BOYHOOD IN NORWAY

Stories Of Boy-Life In The Land Of The Midnight Sun

By Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen

CONTENTS

 THE BATTLE OF THE RAFTS THE CLASH OF ARMS BICEPS GRIMLUND'S CHRISTMAS VACATION THE NIXY'S STRAIN THE WONDER CHILD "THE SONS OF THE VIKINGS" PAUL JESPERSEN'S MASQUERADE LADY CLARE THE STORY OF A HORSE BONNYBOY THE CHILD OF LUCK THE BEAR THAT HAD A BANK ACCOUNT

THE BATTLE OF THE RAFTS

I. THE ORIGIN OF THE WAR

A deadly feud was raging among the boys of Numedale. The East-Sidershated the West-Siders, and thrashed them when they got a chance; andthe West-Siders, when fortune favored them, returned the complimentwith interest. It required considerable courage for a boy to venture, unattended by comrades, into the territory of the enemy; and no one tookthe risk unless dire necessity compelled him. 

The hostile parties had played at war so long that they had forgottenthat it was play; and now were actually inspired with the emotions whichthey had formerly simulated. Under the leadership of their chieftains, Halvor Reitan and Viggo Hook, they held councils of war, sent outscouts, planned midnight surprises, and fought at times mimic battles. Isay mimic battles, because no one was ever killed; but broken headsand bruised limbs many a one carried home from these engagements, andunhappily one boy, named Peer Oestmo, had an eye put out by an arrow. 

It was a great consolation to him that he became a hero to all theWest-Siders and was promoted for bravery in the field to the rank offirst lieutenant. He had the sympathy of all his companions in arms andgot innumerable bites of apples, cancelled postage stamps, and coloredadvertising-labels in token of their esteem. 

But the principal effect of this first serious wound was to invest thewar with a breathless and all-absorbing interest. It was now no longer"make believe, " but deadly earnest. Blood had flowed; insults had beenexchanged in due order, and offended honor cried for vengeance. 

It was fortunate that the river divided the West-Siders from theEast-Siders, or it would have been difficult to tell what mighthave happened. Viggo Hook, the West-Side general, was a handsome, high-spirited lad of fifteen, who was the last person to pocket aninjury, as long as red blood flowed in his veins, as he was wont toexpress it. He was the eldest son of Colonel Hook of the regular army, and meant some day to be a Von Moltke or a Napoleon. He felt in hisheart that he was destined for something great; and in conformity withthis conviction assumed a superb behavior, which his comrades found veryadmirable. 

He had the gift of leadership in a marked degree, and established hisauthority by a due mixture of kindness and severity. Those boys whom hehonored with his confidence were absolutely attached to him. Those whom, with magnificent arbitrariness, he punished and persecuted, felt meeklythat they had probably deserved it; and if they had not, it was somehowin the game. 

There never was a more absolute king than Viggo, nor one more abjectlycourted and admired. And the amusing part of it was that he was at hearta generous and good-natured lad, but possessed with a lofty ideal ofheroism, which required above all things that whatever he said or didmust be striking. He dramatized, as it were, every phrase he uttered andevery act he performed, and modelled himself alternately after Napoleonand Wellington, as he had seen them represented in the old engravingswhich decorated the walls in his father's study. 

He had read much about heroes of war, ancient and modern, and he livedabout half his own life imagining himself by turns all sorts of grandcharacters from history or fiction. 

His costume was usually in keeping with his own conception of thesecharacters, in so far as his scanty opportunities permitted. An old, broken sword of his father's, which had been polished until it "flashed"properly, was girded to a brass-mounted belt about his waist; anancient, gold-braided, military cap, which was much too large, coveredhis curly head; and four tarnished brass buttons, displaying the GoldenLion of Norway, gave a martial air to his blue jacket, although the restwere plain horn. 

But quite independently of his poor trappings Viggo was to his comradesan august personage. I doubt if the Grand Vizier feels more flatteredand gratified by the favor of the Sultan than little Marcus Henning did, when Viggo condescended to be civil to him. 

Marcus was small, round-shouldered, spindle-shanked, and freckle-faced. His hair was coarse, straight, and the color of maple sirup; his nosewas broad and a little flattened at the point, and his clothes had aknack of never fitting him. They were made to grow in and somehow henever caught up with them, he once said, with no intention of beingfunny. His father, who was Colonel Hook's nearest neighbor, kept amodest country shop, in which you could buy anything, from dry goods andgroceries to shoes and medicines. You would have to be very ingenious toask for a thing which Henning could not supply. The smell in the storecarried out the same idea; for it was a mixture of all imaginable smellsunder the sun. 

Now, it was the chief misery of Marcus that, sleeping, as he did, in theroom behind the store, he had become so impregnated with this curiouscomposite smell that it followed him like an odoriferous halo, andprocured him a number of unpleasant nicknames. The principal ingredientwas salted herring; but there was also a suspicion of tarred ropes, plugtobacco, prunes, dried codfish, and oiled tarpaulin. 

It was not so much kindness of heart as respect for his own dignitywhich made Viggo refrain from calling Marcus a "Muskrat" or a"Smelling-Bottle. " And yet Marcus regarded this gracious forbearance onhis part as the mark of a noble soul. He had been compelled to acceptthese offensive nicknames, and, finding rebellion vain, he had finallyacquiesced in them. 

He never loved to be called a "Muskrat, " though he answered to the namemechanically. But when Viggo addressed him as "base minion, " in hiswrath, or as "Sergeant Henning, " in his sunnier moods, Marcus feltequally complimented by both terms, and vowed in his grateful souleternal allegiance and loyalty to his chief. 

He bore kicks and cuffs with the same admirable equanimity; nevercomplained when he was thrown into a dungeon in a deserted pigsty forbreaches of discipline of which he was entirely guiltless, and trudgeduncomplainingly through rain and sleet and snow, as scout or spy, orwhat-not, at the behest of his exacting commander. 

It was all so very real to him that he never would have thought ofdoubting the importance of his mission. He was rather honored by thetrust reposed in him, and was only intent upon earning a look or word ofscant approval from the superb personage whom he worshipped. 

Halvor Reitan, the chief of the East-Siders, was a big, burly peasantlad, with a pimpled face, fierce blue eyes, and a shock of towy hair. But he had muscles as hard as twisted ropes, and sinews like steel. 

He had the reputation, of which he was very proud, of being thestrongest boy in the valley, and though he was scarcely sixteen yearsold, he boasted that he could whip many a one of twice his years. Hehad, in fact, been so praised for his strength that he never neglectedto accept, or even to create, opportunities for displaying it. 

His manner was that of a bully; but it was vanity and not malice whichmade him always spoil for a fight. He and Viggo Hook had attendedthe parson's "Confirmation Class, " together, and it was there theirhostility had commenced. 

Halvor, who conceived a dislike of the tall, rather dainty, anddisdainful Viggo, with his aquiline nose and clear, aristocraticfeatures, determined, as he expressed it, to take him down a peg or two;and the more his challenges were ignored the more persistent he grew inhis insults. 

He dubbed Viggo "Missy. " He ran against him with such violence in thehall that he knocked his head against the wainscoting; he tripped him upon the stairs by means of canes and sticks; and he hired his partisanswho sat behind Viggo to stick pins into him, while he recited hislessons. And when all these provocations proved unavailing he determinedto dispense with any pretext, but simply thrash his enemy within an inchof his life at the first opportunity which presented itself. He grew tohate Viggo and was always aching to molest him. 

Halvor saw plainly enough that Viggo despised him, and refused to noticehis challenges, not so much because he was afraid of him, as because heregarded himself as a superior being who could afford to ignore insultsfrom an inferior, without loss of dignity. 

During recess the so-called "genteel boys, " who had better clothes andbetter manners than the peasant lads, separated themselves from therest, and conversed or played with each other. No one will wonderthat such behavior was exasperating to the poorer boys. I am far fromdefending Viggo's behavior in this instance. He was here, as everywhere, the acknowledged leader; and therefore more cordially hated than therest. It was the Roundhead hating the Cavalier; and the Cavalier makingmerry at the expense of the Roundhead. 

There was only one boy in the Confirmation Class who was doubtful as towhat camp should claim him, and that was little Marcus Henning. He wasa kind of amphibious animal who, as he thought, really belongednowhere. His father was of peasant origin, but by his prosperity and hisoccupation had risen out of the class to which he was formerly attached, without yet rising into the ranks of the gentry, who now, as always, looked with scorn upon interlopers. Thus it came to pass that littleMarcus, whose inclinations drew him toward Viggo's party, was yet forcedto associate with the partisans of Halvor Reitan. 

It was not a vulgar ambition "to pretend to be better than he was" whichinspired Marcus with a desire to change his allegiance, but a deep, unreasoning admiration for Viggo Hook. He had never seen any one whounited so many superb qualities, nor one who looked every inch as nobleas he did. 

It did not discourage him in the least that his first approaches metwith no cordial reception. His offer to communicate to Viggo where therewas a hawk's nest was coolly declined, and even the attractions of foxdens and rabbits' burrows were valiantly resisted. Better luck he hadwith a pair of fan-tail pigeons, his most precious treasure, which Viggorather loftily consented to accept, for, like most genteel boys in thevalley, he was an ardent pigeon-fancier, and had long vainly importunedhis father to procure him some of the rarer breeds. 

He condescended to acknowledge Marcus's greeting after that, and torespond to his diffident "Good-morning" and "Good-evening, " and Marcuswas duly grateful for such favors. He continued to woo his idol withraisins and ginger-snaps from the store, and other delicate attentions, and bore the snubs which often fell to his lot with humility andpatience. 

But an event soon occurred which was destined to change the relationsof the two boys. Halvor Reitan called a secret meeting of his partisans, among whom he made the mistake to include Marcus, and agreed with themto lie in ambush at the bend of the road, where it entered the forest, and attack Viggo Hook and his followers. Then, he observed, he would"make him dance a jig that would take the starch out of him. "

The others declared that this would be capital fun, and enthusiasticallypromised their assistance. Each one selected his particular antipathy tothrash, though all showed a marked preference for Viggo, whom, however, for reason of politeness, they were obliged to leave to the chief. Onlyone boy sat silent, and made no offer to thrash anybody, and that wasMarcus Henning. 

"Well, Muskrat, " cried Halvor Reitan, "whom are you going to take onyour conscience?"

"No one, " said Marcus. 

"Put the Muskrat in your pocket, Halvor, " suggested one of the boys; "heis so small, and he has got such a hard bullet head, you might use himas a club. "

"Well, one thing is sure, " shouted Halvor, as a dark suspicion shotthrough his brain, "if you don't keep mum, you will be a mighty sickcoon the day after to-morrow. "

Marcus made no reply, but got up quietly, pulled a rubber sling fromhis pocket, and began, with the most indifferent manner in the world, to shoot stones down the river. He managed during this exercise, whicheverybody found perfectly natural, to get out of the crowd, and, withoutseeming to have any purpose whatever, he continued to put a couple ofhundred yards between himself and his companion. 

"Look a-here, Muskrat, " he heard Halvor cry, "you promised to keep mum. "

Marcus, instead of answering, took to his heels and ran. 

"Boys, the scoundrel is going to betray us!" screamed the chief. "Nowcome, boys! We've got to catch him, dead or alive. "

A volley of stones, big and little, was hurled after the fugitive, whonow realizing his position ran for dear life. The stones hailed downround about him; occasionally one vicious missile would whiz past hisear, and send a cold shudder through him. The tramp of his pursuerssounded nearer and nearer, and his one chance of escape was to throwhimself into the only boat, which he saw on this side of the river, andpush out into the stream before he was overtaken. 

He had his doubts as to whether he could accomplish this, for the bloodrushed and roared in his ears, the hill-side billowed under his feet, and it seemed as if the trees were all running a race in the oppositedirection, in order to betray him to his enemies. 

A stone gave him a thump in the back, but though he felt a gradual heatspreading from the spot which it hit, he was conscious of no pain. 

Presently a larger missile struck him in the neck, and he heard abreathless snorting close behind him. That was the end; he gave himselfup for lost, for those boys would have no mercy on him if they capturedhim. 

But in the next moment he heard a fall and an oath, and the voice wasthat of Halvor Reitan. He breathed a little more freely as he saw theriver run with its swelling current at his feet. Quite mechanically, without clearly knowing what he did, he sprang into the boat, grabbeda boat-hook, and with three strong strokes pushed himself out into thedeep water. 

At that instant a dozen of his pursuers reached the river bank, andhe saw dimly their angry faces and threatening gestures, and heard thestones drop into the stream about him. Fortunately the river was partlydammed, in order to accumulate water for the many saw-mills under thefalls. It would therefore have been no very difficult feat to paddleacross, if his aching arms had had an atom of strength left in them. Assoon as he was beyond the reach of flying stones he seated himself inthe stern, took an oar, and after having bathed his throbbing foreheadin the cold water, managed, in fifteen minutes, to make the furtherbank. Then he dragged himself wearily up the hill-side to Colonel Hook'smansion, and when he had given his message to Viggo, fell into a deadfaint. 

How could Viggo help being touched by such devotion? He had seen therace through a fieldglass from his pigeon-cot, but had been unable tomake out its meaning, nor had he remotely dreamed that he was himselfthe cause of the cruel chase. He called his mother, who soon perceivedthat Marcus's coat was saturated with blood in the back, and undressinghim, she found that a stone, hurled by a sling, had struck him, slid afew inches along the rib, and had lodged in the fleshy part of his leftside. 

A doctor was now sent for; the stone was cut out without difficulty, and Marcus was invited to remain as Viggo's guest until he recovered. He felt so honored by this invitation that he secretly prayed he mightremain ill for a month; but the wound showed an abominable readiness toheal, and before three days were past Marcus could not feign any ailmentwhich his face and eye did not belie. 

He then, with a heavy heart, betook himself homeward, and installedhimself once more among his accustomed smells behind the store, andpondered sadly on the caprice of the fate which had made Viggo ahigh-nosed, handsome gentleman, and him--Marcus Henning--an under-grown, homely, and unrefined drudge. But in spite of his failure to answer thisquestion, there was joy within him at the thought that he had savedthis handsome face of Viggo's from disfigurement, and--who couldknow?--perhaps would earn a claim upon his gratitude. 

It was this series of incidents which led to the war between theEast-Siders and the West-Siders. It was a mere accident that thepartisans of Viggo Hook lived on the west side of the river, and thoseof Halvor Reitan mostly on the east side. 

Viggo, who had a chivalrous sense of fair play, would never havemolested any one without good cause; but now his own safety, and, as hepersuaded himself, even his life, was in danger, and he had no choicebut to take measures in self-defence. He surrounded himself with atrusty body-guard, which attended him wherever he went. He sent littleMarcus, in whom he recognized his most devoted follower, as scout intothe enemy's territory, and swelled his importance enormously by lendinghim his field-glass to assist him in his perilous observations. 

Occasionally an unhappy East-Sider was captured on the west bank of theriver, court-martialed, and, with much solemnity, sentenced to death asa spy, but paroled for an indefinite period, until it should suit hisjudges to execute the sentence. The East-Siders, when they captured aWest-Sider, went to work with less ceremony; they simply thrashed theircaptive soundly and let him run, if run he could. 

Thus months passed. The parson's Confirmation Class ceased, and both theopposing chieftains were confirmed on the same day; but Viggo stood atthe head of the candidates, while Halvor had his place at the bottom. [1]

During the following winter the war was prosecuted with much zeal, andthe West-Siders, in imitation of Robin Hood and his Merry Men, armedthemselves with cross-bows, and lay in ambush in the underbrush, aimingtheir swift arrows against any intruder who ventured to cross the river. 

Nearly all the boys in the valley between twelve and sixteen becameenlisted on the one side or the other, and there were councils of war, marches, and counter-marches without number, occasional skirmishes, butno decisive engagements. Peer Oestmo, to be sure, had his eye put out byan arrow, as has already been related, for the East-Siders were not slowto imitate the example of their enemies, in becoming expert archers. 

Marcus Henning was captured by a hostile outpost, and was beingconducted to the abode of the chief, when, by a clever stratagem, hesucceeded in making his escape. 

The East-Siders despatched, under a flag of truce, a most insultingcaricature of General Viggo, representing him as a rooster that seemedon the point of bursting with an excess of dignity. 

These were the chief incidents of the winter, though there were manyothers of less consequence that served to keep the boys in a delightfulstate of excitement. They enjoyed the war keenly, though they pretendedto themselves that they were being ill-used and suffered terriblehardships. They grumbled at their duties, brought complaints againsttheir officers to the general, and did, in fact, all the things thatreal soldiers would have been likely to do under similar circumstances. 

II. THE CLASH OF ARMS

When the spring is late in Norway, and the heat comes with a suddenrush, the mountain streams plunge with a tremendous noise down into thevalleys, and the air is filled far and near with the boom and roar ofrushing waters. The glaciers groan, and send their milk-white torrentsdown toward the ocean. The snow-patches in the forest glens look grayand soiled, and the pines perspire a delicious resinous odor whichcheers the soul with the conviction that spring has come. 

But the peasant looks anxiously at the sun and the river at such times, for he knows that there is danger of inundation. The lumber, whichthe spring floods set afloat in enormous quantities, is carried by therivers to the cities by the sea; there it is sorted according tothe mark it bears, showing the proprietor, and exported to foreigncountries. 

In order to prevent log-jams, which are often attended with terribledisasters, men are stationed night and day at the narrows of the rivers. The boys, to whom all excitement is welcome, are apt to congregate inlarge numbers at such places, assisting or annoying the watchers, ridingon the logs, or teasing the girls who stand up on the hillside, admiringthe daring feats of the lumbermen. 

It was on such a spring day, when the air was pungent with the smellof sprouting birch and pine, that General Viggo and his trusty armyhad betaken themselves to the cataract to share in the sport. They werearmed with their bows, as usual, knowing that they were always liableto be surprised by their vigilant enemy. Nor were they in this instancedisappointed, for Halvor Reitan, with fifty or sixty followers, waspresently visible on the east side, and it was a foregone conclusionthat if they met there would be a battle. 

The river, to be sure, separated them, but the logs were at times sodensely packed that it was possible for a daring lad to run far out intothe river, shoot his arrow and return to shore, leaping from log to log. The Reitan party was the first to begin this sport, and an arrow hitGeneral Viggo's hat before he gave orders to repel the assault. 

Cool and dignified as he was, he could not consent to skip and jumpon the slippery logs, particularly as he had no experience in thisdifficult exercise, while the enemy apparently had much. Paying no heedto the jeers of the lumbermen, who supposed he was afraid, he drew histroops up in line and addressed them as follows:

"Soldiers: You have on many previous occasions given me proof of yourfidelity to duty and your brave and fearless spirit. I know that I can, now as always, trust you to shed glory upon our arms, and to maintainour noble fame and honorable traditions. 

"The enemy is before us. You have heard and seen his challenge. Itbehooves us to respond gallantly. To jump and skip like rabbits isunmilitary and unsoldierlike. I propose that each of us shall select twolarge logs, tie them together, procure, if possible, a boat-hook or anoar, and, sitting astride the logs, boldly push out into the river. Ifwe can advance in a tolerably even line, which I think quite possible, we can send so deadly a charge into the ranks of our adversaries thatthey will be compelled to flee. Then we will land on the east side, occupy the heights, and rout our foe. 

"Now let each man do his duty. Forward, march!"

The lumbermen, whose sympathies were with the East-Siders, found thisperformance highly diverting, but Viggo allowed himself in nowise to bedisturbed by their laughter or jeers. He marched his troops down tothe river-front, commanded "Rest arms!" and repeated once more hisinstructions; then, flinging off his coat and waistcoat, he seized aboat-hook and ran some hundred yards along the bank of the stream. 

The river-bed was here expanded to a wide basin, in which the logsfloated lazily down to the cataract below. Trees and underbrush, whichusually stood on dry land, were half-submerged in the yellow water, and the current gurgled slowly about their trunks with muddy foam andbubbles. Now and then a heap of lumber would get wedged in between thejutting rocks above the waterfall, and then the current slackened, onlyto be suddenly accelerated, when the exertions of the men had againremoved the obstruction. 

It was an exciting spectacle to see these daring fellows leap from logto log, with birch-bark shoes on their feet. They would ride on a heapof lumber down to the very edge of the cataract, dexterously jump offat the critical moment, and after half a dozen narrow escapes, reachthe shore, only to repeat the dangerous experiment, as soon as the nextopportunity offered itself. 

It was the example of these hardy and agile lumbermen, trained fromchildhood to sport with danger, which inspired Viggo and his followerswith a desire to show their mettle. 

"Sergeant Henning, " said the General to his ever-faithful shadow, "takea squad of five men with you, and cut steering-poles for those for whomboat-hooks cannot be procured. You will be the last to leave shore. Report to me if any one fails to obey orders. "

"Shall be done, General, " Marcus responded, with a deferential militarysalute. 

"The bows, you understand, will be slung by the straps across the backsof the men, while they steer and push with their poles. "

"Certainly, General, " said Marcus, with another salute. 

"You may go. "

"All right, General, " answered Marcus, with a third salute. 

And now began the battle. The East-Siders, fearing that a stratagem wasintended, when they saw the enemy moving up the stream, made haste tofollow their example, capturing on their way every stray log that camealong. They sent ineffectual showers of arrows into the water, while thebrave General Viggo, striding two big logs which he had tied togetherwith a piece of rope, and with a boat-hook in his hand, pushed proudlyat the head of his army into the middle of the wide basin. 

Halvor Reitan was clever enough to see what it meant, and he was notgoing to allow the West-Siders to gain the heights above him, and attackhim in the rear. He meant to prevent the enemy from landing, or, stillbetter, he would meet him half-way, and drive him back to his own shore. 

The latter, though not the wiser course, was the plan which HalvorReitan adopted. To have a tussle with the high-nosed Viggo in the middleof the basin, to dislodge him from his raft--that seemed to Halvor adelightful project. He knew that Viggo was a good swimmer, so hefeared no dangerous consequences; and even if he had, it would not haverestrained him. He was so much stronger than Viggo, and here was hismuch-longed-for opportunity. 

With great despatch he made himself a raft of two logs, and seatinghimself astride them, with his legs in the water, put off from shore. Heshouted to his men to follow him, and they needed no urging. Viggo wasnow near the middle of the basin, with twenty or thirty picked archersclose behind him. They fired volley after volley of arrows against theenemy, and twice drove him back to the shore. 

But Halvor Reitan, shielding his face with a piece of bark which he hadpicked up, pushed forward in spite of their onslaught, though one arrowknocked off his red-peaked cap, and another scratched his ear. Now hewas but a dozen feet from his foe. He cared little for his bow now; theboat-hook was a far more effectual weapon. 

Viggo saw at a glance that he meant to pull his raft toward him, and, relying upon his greater strength, fling him into the water. 

His first plan would therefore be to fence with his own boat-hook, so asto keep his antagonist at a distance. 

When Halvor made the first lunge at the nose of his raft, he foiled theattempt with his own weapon, and managed dexterously to give the hostileraft a downward push, which increased the distance between them. 

"Take care, General!" said a respectful voice close to Viggo's ear. "There is a small log jam down below, which is getting bigger everymoment. When it is got afloat, it will be dangerous out here. "

"What are you doing here, Sergeant?" asked the General, severely. "Did Inot tell you to be the last to leave the shore?"

"You did, General, " Marcus replied, meekly, "and I obeyed. But I havepushed to the front so as to be near you. "

"I don't need you, Sergeant, " Viggo responded, "you may go to the rear. "

The booming of the cataract nearly drowned his voice and Marcuspretended not to hear it. A huge lumber mass was piling itself up amongthe rocks jutting out of the rapids, and a dozen men hanging like flieson the logs, sprang up and down with axes in their hands. They cut onelog here and another there; shouted commands; and fell into the riveramid the derisive jeers of the spectators; they scrambled out again and, dripping wet, set to work once more with a cheerful heart, to the mightymusic of the cataract, whose thundering rhythm trembled and throbbed inthe air. 

The boys who were steering their rafts against each other in thecomparatively placid basin were too absorbed in their mimic battle toheed what was going on below. Halvor and Viggo were fighting desperatelywith their boat-hooks, the one attacking and the other defending himselfwith great dexterity. They scarcely perceived, in their excitement, thatthe current was dragging them slowly toward the cataract; nor did theynote the warning cries of the men and women on the banks. 

Viggo's blood was hot, his temples throbbed, his eyes flashed. He wouldshow this miserable clown who had dared to insult him, that the trainedskill of a gentleman is worth more than the rude strength of a bully. With beautiful precision he foiled every attack; struck Halvor'sboat-hook up and down, so that the water splashed about him, manoeuvringat the same time his own raft with admirable adroitness. 

Cheer upon cheer rent the air, after each of his successful sallies, and his comrades, selecting their antagonists from among the enemy, nowpressed forward, all eager to bear their part in the fray. 

Splash! splash! splash! one East-Sider was dismounted, got aninvoluntary bath, but scrambled up on his raft again. The next time itwas a West-Sider who got a ducking, but seemed none the worse for it. There was a yelling and a cheering, now from one side and now from theother, which made everyone forget that something was going on at thatmoment of greater importance than the mimic warfare of boys. 

All the interest of the contending parties was concentrated on the duelof their chieftains. It seemed now really that Halvor was getting theworst of it. He could not get close enough to use his brawny muscles;and in precision of aim and adroitness of movement he was not Viggo'smatch. 

Again and again he thrust his long-handled boat-hook angrily against thebottom (for the flooded parts of the banks were very shallow), to pushthe raft forward, but every time Viggo managed to turn it sideward, andHalvor had to exert all his presence of mind to keep his seat. Wild withrage he sprang up on his slender raft and made a vicious lunge at hisopponent, who warded the blow with such force that the handle of theboat-hook broke, and Halvor lost his balance and fell into the water. 

At this same instant a tremendous crash was heard from below, followedby a long rumble as of mighty artillery. A scream of horror went upfrom the banks, as the great lumber mass rolled down into the cataract, making a sudden suction which it seemed impossible that the unhappy boyscould resist. 

The majority of both sides, seeing their danger, beat, by means of theirboat-hooks, a hasty retreat, and as they were in shallow water werehauled ashore by the lumbermen, who sprang into the river to save them. 

When the clouds of spray had cleared away, only three figures werevisible. Viggo, still astride of his raft, was fighting, not for his ownlife, but for that of his enemy, Halvor, who was struggling helplesslyin the white rapids. Close behind his commander stood little Marcus onhis raft, holding on, with one hand to the boat-hook which he had hewn, with all his might, into Viggo's raft, and with the other grasping thebranch of a half-submerged tree. 

"Save yourself, General!" he yelled, wildly. "Let go there. I can't holdon much longer. "

But Viggo did not heed. He saw nothing but the pale, frightened faceof his antagonist, who might lose his life. With a desperate effort heflung his boat-hook toward him and succeeded this time in laying holdof the leather girdle about his waist. One hundred feet below yawned thefoaming, weltering abyss, from which the white smoke ascended. If Marcuslost his grip, if the branch snapped no human power could save them;they were all dead men. 

By this time the people on the shore had discovered that three liveswere hanging on the brink of eternity. Twenty men had waded waist-deepinto the current and had flung a stout rope to the noble little fellowwho was risking his own life for his friend. 

"Keep your hold, my brave lad!" they cried; "hold on another minute!"

"Grab the rope!" screamed others. 

Marcus clinched his teeth, and his numb arms trembled, mist gatheredin his eyes--his heart stood still. But with a clutch that seemedsuperhuman he held on. He had but one thought--Viggo, his chief! Viggo, his idol! Viggo, his general! He must save him or die with him. One endof the rope was hanging on the branch and was within easy reach; but hedid not venture to seize it, lest the wrench caused by his motion mightdetach his hold on Viggo's raft. 

Viggo, who just now was pulling Halvor out of the water, saw in aninstant that he had by adding his weight to the raft, increased thechance of both being carried to their death. With quick resolution heplunged the beak of his own boat-hook into Marcus's raft, and shouted toHalvor to save himself. The latter, taking in the situation at a glance, laid hold of the handle of the boat-hook and together they pulled upalongside of Marcus and leaped aboard his raft, whereupon Viggo's raftdrifted downward and vanished in a flash in the yellow torrent. 

At that very instant Marcus's strength gave out; he relaxed his grip onthe branch, which slid out of his hand, and they would inevitably havedarted over the brink of the cataract if Viggo had not, with greatadroitness, snatched the rope from the branch of the half-submergedtree. 

A wild shout, half a cheer, half a cry of relief, went up from thebanks, as the raft with the three lads was slowly hauled toward theshore by the lumbermen who had thrown the rope. 

Halvor Reitan was the first to step ashore. But no joyous welcomegreeted him from those whose sympathies had, a little while ago, beenall on his side. He hung around uneasily for some minutes, feelingperhaps that he ought to say something to Viggo who had saved his life, but as he could not think of anything which did not seem foolish, heskulked away unnoticed toward the edge of the forest. 

But when Viggo stepped ashore, carrying the unconscious Marcus in hisarms, how the crowd rushed forward to gaze at him, to press his hands, to call down God's blessing upon him! He had never imagined that he wassuch a hero. It was Marcus, not he, to whom their ovation was due. Butpoor Marcus--it was well for him that he had fainted from over-exertion;for otherwise he would have fainted from embarrassment at the honorswhich would have been showered upon him. 

The West-Siders, marching two abreast, with their bows slung acrosstheir shoulders, escorted their general home, cheering and shouting asthey went. When they were half-way up the hillside, Marcus opened hiseyes, and finding himself so close to his beloved general, blushedcrimson, scarlet, and purple, and all the other shades that anembarrassed blush is capable of assuming. 

"Please, General, " he stammered, "don't bother about me. "

Viggo had thought of making a speech exalting the heroism of hisfaithful follower. But he saw at a glance that his praise would be moregrateful to Marcus, if he received it in private. 

When, however, the boys gave him a parting cheer, in front of hisfather's mansion, he forgot his resolution, leaped up on the steps, andlifting the blushing Marcus above his head; called out:

"Three cheers for the bravest boy in Norway!"

BICEPS GRIMLUND'S CHRISTMAS VACATION

I. 

The great question which Albert Grimlund was debating was fraughtwith unpleasant possibilities. He could not go home for the Christmasvacation, for his father lived in Drontheim, which is so far away fromChristiania that it was scarcely worth while making the journey fora mere two-weeks' holiday. Then, on the other hand, he had an oldgreat-aunt who lived but a few miles from the city. She had, fromconscientious motives, he feared, sent him an invitation to passChristmas with her. But Albert had a poor opinion of Aunt Elsbeth. He thought her a very tedious person. She had a dozen cats, talkedof nothing but sermons and lessons, and asked him occasionally, withpleasant humor, whether he got many whippings at school. She failed tocomprehend that a boy could not amuse himself forever by looking atthe pictures in the old family Bible, holding yarn, and listening tooft-repeated stories, which he knew by heart, concerning the doings andsayings of his grandfather. Aunt Elsbeth, after a previous experiencewith her nephew, had come to regard boys as rather a reprehensible kindof animal, who differed in many of their ways from girls, and altogetherto the boys' disadvantage. 

Now, the prospect of being "caged" for two weeks with this estimablelady was, as I said, not at all pleasant to Albert. He was sixteen yearsold, loved out-door sports, and had no taste for cats. His chief pridewas his muscle, and no boy ever made his acquaintance without beinginvited to feel the size and hardness of his biceps. This was a standingjoke in the Latin school, and Albert was generally known among hiscompanions as "Biceps" Grimlund. He was not very tall for his age, butbroad-shouldered and deep-chested, with something in his glance, hisgait, and his manners which showed that he had been born and bred nearthe sea. He cultivated a weather-beaten complexion, and was particularlyproud when the skin "peeled" on his nose, which it usually did in thesummer-time, during his visits to his home in the extreme north. Likemost blond people, when sunburnt, he was red, not brown; and this becamea source of great satisfaction when he learned that Lord Nelson hadthe same peculiarity. Albert's favorite books were the sea romances ofCaptain Marryat, whose "Peter Simple" and "Midshipman Easy" he held tobe the noblest products of human genius. It was a bitter disappointmentto him that his father forbade his going to sea and was educating himto be a "landlubber, " which he had been taught by his boy associates toregard as the most contemptible thing on earth. 

Two days before Christmas, Biceps Grimlund was sitting in his room, looking gloomily out of the window. He wished to postpone as long aspossible his departure for Aunt Elsbeth's country-place, for he foresawthat both he and she were doomed to a surfeit of each other's companyduring the coming fortnight. At last he heaved a deep sigh and languidlybegan to pack his trunk. He had just disposed the dear Marryat books ontop of his starched shirts, when he heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and the next moment the door burst open, and his classmate, Ralph Hoyer, rushed breathlessly into the room. 

"Biceps, " he cried, "look at this! Here is a letter from my father, andhe tells me to invite one of my classmates to come home with me for thevacation. Will you come? Oh, we shall have grand times, I tell you! Noend of fun!"

Albert, instead of answering, jumped up and danced a jig on the floor, upsetting two chairs and breaking the wash-pitcher. 

"Hurrah!" he cried, "I'm your man. Shake hands on it, Ralph! You havesaved me from two weeks of cats and yarn and moping! Give us your paw! Inever was so glad to see anybody in all my life. "

And to prove it, he seized Ralph by the shoulders, gave him a vigorouswhirl and forced him to join in the dance. 

"Now, stop your nonsense, " Ralph protested, laughing; "if you have somuch strength to waste, wait till we are at home in Solheim, and you'llhave a chance to use it profitably. "

Albert flung himself down on his old rep-covered sofa. It seemed tohave some internal disorder, for its springs rattled and a vague musicaltwang indicated that something or other had snapped. It had seen muchmaltreatment, that poor old piece of furniture, and bore visible marksof it. When, after various exhibitions of joy, their boisterous delighthad quieted down, both boys began to discuss their plans for thevacation. 

"But I fear my groom may freeze, down there in the street, " Ralphejaculated, cutting short the discussion; "it is bitter cold, and hecan't leave the horses. Hurry up, now, old man, and I'll help you pack. "

It did not take them long to complete the packing. Albert sent atelegram to his father, asking permission to accept Ralph's invitation;but, knowing well that the reply would be favorable, did not thinkit necessary to wait for it. With the assistance of his friend henow wrapped himself in two overcoats, pulled a pair of thick woollenstockings over the outside of his boots and a pair of fur-linedtop-boots outside of these, girded himself with three long scarfs, andpulled his brown otter-skin cap down over his ears. He was nearlyas broad as he was long, when he had completed these operations, anddescended into the street where the big double-sleigh (made in the shapeof a huge white swan) was awaiting them. They now called at Ralph'slodgings, whence he presently emerged in a similar Esquimau costume, wearing a wolf-skin coat which left nothing visible except the tip ofhis nose and the steam of his breath. Then they started off merrily withjingling bells, and waved a farewell toward many a window, wherein werefriends and acquaintances. They felt in so jolly a mood, that they couldnot help shouting their joy in the face of all the world, and crowingover all poor wretches who were left to spend the holidays in the city. 

II. 

Solheim was about twenty miles from the city, and it was nine o'clock inthe evening when the boys arrived there. The moon was shining brightly, and the Milky Way, with its myriad stars, looked like a luminous mistacross the vault of the sky. The aurora borealis swept down from thenorth with white and pink radiations which flushed the dark blue sky foran instant, and vanished. The earth was white, as far as the eye couldreach--splendidly, dazzlingly white. And out of the white radiance rosethe great dark pile of masonry called Solheim, with its tall chimneysand dormer-windows and old-fashioned gables. Round about stood the tallleafless maples and chestnut-trees, sparkling with frost and stretchingtheir gaunt arms against the heavens. The two horses, when they swungup before the great front-door, were so white with hoar-frost that theylooked shaggy like goats, and no one could tell what was their originalcolor. Their breath was blown in two vapory columns from their nostrilsand drifted about their heads like steam about a locomotive. 

The sleigh-bells had announced the arrival of the guests, and a greatshout of welcome was heard from the hall of the house, which seemedalive with grownup people and children. Ralph jumped out of the sleigh, embraced at random half a dozen people, one of whom was his mother, kissed right and left, protesting laughingly against being smotheredin affection, and finally managed to introduce his friend, who for themoment was feeling a trifle lonely. 

"Here, father, " he cried. "Biceps, this is my father; and, father, thisis my Biceps----"

"What stuff you are talking, boy, " his father exclaimed. "How can thisyoung fellow be your biceps----"

"Well, how can a man keep his senses in such confusion?" said the sonof the house. "This is my friend and classmate, Albert Grimlund, aliasBiceps Grimlund, and the strongest man in the whole school. Just feelhis biceps, mother, and you'll see. "

"No, I thank you. I'll take your word for it, " replied Mrs. Hoyer. "AsI intend to treat him as a friend of my son should be treated, I hope hewill not feel inclined to give me any proof of his muscularity. "

When, with the aid of the younger children, the travellers had divestedthemselves of their various wraps and overcoats, they were usheredinto the old-fashioned sitting-room. In one corner roared an enormous, many-storied, iron stove. It had a picture in relief, on one side, ofDiana the Huntress, with her nymphs and baying hounds. In the middle ofthe room stood a big table, and in the middle of the table a biglamp, about which the entire family soon gathered. It was so cosey andhomelike that Albert, before he had been half an hour in the room, feltgratefully the atmosphere of mutual affection which pervaded the house. It amused him particularly to watch the little girls, of whom there weresix, and to observe their profound admiration for their big brother. Every now and then one of them, sidling up to him while he sat talking, would cautiously touch his ear or a curl of his hair; and if he deignedto take any notice of her, offering her, perhaps, a perfunctory kiss, her pride and pleasure were charming to witness. 

Presently the signal was given that supper was ready, and various savoryodors, which escaped, whenever a door was opened, served to arouse theanticipations of the boys to the highest pitch. Now, if I did not haveso much else to tell you, I should stop here and describe that supper. There were twenty-two people who sat down to it; but that was nothingunusual at Solheim, for it was a hospitable house, where every wayfarerwas welcome, either to the table in the servants' hall or to themaster's table in the dining-room. 

III. 

At the stroke of ten all the family arose, and each in turn kissed thefather and mother good-night; whereupon Mr. Hoyer took the great lampfrom the table and mounted the stairs, followed by his pack of noisyboys and girls. Albert and Ralph found themselves, with four smallerHoyers, in an enormous low-ceiled room with many windows. In threecorners stood huge canopied bedsteads, with flowered-chintz curtains andmountainous eiderdown coverings which swelled up toward the ceiling. Inthe middle of the wall, opposite the windows, a big iron stove, likethe one in the sitting-room (only that it was adorned with a bunch offlowers, peaches, and grapes, and not with Diana and her nymphs), wasroaring merrily, and sending a long red sheen from its draught-holeacross the floor. 

Around the big warm stove the boys gathered (for it was positivelySiberian in the region of the windows), and while undressing playedvarious pranks upon each other, which created much merriment. Butthe most laughter was provoked at the expense of Finn Hoyer, a boy offourteen, whose bare back his brother insisted upon exhibiting to hisguest; for it was decorated with a facsimile of the picture on thestove, showing roses and luscious peaches and grapes in red relief. Three years before, on Christmas Eve, the boys had stood about thered-hot stove, undressing for their bath, and Finn, who was naked, had, in the general scrimmage to get first into the bath-tub, beenpushed against the glowing iron, the ornamentation of which had beenbeautifully burned upon his back. He had to be wrapped in oil and cottonafter that adventure, and he recovered in due time, but never quiterelished the distinction he had acquired by his pictorial skin. 

It was long before Albert fell asleep; for the cold kept up a continualfusillade, as of musketry, during the entire night. The woodwork of thewalls snapped and cracked with loud reports; and a little after midnighta servant came in and stuffed the stove full of birch-wood, until itroared like an angry lion. This roar finally lulled Albert to sleep, inspite of the startling noises about him. 

The next morning the boys were aroused at seven o'clock by a servant, who brought a tray with the most fragrant coffee and hot rolls. It wasin honor of the guest that, in accordance with Norse custom, thisearly meal was served; and all the boys, carrying pillows and blankets, gathered on Albert's and Ralph's bed and feasted right royally. So itseemed to them, at least; for any break in the ordinary routine, be itever so slight, is an event to the young. Then they had a pillow-fight, thawed at the stove the water in the pitchers (for it was frozen hard), and arrayed themselves to descend and meet the family at the nineo'clock breakfast. When this repast was at an end, the question arosehow they were to entertain their guest, and various plans were proposed. But to all Ralph's propositions his mother interposed the objection thatit was too cold. 

"Mother is right, " said Mr. Hoyer; "it is so cold that 'the chips jumpon the hill-side. ' You'll have to be content with indoor sports to-day. "

"But, father, it is not more than twenty degrees below zero, " the boydemurred. "I am sure we can stand that, if we keep in motion. I havebeen out at thirty without losing either ears or nose. "

He went to the window to observe the thermometer; but the dim daylightscarcely penetrated the fantastic frost-crystals, which, like a splendidexotic flora, covered the panes. Only at the upper corner, where the icehad commenced to thaw, a few timid sunbeams were peeping in, making thelamp upon the table seem pale and sickly. Whenever the door to the hallwas opened a white cloud of vapor rolled in; and every one made hasteto shut the door, in order to save the precious heat. The boys, beingdoomed to remain indoors, walked about restlessly, felt each other'smuscle, punched each other, and sometimes, for want of betteremployment, teased the little girls. Mr. Hoyer, seeing how miserablethey were, finally took pity on them, and, after having thawed outa window-pane sufficiently to see the thermometer outside, gave hisconsent to a little expedition on skees [2] down to the river. 

And now, boys, you ought to have seen them! Now there was life in them!You would scarcely have dreamed that they were the same creatures who, a moment ago, looked so listless and miserable. What rollicking laughterand fun, while they bundled one another in scarfs, cardigan-jackets, fur-lined top-boots, and overcoats!

"You had better take your guns along, boys, " said the father, as theystormed out through the front door; "you might strike a couple ofptarmigan, or a mountain-cock, over on the west side. "

"I am going to take your rifle, if you'll let me, " Ralph exclaimed. "Ihave a fancy we might strike bigger game than mountain-cock. I shouldn'tobject to a wolf or two. "

"You are welcome to the rifle, " said his father; "but I doubt whetheryou'll find wolves on the ice so early in the day. "

Mr. Hoyer took the rifle from its case, examined it carefully, andhanded it to Ralph. Albert, who was a less experienced hunter thanRalph, preferred a fowling-piece to the rifle; especially as he hadno expectation of shooting anything but ptarmigan. Powder-horns, cartridges, and shot were provided; and quite proudly the two friendsstarted off on their skees, gliding over the hard crust of the snow, which, as the sun rose higher, was oversown with thousands of glitteringgems. The boys looked like Esquimaux, with their heads bundled up inscarfs, and nothing visible except their eyes and a few hoary locks ofhair which the frost had silvered. 

IV. 

"What was that?" cried Albert, startled by a sharp report whichreverberated from the mountains. They had penetrated the forest on thewest side, and ranged over the ice for an hour, in a vain search forwolves. 

"Hush, " said Ralph, excitedly; and after a moment of intent listening headded, "I'll be drawn and quartered if it isn't poachers!"

"How do you know?"

"These woods belong to father, and no one else has any right to hunt inthem. He doesn't mind if a poor man kills a hare or two, or a brace ofptarmigan; but these chaps are after elk; and if the old gentleman getson the scent of elk-hunters, he has no more mercy than Beelzebub. "

"How can you know that they are after elk?"

"No man is likely to go to the woods for small game on a day like this. They think the cold protects them from pursuit and capture. "

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I am going to play a trick on them. You know that the sheriff, whoseduty it is to be on the lookout for elk-poachers, would scarcely sendout a posse when the cold is so intense. Elk, you know, are becomingvery scarce, and the law protects them. No man is allowed to shoot morethan one elf a year, and that one on his own property. Now, you andI will play deputy-sheriffs, and have those poachers securely in thelock-up before night. "

"But suppose they fight?"

"Then we'll fight back. "

Ralph was so aglow with joyous excitement at the thought of thisadventure, that Albert had not the heart to throw cold water on hisenthusiasm. Moreover, he was afraid of being thought cowardly by hisfriend if he offered objections. The recollection of Midshipman Easyand his daring pranks flashed through his brain, and he felt aninstant desire to rival the exploits of his favorite hero. If only theenterprise had been on the sea he would have been twice as happy, forthe land always seemed to him a prosy and inconvenient place for theexhibition of heroism. 

"But, Ralph, " he exclaimed, now more than ready to bear his part inthe expedition, "I have only shot in my gun. You can't shoot men withbird-shot. "

"Shoot men! Are you crazy? Why, I don't intend to shoot anybody. I only wish to capture them. My rifle is a breech-loader and has sixcartridges. Besides, it has twice the range of theirs (for there isn'tanother such rifle in all Odalen), and by firing one shot over theirheads I can bring them to terms, don't you see?"

Albert, to be frank, did not see it exactly; but he thought it best tosuppress his doubts. He scented danger in the air, and his blood boundedthrough his veins. 

"How do you expect to track them?" he asked, breathlessly. 

"Skee-tracks in the snow can be seen by a bat, born blind, " answeredRalph, recklessly. 

They were now climbing up the wooded slope on the western side of theriver. The crust of the frozen snow was strong enough to bear them;and as it was not glazed, but covered with an inch of hoar-frost, itretained the imprint of their feet with distinctness. They were obligedto carry their skees, on account both of the steepness of the slope andthe density of the underbrush. Roads and paths were invisible underthe white pall of the snow, and only the facility with which they couldretrace their steps saved them from the fear of going astray. Throughthe vast forest a deathlike silence reigned; and this silence was notmade up of an infinity of tiny sounds, like the silence of a summerday when the crickets whirr in the treetops and the bees drone in theclover-blossoms. No; this silence was dead, chilling, terrible. The hugepine-trees now and then dropped a load of snow on the heads of the boldintruders, and it fell with a thud, followed by a noiseless, glitteringdrizzle. As far as their eyes could reach, the monotonous colonnadeof brown tree-trunks, rising out of the white waste, extended in alldirections. It reminded them of the enchanted forest in "Undine, "through which a man might ride forever without finding the end. It wasa great relief when, from time to time, they met a squirrel out foragingfor pine-cones or picking up a scanty living among the husks of lastyear's hazel-nuts. He was lively in spite of the weather, and thefaint noises of his small activities fell gratefully upon ears alreadyap-palled by the awful silence. Occasionally they scared up a braceof grouse that seemed half benumbed, and hopped about in a melancholymanner under the pines, or a magpie, drawing in its head and ruffling upits feathers against the cold, until it looked frowsy and disreputable. 

"Biceps, " whispered Ralph, who had suddenly discovered somethinginteresting in the snow, "do you see that?"

"Je-rusalem!" ejaculated Albert, with thoughtless delight, "it is ahoof-track!"

"Hold your tongue, you blockhead, " warned his friend, too excited to bepolite, "or you'll spoil the whole business!"

"But you asked me, " protested Albert, in a huff. 

"But I didn't shout, did I?"

Again the report of a shot tore a great rent in the wintry stillness andrang out with sharp reverberations. 

"We've got them, " said Ralph, examining the lock of his rifle. "Thatshot settles them. "

"If we don't look out, they may get us instead, " grumbled Albert, whowas still offended. 

Ralph stood peering into the underbrush, his eyes as wild as those ofan Indian, his nostrils dilated, and all his senses intensely awake. Hiscompanion, who was wholly unskilled in woodcraft, could see no cause forhis agitation, and feared that he was yet angry. He did not detect theevidences of large game in the immediate neighborhood. He did not see, by the bend of the broken twigs and the small tufts of hair on thebriar-bush, that an elk had pushed through that very copse within a fewminutes; nor did he sniff the gamy odor with which the large beast hadcharged the air. In obedience to his friend's gesture, he flung himselfdown on hands and knees and cautiously crept after him through thethicket. He now saw without difficulty a place where the elk had brokenthrough the snow crust, and he could also detect a certain aimlessbewilderment in the tracks, owing, no doubt, to the shot and theanimal's perception of danger on two sides. Scarcely had he crawledtwenty feet when he was startled by a noise of breaking branches, andbefore he had time to cock his gun, he saw an enormous bull-elk tearingthrough the underbrush, blowing two columns of steam from his nostrils, and steering straight toward them. At the same instant Ralph's rifleblazed away, and the splendid beast, rearing on its hind legs, gave awild snort, plunged forward and rolled on its side in the snow. Quickas a flash the young hunter had drawn his knife, and, in accordance withthe laws of the chase, had driven it into the breast of the animal. Butthe glance from the dying eyes--that glance, of which every elk-huntercan tell a moving tale--pierced the boy to the very heart! It was sucha touching, appealing, imploring glance, so soft and gentle andunresentful. 

"Why did you harm me, " it seemed to say, "who never harmed any livingthing--who claimed only the right to live my frugal life in the forest, digging up the frozen mosses under the snow, which no mortal creatureexcept myself can eat?"

The sanguinary instinct--the fever for killing, which every boy inheritsfrom savage ancestors--had left Ralph, before he had pulled the knifefrom the bleeding wound. A miserable feeling of guilt stole over him. He never had shot an elk before; and his father, who was anxious topreserve the noble beasts from destruction, had not availed himself ofhis right to kill one for many years. Ralph had, indeed, many a timehunted rabbits, hares, mountain-cock, and capercaillie. But they hadnever destroyed his pleasure by arousing pity for their deaths; and hehad always regarded himself as being proof against sentimental emotions. 

"Look here, Biceps, " he said, flinging the knife into the snow, "I wishI hadn't killed that bull. "

"I thought we were hunting for poachers, " answered Albert, dubiously;"and now we have been poaching ourselves. "

"By Jiminy! So we have; and I never once thought of it, " cried thevaliant hunter. "I am afraid we are off my father's preserves too. Itis well the deputy sheriffs are not abroad, or we might find ourselvesdecorated with iron bracelets before night. "

"But what did you do it for?"

"Well, I can't tell. It's in the blood, I fancy. The moment I saw thetrack and caught the wild smell, I forgot all about the poachers, andstarted on the scent like a hound. "

The two boys stood for some minutes looking at the dead animal, not withsavage exultation, but with a dim regret. The blood which was gushingfrom the wound in the breast froze in a solid lump the very moment ittouched the snow, although the cold had greatly moderated since themorning. 

"I suppose we'll have to skin the fellow, " remarked Ralph, lugubriously;"it won't do to leave that fine carcass for the wolves to celebrateChristmas with. "

"All right, " Albert answered, "I am not much of a hand at skinning, butI'll do the best I can. "

They fell to work rather reluctantly at the unwonted task, but had notproceeded far when they perceived that they had a full day's job beforethem. 

"I've no talent for the butcher's trade, " Ralph exclaimed in disgust, dropping his knife into the snow. "There's no help for it, Biceps, we'llhave to bury the carcass, pile some logs on the top of it, and send ahorse to drag it home to-morrow. If it were not Christmas Eve to-nightwe might take a couple of men along and shoot a dozen wolves or more. For there is sure to be pandemonium here before long, and a concert inG-flat that'll curdle the marrow of your bones with horror. "

"Thanks, " replied the admirer of Midshipman Easy, striking a recklessnaval attitude. "The marrow of my bones is not so easily curdled. I'vebeen on a whaling voyage, which is more than you have. "

Ralph was about to vindicate his dignity by referring to his own valiantexploits, when suddenly his keen eyes detected a slight motion in theunderbrush on the slope below. 

"Biceps, " he said, with forced composure, "those poachers are trackingus. "

"What do you mean?" asked Albert, in vague alarm. 

"Do you see the top of that young birch waving?"

"Well, what of that!"

"Wait and see. It's no good trying to escape. They can easily overtakeus. The snow is the worst tell-tale under the sun. "

"But why should we wish to escape? I thought we were going to catchthem. "

"So we were; but that was before we turned poachers ourselves. Now thosefellows will turn the tables on us--take us to the sheriff and collecthalf the fine, which is fifty dollars, as informers. "

"Je-rusalem!" cried Biceps, "isn't it a beautiful scrape we've gotteninto?"

"Rather, " responded his friend, coolly. 

"But why meekly allow ourselves to be captured? Why not defendourselves?"

"My dear Biceps, you don't know what you are talking about. Thosefellows don't mind putting a bullet into you, if you run. Now, I'd rather pay fifty dollars any day, than shoot a man even inself-defence. "

"But they have killed elk too. We heard them shoot twice. Suppose weplay the same game on them that they intend to play on us. We can playinformers too, then we'll at least be quits. "

"Biceps, you are a brick! That's a capital idea! Then let us start forthe sheriff's; and if we get there first, we'll inform both on ourselvesand on them. That'll cancel the fine. Quick, now!"

No persuasions were needed to make Albert bestir himself. He leapedtoward his skees, and following his friend, who was a few rods ahead ofhim, started down the slope in a zigzag line, cautiously steering hisway among the tree trunks. The boys had taken their departure none toosoon; for they were scarcely five hundred yards down the declivity, when they heard behind them loud exclamations and oaths. Evidently thepoachers had stopped to roll some logs (which were lying close by) overthe carcass, probably meaning to appropriate it; and this gave the boysan advantage, of which they were in great need. After a few momentsthey espied an open clearing which sloped steeply down toward the river. Toward this Ralph had been directing his course; for although it was aventuresome undertaking to slide down so steep and rugged a hill, he wasdetermined rather to break his neck than lower his pride, and become thelaughing-stock of the parish. 

One more tack through alder copse and juniper jungle--hard indeed, and terribly vexatious--and he saw with delight the great open slope, covered with an unbroken surface of glittering snow. The sun (which atmidwinter is but a few hours above the horizon) had set; and the starswere flashing forth with dazzling brilliancy. Ralph stopped, as hereached the clearing, to give Biceps an opportunity to overtake him; forBiceps, like all marine animals, moved with less dexterity on the dryland. 

"Ralph, " he whispered breathlessly, as he pushed himself up to hiscompanion with a vigorous thrust of his skee-staff, "there are two awfulchaps close behind us. I distinctly heard them speak. "

"Fiddlesticks, " said Ralph; "now let us see what you are made of!Don't take my track, or you may impale me like a roast pig on a spit. Now, ready!--one, two, three!"

"Hold on there, or I shoot, " yelled a hoarse voice from out of theunderbrush; but it was too late; for at the same instant the two boysslid out over the steep slope, and, wrapped in a whirl of loose snow, were scudding at a dizzying speed down the precipitous hill-side. Thump, thump, thump, they went, where hidden wood-piles or fences obstructedtheir path, and out they shot into space, but each time came down firmlyon their feet, and dashed ahead with undiminished ardor. Their calvesached, the cold air whistled in their ears, and their eyelids becamestiff and their sight half obscured with the hoar-frost that fringedtheir lashes. But onward they sped, keeping their balance with wonderfulskill, until they reached the gentler slope which formed the banks ofthe great river. Then for the first time Ralph had an opportunity tolook behind him, and he saw two moving whirls of snow darting downward, not far from his own track. His heart beat in his throat; for thosefellows had both endurance and skill, and he feared that he was no matchfor them. But suddenly--he could have yelled with delight--the foremostfigure leaped into the air, turned a tremendous somersault, and, comingdown on his head, broke through the crust of the snow and vanished, while his skees started on an independent journey down the hill-side. He had struck an exposed fence-rail, which, abruptly checking his speed, had sent him flying like a rocket. 

The other poacher had barely time to change his course, so as to avoidthe snag; but he was unable to stop and render assistance to his fallencomrade. The boys, just as they were shooting out upon the ice, saw byhis motions that he was hesitating whether or not he should give up thechase. He used his staff as a brake for a few moments, so as to retardhis speed; but discovering, perhaps, by the brightening starlight, that his adversaries were not full-grown men, he took courage, startedforward again, and tried to make up for the time he had lost. If hecould but reach the sheriff's house before the boys did, he could havethem arrested and collect the informer's fee, instead of being himselfarrested and fined as a poacher. It was a prize worth racing for! And, moreover, there were two elks, worth twenty-five dollars apiece, buriedin the snow under logs. These also would belong to the victor! Thepoacher dashed ahead, straining every nerve, and reached safely the footof the steep declivity. The boys were now but a few hundred yards aheadof him. 

"Hold on there, " he yelled again, "or I shoot!"

He was not within range, but he thought he could frighten the youngstersinto abandoning the race. The sheriff's house was but a short distanceup the river. Its tall, black chimneys could he seen looming up againstthe starlit sky. There was no slope now to accelerate their speed. Theyhad to peg away for dear life, pushing themselves forward with theirskee-staves, laboring like plough-horses, panting, snorting, perspiring. Ralph turned his head once more. The poacher was gaining upon them;there could be no doubt of it. He was within the range of Ralph's rifle;and a sturdy fellow he was, who seemed good for a couple of miles yet. Should Ralph send a bullet over his head to frighten him? No; thatmight give the poacher an excuse for sending back a bullet with a lessinnocent purpose. Poor Biceps, he was panting and puffing in his heavywraps like a steamboat! He did not once open his mouth to speak; but, exerting his vaunted muscle to the utmost, kept abreast of his friend, and sometimes pushed a pace or two ahead of him. But it cost him amighty effort! And yet the poacher was gaining upon him! They couldsee the long broadside of windows in the sheriff's mansion, ablaze withChristmas candles. They came nearer and nearer! The church-bells up onthe bend were ringing in the festival. Five minutes more and they wouldbe at their goal. Five minutes more! Surely they had strength enoughleft for that small space of time. So had the poacher, probably! Thequestion was, which had the most. Then, with a short, sharp resonance, followed by a long reverberation, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzedpast Ralph's ear. It was the poacher who had broken the peace. Ralph, his blood boiling with wrath, came to a sudden stop, flung his rifle tohis cheek and cried, "Drop that gun!"

The poacher, bearing down with all his might on the skee-staff, checkedhis speed. In the meanwhile Albert hurried on, seeing that the issue ofthe race depended upon him. 

"Don't force me to hurt ye!" shouted the poacher, threateningly, toRalph, taking aim once more. 

"You can't, " Ralph shouted back. "You haven't another shot. "

At that instant sounds of sleigh-bells and voices were heard, and halfa dozen people, startled by the shot, were seen rushing out from thesheriff's mansion. Among them was Mr. Bjornerud himself, with one of hisdeputies. 

"In the name of the law, I command you to cease, " he cried, when hesaw down the two figures in menacing attitudes. But before he could sayanother word, some one fell prostrate in the road before him, gasping:

"We have shot an elk; so has that man down on the ice. We give ourselvesup. "

Mr. Bjornerud, making no answer, leaped over the prostrate figure, and, followed by the deputy, dashed down upon the ice. 

"In the name of the law!" he shouted again, and both rifles werereluctantly lowered. 

"I have shot an elk, " cried Ralph, eagerly, "and this man is a poacher, we heard him shoot. "

"I have killed an elk, " screamed the poacher, in the same moment, "andso has this fellow. "

The sheriff was too astonished to speak. Never before, in hisexperience, had poachers raced for dear life to give themselves intocustody. He feared that they were making sport of him; in that case, however, he resolved to make them suffer for their audacity. 

"You are my prisoners, " he said, after a moment's hesitation. "Take themto the lock-up, Olsen, and handcuff them securely, " he added, turning tohis deputy. 

There were now a dozen men--most of them guests and attendants of thesheriff's household--standing in a ring about Ralph and the poacher. Albert, too, had scrambled to his feet and had joined his comrade. 

"Will you permit me, Mr. Sheriff, " said Ralph, making the officer hispolitest bow, "to send a message to my father, who is probably anxiousabout us?"

"And who is your father, young man?" asked the sheriff, not unkindly;"I should think you were doing him an ill-turn in taking to poaching atyour early age. "

"My father is Mr. Hoyer, of Solheim, " said the boy, not without somepride in the announcement. 

"What--you rascal, you! Are you trying to, play pranks on an old man?"cried the officer of the law, grasping Ralph cordially by the hand. "You've grown to be quite a man, since I saw you last. Pardon me for notrecognizing the son of an old neighbor. "

"Allow me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. Biceps--I mean, Mr. AlbertGrimlund. "

"Happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Biceps Albert; and now you mustboth come and eat the Christmas porridge with us. I'll send a messengerto Mr. Hoyer without delay. "

The sheriff, in a jolly mood, and happy to have added to the number ofhis Christmas guests, took each of the two young men by the arm, as ifhe were going to arrest them, and conducted them through the spaciousfront hall into a large cosey room, where, having divested themselves oftheir wraps, they told the story of their adventure. 

"But, my dear sir, " Mr. Bjornerud exclaimed, "I don't see how youmanaged to go beyond your father's preserves. You know he bought ofme the whole forest tract, adjoining his own on the south, about threemonths ago. So you were perfectly within your rights; for your fatherhasn't killed an elk on his land for three years. "

"If that is the case, Mr. Sheriff, " said Ralph, "I must beg of you torelease the poor fellow who chased us. I don't wish any informer's fee, nor have I any desire to get him into trouble. "

"I am sorry to say I can't accommodate you, " Bjornerud replied. "Thisman is a notorious poacher and trespasser, whom my deputies have longbeen tracking in vain. Now that I have him I shall keep him. There's noelk safe in Odalen so long as that rascal is at large. "

"That may be; but I shall then turn my informer's fee over to him, whichwill reduce his fine from fifty dollars to twenty-five dollars. "

"To encourage him to continue poaching?"

"Well, I confess I have a little more sympathy with poachers, sincewe came so near being poachers ourselves. It was only an accident thatsaved us!"

THE NIXY'S STRAIN

Little Nils had an idea that he wanted to be something great in theworld, but he did not quite know how to set about it. He had always beentold that, having been born on a Sunday, he was a luck-child, and thatgood fortune would attend him on that account in whatever he undertook. 

He had never, so far, noticed anything peculiar about himself, though, to be sure, his small enterprises did not usually come to grief, hissnares were seldom empty, and his tiny stamping-mill, which he and hisfriend Thorstein had worked at so faithfully, was now making a merrynoise over in the brook in the Westmo Glen, so that you could hear it ahundred yards away. 

The reason of this, his mother told him, according to the superstitionof her people, was that the Nixy and the Hulder [3] and the gnomesfavored him because he was a Sunday child. What was more, she assuredhim, that he would see them some day, and then, if he conducted himselfcleverly, so as to win their favor, he would, by their aid, rise high inthe world, and make his fortune. 

Now this was exactly what Nils wanted, and therefore he was not alittle anxious to catch a glimpse of the mysterious creatures who had sowhimsical a reason for taking an interest in him. Many and many a timehe sat at the waterfall where the Nixy was said to play the harp everymidsummer night, but although he sometimes imagined that he heard avague melody trembling through the rush and roar of the water, and sawglimpses of white limbs flashing through the current, yet never did heget a good look at the Nixy. 

Though he roamed through the woods early and late, setting snares forbirds and rabbits, and was ever on the alert for a sight of the Hulder'sgolden hair and scarlet bodice, the tricksy sprite persisted in eludinghim. 

He thought sometimes that he heard a faint, girlish giggle, full ofteasing provocation and suppressed glee, among the underbrush, and oncehe imagined that he saw a gleam of scarlet and gold vanish in a densealder copse. 

But very little good did that do him, when he could not fix the vision, talk with it face to face, and extort the fulfilment of the threeregulation wishes. 

"I am probably not good enough, " thought Nils. "I know I am a selfishfellow, and cruel, too, some-times, to birds and beasts. I suppose shewon't have anything to do with me, as long as she isn't satisfied withmy behavior. "

Then he tried hard to be kind and considerate; smiled at his littlesister when she pulled his hair, patted Sultan, the dog, instead ofkicking him, when he was in his way, and never complained or sulked whenhe was sent on errands late at night or in bad weather. 

But, strange to say, though the Nixy's mysterious melody still soundedvaguely through the water's roar, and the Hulder seemed to titter behindthe tree-trunks and vanish in the underbrush, a real, unmistakable viewwas never vouchsafed to Nils, and the three wishes which were to makehis fortune he had no chance of propounding. 

He had fully made up his mind what his wishes were to be, for he wasdetermined not to be taken by surprise. He knew well the fate ofthose foolish persons in the fairy tales who offend their benevolentprotectors by bouncing against them head foremost, as it were, with agreedy cry for wealth. 

Nils was not going to be caught that way. He would ask first forwisdom--that was what all right-minded heroes did--then for good reputeamong men, and lastly--and here was the rub--lastly he was inclined toask for a five-bladed knife, like the one the parson's Thorwald had gotfor a Christmas present. 

But he had considerable misgiving about the expediency of this lastwish. If he had a fair renown and wisdom, might he not be able to getalong without a five-bladed pocket-knife? But no; there was no help forit. Without that five-bladed pocket-knife neither wisdom nor fame wouldsatisfy him. It would be the drop of gall in his cup of joy. 

After many days' pondering, it occurred to him, as a way out of thedifficulty, that it would, perhaps, not offend the Hulder if he asked, not for wealth, but for a moderate prosperity. If he were blessed with amoderate prosperity, he could, of course, buy a five-bladed pocket-knifewith corkscrew and all other appurtenances, and still have somethingleft over. 

He had a dreadful struggle with this question, for he was well awarethat the proper things to wish were long life and happiness for hisfather and mother, or something in that line. But, though he wished hisfather and mother well, he could not make up his mind to forego his ownprecious chances on their account. Moreover, he consoled himself withthe reflection that if he attained the goal of his own desires he couldeasily bestow upon them, of his bounty, a reasonable prospect of longlife and happiness. 

You see Nils was by no means so good yet as he ought to be. He wasclever enough to perceive that he had small chance of seeing the Hulder, as long as his heart was full of selfishness and envy and greed. 

For, strive as he might, he could not help feeling envious of theparson's Thorwald, with his elaborate combination pocket-knife and hissilver watch-chain, which he unfeelingly flaunted in the face of anadmiring community. It was small consolation for Nils to know that therewas no watch but only a key attached to it; for a silver watch-chain, even without a watch, was a sufficiently splendid possession to justifya boy in fording it over his less fortunate comrades. 

Nils's father, who was a poor charcoal-burner, could never afford tomake his son such a present, even if he worked until he was as black asa chimney-sweep. For what little money he earned was needed at once forfood and clothes for the family; and there were times when they wereobliged to mix ground birch-bark with their flour in order to make itlast longer. 

It was easy enough for a rich man's son to be good, Nils thought. 

It was small credit to him if he was not envious, having never knownwant and never gone to bed on birch-bark porridge. But for a poor boynot to covet all the nice things which would make life so pleasant, ifhe had them, seemed next to impossible. 

Still Nils kept on making good resolutions and breaking them, and thenpiecing them together again and breaking them anew. 

If it had not been for his desire to see the Hulder and the Nixy, andmaking them promise the fulfilment of the three wishes, he would havegiven up the struggle, and resigned himself to being a bad boy becausehe was born so. But those teasing glimpses of the Hulder's scarletbodice and golden hair, and the vague snatches of wondrous melody thatrose from the cataract in the silent summer nights, filled his soul withan intense desire to see the whole Hulder, with her radiant smile andmelancholy eyes, and to hear the whole melody plainly enough to bewritten down on paper and learned by heart. 

It was with this longing to repeat the few haunting notes that hummed inhis brain that Nils went to the schoolmaster one day and asked him forthe loan of his fiddle. But the schoolmaster, hearing that Nils couldnot play, thought his request a foolish one and refused. 

Nevertheless, that visit became an important event, and a turning-pointin the boy's life. For he was moved to confide in the schoolmaster, whowas a kindly old man, and fond of clever boys; and he became interestedin Nils. Though he regarded Nils's desire to record the Nixy's strainsas absurd, he offered to teach him to play. There was good stuff in thelad, he thought, and when he had out-grown his fantastic nonsense, hemight, very likely, make a good fiddler. 

Thus it came to pass that the charcoal-burner's son learned to playthe violin. He had not had half a dozen lessons before he set aboutimitating the Nixy's notes which he had heard in the waterfall. 

"It was this way, " he said to the schoolmaster, pressing his ear againstthe violin, while he ran the bow lightly over the strings; "or rather itwas this way, " making another ineffectual effort. "No, no, that wasn'tit, either. It's no use, schoolmaster: I shall never be able to do it!"he cried, flinging the violin on the table and rushing out of the door. 

When he returned the next day he was heartily ashamed of his impatience. To try to catch the Nixy's notes after half a dozen lessons was, ofcourse, an absurdity. 

The master told him simply to banish such folly from his brain, to applyhimself diligently to his scales, and not to bother himself about theNixy. 

That seemed to be sound advice and Nils accepted it with contrition. He determined never to repeat his silly experiment. But when the nextmidsummer night came, a wild yearning possessed him, and he stole outnoiselessly into the forest, and sat down on a stone by the river, listening intently. 

For a long while he heard nothing but the monotonous boom of the waterplunging into the deep. But, strangely enough, there was a vague, hushedrhythm in this thundering roar; and after a while he seemed to heara faint strain, ravishingly sweet, which vibrated on the air for aninstant and vanished. 

It seemed to steal upon his ear unawares, and the moment helistened, with a determination to catch it, it was gone. But sweet itwas--inexpressibly sweet. 

Let the master talk as much as he liked, catch it he would and catch ithe must. But he must acquire greater skill before he would be able torender something so delicate and elusive. 

Accordingly Nils applied himself with all his might and main to hismusic, in the intervals between his work. 

He was big enough now to accompany his father to the woods, and helphim pile turf and earth on the heap of logs that were to be burnedto charcoal. He did not see the Hulder face to face, though he wasconstantly on the watch for her; but once or twice he thought he saw aswift flash of scarlet and gold in the underbrush, and again and againhe thought he heard her soft, teasing laughter in the alder copses. That, too, he imagined he might express in music; and the next time hegot hold of the schoolmaster's fiddle he quavered away on the fourthstring, but produced nothing that had the remotest resemblance tomelody, much less to that sweet laughter. 

He grew so discouraged that he could have wept. He had a wild impulseto break the fiddle, and never touch another as long as he lived. But heknew he could not live up to any such resolution. The fiddle was alreadytoo dear to him to be renounced for a momentary whim. But it was like anunrequited affection, which brought as much sorrow as joy. 

There was so much that Nils burned to express; but the fiddle refused toobey him, and screeched something utterly discordant, as it seemed, fromsheer perversity. 

It occurred to Nils again, that unless the Nixy took pity on him andtaught him that marvellous, airy strain he would never catch it. Wouldhe then ever be good enough to win the favor of the Nixy?

For in the fairy tales it is always the bad people who come to grief, while the good and merciful ones are somehow rewarded. 

It was evidently because he was yet far from being good enough that bothHulder and Nixy eluded him. Sunday child though he was, there seemed tobe small chance that he would ever be able to propound his three wishes. 

Only now, the third wish was no longer a five-bladed pocket-knife, buta violin of so fine a ring and delicate modulation that it might renderthe Nixy's strain. 

While these desires and fancies fought in his heart, Nils grew to be ayoung man; and he still was, what he had always been--a charcoal-burner. He went to the parson for half a year to prepare for confirmation; andby his gentleness and sweetness of disposition attracted not only thegood man himself, but all with whom he came in contact. His answers werealways thoughtful, and betrayed a good mind. 

He was not a prig, by any means, who held aloof from sport and play; hecould laugh with the merriest, run a race with the swiftest, and try awrestling match with the strongest. 

There was no one among the candidates for confirmation, that year, whowas so well liked as Nils. Gentle as he was and soft-spoken, there was amanly spirit in him, and that always commands respect among boys. 

He received much praise from the pastor, and no one envied him the kindwords that were addressed to him; for every one felt that they weredeserved. But the thought in Nils's mind during all the ceremony in thechurch and in the parsonage was this:

"Now, perhaps, I shall be good enough to win the Nixy's favor. Now Ishall catch the wondrous strain. "

It did not occur to him, in his eagerness, that such a reflection wasout of place in church; nor was it, perhaps, for the Nixy's strain wasconstantly associated in his mind with all that was best in him; withhis highest aspirations, and his constant strivings for goodness andnobleness in thought and deed. 

It happened about this time that the old schoolmaster died, and in hiswill it was found that he had bequeathed his fiddle to Nils. He had verylittle else to leave, poor fellow; but if he had been a Croesus he couldnot have given his favorite pupil anything that would have delighted himmore. 

Nils played now early and late, except when he was in the woods with hisfather. His fame went abroad through all the valley as the best fiddlerin seven parishes round, and people often came from afar to hearhim. There was a peculiar quality in his playing--something strangelyappealing, that brought the tears to one's eyes--yet so elusive that itwas impossible to repeat or describe it. 

It was rumored among the villagers that he had caught the Nixy'sstrain, and that it was that which touched the heart so deeply in hisimprovisations. But Nils knew well that he had not caught the Nixy'sstrain; though a faint echo--a haunting undertone--of that vaguelyremembered snatch of melody, heard now and then in the water's roar, would steal at times into his music, when he was, perhaps, himself leastaware of it. 

Invitations now came to him from far and wide to play at wedding anddancing parties and funerals. There was no feast complete without Nils;and soon this strange thing was noticed, that quarrels and brawls, whichin those days were common enough in Norway, were rare wherever Nilsplayed. 

It seemed as if his calm and gentle presence called forth all thatwas good in the feasters and banished whatever was evil. Such was hispopularity that he earned more money by his fiddling in a week than hisfather had ever done by charcoal-burning in a month. 

A half-superstitious regard for him became general among the people;first, because it seemed impossible that any man could play as he didwithout the aid of some supernatural power; and secondly, because hisgentle demeanor and quaint, terse sayings inspired them with admiration. It was difficult to tell by whom the name, Wise Nils, was first started, but it was felt by all to be appropriate, and it therefore clung to themodest fiddler, in spite of all his protests. 

Before he was twenty-five years old it became the fashion to go to himand consult him in difficult situations; and though he long shrank fromgiving advice, his reluctance wore away, when it became evident to himthat he could actually benefit the people. 

There was nothing mysterious in his counsel. All he said was as clearand rational as the day-light. But the good folk were neverthelessinclined to attribute a higher authority to him; and would desist fromvice or folly for his sake, when they would not for their own sake. Itwas odd, indeed: this Wise Nils, the fiddler, became a great man in thevalley, and his renown went abroad and brought him visitors, seekinghis counsel, from distant parishes. Rarely did anyone leave himdisappointed, or at least without being benefited by his sympatheticadvice. 

One summer, during the tourist season, a famous foreign musician cameto Norway, accompanied by a rich American gentleman. While in hisneighborhood, they heard the story of the rustic fiddler, and becamenaturally curious to see him. 

They accordingly went to his cottage, in order to have some sport withhim, for they expected to find a vain and ignorant charlatan, inflatedby the flattery of his more ignorant neighbors. But Nils received themwith a simple dignity which quite disarmed them. They had come to mock;they stayed to admire. This peasant's artless speech, made up of ancientproverbs and shrewd common-sense, and instinct with a certain sunnybeneficence, impressed them wonderfully. 

And when, at their request, he played some of his improvisations, therenowned musician exclaimed that here was, indeed, a great artist lostto the world. In spite of the poor violin, there was a marvellouslytouching quality in the music; something new and alluring which hadnever been heard before. 

But Nils himself was not aware of it. Occasionally, while he played, theNixy's haunting strain would flit through his brain, or hover about it, where he could feel it, as it were, but yet be unable to catch it. Thiswas his regret--his constant chase for those elusive notes that refusedto be captured. 

But he consoled himself many a time with the reflection that it wasthe fiddle's fault, not his own. With a finer instrument, capable ofrendering more delicate shades of sound, he might yet surprise theNixy's strain, and record it unmistakably in black and white. 

The foreign musician and his American friend departed, but returned atthe end of two weeks. They then offered to accompany Nils on a concerttour through all the capitals of Europe and the large cities of America, and to insure him a sum of money which fairly made him dizzy. 

Nils begged for time to consider, and the next day surprised them bydeclining the startling offer. 

He was a peasant, he said, and must remain a peasant. He belonged herein his native valley, where he could do good, and was happy in thebelief that he was useful. 

Out in the great world, of which he knew nothing, he might indeed gatherwealth, but he might lose his peace of mind, which was more preciousthan wealth. He was content with a moderate prosperity, and that he hadalready attained. He had enough, and more than enough, to satisfy hismodest wants, and to provide those who were dear to him with reasonablecomfort in their present condition of life. 

The strangers were amazed at a man's thus calmly refusing a fortune thatwas within his easy grasp, for they did not doubt that Nils, withhis entirely unconventional manner of playing, and yet with thatextraordinary moving quality in his play, would become the rage both inEurope and America, as a kind of heaven-born, untutored genius, and fillboth his own pockets and theirs with shekels. 

They made repeated efforts to persuade him, but it was all in vain. Withsmiling serenity, he told them that he had uttered his final decision. They then took leave of him, and a month after their departure therearrived from Germany a box addressed to Nils. He opened it with sometrepidation, and it was found to contain a Cremona violin--a genuineStradivarius. 

The moment Nils touched the strings with the bow, a thrill of rapturewent through him, the like of which he had never experienced. The divinesweetness and purity of the tone that vibrated through those magicchambers resounded through all his being, and made him feel happy andexalted. 

It occurred to him, while he was coaxing the intoxicating music from hisinstrument, that tonight would be midsummer night. Now was his chance tocatch the Nixy's strain, for this exquisite violin would be capable ofrendering the very chant of the archangels in the morning of time. 

To-night he would surprise the Nixy, and the divine strain should nomore drift like a melodious mist through his brain; for at midsummernight the Nixy always plays the loudest, and then, if ever, is the timeto learn what he felt must be the highest secret of the musical art. 

Hugging his Stradivarius close to his breast, to protect it from thedamp night-air, Nils hurried through the birch woods down to the river. The moon was sailing calmly through a fleecy film of cloud, and a lightmist hovered over the tops of the forest. 

The fiery afterglow of the sunset still lingered in the air, though thesun had long been hidden, but the shadows of the trees were gaunt anddark, as in the light of the moon. 

The sound of the cataract stole with a whispering rush through theunderbrush, for the water was low at midsummer, and a good deal of itwas diverted to the mill, which was working busily away, with its bigwater-wheel going round and round. 

Nils paused close to the mill, and peered intently into the rushingcurrent; but nothing appeared. Then he stole down to the river-bank, where he seated himself on a big stone, barely out of reach of thespray, which blew in gusts from the cataract. He sat for a long whilemotionless, gazing with rapt intentness at the struggling, foamingrapids, but he saw or heard nothing. 

Then all of a sudden it seemed to him that the air began to vibratefaintly with a vague, captivating rhythm. Nils could hear his heartbeat in his throat. With trembling eagerness he unwrapped the violin andraised it to his chin. 

Now, surely, there was a note. It belonged on the A string. No, notthere. On the E string, perhaps. But no, not there, either. 

Look! What is that?

A flash, surely, through the water of a beautiful naked arm. 

And there--no, not there--but somewhere from out of the gentle rushof the middle current there seemed to come to him a marvellous mist ofdrifting sound--ineffably, rapturously sweet!

With a light movement Nils runs his bow over the strings, but not aghost, not a semblance, can he reproduce of the swift, scurrying flightof that wondrous melody. Again and again he listens breathlessly, andagain and again despair overwhelms him. 

Should he, then, never see the Nixy, and ask the fulfilment of his threewishes?

Curiously enough, those three wishes which once were so great a partof his life had now almost escaped him. It was the Nixy's strain he hadbeen intent upon, and the wishes had lapsed into oblivion. 

And what were they, really, those three wishes, for the sake of which hedesired to confront the Nixy?

Well, the first--the first was--what was it, now? Yes, now at length heremembered. The first was wisdom. 

Well, the people called him Wise Nils now, so, perhaps, that wish wassuperfluous. Very likely he had as much wisdom as was good for him. Atall events, he had refused to acquire more by going abroad to acquainthimself with the affairs of the great world. 

Then the second wish; yes, he could recall that. It was fame. It was oddindeed; that, too, he had refused, and what he possessed of it was asmuch, or even far more, than he desired. But when he called to mind thethird and last of his boyish wishes, a moderate prosperity or a goodviolin--for that was the alternative--he had to laugh outright, for boththe violin and the prosperity were already his. 

Nils lapsed into deep thought, as he sat there in the summer night, withthe crowns of the trees above him and the brawling rapids swirling abouthim. 

Had not the Nixy bestowed upon him her best gift already in permittinghim to hear that exquisite ghost of a melody, that shadowy, impalpablestrain, which had haunted him these many years? In pursuing that he hadgained the goal of his desires, till other things he had wished for hadcome to him unawares, as it were, and almost without his knowing it. Andnow what had he to ask of the Nixy, who had blessed him so abundantly?

The last secret, the wondrous strain, forsooth, that he might imprisonit in notes, and din it in the ears of an unappreciative multitude!Perhaps it were better, after all, to persevere forever in the quest, for what would life have left to offer him if the Nixy's strain wasfinally caught, when all were finally attained, and no divine melodyhaunted the brain, beyond the powers even of a Stradivarius to lure fromits shadowy realm?

Nils walked home that night plunged in deep meditation. He vowed tohimself that he would never more try to catch the Nixy's strain. But thenext day, when he seized the violin, there it was again, and, strive ashe might, he could not forbear trying to catch it. 

Wise Nils is many years older now; has a good wife and several children, and is a happy man; but to this day, resolve as he will, he has neverbeen able to abandon the effort to catch the Nixy's strain. Sometimes hethinks he has half caught it, but when he tries to play it, it is alwaysgone. 

THE WONDER CHILD

I. 

A very common belief in Norway, as in many other lands, is that theseventh child of the seventh child can heal the sick by the laying onof hands. Such a child is therefore called a wonder child. Little CarinaHolt was the seventh in a family of eight brothers and sisters, but shegrew to be six years old before it became generally known that she was awonder child. Then people came from afar to see her, bringing their sickwith them; and morning after morning, as Mrs. Holt rolled up the shades, she found invalids, seated or standing in the snow, gazing with devoutfaith and anxious longing toward Carina's window. 

It seemed a pity to send them away uncomforted, when the look and thetouch cost Carina so little. But there was another fear that arose inthe mother's breast, and that was lest her child should be harmed by theveneration with which she was regarded, and perhaps come to believe thatshe was something more than a common mortal. What was more natural thanthat a child who was told by grown-up people that there was healing inher touch, should at last come to believe that she was something apartand extraordinary?

It would have been a marvel, indeed, if the constant attention sheattracted, and the pilgrimages that were made to her, had failed to makeany impression upon her sensitive mind. Vain she was not, and it wouldhave been unjust to say that she was spoiled. She had a tender nature, full of sympathy for sorrow and suffering. She was constantly givingaway her shoes, her stockings, nay, even her hood and cloak, to poorlittle invalids, whose misery appealed to her merciful heart. It wasof no use to scold her; you could no more prevent a stream from flowingthan Carina from giving. It was a spontaneous yielding to an impulsethat was too strong to be resisted. 

But to her father there was something unnatural in it; he would havepreferred to have her frankly selfish, as most children are, not becausehe thought it lovely, but because it was childish and natural. Herunusual goodness gave him a pang more painful than ever the bad behaviorof her brothers had occasioned. On the other hand, it delighted him tosee her do anything that ordinary children did. He was charmed if shecould be induced to take part in a noisy romp, play tag, or dress herdolls. But there followed usually after each outbreak of natural mirth ashy withdrawal into herself, a resolute and quiet retirement, as if she, were a trifle ashamed of her gayety. There was nothing morbid in thesemoods, no brooding sadness or repentance, but a touching solemnity, aserene, almost cheerful seriousness, which in one of her years seemedstrange. 

Mr. Holt had many a struggle with himself as to how he should treatCarina's delusion; and he made up his mind, at last, that it was hisduty to do everything in his power to dispel and counteract it. When hehappened to overhear her talking to her dolls one day, laying her handsupon them, and curing them of imaginary diseases, he concluded it washigh time for him to act. 

He called Carina to him, remonstrated kindly with her, and forbade herhenceforth to see the people who came to her for the purpose ofbeing cured. But it distressed him greatly to see how reluctantly sheconsented to obey him. 

When Carina awoke the morning after this promise had been extorted fromher, she heard the dogs barking furiously in the yard below. Her eldersister, Agnes, was standing half dressed before the mirror, holding theend of one blond braid between her teeth, while tying the other witha pink ribbon. Seeing that Carina was awake, she gave her a nod in theglass, and, removing her braid, observed that there evidently were sickpilgrims under the window. She could sympathize with Sultan and Hector, she averred, in their dislike of pilgrims. 

"Oh, I wish they would not come!" sighed Carina. "It will be so hard forme to send them away. "

"I thought you liked curing people, " exclaimed Agnes. 

"I do, sister, but papa has made me promise never to do it again. "

She arose and began to dress, her sister assisting her, chatting all thewhile like a gay little chirruping bird that neither gets nor expects ananswer. She was too accustomed to Carina's moods to be either annoyedor astonished; but she loved her all the same, and knew that her littleears were wide open, even though she gave no sign of listening. 

Carina had just completed her simple toilet when Guro, the chamber-maid, entered, and announced that there were some sick folk below who wishedto see the wonder child. 

"Tell them I cannot see them, " answered Carina, with a tremulous voice;"papa does not permit me. "

"But this man, Atle Pilot, has come from so far away in this dreadfulcold, " pleaded Guro, "and his son is so very bad, poor thing; he's lyingdown in the boat, and he sighs and groans fit to move a stone. "

"Don't! Don't tell her that, " interposed Agnes, motioning to the girl tobegone. "Don't you see it is hard enough for her already?"

There was something in the air, as the two sisters descended the stairshand in hand, which foreboded calamity. The pastor had given out fromthe pulpit last Sunday that he would positively receive no invalidsat his house; and he had solemnly charged every one to refrain frombringing their sick to his daughter. He had repeated this announcementagain and again, and he was now very much annoyed at his apparentpowerlessness to protect his child from further imposition. Loud andangry speech was heard in his office, and a noise as if the furniturewere being knocked about. The two little girls remained standing on thestairs, each gazing at the other's frightened face. Then there was agreat bang, and a stalwart, elderly sailor came tumbling head foremostout into the hall. His cap was flung after him through the crack of thedoor. Agnes saw for an instant her father's face, red and excited;and in his bearing there was something wild and strange, which was sodifferent from his usual gentle and dignified appearance. The sailorstood for a while bewildered, leaning against the wall; then he stoopedslowly and picked up his cap. But the moment he caught sight of Carinahis embarrassment vanished, and his rough features were illuminated withan intense emotion. 

"Come, little miss, and help me, " he cried, in a hoarse, imploringwhisper. "Halvor, my son--he is the only one God gave me--he is sick; heis going to die, miss, unless you take pity on him. "

"Where is he?" asked Carina. 

"He's down in the boat, miss, at the pier. But I'll carry him up to you, if you like. We have been rowing half the night in the cold, and he isvery low. "

"No, no; you mustn't bring him here, " said Agnes, seeing by Carina'sface that she was on the point of yielding. "Father would be so angry. "

"He may kill me if he likes, " exclaimed the sailor, wildly. "It doesn'tmatter to me. But Halvor he's the only one I have, miss, and his motherdied when he was born, and he is young, miss, and he will have manyyears to live, if you'll only have mercy on him. "

"But, you know, I shouldn't dare, on papa's account, to have you bringhim here, " began Carina, struggling with her tears. 

"Ah, yes! Then you will go to him. God bless you for that!" cried thepoor man, with agonized eagerness. And interpreting the assent he readin Carina's eye, he caught her up in his arms, snatched a coat from apeg in the wall, and wrapping her in it, tore open the door. Carina madeno outcry, and was not in the least afraid. She felt herself resting intwo strong arms, warmly wrapped and borne away at a great speed over thesnow. But Agnes, seeing her sister vanish in that sudden fashion, gave ascream which called her father to the door. 

"What has happened?" he asked. "Where is Carina?"

"That dreadful Atle Pilot took her and ran away with her. "

"Ran away with her?" cried the pastor in alarm. "How? Where?"

"Down to the pier. "

It was a few moments' work for the terrified father to burst open thedoor, and with his velvet skull-cap on his head, and the skirts of hisdressing-gown flying wildly about him, rush down toward the beach. Hesaw Atle Pilot scarcely fifty feet in advance of him, and shouted to himat the top of his voice. But the sailor only redoubled his speed, anddarted out upon the pier, hugging tightly to his breast the preciousburden he carried. So blindly did he rush ahead that the pastor expectedto see him plunge headlong into the icy waves. But, as by a miracle, he suddenly checked himself, and grasping with one hand the flag-pole, swung around it, a foot or two above the black water, and regained hisfoothold upon the planks. He stood for an instant irresolute, staringdown into a boat which lay moored to the end of the pier. What he sawresembled a big bundle, consisting of a sheepskin coat and a couple ofhorse blankets. 

"Halvor, " he cried, with a voice that shook with emotion, "I havebrought her. "

There was presently a vague movement under the horse-blankets, and aftera minute's struggle a pale yellowish face became visible. It was a youngface--the face of a boy of fifteen or sixteen. But, oh, what sufferingwas depicted in those sunken eyes, those bloodless, cracked lips, andthe shrunken yellow skin which clung in premature wrinkles about theemaciated features! An old and worn fur cap was pulled down over hisears, but from under its rim a few strands of blond hair were hangingupon his forehead. 

Atle had just disentangled Carina from her wrappings, and was aboutto descend the stairs to the water when a heavy hand seized him by theshoulder, and a panting voice shouted in his ear:

"Give me back my child. "

He paused, and turned his pathetically bewildered face toward thepastor. "You wouldn't take him from me, parson, " he stammered, helplessly; "no, you wouldn't. He's the only one I've got. "

"I don't take him from you, " the parson thundered, wrathfully. "But whatright have you to come and steal my child, because yours is ill?"

"When life is at stake, parson, " said the pilot, imploringly, "one getsmuddled about right and wrong. I'll do your little girl no harm. Onlylet her lay her blessed hands upon my poor boy's head, and he will bewell. "

"I have told you no, man, and I must put a stop to this stupid idolatry, which will ruin my child, and do you no good. Give her back to me, Isay, at once. "

The pastor held out his hand to receive Carina, who stared at him withlarge pleading eyes out of the grizzly wolf-skin coat. 

"Be good to him, papa, " she begged. "Only this once. "

"No, child; no parleying now; come instantly. "

And he seized her by main force, and tore her out of the pilot's arms. But to his dying day he remembered the figure of the heart-broken man, as he stood outlined against the dark horizon, shaking his clinchedfists against the sky, and crying out, in a voice of despair:

"May God show you the same mercy on the Judgment Day as you have shownto me!"

II. 

Six miserable days passed. The weather was stormy, and tidings ofshipwreck and calamity filled the air. Scarcely a visitor came to theparsonage who had not some tale of woe to relate. The pastor, who wasusually so gentle and cheerful, wore a dismal face, and it was easy tosee that something was weighing on his mind. 

"May God show you the same mercy on the Judgment Day as you have shownto me!"

These words rang constantly in his ears by night and by day. Had henot been right, according to the laws of God and man, in defending hishousehold against the assaults of ignorance and superstition? Wouldhe have been justified in sacrificing his own child, even if he couldthereby save another's? And, moreover, was it not all a wild, heathenishdelusion, which it was his duty as a servant of God to stamp out androot out at all hazards? Yes, there could be no doubt of it; he had butexercised his legal right. He had done what was demanded of him by lawshuman and divine. He had nothing to reproach himself for. And yet, witha haunting persistency, the image of the despairing pilot praying Godfor vengeance stared at him from every dark corner, and in the verychurch bells, as they rang out their solemn invitation to the houseof God, he seemed to hear the rhythm and cadence of the heart-brokenfather's imprecation. In the depth of his heart there was a still smallvoice which told him that, say what he might, he had acted cruelly. Ifhe put himself in Atle Pilot's place, bound as he was in the iron bondsof superstition, how different the case would look? He saw himself, inspirit, rowing in a lonely boat through the stormy winter night tohis pastor, bringing his only son, who was at the point of death, andpraying that the pastor's daughter might lay her hands upon him, asChrist had done to the blind, the halt, and the maimed. And his pastorreceived him with wrath, nay, with blows, and sent him away uncomforted. It was a hideous picture indeed, and Mr. Holt would have given years ofhis life to be rid of it. 

It was on the sixth day after Atle's visit that the pastor, sittingalone in his study, called Carina to him. He had scarcely seen herduring the last six days, or at least talked with her. Her sweetinnocent spirit would banish the shadows that darkened his soul. 

"Carina, " he said, in his old affectionate way, "papa wants to see you. Come here and let me talk a little with you. "

But could he trust his eyes? Carina, who formerly had run so eagerlyinto his arms, stood hesitating, as if she hoped to be excused. 

"Well, my little girl, " he asked, in a tone of apprehension, "don't youwant to talk with papa?"

"I would rather wait till some other time, papa, " she managed tostammer, while her little face flushed with embarrassment. 

Mr. Holt closed the door silently, flung himself into a chair, andgroaned. That was a blow from where he had least expected it. The childhad judged him and found him wanting. His Carina, his darling, who hadalways been closest to his heart, no longer responded to his affection!Was the pilot's prayer being fulfilled? Was he losing his own child inreturn for the one he had refused to save? With a pang in his breast, which was like an aching wound, he walked up and down on the floor andmarvelled at his own blindness. He had erred indeed; and there was nohope that any chance would come to him to remedy the wrong. 

The twilight had deepened into darkness while he revolved this troublein his mind. The night was stormy, and the limbs of the trees withoutwere continually knocking and bumping against the walls of the house. The rusty weather-vane on the roof whined and screamed, and every nowand then the sleet dashed against the window-panes like a handful ofshot. The wind hurled itself against the walls, so that the timberscreaked and pulled at the shutters, banged stray doors in out-of-the-waygarrets, and then, having accomplished its work, whirled away over thefields with a wild and dismal howl. The pastor sat listening mournfullyto this tempestuous commotion. Once he thought he heard a noise as of adoor opening near by him, and softly closing; but as he saw no one, heconcluded it was his overwrought fancy that had played him a trick. Heseated himself again in his easy-chair before the stove, which spread adim light from its draught-hole into the surrounding gloom. 

While he sat thus absorbed in his meditations, he was startled at thesound of something resembling a sob. He arose to strike a light, butfound that his match-safe was empty. But what was that? A step without, surely, and the groping of hands for the door-knob. 

"Who is there?" cried the pastor, with a shivering uneasiness. 

He sprang forward and opened the door. A broad figure, surmounted by asou'wester, loomed up in the dark. 

"What do you want?" asked Mr. Holt, with forced calmness. 

"I want to know, " answered a gruff, hoarse voice, "if you'll come to myson now, and help him into eternity?"

The pastor recognized Atle Pilot's voice, though it seemed harsher andhoarser than usual. 

"Sail across the fjord on a night like this?" he exclaimed. 

"That's what I ask you. "

"And the boy is dying, you say?"

"Can't last till morning. "

"And has he asked for the sacrament?"

The pilot stepped across the threshold and entered the room. Heproceeded slowly to pull off his mittens; then looking up at thepastor's face, upon which a vague sheen fell from the stove, he brokeout:

"Will you come or will you not? You wouldn't help him to live; now willyou help him to die?"

The words, thrust forth with a slow, panting emphasis, hit the pastorlike so many blows. 

"I will come, " he said, with solemn resolution. "Sit down till I getready. "

He had expected some expression of gratification or thanks, for Atlewell knew what he had asked. It was his life the pastor risked, butthis time in his calling as a physician, not of bodies, but of souls. It struck him, while he took leave of his wife, that there was somethingresentful and desperate in the pilot's manner, so different from hishumble pleading at their last meeting. 

As he embraced the children one by one, and kissed them, he missedCarina, but was told that she had probably gone to the cow-stablewith the dairy-maid, who was her particular friend. So he left tendermessages for her, and, summoning Atle, plunged out into the storm. Aservant walked before him with a lantern, and lighted the way down tothe pier, where the boat lay tossing upon the waves. 

"But, man, " cried the pastor, seeing that the boat was empty, "where areyour boatmen?"

"I am my own boatman, " answered Atle, gloomily. "You can hold the sheet, I the tiller. "

Mr. Holt was ashamed of retiring now, when he had given his word. 

But it was with a sinking heart that he stepped into the frail skiff, which seemed scarcely more than a nutshell upon the tempestuous deep. Hewas on the point of asking his servant, unacquainted though he waswith seamanship, to be the third man in the boat; but the latter, anticipating his intention, had made haste to betake himself away. Toventure out into this roaring darkness, with no beacon to guide them, and scarcely a landmark discernible, was indeed to tempt Providence. 

But by the time he had finished this reflection, the pastor felt himselfrushing along at a tremendous speed, and short, sharp commands rang inhis ears, which instantly engrossed all his attention. To his eyes thesky looked black as ink, except for a dark-blue unearthly shimmer thatnow and then flared up from the north, trembled, and vanished. By thisunsteady illumination it was possible to catch a momentary glimpse ofa head, and a peak, and the outline of a mountain. The small sail wasdouble-reefed, yet the boat careened so heavily that the water brokeover the gunwale. The squalls beat down upon them with tumultuousroar and smoke, as of snow-drifts, in their wake; but the little boat, climbing the top of the waves and sinking into the dizzy black pitsbetween them, sped fearlessly along and the pastor began to take heart. Then, with a fierce cutting distinctness, came the command out of thedark. 

"Pull out the reefs!"

"Are you crazy, man?" shouted the pastor. "Do you want to sail straightinto eternity?"

"Pull out the reefs!" The command was repeated with wrathful emphasis. 

"Then we are dead men, both you and I. "

"So we are, parson--dead men. My son lies dead at home, though you mighthave saved him. So, now, parson, we are quits. "

With a fierce laugh he rose up, and still holding the tiller, stretchedhis hand to tear out the reefs. But at that instant, just as a quiveringshimmer broke across the sky, something rose up from under the thwartand stood between them. Atle started back with a hoarse scream. 

"In Heaven's name, child!" he cried. "Oh, God, have mercy upon me!"

And the pastor, not knowing whether he saw a child or a vision, criedout in the same moment: "Carina, my darling! Carina, how came you here?"

It was Carina, indeed; but the storm whirled her tiny voice away overthe waves, and her father, folding her with one arm to his breast, whileholding the sheet with the other, did not hear what she answered to hisfervent exclamation. He only knew that her dear little head rested closeto his heart, and that her yellow hair blew across his face. 

"I wanted to save that poor boy, papa, " were the only words that met hisears. But he needed no more to explain the mystery. It was Carina, who, repenting of her unkindness to him, had stolen into his study, while hesat in the dark, and there she had heard Atle Pilot's message. Even ifthis boy was sick unto death, she might perhaps cure him, and make upfor her father's harshness. Thus reasoned the sage Carina; and she hadgone secretly and prepared for the voyage, and battled with the storm, which again and again threw her down on her road to the pier. It wasa miracle that she got safely into the boat, and stowed herself awaysnugly under the stern thwart. 

The clearing in the north gradually spread over the sky, and thestorm abated. Soon they had the shore in view, and the lights of thefishermen's cottages gleamed along the beach of the headland. Presentlythey ran into smoother water; a star or two flashed forth, and wide blueexpanses appeared here and there on the vault of the sky. They spied thered lanterns marking the wharf, about which a multitude of boats lay, moored to stakes, and with three skilful tacks Atle made the harbor. It was here, standing on the pier, amid the swash and swirl of surgingwaters, that the pilot seized Carina's tiny hand in his big and roughone. 

"Parson, " he said, with a breaking voice, "I was going to run afoul ofyou, and wreck myself with you; but this child, God bless her! she ranus both into port, safe and sound. "

But Carina did not hear what he said, for she lay sweetly sleeping inher father's arms. 

"THE SONS OF THE VIKINGS"

I. 

When Hakon Vang said his prayers at night, he usually finished withthese words: "And I thank thee, God, most of all, because thou madest mea Norseman, and not a German or an Englishman or a Swede. "

To be a Norseman appears to the Norse boy a claim to distinction. 

God has made so many millions of Englishmen and Russians and Germans, that there can be no particular honor in being one of so vast a herd;while of Norsemen He has made only a small and select number, whomHe looks after with special care; upon whom He showers such favorsas poverty and cold (with a view to keeping them good and hardy), andremoteness from all the glittering temptations that beset the nations inwhom He takes a less paternal interest. Thus at least reasons, in a dimway, the small boy in Norway; thus he is taught to reason by his parentsand instructors. 

As for Hakon Vang, he strutted along the beach like a turkey-cock, whenever he thought of his glorious descent from the Vikings--thosedaring pirates that stole thrones and kingdoms, and mixed their redNorse blood in the veins of all the royal families of Europe. Theteacher of history (who was what is called a Norse-Norseman) had on oneoccasion, with more patriotic zeal than discretion, undertaken to pickout those boys in his class who were of pure Norse descent; whose bloodwas untainted by any foreign admixture. The delighted pride of thissmall band made them an object of envy to all the rest of the school. Hakon, when his name was mentioned, felt as if he had added a yard tohis height. Tears of joy started to his eyes; and to give vent to hisovercharged feelings, he broke into a war-whoop; for which he receivedfive black marks and was kept in at recess. 

But he minded that very little; all great men, he reflected, have had tosuffer for their country. 

What Hakon loved above all things to study--nay, the only thing he lovedto study--was the old Sagas, which are tales, poems, and historiesof the deeds of the Norsemen in ancient times. With eleven of hisclassmates, who were about his own age and as Norse as himself, heformed a brotherhood which was called "The Sons of the Vikings. " Theygave each other tremendously bloody surnames, in the style of theSagas--names that reeked with gore and heroism. Hakon himself assumedthe pleasing appellation "Skull-splitter, " and his classmate FrithjofRonning was dubbed Vargr-i-Veum, which means Wolf-in-the-Temple. One Sonof the Vikings was known as Ironbeard, another as Erling the Lop-Sided, a third as Thore the Hound, a fourth as Aslak Stone-Skull. But a seriousdifficulty, which came near disrupting the brotherhood, arose over thesevery names. It was felt that Hakon had taken an unfair advantage of therest in selecting the bloodiest name at the outset (before anyone elsehad had an opportunity to choose), and there was a general demand thathe should give it up and allow all to draw lots for it. But this Hakonstoutly refused to do; and declared that if anyone wanted his name hewould have to fight for it, in good old Norse fashion. 

A holm-gang or duel was then arranged; that is, a ring was marked outwith stones; the combatants stepped within it, and he who could drivehis antagonist outside of the stone ring was declared to be the victor. Frithjof, who felt that he had a better claim to be named Skull-Splitterthan Hakon, was the first to accept the challenge; but after a terriblecombat was forced to bite the dust. His conqueror was, however, filledwith such a glowing admiration of his valor (as combatants in theSagas frequently are), that he proposed that they should swear eternalfriendship and foster-brotherhood, and seal their compact, according toNorse custom, by the ceremony called "Mingling of Blood. " It is needlessto say that this seemed to all the boys a most delightful proposition;and they entered upon the august rite with a deep sense of itssolemnity. 

First a piece of sod, about twelve feet square, was carefully raisedupon wooden stakes representing spears, so as to form a green roof overthe foster-brothers. Then, sitting upon the black earth, where the turfhad been removed, they bared their arms to the shoulder, and in thepresence of his ten brethren, as witnesses, each swore that he wouldregard the other as his true brother and love him and treat him as such, and avenge his death if he survived him; in solemn testimony of whicheach drew a knife and opened a vein in his arm, letting their bloodmingle and flow together. Hakon, however, in his heroic zeal, drove theknife into his flesh rather recklessly, and when the blood had flowedprofusely for five minutes, he grew a trifle uneasy. Frithjof, afterhaving bathed his arm in a neighboring brook, had no difficulty instanching the blood, but the poor Skull-Splitter's wound, in spite ofcold water and bandages, kept pouring forth its warm current withoutsign of abatement. Hakon grew paler and paler, and would have burst intotears, if he had not been a "Son of the Vikings. " It would have been arelief to him, for the moment, not to have been a "Son of the Vikings. "For he was terribly frightened, and thought surely he was going to bleedto death. The other Vikings, too, began to feel rather alarmed at such aprospect; and when Erling the Lop-Sided (the pastor's son) proposed thatthey should carry Hakon to the doctor, no one made any objection. Butthe doctor unhappily lived so far away that Hakon might die before hegot there. 

"Well, then, " said Wolf-in-the Temple, "let us take him to oldWitch-Martha. She can stanch blood and do lots of other queer things. "

"Yes, and that is much more Norse, too, " suggested Thore the Hound;"wise women learned physic and bandaged wounds in the olden time. Menwere never doctors. "

"Yes, Witch-Martha is just the right style, " said Erling the Lop-Sideddown in his boots; for he had naturally a shrill voice and gave himselfgreat pains to produce a manly bass. 

"We must make a litter to carry the Skull-Splitter on, " exclaimed EinarBowstring-Twanger (the sheriff's son); "he'll never get to Witch-Marthaalive if he is to walk. "

This suggestion was favorably received, the boys set to work with awill, and in a few minutes had put together a litter of green twigs andbranches. Hakon, who was feeling curiously light-headed and exhausted, allowed himself to be placed upon it in a reclining position; and itsswinging motion, as his friends carried it along, nearly rocked him tosleep. The fear of death was but vaguely present to his mind; but hisself-importance grew with every moment, as he saw his blood tricklethrough the leaves and drop at the roadside. He appeared to himselfa brave Norse warrior who was being carried by his comrades from thebattle-field, where he had greatly distinguished himself. And now to begoing, to the witch who, by magic rhymes and incantations, was to stanchthe ebbing stream of his life--what could be more delightful?

II. 

Witch Martha lived in a small lonely cottage down by the river. Very fewpeople ever went to see her in the day-time; but at night she often hadvisitors. Mothers who suspected that their children were changelings, whom the Trolds had put in the cradle, taking the human infants away;girls who wanted to "turn the hearts" of their lovers, and lovers whowanted to turn the hearts of the girls; peasants who had lost moneyor valuables and wanted help to trace the thief--these and manyothers sought secret counsel with Witch-Martha, and rarely went awayuncomforted. She was an old weather-beaten woman with a deeply wrinkled, smoky-brown face, and small shrewd black eyes. The floor in her cottagewas strewn with sand and fresh juniper twigs; from the rafters underthe ceiling hung bunches of strange herbs; and in the windows wereflower-pots with blooming plants in them. 

Martha was stooping at the hearth, blowing and puffing at the fireunder her coffee-pot, when the Sons of the Vikings knocked at the door. Wolf-in-the-Temple was the man who took the lead; and when Witch-Marthaopened the upper half of the door (she never opened both at the sametime) she was not a little astonished to see the Captain's son, FrithjofRonning, staring up at her with an anxious face. 

"What cost thou want, lad?" she asked, gruffly; "thou hast gone astraysurely, and I'll show thee the way home. "

"I am Wolf-in-the-Temple, " began Frithjof, thrusting out his chest, andraising his head proudly. 

"Dear me, you don't say so!" exclaimed Martha. 

"My comrade and foster-brother Skull-Splitter has been wounded; and Iwant thee, old crone, to stanch his blood before he bleeds to death. "

"Dear, dear me, how very strange!" ejaculated the Witch, and shook heraged head. 

She had been accustomed to extraordinary requests; but the languageof this boy struck her as being something of the queerest she had yetheard. 

"Where is thy Skull-Splitter, lad?" she asked, looking at him dubiously. 

"Right here in the underbrush, " Wolf-in-the-Temple retorted, gallantly;"stir thy aged stumps now, and thou shalt be right royally rewarded. "

He had learned from Walter Scott's romances that this was the proper wayto address inferiors, and he prided himself not a little on his jauntycondescension. Imagine then his surprise when the "old crone" suddenlyturned on him with an angry scowl and said:

"If thou canst not keep a civil tongue in thy head, I'll bring athousand plagues upon thee, thou umnannerly boy. "

By this threat Wolf-in-the-Temple's courage was sadly shaken. He knewMartha's reputation as a witch, and had no desire to test in his ownperson whether rumor belied her. 

"Please, mum, I beg of you, " he said, with a sudden change of tone; "myfriend Hakon Vang is bleeding to death; won't you please help him?"

"Thy friend Hakon Vang!" cried Martha, to whom that name was veryfamiliar; "bring him in, as quick as thou canst, and I'll do what I canfor him. "

Wolf-in-the-Temple put two fingers into his mouth and gave a loudshrill whistle, which was answered from the woods, and presently thesmall procession moved up to the door, carrying their wounded comradebetween them. The poor Skull-Splitter was now as white as a sheet, andthe drowsiness of his eyes and the laxness of his features showed thathelp came none too early. Martha, in hot haste, grabbed a bag of herbs, thrust it into a pot of warm water, and clapped it on the wound. Thenshe began to wag her head slowly to and fro, and crooned, to a soft andplaintive tune, words which sounded to the ears of the boys shudderinglystrange:

 "I conjure in water, I conjure in lead, I conjure with herbs that grew o'er the dead; I conjure with flowers that I plucked, without shoon, When the ghosts were abroad, in the wane of the moon. I conjure with spirits of earth and air That make the wind sigh and cry in despair; I conjure by him within sevenfold rings That sits and broods at the roots of things. I conjure by him who healeth strife, Who plants and waters the germs of life. I conjure, I conjure, I bid thee be still, Thou ruddy stream, thou hast flowed thy fill! Return to thy channel and nurture his life Till his destined measure of years be rife. "

She sang the last two lines with sudden energy; and when she removedher hand from the wound, the blood had ceased to flow. The poorSkull-Splitter was sleeping soundly; and his friends, shivering a littlewith mysterious fears, marched up and down whispering to one another. They set a guard of honor at the leafy couch of their wounded comrade;intercepted the green worms and other insects that kept dropping downupon him from the alder branches overhead, and brushed away the fliesthat would fain disturb his slumbers. They were all steeped to the corein old Norse heroism; and they enjoyed the situation hugely. All thelife about them was half blotted out; they saw it but dimly. That lightof youthful romance, which never was on sea or land, transformed allthe common things that met their vision into something strange andwonderful. They strained their ears to catch the meaning of the song ofthe birds, so that they might learn from them the secrets of the future, as Sigurd the Volsung did, after he had slain the dragon, Fafnir. Thewoods round about them were filled with dragons and fabulous beasts, whose tracks they detected with the eyes of faith; and they startedout every morning, during the all too brief vacation, on imaginaryexpeditions against imaginary monsters. 

When at the end of an hour the Skull-Splitter woke from his slumber, much refreshed, Witch-Martha bandaged his arm carefully, and Wolf-in-theTemple (having no golden arm-rings) tossed her, with magnificentsuperciliousness, his purse, which contained six cents. But she flungit back at him with such force that he had to dodge with more adroitnessthan dignity. 

"I'll get my claws into thee some day, thou foolish lad, " she said, lifting her lean vulture-like hand with a threatening gesture. 

"No, please don't, Martha, I didn't mean anything, " cried the boy, ingreat alarm; "you'll forgive me, won't you, Martha?"

"I'll bid thee begone, and take thy foolish tongue along with thee, " sheanswered, in a mollified tone. 

And the Sons of the Vikings, taking the hint, shouldered the litter oncemore, and reached Skull-Splitter's home in time for supper. 

III. 

The Sons of the Vikings were much troubled. Every heroic deed which theyplotted had this little disadvantage, that they were in danger of goingto jail for it. They could not steal cattle and horses, because theydid not know what to do with them when they had got them; they couldnot sail away over the briny deep in search of fortune or glory, becausethey had no ships; and sail-boats were scarcely big enough for daringvoyages to the blooming South which their ancestors had ravaged. Theprecious vacation was slipping away, and as yet they had accomplishednothing that could at all be called heroic. It was while the brotherhoodwas lamenting this fact that Wolf-in-the-Temple had a brilliant idea. He procured his father's permission to invite his eleven companions tospend a day and a night at the Ronning saeter, or mountain dairy, far upin the highlands. The only condition Mr. Ronning made was that they wereto be accompanied by his man, Brumle-Knute, who was to be responsiblefor their safety. But the boys determined privately to make Brumle-Knutetheir prisoner, in case he showed any disposition to spoil their sport. To spend a day and a night in the woods, to imagine themselves Vikings, and behave as they imagined Vikings would behave, was a prospect whichno one could contemplate without the most delightful excitement. There, far away from sheriffs and pastors and maternal supervision, they mightperhaps find the long-desired chance of performing their heroic deed. 

It was a beautiful morning early in August that the boys started fromStrandholm, Mr. Ronning's estate, accompanied by Brumle-Knute. Thelatter was a middle-aged, round-shouldered peasant, who had the habit ofalways talking to himself. To look at him you would have supposed thathe was a rough and stupid fellow who would have quite enough to do inlooking after himself. But the fact was, that Brumle-Knute was the bestshot, the best climber--and altogether the most keen-eyed hunter in thewhole valley. It was a saying that he could scent game so well that henever needed a dog; and that he could imitate to perfection the call ofevery game bird that inhabited the mountain glens. Sweet-tempered he wasnot; but so reliable, skilful, and vigilant, and moreover so thorougha woodsman, that the boys could well afford to put up with his grufftemper. 

The Sons of the Vikings were all mounted on ponies; andWolf-in-the-Temple, who had been elected chieftain, led the troop. At his side rode Skull-Splitter, who was yet a trifle pale after hisblood-letting, but brimming over with ambition to distinguish himself. They had all tied their trousers to their legs with leather thongs, inorder to be perfectly "Old Norse;" and some of them had turned theirplaids and summer overcoats inside out, displaying the gorgeous colorsof the lining. Loosely attached about their necks and flying in thewind, these could easily serve for scarlet or purple cloaks wrought onSyrian looms. Most of the boys carried also wooden swords and shields, and the chief had a long loor or Alpine horn. Only the valiantIronbeard, whose father was a military man, had a real sword and a realscabbard into the bargain. Wolf-in-the-Temple, and Erling theLop-Sided, had each an old fowling-piece; and Brumle-Knute carried adouble-barrelled rifle. This, to be sure, was not; quite historicallycorrect; but firearms are so useful in the woods, even if they are notcorrect, that it was resolved not to notice the irregularity; for therewere boars in the mountains, besides wolves and foxes and no end ofsmaller game. 

For an hour or more the procession rode, single file, up the steep andrugged mountain-paths; but the boys were all in high spirits and enjoyedthemselves hugely. The mere fact that they were Vikings, on a daringforaging expedition into a neighboring kingdom, imparted a wonderfulzest to everything they did and said. It might be foolish, but it was onthat account none the less delightful. They sent out scouts to watchfor the approach of an imaginary enemy; they had secret pass-words andsigns; they swore (Viking style) by Thor's hammer and by Odin's eye. They talked appalling nonsense to each other with a delicious sentimentof its awful blood-curdling character. It was about noon when theyreached the Strandholm saeter, which consisted of three turf-thatchedlog-cabins or chalets, surrounded by a green inclosure of half a dozenacres. The wide highland plain, eight or ten miles long, was bounded onthe north and west by throngs of snow-hooded mountain peaks, which rose, one behind another, in glittering grandeur; and in the middle of theplain there were two lakes or tarns, connected by a river which wasmilky white where it entered the lakes and clear as crystal where itescaped. 

"Now, Vikings, " cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, when the boys had done justiceto their dinner, "it behooves us to do valiant deeds, and to proveourselves worthy of our fathers. "

"Hear, hear, " shouted Ironbeard, who was fourteen years old and had ashadow of a moustache, "I am in for great deeds, hip, hip, hurrah!"

"Hold your tongue when you hear me speak, " commanded the chieftain, loftily; "we will lie in wait at the ford, between the two tarns, andcapture the travellers who pass that way. If perchance a princess fromthe neighboring kingdom pass, on the way to her dominions, we will holdher captive until her father, the king, comes to ransom her with heapsof gold in rings and fine garments and precious weapons. "

"But what are we to do with her when we have caught her?" asked theSkull-Splitter, innocently. 

"We will keep her imprisoned in the empty saeter hut, "Wolf-in-the-Temple responded. "Now, are you ready? We'll leave thehorses here on the croft, until our return. "

The question now was to elude Brumle-Knute's vigilance; for the Sons ofthe Vikings had good reasons for fearing that he might interfere withtheir enterprise. They therefore waited until Brumle-knute was invitedby the dairymaid to sit down to dinner. No sooner had the door closedupon his stooping figure, than they stole out through a hole in thefence, crept on all-fours among the tangled dwarf-birches and the biggray boulders, and following close in the track of their leader, reachedthe ford between the lakes. There they observed two enormous heaps ofstones known as the Parson and the Deacon; for it had been the customfrom immemorial times for every traveller to fling a big stone as a"sacrifice" for good luck upon the Parson's heap and a small stoneupon the Deacon's. Behind these piles of stone the boys hid themselves, keeping a watchful eye on the road and waiting for their chief's signalto pounce upon unwary travellers. They lay for about fifteen minutes inexpectant silence, and were on the point of losing their patience. 

"Look here, Wolf-in-the-Temple, " cried Erling the Lop-Sided, "youmay think this is fun, but I don't. Let us take the raft there and gofishing. The tarn is simply crowded with perch and bass. "

"Hold your disrespectful tongue, " whispered the chief, warningly, "orI'll discipline you so you'll remember it till your dying day. "

"Ho, ho!" laughed the rebel, jeeringly; "big words and fat pork don'tstick in the throat. Wait till I get you alone and we shall see who'llbe disciplined. "

Erling had risen and was about to emerge from his hiding-place, whensuddenly hoof-beats were heard, and a horse was seen approaching, carrying on its back a stalwart peasant lass, in whose lap a prettylittle girl of twelve or thirteen was sitting. 

The former was clad in scarlet bodice, a black embroidered skirt, anda snowy-white kerchief was tied about her head. Her blonde hair hung ingolden profusion down over her back and shoulders. The little girlwas city-clad, and had a sweet and appealing face. She was chatteringguilelessly with her companion, asking more questions than she couldpossibly expect to have answered. Nearer and nearer they came to thegreat stone heaps, dreaming of no harm. 

"And, Gunbjor, " the Skull-Splitter heard the little girl say, "you don'treally believe that there are trolds and fairies in the mountains, doyou?"

"Them as are wiser than I am have believed that, " was Gunbjor's answer;"but we don't hear so much about the trolds nowadays as they did when mygranny was young. Then they took young girls into the mountain and----"

Here came a wild, piercing yell, as the Sons of the Vikings rushedforward from behind the rocks, and with a terrible war-whoop swoopeddown upon the road. Wolf-in-the-Temple, who led the band, seized thehorse by the bridle, and flourishing his sword threateningly, addressedthe frightened peasant lass. 

"Is this, perchance, the Princess Kunigunde, the heir to the throne ofmy good friend, King Bjorn the Victorious?" he asked, with a magnificentair, seizing the trembling little girl by the wrist. 

"Nay, " Gunbjor answered, as soon as she could find her voice, "this isthe Deacon's Maggie, as is going to the saeter with me to spend Sunday. "

"She cannot proceed on her way, " said the chieftain, decisively, "she ismy prisoner. "

Gunbjor, who had been frightened out of her wits by the small red- andblue-cloaked men, swarming among the stones, taking them to be troldsor fairies, now gradually recovered her senses. She recognized in Erlingthe Lop-Sided the well-known features of the parson's son; and assoon as she had made this discovery she had no great difficulty inidentifying the rest. "Never you fear, pet, " she said to the child inher lap, "these be bad boys as want to frighten us. I'll give them aswitching if they don't look out. "

"The Princess Kunigunde is my prisoner until it please her noble fatherto ransom her for ten pounds of silver, " repeated Wolf-in-the-Temple, putting his arm about little Maggie's waist and trying to lift her fromthe saddle. 

"You keep yer hands off the child, or I'll give you ten pounds ofthrashing, " cried Gunbjor, angrily. 

"She shall be treated with the respect due to her rank, "Wolf-in-the-Temple proceeded, loftily. "I give King Bjorn the Victoriousthree moons in which to bring me the ransom. "

"And I'll give you three boxes on the ear, and a cut with my whip, intothe bargain, if you don't let the horse alone, and take yer hands offthe child. "

"Vikings!" cried the chief, "lay hands on her! Tear her from the saddle!She has defied us! She deserves no mercy. "

With a tremendous yell the boys rushed forward, brandishing their swordsabove their heads, and pulled Gunbjor from the saddle. But she held onto her charge with a vigorous clutch, and as soon as her feet touchedthe ground she began with her disengaged hand to lay about her, withher whip, in a way that proved extremely unpleasant. Wolf-in-the-Temple, against whom her assault was especially directed, received some bad cutsacross his face, and Ironbeard was driven backward into the ford, wherehe fell, full length, and rose dripping wet and mortified. Thore theHound got a thump in his head from Gunbjor's stalwart elbows, andSkull-Splitter, who had more courage than discretion, was pitchedinto the water with no more ceremony than if he had been a superfluouskitten. The fact was--I cannot disguise it--within five minutes thewhole valiant band of the Sons of the Vikings were routed by thatterrible switch, wielded by the intrepid Gunbjor. When the last of herfoes had bitten the dust, she calmly remounted her pony, and with theDeacon's Maggie in her lap rode, at a leisurely pace, across the ford. 

"Good-by, lads, " she said, nodding her head at them over her shoulder;"ye needn't be afraid. I won't tell on you. "

IV. 

To have been routed by a woman was a terrible humiliation to the valiantSons of the Vikings. They were silent and moody during the evening, and sat staring into the big bonfire on the saeter green with stern andmelancholy features. They had suffered defeat in battle, and it behoovedthem to avenge it. About nine o'clock they retired into their bunksin the log cabin, but no sooner was Brumle-Knute's rhythmic snoringperceived than Wolf-in-the-Temple put his head out and called tohis comrades to meet him in front of the house for a council of war. Instantly they scrambled out of their alcoves, pulled on their coatsand trousers; and noiselessly stole out into the night. The sun was yetvisible, but a red veil of fiery mist was drawn across his face; anda magic air of fairy-tales and strange unreality was diffused overmountains, plains and lakes. The river wound like a huge, blood-redserpent through the mountain pastures, and the snow-hooded peaks blazedwith fiery splendor. 

The boys were quite stunned at the sight of such magnificence, and stoodfor some minutes gazing at the landscape, before giving heed to thesummons of the chief. 

"Comrades, " said Wolf-in-the-Temple, solemnly, "what is life withouthonor?"

There was not a soul present who could answer that conundrum, and aftera fitting pause the chief was forced to answer it himself. 

"Life without honor, comrades, " he said, severely, "life--without honoris--nothing. "

"Hear, hear!" cried Ironbeard; "good for you, old man!"

"Silence!" thundered Wolf-in-the-Temple, "I must beg the gentlemen toobserve the proprieties. "

This tremendous phrase rarely failed to restore order, and the flippantIronbeard was duly rebuked by the glances of displeasure which met himon all sides. But in the meanwhile the chief had lost the thread of hisspeech and could not recover it. "Vikings, " he resumed, clearing histhroat vehemently, "we have been--that is to say--we have sustained----"

"A thrashing, " supplied the innocent Skull-Splitter. 

But the awful stare which was fixed upon him convinced him that hehad made a mistake; and he shrunk into an abashed silence. "We must dosomething to retrieve our honor, " continued the chief, earnestly; "wemust--take steps--to to get upon our legs again, " he finished, blushingwith embarrassment. 

"I would suggest that we get upon our legs first, and take the stepsafterward, " remarked the flippant Ironbeard, with a sly wink at Thorethe Hound. 

The chief held it to be beneath his dignity to notice this interruption, and after having gazed for a while in silence at the blood-red mountainpeaks, he continued, more at his ease:

"I propose, comrades, that we go on a bear hunt. Then, when we returnwith a bear-skin or two, our honor will be all right; no one will darelaugh at us. The brave boy-hunters will be the admiration and pride ofthe whole valley. "

"But Brummle-Knute, " observed the Skull-Splitter; "do you think he willallow us to go bear-hunting?"

"What do we care whether he allows us or not?" cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, scornfully; "he sleeps like a log; and I propose that we tie his handsand feet before we start. "

This suggestion met with enthusiastic approval, and all the boys laughedheartily at the idea of Brumle-Knute waking up and finding himself tiedwith ropes, like a calf that is carried to market. 

"Now, comrades, " commanded the chief, with a flourish of his sword, "getto bed quickly. I'll call you at four o'clock; we'll then start to chasethe monarch of the mountains. "

The Sons of the Vikings scrambled into their bunks with great despatch;and though their beds consisted of pine twigs, covered with a coarsesheet, and a bat of straw for a pillow, they fell asleep withoutrocking, and slept more soundly than if they had rested on silkenbolsters filled with eiderdown. Wolf-in-the-Temple was as good as hisword, and waked them promptly at four o'clock; and their first task, after having filled their knapsacks with provisions, was to tieBrumle-Knute's hands and feet with the most cunning slip-knots, whichwould tighten more, the more he struggled to unloose them. Ironbeard, who had served a year before the mast, was the contriver of this daringenterprise; and he did it so cleverly that Brumle-Knute never suspectedthat his liberty was being interfered with. He snorted a little andrubbed imaginary cobwebs from his face; but soon lapsed again into adeep, snoring unconsciousness. 

The faces of the Sons of the Vikings grew very serious as they startedout on this dangerous expedition. There was more than one of them whowould not have objected to remaining at home, but who feared toincur the charge of cowardice if he opposed the wishes of the rest. Wolf-in-the-Temple walked at the head of the column, as they hastenedwith stealthy tread out of the saeter inclosure, and steered theircourse toward the dense pine forest, the tops of which were visibletoward the east, where the mountain sloped toward the valley. Hecarried his fowling-piece, loaded with shot, in his right hand, and apowder-horn and other equipments for the chase were flung across hisshoulder. Erling the Lop-Sided was similarly armed, and Ironbeard, glorying in a real sword, unsheathed it every minute and let it flashin the sun. It was a great consolation to the rest of the Vikings tosee these formidable weapons; for they were not wise enough to know thatgrown-up bears are not killed with shot, and that a fowling-piece isa good deal more dangerous than no weapon at all, in the hands of aninexperienced hunter. 

The sun, who had exchanged his flaming robe de nuit for the rosy colorsof morning, was now shooting his bright shafts of light across themountain plain, and cheering the hearts of the Sons of the Vikings. Theair was fresh and cool; and it seemed a luxury to breathe it. It enteredthe lungs in a pure, vivifying stream like an elixir of life, and sentthe blood dancing through the veins. It was impossible to mope in suchair; and Ironbeard interpreted the general mood when he struck up thetune:

 "We wander with joy on the far mountain path, We follow the star that will guide us;"

but before he had finished the third verse, it occurred to the chiefthat they were bear-hunters, and that it was very unsportsmanlikebehavior to sing on the chase. For all that they were all very jolly, throbbing with excitement at the thought of the adventures which theywere about to encounter; and concealing a latent spark of fear under anexcess of bravado. At the end of an hour's march they had reached thepine forest; and as they were all ravenously hungry they sat downupon the stones, where a clear mountain brook ran down the slope, andunpacked their provisions. Wolf-in-the-Temple had just helped himself, in old Norse fashion, to a slice of smoked ham, having slashed a pieceoff at random with his knife, when Erling the Lop-Sided observed thatthat ham had a very curious odor. Everyone had to test its smell; andthey all agreed that it did have a singular flavor, though its taste wasirreproachable. 

"It smells like a menagerie, " said the Skull-Splitter, as he handed itto Thore the Hound. 

"But the bread and the biscuit smell just the same, " said Thore theHound; "in fact, it is the air that smells like a menagerie. "

"Boys, " cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, "do you see that track in the mud?"

"Yes; it is the track of a barefooted man, " suggested the innocentSkull-Splitter. 

Ironbeard and Erling the Lop-Sided flung themselves down among thestones and investigated the tracks; and they were no longer in doubt asto where the pungent wild odor came from, which they had attributed tothe ham. 

"Boys, " said Erling, looking up with an excited face, "a she-bear withone or two cubs has been here within a few minutes. "

"This is her drinking-place, " said Ironbeard: "the tracks are many andwell-worn; if she hasn't been here this morning, she is sure to comebefore long. "

"We are in luck indeed, " Wolf-in-the-Temple observed, coolly; "weneedn't go far for our bear. He will be coming for us. "

At that moment the note of an Alpine horn was heard; but it wasimpossible to determine how far it was away; for the echo took up thenote and flung it back and forth with clear and strong reverberationsfrom mountain to mountain. 

"It is Brumle-Knute who is calling us, " said Thore the Hound. "Thedairymaid must have released him. Shall we answer?"

"Never, " cried the chief, proudly; "I forbid you to answer. Here we haveour heroic deed in sight, and I want no one to spoil it. If there is acoward among us, let him take to his heels; no one shall detain him. "

There were perhaps several who would have liked to accept theinvitation; but no one did. Skull-Splitter, by way of diversion, plumpedbackward into the brook, and sat down in the cool pool up to his waist. But nobody laughed at his mishap; because they had their minds full ofmore serious thoughts. Wolf-in-the-Temple, who had climbed up on a bigmoss-grown boulder, stood, gun in hand, and peered in among the bushes. 

"Boys, " he whispered, "drop down on your bellies--quick. "

All, crowding behind a rock, obeyed, pushing themselves into positionwith hands and feet. With wildly beating hearts the Vikings gazed upamong the gray wilderness of stone and underbrush, and first one, thenanother, caught sight of something brown and hairy that came toddlingdown toward them, now rolling like a ball of yarn, now turning asomersault, and now again pegging industriously along on four clumsypaws. It was the prettiest little bear cub that ever woke on its mossylair in the woods. Now it came shuffling down in a boozy way to take itsmorning bath. It seemed but half awake; and Skull-Splitter imaginedthat it was a trifle cross, because its mother had waked it too early. Evidently it had made no toilet as yet, for bits of moss weresticking in its hair; and it yawned once or twice, and shook itshead disgustedly. Skull-Splitter knew so well that feeling and couldsympathize with the poor young cub. But Wolf-in-the-Temple, who watchedit no less intently, was filled with quite different emotions. Herewas his heroic deed, for which he had hungered so long. To shoot abear--that was a deed worthy of a Norseman. One step more--then two--andthen--up rose the bear cub on its hind legs and rubbed its eyes withits paws. Now he had a clean shot--now or never; and pulling the triggerWolf-in-the-Temple blazed away and sent a handful of shot into thecarcass of the poor little bear. Up jumped all the Sons of the Vikingsfrom behind their stones, and, with a shout of triumph, ran up the pathto where the cub was lying. It had rolled itself up into a brown ball, and whimpered like a child in pain. But at that very moment there camean ominous growl out of the underbrush, and a crackling and creaking ofbranches was heard which made the hearts of the boys stand still. 

"Erling, " cried Wolf-in-the-Temple, "hand me your gun, and load mine forme as quick as you can. "

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the head of a big brownshe-bear became visible among the bushes. She paused in the path, where her cub was lying, turned him over with her paw, licked his face, grumbled with a low soothing tone, snuffed him all over and rubbed hernose against his snout. But unwarily she must have touched some sorespot; for the cub gave a sharp yelp of pain and writhed and whimperedas he looked up into his mother's eyes, clumsily returning her caresses. The boys, half emerged from their hiding-places, stood watching thisdemonstration of affection not without sympathy; and Skull-Splitter, for one, heartily wished that the chief had not wounded the littlebear. Quite ignorant as he was of the nature of bears, he allowed hiscompassion to get the better of his judgment. It seemed such a pity thatthe poor little beast should lie there and suffer with one eye put outand forty or fifty bits of lead distributed through its body. It wouldbe much more merciful to put it out of its misery altogether. Andaccordingly when Erling the Lop-Sided handed him his gun to pass on tothe chief, Skull-Splitter started forward, flung the gun to his cheek, and blazed away at the little bear once more, entirely heedless ofconsequences. It was a random, unskilful shot, which was about equallyshared by the cub and its mother. And the latter was not in a mood to betrifled with. With an angry roar she rose on her hind legs and advancedagainst the unhappy Skull-Splitter with two uplifted paws. In anothermoment she would give him one of her vigorous "left-handers, " whichwould probably pacify him forever. Ironbeard gave a scream of terrorand Thore the Hound broke down an alder-sapling in his excitement. ButWolf-in-the-Temple, remembering that he had sworn foster-brotherhoodwith this brave and foolish little lad, thought that now was the time toshow his heroism. Here it was no longer play, but dead earnest. Down heleaped from his rock, and just as the she-bear was within a foot of theSkull-Splitter, he dealt her a blow in the head with the butt end ofhis gun which made the sparks dance before her eyes. She turned suddenlytoward her new assailant, growling savagely, and scratched her ear withher paw. And Skull-Splitter, who had slipped on the pine needles andfallen, scrambled to his feet again, leaving his gun on the ground, andwith a few aimless steps tumbled once more into the brook. Ironbeard, seeing that he was being outdone by his chief, was quick to seize thegun, and rushing forward dealt the she-bear another blow, which, insteadof disabling her, only exasperated her further. She glared with hersmall bloodshot eyes now at the one, now at the other boy, as if indoubt which she would tackle first. It was an awful moment; one or theother might have saved himself by flight, but each was determined tostand his ground. Vikings could die, but never flee. With a furiousgrowl the she-bear started toward her last assailant, lifting herterrible paw. Ironbeard backed a few steps, pointing his gun before him;and with benumbing force the paw descended upon the gun-barrel, strikingit out of his hands. 

It seemed all of a sudden to the boy as if his arms were asleep up tothe shoulders; he had a stinging sensation in his flesh and a humming inhis ears, which made him fear that his last hour had come. If the bearrenewed the attack now, he was utterly defenceless. He was not exactlyafraid, but he was numb all over. It seemed to matter little what becameof him. 

But now a strange thing happened. To his unutterable astonishment he sawthe she-bear drop down on all fours and vent her rage on the gun, which, in a trice, was bent and broken into a dozen fragments. But in thisdiversion she was interrupted by Wolf-in-the-Temple, who hammered awayagain at her head with the heavy end of his weapon. Again she rose, and presented two rows of white teeth which looked as if they meantbusiness. It was the chief's turn now to meet his fate; and it wasthe more serious because his helper was disarmed and could give him noassistance. With a wildly thumping heart he raised the butt end of hisgun and dashed forward, when as by a miracle a shot was heard--a sharp, loud shot that rumbled away with manifold reverberations among themountains. In the same instant the huge brown bear tumbled forward, rolled over, with a gasping growl, and was dead. 

"O Brumle-Knute! Brumle-Knute!" yelled the boys in joyous chorus, asthey saw their rescuer coming forward from behind the rocks, "how did youfind us?"

"I heard yer shots and I saw yer tracks, " said Brumle-Knute, dryly; "butwhen ye go bear-hunting another time ye had better load with bulletsinstead of bird-shot. "

"But Brumle-Knute, we only wanted to shoot the little bear, " protestedWolf-in-the-Temple. 

"That may be, " Brumle-Knute replied; "but the big bears, they are acuriously unreasonable lot--they are apt to get mad when you fire attheir little ones. Next time you must recollect to take the big bearinto account. "

I need not tell you that the Sons of the Vikings became great heroeswhen the rumor of their bear hunt was noised abroad through the valley. But, for all that, they determined to disband their brotherhood. Wolf-in-the-Temple expressed the sentiment of all when, at their lastmeeting, he made a speech, in which these words occurred:

"Brothers, the world isn't quite the same now as it was in the dayswhen our Viking forefathers spread the terror of their name through theSouth. We are not so strong as they were, nor so hardy. When we mingleblood, we have to send for a surgeon. If we steal princesses we may goto jail for it--or--or--well--never mind--what else may happen. Heroismisn't appreciated as once it was in this country; and I, for one, won'ttry to be a hero any more. I resign my chieftainship now, when I can doit with credit. Let us all make our bows of adieu as bear hunters; andif we don't do anything more in the heroic line it is not because wecan't, but because we won't. "

PAUL JESPERSEN'S MASQUERADE

There was great excitement in the little Norse town, Bumlebro, becausethere was going to be a masquerade. Everybody was busy inventing thecharacter which he was to represent, and the costume in which he was torepresent it. 

Miss Amelia Norbeck, the apothecary's daughter, had intended to be MarieAntoinette, but had to give it up because the silk stockings were toodear, although she had already procured the beauty-patches and thepowdered wig. 

Miss Arctander, the judge's daughter, was to be Night, in black tulle, spangled with silver stars, and Miss Hanna Broby was to be Morning, inwhite tulle and pink roses. 

There had never BEEN a masquerade in Bumlebro, and there would not havebeen one now, if it had not been for the enterprise of young Arctanderand young Norbeck, who had just returned from the military academy inthe capital, and were anxious to exhibit themselves to the young girlsin their glory. 

Of course, they could not afford to be exclusive, for there were buttwenty or thirty families in the town that laid any claims to gentility, and they had all to be invited in order to fill the hall and pay thebills. Thus it came to pass that Paul Jespersen, the book-keeper in thefish-exporting firm of Broby & Larsen, received a card, although, to besure, there had been a long debate in the committee as to where the lineshould be drawn. 

Paul Jespersen was uncommonly elated when he read the invitation, which was written on a gilt-edged card, requesting the pleasure ofMr. Jespersen's company at a bal masque Tuesday, January 3d, in theAssociation Hall. 

"The pleasure of his company!"

Think of it! He felt so flattered that he blushed to the tips of hisears. It must have been Miss Clara Broby who had induced them to be sopolite to him, for those insolent cadets, who only nodded patronizinglyto him in response to his deferential greeting, would never have askedfor "the pleasure of his company. "

Having satisfied himself on this point, Paul went to call upon MissClara in the evening, in order to pay her some compliment and consulther in regard to his costume; but Miss Clara, as it happened, was muchmore interested in her own costume than in that of Mr. Jespersen, andoffered no useful suggestions. 

"What character would you advise me to select, Mr. Jespersen?" sheinquired, sweetly. "My sister Hanna, you know, is going to be Morning, so I can't be that, and it seems to me Morning would have suited me justlovely. "

"Go as Beauty, " suggested Mr. Jespersen, blushing at the thought of hisaudacity. 

"So I will, Mr. Jespersen, " she answered, laughing, "if you will go asthe Beast. "

Paul, being a simple-hearted fellow, failed to see any sarcasm in this, but interpreted it rather as a hint that Miss Clara desired his escort, as Beauty, of course, only would be recognizable in her proper characterby the presence of the Beast. 

"I shall be delighted, Miss Clara, " he said, beaming with pleasure. "Ifyou will be my Beauty, I'll be your Beast. "

Miss Clara did not know exactly how to take this, and was ratherabsent-minded during the rest of the interview. She had been chaffingMr. Jespersen, of course, but she did not wish to be absolutely rude tohim, because he was her father's employee, and, as she often heard herfather say, a very valuable and trustworthy young man. 

When Paul got home he began at once to ponder upon his character asBeast, and particularly as Miss Clara's Beast. It occurred to him thathis uncle, the furrier, had an enormous bear-skin, with head, eyes, claws, and all that was necessary, and without delay he went to try iton. 

His uncle, feeling that this event was somehow to redound to the creditof the family, agreed to make the necessary alterations at a triflingcost, and when the night of the masquerade arrived, Paul was so startledat his appearance that he would have run away from himself if such athing had been possible. He had never imagined that he would make such asuccessful Beast. 

By an ingenious contrivance with a string, which he pulled with hishand, he was able to move his lower jaw, which, with its red tongue andterrible teeth, presented an awful appearance. By patching the skina little behind, his head was made to fit comfortably into the bear'shead, and his mild blue eyes looked out of the holes from which thebear's eyes had been removed. The skin was laced with thin leatherthongs from the neck down, but the long, shaggy fur made the lacinginvisible. 

Paul Jespersen practiced ursine behavior before the looking-glassfor about half an hour. Then, being uncomfortably warm, he starteddown-stairs, and determined to walk to the Association Hall. He chuckledto himself at the thought of the sensation he would make, if he shouldhappen to meet anybody on the road. 

Having never attended a masquerade before, he did not know thatdressing-rooms were provided for the maskers, and, being averse toneedless expenditure, he would as soon have thought of flying as oftaking a carriage. There was, in fact, but one carriage on runners inthe town, and that was already engaged by half a dozen parties. 

The moon was shining faintly upon the snow, and there was a sharp frostin the air when Paul Jespersen put his hairy head out of the street-doorand reconnoitred the territory. 

There was not a soul to be seen, except an old beggar woman who washobbling along, supporting herself with two sticks. Paul darted, asquickly as his unwieldly bulk would allow, into the middle of thestreet. He enjoyed intensely the fun of walking abroad in such amonstrous guise. He contemplated with boyish satisfaction his shadowwhich stretched, long and black and horrible, across the snow. 

It was a bit slippery, and he had to manoeuvre carefully in order tokeep right side up. Presently he caught up with the beggar woman. 

"Good-evening!" he said. 

The old woman turned about, stared at him horror-stricken; then, as soonas she had collected her senses, took to her heels, yelling at the topof her voice. A big mastiff, who had just been let loose for the night, began to bark angrily in a back yard, and a dozen comrades respondedfrom other yards, and came bounding into the street. 

"Hello!" thought Paul Jespersen. "Now look out for trouble. "

He felt anything but hilarious when he saw the pack of angry dogsdancing and leaping about him, barking in a wildly discordant chorus. 

"Why, Hector, you fool, don't you know me?" he said, coaxingly, to thejudge's mastiff. "And you, Sultan, old man! You ought to be ashamedof yourself! Here, Caro, that's a good fellow! Come, now, don't exciteyourself!"

But Hector, Sultan, and Caro were all proof against such blandishments, and as for Bismarck, the apothecary's collie, he grew every moment morefurious, and showed his teeth in a very uncomfortable fashion. 

To defend one's self was not to be thought of, for what defence ispossible to a sham bear against a dozen genuine dogs? Paul could useneither his teeth nor his claws to any purpose, while the dogs could usetheirs, as he presently discovered, with excellent effect. 

He had just concluded to seek safety in flight, when suddenly he felt abite in his left calf, and saw the brute Bismarck tug away at his legas if it had been a mutton-chop. He had scarcely recovered from thissurprise when he heard a sharp report, and a bullet whizzed away overhis head, after having neatly put a hole through the right ear. Paulconcluded, with reason, that things were getting serious. 

If he could only get hold of that blockhead, the judge's groom, who wasviolating the law about fire-arms, he would give him an exhibition inathletics which he would not soon forget; but, being for the momentdeprived of this pleasure, he knew of nothing better to do than to dodgethrough the nearest street-door, and implore the protection of the veryfirst individual he might meet. 

It so happened that Paul selected the house of two middle-aged millinersfor this experiment. 

Jemina and Malla Hansen were just seated at the table drinking tea withtheir one constant visitor, the post-office clerk, Mathias, when, allof a sudden, they heard a tremendous racket in the hall, and the furiousbarking of dogs. 

With a scream of fright, the two old maids jumyed up, dropping theirprecious tea-cups, and old Mathias, who had tipped his chair a littlebackward, lost his balance, and pointed his heels toward the ceiling. Before he had time to pick himself up the door was burst open and agreat hairy monster sprang into the room. 

"Mercy upon us!" cried Jemina. "It is the devil!"

But now came the worst of it all. The bear put his paw on his heart, andwith the politest bow in the world, remarked:

"Pardon me, ladies, if I intrude. "

He had meant to say more, but his audience had vanished; only the flyingtails of Mathias's coat were seen, as he slammed the door on them, inhis precipitate flight. 

"Police! police!" someone shouted out of the window of the adjoiningroom. 

Police! Now, with all due respect for the officers of the law, PaulJespersen had no desire to meet them at the present moment. To be hauledup at the station-house and fined for street disorder--nay, perhaps belocked up for the night, if, as was more than likely, the captain ofpolice was at the masquerade, was not at all to Paul's taste. Anythingrather than that! He would be the laughing stock of the whole townif, after his elaborate efforts, he were to pass the night in a cell, instead of dancing with Miss Clara Broby. 

Hearing the cry for police repeated, Paul looked about him for somemeans of escape. It occurred to him that he had seen a ladder in thehall leading up to the loft. There he could easily hide himself untilthe crowd had dispersed. 

Without further reflection, he rushed out through the door by which hehad entered, climbed the ladder, thrust open a trap-door, and, to hisastonishment, found himself under the wintry sky. 

The roof sloped steeply, and he had to balance carefully in orderto avoid sliding down into the midst of the noisy mob of dogs andstreet-boys who were laying siege to the door. 

With the utmost caution he crawled along the roof-tree, trembling lesthe should be discovered by some lynx-eyed villain in the throng of hispursuers. Happily, the broad brick chimney afforded him some shelter, of which he was quick to take advantage. Rolling himself up into thesmallest possible compass, he sat for a long time crouching behindthe chimney; while the police were rummaging under the beds and in theclosets of the house, in the hope of finding him. 

He had, of course, carefully closed the trap-door by which he hadreached the comparative safety of his present position; and he couldnot help chuckling to himself at the thought of having outwitted theofficers of the law. 

The crowd outside, after having made night hideous by their whoops andyells, began, at the end of an hour, to grow weary; and the dogsbeing denied entrance to the house, concluded that they had no furtherbusiness there, and slunk off to their respective kennels. 

The people, too, scattered, and only a few patient loiterers hung aboutthe street door, hoping for fresh developments. It seemed useless toPaul to wait until these provoking fellows should take themselves away. They were obviously prepared to make a night of it, and time was noobject to them. 

It was then that Paul, in his despair, resolved upon a daring stratagem. Mr. Broby's house was in the same block as that of the Misses Hansen, only it was at the other end of the block. By creeping along theroof-trees of the houses, which, happily, differed but slightly inheight, he could reach the Broby house, where, no doubt, Miss Clara wasnow waiting for him, full of impatience. 

He did not deliberate long before testing the practicability of thisplan. The tanner Thoresen's house was reached without accident, althoughhe barely escaped being detected by a small boy who was amusing himselfthrowing snow-balls at the chimney. It was a slow and wearisome mode oflocomotion--pushing himself forward on his belly; but, as long as thestreets were deserted, it was a pretty safe one. 

He gave a start whenever he heard a dog bark; for the echoes of theear-splitting concert they had given him were yet ringing in his brain. 

It was no joke being a bear, he thought, and if he had suspected that itwas such a serious business, he would not so rashly have undertaken it. But now there was no way of getting out of it; for he had nothing on buthis underclothes under the bear-skin. 

At last he reached the Broby house, and drew a sigh of relief at thethought that he was now at the end of his journey. 

He looked about him for a trap-door by which he could descend into theinterior, but could find none. There was an inch of snow on the roof, glazed with frost: and if there was a trap-door, it was securely hidden. 

To jump or slide down was out of the question, for he would, in thatcase, risk breaking his neck. If he cried for help, the groom, who wasalways ready with his gun, might take a fancy to shoot at him; and thatwould be still more unpleasant. It was a most embarrassing situation. 

Paul's eyes fell upon a chimney; and the thought flashed through hishead that there was the solution of the difficulty. He observed thatno smoke was coming out of it, so that he would run no risk of beingconverted into smoked ham during the descent. 

He looked down through the long, black tunnel. It was a great, spacious, old-fashioned chimney, and abundantly wide enough for his purpose. 

A pleasant sound of laughter and merry voices came to him from thekitchen below. It was evident the girls were having a frolic. So, without further ado, Paul Jespersen stuffed his great hairy bulk intothe chimney and proceeded to let himself down. 

There were notches and iron rings in the brick wall, evidently put therefor the convenience of the chimney-sweeps; and he found his task easierthan he had anticipated. The soot, to be sure, blinded his eyes, butwhere there was nothing to be seen, that was no serious disadvantage. 

In fact, everything was going as smoothly as possible, when suddenly heheard a girl's voice cry out:

"Gracious goodness! what is that in the chimney?"

"Probably the chimney-sweep, " a man's voice answered. 

"Chimney-sweep at this time of night!"

Paul, bracing himself against the walls, looked down and saw a clusterof anxious faces all gazing up toward him. A candle which one of thegirls held in her hand showed him that the distance down to the hearthwas but short; so, to make an end of their uncertainty, he droppedhimself down--quietly, as he thought, but by the force of his fallblowing the ashes about in all directions. 

A chorus of terrified screams greeted him. One girl fainted, one leapedup on a table, and the rest made for the door. 

And there sat poor Paul, in the ashes on the hearth, utterly bewilderedby the consternation he had occasioned. He picked himself up by and by, rubbed the soot out of his eyes with the backs of his paws, and crawledout upon the floor. 

He had just managed to raise himself upon his hind-legs, when an awfulapparition became visible in the door, holding a candle. It was nowPaul's turn to be frightened. The person who stood before him bore aclose resemblance to the devil. 

"What is all this racket about?" he cried, in a tone of authority. 

Paul felt instantly relieved, for the voice was that of his reveredchief, Mr. Broby, who, he now recollected, was to figure at themasquerade as Mephistopheles. Behind him peeped forth the faces of histwo daughters, one as Morning and the other as Spring. 

"May I ask what is the cause of this unseemly noise?" repeated Mr. Broby, advancing to the middle of the room. The light of his candle nowfell upon the huge bear whom, after a slight start, he recognized as amasker. 

"Excuse me, Mr. Broby, " said Paul, "but Miss Clara did me the honor----"

"Oh yes, papa, " Miss Clara interrupted him, stepping forth in all herglory of tulle and flowers; "it is Paul Jespersen, who was going to bemy Beast. "

"And it is you who have frightened my servants half out of their wits, Jespersen?" said Mr. Broby, laughing. 

"He tumbled down through the chimney, sir, " declared the cook, who hadhalf-recovered from her fright. 

"Well, " said Mr. Broby, with another laugh, "I admit that was a trifleunconventional. Next time you call, Jespersen, you must come through thedoor. "

He thought Jespersen had chosen to play a practical joke on theservants, and, though he did not exactly like it, he was in no mood forscolding. After having been carefully brushed and rolled in the snow, Paul offered his escort to Miss Clara; and she had not the heart to tellhim that she was not at all Beauty, but Spring. And Paul was not enoughof an expert to know the difference. 

LADY CLARE THE STORY OF A HORSE

The king was dead, and among the many things he left behind him whichhis successor had no use for were a lot of fancy horses. There werelong-barrelled English hunters, all legs and neck; there were Kentuckyracers, graceful, swift, and strong; and two Arabian steeds, which hadbeen presented to his late majesty by the Sultan of Turkey. To see thebeautiful beasts prancing and plunging, as they were being led throughthe streets by grooms in the royal livery, was enough to make the blooddance in the veins of any lover of horse-flesh. And to think that theywere being led ignominiously to the auction mart to be sold under thehammer--knocked down to the highest bidder! It was a sin and a shamesurely! And they seemed to feel it themselves; and that was the reasonthey acted so obstreperously, sometimes lifting the grooms off theirfeet as they reared and snorted and struck sparks with their steel-shodhoofs from the stone pavement. 

Among the crowd of schoolboys who followed the equine procession, shrieking and yelling with glee and exciting the horses by their wantonscreams, was a handsome lad of fourteen, named Erik Carstens. He hadfixed his eyes admiringly on a coal-black, four-year-old mare, a merecolt, which brought up the rear of the procession. How exquisitely shewas fashioned! How she danced over the ground with a light mazurka step, as if she were shod with gutta-percha and not with iron! And then shehad a head so daintily shaped, small and spirited, that it was a joy tolook at her. Erik, who, in spite of his youth, was not a bad judge ofa horse, felt his heart beat like a trip-hammer, and a mighty yearningtook possession of him to become the owner of that mare. 

Though he knew it was time for dinner he could not tear himself away, but followed the procession up one street and down another, until itstopped at the horse market. There a lot of jockeys and coarse-lookingdealers were on hand; and an opportunity was afforded them to try thehorses before the auction began. They forced open the mouths of thebeautiful animals, examined their teeth, prodded them with whips to seeif they were gentle, and poked them with their fingers or canes. Butwhen a loutish fellow, in a brown corduroy suit, indulged in thatkind of behavior toward the black mare she gave a resentful whinnyand without further ado grabbed him with her teeth by the coat collar, lifted him up and shook him as if he had been a bag of straw. Then shedropped him in the mud, and raised her dainty head with an air as if tosay that she held him to be beneath contempt. The fellow, however, wasnot inclined to put up with that kind of treatment. With a volley ofoaths he sprang up and would have struck the mare in the mouth with hisclinched fist, if Erik had not darted forward and warded off the blow. 

"How dare you strike that beautiful creature?" he cried, indignantly. 

"Hold your jaw, you gosling, or I'll hit you instead, " retorted the man. 

But by that time one of the royal grooms had made his appearance and thebrute did not dare carry out his threat. While the groom strove to quietthe mare, a great tumult arose in some other part of the market-place. There was a whinnying, plunging, rearing, and screaming, as if the wholefield had gone mad. The black mare joined in the concert, and stoodwith her ears pricked up and her head raised in an attitude of panickyexpectation. Quite fearlessly Erik walked up to her, patted her on theneck and spoke soothingly to her. 

"Look out, " yelled the groom, "or she'll trample you to jelly!"

But instead of that, the mare rubbed her soft nose against the boy'scheek, with a low, friendly neighing, as if she wished to thank him forhis gallant conduct. And at that moment Erik's heart went out to thatdumb creature with an affection which he had never felt toward anyliving thing before. He determined, whatever might happen, to bid on herand to buy her, whatever she might prove to be worth. He knew he had afew thousand dollars in the bank--his inheritance from his mother, whohad died when he was a baby--and he might, perhaps, be able to persuadehis father to sanction the purchase. At any rate, he would have sometime to invent ways and means; for his father, Captain Carstens, was nowaway on the great annual drill, and would not return for some weeks. 

As a mere matter of form, he resolved to try the mare before bidding onher; and slipping a coin into the groom's hand he asked for a saddle. Itturned out, however, that all the saddles were in use, and Erik had nochoice but to mount bareback. 

"Ride her on the snaffle. She won't stand the curb, " shouted the groom, as the mare, after plunging to the right and to the left, darted throughthe gate to the track, and, after kicking up a vast deal of tan-bark, sped like a bullet down the race-course. 

"Good gracious, how recklessly that boy rides!" one jockey observed toanother; "but he has got a good grip with his knees all the same. "

"Yes, he sits like a daisy, " the second replied, critically; "but mindmy word, Lady Clare will throw him yet. She never could stand anybodybut the princess on her back: and that was the reason her Royal Highnesswas so fond of her. Mother of Moses, won't there be a grand rumpus whenshe comes back again and finds Lady Clare gone! I should not like to bein the shoes of the man who has ordered Lady Clare under the hammer. "

"But look at the lad! I told you Lady Clare wouldn't stand no manner ofnonsense from boys. "

"She is kicking like a Trojan! She'll make hash of him if he loses hisseat. "

"Yes, but he sticks like a burr. That's a jewel of a lad, I tell ye. Heought to have been a jockey. "

Up the track came Lady Clare, black as the ace of spades, acting likethe Old Harry. Something had displeased her, obviously, and she heldErik responsible for it. Possibly she had just waked up to the factthat she, who had been the pet of a princess, was now being ridden by anordinary commoner. At all events, she had made up her mind to get ridof the commoner without further ceremony. Putting her fine ears back anddilating her nostrils, she suddenly gave a snort and a whisk with hertail, and up went her heels toward the eternal stars--that is, if therehad been any stars visible just then. Everybody's heart stuck in histhroat; for fleet-footed racers were speeding round and round, and thefellow who got thrown in the midst of all these trampling hoofs wouldhave small chance of looking upon the sun again. People instinctivelytossed their heads up to see how high he would go before coming downagain; but, for a wonder, they saw nothing, except a cloud of dust mixedwith tan-bark, and when that had cleared away they discovered the blackmare and her rider, apparently on the best of terms, dashing up thetrack at a breakneck pace. 

Erik was dripping with perspiration when he dismounted, and Lady Clare'sglossy coat was flecked with foam. She was not aware, apparently, thatif she had any reputation to ruin she had damaged it most effectually. Her behavior on the track and her treatment of the horse-dealer were bythis time common property, and every dealer and fancier made a mentalnote that Lady Clare was the number in the catalogue which he wouldnot bid on. All her beauty and her distinguished ancestry counted fornothing, as long as she had so uncertain a temper. Her sire, Potiphar, it appeared, had also been subject to the same infirmities of temper, and there was a strain of savagery in her blood which might crop outwhen you least expected it. 

Accordingly, when a dozen fine horses had been knocked down at goodprices, and Lady Clare's turn came, no one came forward to inspect her, and no one could be found to make a bid. 

"Well, well, gentlemen, " cried the auctioneer, "here we have a beautifulthoroughbred mare, the favorite mount of Her Royal Highness thePrincess, and not a bid do I hear. She's a beauty, gentlemen, siredby the famous Potiphar who won the Epsom Handicap and no end of minorstakes. Take a look at her, gentlemen! Did you ever see a horse beforethat was raven black from nose to tail? I reckon you never did. But sucha horse is Lady Clare. The man who can find a single white hair on hercan have her for a gift. Come forward, gentlemen, come forward. Who willstart her--say at five hundred?"

A derisive laugh ran through the crowd, and a voice was heard to cry, "Fifty. "

"Fifty!" repeated the auctioneer, in a deeply grieved and injured tone;"fifty did you say, sir? Fifty? Did I hear rightly? I hope, for the sakeof the honor of this fair city, that my ears deceived me. "

Here came a long and impressive pause, during which the auctioneer, suddenly abandoning his dramatic manner, chatted familiarly with agentleman who stood near him. The only one in the crowd whom he hadimpressed with the fact that the honor of the city was at stake inthis sale was Erik Carstens. He had happily discovered a young and richlieutenant of his father's company, and was trying to persuade him tobid in the mare for him. 

"But, my dear boy, " Lieutenant Thicker exclaimed, "what do you supposethe captain will say to me if I aid and abet his son in defying thepaternal authority?"

"Oh, you needn't bother about that, " Erik rejoined eagerly. "If fatherwas at home, I believe he would allow me to buy this mare. But I am aminor yet, and the auctioneer would not accept my bid. Therefore Ithought you might be kind enough to bid for me. "

The lieutenant made no answer, but looked at the earnest face of the boywith unmistakable sympathy. The auctioneer assumed again an insulted, affronted, pathetically entreating or scornfully repelling tone, according as it suited his purpose; and the price of Lady Clare crawledslowly and reluctantly up from fifty to seventy dollars. There itstopped, and neither the auctioneer's tears nor his prayers couldapparently coax it higher. 

"Seventy dollars!" he cried, as if he were really too shocked to speakat all; "seven-ty dollars! Make it eighty! Oh, it is a sin and a shame, gentlemen, and the fair fame of this beautiful city is eternally ruined. It will become a wagging of the head and a byword among thenations. Sev-en-ty dollars!"--then hotly and indignantly--"seventydollars!--fifth and last time, seventy dollars!"--here he raised hishammer threateningly--"seventy dollars!"

"One hundred!" cried a high boyish voice, and in an instant everyneck was craned and every eye was turned toward the corner where ErikCarstens was standing, half hidden behind the broad figure of LieutenantThicker. 

"Did I hear a hundred?" repeated the auctioneer, wonderingly. "May I askwho was the gentleman who said a hundred?"

An embarrassing silence followed. Erik knew that if he acknowledged thebid he would suffer the shame of having it refused. But his excitementand his solicitude for the fair fame of his native city had carried himaway so completely that the words had escaped from his lips before hewas fully aware of their import. 

"May I ask, " repeated the wielder of the hammer, slowly andemphatically, "may I ask the gentleman who offered one hundred dollarsfor Lady Clare to come forward and give his name?"

He now looked straight at Erik, who blushed to the edge of his hair, but did not stir from the spot. From sheer embarrassment he clutched thelieutenant's arm, and almost pinched it. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, " the officer exclaimed, addressing theauctioneer, as if he had suddenly been aroused from a fit ofabstraction; "I made the bid of one hundred dollars, or--or--at anyrate, I make it now. "

The same performance, intended to force up the price, was repeated oncemore, but with no avail, and at the end of two minutes Lady Clare wasknocked down to Lieutenant Thicker. 

"Now I have gone and done it like the blooming idiot that I am, "observed the lieutenant, when Lady Clare was led into his stable by aliveried groom. "What an overhauling the captain will give me when hegets home. "

"You need have no fear, " Erik replied. "I'll sound father as soon ashe gets home; and if he makes any trouble I'll pay you that one hundreddollars, with interest, the day I come of age. "

Well, the captain came home, and having long had the intention topresent his son with a saddle-horse, he allowed himself to be cajoledinto approving of the bargain. The mare was an exquisite creature, if ever there was one, and he could well understand how Erik had beencarried away; Lieutenant Thicker, instead of being hauled over thecoals, as he had expected, received thanks for his kind and generousconduct toward the son of his superior officer. As for Erik himself, hehad never had any idea that a boy's life could be so glorious as his wasnow. Mounted on that splendid, coal-black mare, he rode through the cityand far out into the country at his father's side; and never did itseem to him that he had loved his father so well as he did duringthese afternoon rides. The captain was far from suspecting that in thatepisode of the purchase of Lady Clare his own relation to his son hadbeen at stake. Not that Erik would not have obeyed his father, even ifhe had turned out his rough side and taken the lieutenant to task forhis kindness; but their relation would in that case have lacked the warmintimacy (which in nowise excludes obedience and respect) and that lasttouch of devoted admiration which now bound them together. 

That fine touch of sympathy in the captain's disposition which hadenabled him to smile indulgently at his son's enthusiasm for the horsemade the son doubly anxious not to abuse such kindness, and to doeverything in his power to deserve the confidence which made his lifeso rich and happy. Though, as I have said, Captain Carstens lacked theacuteness to discover how much he owed to Lady Clare, he acknowledgedhimself in quite a different way her debtor. He had never really beenaware what a splendid specimen of a boy his son was until he saw himon the back of that spirited mare, which cut up with him like the OldHarry, and yet never succeeded in flurrying, far less in unseating him. The captain felt a glow of affection warming his breast at the sight ofthis, and his pride in Erik's horsemanship proved a consolation to himwhen the boy's less distinguished performances at school caused him fretand worry. 

"A boy so full of pluck must amount to something, even if he does nottake kindly to Latin, " he reflected many a time. "I am afraid I havemade a mistake in having him prepared for college. In the army now, and particularly in the cavalry, he would make a reputation in twentyminutes. "

And a cavalryman Erik might, perhaps, have become if his father had notbeen transferred to another post, and compelled to take up his residencein the country. It was nominally a promotion, but Captain Carstens wasill pleased with it, and even had some thought of resigning rather thangive up his delightful city life, and move far northward into the regionof cod and herring. However, he was too young a man to retire on apension, as yet, and so he gradually reconciled himself to the thought, and sailed northward in the month of April with his son and his entirehousehold. It had long been a question whether Lady Clare should makethe journey with them; for Captain Carstens maintained that so high-bredan animal would be very sensitive to climatic changes and might even dieon the way. Again, he argued that it was an absurdity to bring so finea horse into a rough country, where the roads are poor and where nature, in mercy, provides all beasts with rough, shaggy coats to protect themfrom the cold. How would Lady Clare, with her glossy satin coat, herslender legs that pirouetted so daintily over the ground, and herexquisite head, which she carried so proudly--how would she lookand what kind of figure would she cut among the shaggy, stunted, sedate-looking nags of the Sognefiord district? But the captain, thoughwhat he said was irrefutable, had to suspend all argument when he sawhow utterly wretched Erik became at the mere thought of losing LadyClare. So he took his chances; and, after having ordered blanketsof three different thicknesses for three different kinds of weather, shipped the mare with the rest of his family for his new northern home. 

As the weather proved unusually mild during the northward voyage LadyClare arrived in Sogn without accident or adventure. And never in allher life had she looked more beautiful than she did when she came offthe steamer, and half the population of the valley turned out to seeher. It is no use denying that she was as vain as any other professionalbeauty, and the way she danced and pirouetted on the gangplank, whenErik led her on to the pier, filled the rustics with amazement. Theyhad come to look at the new captain and his family; but when Lady Clareappeared she eclipsed the rest of the company so completely that no onehad eyes for anybody but her. As the sun was shining and the wind wasmild, Erik had taken off her striped overcoat (which covered her fromnose to tail), for he felt in every fibre of his body the sensation shewas making, and blushed with pleasure as if the admiring exclamationshad been intended for himself. 

"Look at that horse, " cried young and old, with eyes as big as saucers, pointing with their fingers at Lady Clare. 

"Handsome carcass that mare has, " remarked a stoutish man, who knew whathe was talking about; "and head and legs to match. "

"She beats your Valders-Roan all hollow, John Garvestad, " said a youngtease who stood next to him in the crowd. 

"My Valders-Roan has never seen his match yet, and never will, accordingto my reckoning, " answered John Garvestad. 

"Ho! ho!" shouted the young fellow, with a mocking laugh; "thatblack mare is a hand taller at the very least, and I bet you she's ahigh-flyer. She has got the prettiest legs I ever clapped eyes on. "

"They'd snap like clay pipes in the mountains, " replied Garvestad, contemptuously. 

Erik, as he blushingly ascended the slope to his new home, leading LadyClare by a halter, had no suspicion of the sentiments which she hadaroused in John Garvestad's breast. He was only blissfully conscious ofthe admiration she had excited; and he promised himself a good deal offun in future in showing off his horsemanship. He took Lady Clare tothe stable, where a new box-stall had been made for her, examined thepremises carefully and nailed a board over a crevice in the wall wherehe suspected a draught. He instructed Anders, the groom, with emphaticand anxious repetitions regarding her care, showed him how to make LadyClare's bed, how to comb her mane, how to brush her (for she refused toendure currying), how to blanket her, and how to read the thermometerwhich he nailed to one of the posts of the stall. The latter proved tobe a more difficult task than he had anticipated; and the worst of itwas that he was not sure that Anders knew any more on the subject of hisinstruction at the end of the lesson than he had at the beginning. Tomake sure that he had understood him he asked him to enter the stall andbegin the process of grooming. But no sooner had the unhappy fellow puthis nose inside the door than Lady Clare laid back her ears in a veryugly fashion, and with a vicious whisk of her tail waltzed around andplanted two hoof-marks in the door, just where the groom's nose had thatvery instant vanished. A second and a third trial had similar results;and as the box-stall was new and of hard wood, Erik had no wish to seeit further damaged. 

"I won't have nothin' to do with that hoss, that's as certain as my nameis Anders, " the groom declared; and Erik, knowing that persuasion wouldbe useless, had henceforth to be his own groom. The fact was he couldnot help sympathizing with that fastidiousness of Lady Clare which madeher object to be handled by coarse fingers and roughly curried, combed, and washed like a common plebeian nag. One does not commence lifeassociating with a princess for nothing. Lady Clare, feeling in everynerve her high descent and breeding, had perhaps a sense of having comedown in the world, and, like many another irrational creature of hersex, she kicked madly against fate and exhibited the unloveliest sideof her character. But with all her skittishness and caprice she wassteadfast in one thing, and that was her love for Erik. As the days wentby in country monotony, he began to feel it as a privilege rather thana burden to have the exclusive care of her. The low, friendly neighingwith which she always greeted him, as soon as he opened the stable-door, was as intelligible and dear to him as the warm welcome of a friend. Andwhen with dainty alertness she lifted her small, beautiful head, overwhich the fine net-work of veins meandered, above the top of the stall, and rubbed her nose caressingly against his cheek, before beginning tosnuff at his various pockets for the accustomed lump of sugar, he felta glow of affection spread from his heart and pervade his whole being. Yes, he loved this beautiful animal with a devotion which, a year ago, he would scarcely have thought it possible to bestow upon a horse. No one could have persuaded him that Lady Clare had not a soul which(whether it was immortal or not) was, at all events, as distinct andclearly defined as that of any person with whom he was acquainted. Shewas to him a personality--a dear, charming friend, with certaindefects of character (as who has not?) which were, however, morethan compensated for by her devotion to him. She was fastidious, quick-tempered, utterly unreasonable where her feelings were involved;full of aristocratic prejudice, which only her sex could excuse; andwhimsical, proud, and capricious. It was absurd, of course, to contendthat these qualities were in themselves admirable; but, on the otherhand, few of us would not consent to overlook them in a friend who lovedus as well as Lady Clare loved Erik. 

The fame of Lady Clare spread through the parish like fire in witheredgrass. People came from afar to look at her, and departed full of wonderat her beauty. When the captain and his son rode together to church onSunday morning, men, women, and children stood in rows at the roadsidestaring at the wonderful mare as if she had been a dromedary or arhinoceros. And when she was tied in the clergyman's stable a largenumber of the men ignored the admonition of the church bells and missedthe sermon, being unable to tear themselves away from Lady Clare'scharms. But woe to him who attempted to take liberties with her; therewere two or three horsy young men who had narrow escapes from bearingthe imprint of her iron shoes for the rest of their days. 

That taught the others a lesson, and now Lady Clare suffered from noannoying familiarities, but was admired at a respectful distance, untilthe pastor, vexed at her rivalry with his sermon, issued orders to havethe stable-door locked during service. 

There was one person besides the pastor who was ill pleased at thereputation Lady Clare was making. That was John Garvestad, the owner ofValders-Roan. John was the richest man in the parish, and always madea point of keeping fine horses. Valders-Roan, a heavily built, powerfulhorse, with a tremendous neck and chest and long tassels on hisfetlocks, but rather squat in the legs, had hitherto held undisputedrank as the finest horse in all Sogn. By the side of Lady Clare helooked as a stout, good-looking peasant lad with coltish manners mighthave looked by the side of the daughter of a hundred earls. 

But John Garvestad, who was naturally prejudiced in favor of hisown horse, could scarcely be blamed for failing to recognize hersuperiority. He knew that formerly, on Sundays, the men were wont togather with admiring comment about Valders-Roan; while now they stoodcraning their necks, peering through the windows of the parson's stable, in order to catch a glimpse of Lady Clare, and all the time Valders-Roanwas standing tied to the fence, in full view of all, utterly neglected. This spectacle filled him with such ire that he hardly could controlhimself. His first impulse was to pick a quarrel with Erik; but a secondand far brighter idea presently struck him. He would buy Lady Clare. Accordingly, when the captain and his son had mounted their horsesand were about to start on their homeward way, Garvestad, puttingValders-Roan to his trumps, dug his heels into his sides and rode upwith a great flourish in front of the churchyard gate. 

"How much will you take for that mare of yours, captain?" he asked, ashe checked his charger with unnecessary vigor close to Lady Clare. 

"She is not mine to sell, " the captain replied. "Lady Clare belongs tomy son. "

"Well, what will you take for her, then?" Garvestad repeated, swaggeringly, turning to Erik. 

"Not all the gold in the world could buy her, " retorted Erik, warmly. 

Valders-Roan, unable to resist the charms of Lady Clare, had in themeanwhile been making some cautious overtures toward an acquaintance. He arched his mighty neck, rose on his hind legs, while his tremendousforehoofs were beating the air, and cut up generally--all for LadyClare's benefit. 

She, however, having regarded his performances for awhile with a mildand somewhat condescending interest, grew a little tired of them andlooked out over the fiord, as a belle might do, with a suppressed yawn, when her cavalier fails to entertain her. Valders-Roan, perceiving theslight, now concluded to make more decided advances. So he put forwardhis nose until it nearly touched Lady Clare's, as if he meant to kissher. But that was more than her ladyship was prepared to put up with. Quick as a flash she flung herself back on her haunches, down went herears, and hers was the angriest horse's head that ever had been seen inthat parish. With an indignant snort she wheeled around, kicking up acloud of dust by the suddenness of the manoeuvre. A less skilled riderthan Erik would inevitably have been thrown by two such unforeseenjerks; and the fact was he had all he could do to keep his seat. 

"Oho!" shouted Garvestad, "your mare shies; she'll break your neck someday, as likely as not. You had better sell her before she gets you intotrouble. "

"But I shouldn't like to have your broken neck on my conscience, " Erikreplied; "if necks are to be broken by Lady Clare I should prefer tohave it be my own. "

The peasant was not clever enough to make out whether this was jest orearnest. With a puzzled frown he stared at the youth and finally brokeout:

"Then you won't sell her at no price? Anyway, the day you change yourmind don't forget to notify John Garvestad. If it's spondulix you areafter, then here's where there's plenty of 'em. "

He slapped his left breast-pocket with a great swagger, looking aroundto observe the impression he was making on his audience; then, jerkingthe bridle violently, so as to make his horse rear, he rode off likeAlexander on Bucephalus, and swung down upon the highway. 

It was but a few weeks after this occurrence that Captain Carstens andhis son were invited to honor John Garvestad by their presence at hiswedding. They were in doubt, at first, as to whether they ought toaccept the invitation; for some unpleasant rumors had reached them, showing that Garvestad entertained unfriendly feelings toward them. He was an intensely vain man; and the thought that Erik Carstens had afiner horse than Valders-Roan left him no peace. He had been heard tosay repeatedly that, if that high-nosed youth persisted in his refusalto sell the mare, he would discover his mistake when, perhaps, it wouldbe too late to have it remedied. Whatever that meant, it sufficed tomake both Erik and his father uneasy. But, on the other hand, it wouldbe the worst policy possible, under such circumstances, to refusethe invitation. For that would be interpreted either as fear or asaristocratic exclusiveness; and the captain, while he was new in thedistrict, was as anxious to avoid the appearance of the one as of theother. Accordingly he accepted the invitation and on the appointed dayrode with his son into the wide yard of John Garvestad's farm, stoppingat the pump, where they watered their horses. It was early inthe afternoon, and both the house and the barn were thronged withwedding-guests. From the sitting-room the strains of two fiddles wereheard, mingled with the scraping and stamping of heavy feet. 

Another musical performance was in progress in the barn; and all overthe yard elderly men and youths were standing in smaller and largergroups, smoking their pipes and tasting the beer-jugs, which were passedfrom hand to hand. But the moment Lady Clare was seen all interest inminor concerns ceased, and with one accord the crowd moved toward her, completely encircling her, and viewing her with admiring glances thatappreciated all her perfections. 

"Did you ever see cleaner-shaped legs on a horse?" someone was heardto say, and instantly his neighbor in the crowd joined the chorus ofpraise, and added: "What a snap and spring there is in every bend of herknee and turn of her neck and flash of her eye!"

It was while this chorus of admiration was being sung in all keys andtones of the whole gamut, that the bridegroom came out of the house, alittle bit tipsy, perhaps, from the many toasts he had been obliged todrink, and bristling with pugnacity to the ends of his fingers and thetips of his hair. Every word of praise that he heard sounded in his earslike a jeer and an insult to himself. With ruthless thrusts he elbowedhis way through the throng of guests and soon stood in front of thetwo horses, from which the captain and Erik had not yet had a chanceto dismount. He returned their greeting with scant courtesy and plungedinstantly into the matter which he had on his mind. 

"I reckon you have thought better of my offer by this time, " he said, with a surly swagger, to Erik. "What do you hold your mare at to-day?"

"I thought we had settled that matter once for all, " the boy replied, quietly. "I have no more intention of selling Lady Clare now than I everhad. "

"Then will ye trade her off for Valders-Roan?" ejaculated Garvestad, eagerly. 

"No, I won't trade her for Valders-Roan or any other horse in creation. "

"Don't be cantankerous, now, young fellow, or you might repent of it. "

"I am not cantankerous. But I beg of you kindly to drop this matter. Icame here, at your invitation, as a guest at your wedding, not for thepurpose of trading horses. "

It was an incautious speech, and was interpreted by everyone presentas a rebuke to the bridegroom for his violation of the rules ofhospitality. The captain, anxious to avoid a row, therefore broke in, ina voice of friendly remonstrance: "My dear Mr. Garvestad, do let us dropthis matter. If you will permit us, we should like to dismount and drinka toast to your health, wishing you a long life and much happiness. "

"Ah, yes, I understand your smooth palaver, " the bridegroom growledbetween his teeth. "I have stood your insolence long enough, and, byjingo, I won't stand it much longer. What will ye take for your mare, I say, or how much do you want to boot, if you trade her forValders-Roan?"

He shouted the last words with furious emphasis, holding his clinchedfist up toward Erik, and glaring at him savagely. 

But now Lady Clare, who became frightened perhaps by the loud talk andviolent gestures, began to rear and plunge, and by an unforeseen motionknocked against the bridegroom, so that he fell backward into thehorse-trough under the pump, which was full of water. The wedding-guestshad hardly time to realize what was happening when a great splash sentthe water flying into their faces, and the burly form of John Garvestadwas seen sprawling helplessly in the horse-trough. But then--then theyrealized it with a vengeance. And a laugh went up--a veritable stormof laughter--which swept through the entire crowd and re-echoed with aghostly hilarity from the mountains. John Garvestad in the meanwhilehad managed to pick himself out of the horse-trough, and while he stoodsnorting, spitting, and dripping, Captain Carstens and his son politelylifted their hats to him and rode away. But as they trotted out of thegate they saw their host stretch a big clinched fist toward them, andheard him scream with hoarse fury: "I'll make ye smart for that someday, so help me God!"

Lady Clare was not sent to the mountains in the summer, as are nearlyall horses in the Norwegian country districts. She was left untetheredin an enclosed home pasture about half a mile from the mansion. Hereshe grazed, rolled, kicked up her heels, and gambolled to her heart'scontent. During the long, bright summer nights, when the sun scarcelydips beneath the horizon and reappears in an hour, clothed in the breezygarments of morning, she was permitted to frolic, race, and play allsorts of improvised games with a shaggy, little, plebeian three-year-oldcolt whom she had condescended to honor with her acquaintance. Thiscolt must have had some fine feeling under his rough coat, for he neverpresumed in the least upon the acquaintance, being perhaps aware of thehonor it conferred upon him. He allowed himself to be abused, ignored, or petted, as it might suit the pleasure of her royal highness, with apatient, even-tempered good-nature which was admirable. When Lady Clare(perhaps for fear of making him conceited) took no notice of him, heshowed neither resentment nor surprise, but walked off with a sheepishshake of his head. Thus he slowly learned the lesson to make noexhibition of feeling at the sight of his superior; not to run up andgreet her with a disrespectfully joyous whinny; but calmly wait for herto recognize him before appearing to be aware of her presence. It tookLady Clare several months to accustom Shag (for that was the colt'sname) to her ways. She taught him unconsciously the rudiments of goodmanners; but he proved himself docile, and when he once had been reducedto his proper place he proved a fairly acceptable companion. 

During the first and second week after John Garvestad's wedding Erikhad kept Lady Clare stabled, having a vague fear that the angry peasantmight intend to do her harm. But she whinnied so pitifully through thelong light nights that finally he allowed his compassion to get thebetter of his anxiety, and once more she was seen racing madly aboutthe field with Shag, whom she always beat so ignominiously that she felthalf sorry for him, and as a consolation allowed him gently to claw hermane with his teeth. This was a privilege which Shag could not fail toappreciate, though she never offered to return the favor by clawing him. At any rate, as soon as Lady Clare reappeared in the meadow Shag's cupof bliss seemed to be full. 

A week passed in this way, nothing happened, and Erik's vigilance wasrelaxed. He went to bed on the evening of July 10th with an easy mind, without the remotest apprehension of danger. The sun set about teno'clock, and Lady Clare and Shag greeted its last departing rays with awhinny, accompanied by a wanton kickup from the rear--for whateverLady Clare did Shag felt in honor bound to do, and was conscious of nodisgrace in his abject and ape-like imitation. They had spent an hour, perhaps, in such delightful performances, when all of a sudden they werestartled by a deep bass whinny, which rumbled and shook like distantthunder. Then came the tramp, tramp, tramp of heavy hoof-beats, whichmade the ground tremble. Lady Clare lifted her beautiful head and lookedwith fearless curiosity in the direction whence the sound came. Shag, ofcourse, did as nearly as he could exactly the same. What they saw wasa big roan horse with an enormous arched neck, squat feet, andlong-tasselled fetlocks. 

Lady Clare had no difficulty in recognizing Valders-Roan. But how bigand heavy and ominous he looked in the blood-red after-glow of theblood-red sunset. For the first time in her life Lady Clare felt a coldshiver of fear run through her. There was, happily, a fence betweenthem, and she devoutly hoped that Valders-Roan was not a jumper. At thatmoment, however, two men appeared next to the huge horse, and Lady Clareheard the sound of breaking fence-rails. The deep hoarse whinny oncemore made the air shake, and it made poor Lady Clare shake too, fornow she saw Valders-Roan come like a whirlwind over the field, and sopowerful were his hoof-beats that a clod of earth which had stuck to oneof his shoes shot like a bullet through the air. 

He looked so gigantic, so brimming with restrained strength, and somehowLady Clare, as she stood quaking at the sight of him, had never seemedto herself so dainty, frail, and delicate as she seemed in this moment. She felt herself so entirely at his mercy; she was no match for himsurely. Shag, anxious as ever to take his cue from her, had stationedhimself at her side, and shook his head and whisked his tail in anon-committal manner. Now Valders-Roan had cleared the fence where themen had broken it down; then on he came again, tramp, tramp, tramp, until he was within half a dozen paces from Lady Clare. There hestopped, for back went Lady Clare's pretty ears, while she threw herselfupon her haunches in an attitude of defence. She was dimly aware thatthis was a foolish thing to do, but her inbred disdain and horrorof everything rough made her act on instinct instead of reason. Valders-Roan, irritated by this uncalled-for action, now threw ceremonyto the winds, and without further ado trotted up and rubbed his noseagainst hers. That was more than Lady Clare could stand. With anhysterical snort she flung herself about, and up flew her heels straightinto the offending nose, inflicting considerable damage. Shag, being nowquite clear that the programme was fight, whisked about in exactly thesame manner, with as close an imitation of Lady Clare's snort as hecould produce, and a second pair of steel-shod heels came within a hairof reducing the enemy's left nostril to the same condition as the right. But alas for the generous folly of youth! Shag had to pay dearly forthat exhibition of devotion. Valders-Roan, enraged by this wantoninsult, made a dash at Shag, and by the mere impetus of his huge bulknearly knocked him senseless. The colt rolled over, flung all his fourlegs into the air, and as soon as he could recover his footing reeledsideways like a drunken man and made haste to retire to a safe distance. 

Valders-Roan had now a clear field and could turn his undividedattention to Lady Clare. I am not sure that he had not made an exampleof Shag merely to frighten her. Bounding forward with his mighty chestexpanded and the blood dripping from his nostrils, he struck out witha tremendous hind leg and would have returned Lady Clare's blow withinterest if she had not leaped high into the air. She had just managedby her superior alertness to dodge that deadly hoof, and was perhaps notprepared for an instant renewal of the attack. But she had barely gottenher four feet in contact with the sod when two rows of terrific teethplunged into her withers. The pain was frightful, and with a long, pitiful scream Lady Clare sank down upon the ground, and, writhing withagony, beat the air with her hoofs. Shag, who had by this time recoveredhis senses, heard the noise of the battle, and, plucking up his courage, trotted bravely forward against the victorious Valders-Roan. He was sofrightened that his heart shot up into his throat. But there lay LadyClare mangled and bleeding. He could not leave her in the lurch, soforward he came, trembling, just as Lady Clare was trying to scrambleto her feet. Led away by his sympathy Shag bent his head down towardher and thereby prevented her from rising. And in the same instanta stunning blow hit him straight in the forehead, a shower of sparksdanced before his eyes, and then Shag saw and heard no more. Aconvulsive quiver ran through his body, then he stretched out his neckon the bloody grass, heaved a sigh, and died. 

Lady Clare, seeing Shag killed by the blow which had been intended forherself, felt her blood run cold. She was strongly inclined to run, forshe could easily beat the heavy Valders-Roan at a race, and her fleetlegs might yet save her. I cannot say whether it was a generous wrath atthe killing of her humble champion or a mere blind fury which overcamethis inclination. But she knew now neither pain nor fear. With a shrillscream she rushed at Valders-Roan, and for five minutes a whirling cloudof earth and grass and lumps of sod moved irregularly over the field, and tails, heads, and legs were seen flung and tossed madly about, while an occasional shriek of rage or of pain startled the night, andre-echoed with a weird resonance between the mountains. 

It was about five o'clock in the morning of July 11th, that Erik awoke, with a vague sense that something terrible had happened. His groomwas standing at his bedside with a terrified face, doubtful whether toarouse his young master or allow him to sleep. 

"What has happened, Anders?" cried Erik, tumbling out of bed. 

"Lady Clare, sir----"

"Lady Clare!" shouted the boy. "What about her? Has she been stolen?"

"No, I reckon not, " drawled Anders. 

"Then she's dead! Quick, tell me what you know or I shall go crazy!"

"No; I can't say for sure she's dead either, " the groom stammered, helplessly. 

Erik, being too stunned with grief and pain, tumbled in a dazed fashionabout the room, and scarcely knew how he managed to dress. He felt cold, shivery, and benumbed; and the daylight had a cruel glare in it whichhurt his eyes. Accompanied by his groom, he hastened to the homepasture, and saw there the evidence of the fierce battle which had ragedduring the night. A long, black, serpentine track, where the sod hadbeen torn up by furious hoof-beats, started from the dead carcass of thefaithful Shag and moved with irregular breaks and curves up toward thegate that connected the pasture with the underbrush of birch and alder. Here the fence had been broken down, and the track of the fight suddenlyceased. A pool of blood had soaked into the ground, showing that one ofthe horses, and probably the victor, must have stood still for a while, allowing the vanquished to escape. 

Erik had no need of being told that the horse which had attacked LadyClare was Valders-Roan; and though he would scarcely have been able toprove it, he felt positive that John Garvestad had arranged and probablywatched the fight. Having a wholesome dread of jail, he had not dared tosteal Lady Clare; but he had chosen this contemptible method to satisfyhis senseless jealousy. It was all so cunningly devised as to bafflelegal inquiry. Valders-Roan had gotten astray, and being a heavy beast, had broken into a neighbor's field and fought with his filly, chasingher away into the mountains. That was the story he would tell, ofcourse, and as there had been no witnesses present, there was no way ofdisproving it. 

Abandoning, however, for the time being all thought of revenge, Erikdetermined to bend all his energies to the recovery of Lady Clare. Hefelt confident that she had run away from her assailant, and was nowroaming about in the mountains. He therefore organized a search partyof all the male servants on the estate, besides a couple of volunteers, making in all nine. On the evening of the first day's search they put upat a saeter or mountain chalet. Here they met a young man named TollefMorud, who had once been a groom at John Garvestad's. This man had a badreputation; and as the idea occurred to some of them that he might knowsomething about Lady Clare's disappearance, they questioned him at greatlength, without, however, eliciting a single crumb of information. 

For a week the search was continued, but had finally to be given up. Weary, footsore, and heavy hearted, Erik returned home. His grief at theloss of Lady Clare began to tell on his health; and his perpetual plansfor getting even with John Garvestad amounted almost to a mania, andcaused his father both trouble and anxiety. It was therefore determinedto send him to the military academy in the capital. 

Four or five years passed and Erik became a lieutenant. It was duringthe first year after his graduation from the military academy that hewas invited to spend the Christmas holidays with a friend, whose parentslived on a fine estate about twenty miles from the city. Seated in theirnarrow sleighs, which were drawn by brisk horses, they drove merrilyalong, shouting to each other to make their voices heard above thejingling of the bells. About eight o'clock in the evening, when the moonwas shining brightly and the snow sparkling, they turned in at a waysidetavern to order their supper. Here a great crowd of lumbermen hadcongregated, and all along the fences their overworked, half-broken-downhorses stood, shaking their nose-bags. The air in the public room was sofilled with the fumes of damp clothes and bad tobacco that Erik and hisfriend, while waiting for their meal, preferred to spend the time underthe radiant sky. They were sauntering about, talking in a desultoryfashion, when all of a sudden a wild, joyous whinny rang out upon thestartled air. 

It came from a rusty, black, decrepit-looking mare hitched to a lumbersleigh which they had just passed. Erik, growing very serious, pausedabruptly. 

A second whinny, lower than the first, but almost alluring and cajoling, was so directly addressed to Erik that he could not help stepping up tothe mare and patting her on the nose. 

"You once had a horse you cared a great deal for, didn't you?" hisfriend remarked, casually. 

"Oh, don't speak about it, " answered Erik, in a voice that shook withemotion; "I loved Lady Clare as I never loved any creature in thisworld--except my father, of course, " he added, reflectively. 

But what was the matter with the old lumber nag? At the sound of thename Lady Clare she pricked up her ears, and lifted her head with apathetic attempt at alertness. With a low, insinuating neighing sherubbed her nose against the lieutenant's cheek. He had let his handglide over her long, thin neck, when quite suddenly his fingers slidinto a deep scar in the withers. 

"My God!" he cried, while the tears started to his eyes, "am I awake, oram I dreaming?"

"What in the world is the matter?" inquired his comrade, anxiously. 

"It is Lady Clare! By the heavens, it is Lady Clare!"

"That old ramshackle of a lumber nag whose every rib you can countthrough her skin is your beautiful thoroughbred?" ejaculated his friend, incredulously. "Come now, don't be a goose. "

"I'll tell you of it some other time, " said Erik, quietly; "but there'snot a shadow of a doubt that this is Lady Clare. "

Yes, strange as it may seem, it was indeed Lady Clare. But oh, who wouldhave recognized in this skeleton, covered with a rusty-black skin andtousled mane and forelock in which chaff and dirt were entangled--whowould have recognized in this drooping and rickety creature the proud, the dainty, the exquisite Lady Clare? Her beautiful tail, which had oncebeen her pride, was now a mere scanty wisp; and a sharp, gnarled ridgerunning along the entire length of her back showed every vertebra ofher spine through the notched and scarred skin. Poor Lady Clare, she hadseen hard usage. But now the days of her tribulations are at an end. It did not take Erik long to find the half-tipsy lumberman who wasLady Clare's owner; nor to agree with him on the price for which he waswilling to part with her. 

There is but little more to relate. By interviews and correspondencewith the different parties through whose hands the mare had passed, Erik succeeded in tracing her to Tollef Morud, the ex-groom of JohnGarvestad. On being promised immunity from prosecution, he was inducedto confess that he had been hired by his former master to arrange thenocturnal fight between Lady Clare and Valders-Roan, and had beenpaid ten dollars for stealing the mare when she had been sufficientlydamaged. John Garvestad had himself watched the fight from behind thefence, and had laughed fit to split his sides, until Valders-Roan seemedon the point of being worsted. Then he had interfered to separate them, and Tollef had led Lady Clare away, bleeding from a dozen wounds, andhad hidden her in a deserted lumberman's shed near the saeter where thesearchers had overtaken him. 

Having obtained these facts, Erik took pains to let John Garvestad knowthat the chain of evidence against him was complete, and if he had hadhis own way he would not have rested until his enemy had suffered thefull penalty of the law. But John Garvestad, suspecting what was in theyoung man's mind, suddenly divested himself of his pride, and cringingdike a whipped dog, came and asked Erik's pardon, entreating him not toprosecute. 

As for Lady Clare, she never recovered her lost beauty. A prettyfair-looking mare she became, to be sure, when good feeding and carefulgrooming had made her fat and glossy once more. A long and contentedold age is, no doubt, in store for her. Having known evil days, sheappreciates the blessings which the change in her fate has brought her. The captain declares she is the best-tempered and steadiest horse in hisstable. 

BONNYBOY

I. 

"Oh, you never will amount to anything, Bonnyboy!" said Bonnyboy'sfather, when he had vainly tried to show him how to use a gouge; forBonnyboy had just succeeded in gouging a piece out of his hand, and wasstanding helplessly, letting his blood drop on an engraving of Napoleonat Austerlitz, which had been sent to his father for framing. Thetrouble with Bonnyboy was that he was not only awkward--left-handedin everything he undertook, as his father put it--but he was so verygood-natured that it was impossible to get angry with him. His largeblue innocent eyes had a childlike wonder in them, when he had doneanything particularly stupid, and he was so willing and anxious tolearn, that his ill-success seemed a reason for pity rather than forwrath. Grim Norvold, Bonnyboy's father, was by trade a carpenter, andhandy as he was at all kinds of tinkering, he found it particularlyexasperating to have a son who was so left-handed. There was scarcelyanything Grim could not do. He could take a watch apart and put ittogether again; he could mend a harness if necessary; he could make awagon; nay, he could even doctor a horse when it got spavin or glanders. He was a sort of jack-of-all-trades, and a very useful man in a valleywhere mechanics were few and transportation difficult. He loved work forits own sake, and was ill at ease when he had not a tool in his hand. The exercise of his skill gave him a pleasure akin to that which thefish feels in swimming, the eagle in soaring, and the lark in singing. Afinless fish, a wingless eagle, or a dumb lark could not have been moremiserable than Grim was when a succession of holidays, like Easter orChristmas, compelled him to be idle. 

When his son was born his chief delight was to think of the time whenhe should be old enough to handle a tool, and learn the secrets of hisfather's trade. Therefore, from the time the boy was old enough to sitor to crawl in the shavings without getting his mouth and eyes full ofsawdust, he gave him a place under the turning bench, and talked or sangto him while he worked. And Bonnyboy, in the meanwhile amused himselfby getting into all sorts of mischief. If it had not been for the beliefthat a good workman must grow up in the atmosphere of the shop, Grimwould have lost patience with his son and sent him back to his mother, who had better facilities for taking care of him. But the fact was hewas too fond of the boy to be able to dispense with him, and he wouldrather bear the loss resulting from his mischief than miss his prattleand his pretty dimpled face. 

It was when the child was eighteen or nineteen months old that heacquired the name Bonnyboy. A woman of the neighborhood, who had calledat the shop with some article of furniture which she wanted to havemended, discovered the infant in the act of investigating a pot of bluepaint, with a part of which he had accidentally decorated his face. 

"Good gracious! what is that ugly thing you have got under your turningbench?" she cried, staring at the child in amazement. 

"No, he is not an ugly thing, " replied the father, with resentment; "heis a bonny boy, that's what he is. "

The woman, in order to mollify Grim, turned to the boy, and asked, withher sweetest manner, "What is your name, child?"

"Bonny boy, " murmured the child, with a vaguely offended air--"bonnyboy. "

And from that day the name Bonnyboy clung to him. 

II. 

To teach Bonnyboy the trade of a carpenter was a task which would haveexhausted the patience of all the saints in the calendar. If there wasany possible way of doing a thing wrong, Bonnyboy would be sure to hitupon that way. When he was eleven years old he chopped off the thirdjoint of the ring-finger on his right hand with a cutting tool whileworking the turning-lathe; and by the time he was fourteen it seemed amarvel to his father that he had any fingers left at all. But Bonnyboypersevered in spite of all difficulties, was always cheerful and of goodcourage, and when his father, in despair, exclaimed: "Well, you willnever amount to anything, Bonnyboy, " he would look up with his slow, winning smile and say:

"Don't worry, father. Better luck next time. "

"But, my dear boy, how can I help worrying, when you don't learnanything by which you can make your living?"

"Oh, well, father, " said Bonnyboy, soothingly (for he was beginning tofeel sorry on his father's account rather than on his own), "I wouldn'tbother about that if I were you. I don't worry a bit. Something willturn up for me to do, sooner or later. "

"But you'll do it badly, Bonnyboy, and then you won't get a secondchance. And then, who knows but you may starve to death. You'll chopoff the fingers you have left; and when I am dead and can no longer lookafter you, I am very much afraid you'll manage to chop off your headtoo. "

"Well, " observed Bonnyboy, cheerfully, "in that case I shall not starveto death. "

Grim had to laugh in spite of himself at the paternal way in which hisson comforted him, as if he were the party to be pitied. Bonnyboy'sunfailing cheerfulness, which had its great charm, began to cause himuneasiness, because he feared it was but another form of stupidity. Acleverer boy would have been sorry for his mistakes and anxious abouthis own future. But Bonnyboy looked into the future with the sereneconfidence of a child, and nothing under the sun ever troubled him, except his father's tendency to worry. For he was very fond of hisfather, and praised him as a paragon of skill and excellence. Helavished an abject admiration on everything he did and said. Hisdexterity in the use of tools, and his varied accomplishments asa watch-maker and a horse-doctor, filled Bonnyboy with ungrudgingamazement. He knew it was a hopeless thing for him to aspire to rivalsuch genius, and he took the thing philosophically, and did not aspire. 

It occurred to Grim one day, when Bonnyboy had made a most discouragingexhibition of his awkwardness, that it might be a good thing to ask thepastor's advice in regard to him. The pastor had had a long experiencein educating children, and his own, though they were not all clever, promised to turn out well. Accordingly Grim called at the parsonage, waswell received, and returned home charged to the muzzle with good advice. The pastor lent him a book full of stories, and recommended him to readthem to his son, and afterward question him about every single factwhich each story contained. This the pastor had found to be a good wayto develop the intellect of a backward boy. 

III. 

When Bonnyboy had been confirmed, the question again rose what wasto become of him. He was now a tall young fellow, red-checked, broad-shouldered, and strong, and rather nice-looking. A slow, good-natured smile spread over his face when anyone spoke to him, and hehad a way of flinging his head back, when the tuft of yellow hair whichusually hung down over his forehead obscured his sight. Most peopleliked him, even though they laughed at him behind his back; but to hisface nobody laughed, because his strength inspired respect. Nor did heknow what fear was when he was roused; but that was probably, as peoplethought, because he did not know much of anything. At any rate, on acertain occasion he showed that there was a limit to his good-nature, and when that limit was reached, he was not as harmless a fellow as helooked. 

On the neighboring farm of Gimlehaug there was a wedding to whichGrim and his son were invited. On the afternoon of the second weddingday--for peasant weddings in Norway are often celebrated for threedays--a notorious bully named Ola Klemmerud took it into his head tohave some sport with the big good-natured simpleton. So, by way ofpleasantry, he pulled the tuft of hair which hung down upon Bonnyboy'sforehead. 

"Don't do that, " said Bonnyboy. 

Ola Klemmerud chuckled, and the next time he passed Bonnyboy, pinchedhis ear. 

"If you do that again I sha'n't like you, " cried Bonnyboy. 

The innocence of that remark made the people laugh, and the bully, seeing that their sympathy was on his side, was encouraged to continuehis teasing. Taking a few dancing steps across the floor, he managedto touch Bonnyboy's nose with the toe of his boot, which feat again wasrewarded with a burst of laughter. The poor lad quietly blew his nose, wiped the perspiration off his brow with a red handkerchief, and said, "Don't make me mad, Ola, or I might hurt you. "

This speech struck the company as being immensely funny, and theylaughed till the tears ran down their cheeks. At this moment Grimentered, and perceived at once that Ola Klemmerud was amusing thecompany at his son's expense. He grew hot about his ears, clinched histeeth, and stared challengingly at the bully. The latter began to feeluncomfortable, but he could not stop at this point without turning thelaugh against himself, and that he had not the courage to do. So inorder to avoid rousing the father's wrath, and yet preserving his owndignity, he went over to Bonnyboy, rumpled his hair with both his hands, and tweaked his nose. This appeared such innocent sport, according tohis notion, that no rational creature could take offence at it. ButGrim, whose sense of humor was probably defective, failed to see it inthat light. 

"Let the boy alone, " he thundered. 

"Well, don't bite my head off, old man, " replied Ola. "I haven't hurtyour fool of a boy. I have only been joking with him. "

"I don't think you are troubled with overmuch wit yourself, judging bythe style of your jokes, " was Grim's cool retort. 

The company, who plainly saw that Ola was trying to wriggle out of hisdifficulty, but were anxious not to lose an exciting scene, screamedwith laughter again; but this time at the bully's expense. The bloodmounted to his head, and his anger got the better of his naturalcowardice. Instead of sneaking off, as he had intended, he wheeled abouton his heel and stood for a moment irresolute, clinching his fist in hispocket. 

"Why don't you take your lunkhead of a son home to his mother, if heisn't bright enough to understand fun!" he shouted. 

"Now let me see if you are bright enough to understand the same kind offun, " cried Grim. Whereupon he knocked off Ola's cap, rumpled his hair, and gave his nose such a pull that it was a wonder it did not come off. 

The bully, taken by surprise, tumbled a step backward, but recoveringhimself, struck Grim in the face with his clinched fist. At thismoment. Bonnyboy, who had scarcely taken in the situation; jumped up andscreamed, "Sit down, Ola Klemmerud, sit down!"

The effect of this abrupt exclamation was so comical, that people nearlyfell from their benches as they writhed and roared with laughter. 

Bonnyboy, who had risen to go to his father's assistance, paused inastonishment in the middle of the floor. He could not comprehend, poorboy, why everything he said provoked such uncontrollable mirth. Hesurely had no intention of being funny. 

So, taken aback a little, he repeated to himself, half wonderingly, withan abrupt pause after each word, "Sit--down--Ola--Klemmerud--sit--down!"

But Ola Klemmerud, instead of sitting down, hit Grim repeatedly aboutthe face and head, and it was evident that the elder man, in spiteof his strength, was not a match for him in alertness. This dawnedpresently upon Bonnyboy's slow comprehension, and his good-natured smilegave way to a flush of excitement. He took two long strides across thefloor, pushed his father gently aside, and stood facing his antagonist. He repeated once more his invitation to sit down; to which the latterresponded with a slap which made the sparks dance before Bonnyboy'seyes. Now Bonnyboy became really angry. Instead of returning the slap, he seized his enemy with a sudden and mighty grab by both his shoulders, lifted him up as if he were a bag of hay, and put him down on a chairwith such force that it broke into splinters under him. 

"Will you now sit down?" said Bonnyboy. 

Nobody laughed this time, and the bully, not daring to rise, remainedseated on the floor among the ruins of the chair. Thereupon, withimperturbable composure, Bonnyboy turned to his father, brushed off hiscoat with his hands and smoothed his disordered hair. "Now let us gohome, father, " he said, and taking the old man's arm he walked out ofthe room. But hardly had he crossed the threshold before the astonishedcompany broke into cheering. 

"Good for you, Bonnyboy!" "Well done, Bonnyboy!" "You are a bully boy, Bonnyboy!" they cried after him. 

But Bonnyboy strode calmly along, quite unconscious of his triumph, andonly happy to have gotten his father out of the room safe and sound. For a good while they walked on in silence. Then, when the effect ofthe excitement had begun to wear away, Grim stopped in the path, gazedadmiringly at his son, and said, "Well, Bonnyboy, you are a queerfellow. "

"Oh, yes, " answered Bonnyboy, blushing with embarrassment (for though hedid not comprehend the remark, he felt the approving gaze); "but then, you know, I asked him to sit down, and he wouldn't. "

"Bless your innocent heart!" murmured his father, as he gazed atBonnyboy's honest face with a mingling of affection and pity. 

IV. 

When Bonnyboy was twenty years old his father gave up, once for all, hisattempt to make a carpenter of him. A number of saw-mills had been builtduring the last years along the river down in the valley, and the oldrapids had been broken up into a succession of mill-dams, one above theother. At one of these saw-mills Bonnyboy sought work, and was engagedwith many others as a mill hand. His business was to roll the logs onto the little trucks that ran on rails, and to push them up to the saws, where they were taken in charge by another set of men, who fastened andwatched them while they were cut up into planks. Very little art was, indeed, required for this simple task; but strength was required, and ofthis Bonnyboy had enough and to spare. He worked with a will from earlymorn till dewy eve, and was happy in the thought that he had at lastfound something that he could do. It made the simple-hearted fellowproud to observe that he was actually gaining his father's regard; or, at all events, softening the disappointment which, in a vague way, heknew that his dulness must have caused him. If, occasionally, he washurt by a rolling log, he never let any one know it; but even thoughhis foot was a mass of agony every time he stepped on it, he would marchalong as stiffly as a soldier. It was as if he felt his father's eyeupon him long before he saw him. 

There was a curious kind of sympathy between them which expresseditself, on the father's part, in a need to be near his son. But hefeared to avow any such weakness, knowing that Bonnyboy would interpretit as distrust of his ability to take care of himself, and a desire tohelp him if he got into trouble. Grim, therefore, invented all kinds oftransparent pretexts for paying visits to the saw-mills. And when he sawBonnyboy, conscious that his eye was resting upon him, swinging his axeso that the chips flew about his ears, and the perspiration rained fromhis brow, a dim anxiety often took possession of him, though he couldgive no reason for it. That big brawny fellow, with the frame of a manand the brain of a child, with his guileless face and his guilelessheart, strangely moved his compassion. There was something almostbeautiful about him, his father thought; but he could not have told whatit was; nor would he probably have found any one else that shared hisopinion. That frank and genial gaze of Bonnyboy's, which expressedgoodness of heart but nothing else, seemed to Grim an "open sesame"to all hearts; and that unawakened something which goes so well withchildhood, but not with adult age, filled him with tenderness and avague anxiety. "My poor lad, " he would murmur to himself, as he caughtsight of Bonnyboy's big perspiring face, with the yellow tuft of hairhanging down over his forehead, "clever you are not; but you have thatwhich the cleverest of us often lack. "

V. 

There were sixteen saw-mills in all, and the one at which Bonnyboy wasemployed was the last of the series. They were built on little terraceson both banks of the river, and every four of them were supplied withpower from an artificial dam, in which the water was stored in time ofdrought, and from which it escaped in a mill-race when required for use. These four dams were built of big stones, earthwork, and lumber, faced with smooth planks, over which a small quantity of water usuallydrizzled into the shallow river-bed. Formerly, before the power wasutilized, this slope had been covered with seething and swirlingrapids--a favorite resort of the salmon, which leaped high in thespring, and were caught in the box-traps that hung on long beams overthe water. Now the salmon had small chance of shedding their spawn inthe cool, bright mountain pools, for they could not leap the dams, andif by chance one got into the mill-race, it had a hopeless struggleagainst a current that would have carried an elephant off his feet. Bonnyboy, who more than once had seen the beautiful silvery fish springright on to the millwheel, and be flung upon the rocks, had wished thathe had understood the language of the fishes, so that he might tell themhow foolish such proceedings were. But merciful though he was, he hadbeen much discouraged when, after having put them back into the river, they had promptly repeated the experiment. 

There were about twenty-five or thirty men employed at the mill whereBonnyboy earned his bread in the sweat of his brow, and he was, on thewhole, on good terms with all of them. They did, to be sure, make fun ofhim occasionally; but sometimes he failed to understand it, and at othertimes he made clumsy but good-humored attempts to repay their gibesin kind. They took good care, however, not to rouse his wrath, for thereputation he had acquired by his treatment of Ola Klemmerud made themafraid to risk a collision. 

This was the situation when the great floods of 188- came, andintroduced a spice of danger into Bonnyboy's monotonous life. Themill-races were now kept open night and day, and yet the water burstlike a roaring cascade over the tops of dams, and the river-bed wasfilled to overflowing with a swiftly-hurrying tawny torrent, whichfilled the air with its rush and swash, and sent hissing showers ofspray flying through the tree-tops. Bonnyboy and a gang of twenty menwere working as they had never worked before in their lives, under thedirection of an engineer, who had been summoned by the mill-owner tostrengthen the dams; for if but one of them burst, the whole tremendousvolume of water would be precipitated upon the valley, and the villageby the lower falls and every farm within half a mile of the river-bankswould be swept out of existence. Guards were stationed all the way upthe river to intercept any stray lumber that might be afloat. For ifa log jam were added to the terrific strain of the flood, there wouldsurely be no salvation possible. Yet in spite of all precautions, biglogs now and then came bumping against the dams, and shot with wildgyrations and somersaults down into the brown eddies below. 

The engineer, who was standing on the top of a log pile, had shouteduntil he was hoarse, and gesticulated with his cane until his arms werelame, but yet there was a great deal to do before he could go to bedwith an easy conscience. Bonnyboy and his comrades, who had had by farthe harder part of the task, were ready to drop with fatigue. It wasnow eight o'clock in the evening, and they had worked since six in themorning, and had scarcely had time to swallow their scant rations. Someof them began to grumble, and the engineer had to coax and threaten themto induce them to persevere for another hour. The moon was just risingbehind the mountain ridges, and the beautiful valley lay, with its greenfields, sprouting forests, and red-painted farm-houses, at Bonnyboy'sfeet. It was terrible to think that perhaps destruction was to overtakethose happy and peaceful homes, where men had lived and died for manyhundred years. Bonnyboy could scarcely keep back the tears when thisfear suddenly came over him. Was it not strange that, though they knewthat danger was threatening, they made not the slightest effort to savethemselves? In the village below men were still working in theirforges, whose chimneys belched forth fiery smoke, and the sound of theirhammer-blows could be heard above the roar of the river. Women werebusy with their household tasks; some boys were playing in the streets, damming up the gutters and shrieking with joy when their dams broke. Afew provident souls had driven their cattle to the neighboring hills;but neither themselves nor their children had they thought it necessaryto remove. The fact was, nobody believed that the dams would break, asthey had not imagination enough to foresee what would happen if the damsdid break. 

Bonnyboy was wet to the skin, and his knees were a trifle shaky fromexhaustion. He had been cutting down an enormous mast-tree, which wasneeded for a prop to the dam, and had hauled it down with two horses, one of which was a half-broken gray colt, unused to pulling in a team. To restrain this frisky animal had required all Bonnyboy's strength, and he stood wiping his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. Just at thatmoment a terrified yell sounded from above: "Run for your lives! Theupper dam is breaking!"

The engineer from the top of the log-pile cast a swift glance up thevalley, and saw at once from the increasing volume of water that thereport was true. 

"Save yourselves, lads!" he screamed. "Run to the woods!"

And suiting his action to his words, he tumbled down from the log pile, and darted up the hill-side toward the forest. The other men, hearingthe wild rush and roar above them, lost no time in following hisexample. Only Bonnyboy, slow of comprehension as always, did not obey. Suddenly there flared up a wild resolution in his face. He pulled outhis knife, cut the traces, and leaped upon the colt's back. Lashingthe beast, and shouting at the top of his voice, he dashed down thehill-side at a break-neck pace. 

"The dam is breaking!" he roared. "Run for the woods!"

He glanced anxiously behind him to see if the flood was overtaking him. A great cloud of spray was rising against the sky, and he heard theyells of men and the frenzied neighing of horses through the thunderousroar. But happily there was time. The dam was giving way gradually, and had not yet let loose the tremendous volume of death and desolationwhich it held enclosed within its frail timbers. The colt, catching thespirit of excitement in the air, flew like the wind, leaving farm afterfarm behind it, until it reached the village. 

"The dam is breaking! Run for your lives!" cried Bonnyboy, with arousing clarion yell which rose above all other poises; and up and downthe valley the dread tidings spread like wildfire. In an instant all wasin wildest commotion. Terrified mothers, with babes in their arms, camebursting out of the houses, and little girls, hugging kittens orcages with canary-birds, clung weeping to their skirts; shouting men, shrieking women, crying children, barking dogs, gusty showers sweepingfrom nowhere down upon the distracted fugitives, and above all theominous, throbbing, pulsating roar as of a mighty chorus of cataracts. It came nearer and nearer. It filled the great vault of the sky with arush as of colossal wing-beats. Then there came a deafening creakingand crashing; then a huge brownish-white rolling wall, upon which themoonlight gleamed for an instant, and then the very trump of doom--awrithing, brawling, weltering chaos of cattle, dogs, men, lumber, houses, barns, whirling and struggling upon the destroying flood. 

VI. 

It was the morning after the disaster. The sun rose red and threatening, circled with a ring of fiery mist. People encamped upon the hill-sidegreeted each other as on the morn of resurrection. For many were foundamong the living who were being mourned as dead. Mothers hugged theirchildren with tearful joy, thanking God that they had been spared; andhusbands who had heard through the night the agonized cries of theirdrowning wives, finding them at dawn safe and sound, felt as if they hadrecovered them from the very gates of death. When all were counted, itwas ascertained that but very few of the villagers had been overtaken bythe flood. The timely warning had enabled all to save themselves, exceptsome who in their eagerness to rescue their goods had lingered too long. Impoverished most of them were by the loss of their houses and cattle. The calamity was indeed overwhelming. But when they considered how muchgreater the disaster would have been if the flood had come upon themunheralded, they felt that they had cause for gratitude in the midst oftheir sorrow. And who was it that brought the tidings that snatched themfrom the jaws of death? Well, nobody knew. He rode too fast. And eachwas too much startled by the message to take note of the messenger. Butwho could he possibly have been? An angel from Heaven, perhaps sent byGod in His mercy. That was indeed more than likely. The belief was atonce accepted that the rescuer was an angel from heaven. But just thena lumberman stepped forward who had worked at the mill and said: "It wasBonnyboy, Grim Carpenter's son. I saw him jump on his gray colt. "

Bonnyboy, Grim Carpenter's son. It couldn't be possible. But thelumberman insisted that it was, and they had to believe him, though, of course, it was a disappointment. But where was Bonnyboy? He deservedthanks, surely. And, moreover, that gray colt was a valuable animal. Itwas to be hoped that it was not drowned. 

The water had now subsided, though it yet overflowed the banks; so thattrees, bent and splintered by the terrific force of the flood, grew farout in the river. The foul dams had all been swept away, and the tawnytorrent ran again with tumultuous rapids in its old channel. Of themills scarcely a vestige was left except slight cavities in the banks, and a few twisted beams clinging to the rocks where they had stood. Theruins of the village, with jagged chimneys and broken walls, loomedout of a half-inundated meadow, through which erratic currents weresweeping. Here and there lay a dead cow or dog, and in the branches ofa maple-tree the carcasses of two sheep were entangled. In this marshyfield a stooping figure was seen wading about, as if in search ofsomething. The water broke about his knees, and sometimes reached up tohis waist. He stood like one dazed, and stared into the brown swirlingtorrent. Now he poked something with his boat-hook, now bent down andpurled some dead thing out of a copse of shrubbery in which it hadbeen caught. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the red vapors werescattered. But still the old man trudged wearily about, with the stonystare in his eyes, searching for him whom he had lost. One company afteranother now descended from the hill-sides, and from the high-lying farmswhich had not been reached by the flood came wagons with provisions andclothes, and men and women eager and anxious to help. They shouted tothe old man in the submerged field, and asked what he was looking for. But he only shook his head, as if he did not understand. 

"Why, that is old Grim the carpenter, " said someone. "Has anybody seenBonnyboy?"

But no one had seen Bonnyboy. 

"Do you want help?" they shouted to Grim; but they got no answer. 

Hour after hour old Grim trudged about in the chilly water searchingfor his son. Then, about noon, when he had worked his way far down theriver, he caught sight of something which made his heart stand still. Ina brown pool, in which a half-submerged willow-tree grew, he saw a largegrayish shape which resembled a horse. He stretched out the boat-hookand rolled it over. Dumbly, fearlessly, he stood staring into the pool. There lay his son--there lay Bonnyboy stark and dead. 

The cold perspiration broke out upon Grim's brow, and his great breastlabored. Slowly he stooped down, drew the dead body out of the water, and tenderly laid it across his knees. He stared into the sightlesseyes, and murmuring a blessing, closed them. There was a largediscolored spot on the forehead, as of a bruise. Grim laid his handsoftly upon it, and stroked away the yellow tuft of hair. 

"My poor lad, " he said, while the tears coursed down his wrinkledcheeks, "you had a weak head, but your heart, Bonnyboy--your heart wasgood. "

THE CHILD OF LUCK

I. 

A sunny-tempered little fellow was Hans, and his father declared that hehad brought luck with him when he came into the world. 

"He was such a handsome baby when he was born, " said Inga, his mother;"but you would scarcely believe it now, running about as he does inforest and field, tearing his clothes and scratching his face. "

Now, it was true, as Hans's mother said, that he did often tear hisclothes; and as he had an indomitable curiosity, and had to investigateeverything that came in his way, it was also no uncommon thing for himto come home with his face stung or scratched. 

"Why must you drag that child with you wherever you go, Nils?" themother complained to Hans's father, when the little boy was brought toher in such a disreputable condition. "Why can't you leave him at home?What other man do you know who carries a six-year-old little fellowabout with him in rain and shine, storm and quiet?

"Well, " Nils invariably answered, "I like him and he likes me. He bringsme luck. "

This was a standing dispute between Nils and Inga, his wife, and theynever came to an agreement. She knew as well as her husband that beforelittle Hans was born there was want and misery in their cottage. But from the hour the child lifted up its tiny voice, announcing itsarrival, there had been prosperity and contentment. Their luck hadturned, Nils said, and it was the child that had turned it. They hadbeen married for four years, and though they had no one to provide forbut themselves, they scarcely managed to keep body and soul together. All sorts of untoward things happened. Now a tree which he was cuttingdown fell upon Nils and laid him up for a month; now he got water on hisknee from a blow he received while rolling logs into the chute; now thepig died which was to have provided them with salt pork for the winter, and the hens took to the bush, and laid their eggs where nobody exceptthe rats and the weasels could find them. But since little Hans had comeand put an end to all these disasters, his father had a superstitiousfeeling that he could not bear to have him away from him. Thereforeevery morning when he started out for the forest or the river he carriedHans on his shoulder. And the little boy sat there, smiling proudly andwaving his hand to his mother, who stood in the door looking longinglyafter him. 

"Hello, little chap!" cried the lumbermen, when they saw him. "Good-morning to you and good luck!"

They always cheered up, however bad the weather was, when they sawlittle Hans, for nobody could look at his sunny little face withoutfeeling something like a ray of sunlight stealing into his heart. Hans had a smile and a wave of his hand for everybody. He knew all thelumbermen by name, and they knew him. 

They sang as they swung the axe or the boat-hook, and the work wentmerrily when little Hans sat on the top of the log pile and shouted tothem. But if by chance he was absent for a day or two they missed him. No songs were heard, but harsh words, and not infrequently quarrels. Now, nobody believed, of course, that little Hans was such a wizard thathe could make people feel and behave any better than it was in theirnature to do; but sure it was--at least the lumbermen insisted that itwas so--there was joy and good-tempered mirth wherever that child went, and life seemed a little sadder and poorer to those who knew him when hewas away. 

No one will wonder that Nils sometimes boasted of his little son. 

He told not once, but a hundred times, as they sat about the camp-fireeating their dinner, that little Hans was a child of luck, and thatno misfortune could happen while he was near. Lumbermen are naturallysuperstitious, and though perhaps at first they may have had theirdoubts, they gradually came to accept the statement without question. They came to regard it as a kind of right to have little Hans sit on thetop of the log pile when they worked, or running along the chute, whilethe wild-cat strings of logs shot down the steep slide with lightningspeed. They were not in the least afraid lest the logs should jump thechute, as they had often done before, killing or maiming the unhappy manthat came too near. For was not little Hans's life charmed, so that noharm could befall him?

Now, it happened that Inga, little Hans's mother, came one day to theriver to see how he was getting on. Nils was then standing on a rafthooking the floating logs with his boat-hook, while the boy was watchinghim from the shore, shouting to him, throwing chips into the water, andamusing himself as best he could. It was early in May, and the riverwas swollen from recent thaws. Below the cataract where the lumbermenworked, the broad, brown current moved slowly along with sluggish whirlsand eddies; but the raft was moored by chains to the shore, so that itwas in no danger of getting adrift. It was capital fun to see the logscome rushing down the slide, plunging with a tremendous splash into theriver, and then bob up like live things after having bumped against thebottom. Little Hans clapped his hands and yelled with delight when astring of three or four came tearing along in that way, and dived, oneafter the other, headlong into the water. 

"Catch that one, papa!" he cried; "that is a good big fellow. He divedlike a man, he did. He has washed the dirt off his snout now; that wasthe reason he took such a big plunge. "

Nils never failed to reach his boat-hook after the log little Hansindicated, for he liked to humor him, and little Hans liked to behumored. He had an idea that he was directing his father's work, andNils invented all sorts of innocent devices to flatter little Hans'sdignity, and make him think himself indispensable. It was of no use, therefore, for poor Inga to beg little Hans to go home with her. He hadso much to do, he said, that he couldn't. He even tried to tear himselfaway from his mother when she took him by the arm and remonstrated withhim. And then and there the conviction stole upon Inga that her childdid not love her. She was nothing to him compared to what his fatherwas. And was it right for Nils thus to rob her of the boy's affection?Little Hans could scarcely be blamed for loving his father better; forlove is largely dependent upon habit, and Nils had been his constantcompanion since he was a year old. A bitter sense of loneliness and lossovercame the poor wife as she stood on the river-bank pleading with herchild, and finding that she annoyed instead of moving him. 

"Won't you come home with mamma, little Hans?" she asked, tearfully. "The kitten misses you very much; it has been mewing for you all themorning. "

"No, " said little Hans, thrusting his hands into his pockets, andturning about with a manly stride; "we are going to have the lumberinspector here to-day? and then papa's big raft is going down theriver. "

"But this dreadful noise, dear; how can you stand it? And the logsshooting down that slide and making such a racket. And these great pilesof lumber, Hans--think, if they should tumble down and kill you!"

"Oh, I'm not afraid, mamma, " cried Hans, proudly; and, to show hisfearlessness, he climbed up the log pile, and soon stood on the top ofit, waving his cap and shouting. 

"Oh, do come down, child--do come down!" begged Inga, anxiously. 

She had scarcely uttered the words when she heard a warning shout fromthe slope above, and had just time to lift her eyes, when she saw abig black object dart past her, strike the log pile, and break witha deafening crash. A long confused rumble of rolling logs followed, terrified voices rent the air, and, above it all, the deep and steadyroar of the cataract. She saw, as through a fog, little Hans, serene andsmiling as ever, borne down on the top of the rolling lumber, now risingup and skipping from log to log, now clapping his hands and screamingwith pleasure, and then suddenly vanishing in the brown writhing river. His laughter was still ringing in her ears; the poor child, he didnot realize his danger. The rumbling of falling logs continued withterrifying persistence. Splash! splash! splash! they went, diving bytwos, by fours, and by dozens at the very spot where her child hadvanished. But where was little Hans? Oh, where was he? It was all somisty, so unreal and confused. She could not tell whether little Hanswas among the living or among the dead. But there, all of a sudden, hishead popped up in the middle of the river; and there was another headclose to his--it was that of his father! And round about them otherheads bobbed up; for all the lumbermen who were on the raft had plungedinto the water with Nils when they saw that little Hans was in danger. Adozen more were running down the slope as fast as their legs could carrythem; and they gave a tremendous cheer when they saw little Hans's faceabove the water. He looked a trifle pale and shivery, and he gave afunny little snort, so that the water spurted from his nose. He had losthis hat, but he did not seem to be hurt. His little arms clung tightlyabout his father's neck, while Nils, dodging the bobbing logs, struckout with all his might for the shore. And when he felt firm bottom underhis feet, and came stumbling up through the shallow water, looking likea drowned rat, what a welcome he received from the lumbermen! They allwanted to touch little Hans and pat his cheek, just to make sure that itwas really he. 

"It was wonderful indeed, " they said, "that he ever came up out of thathorrible jumble of pitching and diving logs. He is a child of luck, ifever there was one. "

Not one of them thought of the boy's mother, and little Hans himselfscarcely thought of her, elated as he was at the welcome he receivedfrom the lumbermen. Poor Inga stood dazed, struggling with a horriblefeeling, seeing her child passed from one to the other, while sheherself claimed no share in him. Somehow the thought stung her. A suddenclearness burst upon her; she rushed forward, with a piercing scream, snatched little Hans from his father's arms, and hugging his wet littleshivering form to her breast, fled like a deer through the underbrush. 

From that day little Hans was not permitted to go to the river. It wasin vain that Nils pleaded and threatened. His wife acted so unreasonablywhen that question was broached that he saw it was useless to discussit. She seized little Hans as a tigress might seize her young, and heldhim tightly clasped, as if daring anybody to take him away from her. Nils knew it would require force to get his son back again, and that hewas not ready to employ. But all joy seemed to have gone out of hislife since he had lost the daily companionship of little Hans. His workbecame drudgery; and all the little annoyances of life, which formerlyhe had brushed away as one brushes a fly from his nose, became burdensand calamities. The raft upon which he had expended so much labor wentto pieces during a sudden rise of the river the night after littleHans's adventure, and three days later Thorkel Fossen was killedoutright by a string of logs that jumped the chute. 

"It isn't the same sort of place since you took little Hans away, "the lumbermen would often say to Nils. "There's no sort of luck inanything. "

Sometimes they taunted him with want of courage, and called hima "night-cap" and a "hen-pecked coon, " all of which made Nilsuncomfortable. He made two or three attempts to persuade his wife tochange her mind in regard to little Hans, but the last time she got sofrightened that she ran out of the house and hid in the cow stable withthe boy, crouching in an empty stall, and crying as if her heart wouldbreak, when little Hans escaped and betrayed her hiding-place. The boy, in fact, sympathized with his father, and found his confinement at homeirksome. The companionship of the cat had no more charm for him; andeven the brindled calf, which had caused such an excitement when hefirst arrived, had become an old story. Little Halls fretted, wasmischievous for want of better employment, and gave his mother no endof trouble. He longed for the gay and animated life at the river, and hewould have run away if he had not been watched. He could not imagine howthe lumbermen could be getting on without him. It seemed to him that allwork must come to a stop when he was no longer sitting on the top of thelog piles, or standing on the bank throwing chips into the water. 

Now, as a matter of fact, they were not getting on very well at theriver without little Hans. The luck had deserted them, the lumbermensaid; and whatever mishaps they had, they attributed to the absence oflittle Hans. They came to look with ill-suppressed hostility at Nils, whom they regarded as responsible for their misfortunes. For they couldscarcely believe that he was quite in earnest in his desire for theboy's return, otherwise they could not comprehend how his wife coulddare to oppose him. The weather was stormy, and the mountain brook whichran along the slide concluded to waste no more labor in carving out abed for itself in the rock, when it might as well be using the slidewhich it found ready made. And one fine day it broke into the slide andhalf filled it, so that the logs, when they were started down the steepincline, sent the water flying, turned somersaults, stood on end, andplayed no end of dangerous tricks which no one could foresee. Severalmen were badly hurt by beams shooting like rockets through the air, andold Mads Furubakken was knocked senseless and carried home for dead. Then the lumbermen held a council, and made up their minds to get littleHans by fair means or foul. They thought first of sending a delegationof four or five men that very morning, but finally determined to marchup to Nils's cottage in a body and demand the boy. There were twentyof them at the very least, and the tops of their long boat-hooks, whichthey carried on their shoulders, were seen against the green forestbefore they were themselves visible. 

Nils, who was just out of bed, was sitting on the threshold smokinghis pipe and pitching a ball to little Hans, who laughed with delightwhenever he caught it. Inga was bustling about inside the house, preparing breakfast, which was to consist of porridge, salt herring, and baked potatoes. It had rained during the night, and the sky was yetovercast, but the sun was struggling to break through the cloud-banks. Acouple of thrushes in the alder-bushes about the cottage were rejoicingat the change in the weather, and Nils was listening to their song andto his son's merry prattle, when he caught sight of the twenty lumbermenmarching up the hillside. He rose, with some astonishment, and went tomeet them. Inga, hearing their voices, came to the door, and seeing themany men, snatched up little Hans, and with a wildly palpitating heartran into the cottage, bolting the door behind her. She had a vagueforeboding that this unusual visit meant something hostile to herself, and she guessed that Nils had been only the spokesman of his comradesin demanding so eagerly the return of the boy to the river. She believedall their talk about his luck to be idle nonsense; but she knew thatNils had unwittingly spread this belief, and that the lumbermen wereconvinced that little Hans was their good genius, whose presence averteddisaster. Distracted with fear and anxiety, she stood pressing her earagainst the crack in the door, and sometimes peeping out to see whatmeasures she must take for the child's safety. Would Nils stand by her, or would he desert her? But surely--what was Nils thinking about? He wasextending his hand to each of the men, and receiving them kindly. 

Next he would be inviting them to come in and take little Hans. She sawone of the men--Stubby Mons by name--step forward, and she plainly heardhim say:

"We miss the little chap down at the river, Nils. The luck has beenagainst us since he left. "

"Well, Mons, " Nils answered, "I miss the little chap as much as any ofyou; perhaps more. But my wife--she's got a sort of crooked notion thatthe boy won't come home alive if she lets him go to the river. She got abad scare last time, and it isn't any use arguing with her. "

"But won't you let us talk to her, Nils?" one of the lumbermen proposed. "It is a tangled skein, and I don't pretend to say that I can straightenit out. But two men have been killed and one crippled since the littlechap was taken away. And in the three years he was with us no untowardthing happened. Now that speaks for itself, Nils, doesn't it?"

"It does, indeed, " said Nils, with an air of conviction. 

"And you'll let us talk to your wife, and see if we can't make herlisten to reason, " the man urged. 

"You are welcome to talk to her as much as you like, " Nils replied, knocking out his pipe on the heel of his boot; "but I warn you thatshe's mighty cantankerous. "

He rose slowly, and tried to open the door. It was locked. "Open, Inga, "he said, a trifle impatiently; "there are some men here who want to seeyou. "

II. 

Inga sat crouching on the hearth, hugging little Hans to her bosom. Sheshook and trembled with fear, let her eyes wander around the walls, andnow and then moaned at the thought that now they would take little Hansaway from her. 

"Why don't you open the door for papa?" asked little Hans, wonderingly. 

Ah, he too was against her! All the world was against her! And herhusband was in league with her enemies!

"Open, I say!" cried Nils, vehemently. "What do you mean by locking thedoor when decent people come to call upon us?"

Should she open the door or should she not? Holding little Hans in herarms, she rose hesitatingly, and stretched out her hand toward thebolt. But all of a sudden, in a paroxysm of fear, she withdrew her hand, turned about, and fled with the child through the back door. The alderbushes grew close up to the walls of the cottage, and by stooping alittle she managed to remain unobserved. Her greatest difficulty wasto keep little Hans from shouting to his father, and she had to put herhand over his mouth to keep him quiet; for the boy, who had heard thevoices without, could not understand why he should not be permitted togo out and converse with his friends the lumbermen. The wild eyes andagitated face of his mother distressed him, and the little showers oflast night's rain which the trees shook down upon him made him shiver. 

"Why do you run so, mamma?" he asked, when she removed her hand from hismouth. 

"Because the bad men want to take you away from me, Hans, " she answered, panting. 

"Those were not bad men, mamma, " the boy ejaculated. "That was StubbyMons and Stuttering Peter and Lars Skin-breeches. They don't, want tohurt me. "

He expected that his mamma would be much relieved at receiving thisvaluable information, and return home without delay. But she stillpressed on, flushed and panting, and cast the same anxious glancesbehind her. 

In the meanwhile Nils and his guests had entirely lost their patience. Finding his persuasions of no avail, the former began to thump at thedoor with the handle of his axe, and receiving no response, he climbedup to the window and looked in. To his amazement there was no one in theroom. Thinking that Inga might have gone to the cow-stable, he ran tothe rear of the cottage, and called her name. Still no answer. 

"Hans, " he cried, "where are you?"

But Hans, too, was as if spirited away. It scarcely occurred to Nils, until he had searched the cow-stable and the house in vain, that hiswife had fled from the harmless lumbermen. Then the thought shot throughhis brain that possibly she was not quite right in her head; that thisfixed idea that everybody wanted to take her child away from her hadunsettled her reason. Nils grew hot and cold in the same moment as thisdreadful apprehension took lodgement in his mind. Might she not, inher confused effort to save little Hans, do him harm? In the blind andfeverish terror which possessed her might she not rush into the water, or leap over a precipice? Visions of little Hans drowning, or whirledinto the abyss in his mother's arms, crowded his fancy as he walkedback to the lumbermen, and told them that neither his wife nor child wasanywhere to be found. 

"I would ask ye this, lads, " he said, finally: "if you would help mesearch for them. For Inga--I reckon she is a little touched in the upperstory--she has gone off with the boy, and I can't get on without littleHans any more than you can. "

The men understood the situation at a glance, and promised their aid. They had all looked upon Inga as "high-strung" and "queer, " and it didnot surprise them to hear that she had been frightened out of her witsat their request for the loan of little Hans. Forming a line, with aspace of twenty feet between each man, they began to beat the bush, climbing the steep slope toward the mountains. Inga, pausing for aninstant, and peering out between the tree trunks, saw the alder busheswave as they broke through the underbrush. She knew now that she waspursued. Tired she was, too, and the boy grew heavier for every stepthat she advanced. And yet if she made him walk, he might run away fromher. If he heard his father's voice, he would be certain to answer. Muchperplexed, she looked about her for a hiding-place. 

For, as the men would be sure to overtake her, her only safety was inhiding. With tottering knees she stumbled along, carrying the heavychild, grabbing hold of the saplings for support, and yet scarcelykeeping from falling. The cold perspiration broke from her brow and astrange faintness overcame her. 

"You will have to walk, little Hans, " she said, at last. "But if you runaway from me, dear, I shall lie down here and die. "

Little Hans promised that he would not run away, and for five minutesthey walked up a stony path which looked like the abandoned bed of abrook. 

"You hurt my hand, mamma, " whimpered the boy, "you squeeze so hard. "

She would have answered, but just then she heard the voices of thelumbermen scarcely fifty paces away. With a choking sensation and astitch in her side she pressed on, crying out in spirit for the hills tohide her and the mountains to open their gates and receive her. Suddenlyshe stood before a rocky wall some eighty or a hundred feet high. Shecould go no farther. Her strength was utterly exhausted. There was abig boulder lying at the base of the rock, and a spreading juniper halfcovered it. Knowing that in another minute she would be discovered, she flung herself down behind the boulder, though the juniper needlesscratched her face, and pulled little Hans down at her side. But, strange to say, little Hans fell farther than she had calculated, andutterly-vanished from sight. She heard a muffled cry, and reaching herhand in the direction where he had fallen, caught hold of his arm. Astrong, wild smell beat against her, and little Hans, as he was pulledout, was enveloped in a most unpleasant odor. But odor or no odor, herewas the very hiding-place she had been seeking. A deserted wolf's den, it was, probably--at least she hoped it was deserted; for if it was not, she might be confronted with even uglier customers than the lumbermen. But she had no time for debating the question, for she saw the head ofStubby Mons emerging from the leaves, and immediately behind him cameStuttering Peter, with his long boat-hook. Quick as a flash she slippedinto the hole, and dragged Hans after her. The juniper-bush entirelycovered the entrance. She could see everyone who approached, withoutbeing seen. Unhappily, the boy too caught sight of Stubby Mons, andcalled him by name. The lumberman stopped and pricked up his ears. 

"Did you hear anybody call?" he asked his companion. 

"N-n-n-n-aw, I d-d-d-d-didn't, " answered Stuttering Peter. "There b-belots of qu-qu-qu-qu-eer n-noises in the w-w-w-woods. "

Little Hans heard every word that they spoke, and he would havecried out again, if it hadn't appeared such great fun to be playinghide-and-go-seek with the lumbermen. He had a delicious sense of beingwell hidden, and had forgotten everything except the zest of the game. Most exciting it became when Stubby Mons drew the juniper-bush aside andpeered eagerly behind the boulder. Inga's heart stuck in her throat;she felt sure that in the next instant they would be discovered. And asill-luck would have it, there was something alive scrambling about herfeet and tugging at her skirts. Suddenly she felt a sharp bite, butclinched her teeth, and uttered no sound. When her vision again cleared, the juniper branch had rebounded into its place, and the face of StubbyMons was gone. She drew a deep breath of relief, but yet did not dare toemerge from the den. For one, two, three tremulous minutes she remainedmotionless, feeling all the while that uncomfortable sensation of livingthings about her. 

At last she could endure it no longer. Thrusting little Hans before her, she crawled out of the hole, and looked back into the small cavern. Assoon as her eyes grew accustomed to the twilight she uttered a cry ofamazement, for out from her skirts jumped a little gray furry object, and two frisky little customers of the same sort were darting aboutamong the stones and tree-roots. The truth dawned upon her, and itchilled her to the marrow of her bones. The wolf's den was not deserted. The old folks were only out hunting, and the shouting and commotion ofthe searching party had probably prevented them from returning in timeto look after their family. She seized little Hans by the hand, andonce more dragged him away over the rough path. He soon became tired andfretful, and in spite of all her entreaties began to shout lustily forhis father. But the men were now so far away that they could nothear him. He complained of hunger; and when presently they came to ablueberry patch, she flung herself down on the heather and allowed himto pick berries. She heard cow-bells and sheep-bells tinkling roundabout her, and concluded that she could not be far from the saeters, or mountain dairies. That was fortunate, indeed, for she would not haveliked to sleep in the woods with wolves and bears prowling about her. 

She was just making an effort to rise from the stone upon which shewas sitting, when the big, good-natured face of a cow broke through theleaves and stared at her. There was again help in need. She approachedthe cow, patted it, and calling little Hans, bade him sit down in theheather and open his mouth. He obeyed rather wonderingly, but perceivedhis mother's intent when she knelt at his side and began to milkinto his mouth. It seemed to him that he had never tasted anything sodelicious as this fresh rich milk, fragrant with the odor of the woodsand the succulent mountain grass. When his hunger was satisfied, he fellagain to picking berries, while Inga refreshed herself with milk in thesame simple fashion. After having rested a full hour, she felt strongenough to continue her journey; and hearing the loor, or Alpine horn, re-echoing among the mountains, she determined to follow the sound. It was singular what luck attended her in the midst of her misfortune. Perhaps it was, after all, no idle tale that little Hans was a child ofluck; and she had done the lumbermen injustice in deriding their faithin him. Perhaps there was some guiding Providence in all that hadhappened, destined in the end to lead little Hans to fortune and glory. Much encouraged by this thought, she stooped over him and kissed him;then took his hand and trudged along over logs and stones, throughjuniper and bramble bushes. 

"Mamma, " said little Hans, "where are you going?"

"I am going to the saeter, " she answered; "where you have wanted sooften to go. "

"Then why don't you follow the cows? They are going there too. "

Surely that child had a marvellous mind! She smiled down upon him andnodded. By following the cows they arrived in twenty minutes at a neatlittle log cabin, from which the smoke curled up gayly into the clearair. 

The dairy-maids who spent the summer there tending the cattle both fellvictims to the charms of little Hans, and offered him and his mothertheir simple hospitality. They told of the lumbermen who had passedthe saeter huts, and inquired for her; but otherwise they respected hersilence, and made no attempt to pry into her secrets. The next morningshe started, after a refreshing sleep, westward toward the coast, whereshe hoped in some way to find a passage to America. For if little Hanswas really born under a lucky star--which fact she now could scarcelydoubt--then America was the place for him. There he might rise to becomePresident, or a judge, or a parson, or something or other; while inNorway he would never be anything but a lumberman like his father. Ingahad a well-to-do sister, who was a widow, in the nearest town, and shewould borrow enough money from her to pay their passage to New York. 

It was early in July when little Hans and his mother arrived in NewYork. The latter had repented bitterly of her rashness in stealing herchild from his father, and under a blind impulse traversing half theglobe in a wild-goose chase after fortune. The world was so much biggerthan she in her quiet valley had imagined; and, what was worse, it woresuch a cold and repellent look, and was so bewildering and noisy. Ingahad been very sea-sick during the voyage; and after she stepped ashorefrom the tug that brought her to Castle Garden, the ground kept heavingand swelling under her feet, and made her dizzy and miserable. She hadbeen very wicked, she was beginning to think, and deserved punishment;and if it had not been for a vague and adventurous faith in the greatfuture that was in store for her son, she would have been contentto return home, do penance for her folly, and beg her husband'sforgiveness. But, in the first place, she had no money to pay for areturn ticket; and, secondly, it would be a great pity to deprive littleHans of the Presidency and all the grandeur that his lucky star mighthere bring him. 

Inga was just contemplating this bright vision of Hans's future, whenshe found herself passing through a gate, at which a clerk was seated. 

"What is your name?" he asked, through an interpreter. 

"Inga Olsdatter Pladsen. "

"Age?"

"Twenty-eight a week after Michaelmas. "

"Single or married?"

"Married. "

"Where is your husband?"

"In Norway. "

"Are you divorced from him?"

"Divorced--I! Why, no! Who ever heard of such a thing?"

Inga grew quite indignant at the thought of her being divorced. Adozen other questions were asked, at each of which her embarrassmentincreased. When, finally, she declared that she had no money, nodefinite destination, and no relatives or friends in the country, theexamination was cut short, and after an hour's delay and a wearisomecross-questioning by different officials, she was put on board the tug, and returned to the steamer in which she had crossed the ocean. Fourdreary days passed; then there was a tremendous commotion on deck:blowing of whistles, roaring of steam, playing of bands, bumping oftrunks and boxes, and finally the steady pulsation of the engines as thebig ship stood out to sea. After nine days of discomfort in the stuffysteerage and thirty-six hours of downright misery while crossing thestormy North Sea, Inga found herself once more in the land of herbirth. Full of humiliation and shame she met her husband at therailroad station, and prepared herself for a deluge of harsh words andreproaches. But instead of that he patted her gently on the head, andclasped little Hans in his arms and kissed him. They said very littleto each other as they rode homeward in the cars; but little Hans had athousand things to tell, and his father was delighted to hear them. Inthe evening, when they had reached their native valley, and the boy wasasleep, Inga plucked up courage and said, "Nils, it is all a mistakeabout little Hans's luck. "

"Mistake! Why, no, " cried Nils. "What greater luck could he have than tobe brought safely home to his father?"

Inga had indeed hoped for more; but she said nothing. Nevertheless, fate still had strange things in store for little Hans. The story ofhis mother's flight to and return from America was picked up by someenterprising journalist, who made a most touching romance of it. Hundreds of inquiries regarding little Hans poured in upon the pastorand the postmaster; and offers to adopt him, educate him, and I know notwhat else, were made to his parents. But Nils would hear of no adoption;nor would he consent to any plan that separated him from the boy. When, however, he was given a position as superintendent of a lumber yard inthe town, and prosperity began to smile upon him, he sent little Hansto school, and as Hans was a clever boy, he made the most of hisopportunities. 

And now little Hans is indeed a very big Hans, but a child of luck he isyet; for I saw him referred to the other day in the newspapers as one ofthe greatest lumber dealers, and one of the noblest, most generous, andpublic-spirited men in Norway. 

THE BEAR THAT HAD A BANK ACCOUNT

I. 

You may not believe it, but the bear I am going to tell you about reallyhad a bank account! He lived in the woods, as most bears do; but hehad a reputation which extended over all Norway and more than half ofEngland. Earls and baronets came every summer, with repeating-riflesof the latest patent, and plaids and field-glasses and portablecooking-stoves, intent upon killing him. But Mr. Bruin, whose onlyweapons were a pair of paws and a pair of jaws, both uncommonly good oftheir kind, though not patented, always managed to get away unscathed;and that was sometimes more than the earls and the baronets did. 

One summer the Crown Prince of Germany came to Norway. He also heard ofthe famous bear that no one could kill, and made up his mind that he wasthe man to kill it. He trudged for two days through bogs, and climbedthrough glens and ravines, before he came on the scent of a bear, and abear's scent, you may know, is strong, and quite unmistakable. Finallyhe discovered some tracks in the moss, like those of a barefooted man, or, I should rather say, perhaps, a man-footed bear. The Prince wasjust turning the corner of a projecting rock, when he saw a huge, shaggybeast standing on its hind legs, examining in a leisurely manner theinside of a hollow tree, while a swarm of bees were buzzing about itsears. It was just hauling out a handful of honey, and was smiling witha grewsome mirth, when His Royal Highness sent it a bullet right in thebreast, where its heart must have been, if it had one. But, instead offalling down flat, as it ought to have done, out of deference to thePrince, it coolly turned its back, and gave its assailant a disgustednod over its shoulder as it trudged away through the underbrush. The attendants ranged through the woods and beat the bushes in alldirections, but Mr. Bruin was no more to be seen that afternoon. It wasas if he had sunk into the earth; not a trace of him was to be found byeither dogs or men. 

From that time forth the rumor spread abroad that this Gausdale Bruin(for that was the name by which he became known) was enchanted. It wassaid that he shook off bullets as a duck does water; that he had theevil eye, and could bring misfortune to whomsoever he looked upon. The peasants dreaded to meet him, and ceased to hunt him. His size wasdescribed as something enormous, his teeth, his claws, and his eyes asbeing diabolical beyond human conception. In the meanwhile Mr. Bruin hadit all his own way in the mountains, killed a young bull or a fat heiferfor his dinner every day or two, chased in pure sport a herd of sheepover a precipice; and as for Lars Moe's bay mare Stella, he nearlyfinished her, leaving his claw-marks on her flank in a way that spoiledher beauty forever. 

Now Lars Moe himself was too old to hunt; and his nephew was--well, hewas not old enough. There was, in fact, no one in the valley who was ofthe right age to hunt this Gausdale Bruin. It was of no use that LarsMoe egged on the young lads to try their luck, shaming them, or offeringthem rewards, according as his mood might happen to be. He was thewealthiest man in the valley, and his mare Stella had been the apple ofhis eye. He felt it as a personal insult that the bear should have daredto molest what belonged to him, especially the most precious of all hispossessions. It cut him to the heart to see the poor wounded beauty, with those cruel scratches on her thigh, and one stiff, aching leg doneup in oil and cotton. When he opened the stable-door, and was greetedby Stella's low, friendly neighing, or when she limped forward in herbox-stall and put her small, clean-shaped head on his shoulder, thenLars Moe's heart swelled until it seemed on the point of breaking. Andso it came to pass that he added a codicil to his will, setting asidefive hundred dollars of his estate as a reward to the man who, withinsix years, should kill the Gausdale Bruin. 

Soon after that, Lars Moe died, as some said, from grief and chagrin;though the physician affirmed that it was of rheumatism of the heart. At any rate, the codicil relating to the enchanted bear was duly readbefore the church door, and pasted, among other legal notices, in thevestibules of the judge's and the sheriff's offices. When the executorshad settled up the estate, the question arose in whose name or to whosecredit should be deposited the money which was to be set aside for thebenefit of the bear-slayer. No one knew who would kill the bear, or ifany one would kill it. It was a puzzling question. 

"Why, deposit it to the credit of the bear, " said a jocose executor;"then, in the absence of other heirs, his slayer will inherit it. Thatis good old Norwegian practice, though I don't know whether it has everbeen the law. "

"All right, " said the other executors, "so long as it is understood whois to have the money, it does not matter. "

And so an amount equal to $500 was deposited in the county bank to thecredit of the Gausdale Bruin. Sir Barry Worthington, Bart. , who cameabroad the following summer for the shooting, heard the story, andthought it a good one. So, after having vainly tried to earn the prizehimself, he added another $500 to the deposit, with the stipulation thathe was to have the skin. 

But his rival for parliamentary honors, Robert Stapleton, Esq. , thegreat iron-master, who had come to Norway chiefly to outshine Sir Barry, determined that he was to have the skin of that famous bear, if any onewas to have it, and that, at all events, Sir Barry should not haveit. So Mr. Stapleton added $750 to the bear's bank account, with thestipulation that the skin should come to him. 

Mr. Bruin, in the meanwhile, as if to resent this unseemly contentionabout his pelt, made worse havoc among the herds than ever, andcompelled several peasants to move their dairies to other parts of themountains, where the pastures were poorer, but where they would be freefrom his depredations. If the $1, 750 in the bank had been meant asa bribe or a stipend for good behavior, such as was formerly paid toItalian brigands, it certainly could not have been more demoralizingin its effect; for all agreed that, since Lars Moe's death, Bruinmisbehaved worse than ever. 

II. 

There was an odd clause in Lars Moe's will besides the codicil relatingto the bear. It read:

"I hereby give and bequeath to my daughter Unna, or, in case of herdecease, to her oldest living issue, my bay mare Stella, as a token thatI have forgiven her the sorrow she caused me by her marriage. "

It seemed incredible that Lars Moe should wish to play a practical joke(and a bad one at that) on his only child, his daughter Unna, becauseshe had displeased him by her marriage. Yet that was the common opinionin the valley when this singular clause became known. Unna had marriedThorkel Tomlevold, a poor tenant's son, and had refused her cousin, thegreat lumber-dealer, Morten Janson, whom her father had selected for ason-in-law. 

She dwelt now in a tenant's cottage, northward in the parish; and herhusband, who was a sturdy and fine-looking fellow, eked out a livingby hunting and fishing. But they surely had no accommodations for abroken-down, wounded, trotting mare, which could not even draw a plough. It is true Unna, in the days of her girlhood, had been very fond of themare, and it is only charitable to suppose that the clause, which wasin the body of the will, was written while Stella was in her prime, and before she had suffered at the paws of the Gausdale Bruin. But evengranting that, one could scarcely help suspecting malice aforethought inthe curious provision. To Unna the gift was meant to say, as plainly aspossible, "There, you see what you have lost by disobeying your father!If you had married according to his wishes, you would have been able toaccept the gift, while now you are obliged to decline it like a beggar. "

But if it was Lars Moe's intention to convey such a message to hisdaughter, he failed to take into account his daughter's spirit. Sheappeared plainly but decently dressed at the reading of the will, andcarried her head not a whit less haughtily than was her wont in hermaiden days. She exhibited no chagrin when she found that Janson washer father's heir and that she was disinherited. She even listened withperfect composure to the reading of the clause which bequeathed to herthe broken-down mare. 

It at once became a matter of pride with her to accept her girlhood'sfavorite, and accept it she did! And having borrowed a side-saddle, sherode home, apparently quite contented. A little shed, or lean-to, wasbuilt in the rear of the house, and Stella became a member of ThorkelTomlevold's family. Odd as it may seem, the fortunes of the family tooka turn for the better from the day she arrived; Thorkel rarely came homewithout big game, and in his traps he caught more than any three othermen in all the parish. 

"The mare has brought us luck, " he said to his wife. "If she can'tplough, she can at all events pull the sleigh to church; and you have asgood a right as any one to put on airs, if you choose. "

"Yes, she has brought us blessing, " replied Unna, quietly; "and we aregoing to keep her till she dies of old age. "

To the children Stella became a pet, as much as if she had been a dogor a cat. The little boy Lars climbed all over her, and kissed herregularly good-morning when she put her handsome head in through thekitchen-door to get her lump of sugar. She was as gentle as a lamb andas intelligent as a dog. Her great brown eyes, with their soft, liquidlook, spoke as plainly as words could speak, expressing pleasure whenshe was patted; and the low neighing with which she greeted the littleboy, when she heard his footsteps in the door, was to him like the voiceof a friend. 

He grew to love this handsome and noble animal as he had loved nothingon earth except his father and mother. 

As a matter of course he heard a hundred times the story of Stella'sadventure with the terrible Gausdale bear. It was a story that neverlost its interest, that seemed to grow more exciting the oftener itwas told. The deep scars of the bear's claws in Stella's thigh werecuriously examined, and each time gave rise to new questions. The marebecame quite a heroic character, and the suggestion was frequentlydiscussed between Lars and his little sister Marit, whether Stella mightnot be an enchanted princess who was waiting for some one to cut offher head, so that she might show herself in her glory. Marit thought theexperiment well worth trying, but Lars had his doubts, and was unwillingto take the risk; yet if she brought luck, as his mother said, then shecertainly must be something more than an ordinary horse. 

Stella had dragged little Lars out of the river when he fell overboardfrom the pier; and that, too, showed more sense than he had ever known ahorse to have. 

There could be no doubt in his mind that Stella was an enchantedprincess. And instantly the thought occurred to him that the dreadfulenchanted bear with the evil eye was the sorcerer, and that, when he waskilled, Stella would resume her human guise. It soon became clear to himthat he was the boy to accomplish this heroic deed; and it was equallyplain to him that he must keep his purpose secret from all except Marit, as his mother would surely discourage him from engaging in so perilousan enterprise. First of all, he had to learn how to shoot; and hisfather, who was the best shot in the valley, was very willing to teachhim. It seemed quite natural to Thorkel that a hunter's son should takereadily to the rifle; and it gave him great satisfaction to see how truehis boy's aim was, and how steady his hand. 

"Father, " said Lars one day, "you shoot so well, why haven't you evertried to kill the Gausdale Bruin that hurt Stella so badly?"

"Hush, child! you don't know what you are talking about, " answered hisfather; "no leaden bullet will harm that wicked beast. "

"Why not?"

"I don't like to talk about it--but it is well known that he isenchanted. "

"But will he then live for ever? Is there no sort of bullet that willkill him?" asked the boy. 

"I don't know. I don't want to have anything to do with witchcraft, "said Thorkel. 

The word "witchcraft" set the boy to thinking, and he suddenlyremembered that he had been warned not to speak to an old woman namedMartha Pladsen, because she was a witch. Now, she was probably the veryone who could tell him what he wanted to know. Her cottage lay closeup under the mountain-side, about two miles from his home. He did notdeliberate long before going to seek this mysterious person, aboutwhom the most remarkable stories were told in the valley. To hisastonishment, she received him kindly, gave him a cup of coffee withrock candy, and declared that she had long expected him. The bulletwhich was to slay the enchanted bear had long been in her possession;and she would give it to him if he would promise to give her the beast'sheart. 

He did not have to be asked twice for that; and off he started gaylywith his prize in his pocket. It was rather an odd-looking bullet, made of silver, marked with a cross on one side and with a lot of queerillegible figures on the other. It seemed to burn in his pocket, soanxious was he to start out at once to release the beloved Stella fromthe cruel enchantment. But Martha had said that the bear could onlybe killed when the moon was full; and until the moon was full heaccordingly had to bridle his impatience. 

III. 

It was a bright morning in January, and, as it happened, Lars'sfourteenth birthday. To his great delight, his mother had gone down tothe judge's to sell some ptarmigans, and his father had gone to fellsome timber up in the glen. Accordingly he could secure the riflewithout being observed. He took an affectionate good-by of Stella, who rubbed her soft nose against his own, playfully pulled at hiscoat-collar, and blew her sweet, warm breath into his face. Lars was asimple-hearted boy, in spite of his age, and quite a child at heart. He had lived so secluded from all society, and breathed so long theatmosphere of fairy tales, that he could see nothing at all absurdin what he was about to undertake. The youngest son in the story-bookalways did just that sort of thing, and everybody praised and admiredhim for it. Lars meant, for once, to put the story-book hero into theshade. He engaged little Marit to watch over Stella while he was gone, and under no circumstances to betray him--all of which Marit solemnlypromised. 

With his rifle on his shoulder and his skees on his feet, Lars glidedslowly along over the glittering surface of the snow, for the mountainwas steep, and he had to zigzag in long lines before he reached theupper heights, where the bear was said to have his haunts. The placewhere Bruin had his winter den had once been pointed out to him, andhe remembered yet how pale his father was, when he found that he hadstrayed by chance into so dangerous a neighborhood. Lars's heart, too, beat rather uneasily as he saw the two heaps of stones, called "TheParson" and "The Deacon, " and the two huge fir-trees which marked thedreaded spot. It had been customary from immemorial time for each personwho passed along the road to throw a large stone on the Parson's heap, and a small one on the Deacon's; but since the Gausdale Bruin had goneinto winter quarters there, the stone heaps had ceased to grow. 

Under the great knotted roots of the fir-trees there was a hole, whichwas more than half-covered with snow; and it was noticeable that therewas not a track of bird or beast to be seen anywhere around it. Lars, who on the way had been buoyed up by the sense of his heroism, begannow to feel strangely uncomfortable. It was so awfully hushed and stillround about him; not the scream of a bird--not even the falling of abroken bough was to be heard. The pines stood in lines and in clumps, solemn, like a funeral procession, shrouded in sepulchral white. Even ifa crow had cawed it would have been a relief to the frightened boy--forit must be confessed that he was a trifle frightened--if only a littleshower of snow had fallen upon his head from the heavily laden branches, he would have been grateful for it, for it would have broken the spellof this oppressive silence. 

There could be no doubt of it; inside, under those tree-roots sleptStella's foe--the dreaded enchanted beast who had put the boldestof hunters to flight, and set lords and baronets by the ears for theprivilege of possessing his skin. Lars became suddenly aware that itwas a foolhardy thing he had undertaken, and that he had better betakehimself home. But then, again, had not Witch-Martha said that she hadbeen waiting for him; that he was destined by fate to accomplish thisdeed, just as the youngest son had been in the story-book. Yes, to besure, she had said that; and it was a comforting thought. 

Accordingly, having again examined his rifle, which he had carefullyloaded with the silver bullet before leaving home, he started boldlyforward, climbed up on the little hillock between the two trees, andbegan to pound it lustily with the butt-end of his gun. He listenedfor a moment tremulously, and heard distinctly long, heavy sighs fromwithin. 

His heart stood still. The bear was awake! Soon he would have to faceit! A minute more elapsed; Lars's heart shot up into his throat. Heleaped down, placed himself in front of the entrance to the den, andcocked his rifle. Three long minutes passed. Bruin had evidently gone tosleep again. Wild with excitement, the boy rushed forward and drove hisskee-staff straight into the den with all his might. A sullen growl washeard, like a deep and menacing thunder. There could be no doubt thatnow the monster would take him to task for his impertinence. 

Again the boy seized his rifle; and his nerves, though tense asstretched bow-strings, seemed suddenly calm and steady. He lifted therifle to his cheek, and resolved not to shoot until he had a clear aimat heart or brain. Bruin, though Lars could hear him rummaging within, was in no hurry to come out, But he sighed and growled uproariously, and presently showed a terrible, long-clawed paw, which he thrust outthrough his door and then again withdrew. But apparently it took him along while to get his mind clear as to the cause of the disturbance;for fully five minutes had elapsed when suddenly a big tuft of mosswas tossed out upon the snow, followed by a cloud of dust and an angrycreaking of the tree-roots. 

Great masses of snow were shaken from the swaying tops of the firs, andfell with light thuds upon the ground. In the face of this unexpectedshower, which entirely hid the entrance to the den, Lars was obliged tofall back a dozen paces; but, as the glittering drizzle cleared away, he saw an enormous brown beast standing upon its hind legs, with widelydistended jaws. He was conscious of no fear, but of a curious numbnessin his limbs, and strange noises, as of warning shouts and cries, filling his ears. 

Fortunately, the great glare of the sun-smitten snow dazzled Bruin; headvanced slowly, roaring savagely, but staring rather blindly beforehim out of his small, evil-looking eyes. Suddenly, when he was but a fewyards distant, he raised his great paw, as if to rub away the cobwebsthat obscured his sight. 

It was the moment for which the boy had waited. Now he had a clear aim!Quickly he pulled the trigger; the shot reverberated from mountain tomountain, and in the same instant the huge brown bulk rolled in thesnow, gave a gasp, and was dead! The spell was broken! The silver bullethad pierced his heart. There was a curious unreality about the wholething to Lars. He scarcely knew whether he was really himself or thehero of the fairy-tale. 

All that was left for him to do now was to go home and marry Stella, thedelivered princess. 

The noises about him seemed to come nearer and nearer; and now theysounded like human voices. He looked about him, and to his amazementsaw his father and Marit, followed by two wood-cutters, who, withraised axes, were running toward him. Then he did not know exactly whathappened; but he felt himself lifted up by two strong arms, and tearsfell hot and fast upon his face. 

"My boy! my boy!" said the voice in his ears, "I expected to find youdead. "

"No, but the bear is dead, " said Lars, innocently. 

"I didn't mean to tell on you, Lars, " cried Marit, "but I was so afraid, and then I had to. "

The rumor soon filled the whole valley that the great Gausdale Bruin wasdead, and that the boy Lars Tomlevold had killed him. It is needless tosay that Lars Tomlevold became the parish hero from that day. He did notdare to confess in the presence of all this praise and wonder that atheart he was bitterly disappointed; for when he came home, throbbingwith wild expectancy, there stood Stella before the kitchen door, munching a piece of bread; and when she hailed him with a low whinny, heburst into tears. But he dared not tell any one why he was weeping. 

This story might have ended here, but it has a little sequel. The $1, 750which Bruin had to his credit in the bank had increased to $2, 290;and it was all paid to Lars. A few years later, Martin Janson, who hadinherited the estate of Moe from old Lars, failed in consequence of hisdaring forest speculations, and young Lars was enabled to buy the farmat auction at less than half its value. Thus he had the happiness tobring his mother back to the place of her birth, of which she had beenwrongfully deprived; and Stella, who was now twenty-one years old, occupied once more her handsome box-stall, as in the days of her glory. And although she never proved to be a princess, she was treated as ifshe were one, during the few years that remained to her. 

[Footnote 1: In Norway confirmation is always preceded by a public examination ofthe candidates in the aisle of the church. The order in which they arearranged is supposed to indicate their attainments, but does, as a rule, indicate the rank and social position of their parents. ]

[Footnote 2: Norwegian snow-shoes. ]

[Footnote 3: The genius of cattle, represented as a beautiful maiden disfiguredby a heifer's tail, which she is always trying to hide, though oftenunsuccessfully. ]