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By the pile of wood in Kjersti Hoel's big kitchen Lisbeth Longfrock had her place on the long winter evenings. She studied and listened, and heard so many curious things talked about that it seemed as if the evenings were too short and the days too few, in spite of the long, dark Norwegian winter.
It was now a month since Lisbeth had come to Hoel Farm, but up to this time she had been treated merely as company. She had walked about the place, sauntered after Kjersti here and there in the house, ground the coffee, and brought out from a bowl in the pantry the small cakes that they ate with their coffee every afternoon. Frequently, too, she had had pleasant talks with Kjersti.
The next day after the letting out of the animals Lisbeth was to take a lunch bag and begin her spring work of going into the forest all day to watch the sheep and goats. It would not do to have them running about the fields at home any longer, Kjersti said.
Little by little Lisbeth set out on the stone all the good things which Kjersti had put in the package; and then she said, as she had heard was the custom when one entertained strangers, "Be so good as to draw up your chair, Jacob." And Jacob hesitated, also according to custom, and said, "Oh, thanks! but you should not put yourself to any trouble on my account." They sat down.
Lisbeth said that she was going to stay at Hoel. She was as well off there as she could expect to be, for Kjersti was exceedingly kind to her. Lisbeth did not say anything about her ambition to become a milkmaid. Indeed, that goal was so far off that she did not dare to set her heart upon reaching it.
And Kjersti herself poured coffee for them and begged them to help themselves. Then they had to give an account of everything that had happened on the mountain; to tell about the cows, which of them had given the most milk and which of them had stopped giving; about the sheep, goats, and pigs; and about the butter and cheese that had been made.
They had, instead, the effect of a roar and a disturbance, of something inharmonious that caused her to quiver with discomfort. Involuntarily she drew nearer to Kjersti on the wagon seat. She felt a longing for one thing only, silence. Thus they drove for a while along the sunlit valley road. Then suddenly a broad wave of sound came rolling toward them.
The moment for the start had come. Kjersti went into the stall of the cow who was to wear the bell. The cow straightened herself up, lifted her head as high as she could, and then stood stock-still.
As she and Lisbeth looked at the procession, one from the front and the other from the rear, they agreed in thinking that the animals, as well as the butter and cheese, were such as they need not be ashamed to take home to Kjersti Hoel.
Come, let me tie your kerchief, so that your hair will not get untidy." She tied the kerchief on Lisbeth's head and then they went slowly out through the hall way. Outside, at the door, stood the broad wagon with the military horse harnessed to it. "You may come and sit up here by me, Lisbeth," said Kjersti. So they both got into the wagon and drove off. Not a word was spoken the whole way.
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