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