This was the day when the first cheese of the season was found to be
perfect and complete. Frolich, Stiorna, and Erica examined it
carefully, and pronounced it a well-pressed, excellent Gammel cheese,
such as they should not be ashamed to set before the bishop, and
therefore one which ought to satisfy the demon. It now only remained to
carry it to its destination,--to the ridge where the first cheese of the
season was always laid for the demon, and where, it appeared, he
regularly came for his offering, as no vestige of the gift was ever to
be found the next morning,--only the round place in the grass where it
had lain, and the marks of some feet which had trodden the herbage.
"Help me up with it upon my head, Stiorna," said Erica. "If Frolich
looks at it any longer, she will grudge such a cheese going where it
ought. Is not that the thought that is in your mind at this moment,
Frolich, dear?"
"No. I do not grudge it," replied Frolich. "My mother says it is right
freely to give whatever the feelings of those who help us require."
"And you do thus freely give,--my mistress and all who belong to her,
without a sign of grudging," declared Erica. "But, would you not be
better pleased if the gift required was a bunch of mossflowers, or a
basket of cloud-berries?"
"Perhaps so;--yet, no; I think not. Our good cheeses are not wasted.
They do not lie and rot in the sun and the mists. Somebody has the
benefit of them, whether it be the demon or not."
"Who else should it be?" asked Stiorna. "There is not a man, woman, or
child, on any seater in Sulitelma, who would touch a cheese laid out for
the mountain-demon."
"Perhaps not. I never watched, to see what happens when the Gammel
cheese is left alone. I only say I do not grudge our cheese, as
somebody has it. I will carry it myself, in token of good-will, if you
will let me, Erica. Here,--shift it upon my head."
Erica would not hear of this, and began to walk away with her load,
begging Stiorna to watch the cattle,--not once to take her eye off them,
till she should return to assume her watch for the night hours.
"I know why you will not let me carry the cheese," said Frolich,
smiling. "You are thinking of Oddo with the cake and ale. Nobody but
you must deposit offerings henceforward. You are afraid I should eat up
that cheese, almost as heavy as myself. You think there would not be a
paring left for the demon, by the time I got to the ridge."
"Not so," replied Erica. "I think that he to whom this cheese is
destined had rather be served by one who does not laugh at him. And it
is a safer plan for you, Frolich."
And off went Erica with her cheese.
The ridge on which she laid it would have tempted her at any other time
to sit down. It was green and soft with mosses, and offered as
comfortable a couch to one tired with the labours of the day as any to
be found at the farm. But, to-night it was to be haunted: so Erica
merely stayed to do her duty. She selected the softest tuft of moss on
which to lay the cheese, put her offering reverently down, and then
diligently gathered the brightest blossoms from the herbage around, and
strewed them over the cheese. She then walked rapidly homewards,
without once looking behind her. If she had had the curiosity and
courage to watch for a little while, she would have seen her offering
carried off by an odd little figure, with nothing very terrible in its
appearance; namely, a woman about four feet high, with a flat face, and
eyes wide apart, wearing a reindeer garment like a waggoner's frock, a
red comforter about her neck, a red cloth cap on her head, a blue
worsted sash, and leather boots up to the knee:--in short, such a
Lapland girl as Erica would have given a rye-cake to as charity, but
would not have thought of asking to sit down, even in her master's
kitchen;--for the Norwegian servants are very high and saucy towards the
Lapps who wander to their doors. It is not surprising that the Lapps
who pitch their tents on the mountain should like having a fine Gammel
cheese for the trouble of picking it up: and the company whose tents
Erica had passed on her way up to the seater, kept a good look-out upon
all the dairy people round, and carried off every cheese meant for the
demon. While Erica was gathering and strewing the blossoms, this girl
was hidden near: and, trusting to Erica's not looking behind her, the
rogue swept off the blossoms, and threw them at her, before she had gone
ten yards, trundled the cheese down the other side of the ridge, made a
circuit, and was at the tents with her prize before supper-time! What
would Erica have thought if she had beheld this fruit of so many
milkings and skimmings, so much boiling and pressing, devoured by greedy
Lapps in their dirty tent?
On her way homewards, Erica remembered that this was Midsummer Eve,--a
season when her mother was in her thoughts more than at any other time,
for Midsummer Eve is sacred in Norway to the Wood-Demon, whose victim
she believed her mother to have been. Every woodman sticks his axe into
a tree that night, that the demon may, if he pleases, begin the work of
the year by felling trees, or making a fagot. Erica hastened to the
seater, to discover whether Erlingsen had left his axe behind, and
whether Jan had one with him.
Jan had an axe, and remembering his duty, though tired and sleepy, was
just going to the nearest pine grove with it when Erica reached home;
she seized Erlingsen's axe and went also, and stuck it in a tree, just
within the verge of the grove, which was in that part a thicket, from
the growth of underwood. This thicket was so near the back of the dairy
that the two were home in five minutes; yet they found Frolich almost as
impatient as if they had been gone an hour. She asked whether their
heathen worship was done at last, so that all might go to bed, or
whether they were to be kept awake till midnight by more mummery?
Erica replied by showing that Jan was already gone to his loft over the
shed, and begging leave to comb and curl Frolich's hair, and see her to
rest at once. Stiorna was asleep; and Erica herself meant to watch the
cattle this night. They lay couched in the grass, all near each other,
and within view, in the mild slanting sunshine, and here she intended to
sit, on the bench outside the home-shed, and keep her eye on them till
morning.
"You are thinking of the Bishop of Tronyem's cattle," said Frolich.
"I am, dear. This is Midsummer Eve, you know,--when, as we think, all
the spirits love to be abroad."
"You will die before your time, Erica," said the weary girl. "These
spirits give you no rest of body or mind. What a day's work we have
done! And now you are going to watch till twelve, one, two o'clock! I
could not keep awake," she said, yawning, "if there was one demon at the
head of the bed, and another at the foot, and the underground people
running like mice all over the floor."
"Then go and sleep, dear; I will fetch your comb, if you will just keep
an eye on the cattle for the moment I am gone."
As Erica combed Frolich's long fair hair, and admired its shine in the
sunlight, and twisted it up behind, and curled it on each side, the
weary girl leaned her head against her, and dropped asleep. When all
was done, she just opened her eyes to find her way to bed, and say, "You
may as well go to bed comfortably, for you will certainly drop asleep
here, if you don't there."
"Not with my pretty Spiel in sight. I would not lose my white heifer
for seven nights' sleep. You will thank me when you find your cow, and
all the rest, safe in the morning. Good night, dear."
And Erica closed the door after her young mistress, and sat down on the
bench outside, with her face towards the sun, her lure by her side, and
her knitting in her hands. She was glad that the herd lay so that by
keeping her eye on them she could watch that wonder of Midsummer night
within the Arctic Circle, the dipping of the sun below the horizon, to
appear again immediately. She had never been far enough to the north to
see the sun complete its circle without disappearing at all, but she did
not wish it; she thought the softening of the light which she was about
to witness, and the speedy renewing of day, more wonderful and
beautiful. She sat soothed by her employment and by the tranquillity of
the scene, and free from fear. She had done her duty by the spirits of
the mountain and the wood; and in case of the appearance of any object
that she did not like, she could slip into the house in an instant. Her
thoughts were therefore wholly Rolf's. She could endure now to
contemplate a long life spent in doing honour to his memory by the
industrious discharge of duty. She would watch over Peder, and receive
his last breath,--an office which should have been Rolf's. She would
see another houseman arrive, and take possession of that house, and
become betrothed and marry: and no one, not even her watchful mistress,
should see a trace of repining in her countenance, or hear a tone of
bitterness from her lips. It should be her part to see that others were
happier than she had been. However weary her heart might be, she would
dance at every wedding,--of fellow-servant or of young mistress. She
would cloud nobody's happiness, but would do all she could to make
Rolf's memory pleasant to those who had known him, and wished him well.
She thought she could do all this in prospect of the day when her grave
should be dug beside those of Peder and Ulla, and when her spirit should
meet Rolf, and learn at length how he had died, and be assured that he
had watched over her as faithfully as she had remembered him.
As these thoughts passed through her mind, making her future life appear
shorter and less dreary than she could have imagined possible a few
hours before, her fingers were busily at work, and her eyes rested on
the lovely scene before her. From the elevation at which she was, it
appeared as if the ocean swelled up into the very sky, so high was the
horizon line: and between lay a vast region of rock and river, hill and
dale, forest, fiord, and town, part in golden sunlight, part in deep
shadow, but all, though bright as the skies could make it, silent as
became the hour. As Erica found that she could glance at the sun itself
without losing sight of the cattle, which still lay within her indirect
vision, she carefully watched the descent of the orb, anxious to observe
precisely when it should disappear, and how soon its golden spark would
kindle up again from the waves. When its lower rim was just touching
the waters, its circle seemed to be of an enormous size, and its whole
mass to be flaming. Its appearance was very unlike that of the
comparatively small, compact, brilliant luminary which rides the sky at
noon. Erica was just thinking so, when a rustle in the thicket, within
the pine grove, made her involuntarily turn her head in that direction.
Instantly remembering that it was a common device of the underground
people for one of them to make the watcher look away, in order that
others might drive off the cattle, she resumed her duty, and gazed
steadfastly at the herd. They were safe--neither reduced to the size of
mice, nor wandering off, though she had let her eye glance away from
them.
The sky, however, did not look like itself. There were two suns in it.
Now, Erica really did quite forget the herd for some time, even her dear
white heifer,--while she stared bewildered at the spectacle before her
eyes. There was one sun,--the sun she had always known,--half sunk in
the sea, while above it hung another, round and complete; somewhat less
bright perhaps, but as distinct and plain before her eyes as any object
in heaven or earth had ever been. Her work dropped from her hands, as
she covered her eyes for a moment. She started to her feet, and then
looked again. It was still there, though the lower sun was almost gone.
As she stood gazing, she once more heard the rustle in the wood.
Though it crossed her mind that the Wood-Demon was doubtless there
making choice of his axe and his tree, she could not move, and had not
even a wish to take refuge in the house, so wonderful was this
spectacle,--the clearest instance of enchantment she had ever seen. Was
it meant for good,--a token that the coming year was to be a doubly
bright one? If not, how was she to understand it?
"Erica!" cried a voice at this moment from the wood,--a voice which
thrilled her whole frame. "My Erica!"
She not only looked towards the wood now, but sprang forwards: but her
eyes were so dazzled by having gazed at the sun that she could see
nothing. Then she remembered how many forms the cunning demon could
assume, and she turned back, thinking how cruel it was to delude her
with her lover's voice, when, instead of his form, she should doubtless
see some horrid monster: most likely a hippopotamus, or, at best, an
overgrown bear, showing its long, sharp, white teeth, to terrify her.
She turned in haste, and laid her hand on the latch of the door,
glancing once more at the horizon.
There was now no sun at all. The burnish was gone from every part of
the landscape, and a mild twilight reigned.
One good omen had vanished; but there was still enchantment around; for
again she heard the thrilling "Erica."
There was no huge beast glaring through the pine stems, and trampling
down the thicket; but, instead, there was the figure of a man advancing
from the shadow into the pasture.
"Why do you take that form?" said the trembling girl, sinking down on
the bench. "I had rather have seen you as a bear. Did you not find the
axe? I laid it for you. Pray,--pray, come no nearer."
"I must, my love, to show you that it is your own Rolf. Erica, do not
let your superstition come for ever between us."
She held out her arms;--she could not rise, though she strove to do so.
Rolf sat beside her,--she felt his kisses on her forehead,--she felt his
heart beat,--she felt that not even a spirit could assume the very tones
of that voice.
"Do forgive me," she murmured; "but it is Midsummer Eve; and I felt so
sure--"
"As sure of my being the demon as I am sure there is no cruel spirit
here, though it is Midsummer Eve. Look, love! See how the day smiles
upon us!"
And he pointed to where a golden star seemed to kindle on the edge of
the sea. It was the sun again, rising after its few minutes of absence.
"I saw two just now," cried Erica,--"two suns. Where are we, really?
And how is all this? And where do you come from?"
And she gazed, still wistfully,--doubtfully in her lover's face.
"I will show you," said he, smiling. And while he still held her with
one arm, lest, in some sudden fancy, she should fly him as a ghost, he
used the other hand to empty his pockets of the beautiful shells he had
brought, tossing them into her lap.
"Did you ever see such, Erica? I have been where they lie in heaps.
Did you ever see such beauties?"
"I never did, Rolf; you have been at the bottom of the sea."
And once more she shrank from what she took for the grasp of a drowned
man.
"Not to the bottom, love," replied he, still clasping her hand. "Our
fiord is deep; perhaps as deep as they say. I dived as deep as a man
may, to come up with the breath in his body; but I could never find the
bottom. Did I not tell you that I should go down as far as Vogel
island; and that I should there be safe?"
"Yes! You did--you did!"
"Well! I went to Vogel island; and here I am safe!"
"It _is_ you! We are together again!" she exclaimed now in full belief.
"Thank God! Thank God!"
As she wept upon his shoulder, he told her where he had been, what
perils he had met, how he had been saved, and how he had arrived the
first moment he could; and then he went on to declare that their enemies
would soon be disposed of, that they would be married, that they would
take possession of Peder's house, and make him comfortable, and would
never be separated again as long as they lived.
They did not heed the time, as they talked and talked; and Rolf was just
telling how he had more than once seen a double sun, without finding any
remarkable consequences follow, when Stiorna came forth with her
milk-pails, just before four o'clock. She started and dropped one of
her pails, when she saw who was sitting on the bench; and Erica started
no less at the thought of how completely she had forgotten the cattle
and the underground people all this time. The herd was all safe,
however,--every cow as large as life, and looking exactly like itself;
so that the good fortune of this Midsummer Eve had been perfect.