"And have you time to do all this?"

"Directly after dinner I finish work at the Schultzes, and I learn my own lessons at night."

And he talked on, telling all there was to tell, until he, too, remembered that they ought to get down from the mountain before dark.

Edward walked on in front, deep in thought; the other followed after with his box.

There, on the slope of the hill, they could hear the roaring of the waves as if in the air; it was like the low murmur of a distant crowd, but high above their heads. They felt it getting very cold; the moon was up, but no stars were to be seen; yes, one solitary one peeped forth.

"And what made you think of doing this?" asked Edward, turning round.

Ole stood still too. He moved his box backward and forward from one hand to the other; should he make a bold venture and tell all?

Edward understood at once that he had not heard everything, and that what remained to be told was the most important part of all.

"Can't you tell me?" he asked, as though it was quite immaterial.

"Yes, I think I can;" but he kept on changing his box from hand to hand without saying a word.

Then Edward became impatient and began trying to persuade him, to which Ole had no objections, but still he hesitated.

"Surely it is nothing wicked?"

"No, it is not wicked." And he added, after a pause, "It is rather something grand, very grand and great."

"Really something great?"

"In reality the grandest thing in all the world."

"But what can you mean?"

"Well, then, if only you will not tell, not to a living soul--do you hear?--I might tell you."

"What is it, Ole?"

"I am going to be a missionary."

"A missionary?"

"Yes, a missionary among the heathen, the regular savages, don't you know, those who eat people." He saw that Edward was almost speechless; so he made haste to tell him all sorts of things about cyclones, raging wild beasts, and poisonous snakes. "You see one requires to be prepared for such things."

"How prepared--for raging wild beasts and poisonous snakes?" Edward began to think everything possible.

"The people are the worst," said Ole, who had to give in about the wild beasts; "they are such dreadful heathens, and cruel and ugly and wicked into the bargain. So it will not be so easy to manage them. One must have practice."

"But how can you get practice in that sort of thing here? They are not heathens down in the fishing village?"

"No, but they can teach one how to bear a little of everything; there is no use complaining down there, but just be ready to do all sorts of hard work. They are often so suspicious when they are ill and fretful, and some of them are downright brutes. Just fancy, one evening one of them was going to hit me."

"Hit you?"

"I prayed to G.o.d that she would, but she only cursed and swore." Ole's eyes glistened, his whole face was beaming. "In one of the tracts I have in my box it says that that is the mistake of our missionaries, they go out to their work without having any practice or experience.

And it says, too, that the art of winning people is a very difficult one, but hardest of all it is to win them for the kingdom of G.o.d, and that we ought to strive to do it from our childhood upward; that is what the book says, and I mean to do it. For to be a missionary is higher and greater than anything upon earth; greater than to be king, greater than to be emperor or pope. That is all in the tract, and this, too, that a missionary said: 'If I had ten lives, I would give them all to the mission.' And I mean to do the same."

They were walking side by side; unconsciously Ole had turned to the stars as they began to twinkle, and they both stood still awhile gazing into s.p.a.ce. Beneath them lay the harbour with its dimly outlined ships, the silent, empty wharfs, and the scattered lights from the town; beyond was the sh.o.r.e, gray with snow and the dark sea-waves rolling up; they could hear the sound again, faintly in the distance, the monotony of the roar seemed in keeping with the star-spangled twilight. An invisible wave of sympathy pa.s.sed between the lads, and seemed to link them together. There was no one Ole was so anxious should think well of him as his friend here with his jaunty fur cap; while Edward was thinking all the time how much better Ole was than he; for he knew quite well that he was far from good, and indeed he was told of it every day. He glanced sideways at the peasant boy. The peaked cap was pulled down over his ears, the big gloves, the thick scarf, the coa.r.s.e cloth jacket, and trousers hanging loosely on him; the heavy, iron-bound boots--a curious figure--but his eyes alone made up for it all. And then the innocent, trusting expression, though it was rather an old-fashioned face.... Ole would decidedly be a great man some day.

They trotted on again, Edward in front, Ole after him, down toward the "hill-town," as that part was called which lay nearest the hill-side, and which consisted chiefly of workmen's houses, a few workshops, and some smaller factories. As yet the streets were neither properly paved nor lighted, and now the muddy snow was stiffening into ice as night came on. The lanterns, few and far between, hung in the middle of the streets, on ropes stretched across from opposite houses; they were made to be hoisted up and down. They had been badly cleaned and burned dimly. Here and there one of the small workshops had its own private lantern, which was hung up outside on the steps. Edward stopped again under one of these; he felt he must ask more questions. He wanted to know more particularly who it was Ole went to see among the fisher people--whether it was anyone they both knew.

Ole boldly put down his box on the steps, and stood there resting his hand on it; he smiled. "Do you know Martha from the docks?" The whole town knew her; she was a clever woman, but much given to drink, and on Sat.u.r.day evenings the school-boys always had great fun with her, when she stood leaning up against a wall, abusing them roundly with gestures not of the most refined, in fact, quite unmentionable. This, however, was just what the boys were waiting for, and was invariably received with shouts of delight.

"What! Dock Martha?" shrieked Edward. "Do you suppose you can convert her?"

"Hush! hush! For goodness' sake, not so loud," implored Ole, reddening and looking anxiously round.

Edward repeated, in a whisper: "Do you think anyone could ever convert Martha?"

"I believe I am on the high road to do so," whispered the other, mysteriously.

"Come, you won't get me to believe that," and he smiled with squinting eyes.

"Just you wait and hear. You know she fell on the ice this winter and was badly hurt?"

"Yes, I know that."

"Well, she is still laid up, and now everyone is tired of helping her, for she is so cross and so wicked. At first she was very disagreeable to me; I could hardly bear it; but I took no notice, and now it is nothing but, 'my little angel,' and 'my lamb,' and 'my pigeon,' and 'dear child;' for I have taken care of her, and got clothes and food for her, and bedclothes too, and have done much for her that was not at all pleasant; that I have. And yet it was she who wanted to beat me the other evening. I was going to help her up, and somehow she managed to hurt her bad foot. She shrieked with pain and lifted her stick, but then she thought better of it, and began to curse and abuse me dreadfully. Now we are good friends again, and the other day I ventured to read the Bible to her."

"What! to Martha?"

"Yes, the Sermon on the Mount, and she cried, lad."

"She cried? Then did she understand it?"

"No, for she cried so that she could not have heard much of it. But I don't think she cried on account of what was in the Bible, for she began as soon as ever I took it out."

The two boys stood looking at each other; a noise of hammering was heard over from the backyard, and in the far distance a steam-whistle; then the faint cry of a child from across the street.

"Did she say anything?"

"She said she felt much too miserable to listen to anything. So I explained that it was just the most wretched and miserable whom G.o.d wanted. But she seemed not to hear that at all. She only begged me to go away, and to go round and see if Lars the washerman had come home."

"Lars the washerman!" cried Edward so loud that again Ole had to check him; Lars was the woman's sweetheart.

"Yes, just fancy his being fond of that creature. But they all say there is a great deal of good in Lars. He goes there every evening to see what he can do for her. This evening he came earlier than usual, so I got away; but generally I stay there much longer."

"Have you read to her more than once?"

"Yes, to-day I did. She began to cry at once, but I do think she heard me to-day; for I read about the Prodigal Son, and she said: 'I expect I am one of his swine.'" Both the lads laughed. "Then I spoke to her and said I could not believe that, and that I would try and pray. 'Oh,'

said she, 'there's not much use in that;' but when I began to say 'Our Father,' she became perfectly crazy, just as though she were frightened, and sat up in bed crying out that she would not hear another word, not for anything. Then she lay down again and sobbed most bitterly."