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 rushes12grew unusually long and thick. 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 shoes13on, 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. 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 horses14—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. 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 boysdidseem 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." 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 eachtue, 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 lastBufarday, 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. CHAPTER VIII ON GLORY PEAK It was again high summer, and the sun shone bright on all the mountain tops when, one morning, an ear-splitting call played on three goat horns rang suddenly out from the inclosure belonging to Hoel sæter. One call was thin and fine, the other two were heavier. That triple signal meant "Forward, march!" Lisbeth Longfrock, Ole, and Peter were going to take their trip to Glory Peak to see the spot that had been visited by the king. The boys now owned goat horns to blow on, and they were good ones, too; for Lisbeth Longfrock had kept her word about Crookhorn's horns and had given one to each boy. After Crookhorn's running off with the herd of horses, things had not gone any better with that proud-minded goat. When she finally came home, late in the autumn, with the last of the horses, she was so conceited that there was no getting her to live in the barn with the other goats. They had to put her in the cow house; but not even the cow house was good enough for her after her summer experiences. Every time she got an opportunity, out she bounded, trotting over to the door of the stable as if she belonged in there. The stable boy insisted that he had even heard her neigh. One day, when the men were feeding the horses, they saw her dash in, and, with her usual self-important air, attempt to squeeze her way into the stall of the military horse. But that she should not have done. It was dark, and the military horse failed to see that it was only Crookhorn at his heels; so up went his hind legs and out went a kick that landed plump on Crookhorn's cranium and sent her flying against the stable wall. That was the last of Crookhorn. It cannot be said that any one, except perhaps Lisbeth Longfrock, sorrowed particularly over her; but Lisbeth could not help remembering that Crookhorn had given them milk for their coffee that winter up at Peerout Castle. At any rate, if not much sorrowed for, the queer, ambitious creature was held in honorable esteem after her death. Such horns as hers Ole had never seen. Not only were they extremely large, but they gave out a peculiarly fine sound. Any one would know at once that they were not the horns of an ordinary goat. There had always been something about Crookhorn that no one understood, Ole said. Yes, Peter had noticed that too. Afterward, when he had thought a little more on the subject, he said he believed that horses' horns would have exactly the same sound as those of this remarkable goat, if there were any horses with horns! On the day of the visit to Glory Peak the goat horns, as musical instruments, were brand-new, being used that day for the first time. In fact, the trip had been put off until they were ready. But new goat horns were not the only things the travelers were provided with. All three wore their best clothes, and each carried a lunch bag full of food on his back and a stout stick in his hand. The trip was so long that it would take a whole day. Once more they blew their horns,—all three together. The animals looked up in surprise at the unusual volume of sound, and the milkmaid came to the cow-house door with a smiling face. Then off the party started. The flocks were mingled together to-day, and driven straight ahead,—no time for them to graze by the wayside with Glory Peak lying so far away, blue against the sky. This excursion was a much longer one than Lisbeth had ever before taken, and even Ole and Peter had been to Glory Peak but once. It was drawing on toward dinner time when they came to the last gentle ascent leading to the top of Glory Peak. There the juniper bushes and "old woman's switches" (dwarf birch) grew so high that the animals were quite lost to sight among them. Lisbeth and the boys could only see the course of their charges by a wavelike movement that passed over the tops of the bushes and by the sticking up of a pair of horns here and there. Ole thought that this was a good place to leave the flocks for a time, while they themselves went on ahead. The animals were so tired and hungry that they would stay there quietly for an hour or so; then, when rested, they would be sure to follow to the peak, for a goat was never satisfied until it had mounted to the highest possible point, where it could look about in all directions. Ole's plan was assented to, and it proved to be a good one. Ole led Lisbeth and Peter around a curve toward the north. He wanted to show them exactly where the king and queen came up on the day of their visit. To be sure, they were not really king and queen that day, but they were on the very point of being: they were crown prince and crown princess. They had left their horses down on the mountain side where the road grew too steep for driving, and had walked the rest of the way. Oh, what a large company they had with them!—the county magistrate, the district judge, and officers so richly dressed that they could scarcely move. Seven or eight of the principal farmers of the district were also in the company, and first among these were Nordrum, Jacob's master, and the master of Hoel Farm, who was then living. These two wore queer old-fashioned swallow-tailed coats. All around over the whole mountain top were crowds of other people gazing at the lively scene. "The king looked wonderfully fine, didn't he?" asked Lisbeth. "No. The county magistrate looked much finer, and so did the officers, and even the people who waited upon them. But it could easily be seen that he was the king, for he was a head taller than any of the others." "The king must be tremendously strong," said Peter. "Strong! Of course he is! And he must have use for every bit of his strength, too, for he has to govern all the others." "Was the queen also very large?" asked Lisbeth. "No, she was not much larger than an ordinary woman. She was unusually earnest and modest-looking, father said. There was not so much fuss and feathers with her as with the other women folk." "No," said Peter; "the old frump that my father drove laughed even at the magistrate, and found fault because his hands were too big." "Humph!" said Ole; "thatwasa joke. As if a grown-up fellow should not have big fists! Anyhow, I don't see how she could have seen them, for the magistrate wore his white gloves, although it was high summer." Ole resumed the part of showman. "Next they came up over this way,—the whole company, close by that very stone there; and then the king ran on ahead of them. He wanted to be the first to reach the top, as one might know. And now I will show you exactly what he did. Follow me. I will be the king, and you, Lisbeth, may be the queen. Come along!" Ole walked hastily over the last spur of the ground, the others following. Then, running the last few steps, they found themselves suddenly on the very top of the mountain! Ole threw out his hand and stood a long time in silence. The others stood still also, involuntarily, impressed by the wonderful sight. Here and there over the endless expanse of mountain shone glistening lakes and mountain pools, and away off in the distance rose snow-clad peaks. On every open slope lay green sæters; and toward the south, as far as the eye could reach, were beautiful farming districts and dark-green, forest-clad ridges. Ole, in his character of king, threw out his hand again. "This is the most beautiful spot I have ever seen!" he cried. Then, after a short pause, "Come, Sophie, and see!" Ole took Lisbeth's hand and drew her forward. "Yes," assented Peter, "that is exactly the way the king did. I have heard about it, too." "Of course it was," said Ole. "Don't you think I know?" "What else did he do?" asked Lisbeth. "The king and queen then went around and spoke to all the other people, who began to take out long spyglasses and gaze in all directions and ask the name of everything. "The county magistrate, as the highest of the local officials, stood near the king and queen and pointed things out to them. "'See that group of distant white peaks,' said the magistrate; 'and there to the north is Snow-Cap, although I am not sure that you can distinguish it; and that little black thing farthest away' (Ole pointed as the magistrate had done) 'is the highest peak in Norway.'15 "After a while the company turned around, facing the south. When they saw the view in that direction,—with the great shining lake lying so far away down there, and the forests stretching farther and farther in the distance,—even the king himself was astonished. He thought that the forests must reach almost to Sweden. He had never seen so vast an extent of forest at one view, king though he was. When they had finished looking at the surrounding landscape, Nordrum went to that patch of reindeer moss over there and gathered a whole handful of it. A good many of the people wondered, of course, what he was going to do with it. He went over to the king, showed it to him, and then said, 'Should you like to see the moss that we mixed with birch bark to make bread during the war?' "The king took a piece and chewed it. 'Yes, there is bird lime in it,' he said. "Nobody else had moved or spoken since Nordrum picked the moss,—they were so surprised. At last father heard one of the officers say, 'It is astonishing how tactless these farmers can be!'" "What istactless?" asked Lisbeth. "Oh, I don't know; but no doubt it is something pleasant, for the king clapped Nordrum on the shoulder and said: 'Thanks, my good man. We can all thank God that there are happier days in Norway now.' "'That was what I was thinking of when I showed you the moss,' said Nordrum. "Then they took the king to the great heap of stones that was piled up as a memorial of his visit, and asked him to scratch his name upon the stone slab beside it. And so he did, 'O. S.,' which stands for Oscar and Sophia; and then the number of the year, too,—see, here it is! It was all cut into the slab afterwards, exactly as the king himself had scratched it." The three looked at the letters. Yes, indeed, that was beautiful writing, almost like print. How remarkably well the king must be able to write on paper, when he could write like that on stone! Just then the animals came crowding up over the edge of the mountain top. They also went to the pile of stones and the big flat stone, like a table, that stood beside it. They began to lie down, for now, after eating, they wanted to rest. "What else did the king and the others do?" asked Lisbeth. "There wasn't much more. Oh, yes! after the king had finished writing, he seemed to think that they needed something to eat; so he began singing to the magistrate a line from an old song that they all knew. The king had a good voice and it rang out with jolly zest:
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