"Can two walk together, except they be agreed?"--_Amos 3:3_
It was nearly noon when Signe Dahl sprang from the cart, and with her
bundle under her arm, ran down the hillside into the woods, following a
well-beaten trail. That was the short cut home. Hans had found her poor
company during the ride, and even now, alone in the woods, the serious
countenance was loth to relax. A ten minutes' walk brought her to the
brow of a hill, and she sauntered down its sloping side. Signe had
nearly reached home, and being doubtful of her reception there, she
lingered. Then, too, she could usually amuse herself alone, for she
always found some new wonder in the exhaustless beauty of her
surroundings.
She threw herself on a green bank, and this is the picture which she
saw: Just before her, the greensward extended down to a lake, whose
waters lost themselves behind cliffs and islands and pine-clad hills.
Here and there in the distance towards the north, there could be seen
shining spots of water; but towards the south the hills closed in
precipitously, and left room only for the outlet of the lake to pour
over its rocky bed into another valley below. On the farther shore, five
miles distant, a few red farm houses stood out from the plats of
green--all the rest was forest and rock. The sky was filled with soft,
fleecy clouds, and not a breath stirred the surface of the lake. Signe
gazed towards a rocky island before her. Only the roof of the house
upon it could be seen, but from its chimney arose no smoke. That was
where Signe had been born, and had lived most of the eighteen years of
her life. The girl walked down the hillside to the lake and again seated
herself, this time on a rock near the edge of the water. She took a book
from her bundle and began to read; but the text was soon embellished
with marginal sketches of rocks and bits of scenery, and then both
reading and drawing had to give place to the consideration of the
pictures that came thronging into her mind.
Hr. Bogstad had actually proposed to her--the rich and handsome Hr.
Bogstad; and she, the insignificant farmer girl, had refused him, had
run away from him. Signe Dahl, she ruminated, aren't you the most
foolish child in the world? He is the owner of miles and miles of the
land about here. The hills with their rich harvest of timber, the rivers
with their fish, and even the island in the lake, are his. To be
mistress over it all--ah, what a temptation. If she had only loved Hr.
Bogstad, if she had only liked him; but she did neither. She could not
explain the reason, but she knew that she could not be his wife.
How could such a man love her, anyway? Was she really so very good
looking? Signe looked down into the still, deep water and saw her own
reflection asking the question over again. There! her face, at least,
was but a little, ordinary pink and white one. Her eyes were of the
common blue color. Her hair--well, it was a trifle wavy and more glossy
than that of other girls, but--gluck! a stone broke her mirror into a
hundred circling waves. Signe looked up with a start. There was Hagbert
standing half concealed behind a bush.
"Oh, I see you," she shouted.
He came down to the water, grinning good-naturedly.
"Well," said he, "I didn't think you were so vain as all that."
"Can't a person look at the pebbles and fish at at the bottom of the
lake without being vain?" and she laughed her confusion away. "Say,
Hagbert, is your boat close by?"
"Yes, just down by the north landing."
"Oh, that's good. I thought I would have to wait until father came this
evening to get home. You'll row me across, won't you?"
"Why, certainly; but I thought you had gone to the _saeter_ to stay, at
least a week."
"Yes, but--but, I've come home again, you see."
"Yes, I see," and he looked oddly at her. He had also seen Hr. Bogstad
set out for the mountains two days before, and now he wondered.
Hagbert fetched the boat, took in his passenger, and his strong arms
soon sent the light craft to the other bank.
"A thousand thanks, Hagbert," she said, as she sprang out, and then
climbed up the steep path, and watched him pull back. He was a strong,
handsome fellow, too, a poor fisherman, yet somehow, she felt easier in
his company than in Hr. Bogstad's.
Signe found no one at home. Her mother and the children had, no doubt,
gone to the mainland to pick blueberries; so she went out into the
garden to finish her book. She became so absorbed in her reading that
she did not see her mother's start of surprise when they came home with
their baskets full of berries.
"Well, well, Signe, is that you? What's the matter?" exclaimed her
mother.
"Nothing, mother; only I couldn't stay up there any longer." And that
was all the explanation her mother could get until the father came home
that evening. He was tired and a little cross. From Hans he had heard a
bit of gossip that irritated him, and Signe saw that her secret was not
wholly her own. She feared her father.
"Signe," said he, after supper, "I can guess pretty well why you came
home so soon. I had a talk with Hr. Bogstad before he went to the
_saeter_."
The girl's heart beat rapidly, but she said nothing.
"Did he speak to you about--why did you run away from him, girl?"
"Father, you know I don't like Hr. Bogstad. I don't know why; he is nice
and all that, but I don't like him anyway."
"You have such nonsensical ideas!" exclaimed the father, and he paused
before her in his impatient pacing back and forth. "He, the gentleman,
the possessor of thousands. Girl, do you know what you are doing when
you act like this? Can't you see that we are poor; that your father is
worked to death to provide for you all? That if you would treat him as
you should, we would be lifted out of this, and could get away from
this rock-ribbed island on to some land with soil on? Our future would
be secure. Can't you see it, girl? O, you little fool, for running away
from such a man. Don't you know he owns us all, as it were?"
"No, father, he does not."
"The very bread you eat and the water you drink come from his
possessions."
"Still, he does not own us all. He does not own me, nor shall he as long
as I feel as I do now, and as long as there is other land and other
water and other air to which he can lay no claim."
It was a bold speech, but something prompted her to say it. She was
aroused. The mother came to intercede, for she knew both father and
daughter well.
"I tell you, girl, there shall be no more foolishness. You shall do as I
want you, do you hear!"
Signe arose to go, but her father caught her forcibly by the arm.
"Sit down and listen to me," he said.
The girl began to cry, and the mother interposed: "Never mind, father;
you know it's useless to talk to her now. Let her go and milk the cow.
It's getting late."
So Signe escaped with her pail into the little stable where the cow had
been awaiting her for over an hour. But she was a long time milking,
that evening.