CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Now, where is the kettle? so hungry are we, Surely our supper the next thing must be; The fire already is blazing up high, And asking for rashers of bacon to fry; The damper is perfect, the pannikin’s found, And all laid out on the banqueting-ground; When everything’s ready, I have not a doubt A monarch might envy our “camping out.”

_Bush Flowers from Australia._

AN ENGLISH FISHERMAN--THE HAUNTED MILL--THE TOURIST’S PURCHASE--NOAH’S GOOD FORTUNE--THE STRAND FJORD--A WOMAN’S CURIOSITY--THE HEROINE OF OUR BOOK--A NORWEGIAN SEAMAN--THE MISTAKEN MANSION--THE AURDAL CHURCH--FRYDENLAND STATION--A ROADSIDE HALT--THE APPRECIATED GIFT--THE SEVERE YOUNG LADY--THE KIND-HEARTED PEASANT--KRŒMMERMOEN--IMPULSE AND REASON.

What delicious shade. Our water was soon boiling near the old mill. Our readers must not suppose the mill was a large one; it was about four times as large as a good-sized sentry-box. We may have even exaggerated the size. Norwegian mills are not on the ponderous scale of English ones.

The middags-mad consisted of our Stee trout cold. It was a fine trout, either steamed or boiled. In the heat of the day, the trout was pronounced by our gourmand gipsies excellent; some vinegar was allowed with it, besides tea, fladbröd, butter, and fried eggs.

The time had marked two o’clock when we arrived. The pleasant slope of green turf where we sat commanded the road. Whilst we were taking our midday meal, two Englishmen, one having a fishing-basket slung over his shoulder, passed in a stolkjœrre. Then we saw two young Norwegian tourists, in their high laced-up boots, one of whom carried a skin knapsack; they were pushing on at a swinging pace. Noah and Zachariah of course fell asleep. Esmeralda went to the old mill, and fancied she heard a curious moaning sound, something like groaning in it. We did not investigate it; besides, the mill was fastened; neither had we any permission from the owner to go into his mill--sit up in a haunted mill a few feet square! If the wheel should be turned by the ghost, where should we be? Ground to flour, eaten by a Norwegian for his middags-mad--made into fladbröd, and eaten by some English tourist. If we are to see ghosts, let it be in an old castle, family mansion, or the ruins of an abbey; but a mill;--besides, where was the owner?

As we sat on the green slope, we observed a wooded promontory, stretching into the fjord, below the road, and sent Noah to reconnoitre for camping ground. The Tarno Rye, we found, had a sore back; our bruise-mixture was applied. Noah reported unfavourably for remaining. The donkeys were loaded, and we quickly left the dingle, and the haunted