Added Upon Part 7

That fall Rupert's time as school trustee expired. At the first meeting of the new board, Miss Wilton's position was given to a male teacher.

The reason given for the change was that "It takes a man to govern boys." Other reasons, however, could be heard in the undercurrent of talk.

The first Sunday after he heard of it, Rupert found Miss Wilton, and together they walked up the canyon road. It was a dull, cloudy day, and not a breath moved the odorous choke-cherry bushes which lined the dusty road. Never mind what was said and done that afternoon. 'Tis an old, old story. Between woman's smiles and tears, the man gained hope and courage, and when that evening they came down the back way through the fields and orchards, Virginia Wilton was Rupert Ames' promised wife.

IV.

"O Lord, lead me in a plain path."--_Isaiah 27:11._

The scene shifts to a land afar off toward the north, Norway--away up into one of its mountain meadows. The landscape is a mixture of grandeur and beauty. Hills upon hills, covered with pine and fir, stretch away from the lowlands to the distant glacier-clad mountains, and patches of green meadow gleam through the dark pine depths.

The clear blue sky changes to a faint haze in the hilly distance. The gentle air is perfumed with the odor of the forest. A Sabbath stillness broods over all. The sun has swung around to the northwest, and skims along the horizon as if loth to leave such a sweet scene.

Evening was settling down on the Norwegian _saeter_, or summer herd ground. Riding along the trail through the pines appeared a young man.

He was evidently not at home in the forest, as he peered anxiously through every opening. His dress and bearing indicated that he was not a woodsman nor a herder of cattle. Pausing on a knoll, he surveyed the scene around him, and took off his hat that the evening breeze might cool his face. Suddenly, there came echoing through the forest, from hill to hill, the deep notes of the _lur_. The traveler listened, and then urged his horse forward. Again and again the blast reverberated, the notes dying in low echoes on the distant hills. From another rise, the rider saw the girl who was making all this wild music. She was standing on a high knoll. Peering down into the forest, she recognized the traveler and welcomed him with an attempt at a tune on her long, wooden trumpet.

"Good evening, Hansine," said he, as his horse scrambled up the path close by, "your _lur_ made welcome music this evening."

"Good evening, Hr. Bogstad," said she, "are you not lost?"

"I was, nearly, until I heard you calling your cows. It is a long way up here--but the air and the scenery are grand."

"Yes, do you think so? I don't know anything about what they call grand scenery. I've always lived up here, and it's work, work all the time--but those cows are slow coming home." She lifted her _lur_ to her lips and once more made the woods ring.

Down at the foot of the hills, where the pines gave place to small, gra.s.sy openings, stood a group of log huts, towards which the cows were now seen wending.

"Come, Hr. Bogstad, I see the cows are coming. I must go down to meet them."

They went down the hill together. The lowing cows came up to the stables, and as the herd grew larger there was a deafening din. A girl was standing in the doorway of one of the cabins, timidly watching the noisy herd.

"Come, give the cows their salt," laughingly shouted Hansine to her.

"And get hooked all to pieces? Not much."

"You little coward. What good would you be on a _saeter_? What do you think, Hr. Bogstad?"

As the girl caught sight of the new arrival she started and the color came to her face. He went up to her. "How are you, Signe?" he said. "How do you like life on a _saeter_?"

"Well, I hardly know," she said, seemingly quite embarra.s.sed.

"Oh, I'll tell you," broke in the busy Hansine, as she came with a pail full of salt. "She just goes around and looks at and talks about what she calls the beauties of nature. That she likes; but as for milking, or churning, or making cheese, well--"

Then they all laughed good naturedly.

Hansine was a large, strong girl, with round, pleasant features. She and the cows were good friends. At the sound of the _lur_ every afternoon the cows turned their grazing heads towards home, and, on their arrival, each was given a pat and a handful of salt. Then they went quietly into their stalls.

It was quite late that evening before the milk had been strained into the wooden platters and placed in rows on the shelves in the milk house.

Hr. Bogstad and Signe had proffered their help, but they had been ordered into the house and Signe was told to prepare the evening meal.

When Hansine came in, she found the table set with the cheese, milk, b.u.t.ter, and black bread, while Signe and Hr. Bogstad sat by the large fireplace watching a pot of boiling cream mush.

The object of Hr. Bogstad's visit was plain enough. He had been devoting his attentions to Signe Dahl for some time, and now that he was home from college on a vacation, it was natural that he should follow her from the village up to the mountains.

Hr. Bogstad, though young, was one of the rich men of Nordal. He had lately fallen heir to a large estate. In fact, Signe's parents, with a great many more, were but tenants of young Hr. Henrik Bogstad; and although it was considered a great honor to have the attentions of such a promising young man--for, in fact, Henrik was quite exemplary in all things, and had a good name in the neighborhood--still Signe Dahl did not care for him, and was uneasy in his company. She would rather sail with some of the fisher boys on the lake than be the object of envy by her companions. But Signe's slim, graceful form, large blue eyes, clear, dimpled face, light silken hair, combined with a native grace and beauty, attracted not only the fisher boys but the "fine" Hr. Bogstad also. She was now spending a few days with her cousin Hansine in the mountains. Her limited knowledge of _saeter_ life was fast being augmented under her cousin's supervision, notwithstanding Hansine's remarks about her inabilities.

The cabin wherein the three were seated was of the rudest kind, but everything was scrupulously clean. The blazing pine log cast a red light over them as they sat at the table.

"So you see nothing grand in your surroundings?" asked Hr. Bogstad of Hansine.

"How can I? I have never been far from home. Mountains and forests and lakes are all I know."

"True," said he, "and we can see grandeur and beauty by contrast only."

"But here is Signe," remarked Hansine; "she has never seen much of the world, yet you should hear her. I can never get her interested in my cows. Her mind must have been far away when she dished up the mush, for she has forgotten something."

"Oh, I beg pardon," exclaimed the forgetful girl. "Let me attend to it."

She went to the cupboard and brought out the sugar and a paper of ground cinnamon, and sprinkled a layer of each over the plates of mush. Then she pressed into the middle of each a lump of b.u.t.ter which soon melted into a tiny yellow pond.

"I should like to hear some of these ideas of yours," remarked the visitor to Signe, who had so far forgotten her manners as to be blowing her spoonful of mush before dipping it into the b.u.t.ter.

"I wish I were an artist," said she, without seeming to notice his remarks. "Ah, what pictures I would paint! I would make them so natural that you could see the pine tops wave, and smell the breath of the woods as you looked at them."

"You would put me in, standing on The Look-out blowing my _lur_, wouldn't you?"

"Certainly."

"And I have no doubt that we could hear the echoes ringing over the hills," continued Hansine, soberly.

"Never mind, you needn't make fun. Yes, Hr. Bogstad, I think we have some grand natural scenes. I often climb up on the hills, and sit and look over the pines and the shining lake down towards home. Then, sometimes, I can see the ocean like a silver ribbon, lying on the horizon. I sit up there and gaze and think, as Hansine says, nearly all night. I seem to be under a spell. You know it doesn't get dark all night now, and the air is so delicious. My thoughts go out 'Over the high mountains,' as Bjornson says, and I want to be away to hear and see what the world is and has to tell me. A kind of sweet loneliness comes over me which I cannot explain."

Hr. Bogstad had finished his dish. He, too, was under a spell--the spell of a soft, musical voice.

"Then the light in the summer," she continued. "How I have wished to go north where the sun shines the whole twenty-four hours. Have you ever seen the Midnight Sun, Hr. Bogstad?"

"No; but I have been thinking of taking a trip up there this summer, if I can get some good company to go with me. Wouldn't you--"

It was then that Signe hurriedly pushed her chair away and said: "Thanks for the food."

Next morning Signe was very busy. She washed the wooden milk basins, scalded them with juniper tea, and then scoured them with sand. She churned the b.u.t.ter and wanted to help with the cheese, but Hansine thought that she was not paying enough attention to their visitor, so she ordered her off to her lookout on the mountain. Hr. Bogstad would help her up the steep places; besides, he could tell her the names of the ferns and flowers, and answer the thousand and one questions which she was always asking. So, of course, they had to go.

But Signe was very quiet, and Henrik said but little. He had come to the conclusion that he truly loved this girl whose parents were among the poorest of his tenants. None other of his acquaintances, even among the higher cla.s.s, charmed him as did Signe. He was old enough to marry, and she was not too young. He knew full well that if he did marry her, many of his friends would criticise; but Henrik had some of the Norseman spirit of liberty, and he did not think that a girl's humble position barred her from him. True, he had received very little encouragement from her, though her parents had looked with favor upon him. And now he was thinking of her cold indifference.

They sat down on a rocky bank, carpeted with gray reindeer moss.

They had been talking of his experiences at school. He knew her desire to finish the college education cut short by a lack of means.