Lisbeth Longfrock

CHAPTER VI. THE TAMING OF CROOKHORN

It was early morning in the latter part of the summer, and the sun was shining brightly over Hoel Sæter.

Lisbeth was alone inside the fold, milking goats. All was quiet and peaceful. Not a bell was heard. The only sounds were the gentle rush of the river far below and an occasional soft thud from the cow house when a cow bumped her horns against the wall in getting up. The milkmaid was inside the cow house, milking the cows. Lisbeth's hands were still too small for that work, so it had been arranged that she should have entire charge of the goats instead of helping with the larger animals.

Suddenly from the hill above the sæter rang out "Ho-o-i-ho!" and in a few minutes the call was answered a little farther off with a touch of irritation in the tone, "Ho-o-i-ho!"

[Illustration: UP AT THE SÆTER]

Lisbeth looked up and listened. Then with a smile of happy satisfaction she went over to the fence and called, "Ho-o-i-ho!" Now she could send out the tones with vigor, so that they rang back from all the hills around; her voice no longer trembled when she answered the big boys' call.

To-day she knew that they were calling especially to summon her, and that they dared to come close to the sæter with their animals because they had an errand,-something that they had planned with the milkmaid and Lisbeth.

By the sound of the bells she could tell that the boys were driving the animals as fast as they could. The boy that was behind-Peter, of course-was provoked at not being first.

But, if you please, they would have to wait until she had finished her work. They were out extremely early to-day!

* * * * *

However strange it may seem, Lisbeth Longfrock, soon after her arrival at Hoel Sæter, had become a prime favorite with the other herders. The day after her first painful experiences the boys, as proposed, had met her behind the hill, Peter first and then Ole. No reference was made to the previous day; it was merely taken for granted that in future she would be with them. Ole said that she could look after their animals, together with her own, while they went off to bathe. Peter thought she could, too. So she agreed to the arrangement.

But the boys did not play very long on the bank of the pond that day when they had finished bathing. It was not much fun, after all, to be down there by themselves.

So it had come to pass that Lisbeth and her animals never came strolling over the hill in the morning without meeting the boys. They generally came at nearly the same time, each from the direction of his own sæter, apparently trying to see who could be the first to give the call. But when they met each did his best to make out to the other that he had come there by the merest chance, both sheepishly realizing that the very evening before they had put on big-boy airs about "that young one whom they could never get rid of," and had said that they would go off in an entirely different direction the next day, to avoid her if possible.

Often the boys would have athletic contests, turning handsprings and wrestling from one meal-time to another because neither boy was willing to give up beaten. More than once in a single morning or afternoon would Lisbeth have to remind them to look after their animals, because, completely forgotten by the boys, the flocks had strayed nearly out of sight.

Occasionally it happened that one boy would reach Hoel Sæter ten or fifteen minutes before the other and would find Lisbeth ready to set out. In that case the first comer would insist that he and Lisbeth should start out by themselves, urging that the other boy had probably gone somewhere else that day. Such times were almost the pleasantest, Lisbeth thought, for then the one boy had always so much to show her that the other boy did not know about,-a marshy ledge, white as snow with cloudberry blossoms, where there would be many, many berries in the autumn (that ledge they could keep for themselves,-it was not worth while to let the other boy know about everything they found); or a ptarmigan nest with thirteen big eggs in it; or a ridge where scouring rushes[12] grew unusually long and thick.

[12] A species of horsetail rush (Equisetum hyemale), having a

rough, flinty surface. It is used for scouring and polishing.

Each boy talked more with her, too, when by himself, and was less boastful and rough. And the one boy would climb trees and get spruce gum for her, while she would seek scouring rush for him. Scouring rush is something that requires a special knack in the one who is to discover it, and the boys had never seen Lisbeth's equal in spying it out. Peter said that if there was a single spear growing anywhere, you might be sure that she would find it; to which Ole jokingly responded that, for his part, he believed she could find one even where there wasn't any!

And how many, many things both boys thought of that they could make! One day when it rained Ole made Lisbeth a hat out of birch bark, and the next day Peter came with a pair of birch-bark shoes for her. The milkmaid must have laughed when she saw Lisbeth coming home that second day wearing the birch-bark hat and shoes, and carrying her ordinary shoes in her hand. Another day Ole gave her a pocketknife. She ought to have something to whittle with, he thought, and he did not need that knife because he had one with a sheath that he always wore in his belt. The next day Peter brought her a musical horn that he had made in the evenings from a goat's horn. It had an unusually fine tone. You could manage to play that funny tune, "Old Woman with a Stick," on it after a fashion.

Ole speculated a while as to what he could do to beat that, and then he hit upon an idea,-he would tame Crookhorn!

They had often seen Crookhorn going with the cows as if she were one of them; and they knew that though she was Lisbeth's own goat there was no use in trying to make her go with the other goats. The little girl had told them how impossible it had been to manage the creature at the farm, and that Kjersti had said the men would have to make an end of her when winter came.

So Ole offered to tame Crookhorn. He was sure that he could teach her to go with the others. There had never been a goat yet that had not been forced to yield when he attempted to master it.

Yes, indeed, Lisbeth was more than willing for him to try. If he succeeded, she would gladly give him all she owned.

No, Ole did not want any payment for doing it; but if she insisted on giving him something, he would like the goat's horns after the goat was slaughtered, as it would have to be some day. They would make matchless horns to blow upon.

But Peter, too, wanted to have a share in the undertaking. If the goat proved to be very cross and obstinate, two persons would surely be needed to tame her. Then they could have one horn apiece.

Ole did not know whether he would agree to that or not, for it was he who had thought of the plan.

Yes, but how could he carry it out? Peter did not believe that Crookhorn could be made to go with the other goats unless there was a stronger goat for her to be fastened to. Ole did not have such a one. It was Peter who had the big billy goat, the only one strong enough for the task.

Yes, that was true; so Peter might help in taming Crookhorn if he would lend his billy goat.

Lisbeth, for her part, thought they ought all to help; that was the only proper way. And her suggestion was finally followed.

* * * * *

Ole's taming of Crookhorn was the errand that brought the boys to the Hoel Sæter on the morning that Lisbeth and the milkmaid were doing their milking so early.

The two flocks came pushing and crowding over the hill; but as soon as the animals realized that they were to be allowed to go close to the sæter, they began to run at full speed. It was always such fun to go to a strange place! They would be sure to find something new to see and to stick their noses into,-perhaps a little milk stirabout in the pig trough, a little salt on the salting stone, or a hole in the fence where one could get a chance to squeeze through without being seen.

The bells clanged, the boys ran about shouting and hallooing and giving their musical calls, trying to keep the worst goats in order, but perhaps making a little more noise than was necessary.

Where all had been so still before there was now the liveliest commotion. The milkmaid could not resist going to the cow-house door to look out; and Lisbeth would surely have forgotten to milk the last of her goats if it had not come over to her of its own accord and stood directly in her way as she was going out of the fold.

When Ole saw the milkmaid at the cow-house door he called out, "Shall you not let out your cattle soon?"

"Yes; I am just ready to," answered the milkmaid. "Are you ready, Lisbeth?"

"I am milking my last goat."

Soon everything was done, and the animals stood waiting to be let out.

Ole had with him a strong band woven of willow withes, with an ingeniously fastened loop at each end. One loop was for Peter's billy goat, the other for Crookhorn. Ole thought it was a very fine apparatus indeed.

"Where is Crookhorn?"

"In the cow house."

"Then I had better go in and get her myself. Bring your goat, Peter, and hold him ready."

Peter called his big billy goat. It knew its name and came at once.

"Let me see how strong you are," said Peter. He took hold of its horns, held its head down, and pushed against it. The billy goat bunted, took a fresh start, bunted again,-they often played in this way,-and sent Peter against the fence.

"There!" exclaimed Peter, picking himself up; "I rather think that billy goat is strong enough to drag any goat along, no matter how big a one." Peter fairly glowed with pride.

Ole, too, wanted to try the strength of the goat. Yes, it was an amazingly strong goat.

Then Ole went into the cow house, and in a few moments came back leading Crookhorn by the band of willow withes. The next step was to fasten the other loop around the billy goat's neck, and behold! there stood the two goats harnessed together. But neither of them seemed to notice that anything had been done.

Lisbeth and the milkmaid and the boys waited a while expectantly; but the billy goat rather enjoyed being looked at, and would not budge so long as they and the flocks were near by. He merely stood still and wanted to be petted.

So Ole said: "Let your animals out, Lisbeth, and start ours on the path, Peter. Then we shall see a double-team grazing contest."

Lisbeth opened the gate and her animals crowded out, taking their customary way up over the hill. Peter drove his own flock and Ole's after them.

Seeing this, the billy goat thought it was high time for him to be jogging along, so he took a step forward; but something was the matter. He looked back. Who was playing tricks and hindering him?

He saw Crookhorn with all four legs planted fast on the ground and her neck stretched out.

"Pooh! nothing but that," thought the billy goat, taking a couple of steps forward. Crookhorn found herself obliged to follow, but she laid her head back and struggled. Then the billy goat gathered all his force, set his horns high in the air, and tugged at the band. He would show her that he was not to be kept back by any such foolery!

Crookhorn again found herself obliged to follow, but she resisted and resisted with all her might. At length her fore legs doubled up under her and she sank upon her knees; but the billy goat went on as if nothing had happened, and Crookhorn had to follow on her knees across the whole flat part of the sæter field.

Lisbeth and the boys shrieked with laughter, and even the milkmaid found it impossible not to join in.

When Crookhorn reached the beginning of the hill, where the ground was more uneven, she thought it wiser to get up and trot along on her four feet; but although she yielded thus far for the sake of her own comfort, she still continued to struggle against being forced to go at all.

The animals took the customary path leading farther over the mountain. Little by little Crookhorn seemed to conclude that she must submit to the inevitable. During the first part of the morning she was sullen and contrary, merely allowing herself to be dragged along; but as the day wore on and her stomach felt empty and slack, she grew more subdued and began to walk quietly forward, eating as she went like any other goat,-only looking up once in a while when she heard the heavy cow bell in the distance.

The fun was gone when Crookhorn took to behaving well, so the boys began as usual to wrestle and turn somersaults; and this they kept up until it was nearly time to go home for their nooning. Then Ole said: "Now let us slip her loose on trial. I think she must be cured by this time."

Yes, the others agreed to that.

So they called to the billy goat coaxingly. He came jogging along with his big horns straight up and Crookhorn trailing after him. Ole first set the billy goat free, and then, kneeling down before Crookhorn, he took hold of her beard. Crookhorn pawed with her feet as goats do when they want to get rid of this hold, but Ole would not let go. He wished to give her a few admonitions first.

Now that she had found her master, he told her, she need no longer imagine that she was a cow. Hereafter she was to behave like other goats or she would have him to deal with; and at this he gave her beard a wag, as if to add force to his words. That hurt Crookhorn, and she made a bound straight at him and sent him rolling backward. Then, passing directly over him, with the willow band trailing behind her, she set out on a trot across the marsh in the direction from which the sound of the cow bell had come.

Ole scrambled up again, stamped the ground with rage, and started after her.

Lisbeth and Peter were already on the way. They shouted and screamed as they ran, and threatened Crookhorn with all sorts of punishments if she did not stop; but Crookhorn acted as if she did not understand. She ran, and they after her. The boys became more and more angry. It had never happened before that they had been unable to capture a goat; and besides, each boy was eager to get ahead of the other. So they ran faster and faster. Although Lisbeth Longfrock was light-footed, especially with her birch-bark shoes[13] on, she lagged behind. It was like wading in deep water to try to run in that long frock of hers, which, in the hasty start of the morning, she had forgotten to tuck up in her belt as usual.

[13] Lisbeth's ordinary shoes were clumsy wooden ones.

Soon she caught a last glimpse of the boys as they disappeared over a hill on the other side of the marsh. Peter was ahead (she believed he really was the faster runner of the two). But she herself was only in the middle of the marsh.

So she stopped. Certainly the best thing that she could do was to go back and get the animals together; otherwise all three flocks were likely to stray away.

She turned back, recrossed the marsh, and had climbed the hill a little way when she heard a rumbling and thudding noise, which grew constantly louder and louder, while the ground seemed to roll in waves under her feet. What could it be? Around the foot of the hill came a big herd of horses[14]-oh, what a big herd! There were horses old and young, and foals running beside their mothers; horses brown, dun-colored, black, and white; and all of them were so bright and shiny and fat and skittish! They trotted and ran, with heads tossing,-those ahead being passed by others, then those behind getting ahead again,-making a noise almost like the booming of thunder.

[14] Horses, as well as other animals, are sent up on the

mountains to graze during the summer. They roam about at will,

and sometimes go home of their own accord at the end of the

season, if no one has been sent to fetch them.

Lisbeth stood still and watched them, half afraid. She had never seen so big a herd before. They noticed her, too, but they did not run at her at all. Only two or three stopped, pricked up their ears, and gazed at her, trying to make out what kind of little creature she could be. Then they ran on again, and in an instant the whole herd had gone past. Lisbeth could only hear the thunder of their hoofs as they galloped into the path leading to the sæter.

But her animals! and the boys' flocks! Naturally the horses had frightened them. Lisbeth could see no trace of them anywhere. She ran from hill to hill, stopping to listen and then running again.

It was all of no use; she could not find them. The only wise course for her was to go back to the sæter.

This was the first and only time that Lisbeth Longfrock went home without taking her animals with her.

But when she reached the sæter there lay the whole flock peacefully within the fold, chewing the cud. They had gone home of their own accord. The horses that had given Lisbeth such a fright were there also, walking about and licking up the salt which the milkmaid had strewn for them.

In the afternoon the milkmaids from the other sæters came to inquire after the boys, for their goats had also come home of themselves long before the usual time.

It was not until much later that Ole and Peter arrived, dragging Crookhorn between them.

When the milkmaids laughed at them the boys could not help feeling a little chagrined. That they had let their flocks stray away could not be denied; but no one could say that they had come home without any animal at all,-although two big boys did seem a rather liberal number to be in charge of a single goat, however large that goat might be.

Things had gone wrong for that day, Ole acknowledged; but Crookhorn was not to think that she had seen the end of the struggle. They would take her with them again the next day. She should get her deserts.

But it turned out otherwise. Crookhorn knew better than to let such a thing happen. When they took off the willow band she stood still awhile with her neck stretched up, looking at the horses which were at that moment going out of the inclosure. Suddenly she kicked up her hind legs in real horse fashion, and then away she went after the herd as fast as she could go.

The milkmaids, as well as the boys, could do nothing but stand and gape when they saw her join the horses.

"Probably she imagines now that she is a horse," thought they.

For a while they stood in silence watching the receding herd. Then Ole said in his dry fashion, "If there had been any elephants here, it would have been just like Crookhorn to imagine herself an elephant."