Part 7

"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 oversight 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 schoolmaster, who explains:

"Things seem in a muddle for Ole to-day; you see he was here once before, and the recollection 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 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 cultivated;--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?--"

"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?----"

Ole 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?"

"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."

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 incessantly, 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 something 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,--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 Thore, 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.

"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 tonight 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 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 terrifically 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 almost 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 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: The "Spring dance" and "Halling" are the national dances of the country.]

[Footnote 2: To those of our readers who have travelled in the mountainous districts of Norway, the idea of the "S[oe]ters" is sure to 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 S[oe]ter usually several miles away from the farm itself. A part of the family take up their residence 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.

Early in the morning, when the dewy freshness of the air gives life and vigour to all around, the milkmaid will arise, and in clear 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 S[oe]ters 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."]

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

THE FATHER.

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

Endregaarden was the name of a small solitary hamlet, surrounded by high mountains, from which flowed a broad river that divided the flat and fertile valley in two.

The river ran into a lake that lay close to the hamlet, and from this spot there was a beautiful prospect. Once there came a man rowing over Endre Water; his name was Endre, and it was he who had first settled in the valley, and his kindred who now lived there. Some said he had decamped hither for murder's sake, and it was therefore his descendants were so dark; others said it was due to the mountains, that shut out the sun at five o'clock on midsummer day.

Over this hamlet there hung an eagle's nest from the projecting cliffs up in the mountain, and though all could see when the eagle was sitting, the nest was quite out of reach. The male bird sailed over the hamlet, pouncing now on a lamb, now on a kid, once he had also taken a little child and borne 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 climbing 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 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 mountain 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 Endre kin, and her parents 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; "Leif!" she cried, so that it rang in the mountain, and all the others joined in. "He's slipping!" they cried, and stretched out their hands towards him, men and women. He continued to slip with the sand, stone, and soil; slip, slip, faster, faster. The people turned away, and then they heard a rustling and rattling on the mountain behind them, and something heavy fall down like a great piece of wet earth. When they looked round again, there he lay, torn and 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.

Thord Overaas, of whom we are about to speak, was the wealthiest man in the parish.

His tall figure stood one day in the pastor's study: "I have got a son," he said eagerly, "and I wish to have him 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.

The farmer stood a minute;

"I should like to have him baptised by himself," 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."

"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.

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, 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, 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 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.