It was a Sunday evening in midsummer; the priest had returned from
church, and Margit had been sitting with him until it was nearly seven
o'clock. Now she took her leave, and hastened down the steps and out
into the yard, for there she had just caught sight of Eli Boeen, who had
been playing for some time with the priest's son and her own brother.
"Good evening!" said Margit, standing still, "and God bless you all!"
"Good evening!" replied Eli, blushing crimson, and showing a desire to
stop playing, although the boys urged her to continue; but she begged to
be excused, and they had to let her go for that evening.
"It seems to me I ought to know you," said Margit.
"That is quite likely," was the reply.
"This surely never can be Eli Boeen?"
Yes, it was she.
"Oh, dear me! So you are Eli Boeen! Yes, now I see you are like your
mother."
Eli's auburn hair had become unfastened, so that it floated carelessly
about her; her face was as hot and as red as a berry, her bosom heaved,
she could not speak, and laughed because she was so out of breath.
"Yes, that is the way with young people."
Margit looked at Eli with satisfaction as she spoke.
"I suppose you do not know me?"
Eli had no doubt wanted to ask who she was, but could not command the
courage to do so, because the other was so much older than she; now she
said that she did not remember having seen her before.
"Well, to be sure, that is scarcely to be expected; old folks seldom get
out. You may perhaps know my son, Arne Kampen. I am his mother." She
stole a sly glance, as she spoke, at Eli, on whom these words wrought a
considerable change. "I am inclined to think he worked over at Boeen
once, did he not?"
Yes, it was Eli's impression, too, that he had done so.
"The weather is fine this evening. We turned our hay to-day, and got it
in before I left home; it is really blessed weather."
"There will surely be a good hay-harvest this year," Eli observed.
"Yes, you may well say so. I suppose everything looks splendidly over at
Boeen."
"They are through harvesting there."
"Oh, of course; plenty of help, stirring people. Are you going home this
evening?"
No, she did not intend to do so. They talked together about one thing
and another and gradually became so well acquainted that Margit felt at
liberty to ask Eli to walk a short distance with her.
"Could you not keep me company a few steps?" said she. "I so seldom find
any one to talk with, and I dare say it will make no difference to you."
Eli excused herself because she had not her jacket on.
"Well, I know, it is really a shame to ask such a thing the first time I
meet a person; but then one has to bear with old folks."
Eli said she was quite willing to go, she only wanted to fetch her
jacket.
It was a close-fitting jacket; when it was hooked, she looked as if she
wore a complete dress; but now she only fastened the two lowest hooks,
she was so warm. Her fine linen had a small turned down collar, and was
fastened at the throat with a silver button, in the form of a bird with
outspread wings. Such a one tailor Nils had worn the first time Margit
Kampen had danced with him.
"What a handsome button," she remarked, looking at it.
"My mother gave it to me," said Eli.
"Yes, so I thought," and Margit helped the girl adjust it as she spoke.
Now they walked on along the road. The new-mown hay was lying about in
heaps. Margit took up a handful, smelled it, and thought it was good.
She asked about the live stock at the parsonage, was led thereby to
inquire about that at Boeen, and then told how much they had at Kampen.
"The gard has prospered finely of late years, and it can be made as much
larger as we ourselves wish. It feeds twelve milch cows now, and could
feed more; but Arne reads a great many books, and manages according to
them, and so he must have his cows fed in a first-rate way."
Eli made no reply to all this, as was quite natural; but Margit asked
her how old she was. She was nineteen.
"Have you taken any part in the house-work? You look so dainty, I
suppose it has not been much."
Oh, yes, she had helped in various ways, especially of late.
"Well, it is a good thing to become accustomed to a little of
everything; if one should get a large house of one's own, there might be
many things to be done. But, to be sure, when one finds good help
already in the house, it does not matter so very much."
Eli now thought she ought to turn back, for they had gone far beyond the
parsonage lands.
"It will be some time yet before the sun sets; it would be kind if you
would chat with me a little longer." And Eli went on.
Then Margit began to talk about Arne. "I do not know if you are very
well acquainted with him. He can teach you something about everything.
Bless me! how much that boy has read!"
Eli confessed that she was aware he had read a great deal.
"Oh, yes; that is really the least that can be said of him. Why, his
conduct to his mother all his days is something far beyond that. If the
old saying is true, that one who is good to his mother is sure to be
good to his wife, the girl Arne chooses will not have very much to
grumble about. What is it you are looking for, child?"
"I only lost a little twig I had in my hand."
They were both silent after this, and walked on without looking at each
other.
"He has such strange ways," began the mother, presently; "he was so
often frightened when he was a child that he got into the habit of
thinking everything over to himself, and such folks never know how to
put themselves forward."
Now Eli insisted on turning back, but Margit assured her that it was
only a short distance now to Kampen, and see Kampen she must, as she was
so near. But Eli thought it was too late that day.
"There is always some one who can go home with you," said Margit.
"No, no," promptly replied Eli, and was about to leave.
"To be sure, Arne is not at home," said Margit; "so it will not be he;
but there will be sure to be some one else."
Now Eli had less objection to going; besides, she wanted very much to
see Kampen. "If only it does not grow too late," said she.
"Well, if we stand here much longer talking about it, I suppose it may
grow too late," and they went on.
"You have read a great deal, I dare say; you who were brought up at the
priest's?"
Yes, Eli had read a good deal.
"That will be useful," Margit suggested, "when you are married to one
who knows less than you."
Eli thought she would never be married to such a person.
"Ah, well, it would perhaps not be best either; but in this parish there
is so little learning."
Eli asked where the smoke rising yonder in the wood came from.
"It comes from the new houseman's place belonging to Kampen. A man
called Upland Knut lives there. He was alone in the world, and so Arne
gave him that place to clear. He knows what it is to be lonely, my poor
Arne."
Soon they reached an ascent whence the gard could be seen. The sun shone
full in their faces; they held up their hands to shade their eyes and
gazed down at Kampen. It lay in the midst of a plain, the houses red
painted and with white window-frames; the grass in the surrounding
meadows had been mown, the hay might still be seen in heaps here and
there, the grain-fields lay green and rich among the pale meadows; over
by the cow-house all was stir and bustle: the cows, sheep, and goats
were just coming home, their bells were tinkling the dogs were barking,
the milk-maids shouting, while above all rose with awful din the roar of
the force in the Kamp gorge. The longer Eli looked, the more completely
this grand tune filled her ears, and at last it seemed so appalling to
her that her heart throbbed wildly; it roared and thundered through her
head until she grew bewildered, and at the same time felt so warm and
tender that involuntarily she took such short, hesitating steps, that
Margit begged her to walk a little faster.
She started. "I never heard anything like that waterfall," said she; "I
am almost afraid of it."
"You will soon get used to it," said the mother; "at last you would even
miss it if you could not hear it."
"Dear me! do you think so?" cried Eli.
"Well, you will see," said Margit, smiling.
"Come now, let us first look at the cattle," she continued, turning off
from the main road. "These trees on each side Nils planted. He wanted to
have everything nice, Nils did, that is what Arne likes too; look!
there you can see the garden my boy has laid out."
"Oh, how pretty!" cried Eli, running over to the garden fence. She had
often seen Kampen, but only from a distance, where the garden was not
visible.
"We will look at that after a while," said Margit.
Eli hastily glanced through the windows, as she went past the house;
there was no one inside.
They stationed themselves on the barn-bridge and watched the cows as
they passed lowing into the stable. Margit named them to Eli, told how
much milk each one gave, and which of them calved in the summer, which
did not. The sheep were counted and let into the fold; they were of a
large, foreign breed; Arne had raised them from two lambs he got from
the south. "He gives much attention to all such things, although you
would not think it of him."
They now went into the barn, and examined the hay that had been housed,
and Eli had to smell it--"for such hay is not to be found everywhere."
Margit pointed through the barn-hatch over the fields, and told what
each one yielded and how much was sown of each kind of seed.
They went out toward the house; but Eli, who had not spoken a word in
reply to all that had been said, as they passed by the garden, asked if
she might go into it. And when leave had been given her to go, she
begged to be allowed to pluck a flower or two. There was a little bench
away in one corner; she went and sat down on it, only to try it,
apparently, for she rose at once.
"We must hurry now, if we would not be too late," said Margit, standing
in the door. And now they went in. Margit asked Eli if she should offer
her some refreshments on this her first visit; but Eli blushed and
hastily declined. Then the girl's eyes wandered all around the room they
had entered; it was where the family sat in the day-time, and the
windows opened on the road; the room was not large but it was cozy, and
there was a clock and a stove in it. On the wall hung Nils's fiddle,
dingy and old, but with new strings. Near it also hung a couple of guns
belonging to Arne, an English angling-rod and other rare things which
the mother took down and showed to Eli, who looked at them and handled
them. The room was without paint, for Arne disliked it; nor was there
any painting in the room looking toward the Kamp gorge, with the fresh
green mountains directly opposite and the blue ones in the background;
this latter room,--which was in the new part of the building, as was the
entire half of the house it was in,--was larger and prettier than the
first. The two smaller rooms in the wing were painted, for there the
mother was to live when she was old, and Arne had brought a wife into
the house. They went into the kitchen, the store-house, the bake-house,
Eli spoke not a single word; indeed, she viewed everything about her as
though from afar off; only when anything was held out for her inspection
she touched it, but very daintily. Margit, who had kept up an unbroken
stream of chatter the whole way, now led her into the passage again;
they must go and take a look up-stairs.
There also were well-arranged rooms, corresponding with those below; but
they were new and had scarcely yet been occupied, except one, which
looked toward the gorge. In these rooms were kept all sorts of articles
which were not in daily household use. Here hung a whole lot of robes,
together with other bedclothes; the mother took hold of them, lifted
them up, and now and then insisted on having Eli do the same.
Meanwhile, it actually seemed as though the young girl were gaining a
little courage, or else her pleasure in these things increased; for to
some of them she went back a second time, asked questions about them,
and became more and more interested.
Finally the mother said, "Now at last we will go into Arne's own room;"
and then they went into the room overlooking the Kamp gorge. Once more
the awful din of the force smote upon their ears, for the window was
open. They were up so high that they could see the spray rising between
the mountains, but not the force itself, save in one spot farther on,
where a fragment had fallen from the cliff, just where the torrent, with
all its might, took its final leap into the depths below. Fresh turf
covered the upward turned side of this fallen piece of rock, a few fir
cones had buried themselves in it, and sent forth a growth of trees with
their roots in the crevices. The wind had tugged at and shaken the
trees, the force had washed them so completely that there was not a
branch four ells from the roots; they were crooked in the knees, their
boughs knotted and gnarled, yet they kept their footing, and shot far up
between the rocky walls. This was the first thing Eli noticed from the
window; the next, the dazzling white snow-capped peaks rising above the
green mountains. She turned her eyes away, let them wander over the
peaceful, fruitful fields, and finally about the room where she stood;
the roar of the force had hitherto prevented this.
How calm and cheerful it was within, compared with the scene without.
She did not look at any single article, because one blended into the
other, and most of them were new to her, for Arne had centred his
affections in this room, and, simple as it was, it was artistic in
almost every particular. It seemed as though the sound of his songs came
floating toward her, while she stood there, or as though he himself
smiled at her from every object. The first thing her eyes singled out in
the room, was a broad, handsomely carved book-shelf. There were so many
books on it that she did not believe the priest had more. A pretty
cabinet was the next thing she noticed. Here he kept many rare things,
his mother said. Here, too, he had his money, she added, in a whisper.
They had twice had property left to them, she told afterwards; they
would have one more inheritance besides, if things went as they should.
"But money is not the best thing in the world, after all. Arne may get
what is far better."
There were many little trinkets in the room which were interesting to
examine, and Eli looked at them all, as happy as a child.
Margit patted her on the shoulder, saying, as she looked brightly into
her eyes, "I have never seen you before to-day, my child, but I am
already very fond of you." Before Eli had time to feel embarrassed,
Margit pulled at her dress, and said, quite softly, "You see that little
red chest; there is something nice in that, I can tell you."
Eli looked at the chest: it was a small, square one, which she at once
longed to call her own.
"Arne does not want me to know what is in that chest," whispered the
mother, "and he always keeps the key hid." She walked up to some clothes
hanging on the wall, took down a velvet waistcoat, felt in the
watch-pocket, and there found the key. "Come, now, you shall see," she
whispered.
Eli did not think the mother was doing quite right, but women are
women,--and these two now crossed softly over to the chest and knelt in
front of it. As the mother raised the lid, so pleasant a perfume rose
toward them that Eli clapped her hands even before she had seen
anything. Spread over the top was a kerchief which the mother took away.
"Now you shall see," she whispered, as she took up a fine, black silk
neckerchief, such a one as men do not wear. "It looks just as if it were
for a girl," said the mother. "Here is another," she added.
Eli could not help taking hold of this; but when the mother insisted
upon trying it on her, she declined, and hung her head. The mother
carefully folded them up again.
"See!" she then said, taking up some pretty silk ribbons; "everything
here looks as if it were meant for a girl."
Eli grew red as fire, but not a sound escaped her; her bosom heaved, her
eyes had a shy look, otherwise she stood immovable.
"Here are more things still!" The mother took hold of a beautiful black
dress pattern, as she spoke. "This is fine goods, I dare say," said she,
as she held it up to the light.
Eli's hands trembled, when the mother asked her to take hold of the
cloth, she felt the blood rushing to her head; she would gladly have
turned away, but this was not easy to do.
"He has bought something every time he has been to town," said the
mother.
Eli could scarcely control herself any longer; her eyes roamed about the
chest from one article to another, and back again to the dress goods;
she, in fact, saw nothing else. But the mother persisted, and the last
thing she took up was wrapped in paper; they slowly unwrapped it; this
became attractive again. Eli grew eager; it proved to be a pair of small
shoes. They had never seen anything like these, either one of them; the
mother wondered how they could be made. Eli said nothing, but when she
went to touch the shoes, all her fingers made marks on them; she felt so
ashamed that she came very near bursting into tears. She longed most of
all to take her leave, but she dared not speak, nor dare she do anything
to make the mother look up.
Margit was wholly occupied with her own thoughts. "Does it not look just
as if he had bought them one by one for some one he had not the courage
to give them to?" said she, as she put each article back in the place
where she had found it; she must have had practice in so doing. "Now let
us see what there is in this little box," she added, softly opening it,
as though now they were going to find something really choice.
There lay a buckle, broad enough for a belt; that was the first thing
she showed Eli; the next was two gold rings, tied together, and then the
girl caught sight of a velvet hymn-book with silver clasps; further she
could not look, for on the silver of the book was engraved, in small
letters, "Eli, Baardsdatter Boeen."[29]
Margit called her attention to something, got no reply, but saw that
tear after tear was trickling down on the silk kerchief, and spreading
over it. Then the mother laid down the brooch she held in her hand,
closed the little box, turned round and clasped Eli in her arms. The
daughter wept on her shoulder, and the mother wept over her, but
neither of them spoke a word.
* * * * *
A little while later, Eli was walking alone in the garden: the mother
had gone into the kitchen to prepare something good for supper, for now
Arne would soon be home. By and by, Margit came out into the garden to
look for her young friend, and found her sitting writing in the sand. As
the mother joined her, Eli quickly smoothed the sand over what she had
written,--looked up and smiled; she had been weeping.
"There is nothing to cry about, my child," said Margit, and gave her a
pat.
They saw a black object moving between the bushes on the road. Eli stole
into the house, the mother followed her. Here a bounteous repast was
awaiting them: cream pudding, smoked meat, and cakes; but Eli had no
eyes for these things; she crossed the floor to the corner where the
clock stood, sat down on a chair close to the wall, and trembled if she
only heard a cat stir. The mother stood by the table. Firm steps were
heard on the flag-stones, a short, light step in the passage, the door
was gently opened, and Arne came in.
The first object his eyes lighted on was Eli in the clock corner; he let
go of the door and stood still. This made Eli yet more embarrassed; she
got up, regretted at once having done so, and turned towards the wall.
"Are _you_ here?" said Arne, softly, blushing crimson.
Eli shaded her eyes with one hand, as one does when the sun shines too
full in the face.
"How--?" He could get no farther, but he advanced a step or two.
She put her hand down again, turned toward him, then, bowing her head,
she burst into tears.
"God bless you, Eli!" said he, and drew his arm around her; she nestled
close up to him. He whispered something in her ear; she made no reply,
but clasped her hands about his neck.
They stood thus for a long time, and not a sound was heard save the roar
of the force, sending forth its eternal song. By and by some one was
heard weeping near the table. Arne looked up: it was the mother.
"Now I am sure you will not leave me, Arne," said she, approaching him.
She wept freely, but it did her good, she said.
* * * * *
When Arne and Eli walked home together in the bright summer evening, they
did not talk much about their new-born happiness. They let Nature
herself take the lead in the conversation,--so quiet, bright, and grand,
she seemed, as she accompanied them. But it was on his way back to
Kampen from this their first summer-night's walk, with his face turned
toward the rising sun, that he laid the foundations of a poem, which he
was then in no frame of mind to construct, but which, later, when it was
finished, became for a while his daily song. It ran thus:--
"I hoped to become something great one day;
I thought it would be when I got away.
Each thought that my bosom entered
On far-off journeys was centred.
A maiden then into my eyes did look;
My rovings soon lost their pleasure.
The loftiest aim my heart can brook
Is her to proclaim my treasure.
"I hoped to become something great one day;
I thought it would be when I got away.
To meet with the great in learning
Intensely my heart was yearning.
She taught me, she did, for she spoke a word:
'The best gift of God's bestowing
Is not to be called a distinguished lord,
But ever a _man_ to be growing.'
"I hoped to become something great one day;
I thought it would be when I got away.
My home seemed so cold, neglected,
I felt like a stranger suspected.
When her I discovered, then love I did see
In every glance that found me;
Wherever I turned friends waited for me,
And life became new around me."
There came afterwards many a summer evening walk, followed by many a
song. One of these must be recorded:--
"The cause of this all is beyond my knowing;
No storm there has been and no floods have been flowing.
A sparkling and glittering brook, it would seem,
Has poured itself into the broader stream
Which constantly growing seeks the ocean.
"There is something we can from our lives not sever;
In need it is near and forsakes us never,--
A power that draws, a loving breast,
Which sadness, shyness, and all unrest
Can gather in peace in a bridal present.
"Could I but by spirits through life be attended,
As pure as the thought which has now me befriended!
The ordering spirit of God it was.
He ruleth the world with sacred laws.
Toward goodness eternal I am progressing."
But perhaps none of them better expressed his fervent gratitude than the
following:--
"The power that gave me my little song
Has caused that as rain has been my sadness,
And that as sunshine has been my gladness,
The spring-time wants of my soul along.
Whate'er betided
It did no harm;
My song all guided
To love so warm.
"The power that gave me my little song
Has given me friendship for all that's yearning.
For freedom's blessings my blood is burning;
The foe I am of every wrong.
I sought my station,
Spite every storm,
And found salvation
In love so warm.
"The power that gave me my little song
Must make me able to sing the others,
And now and then to make glad my brothers
Whom I may meet in the worldly throng,--
For there was never
A sweeter charm
Than singing ever
In love so warm."