Ovind: A Story Of Country Life In Norway Part 19

"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 pa.s.sage 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 Th.o.r.e 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 s.e.xton 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 gra.s.s 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 creva.s.ses 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 s.e.x. 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 G.o.d parents?"