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Bogstad and Signe had proffered their help, but they had been ordered into the house and Signe was told to prepare the evening meal. When Hansine came in, she found the table set with the cheese, milk, butter, and black bread, while Signe and Hr. Bogstad sat by the large fireplace watching a pot of boiling cream mush. The object of Hr. Bogstad's visit was plain enough.
They went down the hill together. The lowing cows came up to the stables, and as the herd grew larger there was a deafening din. A girl was standing in the doorway of one of the cabins, timidly watching the noisy herd. "Come, give the cows their salt," laughingly shouted Hansine to her. "And get hooked all to pieces? Not much." "You little coward. What good would you be on a saeter?
The bird that lived on their roof could be none other than the stork, for before long Hansine confided in Lars Peter that she was with child. It was the most glorious news he had ever had in his life, and if he had worked hard before he did even more so now. His evenings were spent in the woodshed; there was a cradle to be made, and a rocking-chair, and small wooden shoes to be carved.
"Did he never come back then?" asked Lars Peter slowly. Hansine shook her head. And he had threatened to return and claim her, if she broke her word. He had said, he would tap on the trap-door in the ceiling. "Did you promise of your own free will?" Lars Peter said ponderously. No, Hansine thought he had pressed her. "Then you're not bound by it," said he.
What do you think, Hr. Bogstad?" As the girl caught sight of the new arrival she started and the color came to her face. He went up to her. "How are you, Signe?" he said. "How do you like life on a saeter?" "Well, I hardly know," she said, seemingly quite embarrassed. "Oh, I'll tell you," broke in the busy Hansine, as she came with a pail full of salt.
The only curse he knew, was the curse of being an outcast and feared; and this, thank the Lord, had been removed where he was concerned. He did not believe in persecution from a dead man. But he understood the serious effect it had upon Hansine, and was much troubled on her account. Before going to bed, he took down the trap-door and hid it under the roof.
"Good evening, Hansine," said he, as his horse scrambled up the path close by, "your lur made welcome music this evening." "Good evening, Hr. Bogstad," said she, "are you not lost?" "I was, nearly, until I heard you calling your cows. It is a long way up here but the air and the scenery are grand." "Yes, do you think so? I don't know anything about what they call grand scenery.
But Signe's slim, graceful form, large blue eyes, clear, dimpled face, light silken hair, combined with a native grace and beauty, attracted not only the fisher boys but the "fine" Hr. Bogstad also. She was now spending a few days with her cousin Hansine in the mountains.
What Hansine had been waiting for so long, now actually took place. She sent the woman, who was supposed to be with her, away on some excuse or other; and when Lars Peter returned, the animals were bellowing and every door open. There was no sign of wife or children. The poultry slipped past him, as he went round calling. He found them all in the well.
Bogstad, I think we have some grand natural scenes. I often climb up on the hills, and sit and look over the pines and the shining lake down towards home. Then, sometimes, I can see the ocean like a silver ribbon, lying on the horizon. I sit up there and gaze and think, as Hansine says, nearly all night. I seem to be under a spell.
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