In a few minutes Arne saw the boat on the water, Eli standing high in the stern, holding the bird-cage, and waving her hand; while Mathilde sat alone on the stones of the landing-place weeping.

She remained sitting there watching the boat as long as it was on the water; and so did Arne. The distance across the lake to the red houses was but short; the boat soon pa.s.sed into the dark shadows, and he saw it come ash.o.r.e. Then he saw in the water the reflections of the three who had just landed, and in it he followed them on their way to the red houses till they reached the finest of them; there he saw them go in; the mother first, next, the father, and last, the daughter. But soon the daughter came out again, and seated herself before the storehouse; perhaps to look across to the parsonage, over which the sun was laying its last rays. But Mathilde had already gone, and it was only Arne who was sitting there looking at Eli in the water. "I wonder whether she sees me," he thought....

He rose and went away. The sun had set, but the summer night was light and the sky clear blue. The mist from the lake and the valleys rose, and lay along the mountain-sides, but their peaks were left clear, and stood looking over to each other. He went higher: the water lay black and deep below; the distant valley shortened and drew nearer the lake; the mountains came nearer the eye and gathered in clumps; the sky itself was lower; and all things became friendly and familiar.

IX.

THE NUTTING-PARTY.

"Fair Venevill bounded on lithesome feet Her lover to meet.

He sang till it sounded afar away, 'Good-day, good-day,'

While blithesome birds were singing on every blooming spray.

On Midsummer-day There is dancing and play; But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay.

"She wove him a wreath of corn-flowers blue: 'Mine eyes so true.'

He took it, but soon away it was flung: 'Farewell!' he sung; And still with merry singing across the fields he sprung.

On Midsummer-day, &c.

"She wove him a chain: 'Oh keep it with care; 'Tis made of my hair.'

She yielded him then, in an hour of bliss, Her pure first kiss; But he blushed as deeply as she the while her lips met his On Midsummer-day, &c.

"She wove him a wreath with a lily-band: 'My true right hand.'

She wove him another with roses aglow: 'My left hand now.'

He took them gently from her, but blushes dyed his brow.

On Midsummer-day, &c.

"She wove him a wreath of all flowers round: 'All I have found.'

She wept, but she gathered and wove on still: 'Take all you will.'

Without a word he took it, and fled across the hill.

On Midsummer-day, &c.

"She wove on bewildered and out of breath: 'My bridal wreath.'

She wove till her fingers aweary had grown: 'Now put it on:'

But when she turned to see him, she found that he had gone.

On Midsummer-day, &c.

"She wove on in haste, as for life or death, Her bridal wreath; But the Midsummer sun no longer shone, And the flowers were gone; But though she had no flowers, wild fancy still wove on.

On Midsummer-day There is dancing and play; But now I know not whether she weaves her wreath or nay."

Arne had of late been happier, both when at home and when out among people. In the winter, when he had not work enough on his own place, he went out in the parish and did carpentry; but every Sat.u.r.day night he came home to the mother; and went with her to church on Sunday, or read the sermon to her; and then returned in the evening to his place of work. But soon, through going more among people, his wish to travel awoke within him again; and just after his merriest moods, he would often lie trying to finish his song, "Over the mountains high,"

and altering it for about the twentieth time. He often thought of Christian, who seemed to have so utterly forgotten him, and who, in spite of his promise, had not sent him even a single letter. Once, the remembrance of Christian came upon him so powerfully that he thoughtlessly spoke of him to the mother; she gave no answer, but turned away and went out.

There was living in the parish a jolly man named Ejnar Aasen. When he was twenty years old he broke his leg, and from that time he had walked with the support of a stick; but wherever he appeared limping along on that stick, there was always merriment going on. The man was rich, and he used the greater part of his wealth in doing good; but he did it all so quietly that few people knew anything about it.

There was a large nut-wood on his property; and on one of the brightest mornings in harvest-time, he always had a nutting-party of merry girls at his house, where he had abundance of good cheer for them all day, and a dance in the evening. He was the G.o.dfather of most of the girls; for he was the G.o.dfather of half of the parish.

All the children called him G.o.dfather, and from them everybody else had learned to call him so, too.

He and Arne knew each other well; and he liked Arne for the sake of his songs. Now he invited him to the nutting-party; but Arne declined: he was not used to girls' company, he said. "Then you had better get used to it," answered G.o.dfather.

So Arne came to the party, and was nearly the only young man among the many girls. Such fun as was there, Arne had never seen before in all his life; and one thing which especially astonished him was, that the girls laughed for nothing at all: if three laughed, then five would laugh just because those three laughed. Altogether, they behaved as if they had lived with each other all their lives; and yet there were several of them who had never met before that very day.

When they caught the bough which they jumped after, they laughed, and when they did not catch it they laughed also; when they did not find any nuts, they laughed because they found none; and when they did find some, they also laughed. They fought for the nutting-hook: those who got it laughed, and those who did not get it laughed also.

G.o.dfather limped after them, trying to beat them with his stick, and making all the mischief he was good for; those he hit, laughed because he hit them, and those he missed, laughed because he missed them. But the whole lot laughed at Arne because he was so grave; and when at last he could not help laughing, they all laughed again because he laughed.

Then the whole party seated themselves on a large hill; the girls in a circle, and G.o.dfather in the middle. The sun was scorching hot, but they did not care the least for it, but sat cracking nuts, giving G.o.dfather the kernels, and throwing the sh.e.l.ls and husks at each other. G.o.dfather 'sh 'shed at them, and, as far as he could reach, beat them with his stick; for he wanted to make them be quiet and tell tales. But to stop their noise seemed just about as easy as to stop a carriage running down a hill. G.o.dfather began to tell a tale, however. At first many of them would not listen; they knew his stories already; but soon they all listened attentively; and before they thought of it, they set off tale-telling themselves at full gallop. Though they had just been so noisy, their tales, to Arne's great surprise, were very earnest: they ran princ.i.p.ally upon love.

"You, Aasa, know a good tale, I remember from last year," said G.o.dfather, turning to a plump girl with a round, good-natured face, who sat plaiting the hair of a younger sister, whose head lay in her lap.

"But perhaps several know it already," answered Aasa.

"Never mind, tell it," they begged.

"Very well, I'll tell it without any more persuading," she answered; and then, plaiting her sister's hair all the while, she told and sang:--

"There was once a grown-up lad who tended cattle, and who often drove them upwards near a broad stream. On one side was a high steep cliff, jutting out so far over the stream that when he was upon it he could talk to any one on the opposite side; and all day he could see a girl over there tending cattle, but he couldn't go to her.

'Now, tell me thy name, thou girl that art sitting Up there with thy sheep, so busily knitting,'

he asked over and over for many days, till one day at last there came an answer:--

'My name floats about like a duck in wet weather; Come over, thou boy in the cap of brown leather.'

"This left the lad no wiser than he was before; and he thought he wouldn't mind her any further. This, however, was much more easily thought than done, for drive his cattle whichever way he would, it always, somehow or other, led to that same high steep cliff. Then the lad grew frightened; and he called over to her--

'Well, who is your father, and where are you biding?

On the road to the church I have ne'er seen you riding.'

"The lad asked this because he half believed she was a huldre.[3]

[3] "Over the whole of Norway, the tradition is current of a supernatural being that dwells in the forests and mountains, called Huldre or Hulla. She appears like a beautiful woman, and is usually clad in a blue petticoat and a white snood; but unfortunately has a long tail, which she anxiously tries to conceal when she is among people. She is fond of cattle, particularly brindled, of which she possesses a beautiful and thriving stock. They are without horns.

She was once at a merrymaking, where every one was desirous of dancing with the handsome, strange damsel; but in the midst of the mirth, a young man, who had just begun a dance with her, happened to cast his eye on her tail. Immediately guessing whom he had got for a partner, he was not a little terrified; but, collecting himself, and unwilling to betray her, he merely said to her when the dance was over, 'Fair maid, you will lose your garter.' She instantly vanished, but afterwards rewarded the silent and considerate youth with beautiful presents and a good breed of cattle. The idea entertained of this being is not everywhere the same, but varies considerably in different parts of Norway. In some places she is described as a handsome female when seen in front, but is hollow behind, or else blue; while in others she is known by the name of Skogmerte, and is said to be blue, but clad in a green petticoat, and probably corresponds to the Swedish Skogsnyfoor. Her song--a sound often heard among the mountains--is said to be hollow and mournful, differing therein from the music of the subterranean beings, which is described by earwitnesses as cheerful and fascinating. But she is not everywhere regarded as a solitary wood nymph. Huldremen and Huldrefolk are also spoken of, who live together in the mountains, and are almost identical with the subterranean people. In Hardanger the Huldre people are always clad in green, but their cattle are blue, and may be taken when a grown-up person casts his belt over them. They give abundance of milk. The Huldres take possession of the forsaken pasture-spots in the mountains, and invite people into their mounds, where delightful music is to be heard."--_Thorpe's Northern Mythology._

'My house is burned down, and my father is drowned, And the road to the church-hill I never have found.'

"This again left the lad no wiser than he was before. In the daytime he kept hovering about the cliff; and at night he dreamed she danced with him, and lashed him with a big cow's tail whenever he tried to catch her. Soon he could neither sleep nor work; and altogether the lad got in a very poor way. Then once more he called from the cliff--

'If thou art a huldre, then pray do not spell me; If thou art a maiden, then hasten to tell me.'

"But there came no answer; and so he was sure she was a huldre. He gave up tending cattle; but it was all the same; wherever he went, and whatever he did, he was all the while thinking of the beautiful huldre who blew on the horn. Soon he could bear it no longer; and one moonlight evening when all were asleep, he stole away into the forest, which stood there all dark at the bottom, but with its tree-tops bright in the moonbeams. He sat down on the cliff, and called--

'Run forward, my huldre; my love has o'ercome me; My life is a burden; no longer hide from me.'

"The lad looked and looked; but she didn't appear. Then he heard something moving behind him; he turned round and saw a big black bear, which came forward, squatted on the ground and looked at him.

But he ran away from the cliff and through the forest as fast as his legs could carry him: if the bear followed him, he didn't know, for he didn't turn round till he lay safely in bed.

"'It was one of her herd,' the lad thought; 'it isn't worth while to go there any more;' and he didn't go.