Lisbeth Longfrock

CHAPTER VII. HOME FROM THE SÆTER

Summer, with its light nights and brilliant days, comes rapidly to full power on the mountains in Norway. The season is brief but intense.

It begins with a creeping of light green over the gentle slopes and unending marshes, and a trickling of light green down around each tue, or little mound of earth covered with moss and tiny berry plants. Ptarmigans roam about in solitary pairs, murmuring when any one comes too near their nests; gnats and horseflies buzz through the air; and cows, with tails set straight up, scamper friskily about, trying to escape the irritating stings.

Over everything lies a thick, warm, dark-blue haze, hindering a free outlook.

But soon come the blueberries, the marsh wool or cotton grass, and later the cloudberries; and on some fine day when the mother ptarmigans go out to walk, peeping sounds are heard around them, here, there, and everywhere. The mother birds scold more than ever, now that their young ones are whirling like so many feathery balls a yard or more upward, and two or three yards forward, and then tumbling down into the heather again, head foremost. By this time the cows roam about quietly and meditatively over the mountain, seeking the juiciest, best-flavored herbage to nibble; the warm haze melts away and the air becomes so sparklingly clear that mountain peaks miles distant are as delicately and sharply outlined as the nearest little mound. Then the cloudberry blossoms fall, and soon the marshes grow yellow and red, the tiny blossoms of the heather color all the knolls and rocky places, the greenness vanishes, and over the patches of white reindeer moss, which shine out like snow here and there on the mountain, comes a blush of red and a tinge of brown. Autumn is now drawing near.

Much of the time the sun shines brightly, and when it does, how glorious to be the herder of a flock!

But there come days also when the fog spreads itself like a close gray blanket, under which the ground, with its mounds and bushes and heather, creeps stealthily, disappearing a few yards away. And out of the fog comes a fine, mist-like rain, which deposits itself in tiny gray beads on every blade and every pine needle, so that wherever any one goes there is a little sprinkling of water.

In such weather it is far from pleasant to be in charge of a flock. If the animals move forward quietly, the herder must seek shelter under every bush, with a piece of sacking over his shoulders to shield him from the wet. But it is far more likely that he will be obliged to run about, with the water squeezing in and out of his shoes, trying to keep track of his animals; for in weather like this the mushrooms spring up plentifully and the animals scatter eagerly in all directions to find them, scorning other food when these may be obtained. Sometimes when the herder is speeding along the edge of the marsh, a pair of large, powerful cranes, who are on their journey south, will loom suddenly before him out of the fog. This startles him greatly, for the cranes seem to the herder much larger than they really are. They look like a couple of great sheep with wings on.

Later in the season comes a morning when all is glistening white. A little snow has fallen during the night,-not enough to last, however; it melts away as the day goes on. But after this the animals no longer like to go up on the higher parts of the mountain. The cows stand lowing at the gate of the sæter inclosure; they know that sooner or later they will be allowed to slip in there to enjoy the last of the mountain's good grazing. The goats look inquiringly backward as they are let out of the fold. Summer is over. Every one longs to go down again to the home farm.

At last a day comes when the gate is opened and the cows rush into the sæter inclosure. They know now that they will not have to go up on the bare mountain again this year. Then the farm hands come up with pack horses, and other horses that have been running wild on the mountain all summer are found and taken home. The packs are tied up; there is a great washing, a clearing away of rubbish and putting things in order for the next summer, and at last Bufar day, the long-expected day of returning to the home farm, arrives.

* * * * *

On Bufar day Lisbeth Longfrock stood up on the ridge of the turf-covered cow-house roof, taking a final look at the surrounding scene. She was all ready for the journey. Her lunch bag was on her back, her birch-bark hat on her head, and the goat horn which Peter had given her hung on a string around her neck. In her hand she carried a stout stick. Within the sæter inclosure the cows and smaller animals were roving back and forth from fence to fence impatiently. They knew that Bufar day had come, for along the wall of the sæter hut, in a row, stood the horses' packs, filled with butter tubs, cheese tubs, and cheese boxes; and tied to the fence were the horses themselves. All of these had pack saddles on, except the military horse, which stood foremost among them, bearing a woman's saddle. The farm hands stood outside, too, smoking their pipes. They were all ready, and were only waiting for the milkmaid, who was inside the hut making the last batch of cheese from the morning's milk, which she could not allow to be wasted.

While Lisbeth was standing on the ridge of the cow house Ole and Peter came bobbing along past the fence of the fold. They were not so boisterous as usual to-day, and stopped at the gate, looking at Lisbeth without saying a word at first. Then Peter asked, "Are you going back to the farm to-day, Lisbeth?"

"Yes, I am all ready."

With one impulse Lisbeth and the boys gazed over the mountain's familiar expanse.

"The mountain begins to look barren now," said Peter; "but I shall be here a week longer."

"So long as that?" said Lisbeth. "And you, Ole?"

"I am going day after to-morrow."

All three were silent again for a while. Then Lisbeth said: "I suppose I must go with the others now. They surely must be ready."

She descended from the roof and went over to where the boys were. The conversation came to a standstill again; they could not think of anything to say. Finally Peter spoke.

"Are you coming again next summer, Lisbeth?"

"Yes, if Kjersti Hoel is pleased with me; but that can hardly be expected, since I am going home without Crookhorn."

"It would take a horse trainer to look after her," said Ole.

Again there was silence. Then Ole said: "We did not go up to Glory Peak this summer, to see the spot the king once visited."

"No, we didn't."

"We two boys are coming here again next summer, both of us."

"Perhaps we can go to Glory Peak after all then, even if it is so far away."

"Yes, we can," said Ole. "And I can tell you a good deal about the king's visit, for my father went with him and drove."

"Drove the king's carriage?"

"No, not the king's; the county magistrate's."

"My father went with him, too," said Peter, "and drove; so I can tell about it as well as you."

"Yes, but whose carriage did he drive? A homely old woman's!"

"But that homely old woman was next in rank to the queen. She was the one who went off to walk with the queen at the foot of Glory Peak."

Just then came a call for Lisbeth. She hesitated a moment, then stretched out her little hand and said: "Good-by. May you both fare well. Thanks for this summer."

"Thanks to you for the same," said Ole. "We are to meet again, then, next summer?"

"Yes."

"May you fare well," said Peter.

He stood holding her hand awhile; then, thinking he ought to say something more, he added, "I will greet Jacob from you, Lisbeth."

After that the boys vanished along the fence as noiselessly as they had come.

* * * * *

Inside the sæter inclosure the farm hands were putting the packs on the horses, and the military horse had been led to the gate. Lisbeth ran into the inclosure, drove her animals together and counted them, certainly for the tenth time that day. Soon everything stood ready for the homeward march.

The milkmaid appeared in the doorway, clad in her Sunday best, as on the day she came. She closed the sæter door with a bang, turned the large key solemnly in the lock, took it out and put it in her pocket. That key she would not intrust to any one else; she wanted to deliver it to Kjersti Hoel with her own hand. After trying the door vigorously to be sure that it was securely locked, she went to the window and looked in to assure herself that everything was in order and the fire entirely out. Then, going over to the military horse, she climbed into the saddle. One of the farm hands opened the gate for her as if she had been a queen, and out she rode.

After her followed the pack horses, one by one, and the cows in the same order as when they came up,-the bell cow, Brindle, and the whole long line. Behind the cows came the smaller animals, and, last of all, Lisbeth Longfrock with a stick in her hand, her birch-bark hat on her head, and her lunch bag on her back.

Lisbeth turned and looked at the scene she was leaving. There lay the sæter, desolate now. The mountain, too, appeared lonely and forsaken. Of course she, like all the others, had longed for home during these last days; but it was strange, after all, for her to be going away from everything up here. A little of the same feeling she had had when leaving Peerout Castle crept over her. How singular that she should happen to recall that sad time just at this moment! She had not thought of it at all since coming up on the mountain,-not once during the whole long summer.

Nor would she think of it now; there were other and happier things to remember. God be praised, all had gone well at the sæter, and the whole procession was on its way home. She was taking her animals safely back,-all except Crookhorn. Of her she had seen nothing since that day when the boys had tried to tame her; but she had heard that far off on the mountain a big goat went about with a herd of horses.

* * * * *

All day long the great procession went on its way over the mountain in steady, plodding fashion. The animals were fatter and heavier than in the spring; they trod the hills with a brisker and firmer step, and none showed any sign of being tired or lagging behind. The milkmaid was rosy-cheeked and plump ("Butterpack" she was always called in the autumn). As she and Lisbeth looked at the procession, one from the front and the other from the rear, they agreed in thinking that the animals, as well as the butter and cheese, were such as they need not be ashamed to take home to Kjersti Hoel.

Evening was drawing near, when suddenly the road pitched down over the edge of the mountain, the valley began to open before them, and they could even catch a glimpse of the slope on the other side. Every one looked over there, but all that could be seen as yet was a strip along the uppermost edge. The only one to distinguish a house upon the strip was Lisbeth Longfrock. Away up and off to one side she saw the setting sun glittering on a little pane of glass in a low gray hut. That hut was Peerout Castle.

Then all at once they came out upon the open mountain side, and the whole valley lay before them, broad and peaceful, with its yellow fields and stacks of grain, its green spaces, and its slope of birch trees flaming in yellow, with here and there a red mountain ash among them. And over across they spied Hoel,-large, substantial, and well cared for,-with its broad, shining windows and its general air of comfort. Smoke was issuing from its chimney,-such an inviting, coffee-suggesting, welcoming smoke! Kjersti had probably hung the coffee kettle over the fire already, so as to receive them in a suitable manner.

The whole procession now began to show more life. Every member of it knew that Kjersti Hoel stood over there in the window watching the long line as it curved down the open slope. All moved forward more quickly. The horses hurried ahead; the cows began to trot, the bell cow sending out an eager Moo-oo! across the valley; the bells jingled merrily; and Lisbeth Longfrock trilled a vigorous call through her little goat horn. They wanted every one to hear that the great company of animals belonging to Hoel Farm was now coming back again.

Thus they hastened down to the bottom of the valley and then up the opposite side. It was not long before they were actually at home.

Kjersti Hoel herself stood at the cow-house door and opened it for them. The cows recognized her, and each one of them, as they went by her in turn, received a word or a pat on the head; after which, proud and satisfied, they went to their separate stalls,-not a single cow making a mistake. They went swiftly, too, for they knew that there was something good in the mangers to welcome them. And they needed something, surely, for there had not been time to eat anything along the road that day.

When the milkmaid had dismounted from her horse Kjersti took her hand and said, "Welcome home!" Then Kjersti went over to the door of the sheep barn, opened that also, and counted the goats and sheep as they went in; and when Lisbeth Longfrock came following in their wake, Kjersti took her hand also and said, "Welcome home!"

"But," faltered Lisbeth, "I have not brought Crookhorn back with me."

"No, I see that you have not; and it is a good thing. Now we shall be rid of her capers for a while. You have been a faithful and capable little worker, there is no doubt of that. And how you have grown! Why, your long frock is far above your toes now!"

Then the milkmaid and Lisbeth fastened the cows in their stalls, while Kjersti went to watch the unloading of the packs and to look at the tubs and boxes containing the butter and cheese that had been made at the sæter.

After that Kjersti came to them again and asked them to "Please walk in," exactly as if they were grand strangers. And when they had gone into the house they were invited into Kjersti's own sitting room, both Lisbeth and the milkmaid. Here the table was set with a welcoming meal, and oh, how delicious the food smelled! There were large hot pancakes as thin as paper, and pease bread, and hot new potatoes,-the finest feast you can give to people just home from a sæter. And Kjersti herself poured coffee for them and begged them to help themselves. Then they had to give an account of everything that had happened on the mountain; to tell about the cows,-which of them had given the most milk and which of them had stopped giving; about the sheep, goats, and pigs; and about the butter and cheese that had been made. And then Kjersti praised her two servants for their faithfulness and industry, and the trio rejoiced together over the success of the summer.

That evening when Lisbeth Longfrock again lay stretched out on her little bed in her room under the hall stairs and thought back over the summer and about the mountain, it seemed to her that she had had a glorious time, as delightful as could be thought of; but, all the same, it was pleasant to come home again, too,-especially when one was welcomed by such an unusually fine woman as Kjersti Hoel.

* * * * *

Autumn was passing away. The leaves had fallen and the trees spread out naked branches into the cold air. In the fields where grain had grown stood only the poles, now bare and slanting, on which the crops had been stacked. The verdure of the meadows was changed to yellowish brown.

There was no more food for the animals out of doors, so slaughtering day had come. That is the end of the season for the young herder, for on that day he gives up his responsibility. Thenceforward he is no longer a person with a special duty; he must be at every one's beck and call. And when winter comes with its long evenings, when the wood fire gleams out over the huge kitchen from the great open fireplace, while wool is being carded and the spinning wheel whirs, and the farm hands make brooms out of twigs and whittle thole pins and ax handles, then must the herder sit by the pile of twigs and logs at the side of the fireplace and feed the fire so that the rest can see to work while he studies his lessons.

By the pile of wood in Kjersti Hoel's big kitchen Lisbeth Longfrock had her place on the long winter evenings. She studied and listened, and heard so many curious things talked about that it seemed as if the evenings were too short and the days too few, in spite of the long, dark Norwegian winter. Before she knew it spring had come again; and when she looked down at her long frock she found that the hem reached no farther than the tops of her ankles.