What Happened To Inger Johanne Part 19

And there were the cows! Beyond where the trees were close together, I saw a black cow that lifted its head and sniffed at us; and other cows, many cows,--and oh! there was Kaspar's bull!

I was wild with fright; probably it was then that I threw away my basket, for I saw it no more. Over hillocks and moss, through bushes and thickets, I dragged Karl--who was now pale as death, with big wide open staring eyes, and utterly silent.

The whole herd was after us, now at a slow trot, now leaping; the bull was ahead and gave a short, low roar from time to time. Oh! oh! What should we do! Oh! Karl, Karl!----

We had nowhere to turn and no one to help us. What should we do? Then I prayed--not aloud, but oh, how earnestly! And suddenly I saw that there was a rock just beyond us--an enormous moss-grown rock. Thither we rushed. I tore myself on the bushes till I bled. I fell, but rushed on again till we reached the rock; then I climbed up, gripped tight with hand and feet, hauled Karl up after me, higher and higher up, as far as we could get. The rock was perhaps two or three yards high. We were saved from the bull. And it was G.o.d who had saved us, I was sure of that. I had never seen that rock before anywhere in the forest.

The bull had made a great leap and stood just below us pawing the ground, tail in the air. Oh, how he bellowed!

I held Karl in my arms. The bull could not reach us. He pawed the earth so that moss and dirt rose in a whirl; he ran around the rock and bellowed horribly, making as much noise as ten ordinary bulls would make. And all the cows followed him round and round the rock, lowing and acting crazy like him.

Never, never in my life have I been so frightened. Karl grew paler and paler. Oh, what if he should die of terror?

"There's nothing to be afraid of now, Karlie boy," I said in a shaky voice. "The bull could never get up here. No indeed--he can be mighty sure of that, horrid old beast!"

"He can be mighty sure of that, horrid old beast!" repeated Karlie boy with white lips.

How long did we sit there? I'm sure I don't know. It must have been a long time, for the sunshine disappeared from among the trees, the cows laid themselves down in a circle around the rock, the bull went to and fro. If he went a little way off, he would come rushing back again and begin to behave worse than ever. The ground about the rock was torn up as if there had been a great battle there.

I have often tried to remember what I thought of, all those long hours on the rock, with that fierce bull below us. I really believe I didn't think of anything but keeping tight hold of Karl; nor did we talk very much either. Karl didn't even mention cannon a single time.

A gentle breeze stirred the tree-tops and the shadows had grown darker under the close branches when the cows finally began to stir themselves.

Slowly, very slowly, they trailed off between the trees, the bull being the last to go. As if for a farewell, he dug his horns into the earth and sent bits of moss flying up to us. At last, at last, he, too, had gone.

When the cows started homeward it must have been five or six o'clock, and we had been in the forest the whole day long. Oh, how hungry, how awfully hungry I was! And Karl was as pale as a little white flower.

Never--even if I live to be ninety years old--never shall I forget that summer day on the big moss-grown rock with Kaspar's bull down below.

Well, then I did something unspeakably stupid. Instead of going the way the cows had taken (which of course led right to Kaspar's farm), Karl and I went exactly the opposite way, farther into the forest. Ugh! how could any one be such a stupid donkey! I'm disgusted whenever I think of it.

Karl and I walked on and on for an eternity it seemed. It grew darker and darker and the air was full of mysterious sounds, low murmurs and rustlings; my heart thumped frightfully. Just think, if we had to stay in the forest all night when it was pitch dark! Suppose we never found our way out to people again----

Oh, that big, big forest!

I did not cry once, I didn't dare to, you see, for Karl's sake. I just stared and listened, and the forest murmured softly--softly, the whole time.

Once in a while we sat down and then Karl would weep bitterly with his head in my lap, poor little fellow!

"Now we'll soon get to Goodfields, Karlie boy, and Mother will be so glad to see us--oh, so glad! Won't it be jolly?"

"Yes--and then I'm going to have a hundred pieces of bread and b.u.t.ter."

Suddenly we stumbled against a fence! And as suddenly my weariness vanished. Where there was a fence, there must be people. We jumped over the fence. Beyond it was a little cleared s.p.a.ce where stood--yes--really--a tiny hut. Then--wasn't it queer? I was so glad that I began to cry violently as I dashed towards the house.

It was so very dark that I could not distinguish anything clearly, but I could see that there was some one sitting on the door-stone. And just imagine! When we drew nearer, I saw that it was Crazy Helen, an old half-witted woman who went about among the farms begging. Many a time through the summer had she been at Goodfields, and she had told us that she lived all alone in the forest, high, high up on the mountain.

I can't possibly tell how I felt when I saw her; not that I was really afraid of poor Helen, but it was all so strange--so queer.

"Are you coming here?" asked she, looking up at us and laughing. She had on the same old brown coat, a man's coat, that she always wore, and was smoking a clay pipe.

"Can you tell us the way to Goodfields?" I asked.

"Goodfields--nice folks at Goodfields; nice mistress there. I know her very well," said Crazy Helen.

"Yes--but how shall we go to get there?" I asked again as I sat down beside her on the door-step.

"Why, just over that way," said Crazy Helen, pointing back where we had come from. "Just go that way and you'll get to Goodfields."

What in the world should I do? How frightened Mother must be about us!

And there was Karl asleep at my side on the bare ground. All kinds of thoughts were whirling round in my head. Perhaps it was best to let Karl sleep here in Crazy Helen's hut, and in the morning people might find us; or Helen could go with us and show us the way to Goodfields.

"May I lay him on your bed?" I asked, pointing to Karl.

"Nice little boy is asleep," said Helen. So I put Karl on Crazy Helen's bed. The floor of the hut was just bare earth, and there was no furniture but one old stool, I think; but Karl was in a sound sleep and safe, perfectly safe.

Then I seated myself again on the door-step beside poor Helen. They had always said at Goodfields that she had never in the world been known to do any harm, so I was not really afraid of her. The twinkling stars shone down upon us, and the forest trees waved noisily.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Crazy Helen, slapping her knees.

Ugh! it wasn't exactly pleasant here; but sleep I would not; no, no, I would not. I would just sit up and take care of Karl, but oh, how unspeakably tired I was!

"Shall I dance a little for you?" asked Crazy Helen.

"Oh, no!" I answered.

Ugh! That would be horrible. On the lawn at Goodfields where, laughing and joking, we all sat around together and watched Helen dance, it was very jolly, but it wouldn't be so in the least here in the dark forest, and alone with her. But if you'll believe it, she began to dance, notwithstanding--such a queer dance!

She whirled herself about, hopped off slant-wise, then whirled again like a spinning top, while the trees sighed in the wind, and the bright, clear stars looked down on the little s.p.a.ce before the hut and on Crazy Helen dancing.

Never in my life had I seen anything so queer, so weird.

"Ho! Heigho!" she sang, as she spun round and round.

"Hi! Halloa!" some one answered from the forest.

I sprang up. "Halloa!" I shouted. It must be some one from Goodfields, some one who was trying to find us, oh, thank G.o.d!

"Halloa!" "Hey there!"

The shouting was nearer; there were lights among the trees and now the people came nearer still--now over the fence--oh! oh--it was Trond and Lisbeth from Goodfields. Oh, oh! how glad I was! I flew in and began to shake Karl.

"Karlie boy, wake up--get up--we're going to Mother." But Karl's eyes would not open, he was so sound asleep. Trond, the farm man, came in and took him in his arms. Oh, oh! it is impossible to say how glad I was!

They had been searching for us since four o'clock and now it was ten.

They had called and shouted, and not a sound had we heard.

Mother had been unspeakably anxious and terrified and wanted to go to the forest herself, to search, but Mother Goodfields had said no to that, "because Trond and Lisbeth know the forest better," she had told Mother.

Crazy Helen sat herself down on the door-step again, and slapped her knees and laughed, as before, out into the night.