4
TheStjernecame into port a few days later, and Gustav sailed away as first mate. He was so happy about it that Arne couldn’t help feeling some of that happiness too. He remembered what fun it had been to go up the fjord on theLaks, and he didn’t blame anyone for wanting to go to sea.
But Gustav was sailing far away this time, all the way to South America, touching at many ports on the voyage. It would be a long time before he returned.
“Oh, Gustav!” The words fairly burst from Arne as he stood watching the final packing. “I wish South America wasn’t so far away!”
Perhaps Gustav knew how he would have felt if he had been in Arne’s place. He put his arm around Arne’s shoulder and said, “Look here, fellow, I’ve got something I want to leave with you. Father gave me new field glasses as a parting gift. I want you to have my old ones.”
“For keeps?” cried Arne. It would be wonderful to have those glasses.
“For keeps,” said Gustav, and was fully rewarded by Arne’s shining face.
“Now you can watch us till we get clear out to sea and turn down the channel between the shore and the islands. In fact, if you go up on the cliff, you can watch us farther than that.”
“Oh, I will! Oh, Gustav! And I’ll be watching when the time comes for you to come home, too, you can bet on that.”
The gift took most of the sadness out of the parting, though Gustav would be gone now until December when theStjernewould come in with its load of Christmas goods. Then he would be home all through the holidays. That was something to look forward to.
The rest of the summer slipped quickly away. It was time for the girls to come home from the saeter, and Arne went with Uncle Jens and the others to help bring down the girls and the gear, the cows and the calves, the goats and the kids and the cheeses.
School was to start the next week, and he felt a little dismal about it as he talked it over with Bergel. “I hear that new teacher is very strict—Herr Professor Engstrand.Oscar said Pastor Beckstrom’s son told him so.”
Bergel nodded. “I heard so, too. But maybe we have to expect that, now that we’re going to be in the upper room. Just think, Arne. We’ll start learning English, and do a lot of things we couldn’t do before.” Bergel, very quick at her lessons, was in the same grade as her cousin.
“I’ll like being in the same room with Nels and Oscar and those boys instead of a lot of little kids,” Arne admitted.
“Yes, I think it’s wonderful we’re going to be in with the upper grades. And a man teacher. Makes me feel pretty grown-up.”
Arne was surprised when he entered school that first morning and got his first glimpse of Herr Professor Engstrand. Somehow, from Oscar’s remarks, he had expected to see an elderly gentleman. Herr Professor didn’t look much older than Gustav. But he certainly was not like Gustav in any other way. There was no laughter in those stern gray eyes, and his mouth, straight and firm, didn’t look as if it ever even smiled. He stood stiffly beside his desk, his shoulders squared.
When the school was assembled, he made a short speech. “I am new here,” he said, “but we shall soon get to know one another. If you do your work well, we shallget along without trouble. I shall put up with no laziness, no disobedience. You are old enough to know how to work, and that is exactly what I expect you to do.” His words were clipped and curt, and Arne was sure you could have heard a pin drop in that quiet room. Lessons were assigned and classes were held in the most methodical order. Any lack of attention, any slightest sign of disorder, was promptly reprimanded or punished more severely.
Arne very soon made up his mind about one thing. He would try to obey orders to the letter. He could see there would be trouble ahead if he did anything else. He didn’t know, of course, that this was Herr Professor Engstrand’s first school and that he was desperately anxious to make a good job of it.
Winter set in early, and it was always a relief to Arne to get out of school. He liked to get his skis and go flying down the steep slopes behind the town with Nels and Oscar and Torger and some of the other boys. Evart was away at school this year, and sometimes Arne took Bergel with him coasting. She knew how to steer the long sled almost as well as he did.
He would stop at home in the kitchen first, for he was sure to find Mother and Besta having a cup of afternoon coffee. Sometimes Aunt Tina would be there, too, and Signe and Margret. Sometimes one of the neighbors would come in. But whether there was company or not, there was sure to be something good to go with the coffee—slices from a big, round loaf of ryebread withgjetost, Besta’s special goats’ milk cheese, or coffeecake, orbakkelse—crisp, delicious little cakes fried in deep fat, or some other of their many specialties. Mother and Besta were as good cooks as you’d find in all Norway, Fatheroften said; and he added that that was saying a lot, for Norway was famous for its good cooks.
Sometimes as he came in, after skiing or skating or coasting, he would hear Besta’s spinning wheel whirring comfortably away. She liked to spin the wool for her knitting and weaving. Even Margret, up-to-date as she considered herself, preferred the soft wool her grandmother spun to any other. Besta never looked as contented as when her foot was on that treadle, her practiced hand drawing out the fine strong woolen yarn.
Arne usually came from school with a rush and a bang. But one day he came into the kitchen without saying a word. Bergel was with him, and she too was quiet.
“Freshlefse, Arne,” said his mother.
Arne nodded, but for once he didn’t make a move to take any.
Besta looked at him keenly. “Trouble in school, Arne?” she asked.
Arne’s face darkened, and he doubled up his fists. “That Herr Professor!” he exclaimed. “He’s just so mean and unreasonable. All I did was to ask Sigurd, just behind me, how far we were to study. And I had to stand up in front of the whole room for an hour.” He flushed as he thought of it.
“Perhaps he thought you would have known how far to study if you had been paying attention,” said Mother, shaking her head, though she felt sorry for Arne.
“Well, I was thinking of something more important than English grammar.” In spite of himself, Arne’s face lighted a little. For right in the midst of class, he had suddenly thought of a delightful plan—a surprise for everyone for Christmas. Mother was exactly right, though he didn’t like to admit it. He had been thinking out details of his project instead of paying attention.
“How do you get along with Herr Professor, Bergel?” asked Besta.
“Oh, of course she gets along fine!” exploded Arne. “She always has her lessons, and she behaves like a little lady.” The mincing tone he assumed almost made Mother and Besta smile, though they realized very well that this was no laughing matter. “Herr Professor likes Bergel, but he sure doesn’t like me. I might just as well stop trying to please him.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Arne,” urged Bergel. “You’ll get used to him. And he does know a lot.” She wished from the bottom of her heart that Herr Professor would say “well done” to Arne once in a while. He did do well in his history and arithmetic.
“Well, have somelefseand someostand try harder tomorrow,” said his mother sensibly. “You’ll get along all right if you pay attention and study.”
Arne took thelefse, but it didn’t taste as good as usual. It didn’t seem to him he could ever learn to get along with Herr Professor Engstrand. It certainly looked as if he were headed for trouble. And with Christmas coming, too.
But he did make an effort, and school went better for some time.
Bergel mentioned it with pleasure as they walked home one afternoon. “You’re really doing fine in school, Arne,” she said. “You haven’t been in a bit of trouble lately. Herr Professor hasn’t even had to look your way. I bet you could be right up at the head of the class if you’d try.”
“There are so many things I like to do better than to have my nose in a book,” said Arne carelessly. “I like to work out in the workshop for one thing. Right now,” he added, his face brightening, “I’m working on—” Then he broke off abruptly and laughed. “Can’t tell you what—it’s a surprise.”
“Oh, go on, tell me,” coaxed Bergel, but Arne only shook his head mysteriously.
“You’ll see,” was all he would say. “I’d better be gettinghome to get at it. There’s a lot left to do if I’m going to have it ready in time.”
From early November, Arne had been spending every moment he could spare in the little workshop out in back. He was making a number of small ships, some with tiny sails, some with little oars, sawing and cutting and gluing and painting with great care. They would be hung all over the tree—red and green and yellow and blue.
There was to be at least one special one for each member of the family—a fishing boat for Father, the tiniest sailboat for Margret, a red rowboat for Besta, and a blue one for Mother. There should be one for each of the cousins, too, and Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina. And he wanted to make several for Gustav.
No one else in Nordheim or probably anywhere else would have a tree trimmed like that. It would be a surprise for everyone. Arne almost chuckled aloud whenever he thought of it.
His face was bright today as he ran into the kitchen. There were Mother and Besta, having their afternoon cup of coffee. The kitchen was filled with the good smell of baking.Rosetteswere spread out on the table—delicate, beautifully-shaped cakes fried in deep fat. There were also crisp star-shaped cinnamon cookies.
He pulled off his cap and asked eagerly, “Any broken pieces for me?” He knew all the well-shaped cakes and cookies would be put away carefully for Christmas.
“Besta broke a few for you,” said his mother, with a twinkle. “And before you go out to that workshop, get me some soap from the storeroom. I am going to take down the curtains and put them to soak.”
For weeks, now, the house had been in a bustle and flurry of Christmas cleaning. Every spot was shining—floors and furniture, brass and copper. The house fairly seemed to twinkle.
He couldn’t see why they had to take down the lace-trimmed window curtains to be washed and stiffly starched. Those curtains looked white as snow to him. But when he said that to Mother, she laughed out loud. “Not have clean curtains for Christmas!” she exclaimed. “What a boy you are, Arne! If your mother did such a thing,Julenissenwould be so horrified he would run right away from our house.”
Arne laughed, too. You certainly wouldn’t want to scare awayJulenissen, the little elf with the pointed red cap and little red suit. He was supposed to live in the attic and bring special good luck at Christmas time, particularly if one always remembered to set out his bowl of milkand give him his Christmas rice porridge. Arne had never actually seenJulenissen, but he knew someone in the family always saw to that milk and the porridge.
“Julenissenhates dirt,” said Besta.
“I guess he’ll never get scared away from our house, then,” said Arne. “And I should think he’d like the Christmas baking even better than the cleaning.”
“If he doesn’t, I know somebody else who does,” chuckled his mother.
Arne knew there would be stacks offlatbrod, hard and crisp and round, each piece larger than a plate. Besta baked these right on top of her well-scrubbed cookstove. There would be heart-shaped waffles, andlefseandbakkelseandrosettesand all kinds of good coffeecakes. His mouth watered at the thought. If a boy hung around the kitchen at the right times, he was sure to come in for a good many samples, especially broken bits.
He knew there would also be a final scouring of the house just before Christmas, that the windows and the copper flowerpots on the window sills would be gleaming. The geraniums and begonias would be coaxed into bloom for Christmas.
And of course the womenfolk would be busy planning and preparing food to last through the Christmas season,for no one wanted to do much work during the two weeks of the holidays. And there would be a great deal of company.
Father would see to it that they had all the best kinds of fish—the smoked and pickled herring. And thelutfisk—which he had so disliked to bale in the summer—would be a favorite part of the Christmas feasting. There would be cheeses, too, of many kinds, and pickled pigs’ feet and headcheese, roasted meats and sausages. Mother always set out a goodkoltbord—a table laden with all these good things and many others; people could help themselves to suit their tastes.
Arne thought of all this as he fortified himself with a substantial snack. Then he went out to the workshop. He had almost enough little ships now, ready for sandpapering and painting. His worries about school were forgotten, and the time flew as he worked, his lips puckered in a low, contented whistle.
Suddenly he straightened with a start. It certainly couldn’t be supper time yet. But Margret was coming down the path calling him.
“Don’t come in! Don’t come in!” he shouted, throwing an old blanket over his work. Then he ran out and closed the door behind him.
“I wouldn’t come in, Arne. You know that,” she said. Her voice sounded muffled and unnatural. In the light which streamed from the kitchen window, he could see that her face looked as if she were trying not to cry.
“What is it? What is it, Margret?” he asked anxiously. “Is something wrong?”
“We heard something over the radio,” said Margret; and now, in spite of her efforts, her voice broke into a sob. “Oh, Arne, there are storms at sea—bad ones—sleet storms and ice storms right where theStjernemust be now!”
Arne’s heart seemed to turn right over. He knew very well the danger his brother was in. All his life he had heard of those winter storms at sea. He wished with all his might that Gustav’s ship was safe right here in Nordheim harbor.