbour. As he read the first of 
 these verses his voice trembled, although he had 
 now continually read it for twenty or thirty years. 
 It ran thus : 
 
 " Be kind to thy neighbour and scorn him not, 
 Though virtue and beauty be all forgot, 
 And no light is seen from above ; 
 Remember he too has a soul to save, 
 He must live again when beyond the grave r 
 Then forget not the power of love !" 
 
 But when the whole of the piece was said, and 
 he had stood still a little while, he looked at
 
 <|je Schoolmaster's Siorg. 43 
 
 them and blinked with his eyes, " Up children, 
 and go nicely and quietly home, go nicely, that 
 I may hear nothing but good of you, bairns I" 
 Then, while they hastened to find each his own 
 things, he called out through the noise, " Come 
 again to-morrow, come in good time, little girls 
 and little boys, that we may be industrious."
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 TWO BRIGHT BUTTONS AND ONE BLACK. 
 
 F his life, till one year before con- 
 firmation, there is not much to relate. 
 He read in the mornings, worked in 
 the afternoons, and played in the evenings. 
 
 As he was very lively the children of the 
 neighbourhood sought his company during play 
 hours. Close to the farm lay a great hill, as be- 
 fore mentioned, where, on a fine day, they 
 assembled to drive their sledges on the snow. 
 Ovind was always master in the field : he had 
 two sledges, " Quick Trotter," and " Superior." 
 The last he lent out, and the first he used him- 
 self, takincr Marit with him.
 
 <Ttoo "Iriqht Buttons anb (One *3Iach. 45 
 
 The first thing Ovind did when he awoke in 
 the morning, was to look out and see if it was 
 fine weather ; if it was thick and misty, or he 
 heard it dripping from the roof, he dressed as 
 slowly as if there was nothing to be done that 
 day. But on the contrary, and especially on 
 holidays, if it was sharp, cold, and clear weather, 
 his best clothes and no work, the whole of the 
 afternoon and evening free, hey ! he bounded 
 out of bed, was dressed like lightning, and could 
 scarcely eat anything for excitement. When 
 afternoon came he sprang over the hill to the 
 sledge ground, and joined the party with a long 
 shout that echoed from cliff to cliff, and the 
 sound died far away. Then he looked for 
 Marit, and when he found her there, he did not 
 take much more notice of her. 
 
 Now one Christmas the boy and the girl were 
 both about sixteen or seventeen years of age, 
 and they were both to be confirmed in the 
 Spring. In Christmas week there was to be a
 
 46 (Dbinb. 
 
 grand party at Heidegaard, where Marit's 
 grand-parents lived, who had brought her up 
 and educated her. They had promised her this 
 fte for three years, and now at last they were 
 obliged to fulfil their word. To this party 
 Ovind was invited. 
 
 It was a dull evening, not a single star to be 
 seen ; it would probably rain next day. There 
 were great drifts of snow along the mountain 
 side, with here and there bare places, and again 
 the groups of birch trees standing isolated and 
 conspicuous against the white back ground. 
 The farmstead lay in the middle of the fields 
 on the mountain side, and in the darkness the 
 houses looked like black clumps from which the 
 light streamed first from one window then from 
 another. It seemed as though they were busy 
 inside. Old and young flocked thithej from 
 different directions. No one liked to go in first ; 
 so when they reached the farm, instead of going 
 direct to the house, they loitered about the out-
 
 Cfeo Bright JBullons anb <9iu glack. 47 
 
 buildings. Some hid Behind the cattle shed, a 
 few under the granary, some stood beside the 
 hay-loft and imitated foxes, while others re- 
 plied in the distance as cats ; one stood behind 
 the bakehouse and howled like an angry old 
 dog, until there was a general chase. The girls 
 came by-and-bye in great numbers, accom- 
 panied by their younger brothers, who would 
 
 fain conduct themselves as grown-up men. 
 
 i 
 
 The girls were very shy, and when the older 
 youths already assembled came out to meet 
 them, they ran away in all directions, and had 
 to be brought in one by one. A few there were 
 who would not be persuaded to enter, till Marit 
 came herself and bade them. Now and then 
 there also came a few who had certainly not 
 been invited, and whose intention had been 
 simply to look on from outside, but who, seeing 
 the dancing, at last ventured in just for one 
 single turn. Marit invited those she liked best 
 into the private sitting room where her grand-
 
 48 Obinb. 
 
 parents sat, and they fared exceedingly well. 
 Now Ovind was not of the number, and this he 
 thought very strange. 
 
 The grand fiddler of the neighbourhood could 
 not come until late, so they had to content 
 themselves with the old gardener, known by the 
 name of "Grey Knut." He could play four 
 dances, two Spring dances, a hailing,* and a 
 waltz. When they tired of these, they made 
 him vary the hailing to suit a quadrille, and a 
 Spring dance in the same way to the mazurka 
 polka. 
 
 The party being at her grandfather's house, 
 Marit was dancing nearly all the time, and this 
 the more drew Ovind's attention to her. He 
 wished to dance with her himself, and therefore 
 he sat during one round in order to spring to her 
 side the moment the dance was done ; and this 
 he succeeded in doing, but a tall, dark-looking 
 
 * The " Spring dance" and " Hailing" are the national 
 dances of the country.
 
 luight Buttons ;inb (Due 5l:ich. 49 
 
 fellow with black hair, stepped suddenly for- 
 ward ; " Away, child !" he cried, and pushed 
 Ovind that he nearly fell over Marit. Never 
 before had he known such behaviour, never had 
 any one been so unkind to him, and never had he 
 been called " Child !" in that contemptuous way. 
 He blushed crimson, but said nothing, and 
 turned back to where the new fiddler, who had 
 just entered, had seated himself, and now tuned 
 up. Every one stood still, waiting to hear the 
 first strong tones of " Himself;" they waited 
 long while he tuned the fiddle, but at last he 
 began with a " Spring ;" the lads stepped out, 
 and, pair by pair, they quickly joined in the 
 dance. Ovind looked at Marit as she danced 
 with the dark-haired man ; he saw her smiling 
 face over the man's shoulder, and for the first 
 time in his life he felt a strange pang at his 
 heart. 
 
 He looked more and more earnestly at her, 
 and it came forcibly before him that Marit was
 
 5 (Dbinb. 
 
 now quite grown up. " And yet it cannot be," 
 thought he, " for she is still playing with us in 
 the sledges." But grown she certainly was, and 
 the dark-haired man drew her to him at the end 
 of the dance ; she loosened herself from his 
 clasp but continued to sit by his side. 
 
 Ovind looked at the man : he wore a fine 
 blue cloth suit, and fancy shirt, and carried a 
 silk pocket handkerchief; he had a small face, 
 deep blue eyes, laughing defying mouth ; he 
 was good looking. Ovind looked long at him, 
 and at last he looked at himself. He had got 
 new trousers for Christmas, which had much 
 pleased him, but now he saw they were only of 
 gray homespun ; his jacket was of the same 
 material but old and dark ; his vest of common 
 plaided cloth, also old, and with two bright 
 buttons and one black. He looked round and 
 thought very few were so poorly clad as he. 
 Marit wore a black bodice of fine stuff, a brooch 
 in her necktie, and had a folded silk pocket hand-
 
 anb ne $latk. 51 
 
 kerchief in her hand. She had a little black 
 head-dress fastened under the chin with broad 
 striped silk ribbons ; she was red and white ; 
 she smiled, and the man talked to her and 
 laughed ; the fiddler tuned up, and the dance 
 must begin again. 
 
 One of his companions came and sat by him. 
 
 " Why don't you dance, Ovind ?" he said 
 kindly. 
 
 " Oh ! no !" said Ovind, " I don't look like 
 dancing." 
 
 " Don't look like dancing !" said his com- 
 panion ; but before he could get further, Ovind 
 interrupted him, 
 
 " Who is that in the blue cloth suit, dancing 
 with Marit ?" 
 
 " That is Jon Hatlen ; he has been at the 
 Agricultural School, and is now to take the 
 farm." 
 
 At the same moment Jon and Marit seated 
 themselves.
 
 52 (Dbiitb. 
 
 " Who is that light-haired lad sitting there by 
 the fiddler and staring at me ?" said Jon. 
 
 Then Marit laughed and said, " Oh ! that's 
 the peasant's son at the little farm." 
 
 Ovind had always known that he was a 
 peasant's son, but until now he had never felt 
 it. He felt now so insignificant, that in order 
 to keep himself up, he tried to think of every- 
 thing that had ever made him feel proud, from 
 the sledge playing to the smallest word of com- 
 mendation. But when he thought of his father 
 and mother sitting at home, and picturing him 
 happy and glad, he could scarcely refrain from 
 tears. All about him were laughing and joking ; 
 the fiddler thrummed close under his ear ; it 
 seemed to darken before his eyes ; then he re- 
 membered the school with all his companions, 
 and the schoolmaster who was so kind to him, 
 and the pastor, who, at the last examination, had 
 given him a book and said he was a clever lad ; 
 his father even, who sat by, hearing it had given
 
 Bright Cottons snb nt $latk. 53 
 
 him a smile. " Be a good boy, Ovind," he 
 could fancy he heard the schoolmaster say, 
 taking him on his knee as though he were still 
 a child. " Dear me, it is so small a matter, and 
 in reality they are all kind, it only looks as 
 though they were not, we two shall get on 
 Ovind, as well as Jon Hatlen, we shall get good 
 clothes, and dance with Marit, a fine room, a 
 hundred people, smile and talk together, go to 
 church together, chiming bells, a bride and 
 bridegroom, the pastor and I in the vestry, all 
 with gladsome faces, and mother at home, a 
 large farm, twenty cows, three horses, and Marit 
 good and kind as at school " 
 
 The dance over, Ovind saw Marit oppo- 
 site to him, and Jon sat by her side, his face 
 close to hers ; he felt again the sharp pain at 
 his heart, and it was as if he said to himself, 
 " Yes, I am not well." 
 
 At the same moment Marit rose and came 
 direct over to him. She bent down to speak to
 
 54 
 
 him, " You must not sit and stare at me in 
 that way," she said, " the people will notice it ; 
 now go and dance with some one." 
 
 He did not answer, but looked at her, and 
 the tears came into his eyes. She had already 
 turned to go, but observing it she stopped. 
 She blushed crimson, turned and went to her 
 place, then turned again and took another seat. 
 Jon quickly followed her. 
 
 Ovind rose and went out ; he passed through the 
 house, and sat down on the steps of the adjacent 
 porch, but did not know what he did it for. He 
 got up, but sat down again, for he would not go 
 home, and thought he might as well be there as 
 anywhere else. He could not realise anything 
 of what had happened, and he would not think 
 about it, neither would he think of the future, 
 it seemed so void. 
 
 " But what is it that I am thinking of?" he 
 asked himself half aloud, and when he heard his 
 own voice, he thought, " I can still speak ; can
 
 fttoo grigbt Buttons anfc One glsth. 55 
 
 I laugh ?" And he tried : yes, he could laugh, 
 and he laughed louder and louder, and then it 
 seemed so curious to be sitting there quite alone 
 and laughing, that at last he laughed at himself. 
 
 Now Hans his companion, who had been 
 sitting by him in the dancing-room, had come 
 out after him, " Bless me, Ovind, what are 
 you laughing at !" he exclaimed, and stopped in 
 front of the porch. 
 
 Then Ovind ceased. Hans remained stand- 
 ing, as if waiting to see what would happen 
 next. Ovind got up, looked carefully round, 
 and then said in a low tone, " Now I will tell 
 you, Hans, why I have been so happy hitherto ; 
 it is because I have not really cared for any- 
 body ; from the day we care for any one we are 
 no longer glad ;" and he burst into tears. 
 
 " Ovind !" a voice whispered out in the 
 garden ; " Ovind !" He stood still and lis- 
 tened ; " Ovind !" it said again a little louder. 
 It must be, he thought.
 
 56 (Qbittfc. 
 
 " Yes," he answered also in a whisper, dried 
 his eyes quickly, and stepped forth. Then he 
 saw a woman's figure slowly approaching, 
 
 " Are you there ?" said she. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, and stopped. 
 
 " Who is with you ?" 
 
 " Hans." 
 
 Hans would go ; but Ovind said " No ! no !" 
 
 She now came slowly up to them ; it was 
 Marit. 
 
 " You went so soon away," she said to Ovind. 
 
 He did not know what to reply. This made 
 her feel embarrassed, and they were all three 
 silent. Then Hans gradually withdrew. The 
 two now stood alone, but they neither looked at 
 each other nor moved. Then Marit said in a 
 whisper, " I have gone the whole evening with 
 this Christmas fare in my pocket for you, Ovind, 
 but I have not been able to give it you before." 
 She then drew out some apples, a slice of yule 
 cake, and a little bottle of home-made wine.
 
 Cfoo $rig|jt Buttons anb $iu $latk. 57 
 
 which she pushed to him and said he could 
 keep. 
 
 Ovind took it. " Thank you," he said, and 
 held out his hand ; her's was warm ; he let it 
 go quickly as if he had burnt himself. 
 
 " You have danced a great deal this evening." 
 
 " I have so," she replied ; then added, " but 
 you have not danced much !" 
 
 " No, I have not !" 
 
 " Why have you not ?" 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " Ovind !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why did you sit and look at me so ?" 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 " Marit !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why did you not like me to look at you ?" 
 
 " There were so many people." 
 
 " You have danced a great deal with Jon 
 Hatlen this evening !"
 
 58 binb. 
 
 " Oh ! yes." 
 
 " He dances well." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" 
 
 " Don't you ?" 
 
 " Why yes !" 
 
 " I don't know how it is, but this evening I 
 cannot bear to see you dance with him, Marit !" 
 
 He turned away; it had cost him much to say 
 it. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Ovind." 
 
 " I don't understand it myself; it is stupid of 
 me. Goodbye, Marit, now I must go." 
 
 He went a step without looking round ; then 
 she called after him, " It is a mistake that 
 which you have seen, Ovind !" 
 
 He stopped, " That you are grown up is at 
 least no mistake," said he. 
 
 He did not say what she had expected, and 
 therefore she was silent ; but at this moment 
 she saw the light of a pipe before her ; it was 
 her grandfather who had just turned the corner
 
 Ctoo Bright Buttons anb <Ehu $JlHth. 59 
 
 and now passed by. He stood still. " Are you 
 there, Marit ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Who are you talking with ?" 
 
 " Ovind." 
 
 " Who did you say ?" 
 
 " Ovind Pladsen." 
 
 " Oh ! the peasant lad at the little farm ! 
 Come in directly !"
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 A NEW AIM IN LIFE. 
 
 HEN Ovind awoke the next morning 
 it was from a long refreshing sleep, 
 and happy dreams. Marit had 
 been on the mountain and tossed grass down 
 upon him ; he had gathered it up and thrown it 
 back again ; it went up and down in a thousand 
 shapes and colours, the sun stood high in the 
 heavens, and the whole mountain looked 
 dazzling in its brightness. On awaking, he 
 looked round to see it all again ; but then he 
 remembered the events of the day before, and 
 the same acute stinging pain at his heart re- 
 turned. This will never leave me, he thought,
 
 in fife. 61 
 
 and a feeling of helplessness came over him, as 
 though the whole future were lost to him. 
 
 " You have slept long," said his mother, as 
 she sat by his side and spun, " Come now, and 
 get your breakfast, your father is already in the 
 forest, hewing wood." 
 
 It was as if the voice helped him ; he got up 
 with a little more courage. It may be the 
 mother remembered her own dancing time, for 
 she sat and hummed at her wheel whilst he 
 took breakfast. This he could not bear ; he 
 rose from the table and went to the window ; 
 the same heaviness and indifference possessed 
 him, but he sought to overcome it by thinking 
 of his work. The weather had changed, it was 
 colder, and that which yesterday threatened for 
 rain fell to-day in wet sleet. He put on his 
 sailor's jacket and mittens, his gaiters, and a 
 skin cap, then said " Good morning," and took 
 his axe on his shoulder. 
 
 The snow fell slowly in great white flakes ;
 
 62 
 
 he trudged laboriously over the sledge hill to 
 enter the forest from the left. Never before, 
 either Winter or Summer, had he passed over 
 the sledge hills without some joyful remem- 
 brance or happy thought. Now it was a life- 
 less, weary way ; he dragged through the wet 
 snow, his knees were stiff, either from dancing 
 the day before or from lack of energy. He felt 
 that the sledge play was at an end for this year, 
 and, therefore, for ever. Something else he 
 longed for, as he threaded his way among the 
 trees where the snow fell noiselessly ; a fright- 
 ened ptarmigan screamed and fluttered a few 
 yards off, and everything seemed to stand as 
 though waiting for a word that never was said. 
 But what it was that he longed for he could not 
 exactly tell, only it was not to be at home, nor 
 was it to be anywhere else ; it was not pleasure, 
 nor work, it was something high above or far 
 away. Shortly after, it shaped itself into a de- 
 finite wish ; it was to be confirmed in the
 
 glim in ife. 63 
 
 Spring, and there to be number one. His heart 
 beat as he thought of it, and before he could 
 hear the sound of his father's axe among the 
 branches, this desire had stronger hold of him 
 than any he had ever known since he was born. 
 
 As usual his father did not speak many words 
 to him ; they both hewed, and threw the wood 
 together in heaps. Now and then they came 
 into close contact, and once Ovind let slip the 
 unhappy words, " A poor peasant has much to 
 endure !" 
 
 " As much as others," said the father, spat on 
 his hands, and took the axe again. 
 
 When the tree was felled, and the father 
 dragged it to the heap, Ovind remarked, " If 
 you were a rich farmer you wouldn't have to 
 slave so." 
 
 " Oh, well there'd be other things to trouble 
 me then," he replied, and worked away. 
 
 The mother came up with their dinner, and 
 they seated themselves. The mother seemed in
 
 64 (Dbtnb. 
 
 good spirits, she sat and hummed, and beat her 
 feet together to the time. 
 
 " What will you be when you grow up, 
 Ovind ?" she said suddenly. 
 
 " Oh ! for a peasant lad there isn't much to 
 choose," said .he. 
 
 " The schoolmaster says you must go to the 
 training school." 
 
 " Can one go there free ?" asked Ovind. 
 
 " The school fund pays," answered the father 
 whilst he was eating. 
 
 " Would you like it ?" asked the mother. 
 
 " I should like to learn something, but not to 
 be schoolmaster." 
 
 They were all three silent awhile, she hummed 
 again, and looked round. Ovind went away and 
 sat by himself. 
 
 " We don't need to take from the school 
 fund," said she, when the lad was gone. 
 
 Her husband looked at her ; " Poor people 
 like us !"
 
 in |tifc. 65 
 
 " I don't like, Thore, that you should always 
 give yourself out for poor when you are not so." 
 
 They both of them peeped to see whether the 
 lad could hear them where he sat. 
 
 Then the father looked sharply at her. " Non- 
 sense ! you don't understand things." 
 
 She laughed, then said seriously, " It seems 
 like not thanking God that we have got on 
 well." 
 
 " He can be thanked without wearing silver 
 buttons," observed the father. 
 
 " Yes, but to let Ovind go as he went yester- 
 day to the dance is not to thank Him." 
 
 " Ovind is a peasant lad." 
 
 " Yet he may dress decently when we can 
 afford it." 
 
 " Say it so that he can hear it !" 
 
 " He can't hear, or else I should have a good 
 mind to do it," she said, looking naively at her 
 husband, as he glumly put his spoon away and 
 took out his pipe.
 
 66 
 
 " Such a poor farm we have," said he. 
 
 " I can't help laughing at you, you always 
 talk of the farm and never speak of the mills !" 
 
 " Oh dear ! you and the mills ; I don't think 
 you care whether they go or not." 
 
 " Yes, thank God, if they'd only go both 
 night and day." 
 
 " But now they've been standing ever since 
 before Christmas." 
 
 " No one grinds at Christmas time." 
 
 " They grind when there's water ; but since 
 they got the mill up at Nystrommen, there's 
 nothing to be done." 
 
 " The schoolmaster didn't say so to-day." 
 
 " H'm I shall let a more discreet man than 
 the schoolmaster manage our affairs." 
 
 " Yes, last of all he should talk with your own 
 wife." 
 
 Thore did not reply to this, but lighting his 
 pipe, he rose and leaned against the wood pile, 
 looking first at his wife and then at his son, and
 
 . $rfo glim in 'gift. 67 
 
 finally fixing his gaze on an old crow's nest that 
 hung deserted up in a pine tree. 
 
 Ovind sat by himself, with the future spread 
 before him, like a long blank sheet of ice, along 
 which, for the first time, he rushed restlessly 
 from one side to the other. He saw clearly that 
 poverty hemmed him in on every side, but this 
 made him only the more determined to over- 
 come it. From Marit it had certainly separated 
 him for ever ; he half regarded her as engaged 
 to Jon Hatlen ; but he resolved that with all his 
 might he would strive to keep pace with them 
 through life. Not to be any more humi- 
 liated as he had been yesterday, he would keep 
 away, till, by God's help, he could become some- 
 thing more than he was at present, and he did 
 not feel a doubt in his own mind but that he 
 should succeed. He had a sort of feeling that 
 he would do best to study, but what further that 
 should lead to he must leave to the future. 
 
 There was capital sledge driving in the
 
 68 
 
 evenings ; the children all came to the hill, but 
 not Ovind. Ovind sat by the fire and read, he 
 had not a moment to spare. The children waited 
 long for him ; at last they became impatient, 
 and one and another came and peeped in and 
 called to him, but he pretended not to hear. 
 Evening after evening they came and waited 
 outside in wonderment, but he turned his back 
 to them and read, paying no heed to their en- 
 treaties. 
 
 Later he heard that Marit had not been to the 
 sledge playing either. He read with such dili- 
 gence that even his father thought it went too 
 far. He grew thoughtful ; his face, which had 
 been so round and mild, became thinner and 
 sharper, his eyes deeper ; he seldom sang and 
 never played, it was as if time were too short. 
 When the desire to join his old companions 
 came over him, it was as if something whispered, 
 '' Not yet, not yet," and continually, " not yet." 
 The children played, shouted, and laughed
 
 ^ |lefo glim in S'ifc. 69 
 
 awhile as before, but when they saw they could 
 not by any means induce him to come, they 
 gradually disappeared ; they found other grounds 
 and soon the sledge hill was quite vacated. 
 
 The schoolmaster soon observed that he was 
 not the same Ovind who used to read because it 
 fell out so, and play because it was necessary. 
 He often talked with him, and sought to find 
 the cause, for the lad's heart was not light as in 
 former days. He spoke also with the parents, 
 and by agreement he came one Sunday evening 
 late in the Winter, and after sitting awhile, he 
 said, " Come, Ovind, let us go out, I want to 
 talk with you a little." 
 
 Ovind got up and went with him. They took 
 the path towards Heidegaard. The conversa- 
 tion did not flag, but they spoke of nothing 
 important ; when they came near the farms, the 
 schoolmaster took the direction of the middle 
 one, and as they got nearer they heard the sound 
 of laughter and merriment.
 
 70 (Obinb. 
 
 " What is up here ?" said Ovind. 
 
 " They are dancing," said the schoolmaster, 
 " shall we not go in ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Will you not go to a dance, lad !" 
 
 " No, not yet." 
 
 " Not yet ? When then ?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " What do you mean, not yet ?" 
 
 As he did not reply, the schoolmaster said, 
 " Come now, no such talk !" 
 
 " No, I won't go." 
 
 He was very positive and seemed agitated. 
 
 " That your own schoolmaster should stand 
 here and have to ask you twice to go to dance !" 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " Is there any one you are afraid of meet- 
 ing ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell who there may be there." 
 
 " But could there be any one ?" 
 
 No answer.
 
 1 $efa &int in fife. 7' 
 
 Then the schoolmaster went close up to him, 
 and laid his hand on his shoulder, "Are you 
 afraid of meeting Marit ?" 
 
 Ovind looked down, and breathed heavily and 
 quickly. 
 
 " Tell me, Ovind." 
 
 Still no answer. 
 
 " You perhaps feel ashamed to confess it be- 
 fore you are confirmed, but tell me anyhow, and 
 you will never regret it." 
 
 Ovind looked up but he could not say a word r 
 and his eyes fell again. 
 
 " You are not light-hearted as you were ; does 
 she care for any one more than you ?" 
 
 Ovind was still silent, the schoolmaster felt a 
 little hurt, and turned away ; then they went 
 back. 
 
 When they had gone some distance, the 
 schoolmaster waited till Ovind got up to him, 
 " You wish very much that you were con- 
 firmed," said he.
 
 72 Obinb. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What do you then intend to do ?" 
 
 " I should like to go to the Training School." 
 
 " And to be schoolmaster ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You think it isn't good enough ?" 
 
 Ovind was silent. 
 
 " Then what would you be ?" 
 
 " I haven't thought much about it." 
 
 " If you had money I suppose you'd buy a 
 farm ?" 
 
 " Yes, but keep the mills." 
 
 " Then it would be better to go to the Agri- 
 cultural School." 
 
 " Do they learn as much there as at the 
 Training School ?" 
 
 " No ; but they learn that which will after- 
 wards be of use." 
 
 " Do they get numbers there ?" 
 
 " Why do you ask that ?" 
 
 " I should like to be amongst the first."
 
 n e. 73 
 
 " You can be that without numbers." 
 
 They were silent again till they came in sight 
 of the little farm ; they could see a light shining 
 from the room ; the overhanging mountains 
 looked black in the Winter evening, the lake be- 
 low was one blank sheet of ice, and the moon 
 reflected the shadow of the pine trees. 
 
 " It is a beautiful place !" said the school- 
 master. 
 
 Ovind could sometimes see it with the same 
 eyes as when his mother told him stories, and 
 as when they played with the sledges ; this he 
 did now, all looked pleasing and bright. 
 
 " Yes, it is beautiful," said he, but sighed. 
 
 " Your father has found it sufficient ; perhaps 
 you might do so too." 
 
 The happy aspect of the place vanished at 
 once. The schoolmaster stood as if waiting a 
 reply, but getting none he shook his head and 
 went in. He sat awhile with them, but was 
 
 more silent than talkative. When he said good 
 F
 
 74 
 
 night, the parents both rose and followed him 
 out, as if expecting that he had something to 
 say. They stood waiting, and looked out upon 
 the night 
 
 " It has grown so quiet," said the mother at 
 last, " since the children left off playing here." 
 
 " You have no longer a child in the house," 
 said the schoolmaster. 
 
 The mother understood him, " Ovind has 
 not been happy of late," said she. 
 
 " No, he who is ambitious is not happy," and 
 he looked up calmly into the quiet heavens.
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 NOT QUITE FAIR. 
 
 ALF a year after, in the Autumn, 
 the confirmation being deferred till 
 then, the candidates were all as- 
 sembled in the school-room for examination, 
 and among them Ovind Pladsen and Marit 
 Heidegaard. Marit had just come down from 
 the pastor, who had given her a book and much 
 praise, and she laughed and talked with her 
 friends on all sides. Marit was now quite grown 
 up, free and easy in her manners, and the boys 
 as well as the girls knew that Jon Hatlen, the 
 first young man in the district was paying 
 attention to her. She might well be glad they 
 thought as she sat there.
 
 76 
 
 Close by the door there stood a group of 
 girls and boys who had failed in their examina- 
 tion, and these were crying, while Marit and 
 her friends were laughing. Among them was 
 a little boy in his father's boots and with his 
 mother's church handkerchief, "Dear, oh dear!" 
 he sobbed, " I daren't go home again." 
 
 And those who had not yet been called up, 
 were so affected by the power of fellow feeling 
 that it caused a general silence. Fear seized 
 them in the throat and eyes ; they could not see 
 clearly, neither could they swallow, though feel- 
 ing a constant desire to do so. 
 
 One sat and reckoned up how much he knew, 
 and although a few hours before he had found 
 he knew everything required, he now saw with 
 equal certainty that he knew nothing ; he could 
 not even read. Another called to mind all his 
 wrong-doings from the earliest time he could 
 remember, till now when he sat there, and he 
 though it wouldn't be strange of God if He
 
 got <$uiie <fair. 77 
 
 didn't let him pass. A third sat and took signs 
 from everything around him. If the clock, 
 which was on the point of striking, should not 
 sound till he counted twenty, he would pass ; if 
 the footstep he heard in the passage was that of 
 the farm-boy Lars, he would pass ; if the great 
 raindrop that ran down the window pane should 
 get to the bottom, he would pass. The last and 
 final proof should be, if he could get the one 
 foot twisted right round the other, but this he 
 always found to be impossible. A fourth felt 
 sure that if they would ask him only about 
 Joseph in the Bible history, and about baptism 
 in the Catechism, or about Saul, or the Com- 
 mandments, or about Jesus, or he sat and 
 
 was still proving himself, when he was called. 
 A fifth had a strong partiality for the Sermon 
 on the Mount, he had dreamt about the Sermon 
 on the Mount, he was certain to be heard in the 
 Sermon on the Mount ; he said it over to him- 
 self, and he thought to go out and read it over
 
 78 
 
 again, when just then he was called up to be 
 questioned on the Prophets. The sixth thought 
 about the pastor, who was such a good man and 
 knew his father so well, and of the schoolmaster, 
 who had so friendly a face, and of God, who was 
 so really good, and had helped so many before 
 both Jacob and Joseph, and then he thought 
 that his mother and sisters at home would be 
 praying for him, and that would certainly help. 
 The seventh sat and gave up in despair all the 
 things he had thought he would be when he 
 grew up. Once he had thought of being a 
 general or a pastor, and once he had even 
 dreamt of being king, but now that time was 
 gone by. Up to the present he had thought of 
 going to sea, and of becoming captain, perhaps 
 a pirate, and thereby to attain great riches ; now 
 gave up first the riches, then the pirate, then 
 the captain, and the mate, and he stopped at 
 the common sailor, or, at the most, the boat- 
 swain, if ever he got to sea at all, but probably
 
 $ot <$uitt Jair. 79 
 
 he must just take a place on his father's 
 farm. 
 
 The eighth was more confident of himself, but 
 yet not sure ; the cleverest even was not sure 
 He thought of the clothes he was to be con- 
 firmed in, and what they could be used for if he 
 did not pass ; but if he passed he should go to 
 town and get cloth clothes, and come home 
 again at Christmas time and dance, to the envy 
 of the youths and the astonishment of the girls. 
 The ninth reckoned differently ; he made up a 
 small account book between himself and God. 
 On the one side he wrote, " Debit ; He shall let 
 me pass," and on the other side, " Credit ; so 
 shall I never lie any more, nor tell tales ; always 
 go to church, leave the girls to themselves, and 
 never swear any more." The tenth thought 
 that if Ole Hansen had passed last year, it 
 would be more than injustice if he, who had 
 always got on better at school, and besides was 
 of better family, should not pass this year. By
 
 8o biitb. 
 
 his side sat the eleventh, who revolved in his 
 mind the most fearful plans of revenge in case 
 he should fail, either to burn the school down, 
 or else to leave the village and come again as 
 the thundering judge of the pastor and the 
 whole of the school commissioners, but proudly 
 to let mercy go before justice. To begin with, 
 he would take a place with the pastor in the 
 neighbouring district, and there be number one 
 next year, giving answers so as to astonish the 
 whole church. 
 
 The twelfth sat by himself under the clock, 
 with both his hands in his pockets, looking over 
 the assembly with a dejected and sorrowful air. 
 No one here knew what was his responsibility. 
 One at home knew it ; he was betrothed. A 
 great daddy long-legs came crawling along the 
 floor near to his feet ; he used to tread upon 
 the odious insect, but to-day he kindly lifted his 
 foot to let it go in peace whithersoever it 
 would. His voice was mild as a Collect ; his
 
 81 
 
 eyes said continually that all men were good ; 
 his hands slowly moved out of his pocket and 
 up to his hair, to smooth it down. If only he 
 could squeeze himself through this dangerous 
 needle eye, he would recover himself again at 
 the other side, smoke tobacco, and make his 
 engagement public. 
 
 Down on a low stool, with his legs crouched 
 up together under him, sat the uneasy thirteenth ; 
 his small sparkling eyes looked round the whole 
 room three times in a second, and through his 
 strong rough head rushed all the thoughts of 
 the twelve in broken disorder, from the bright- 
 est hope to the most despairing doubt, from 
 the humblest promises to the most mighty plans 
 of revenge ; and, meanwhile, having bitten his 
 poor thumb so that he could bite no longer, he 
 began with his nails, and sent great pieces to all 
 parts of the floor. 
 
 Ovind sat by the window, having been up and 
 given correct answers to everything he had been
 
 32 fainb. 
 
 asked ; but neither the pastor nor the school- 
 master had commended him, though for a 
 whole half-year he had been thinking what they 
 both would say when they got to know how 
 hard he had worked, and he felt very much dis- 
 appointed as well as hurt. There sat Marit, 
 who, for far less labour and knowledge, had re- 
 ceived both encouragement and reward. It 
 was just to be great in her eyes he had studied, 
 and now she had reached laughing, the point he 
 had toiled so hard to attain. Her laughter and 
 joking touched him to the quick, the easiness 
 with which she moved wounded him. He had 
 carefully avoided speaking to her since that 
 evening ; years should pass first he thought, but 
 the sight of her now, so bright and lively, pressed 
 him down, and all his proud resolutions hung as 
 wet leaves. 
 
 He sought little by little to shake it off; much, 
 however, depended on his being Number One 
 to-day, and to know this he waited anxiously.
 
 got <$uitt Jaii. 83 
 
 The schoolmaster used to remain a little while 
 with the pastor to consider the order in which 
 the children should stand, and then he would 
 come down and tell them the result ; it was 
 certainly not the final decision, but it was what 
 they agreed upon together. 
 
 The conversation in the room became more 
 and more lively as one after another was ex- 
 amined and passed ; but now the ambitious 
 began to separate themselves from those who 
 were merely light-hearted. The latter either went 
 at once to tell their parents and friends of their 
 success, or they waited for their companions who 
 had not yet been called up ; the former, on the 
 contrary', became more and more silent, their 
 eyes directed constantly towards the door. 
 
 At last the young people were all ready, the 
 last had come down, and the schoolmaster was 
 consulting with the pastor. Ovind looked at 
 Marit ; she was one of those who had remained, 
 but whether for her own sake or for others he
 
 84 bhtir. 
 
 knew not. How beautiful Marit had grown ; 
 exquisitely fine was her complexion; he had 
 never seen its equal ; her nose was well formed, 
 her mouth smiling. Her eyes were dreamy 
 when she was not directly looking at any one, 
 but therefore her glance came with unexpected 
 power when it did come ; and she half smiled 
 in the same, as if to say that she meant nothing 
 by it. Her hair was more dark than light, it 
 was wavy, and she wore long curls, which, to- 
 gether with the dreamy eyes, gave a depth and 
 charm that captivated. One could not be cer- 
 tain who it was that she looked for, as she sat 
 there among them all, nor what she really 
 thought when she turned to any one to speak, 
 for that which she gave she took as quickly 
 back again. Under all this, Jon Hatlen is cer- 
 tainly hidden, thought Ovind, but yet he con- 
 tinued to look at her. 
 
 Then the schoolmaster came. They all with 
 one accord rushed up to him.
 
 got <$nitt Jair. 85 
 
 " What number am I ?" " And I ?" " And 
 I, I ?" 
 
 " Silence ! uproarious children, no noise 
 here ; be quiet, and then I will tell you." 
 
 He looked slowly round him. "You are 
 Number 2," he said to a lad with blue eyes 
 looking beseechingly at him, and the lad danced 
 out of the circle. " You are Number 3," he 
 touched a red-haired quick little boy who stood 
 and pulled at his coat ; " You are Number 5 ;" 
 " You Number 8," &c. He caught sight of 
 Marit, " You are Number One of the girls." She 
 blushed crimson over her face and neck, but 
 tried to smile. "You, Number 12, have been 
 lazy, you idle worthless scamp ;" "Number n, 
 you couldn't expect to stand higher, my lad ;" 
 "You, Number 13, must read diligently before 
 the confirmation or else you won't succeed !" 
 
 Ovind could not bear it any longer. Number 
 One had certainly not been named, and yet he had 
 stood the whole time so that the schoolmaster
 
 86 (Dbinb. 
 
 could see him. " Schoolmaster ?" He did not 
 hear. " Schoolmaster !" Three times he had 
 to call before he was heard. 
 
 At last the schoolmaster looked at him 
 " Number 9 or 10, can't say exactly which," 
 said he, and turned quickly to another. 
 
 " Who is Number One then ?" asked Hans, who 
 was Ovind's best friend. 
 
 " Not you, you curly head !" and tapped him 
 on the hand with a paper roll. 
 
 "Who is it then?" asked many. "Who is 
 it?" "Yes, who is it?" 
 
 " He will get to know it himself !" said the 
 schoolmaster decidedly. He would not have 
 more questions. 
 
 "Now go nicely home children, thank God, 
 and make your parents happy! Thank your 
 old schoolmaster too, if it had not been 
 for him you would not have been good for 
 much !" 
 
 They thanked him and laughed, then went
 
 finite *.tit. 
 
 joyously home. One only was left, who could 
 not quickly find his books, and when he found 
 them, sat down as if to read again. 
 
 The schoolmaster went up to him, " Well 
 Ovind, are you not going with the others ?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " Why are you opening your books again ?" 
 
 " I want to see what it is that I've answered 
 wrong." 
 
 " You have not answered anything wrong." 
 
 Ovind looked at him r and the tears gathered 
 in his eyes, he turned his head away while one 
 after another rolled slowly down, but he did not 
 speak a word. 
 
 The schoolmaster went in front of him, 
 M Are you not pleased that you have passed ?" 
 
 His lips quivered, but he did not answer. 
 
 " Your father and mother will be very 
 pleased," said the schoolmaster, and looked at 
 him. 
 
 Ovind struggled some time to get a word
 
 88 Obinb. 
 
 out ; at last he asked in slow broken sentences, 
 " Is it because I am a peasant lad that 
 I am Number 9 or 10 ?" 
 
 " Surely it must be so," said the schoolmaster. 
 
 " Then it is no use for me to work," said he 
 hopelessly, and all his grand dreams vanished. 
 Suddenly he lifted his head, raised his right 
 hand, struck it on the table with all his might, 
 cast himself down on his face, and burst into a 
 violent fit of tears. 
 
 The schoolmaster left him to lay there and 
 cry it out ; he waited long, till at last his 
 grief became more childlike. Then he rose 
 took Ovind's head in both his hands, lifted it 
 up, and looked into the tearful face. 
 
 " Do you think God has been with you ?" said 
 he, as he looked kindly at him. 
 
 Ovind sobbed still, but not so violently, the 
 tears ran more quietly, but he dare not look at 
 him who spoke, nor reply. 
 
 "This, Ovind, has been a deserved reward ;
 
 got tynitt ,f air. 89 
 
 you have not read from love to religion, nor your 
 parents, but you have read from vanity." 
 
 There was silence in the room between each 
 time of the schoolmaster's speaking, and Ovind 
 felt his glance to be resting upon him, and grew 
 softened and humbled under it. 
 
 " With such angry feelings in your heart, you 
 could not have stood forth to have made a com- 
 pact with your God, could you Ovind ?" 
 
 " No," he stammered, as well as he could. 
 
 " And if you stood there conceitedly flattering 
 yourself that you were Number One, would it not 
 be wrong ?" 
 
 " Yes," he whispered, and his mouth quivered. 
 
 " You are still attached to me, Ovind ?" 
 
 " Yes." He looked up for the first time. 
 
 " Then I must tell you it was I who had your 
 number placed low down ; because I care for 
 you so much, Ovind." 
 
 The old schoolmaster looked at him, blinked 
 
 a few times, and the tears ran quickly down. 
 G
 
 90 
 
 " You have not anything against me for it ?" 
 
 " No." He looked up brightly though his 
 voice trembled. 
 
 " My dear child, I will watch over you as long 
 as I live." 
 
 He waited for him till he had gathered his 
 books together, and then said he would go home 
 with him. They went slowly along : at first Ovind 
 was silent, battling with himself, but by degrees 
 he overcame. He was convinced that that 
 which had come to pass was the best that could 
 have happened, and, before he reached home, 
 this belief was so strong, that he thanked God, 
 and told the schoolmaster so. 
 
 " Yes, now we shall hope to attain to some- 
 thing in life," said the schoolmaster, " better 
 than running after blind men and numbers. 
 What do you say to the Training School ?" 
 
 " Yes, I should like to go there." 
 
 " You mean the Agricultural School ?" 
 
 Yes,"
 
 Jair. 91 
 
 " That is certainly the best ; it gives other 
 prospects than those of a schoolmaster." 
 
 " But how can I get there ? I do so wish it, 
 but I have no means." 
 
 " Be industrious and good, and the means will 
 be found." 
 
 Ovind was quite overwhelmed with gratitude. 
 He felt the kindling in the eye, the light- 
 heartedness, the endless fire of love, that comes 
 when we experience the unexpected kindness of 
 our fellow-men. The whole future presents 
 itself for a moment, with that sort of feeling one 
 has when walking in fresh mountain air, of being 
 borne along rather than of walking. 
 
 When they carne home, both the parents were 
 in the sitting-room, quietly waiting there, though 
 it was the busytime of the day. The schoolmaster 
 entered first ; Ovind after; both were smiling. 
 
 " Now ?" said the father, laying aside a prayer- 
 book, where he had just been reading a catechu- 
 men's prayer.
 
 92 (Dbinfc. 
 
 The mother was standing by the fire-place ; 
 she smiled, but did not say anything ; her 
 hands trembled, and she evidently expected 
 good news though she did not wish to betray 
 herself. 
 
 " I thought I must just come to give you the 
 good news, that he has answered every question 
 correctly, and that the pastor said, after Ovind 
 was gone, that he had not examined a more 
 promising candidate. 
 
 " Oh no !" said the mother, and was much 
 moved. 
 
 " Well done !" said the father, and turned 
 restlessly round. 
 
 After a long silence, the mother asked in a 
 low voice, " What number is he ?" 
 
 " Number 9 or 10," said the schoolmaster 
 quietly. 
 
 The mother looked at the father, who looked 
 first at her and then at Ovind, " A peasant lad 
 cannot expect more," said he.
 
 djuih Jair. 93 
 
 Ovind looked at him in return ; it was as if 
 something would stick in his throat, but he 
 forced it back by quickly thinking of one cheer- 
 ing thing after another. 
 
 " Now I must leave," said the schoolmaster, 
 nodded, and turned to go. 
 
 As usual both parents followed him out ; then 
 the schoolmaster taking a quid, said smiling, 
 " He will be Number One after all, but it is 
 better not to tell him till the day comes." 
 
 " No, no," said the father, and nodded. " No, 
 no," said the mother, and nodded too ; then 
 taking the schoolmaster's hand, " Thank you 
 for all you have done," said she. " Yes, thank 
 you," said the father, and the schoolmaster 
 went, but they stood long and looked after 
 him.
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE RIDGE. 
 
 HE schoolmaster had judged well when 
 he asked the pastor to prove whether 
 Ovind could bear to stand Number 
 
 One. In the three weeks intervening between 
 this time and the confirmation he was with the 
 lad every day. It is one thing for a pure young 
 heart to yield to an impression, and another to 
 hold fast the good qualities he possesses. Many 
 dark hours came to the lad before he learnt to 
 build his future on better things than vanity and 
 pride. When sitting at his work he would 
 suddenly leave it, saying hopelessly, " What 
 is the use ? What do I gain ?" But then a
 
 0oitt from the $tfcge. 95 
 
 minute after, he would remember the kind words 
 and goodness of the schoolmaster, and so each 
 time he lost sight of his higher duties, he was 
 enabled, by these human means, to bring them 
 into view again. 
 
 At the little farm they were preparing at the 
 same time, for his examination, and for his 
 journey to the Agricultural School, as the day 
 after the confirmation he was to set off. The 
 tailor and the shoemaker sat at work in the loft, 
 the mother was baking in the kitchen, and the 
 father was busy with a trunk. They were 
 querying as to how much it would cost them in 
 two years, and whether he could come home the 
 first Christmas, perhaps he could not even come 
 the second, and how hard it would be to be so 
 long separated. They spoke also of the love he 
 should bear to his parents, when they strove so 
 hard to put their child forward. Ovind sat as 
 one, who in his first trial at sea, had upset the 
 boat, and been picked up by kindly sailors.
 
 96 Obinb. 
 
 Such a feeling brings humility, and with it 
 many other things. As the great day drew 
 near, he felt himself to be fully prepared for it, 
 and looked hopefully to the future. Every time 
 the image of Marit presented itself to his mind, 
 he strove carefully to put it aside, though it 
 always gave him pain to do it. By practice in 
 it he sought to strengthen himself, but instead 
 he felt only a deeper pain. Therefore he felt 
 weary the last evening, when, after a long self- 
 proving, he prayed to God that in this matter 
 He would not try him. 
 
 The schoolmaster came in in the evening. 
 They all sat together, after having prepared 
 themselves as it is customary to do, the evening 
 before taking the Sacrament. The mother was 
 much moved, and the father was unusually 
 silent ; separation lay behind the festival of the 
 morning, and it was uncertain when they could 
 all meet again. The schoolmaster took the 
 Psalm-book, they had a little service and sang,
 
 1 floice from tfyt Jli&ge. 97 
 
 and then he prayed from the heart as words 
 came to him. 
 
 These four sat there until late in the evening ; 
 they gradually grew silent, each occupied with 
 his own thoughts ; then they separated with best 
 wishes for the coming day, and the influence it 
 would have. 
 
 Ovind thought when he went to rest that 
 night that he had never been so happy before, 
 and he gave his own special interpretation to it ; 
 never before, thought he, have I laid down so 
 desirous of fulfilling God's will and so trustful 
 in it. Marit's face soon presented itself again* 
 and the last he remembered was, that he lay and 
 proved himself: not quite happy, not quite ; 
 and that he replied : yes, quite ; but again : 
 not quite ; yes, quite ; no ; not quite. 
 
 When he awoke, he at once remembered what 
 day it was ; he prayed, and felt refreshed, as one 
 does in a morning. He rose in good time and 
 carefully tried on his new clothes, for he had
 
 98 Obinb. 
 
 never had such fine ones before. There was a 
 round jacket especially that seemed strange to 
 him ; it was made of fine cloth, and he felt it 
 again and again before he got used to it. When 
 he had put his collar on, and for the fourth time 
 tried on the jacket, he got hold of a little look- 
 ing-glass, and, catching sight of the beautiful 
 hair encircling his own self-satisfied face, it 
 suddenly struck him that this again was vanity. 
 Yes ; but people may surely be well-dressed 
 and clean, he argued, as he turned away from 
 the glass as though it were sin to look in it. 
 Well, but not to think so much of themselves 
 for it. No, certainly, but the Lord must like 
 that one should care to be tidy. That may be, 
 but would He not like better that you should 
 look well without thinking so much about it. 
 Yes, but it's only because everything is so new. 
 Well then, by-and-bye you will forget it. Then 
 he began in the same way to prove himself 
 first upon one point and then upon another,
 
 Q #oict front tju $ibge. 99 
 
 he felt so afraid lest any sin should blot that 
 day. 
 
 When he came down his parents were all 
 ready and waiting breakfast for him. He went 
 up to them and thanked them for his new 
 clothes; they wished him the customary, "Health 
 to wear them and strength to tear them ;" then 
 they seated themselves at the table, said grace, 
 and began the meal. When they had finished, 
 the mother cleared the table and brought in the 
 lunch basket for the journey to church. The 
 father put on his jacket, and the mother her 
 shawl, they took the Psalm-books, locked up the 
 house and set off. On reaching the main road they 
 met with a great many going to church, some 
 driving and some on foot, a few of the candi- 
 dates for confirmation among them, and now 
 and then white-haired grand-parents, who tried 
 to get to church just this once again. 
 
 It was an Autumn day without sunshine as 
 if the weather were about to break. The clouds
 
 ioo (Dbinb. 
 
 met and parted again ; great masses broke into 
 small patches, chasing each other far away and 
 bearing with them orders for rain ; down on the 
 earth it was still quiet, the leaves hung dead and 
 motionless, the air was a little oppressive ; the 
 people carried cloaks but did not require to use 
 them. A large concourse of people had gathered 
 round the solitary church ; but the confirmation 
 candidates all went straight in, to be placed 
 before the service began. Then the school- 
 master in his blue dress coat and knickerbockers, 
 high boots, stiff neck-cloth, and pipe sticking 
 out of his pocket, walked about, nodding and 
 smiling, patting one on the shoulder, and telling 
 another to answer clearly and distinctly, until 
 he reached the lower end where Ovind stood 
 talking to his friend Hans, and answering all his 
 questions about the journey. " Good morning, 
 Ovind, you look very well to-day." He took hold 
 of him by the coat saying confidentially, " I 
 think a great deal of you ; I have been talking
 
 gi $oue from ijje Hibgt. 101 
 
 to the pastor, and you are to have your right 
 place as Number One ; go up and take it and 
 answer well." 
 
 Ovind looked up astonished at him ; the 
 schoolmaster nodded ; the lad went a few steps 
 forward, then stopped, then a few more steps, 
 then stopped again ; yes, it's true he has spoken 
 to the pastor for me, and the lad went straight 
 on. 
 
 " You are Number One after all," whispered 
 one. 
 
 " Yes," said Ovind in a low tone, but scarcely 
 knew yet whether he dare say it. 
 
 The placing being accomplished, and the 
 pastor having come, the bell rung and the people 
 streamed into the church. Ovind looked up and 
 saw Marit Heidegaard standing straight oppo- 
 site him. She also saw him, but they both of 
 them felt so awed by the sacredness of the place 
 that they dared not greet each other. He saw 
 only that she was bright and beautiful, and that
 
 102 bittb. 
 
 she wore nothing on her head. Ovind, who for 
 half-a-year had had so many pleasant dreams 
 of standing opposite to her, now that it was 
 really come to pass, forgot both the place and 
 her. 
 
 When all was over, his relations and friends 
 came to offer their congratulations ; then his 
 companions having heard that he was to travel 
 next day came to say good-bye ; and many of 
 the younger ones, whom he had driven in the 
 sledges, and whom he had assisted at school, 
 cried a little at the thought of his departure. 
 At last Ovind and his parents left for home 
 accompanied by the schoolmaster. On the way 
 there were several more came to offer him their 
 good wishes and to take leave ; otherwise they 
 did not speak much till they sat again in the 
 quiet room at home. 
 
 The schoolmaster tried to help them to keep 
 their courage up, but now that it was come to 
 the point, they all three, never before having been
 
 from tfyt $ibgt. 103 
 
 parted for a single day, dreaded the separation 
 for two whole years, but none of them wished 
 to shew their feelings. As the time passed on 
 Ovind grew worse and worse, and at last he went 
 out of doors to quiet himself. 
 
 It was growing dark, he stood upon the steps 
 and looked up listening to the gentle sighing of 
 the wind. Then he heard his own name called 
 down from the ridge, quite softly, yet there was 
 no mistaking it, it was repeated twice. He 
 looked up, and could just discern a woman's 
 figure looking down from among the trees. 
 
 " Who is that ?" he asked. 
 
 " I hear you are going away," she said in a 
 low tone, " so I thought I would come and say 
 good-bye to you, seeing you hadn't come to 
 me." 
 
 " Dear, is that you, Marit ! I'll come up to 
 you." 
 
 " No, don't, I've been here so long, and then I 
 should have to stay still longer, and no one
 
 knows where I am, so I must be quick 
 home." 
 
 " It was kind of you to come," said he. 
 
 " I couldn't bear that you should leave in that 
 way Ovind ; we have known each other since 
 we were children." 
 
 " Yes, we have." 
 
 " And now we haven't spoken to each other 
 for half-a-year." 
 
 " No we haven't." 
 
 " We were separated so strangely that time 
 too." 
 
 " Yes, I think I must come up to you." 
 
 " Oh no, don't ! but tell me, I hope you are 
 not grieved with me ?" 
 
 " Dear, how could you think so ?" 
 
 " Good-bye then Ovind, and thank you for 
 all the pleasant times we have had together !" 
 
 " Marit !" 
 
 " Yes, but now I must go, they will miss 
 me."
 
 from'tfje $ibgc. 105 
 
 " Marit, Marit !" 
 
 " No, I daren't stay longer, Ovind ; fare- 
 well !" 
 
 " Farewell !" 
 
 The rest of the evening he was, as it were, in 
 a dream, answering absently when they spoke 
 to him. They attributed this to the thought of 
 his coming departure, which was quite a natural 
 thing, and which certainly did occupy his atten- 
 tion at the moment when the schoolmaster took 
 his leave, and slipped something into his hand, 
 which he afterwards found to be a five dollar 
 piece. Soon, however, it passed out of his mind, 
 and he thought only of the words that had come 
 down from the ridge and gone up again. 
 
 H
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 BE SURE THAT YOU BURN IT. 
 
 EAR PARENTS, We have a great 
 deal more to read now, but as I am 
 much more up to the others, it is 
 not such hard work. When I come home I 
 shall make great changes in father's farm, for 
 there is a great deal that is very bad, and it is a 
 wonder that things have hung together as they 
 have. But I shallput all to rights, for I have 
 learnt many things here. I should like to be in 
 a place where I can have things as I now know 
 they should be ; so when I am ready I must 
 seek for a good situation. All here say that Jon 
 I latlcn is not so clever as they think at home, but
 
 ge Sure ttjat gou $urit |t. 107 
 
 he has his own farm, so that is no matter. Many 
 who come from here get a very high salary, and 
 they are so well paid because this is the best 
 agricultural school in the country. Some say 
 that there is a better in the next county, but 
 that is not true. 
 
 There are two words here, the one is called 
 Theory, and the other Practice ; one is nothing 
 without the other, but it is well to know them 
 both ; the last, however, is the best. Theory is 
 to know the reason why a thing should be done, 
 and practice is to be able to do it. Here we 
 learn both. The Principal is so clever that no- 
 body can come up to him. At the last General 
 Agricultural Meeting he brought forward two 
 subjects for discussion, while the principals from 
 the other schools had none of them more than 
 one, and in the discussions they found he was 
 always right. But the last meeting, when he 
 wasn't there, ended in nothing but talk. The 
 lieutenant, who teaches us surveying, was en-
 
 io8 bhib. 
 
 gaged only because he is so very clever ; the 
 other schools have no lieutenant. 
 
 The schoolmaster asks if I go to church ; yes, 
 certainly I go to church, for now the pastor has 
 got a curate who preaches so that everybody is 
 terrified, and it is a pleasure to hear him. He 
 comes from the college in Christiania, and 
 people think he is too strict, but it is good for 
 them. 
 
 At present we are reading history that we 
 have never read before, and it is wonderful to 
 see all that has happened in the world, especially 
 in our country, for we have constantly conquered 
 except when we have lost, and that has been only 
 when we haven't been equal. Now we have more 
 liberty than any other country except America, 
 but there they are not happy ; and our liberty 
 we must prize above all things. 
 
 Now I must conclude for this time, for I have 
 written a great deal. The schoolmaster will 
 read this letter, and when he answers for you,
 
 $t Surr that $Jou Sum |t. 109 
 
 ask him to tell me some news about one or 
 another, for this he doesn't do. 
 With best love, 
 
 Your attached son, 
 
 OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN. 
 DEAR PARENTS, 
 
 I must now tell you that we have had an 
 examination, and I stand very high in many 
 things. I am high in writing, and land measur- 
 ing, but not so good in composition. The prin- 
 cipal says this is because I have not read 
 enough, and he has given me some books by 
 Ole Vig, which are very easy to understand. 
 
 Everything here is so small to what it is in 
 other countries ; we understand next to nothing, 
 we learn everything from the Scotch and Swiss, 
 but gardening most from Holland. 
 
 I have now been here nearly a year, and I 
 thought I had learnt a great deal ; but when I 
 saw what those who left at the last examination 
 knew, and thought that not even they knew
 
 no 
 
 anything in comparison to the foreigners, I felt 
 quite disheartened. I am now in the first class, 
 and must stay here another year before I am 
 ready. But most of my companions are gone, 
 and I long for home. It seems as if I stood 
 alone, though I certainly do not, but it feels so 
 strange when one has been long away. 
 
 What am I to do when I leave here ? I shall 
 naturally come home first, and then I must seek 
 for some situation, but it must not be far away. 
 
 Good-bye dear parents. Remember me kindly 
 to those who ask after me, and say I am well, 
 but I long to come home. 
 
 Your attached son, 
 
 OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN. 
 DEAR SCHOOLMASTER, 
 
 This is to ask you if you will be so good as to 
 send the enclosed letter, but be sure and say 
 nothing about it to anybody. If you will not, 
 then it must be burnt. 
 
 OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN.
 
 Sure t^at Tou gurn |t. 
 
 To MARIT KNUDSDATTER HEIDEGAARD. 
 
 You will very likely be surprised to receive a 
 letter from me, but you need not be, for I will 
 only ask how you fare, and this you must let me 
 know as soon as possible and in every respect. 
 
 Respecting myself, I have only to say that I 
 shall be ready to leave here in one year. 
 Respectfully, 
 
 OVIND PLADSEN. 
 To OVIND PLADSEN, 
 
 At the Agricultural School. 
 
 I duly received your letter from the school- 
 master, and will answer it as you ask me, though 
 I am rather afraid, because you are now so 
 learned ; I have a letter book but it doesn't suit. 
 However, I will do my best, and you must take 
 the will for the deed ; but you musn't show it, 
 or else you are not what I think you are ; and 
 you musn't hide it because any one might easily 
 get hold of it, but you must burn it, that you 
 must promise me. There are a great many
 
 112 
 
 things that I wanted to write about, but I dare 
 not. We have had a good Autumn ; potatoes 
 are high, and here at Heidegaard we have plenty 
 of them. But the bears have made sad havoc 
 among the stock this Summer ; they killed two 
 of Ole Nedregaard's cows, and injured one of our 
 tenant's calves so that it was obliged to be killed. 
 I am weaving a very large web like the Scotch 
 plaid, and it is very difficult. And now I must 
 tell you that I am still at home, though there 
 are some who would have it otherwise. 
 
 I have nothing more to say this time, and so 
 good-bye. 
 
 MARIT KNUDSDATTER. 
 You must be sure to burn this letter. 
 To OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN. 
 
 I have said to you Ovind, that he who walks 
 with God shall have a good inheritance. And 
 now listen to my advice : look not to the world 
 with too much longing and anxiety, but trust 
 in God and let not your heart be discouraged.
 
 3e Sure that gou $nrn $t. 113 
 
 Your father and mother are both well, but I 
 suffer a good deal, for now I feel the effects of 
 the hardships I endured in the war. That which 
 you sow in your young days you reap in your 
 old, both in body and soul, and this is now my 
 experience. But the aged should not complain, 
 for sorrow teacheth wisdom, and affliction 
 worketh patience, and strengthens for the last 
 journey. 
 
 There are many reasons why I take the pen 
 to write to you to-day, but first and foremost on 
 Marit's account, for she has grown a good girl, 
 though she is light of foot as a reindeer and is 
 changeable. She would wish to keep to one, 
 but it is not in her nature. I have often ob- 
 served that with such tender hearts the Lord is 
 merciful and lenient, and does not suffer them to 
 be tempted above that they are able to bear. 
 
 I duly gave her the letter and she hid it from 
 all but her own heart. If the Lord will further 
 this matter I have nothing against it. That she
 
 finds approbation in the eyes of the young men 
 can easily be seen, and she has abundance of 
 this world's goods and also of the heavenly, but 
 with the latter there is much unsettledness ; the 
 fear of God with her is like water in a shallow 
 dam, it is there when it rains but away when the 
 sun shines. 
 
 Now my eyes will not bear any more, for 
 though I can see pretty well at a distance, they 
 begin to water when I look closely at anything. 
 Finally, let me remind you, Ovind, whatsoever 
 you aspire to, take counsel of God, as it is 
 written : " Better is an handful with quietness, 
 than both the hands full, with travail and vexa- 
 tion of spirit." (Proverbs IV. 6.) 
 
 Your old schoolmaster, 
 
 BAARD ANDERSEN OPDAL. 
 
 To MARIT KNUDSDATTER HEIDEGAARD. 
 
 Thanks for your letter, which I have read, and 
 burnt as you told me to do. You write a great 
 deal, but you don't say anything about that I
 
 fjc Sure tbat fjlou urn ft. 115 
 
 want you to, and I dare not write about a cer- 
 tain matter until I know how you fare in every 
 respect. 
 
 The schoolmaster says nothing to be depended 
 upon, he praises you, but he calls you wavering. 
 That you were before. Now I don't know what 
 to believe ; you must write, for I shall feel un- 
 easy until I have heard from you. Just now I 
 often think of that last evening when you came 
 to the ridge, and of what you then said. 
 
 I will not write more this time, so good-bye. 
 With all respect, 
 
 OVIND PLADSEN. 
 
 To OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN. 
 
 The schoolmaster has given me a fresh letter 
 from you, which I have now read, but I cannot 
 understand it, which must be because I am not 
 learned. You want to know how I fare in every 
 respect. I am quite well. I have a good appe- 
 tite and sleep at nights, and sometimes also in 
 the day. I have danced a great deal this
 
 Winter, for there have been many delightful 
 parties here. I go to church when there is 
 not too much snow, but it has been very thick. 
 Now you must have heard everything, but, if 
 not, I don't know anything better than that you 
 should write to me again. 
 
 MARIT KNUDSDATTER. 
 
 To MARIT KNUDSDATTER HEIDEGAARD. 
 
 I have received your letter, but you appear to 
 wish me to remain as wise as before. Perhaps 
 this is an answer after all, I don't know. I dare 
 not venture to write that which I wish to, be- 
 cause I don't feel to know you. Perhaps you 
 don't know me any better. You must not think 
 I am any longer the soft fellow that you crushed 
 the spirit out of, as I sat and watched you dance ; 
 I have had many provings since then. Neither 
 am I, as I used to be, like those long-haired 
 dogs that hang their ears and shun people ; but 
 enough of this now. 
 
 Yourletterwashumorousenough,but the joking
 
 $t Sure i|jat gou $rn |t. 117 
 
 was just where it should not have been, for you 
 understood me quite well, and you should have 
 known that I did not ask in joke, but because 
 lately I have not been able to think of anything 
 else than that I asked you about. I waited 
 anxiously, and then there came nothing but 
 foolery. 
 
 Farewell, Marit Heidegaard. I shall take 
 care not to look too much at you as I did at that 
 dance. Grant you may both eat well and sleep 
 well, and get your new web finished, and grant 
 above all, that you may shovel away the snow 
 lying before the church door. 
 With all respect, 
 
 OVIND THORESEN PLADSEN. 
 
 To OVIND THORESEN. 
 
 In spite of my age and the weakness of my 
 eyes, together with the pain in my hip, I must 
 yet give in to the entreaties of the young, for 
 they are glad to make use of the old people 
 when they stick fast themselves. They call and
 
 n8 
 
 cry till they are let loose, and then they run 
 away again and will not hear us any more. 
 This time it is Marit, who, with many coaxing 
 words, has begged me to write a letter to send 
 with hers, as she dare not trust herself to write 
 alone. She had thought she had Jon Hatlen 
 or another fool to deal with, and not one that 
 schoolmaster Baard had brought up, but now 
 the matter has come to a critical point. Yet 
 you have been a little too hard, for there are 
 some women who joke to keep from weeping. 
 I am glad, however, that you look at serious 
 things seriously, otherwise you could not laugh 
 at that which is laughable. The position in 
 which you stand to each other, is now apparent 
 from many things. I have often had my doubts 
 about Marit, for she is variable as the wind, but 
 now I know she has refused Jon Hatlen, and 
 greatly enraged her grandfather thereby. She 
 was pleased when she received your letter, and 
 it was not to repulse you that she wrote jokingly.
 
 gc Sure t^at fJou $utn |t. 119 
 
 She has suffered much, and that in waiting for 
 the one she cared for, and now you will not 
 have her but set her aside as a foolish child. 
 
 This was what I had to say to you, and if you 
 take my advice you ought to be at one with 
 her, for you will find enough besides to trouble 
 you. I am like an old man who has seen three 
 generations ; I know folly and its reward. 
 
 Your father and mother send their best love 
 to you : they long to see you back. I have 
 always avoided speaking of this before, lest it 
 should make you home-sick. You do not know 
 your father, and when you really learn to know 
 him, you will marvel. He has been depressed 
 and silent in respect of his affairs, but your 
 mother made his mind easy, and now things 
 look brighter. 
 
 Now my eyes grow dim, and my hand is un- 
 steady, so I commend you to Him whose eye is 
 ever watchful and whose hand stayeth not. 
 
 BAAKD ANDERSEN OPDAL.
 
 120 (Dbinb. 
 
 To OVIND PLADSEN. 
 
 I am grieved that you are vexed with me, for 
 I didn't mean it as you have taken it. I am 
 aware I have not always acted rightly towards 
 you, and I wish to tell you so, but you must not 
 show this to any one. Once when I got what I 
 liked I wasn't good, and now no one cares for 
 me any more, and I'm very unhappy. Jon 
 Hatlen has written a song about me, and all the 
 lads sing it, so that I daren't go anywhere. Both 
 the old people know about it, and they are very 
 cross. I am writing this alone, and you mustn't 
 show it to any one. 
 
 I have often been down to see your parents. 
 I have spoken with your mother, and we under- 
 stand each other now, but I cannot tell you more 
 for you wrote so strangely last time. The 
 schoolmaster only makes game of me, but he 
 knows nothing about the song, for no one dare 
 sing such before him. I stand alone and feel to 
 have no one to talk to. I often think of the
 
 $e Sure tjjai gou $unt |t. 121 
 
 time when we were children, when I always rode 
 on your sledge, and you were so good to me. I 
 could wish we were children again. 
 
 I dare not ask you to answer me any more, 
 but if you will write just this once I shall never 
 forget it, Ovind. 
 
 MARIT KNUDSDATTER. 
 
 P.S. I beg you burn this letter, I scarcely 
 know if I dare send it. 
 DEAR MARIT, 
 
 It was a happy moment when you wrote that 
 letter ; and I thank you for it. 
 
 I feel as if I could scarcely stay here any 
 longer Marit, I love you so much, and if you 
 lov me as truly, then Jon Hatlen's song and 
 others' bitter words shall be like the chaff that 
 the wind blows away. Since I received your 
 letter I am like another man, I feel so much 
 stronger, and am not afraid of anything in the 
 whole world. After I had sent my last letter 
 
 I regretted it so, that it made me almost ill, 
 I
 
 122 (Dfainb. 
 
 and now you shall hear what this led to. The 
 principal took me aside and asked me what was 
 the matter; he thought I read too much. Then 
 he said to me that when my year here was com- 
 pleted, he would allow me to stay a year longer 
 free of expense ; I should assist him in several 
 ways, and he would give me a chance of learning 
 more. Then I thought that work was the only 
 thing for me, and I was very grateful, and even 
 now, though I long so much to come to you, 
 I do not regret it, for it will put me in a better 
 position for the future. How happy I am ! I 
 do the work of three, and shall never be behind 
 in anything. I will send you a book I am read- 
 ing, for there is a great deal about love, and I 
 read it at nights when the others are asleep ; then 
 I read your letter over too. 
 
 Have you thought of the time when we shall 
 meet again ? I think about it very often, and 
 so must you, it is so delightful. I am glad I 
 wrote so much before, though it was so difficult,
 
 $ Sure tljat |)ou $unt |t. 123 
 
 for now I can open my whole heart to you. 1 
 shall send you several books to read, that you 
 may see what those who truly love each other 
 have had to go through, choosing rather to die 
 of sorrow than to give each other up. And we 
 should do so too. Though it will be two years 
 before we see each other, and longer still before 
 we really belong to each other, we must cheer 
 our hearts by thinking that each day as it goes 
 brings us one day nearer. 
 
 I have a great deal to write about, but I will 
 leave it till next time, as I have not got any 
 more paper to night, and the others are all asleep. 
 
 Now I shall go to bed and think of you till I 
 sleep. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 OviND PLADSEN.
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 OVIND THROWS HIS CAP IN THE AIR. 
 
 NE Saturday, at Midsummer, Thore 
 Pladsen rowed over the lake to meet 
 his son, who was coming that after- 
 noon from the Agricultural School. The mother 
 had had a charwoman for two or three days, and 
 everything was made beautifully clean and tidy. 
 Ovind's room had been ready some time, and 
 the stove was set in order. To-day his mother 
 decorated it with green, took the linen up, and 
 made the bed, looking out between times over the 
 water, to see if there was not a boat. The table 
 was ready spread, and yet there was always
 
 (Dbinb <Tbrofo$ fyis (Cap in tjji ^lir. 125 
 
 something to be done, flies to chase away, or 
 dust, constant dust. 
 
 Still there was no boat. She seated herself 
 in the window sill and looked out ; then she 
 heard footsteps on the other side and turned to 
 see who was there ; it was the schoolmaster, who 
 came slowly along leaning upon a stick for his 
 hip was very bad. He stopped a minute to rest, 
 the expressive eyes moved quietly round ; he 
 nodded to her : " Not come yet ? " 
 
 " No, I am expecting them every moment." 
 
 " Good hay weather to-day." 
 
 " But very hot for old people to be out." 
 
 The schoolmaster smiled : " Has somebody 
 else been out in the heat to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, but she's gone again." 
 
 " Oh ! well, may be they'll be meeting some- 
 where to-night." 
 
 " I suppose so, but Thore says they shall not 
 meet in his house till the old people give their 
 consent."
 
 1 26 <Dfa in b . 
 
 " Quite right." 
 
 "They are coming, I do believe !" the mother 
 exclaimed." 
 
 " Yes, that is them." 
 
 The schoolmaster came in and rested a little, 
 and then they went down to the lake, while the 
 boat plied quickly along, for both father and 
 son were rowing. When they came near, Ovind 
 turned, rested his oars, and called "Good morning, 
 mother; good morning, schoolmaster 1 " 
 
 "What a manly voice," said the mother, "but 
 still the same light hair," she added. 
 
 Ovind sprang out, and shook hands ; he 
 laughed, and so unlike the peasants' way, he at 
 once began to tell them all about the examina- 
 tion, the journey, the principal's testimonial, 
 his prospects, &c. ; then he asked about the 
 harvest, and about his friends, all except one. 
 And so they went home, Ovind laughing and 
 talking; the mother smiling, not knowing exactly 
 what to say; the schoolmaster and the father
 
 fcjjrofos |ris <ap in tb Jslir. 127 
 
 listening. Ovind was pleased with everything 
 he saw, first, that the house was painted ; then, 
 that the mill was enlarged ; then, that the lead 
 windows were taken out of the parlour, and 
 white glass put instead of green. 
 
 When they came in, everything looked so 
 exceedingly small, so different from what he had 
 remembered it ; but so cheerful, and all looked 
 so inviting. 
 
 They seated themselves at the table, but there 
 was not much eaten, for Ovind was constantly 
 talking. Once when he was telling them a long 
 story about one of his schoolfellows, and there 
 came a moment's pause, his father said, "I can 
 scarcely understand a single word of what you 
 say, lad, you speak so exceedingly quick." They 
 all laughed, and Ovind not the least ; he knew 
 it was true, but he seemed as though he could 
 not help it. 
 
 All that he had seen and heard during his 
 long absence, had so impressed and aroused him,
 
 128 
 
 that the powers which had hitherto lain dormant 
 were now awakened, and the brain was constantly 
 at work. 
 
 He was delighted with his little room ; he 
 thought he should like to stay at home for a 
 time, assisting with the hay harvest and reading; 
 where he should go after he could not tell, but 
 it was all the same to him. They were afraid 
 lest he should have grown thoughtless, but on 
 the contrary he remembered everything ; and it 
 was he who thought of the boat and unpacked 
 the things. He had gained a quickness and 
 power of thought that was quite refreshing, and 
 a liveliness in expressing his feelings, which, 
 during the whole year, had only been repressed. 
 
 The schoolmaster looked ten years younger. 
 "Now we have come so far with him," said he, 
 as he rose to go. 
 
 The mother called Ovind aside, "Some one 
 expects you at nine o'clock," she whispered. 
 
 "Where?"
 
 Obinb (Tbrotos |)is (Cap in i|je Qh. 129 
 
 "Upon the ridge." 
 
 Ovind looked at the clock, it was nearly nine. 
 He could not wait in the house, but went out, 
 clambered up the ridge, and looked round. The 
 house roof lay close below ; the bushes on the 
 roof were very much larger, and all the small 
 trees had grown ; he could remember each one. 
 And there lay the road, grey and sombre, and 
 the wood with its varied foliage, and in the bay a 
 vessel laden with planks, waiting for wind. The 
 lake was bright and calm ; some sea-birds flew 
 over, but did not cry as it was late. He sat 
 down waiting ; the small trees prevented him 
 from seeing very far over, but he listened tq the 
 slightest noise. For some time there were only 
 birds that started up and deceived him ; then 
 again, a squirrel springing from tree to tree. 
 But at last he heard a rustling, then it ceased ; 
 then it came again. He rose, his heart beat 
 fast, the blood rushed into his head ; there was 
 a movement in the bushes close to him, and a
 
 130 
 
 shaggy dog appeared ; it was the dog from 
 Hcidegaard, and close behind, it rustled again ; 
 the dog looked back and wagged his tail ; now 
 comes Marit. 
 
 A bush caught her dress, she turned to release 
 it, and so she stood when he first saw her ; she 
 had her hair plainly dressed, as was the custom 
 with the peasant girls on week days ; she wore 
 a strong plaided dress without sleeves, and 
 nothing on her neck except the linen collar- 
 She had stolen away from her work, and durst 
 not stay to tidy herself. She looked up and 
 smiled, then she came forward, growing more 
 and more red at each step. He went to meet 
 her, and took her hand in both of his ; she looked 
 down, and so they stood. 
 
 "Thanks for all your letters," was the first he 
 said, and when she then looked up a little and 
 laughed, he felt that she was the most roguish 
 little elf he ever could meet in a wood ; but he 
 was caught, and she not any the less.
 
 (Dbinb ftbrofos bis Cap in tljt ^ir. 131 
 
 " How you have grown !" she said, but meant 
 something quite different. 
 
 They looked at each other but said nothing. 
 Meanwhile the dog had seated himself at the 
 edge of the ridge, and looked down upon the 
 farm, and Thore observing his head from 
 below, could not for his life think what it could 
 be. 
 
 When, at last, the two began to talk, Ovind 
 spoke so quickly that Marit couldn't help laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes, you see, it's when I am glad, really glad, 
 
 you see, and when we came to understand each 
 
 
 other it was as if a lock sprang open within 
 
 me, sprang open, you see." 
 
 She laughed, then she said, " I know all the 
 letters you sent me by heart." 
 
 " And I know yours too, but you always wrote 
 such short letters." 
 
 " Because you always wanted them so long." 
 
 " And when I wanted you to write about one
 
 particular thing, you slipped away, and I never 
 heard how you got rid of Jon Hatlen." 
 
 " I laughed." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Laughed, don't you know what it is to laugh ?" 
 
 " Yes, I can laugh ! " 
 
 
 " Let me see ! " 
 
 " Did you ever hear such a thing ! I must 
 have something to laugh at first." 
 
 " I don't need it when I am happy." 
 
 " Are you happy now, Marit ? " 
 
 " Do I laugh now, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, that you do !" 
 
 He took both her hands, and clapped them to- 
 gether as he looked at her. Here the dog began 
 to growl, then his hair stood on end, and he 
 barked, and grew more and more angry till at 
 last he seemed quite savage. Marit sprang 
 up in fear, but Ovind went forward and 
 looked down. It was his father the dog 
 was barking at ; he was standing close un-
 
 <Dbhtb ^Ijrofos (jis Cap in i|je ;3ur. 133 
 
 der the ridge, with both his hands in his 
 pockets. 
 
 " What ! are you there, too ? Pray, whose is 
 that savage dog ?" 
 
 " It's a dog from Heidegaard," replied Ovind, 
 rather taken aback. 
 
 " How in the world did it come there ?" 
 
 The mother hearing the noise, had come out 
 to see what it was, and understanding at once 
 how things were, she laughed, and said : " The 
 dog comes here every day, so it's nothing won- 
 derful." 
 
 " But what a ferocious animal !" 
 
 " He'll be quiet if he's spoken to," said Ovind, 
 and patted him. The dog ceased barking though 
 he continued to growl. The father was satisfied 
 and went down again. 
 
 "Safe this time!" said Marit, "but there's 
 some one else to watch us." 
 
 " Your grandfather ? " 
 
 " Exactly."
 
 134 (Dbinb. 
 
 " But that won't do any harm." 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " You promise me ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do Ovind." 
 
 " How pretty you are, Marit ! " 
 
 " So said the fox to the raven, and got the 
 cheese." 
 
 " You may think I want the cheese too." 
 
 " But you won't get it." 
 
 " I shall take it then." 
 
 She turned her head, and he didn't take it. 
 
 " I'll tell you something, Ovind," and she 
 looked slily round. 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " How ugly you have grown." 
 
 " You'll give me the cheese though." 
 
 " No, indeed I won't/'andshcturncdawayagain. 
 
 " Now, I must go, Ovind." 
 
 " I'll go with you." 
 
 " But not out of the wood, or grandfather 
 will sec you."
 
 Obiitb |u0fos ^is <ap in tljc ^ir. 135 
 
 " No, not out of the wood, dear, are you run- 
 ning ? " 
 
 " We cannot go side by side here." 
 
 " But this isn't to go in company." 
 
 " Catch me then," and on she ran. 
 
 They stopped when they got to the end of 
 the trees. 
 
 " When shall we meet again ? " she whispered. 
 
 " To-morrow, to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 "Good bye;" she ran. 
 
 " Marit ! " and she stopped. 
 
 " How strange that we should meet first up 
 on the ridge." 
 
 " Yes, it is ; " she ran again. 
 
 He looked long after her, the dog ran before 
 and barked, she after, tryingto silence him. Ovind 
 took his cap, and tossed it again and again ; 
 " Now, I believe, I really begin to be happy," 
 said he, and sang as he went home.
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 TURN THE RIVER WHERE IT CAN FLOW. 
 
 HEN they were all making hay, one 
 afternoon, in the summer, a little 
 bare-headed, bare-footed boy came 
 running down the ridge over the field to Ovind, 
 and gave him a note. 
 
 "You are running fast," said Ovind. 
 " Yes, I am paid for it," answered the boy. 
 Ovind was a little perplexed when he opened 
 the note, it was so carefully wrapped up and 
 sealed ; it ran as follows : 
 
 " He is on his way now, but he goes slowly. 
 Go into the wood and hide. 
 
 You KNOW WHO FROM."
 
 tlje ibtr lbcre |t tan 
 
 " No, that I won't," thought Ovind, and looked 
 defiantly up over the hill. 
 
 It was not long before an old man came into 
 sight on the top of the hill ; resting, then going 
 a little further, and resting again. The father 
 and the mother both left off working to look at 
 him. Thore smiled ; but the mother, on the 
 contrary, changed colour. 
 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 " Yes, there's no mistaking him." 
 
 The old man came slowly nearer and nearer 
 He was somewhat tall and burly, and being 
 rather lame, he could only with difficulty walk 
 by the help of his staff. When he came close 
 to, he stopped, took off his cap, and wiped his 
 forehead. His head was quite bald at the back; 
 he had a round tight-drawn face, small piercing 
 eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a full row of teeth. 
 He spoke in a sharp shrill voice, hopping, as it 
 were, over gravel and stone, and every now and 
 
 then resting with great delight upon an inviting 
 J
 
 138 
 
 R. In his younger days he had been known 
 as a cheerful, but hot tempered, man ; now, after 
 many adversities, he had grown peevish and 
 distrustful. 
 
 Thore and his son had many journeys back- 
 wards and forwards before old Ole got up to 
 them, but at last, as they came out from the hay 
 loft, they saw him standing in front of the 
 kitchen door, as though doubtful what to do ; he 
 held his cap and staff in one hand, and with the 
 other wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. 
 Ovind stood behind his father as he went up 
 and accosted him. 
 
 " You must be tired, will you not come in ? " 
 
 Ole turned and looked sharply at him, at the 
 same time adjusting his cap, before he replied : 
 
 " No, I can rest where I stand, I shall not be 
 long." 
 
 Since he had lost his hair his cap was far too . 
 big for hirr, it came down over his eyes ; so that 
 to be able to sec, he had to hold his head right back.
 
 Corn ijje |liber 3K|jm |t tnn ^lofa. 139 
 
 " Is that your son standing there behind you ?" 
 he began in a harsh voice. 
 
 " They say so." 
 
 " His name is Ovind, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, they call him Ovind." 
 
 " He has been to one of those Agricultural 
 Schools in the south, hasn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes, something of that kind." 
 
 " H'm, my girl, my granddaughter, Marit 
 seems to have lost her senses in these latter 
 days." 
 
 "That's a pity." 
 
 " She will not marry." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " She wont have any of the fine young men 
 who come to pay their addresses to her." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " And it is his fault, his that stands there." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 He has completely turned her head, that son 
 of yours, Ovind."
 
 140 
 
 " Do you say so ? " 
 
 " See now, I dont like that any one should 
 take my horses when I let them go to the 
 mountains ; and neither do I like that any one 
 should take my daughters when I let them go 
 to the dance, don't like it at all." 
 
 " No, of course not." 
 
 " I cannot go after them, I am old, I cannot 
 take care of them." 
 
 ".No no, no no." 
 
 " You see I wish to keep order, and when I 
 say a thing must be done., it must, and when I 
 say to her, not him, but him, it must be him, 
 and not him ! " 
 
 " Certainly ! " 
 
 " But it is not so ; for three years she has said 
 no, and for three years there hasn't been a good 
 understanding between us. That is not good, 
 and if it is he who is the cause of it, I will 
 only say to him, so that you hear it, you who 
 are his father, that it is no use, he must give up."
 
 ijjt Qibt! Sttjure ft tan Jflofa. 141 
 
 "Well." 
 
 Ole looked a minute at Thore, then said, "You 
 give such short answers." 
 
 " I can't make the sausage longer than it is." 
 
 Here Ovind must laugh, though in sooth he 
 was in no laughing mood ; but with some people 
 laughter and fear go hand in hand. 
 
 " What are you laughing at?" said Ole sharply. 
 
 "I?" 
 
 " Are you laughing at me ? " 
 
 " Heavens preserve me ! " but his own reply 
 only made him worse. 
 
 Ole saw this, and it infuriated him. They 
 would turn the conversation, and begged him 
 to go in, but it was three years' pent up anger 
 that now sought liberty, and it was not to be 
 stayed. 
 
 " Don't think to make a fool of me," he began, 
 " I seek my granddaughter's happiness as I un- 
 derstand it, and your giggling laughter shall not 
 hinder me. One doesn't bring up a girl just to
 
 142 binb. 
 
 hand her over to the first peasant that turns up, 
 neither does one labor for forty years to leave 
 all to the first that fools her. My daughter went 
 on so, till at last she married a scamp ; he ruined 
 them both through drink, and I had to take the 
 child, and pay for the entertainment, but, on my 
 word, it shall not be so with my granddaughter, do 
 you hear that ? I tell you that as true as I am 
 Ole Nordistuen of Heidegaard, the priest might 
 as well think of publishing the banns for the 
 trolls up in the forest, as to give out such names 
 from the pulpit as Marit's and your's, you puppy 
 dog ! You sly fox, as if I didn't know what 
 you think of, you and she ! You think old Ole 
 must soon turn his nose up in the church-yard, 
 and then you'll trip away to the altar. No, no, 
 I've lived seventy years now, and you shall see, 
 boy, that I shall not die till you are both tired 
 out ! I tell you, you may watch for her, and not 
 even see her footprints, for I shall send her away 
 somewhere where she will be safe, and you may
 
 $nrn the giber SS^m Jt tan Jlofo. 143 
 
 roam about like a fool, and keep company with 
 the wind and the rain ! And now I shan't say 
 any more to you, but you, who are his father, 
 know my will, and if you desire his happiness in 
 this respect, you will get him to turn the river 
 where it can flow, for through my territory it 
 shall not pass." He turned, and hobbled away 
 with short quick steps, lifting the right foot 
 higher than the left, and grumbling to himself. 
 
 An evil foreboding overshadowed those who re- 
 mained ; there was no more joking and laughter 
 and the house stood as though empty. They 
 entered without a word being said. The mother, 
 who had overheard all from the kitchen door, 
 looked at Ovind sorrowfully, almost in tears, and 
 would not make matters harder for him by say- 
 ing anything. The father sat down in the win- 
 dow, and looked after Ole. Ovind watched for 
 the slightest change of expression on that grave 
 and serious face, for on his first word the destiny 
 of the future might depend. If Thore should
 
 J44 (Dbinb. 
 
 join Ole in saying no, it would hardly be 
 possible to overcome it. His frightened thoughts 
 bore him swiftly on from one obstruction to an- 
 other. He saw before him only poverty, opposi- 
 tion, and misunderstanding, and each support 
 that he had relied on seemed to give way under 
 the thought. It increased his anxiety that his 
 mother stood with her hand on the door-latch, 
 uncertain whether to stay and see the result or 
 not, and that at last she quite lost courage and 
 stole quietly out. Thore was still staring out of 
 the window, and Ovind dared not speak to him, 
 for he knew he must have his thought out. Just 
 then, his own thoughts having run their unhap- 
 py course, took courage again, and, as he looked 
 at his father's knitted brows, he thought : "None 
 but God can separate us in the end." Thore 
 drew a long sigh, he rose, and at the same time 
 met his son's gaze. He stopped, and looked 
 long at him : " I should like it best if you could 
 give her up, for one should not either beg, or
 
 the giber Wifynt |t tan <f lofo. 145 
 
 force oneself upon others ; but if you cannot, 
 you must let me know, and perhaps I can help 
 you." He went to his work, and the son followed. 
 
 In the evening Ovind had got his plan all 
 ready. He would try to get to be Agriculturist 
 for the district, and would ask the principal and 
 the schoolmaster to help him. "If she will hold 
 out, by God's help I shall win her through my 
 work." 
 
 He waited in vain for Marit that evening, but 
 whilst he waited he sang the song he loved the 
 best : 
 
 " Come lift your head up, my thoughtful lad, 
 
 If a hope from your heart be riven, 
 
 Another may brighten your tearful eye, 
 
 If you turn to the light of heaven ! 
 
 Come lift your head up, and look around, 
 
 Voices are kindly calling, 
 A thousand voices are bidding you come, 
 
 Softly their echoes are falling ! 
 
 Come lift your head up, for deep within 
 
 Lieth a fountain of blessing, 
 Tones of music are flowing free, 
 
 Love on your heart impressing.
 
 146 
 
 Come lift your head up, and gaily sing, 
 Nor fear for the coming morrow, 
 
 As the buds of the Spring return again, 
 So joy will come after sorrow. 
 
 Then lift your head up, and courage take 
 In the hope around you springing, 
 
 From the blue above, to the green beneath, 
 To the world she ever is singing.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 GATHERING BERRIES. 
 
 T was in the middle of the noonday's 
 rest ; the people at Heidegaard were 
 asleep, the hay lay scattered about 
 the field, and the rakes were all stuck in the 
 ground. The hay sledges stood outside the 
 granary, and the horses were grazing a little dis- 
 tance off. Except these, and some hens that 
 had strayed in the corn field, there was not a 
 living thing to be seen. 
 
 The road from the farm to the rich grass fields 
 of the Heidegaard Sceters,* lay through a moun- 
 
 * To those of our readers who have travelled in the mountain- 
 ous districts of Norway, the idea of the " Sorters " is sure to
 
 148 
 
 tain pass. Up in the pass a man stood and 
 looked down over the plain, as though expect- 
 ing something. Behind him lay a tarn, from 
 which the beck flowed down, that had made the 
 cleft in the mountain. On both sides of the 
 lake there were sheep walks leading to the 
 Soeters, which he could see far in the distance. 
 The barking of dogs and the tinkling of bells 
 resounded among the rocks ; the cows were 
 rushing madly to the water, while the poor 
 
 convey a romantic and pleasing impression, and though to others 
 we fear we cannot give a just representation of these strongholds 
 of the brownies, we may at least explain the meaning of the 
 word. 
 
 In the prospect of the long winter before them, the farmers 
 are anxious to cultivate as meadow every available spot of grass 
 land in the valley, and therefore during the summer months the 
 cattle are sent to graze up in the forests and on the mountain 
 sides, where each farm has its Sceter usually several miles away 
 from the farm itself. A part of the family take up their resi- 
 dence in the small wooden house prepared in the simplest way 
 for their accommodation ; a few plain wooden chairs and a table 
 may be all the furniture, but everything is scrupulously clean, 
 and here many a young girl may gain her first experience in 
 housekeeping and the superintendence of the dairy.
 
 (gathering ferries. 149 
 
 herdsmen and the dogs sought in vain to gather 
 them. The cows appeared in the most wonder- 
 ful shapes, with their tails in the air, kicking and 
 plunging, roaring and bellowing; making straight 
 for the lake, where, to their delight, they stood 
 quite still, up to their necks in water; their bells 
 tinkling with each move of the head. The dogs 
 drank a little, but kept back on the dry land ; 
 the herdsmen came after, and seated themselves 
 on the warm smooth mountain side. Here they 
 took out their provision, exchanged with each 
 
 Early in the morning, when the dewy freshness of the air 
 gives life and vigour to all around, the milkmaid will arise, and 
 in dear beautiful tones sing a song of the country, and gather 
 the cattle around her, giving to each a handful of salt, and 
 calling them all by name. The mountains rise on all sides, and 
 her song is re-echoed from cliff to cliff. Far in the distance 
 amid the towering peaks, peep here and there the deep crevasses 
 filled with everlasting snow ; the icy surface gives a glacier-like 
 appearance, and there you may see grand images of the sun 
 reflected like gigantic stars. 
 
 The herdsmen up in the Soeters play skilfully upon a curious 
 wooden instrument, peculiar to the country. This can be heard 
 for miles, and should any of the cattle have strayed from the 
 rest, they are guided back by the sweet sounds of the " Luur."
 
 other ; praised each others' dogs, oxen, and 
 people ; finally undressed and sprang in the 
 water. The dogs wouldn't go in, but drawled 
 lazily about, hanging their heads, with their 
 tongues out on one side. There was no bird to 
 be seen, no sound to be heard save the voices 
 of the lads and the tinkling of the bells ; the 
 ling was burnt up and withered ; the sun 
 scorched the whole mountain side, and the heat 
 was intense. 
 
 Ovind sat a long time in the hot sun, close to 
 the beck that flowed from the lake ; he waited 
 and waited, but still there was no one to be seen 
 at Heidegaard, and he began to be a little 
 anxious, when suddenly a great dog came pant- 
 ing out from a door, followed by a young girl in 
 summer attire ; she sprang over the fields up 
 towards the mountain. Ovind felt a strong 
 desire to halloo but dare not ; he kept a look 
 out to see if any one should accidentally come 
 out from the farm and see her, but she escaped
 
 $at|)ering ferries. 151 
 
 unobserved. At last she got near, picking her 
 way by the side of the brook, and helping her- 
 self on by the small bushes, the dog a little 
 before her, snuffing in the air. Ovind ran to 
 meet her, the dog growled and was hushed 
 down, and as soon as Marit saw him come, she 
 seated herself on the Great Stone, looking fiery 
 red, and quite overpowered by the heat. He sat 
 down beside her. 
 
 " I'm so glad you've come." 
 
 " How fearfully hot ! Have you been waiting 
 long?" 
 
 " No. As they watch us so in the evenings, 
 we must take the mid-day ; but after this, I 
 think we ought not to keep things so secret, and 
 it is just about this I wanted to speak to you." 
 
 " Not secret ? " 
 
 " I know very well that it suits you best to 
 keep everything secret, but to shew courage suits 
 you also. I have come to-day to talk a long 
 time with you, and now you must hear."
 
 152 
 
 " Is it true that you mean to try to be District 
 Agriculturist ?" 
 
 " Yes, and I hope to succeed too. I have a 
 two-fold object in view, first, to gain position ; 
 and secondly, to do something that your grand- 
 father can both see and understand. It happens 
 most fortunately that most of the farmers about 
 Heidegaard are young people who wish to make 
 improvements and require assistance ; they have 
 also means at command. So I shall begin there. 
 I shall improve everything from the smallest 
 things to the greatest. I shall give lectures, and 
 also work ; and so to say, lay siege to the old 
 man by good deeds." 
 
 " Well done, Ovind ! What more ? " 
 
 " The next concerns ourselves, you must not 
 go away." 
 
 " When he commands it ? " 
 
 " And keep nothing secret respecting us two." 
 
 " When he tortures me ? " 
 
 " But we gain more, and protect ourselves
 
 (gathering grrms. 153 
 
 better by having everything open. We shall 
 be just so much observed by people, that they 
 will talk of how much we care for each other, 
 and they will the sooner wish us well. You 
 must not leave. There is danger for those who 
 are separated lest slander should come in between 
 them ; they believe nothing the first year, but 
 they begin little by little to be influenced the 
 second. We two must meet when we can, and 
 laugh away all the ill report they will set between 
 us. We shall be able to meet at a dance now 
 and then, and swing merrily round while they 
 sit by who calumniate us. We shall meet at 
 church, and talk to each other in the face of 
 those who wish us a hundred miles away. 1 f 
 any one writes a ditty about us, we will see if 
 we cannot write one in reply. No one can harm 
 us if we keep together and let people see it. All 
 the unhappiness in love belongs either to those 
 who are afraid, or to those who are weak, or to 
 
 those who are ill, or to those calculating people 
 K
 
 154 (Dbinb. 
 
 who watch for certain opportunities, or to those 
 cunning people who at last suffer for their own 
 devices, or to those matter-of-fact people who 
 don't care so much for each other, that state and 
 position can disappear ; they steal quietly away, 
 and send letters, and tremble at a single word, 
 and at last take that constant restlessness and 
 uneasiness for love ; they feel unhappy and 
 dissolve away like sugar. Pooh, pooh ! if they 
 really cared for each other they would have no 
 fear, they would be light hearted, they would 
 not care who saw them. I have read about it in 
 books. I have seen it myself also ; that is a 
 poor love that goes round about. True love 
 must begin in secrecy because it begins in reserve 
 and modesty, but it must live in openness because 
 its existence is joy. It is as in the spring time, 
 when the leaves begin to shoot, all that is withered 
 and dry falls off from the tree as soon as the 
 new life begins. He who falls in love leaves the 
 useless toys he has held to before, the new life
 
 (fathering $crrits. 155 
 
 springs, and then can no one see it? Hey, Marit! 
 they will be glad through seeing us glad. Two 
 betrothed, who are true to each other, are a 
 benefit to the public, for they read them a poem 
 which the children learn by heart, to the shame 
 of their calculating parents. I have read of 
 many instances, and there are rumours of such 
 even here in the district, and it is just the children 
 of those who once caused all the misery, that 
 now speak of it and are moved by it. Well, 
 now let us join hands, and promise to be 
 true to each other and we shall succeed." 
 
 He was about to embrace her but she turned 
 her head away, and slipped down from the stone. 
 As he remained sitting, she came back again, 
 and with her arms resting on his knees she stood 
 there, and talked to him as she looked up. 
 
 " Listen now, Ovind, when he says I must 
 leave,~what shall I say ? " 
 
 " You must say no, straight out." 
 
 " Oh clear ! will that do ?"
 
 156 
 
 " He cannot take and carry you out to the 
 carriage." 
 
 " If he doesn't do just that, there are many 
 other ways in which he can force me." 
 
 " I do not think so. Obedience is certainly 
 your duty so long as it is not sin ; but it is also 
 your duty to let him know fully how hard it is 
 to you to obey in this case. I think when he 
 hears that, he will reconsider the matter ; for at 
 present, like most others, he believes it to be 
 only child's play. You must show him it is 
 something more." 
 
 " You may think he is not easy to do with ; 
 he watches me like a tethered goat." 
 
 " But you break the chain again and again in 
 one day." 
 
 " That is not true." 
 
 "Yes, every time you secretly think of me, 
 you break it." 
 
 "Yes, that way, but are you certain that I 
 think of you so often ? "
 
 (Satfjrring ferries. 157 
 
 " Were it else, you would not be here now." 
 
 " Oh ! but you sent me a message to come." 
 
 " But you came because your thoughts drove 
 you." 
 
 " Rather because it was a fine day." 
 
 " You said just now it was too hot." 
 
 " To go up the hill, yes ; but down again ? " 
 
 " Then why did you come up ? " 
 
 " To be able to run down." 
 
 " Then why are you not going ? " 
 
 " Because I wish to rest." 
 
 " And talk to me about love ? " 
 
 " I couldn't deny you that pleasure." 
 
 " While the little birds sang," 
 
 " And all were asleep ; " 
 
 " And the bells they rang," 
 
 " O'er the green wood's steep." 
 
 Here they both saw Marit's grandfather come 
 limping out on the farm, and go to the bell 
 string to ring the people up. The people came 
 slowly down from the out-houses, drawled sleepily
 
 158 
 
 to the horses and rakes, scattered themselves 
 in various parts of the field, and soon all was 
 life and work again. The grandfather only 
 went out of the one house and into the other, 
 and at last up on to the top of the hay loft and 
 looked all round. A little lad came bounding 
 up to him, apparently he had called him. The boy 
 went down in the direction of Pladsen, and the 
 grandfather, in the meantime, went round about 
 the farm, often looking up to the mountain, but 
 little suspecting that the dark spot on the " great 
 stone" was Marit and Ovind. But again Marit's 
 dog brought misfortune, for seeing a strange 
 horse drive into Heidegaard, he seemed to 
 think it part of his business to bark at the 
 top of his voice. They tried to quiet him, 
 but he had got roused, and would not give 
 over ; the grandfather stood below and stared 
 straight up. But matters grew still worse, for 
 the sheep dogs hearing the voice of a stranger, 
 ran up, and seeing a great wolf-like champion,
 
 ^alluring gtrrits. 159 
 
 these straight-haired Finnish dogs all united 
 against him, and so frightened Marit, that she 
 ran away without even saying good-bye ; while 
 Ovind, in the midst of the battle, kicked and 
 struck, but only succeeded in driving the dogs 
 further away, for they soon found themselves 
 another battle field ; he after them again, and 
 so on, till at last they were close to the edge of 
 the beck ; here Ovind rushed on them again, 
 and got them all into the water, just where it 
 was really deep ; and they crawled out, looking 
 quite ashamed, and going each his own way ; 
 so ended the fray. 
 
 Ovind went straight over till he reached the 
 high road, but Marit met her grandfather a little 
 above the farm, and the dog was to blame for 
 this. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " 
 
 " Into the wood." 
 
 " What have you been doing there ? " 
 
 " Gathering berries."
 
 " That is not true." 
 " No, it isn't." 
 " What did you do then ?" 
 " I was talking to some one." 
 " Was it the peasant lad ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Listen now, Marit, you are going away to- 
 morrow." 
 " No." 
 " Well, Marit, I will only say one single thing, 
 
 you SHALL go." 
 
 " You can't lift me into the carriage." 
 
 " No ? Can't I ? " 
 
 " No, because you won't do it." 
 
 " Won't I ? Listen, Marit, only for pleasure 
 you see, only for pleasure, I will give that rag- 
 gamuffin a real good thrashing." 
 
 " No, you daren't do that." 
 
 " Don't dare ? Do you say I dare not ? Who 
 could do anything to me, who ? " 
 
 " The schoolmaster."
 
 (Paiberhtg $crrits. 161 
 
 " The schoo school schoolmaster ? Do you 
 think he cares for him ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was he who sent him to the Agri- 
 cultural School." 
 
 " The schoolmaster ?" 
 
 " The schoolmaster ! " 
 
 " Listen now Marit, I will not have any more 
 of this nonsense, you must leave, you give me 
 only sorrow and trouble, it was just the same 
 with your mother, only sorrow and trouble. I 
 am an old man, and I wish to see you well pro- 
 vided for, and I will not be talked about as a 
 fool in this matter ; it is your own good that I 
 have at heart, you may be sure of that, Marit. 
 I may soon be gone, and then you would stand 
 there alone ; what would have become of your 
 mother if it had not been for me ? Come now, 
 Marit, be a good girl, and listen to what I say, 
 I seek only your own good." 
 
 " No, you don't." 
 
 " How ? What do I seek then ? "
 
 162 
 
 " To have your own way without any regard 
 to mine." 
 
 " You have a will of your own, have you, you 
 young sea-bird ? You think you know your own 
 good, do you, little fool ? I shall let you taste 
 the birch rod, so tall and big you are. Now 
 listen Marit, let me speak a little kindly with 
 you. You are not so bad at the bottom, but 
 you are deluded. You must attend to what I 
 say, I am old and experienced. I am not so 
 well off as people think, a poor cageless bird 
 could soon fly away with the little I have ; your 
 father dived hard into it. No, let us take care 
 of ourselves in this world, it is not better worth. 
 It is all very well for the schoolmaster to talk, 
 for he has money himself, and the priest too, they 
 can afford to preach ; but with us, who must 
 work for our living, it is quite a different thing. 
 I am old, and have gone through much ; I can 
 tell you, love is nice enough to talk about, and 
 may do very well for the clergy and such, but it
 
 fathering gtrries. 163 
 
 won't do for the peasantry, they must look at it 
 in another light. First subsistence you see, 
 then religion, then a little schooling, then a little 
 love if it so falls in ; but I tell you it is no use 
 to begin with love and end with victuals. What 
 have you to say now Marit ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You don't know ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I do." 
 
 " What then ? " 
 
 " Must I say ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course you must." 
 
 " I am bound up in this love." 
 
 He stood a moment amazed, then, remember- 
 ing the many similar conversations leading only 
 to the same end, he shook his head, turned his 
 back and went. 
 
 He vented his wrath on the men, abused the 
 girls, beat the great dog, and nearly frightened 
 the life out of a little hen that had strayed in 
 the field, but to Marit he said nothing.
 
 164 (Dbtnfc. 
 
 That evening Marit was so happy when she 
 went up stairs to bed, that she opened her window, 
 looked out, and sang. She had got a fine little 
 book from Ovind, and in it was a fine little love 
 song, this she sang : 
 
 Do you love me true, 
 
 E'en as I love you, 
 All the livelong happy day ; 
 
 The summer quickly flies, 
 
 The leaf and blossom dies, 
 But to come again we say. 
 
 What you said before, 
 
 Comes to me o'er and o'er, 
 Like a small bird in a tree, 
 
 Flutters his tiny wings, 
 
 Nestles himself and sings, 
 Merrily chirping, happy and free. 
 
 Litli, litli, lu, 
 
 Do you hear me, you, 
 Laddie from the birch hedge under ? 
 
 Darkness falleth fast, 
 
 Daylight soon is past, 
 Who's to guide me home I wonder ! 
 
 Garry, garry, giss, 
 Sang I of a kiss ? 
 Nay, my love, that ne'er can be, 
 Do you say you doubt it ?
 
 mies. 165 
 
 Think no more about it, 
 I shall slip away you see. 
 
 Oh, goodnight, goodnight, 
 Dreamland seems so bright, 
 
 Whispering of your blue eyes true, 
 Of the little silent word, 
 Once, you know, I overheard, 
 
 Oh, it was so rash of you ! 
 
 See, I shut the door, 
 Do you want me more ? 
 
 Echoes falling on mine ear, 
 Ticing and laughing free, 
 Do you want more with me ? 
 
 The night is so mild and clear.
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 THE OLD MAN GETS HIS OWN WAY. 
 
 FEW years have passed since the 
 last scene. 
 
 It is in the Autumn ; the school- 
 master is coming towards Heidegaard ; he opens 
 the outside door, finds nobody at home, goes 
 further in, still nobody there, till he comes to the 
 innermost room ; there sits Ole Nordistuen in 
 front of his bed, gazing at his hands. 
 
 The schoolmaster salutes him, and is welcomed; 
 takes a stool, and seats himself in front of Ole. 
 " You have sent for me." 
 " Yes, I have."
 
 gets bis fon SGHujr. 167 
 
 The schoolmaster looks round, takes a book 
 that is lying on the sofa and opens it. 
 
 " What was it you wanted with me ? " 
 
 " I am just thinking it over." 
 
 The schoolmaster takes his time, brings out 
 his spectacles to read the title of the book, dries 
 them, and puts them on. 
 
 " You are getting old now, Ole." 
 
 " Yes, it was just about that I wanted to see 
 you ; things go wrong, and I shall soon be 
 gone." 
 
 " Then you should see that you are ready to 
 go, Ole ; " he shuts the book, and sits looking at 
 the binding. 
 
 " It's a good book you have in your hand, 
 there." 
 
 " Yes, that's true ; have you often got beyond 
 the fly leaf, Ole ? " 
 
 " Lately, yes 
 
 The schoolmaster lays the book aside, and 
 puts his spectacles by.
 
 168 Obittb. 
 
 " Things are not just as you would wish them 
 now, Ole." 
 
 " Nor have they been as far back as I can 
 remember." 
 
 "Well it was the same with me for a long 
 time. I was not on good terms with a friend of 
 mine, I wanted him to come to me, and I was 
 miserable ; at last I bethought me I would go 
 to him, and since then I have been happy." 
 
 Ole looks up, but is silent. 
 
 The schoolmaster : ' How do you think the 
 farm is doing, Ole ? " 
 
 " It is going backwards like myself." 
 
 " Who will take it when you are gone ? " 
 
 " It is just this I don't know, and it troubles 
 me." 
 
 " Your neighbours are doing well, Ole." 
 
 " Yes, they have the Agriculturist to help 
 them." 
 
 The schoolmaster turns towards the window, 
 saying somewhat carelessly, " You should have
 
 (L he <DU ^lan gets bis <)ton tag. 169 
 
 help too Ole, you can't walk much, and you 
 know very little of the new method." 
 
 " Oh, there's no one who would help me !" 
 
 " Have you asked anyone ? " 
 
 But Ole makes no reply. 
 
 The schoolmaster: " It was long thus between 
 myself and God. ' Thou art not good to me,' I 
 said to Him. ' Hast thou asked me to be so ? ' 
 He replied. No, I had not, then I prayed, and 
 all things went on well. " 
 
 Ole is still silent, and now the schoolmaster is 
 silent too. 
 
 At last Ole says, " I have a grandchild 
 
 > 
 she knows what it would please me to see 
 
 before I am borne away, but she does not do 
 it." 
 
 The schoolmaster smiles : " Perhaps it would 
 not please her ? There are many things that 
 trouble you, but so far as I can see, all the 
 difficulties centre at last on the farm." 
 
 Ole replies feelingly : " Yes, it has passed from 
 L
 
 170 (Dbhrb. 
 
 one generation to another, and the soil is good. 
 All that father after father has got together, has 
 been laid out there, and now things don't grow. 
 Neither do I know, when I am taken away, who 
 shall come in my stead. He cannot be of our 
 kindred." 
 
 " But there is your granddaughter. " 
 
 " But he who takes her, how will he manage 
 the farm ? This I long to know before I die. 
 There is haste Baard, both for me and the farm." 
 
 After a pause, the schoolmaster said, " Shall 
 we go out a little and look at the farm, this fine 
 day?" 
 
 " Yes, let us go, I have labourers up there ; they 
 gather the leaves, but they don't work except 
 they see me." 
 
 He hobbled for his great cap and stick, saying 
 as he went, " They don't like working for me, 
 I don't know how it is." 
 
 " On coming out and turning the corner, 
 he exclaimed, " Here you see, no order ; the
 
 ^t 0Ib glau gets bis <0foit Stag. 171 
 
 wood scattered all over, the axe not stuck in 
 the log." He bent over with difficulty, took it 
 up and slashed it in. 
 
 "There, do you see that sheep skin fallen 
 down, but has any one hung it up ? " He did 
 it himself. 
 
 " And there is the ladder out of place." He 
 put it right, and turning to the schoolmaster, 
 said, " The same thing day after day ! " 
 
 As they went further they heard a lively song 
 from the fields. 
 
 " Hark ! they are singing at work," said the 
 schoolmaster. 
 
 " No, it is little Knut Ostistuen who is singing; 
 he is gathering leaves for his father. It is over 
 there my people are working, they are not 
 singing." 
 
 " It is not one of the country songs, that ? " 
 
 " No, I hear it is not." 
 
 " Ovind Pladsen has been a great deal in 
 Ostistuen ; it must be one of those he has
 
 172 (Dfainfc. 
 
 introduced ; where he is, there is sure to be song." 
 
 No reply. 
 
 The field they went over was not in good 
 condition, it wanted attention. The schoolmaster 
 remarked it, whereupon Ole stopped. 
 
 " I cannot do any more," -he said, almost in 
 tears ; " but it is hard to go over such a field, 
 you may be sure." 
 
 As they began to talk again about the size of 
 the farm, and what most required attention, 
 they concluded to go up the hill side, where 
 they could overlook the whole. When they had 
 reached the place, and could see the farm laid 
 out before them, the old man was quite moved. 
 
 " I should not like to leave it as it is. We 
 have worked hard there both I and my parents 
 before me ; but now nothing is to be seen of our 
 labour." 
 
 Just then, right above their heads, there burst 
 out a song, with that peculiar sharpness that a 
 lad's voice has when it is changing. They were
 
 gets bis <Dfon SKajr. 173 
 
 not far from the tree where little Knut Ostistuen 
 was sitting, pulling leaves for his father, and 
 they listened to the song : 
 
 All along by copse and glade 
 
 Up the rocky mountain, 
 Thro' the pleasant birch wood's shade, 
 
 By the silver fountain. 
 Chase away each thought of care, 
 
 Gaily, gladly singing, 
 Through the pure and bracing air 
 
 Joyful echoes ringing. 
 
 The birds salute from every tree, 
 
 They form a charming choir, 
 The air grows pure, and light, and free, 
 
 Higher up and higher. 
 So the thought of childhood's hours 
 
 To the memory rushes, 
 Recollections from the flowers 
 
 Peep with rosy blushes. 
 
 Stay and listen ; it is good, 
 
 To thy heart appealing 
 The grand deep song of solitude, 
 
 Speaks to every feeling. 
 But a streamlet gurgling on, 
 
 But a small stone rolling, 
 Calls up forgotten duties gone, 
 
 Like a death knell tolling.
 
 174 
 
 Tremble, yes, but pray, poor soul 
 
 'Midst thy saddest thinking ; 
 Forward to the blessed goal, 
 
 Keep thy heart from sinking. 
 There is Christ as once of old, 
 
 Elias too, and Moses ; 
 When their glory ye behold, 
 
 Faith in joy reposes. 
 
 Ole had seated himself, and hid his head in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Let us talk together here," said the school- 
 master, and sat down by his side. 
 
 Down at the little farm, Ovind had just 
 returned from a long journey, the chaise was 
 still at the door, while the horses were resting. 
 
 Although Ovind had now a good salary as 
 District Agriculturist, he still kept his little 
 room, down at Pladsen, and assisted them in 
 his spare time. Pladsen was now under good 
 cultivation from one end to the other, but it was 
 
 i 
 
 so small that Ovind called it " Mother's doll's 
 play ; " for it was chiefly she who managed the 
 farm.
 
 (ibt (DIb 3$an gets bis <Dfon lag. 175 
 
 He had just dressed after his journey, and so 
 had the father who had come home white from 
 the mill, and they were speaking of going 
 out a little before supper, when the mother came 
 in looking quite pale : 
 
 " Do look out, pray see the strangers coming 
 to the house ! " 
 
 They both went to the window, and Ovind 
 was the first to exclaim, 
 
 " It is the schoolmaster, and, yes, I do 
 
 believe it is, yes, it is him ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is old Ole Nordistuen," said Thorc, 
 as he turned from the window to avoid being 
 seen, for they were close at hand. 
 
 Ovind got a glance from the schoolmaster, as 
 he retreated from the window ; Baard smiled 
 and looked back at old Ole, who was labouring 
 along with his stick, and the small short steps, 
 the one leg always lifted higher than the other. 
 From inside they could hear the schoolmaster
 
 176 (Dbittb. 
 
 saying, " He has only just come home ;" and 
 Ole to repeat twice, " Hm-hm." 
 
 They waited a long time in the passage, the 
 mother had gone to the pantry where the milk 
 stood, Ovind had his old place, his back leaning 
 against the great table, his face to the door, 
 and the father sat by his side. At last there 
 came a knock, and in walked the schoolmaster, 
 and took his hat off, then old Ole, and took 
 his cap off, but back he turned to shut the door, 
 and stood a long time, manifestly at a loss. 
 Thore rose, and bade them be seated ; they sat 
 side by side on the window sill. Thore sat 
 down again. 
 
 Now thus was the matter settled. 
 
 The schoolmaster : " We have had beautiful 
 weather this Autumn." 
 
 Thore : "Yes, it has taken up of late." 
 
 " It will be sure to last so long as the wind 
 remains in the same quarter." 
 
 " Are you ready with the harvest up there ? "
 
 an gets bis 0fon $Ug. 177 
 
 " No, indeed, Ole Nordistuen here, as perhaps 
 you know, would like to have your help, Ovind, 
 if there's nothing in the way ? " 
 
 Ovind : " When I am requested, I shall be 
 glad to do what I can." 
 
 "Yes, but it wasn't only just for the present, 
 he meant. He sees the farm is not doing well, 
 and he thinks it is the right method and over- 
 sight that are wanting." 
 
 Ovind : " I am so little at home." 
 
 The schoolmaster looks at Ole, who feels that 
 it is his turn to speak now, he moves uneasily a 
 few times, and then begins quickly and abruptly : 
 " It was, it is, yes, I thought you might 
 stay, that is, you might live with us up there, 
 be there, when you were not away on your 
 journeys." 
 
 " I thank you very much for the offer, but I 
 should prefer to stay where I am." 
 
 Ole looks at the schoolm aster, who explains : 
 
 " Things seem in a muddle for Ole to-day ;
 
 178 OHnb. 
 
 you see he was here once before, and the recol- 
 lection of it makes it rather awkward." 
 
 Ole, quickly : " Yes, that's it, I went on like 
 a fool, I was striving so long with the girl, that 
 the edge of the axe grew blunt. But byegones 
 shall be byegones. Rain brooks soon dry up. 
 May snow does not last long. It is not thunder 
 that kills people." 
 
 They all laughed, and the schoolmaster said, 
 " Ole means that you must forget the past, 
 and you also, Thore." 
 
 Ole looks, and does not know whether he dare 
 begin again. 
 
 Then Thore says, "A sharp cut mends 
 sooner than a tear, and you will find no scar 
 upon me." 
 
 Ole: " I did not know the lad that time. Now 
 I see that things prosper under his hand ; Autumn 
 answers to Spring ; he has money at his finger 
 ends, and I should like to get hold of him." 
 
 Ovind looks at his father, and he at the
 
 abt Ib pan gels ^rs Obit (Stag. 179 
 
 mother, she from them to the schoolmaster, 
 and at last all eyes were fixed upon him. 
 
 " Ole means that he has a large farm " 
 
 Ole interrupts : " A large farm but ill cul- 
 tivated ; I cannot do more, I am old, and my 
 feet refuse to obey my commands, but it would 
 repay anyone to have a pull up there." 
 
 "The largest farm in the district, and no 
 mistake ! " says the schoolmaster. 
 
 " The largest farm in the district ; that is 
 just the misfortune, for great shoes won't keep 
 on ; it is all right to have a good gun, but you 
 must be able to lift it." (With a quick glance at 
 Ovind,) " You could perhaps give me a lift 
 could you ? " 
 
 " To manage the farm ? " 
 
 "Just so ; you should have the farm." 
 
 " Should I GET the farm ? " 
 
 "Just so ; and so you would have the charge 
 of it." 
 
 " But ? "
 
 180 (Dbinb. 
 
 " Will you not ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 "Yes yes, yes yes, then' it is settled, said 
 the hen, when she flew on to the water." 
 
 " But ? 
 
 Qle looks inquiringly at the schoolmaster. 
 
 "Ovind wants to know if he is to have 
 Marit ? " 
 
 Ole quickly, "Marit into the bargain, Marit 
 into the bargain ! " 
 
 Ovind jumped up and laughed for joy, rubbed 
 his hands, and ran about, repeating continuously, 
 " Marit into the bargain ! Marit into the 
 bargain ! " 
 
 Thore laughed in deep chuckles ; the mother 
 sat up in the corner, with eyes constantly fixed 
 on her son, till the tears came. 
 
 Ole, very eagerly : " What do you think of 
 the farm ?" 
 
 " It's excellent soil ! " 
 
 " Excellent, isn't it ? "
 
 &t Oil) Pair gtts fcis Obit SSajj. 181 
 
 " And matchless pastures ! " 
 
 " Matchless pastures! Will it carry through ?" 
 
 " It shall be the best farm in the district ! " 
 
 "The best farm in the district? Do you 
 think so ? Do you mean it ? " 
 
 " As true as I stand here." 
 
 "Just as I said ! " 
 
 They both of them spoke equally quickly, and 
 corresponded to each other like a pair of wheels. 
 
 " But the money, you see, the money ? I 
 have no money." 
 
 " We shall get on slowly without money, but 
 still we shall get on !" 
 
 " We shall get on ! To be sure we shall get 
 on ! But things would improve much quicker 
 if we HAD money you say ?" 
 
 " A very great deal quicker." 
 
 " A great deal ? We should have had money ; 
 yes, yes ; but one can chew without all one's 
 teeth ; he who drives only with oxen still gets 
 on."
 
 182 (Dfeinb. 
 
 The mother stood and winked at Thore, who 
 often glanced up quickly at her as he sat and 
 rocked himself backwards and forwards, stroking 
 his hands down over his knees ; the schoolmaster 
 blinked at him". 
 
 Thore cleared his throat a little, and tried to 
 begin, but Ole and Ovind were talking so inces- 
 santly, laughing and making such a noise, that 
 it was impossible for any one else to be 
 heard. 
 
 " Could you be quiet a little, Thore has some- 
 thing to say," breaks in the schoolmaster, at 
 which they stop and look at Thore. 
 
 At last he begins in a low tone, " It has 
 happened that at this place we have had a mill, 
 and of late years it has happened we have had 
 two. From year to year we have always had a 
 penny or two from these mills ; but neither my 
 father nor I have touched the money, excepting 
 that time Ovind was away. The schoolmaster 
 had it in charge, and he says it has prospered,
 
 be <0lb Iflait gets bis (Ofoit tag. 183 
 
 but now it Is best that Ovind should get it for 
 Nordistuen." 
 
 The mother stood in the corner, making 
 herself quite little, as with a face glowing with 
 pleasure she gazed at There, who, on his part, 
 sat immoveable, and looking almost stupid ; Ole 
 Nordistuen sat in front of him with gaping 
 mouth ; Ovind was the first to recover himself 
 from the surprise, and breaking out : " Good 
 luck attends me !" went across the room to his 
 father, clapped him on the shoulder. " Oh 
 father ! " said he, rubbed his hands, and went 
 back again. 
 
 " How much money will it be ?" Ole asked at 
 last, speaking in a low tone to the schoolmaster. 
 
 " Oh, not so very little." 
 
 " A few hundred ? " 
 
 " More than that." 
 
 " More than that ? Ovind, more than that ! 
 Good gracious, what a farm it will be ! " He 
 rose up and laughed aloud.
 
 184 
 
 " I must go up with you to see Marit," said 
 Ovind, " we'll take the chaise that is standing 
 outside, and be quick there." 
 
 " Yes, quick, quick ! Do you, then, want 
 everything quick ? " 
 
 " Yes, quick and rash." 
 
 " Quick and rash ! Exactly as when I was 
 young, exactly ! " 
 
 " Here is your cap and stick, and now I'm 
 going to turn you out ! " 
 
 " You turn me out, ha, ha, ha ! But you 
 are coming with me, really, are you not ? The 
 others must come too ; we must sit together to- 
 night so long as there is a spark in the embers, 
 come along ! " 
 
 They promised. Ovind helped him up into 
 the carriage, and they were off to Nordistuen. 
 The great dog was not the only one up there 
 that was astonished when Ole Nordistuen drove 
 into the farmstead with Ovind Pladsen. Whilst 
 Ovind was helping him out of the carriage, and
 
 glnn gets 1$ 0fon 3HHi). 185 
 
 the servants and laborers were staring with open 
 mouths, Marit came out into the passage to see 
 what it was the dog was so incessantly barking 
 at ; but when she saw, she stopped as though 
 she were glued to the spot, then grew desperately 
 red, and ran in again. When old Ole got into 
 the room, however, he called out so terifically to 
 her, that she could do no other than come forth 
 again. 
 
 " Go and get ready, child, here is the one that 
 shall have the farm ! " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " she exclaims afmost without 
 knowing it, and so loud that it rang again. 
 
 " Yes, it is possible ! " answers Ovind, clapping 
 his hands ; thereupon she swings round on one 
 foot, tosses that she has in her hand far away, 
 and runs out ; Ovind follows. 
 
 The schoolmaster soon came with Thore and 
 his wife ; the old man had got a lamp on the 
 table, which was decked with a white cloth ; he 
 
 called for wine and beer, and he, himself, went 
 M
 
 186 (Dbirtb. 
 
 busily round and round, lifting his legs even 
 further up than usual, and still the right foot 
 higher than the left. 
 
 Before this little story is concluded, it may be 
 told that five weeks after, Ovind and Marit were 
 married' in Sognet's church. The schoolmaster 
 himself led the song that day, as the sexton 
 was ill. His voice was broken, for he was old, 
 but Ovind thought it did him good to hear him. 
 And when he had given Marit his hand and led 
 her up to the altar, the schoolmaster nodded to 
 him from the choir, just like Ovind had pictured 
 it, as he sat so depressed at that dance ; he 
 nodded back again, while the tears would run 
 down. 
 
 Those tears at the dance were the forerunners 
 of these here, and between them lay his faith 
 and his work. 
 
 Here ends the story of Ovind.
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST 
 
 THE FATHER.
 
 THE EAGLE'S NEST. 
 
 NDREGAARDEN was the name of 
 a small solitary hamlet, surrounded 
 by high mountains, from which 
 flowed a broad river that divided the flat 
 and fertile valley in two. 
 
 The river ran into a lake that lay close to the 
 hamlet, and from this spot there was a beautiful 
 prospect. Once there came a man rowing over 
 Endre Water ; his name was Endre, and it was 
 he who had first settled in the valley, and his 
 kindred who now lived there. Some said he had 
 decamped hither for murder's sake, arid it was 
 therefore his descendants were so dark ; others
 
 189 
 
 said it was due to the mountains, that shut out 
 the sun at five o'clock on midsummer day. 
 
 Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest 
 from the projecting cliffs up in the mountain, 
 and though all could see when the eagle was 
 sitting, the nest was quite out of reach. The 
 male bird sailed over the hamlet, pouncing now 
 on a lamb, now on a kid, once he had also taken 
 a little child and borne away ; therefore there 
 was no security so long as the eagle had her 
 nest in this mountain fastness. 
 
 There was a tradition among the people, that 
 in the olden time, two brothers had climbed up 
 and destroyed the nest ; but now there was no 
 one who could do it. 
 
 When two met in Endregaarden, they would 
 speak of the eagle's nest, and look up. Every 
 one knew what time in the new year the eagles 
 had come back, where they had pounced down 
 and done mischief, and who had last attempted 
 to climb up.
 
 In the hope of one day being able to achieve 
 the feat of the two brothers, the lads, from quite 
 small boys, would practise themselves in climb- 
 ing trees and cliffs, wrestling, &c. 
 
 At the time of which we now speak, the first 
 lad in Endregaarden was not of the Endre kin ; 
 his name was Leif, he had curly hair, and 
 small eyes, was clever in all play, and fond of 
 the gentler sex. He said very early of himself, 
 that one day he would reach the eagle's nest, 
 but people intimated he had better not have 
 said it aloud. 
 
 This tickled him, and before he was of full 
 age, he went aloft. It was a clear Sunday 
 morning in the early summer; the young 
 birds would scarcely be hatched. The people 
 gathered in a crowd under the mountain to see; 
 old and young alike advising him against the 
 attempt. 
 
 But he listened only to the voice of his own 
 strong will, and waiting till the eagle left her
 
 ta ai. 191 
 
 nest, he made one spring and hung in a tree 
 several yards from the ground. It grew in a 
 cleft, and up this cleft he began to climb. Small 
 stones loosened from under his feet, and the 
 soil and gravel came tumbling down, otherwise 
 it was quite still, save the sound of the river 
 from behind with its subdued and ceaseless sough 
 
 He soon reached that part where the moun- 
 tain began to project, and here he hung by 
 one hand, groping with his foot for a hold ; 
 he could not see. Many, especially women, 
 turned away, saying he would not have done 
 this if his parents had been living. At last he 
 found a footing, sought again, first with the 
 hand, then with the foot ; he missed, slipped, 
 then hung fast again. They who stood below 
 could hear each other breathing. 
 
 Then a tall young girl, who sat upon a stone 
 apart from the rest, rose up ; they said she had 
 promised herself to him from a child, although 
 he was not of the Endrc kin, and her parents
 
 192 (The 6aglc's Hest. 
 
 would never give their consent. She stretched 
 out her arms and called aloud, " Leif, Leif, 
 why do you do this ! " Every one turned 
 towards her ; the father stood close by and 
 gave her a severe look, but she did not heed 
 him. " Come down again, Leif," she cried : 
 " I, I love you, and there's nothing to be 
 gained up there ! " 
 
 One could see that he was considering, he 
 waited a moment or two, and then went further 
 up. He found a firm footing, and for a time 
 he got on well ; then he seemed to grow tired, 
 for he often stopped. 
 
 A small stone came rolling down, as though it 
 were a forerunner, and all who stood there must 
 watch its course to the bottom. Some could 
 not bear it longer, and went away. The girl 
 still standing high upon the stone, wrung her 
 hands and gazed up. Leif took hold again 
 with one hand ; it slipped, she saw it distinctly ; 
 he made a grasp with the other, it slipped also ;
 
 Caglt's $est. 193 
 
 " Leif ! " she cried, so that it rang in the 
 mountain, and all the others joined in. " He's 
 slipping ! " they cried, and stretched out their 
 hands towards him, men and women. He con- 
 tinued to slip with the sand, stone, and soil ; 
 slip, slip, faster, faster. The people turned away, 
 and then they heard a rustling and rattling on 
 the mountain behind them, and something 
 heavy fall down like a great piece of wet earth. 
 When they looked round again, there he lay, 
 torn and disfigured. The girl lay on the stone ; 
 the father took her up and carried her away. 
 The lads, who had the most excited Leif to 
 climb, dared not now go near to help him, 
 some could not even look at him ; so the old 
 people had to come forward. The eldest of them 
 said, as he took him up, " Alas ! alas ! but, 
 he added, " it is well there is something hangs 
 so high that every one cannot reach it." 
 
 FINIS.
 
 THE FATHER. 
 
 HORD OVERAAS, of whom we are 
 about to speak, was the wealthiest 
 man in the parish. 
 His tall figure stood one day in the pastor's 
 study : " I have got a son," he said eagerly, 
 " and I wish to have him baptised." 
 " What shall he be called ? " 
 " Finn, after my father." 
 " And his god parents ? " 
 They were named, being relatives of Thord, 
 and the best men and women in the district. 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " asked the pastor, 
 and looked up.
 
 fcc cfatfcer. '95 
 
 The farmer stood a minute ; 
 
 " I should like to have him baptised by him- 
 self," he said. 
 
 " That is to say on a week day ? " 
 
 " Next Saturday, at twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " 
 
 " Nothing else." 
 
 The farmer took his hat, and moved to go. 
 
 Then the pastor rose ; " There is still this," 
 he said, and going up to Thord, he took his 
 hand, and looked him in the face : " God grant 
 that the child may be a blessing to you ! " 
 
 Sixteen years after that day, Thord stood 
 again in the pastor's study. 
 
 " You look exceedingly well, Thord," said the 
 pastor ; he saw no change in him. 
 
 " I have no trouble," replied Thord. 
 
 " The pastor was silent, but a moment after : 
 " What is your errand to-night ? " he asked. 
 
 " I have come to-night about my son, who 
 is to be confirmed to-morrow."
 
 196 (Tbt <fatfetr. 
 
 " He is a clever lad." 
 
 " I did not wish to pay the pastor, before I 
 heard what number he would get." 
 
 " I hear that, and here are ten dollars for 
 the pastor." 
 
 " Is there anything else ? " asked the pastor, 
 he looked at Thord. 
 
 " Nothing else." Thord went. 
 
 Eight years more passed by, and so one day 
 the pastor heard a noise without his door, for 
 many men were there, and Thord first among 
 them. The pastor looked up and recognised him : 
 " You come with a powerful escort to-night." 
 
 I have come to request that the banns may 
 be published for my son ; he is to be married to 
 Karen Storliden, daughter of Gudmund, who 
 is here with me." 
 
 " That is to say, to the richest girl in the 
 parish." 
 
 " They say so, replied the farmer, he stroked 
 his hair up with one hand.
 
 g:^c ^atfcrr. 197 
 
 The pastor sat a minute as in thought, he 
 said nothing, but entered the names in his books, 
 and the men wrote under. 
 
 Thord laid three dollars on the table. 
 
 " I should have only one," said the pastor. 
 
 " Know that perfectly, but he is my only 
 child ; will do the thing well." 
 
 The pastor took up the money : " This is the 
 third time now, Thord, that you stand here on 
 your son's account." 
 
 " But now I am done with him," said Thord, 
 took up his pocket book, said good night, and 
 went. The men slowly followed. 
 
 Just a fortnight after this, the father and son 
 were rowing over the lake in still weather to 
 Storliden, to arrange about the wedding. 
 
 " The cushion is not straight," said the son, 
 he rose up to put it right. At the same moment 
 his foot slipped ; he stretched out his arms, and 
 with a cry fell into the water. 
 
 " Catch hold of the oar ! " called the father,
 
 198 ftfce Jnt&cr. 
 
 he stood up and stuck it out. But when the 
 son had made a few attempts, he became stiff. 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " cried the father, and began 
 to row. Then the son turned backwards over, 
 gazed earnestly at his father, and sank. 
 
 Thord could scarcely believe it to be true ; 
 he kept the boat still, and stared at the spot 
 where his son had sunk, as though he would 
 come up again. A few bubbles rose up, a few 
 more, then one great one, it burst and the sea 
 again lay bright as a mirror. 
 
 For three days and three nights the father 
 was seen to row round and round the spot 
 without either food or sleep ; he was seeking 
 for his son. On the morning of the third day 
 he found him, and carried him up over the hills 
 to his farm. 
 
 It would be about a year after that day, when 
 the pastor, one autumn evening, heard something 
 rustling outside the door in the passage, and 
 fumbling about the lock. The door opened,
 
 fce <fatfcer. 199 
 
 and in walked a tall thin man, with bent figure 
 and white hair. The pastor looked long at him 
 before he recognised him ; it was Thord. 
 
 " Do you come so late ? " asked the pastor 
 and stood still before him. 
 
 " Why yes, I do come late," said Thore, he 
 seated himself. The pastor sat down also, as 
 though waiting ; there was a long silence. 
 
 Then said Thord, " I have something with 
 me that I wish to give to the poor," he rose, 
 laid some money on the table, and sat down 
 again. 
 
 The pastor counted it : " It is a great deal of 
 money," he said. 
 
 " It is the half of my farm, which I have sold 
 to-day." 
 
 The pastor remained long sitting in silence ; 
 at last he asked, but gently : " What do you 
 intend to do now ? " 
 
 " Something better." 
 
 They sat there awhile, Thord with downcast
 
 200 
 
 re father. 
 
 eyes, the pastor with his raised to Thord. Then 
 the pastor said slowly, and in a low tone : " I 
 think at last your son has really become a 
 blessing to you." 
 
 " Yes, I think so myself also," said Thord, he 
 looked up, and two tears coursed slowly down 
 his face. 
 
 W'RXETT AND HOOD, MIDDLESBROUGH.