SPRING: LETTING THE ANIMALS OUT TO PASTURE
One morning, a few weeks after the sad departure from Peerout Castle,
Lisbeth Longfrock awoke early in the small sleeping room built under
the great staircase at Hoel. She opened her eyes wide at the moment of
waking, and tried to gather her thoughts together. She was conscious of
a delightful, quivering expectancy, and felt that she had awakened to
something great and new,--something that she had waited for and been
exceedingly glad over; but she could not at once remember just what it
was.
The little room, whose only furniture consisted of a bed, a chair, a
stove, and a small wooden shelf with a mirror over it, was filled with
daylight in spite of the early hour. The sun fell slanting down through
a window set high up in the wall directly over Lisbeth's bed, and the
windowpanes were pictured in bright yellow squares on the floor near
the tiny stove. The corner of one square spread itself against the
stove, and Lisbeth traced it with her eyes as she lay in bed. At the
tip of the corner glimmered something light-green and shiny. Was it
from there that a fine, wonderful fragrance came floating toward her?
She sniffed a little. Yes, indeed! now she remembered. The fragrance
came from the fresh birch twigs she had decorated the room with
yesterday. Out of doors it was spring,--the sprouting, bursting
springtime. To-day the cattle were to be let out and the calves named.
To-day she would begin work in earnest and be a responsible individual.
In short, she would be the herd girl at Hoel Farm.
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.
As for helping with the animals,--the sheep and the goats had been let
out, to be sure, but nevertheless they did not need her care because
they were allowed, so early in the season, to run about everywhere
except in the garden, and that Bearhunter stood guard over. In the cow
house there was nothing for her to do, for a milkmaid and an
under-milkmaid did the work there. Of course the girl who tended the
flocks ought really to be able to help in milking the cows; but it was
thought that Lisbeth had better wait a year before she tried to do
that,--her hands being rather too small as yet. Lisbeth had kept
measuring her hands every now and then and pulling her fingers to make
them grow; and after a while she had asked the milkmaid if she did not
think they had grown large enough, but the milkmaid did not see that
they were any larger. She could not have very good eyes!
Lisbeth had, of course, expected to take care of Crookhorn,--Kjersti
and she both thought she ought to do that; but it had proved to be
impossible. Crookhorn had become so freakish that sometimes they almost
thought her out of her wits. In the building shared by the sheep and
goats she ranged back and forth from wall to wall, knocking against the
sheep and the other goats so hard as she went that their ribs rattled.
At last she had to be tied to one of the walls, and with the shortest
rope possible at that. Nor would she allow herself to be milked
peaceably in that building. The first time Lisbeth tried it, Crookhorn,
with a toss of the head, gave a kick that sent Lisbeth and the pail
rolling off in different directions. Afterward the milkmaid herself
took Crookhorn in hand at milking time; but even for her it was always
a feat of strength, and she had to have some one to help her by holding
the goat's horns.
When Crookhorn was let out with the other goats, would she ramble with
them over the fields and meadows, seeking food? No, indeed! She would
station herself poutingly by the cow-house door and stand there the
livelong day,--"bellowing like a cow" the farm boy said; and then in
the evening, when the other goats came home plump and well fed, there
Crookhorn would stand as thin and hungry as a wolf.
Lisbeth thought that Crookhorn, if provided with a stall in the cow
house, would act like a reasonable creature again. But neither Kjersti
nor the milkmaid would consent to the removal; they thought a goat
ought not to be humored in such unreasonable fancies.
Thus it was that Lisbeth had not had much to do during her first month
at Hoel Farm. The only thing that Kjersti had required of her was to
keep her own little room under the hall staircase in nice order, and
that she had done. Every day she had made the bed herself, and every
Saturday she had washed the floor and the shelf, and spread juniper
twigs about. Last Saturday Kjersti had come out to take a look at it,
and had said to her that she kept her room in better order than the
grown-up girls in the south chamber kept theirs; and Lisbeth knew that
this was true, for she had noticed it herself.
[Illustration: LISBETH'S ROOM UNDER THE STAIRS]
But now everything was going to be different. Kjersti Hoel had come to
Lisbeth's room the night before and said that the cows were to be let
out early in the morning, and that Lisbeth, like all the rest of the
Hoel Farm people, must be up early to help. Later in the day the calves
that had been born in the cow house during the winter were to be let
out for the first time, and Lisbeth would have to look after them for
that afternoon at any rate. Kjersti had said also that Lisbeth was to
be allowed to give the calves their names,--names that they would keep
all their lives, even after they had grown to be full-sized cows.
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.
Suddenly Lisbeth recollected what it was that she had pondered over so
long as she lay awake the evening before,--it was the names of the
calves. In spite of all her pondering she had got no farther than to
wonder whether the cow with the red sides and white head and the gentle
but bright-looking face should not be called Bliros. That idea,
however, she had given up; it seemed to her that only one cow in the
world could be called Bliros. Then she had determined to think no
longer about Bliros or the names of the calves, and so had fallen
asleep.
What if she had overslept herself now! She hoped not, with all her
heart, for she had heard Kjersti Hoel say that she did not like girls
to lie abed late and dally in the morning. How mortifying it would be
for her not to be on the spot as early as the others to-day, her very
first working day!
Wide-awake now, Lisbeth hopped quickly out of bed and popped into her
long frock. Then, having made her bed[6] with all haste, she opened the
door, went out through the hall way, and stood on the outside steps.
[6] Lisbeth meant to be very neat and tidy, but she should have
let her bed air longer before making it!
The sun had just risen above the highest spruce tops over the edge of
the eastern hills, and the light was flooding the sides of the valley
like a waterfall. In the meadows and on the sloping fields the sunbeams
quivered in the dew. They sifted in gold, they glittered in green, they
silvered the clear brooks that babbled down the hills. From every bush
came a twittering and chirping and clapping of wings. From everything,
everywhere, came a message of joy and activity and sprouting life.
Mingled in one great morning effervescence, single sights and sounds
were lost; only the call of the cuckoo, far up on the birch-clad slope,
was heard above the other sounds, and from every shining window glanced
a big, serene eye of reflected sun rays.
And just as there were thousands of different sounds, so were there
also thousands of different odors,--from the steaming earth, from the
growing grass, from buds and blossoms; and above them all, like the
cuckoo's call that was heard above the thousands of blended sounds,
rose the fine, penetrating fragrance of newly sprouted birch trees.
Lisbeth stood still awhile, drawing deep breaths and letting the sweet
air and the effervescence of spring stream in upon her. Then she looked
around at the different farm buildings. Quiet brooded within them and
every door was shut. Of all the living creatures belonging to the farm,
not one was to be seen except Bearhunter, who got up slowly from the
flat stone where he had been lying, comfortably sunning himself, and
came over to her, looking up into her face and wagging his tail.
Truly, she believed she was the first one up on the whole farm to-day.
Well, of course she would have to wait. So she sat herself down on the
steps.
Oh, no; it was just as she might have known it would be. Kjersti Hoel
was up. Lisbeth heard her come out of her own room into the kitchen,
take a big stick, and knock three times on the ceiling to waken the
girls in the south chamber.
In a moment Lisbeth heard a thump! thump! as the girls hopped out of
bed, and then a clattering noise as they put on their shoes. Soon
Kjersti came out of the house. She was going over to the building where
the men slept to waken them.
Catching sight of Lisbeth, she exclaimed: "No! this cannot be Lisbeth
already up. What a wide-awake little girl! I think I shall have to make
you head milkmaid."
At this Lisbeth became so shy that she could not raise her eyes to look
at Kjersti; but it must be acknowledged that when the head milkmaid and
the other girls came downstairs a certain small nose was tilted a
little higher than usual.
Soon there was life and motion over the whole farm. The activity was
very different from that of ordinary days, for everything was done with
extra haste, and all that was done seemed to have some connection with
the cow house. The doors at both ends of this building stood wide open,
and every one seemed to have an errand which obliged him to pass
through. The spring air streaming in made the cows turn around in their
stalls, stretch their nostrils, and look out. When Kjersti herself
appeared on the scene, after the girls had begun milking, and talked to
the cows and patted the neck of the bell cow, the creatures at once
realized what day it was. The bell cow threw up her head and bellowed
till the cow house echoed. That was a signal for all the other cows.
They pulled at their chains, swung their tails, and one after another,
along the whole row, joined in a manifold bellow of joyful expectancy
that shook the entire cow house and seemed as if it would never end.
Above the many-voiced chorus could be heard the bellowing of the big
bull, deep and even and good-natured, as if he did not need to exert
himself in the least in order to be heard.
Although everything went so much more speedily to-day than usual, the
time seemed long to Lisbeth Longfrock. When the farm people went into
the house to eat their early breakfast, she could not understand how
they could sit at the table so long. She finished her meal very quickly
and asked if she might not go and let out the smaller animals,--the
sheep and the goats,--so that that would be done. Yes, Kjersti said she
might. In a trice, therefore, she had them out, and as usual they
scattered in every direction, leaping and capering,--all except
Crookhorn, who seized her chance to slink into the cow house through
the open door; but Lisbeth was so busy that she did not notice this.
All at once there came an instant's stillness, as if everything
listened. Then from the farmhouse the tuneful clanging of a deep-toned
bell was heard, and in a moment this was answered by such a joyful
lowing and bellowing, such a sniffing and rattling of chains, that it
seemed as if a thunderstorm were passing over the farm; for when the
animals recognized the sound of that deep-toned bell, which they had
not heard since they were shut up in the cow house the autumn before,
they knew that the time for being let out into the open air was close
at hand.
A formal procession now issued from the farmhouse. Kjersti marched at
the front, carrying the big iron-bound cow collar to which the
deep-toned bell was fastened; next came the head milkmaid, followed by
the under-milkmaid; then the girls who worked in the farmhouse; and
then the two farm hands, with thick sticks, which they afterwards dealt
out to the company, giving one to Lisbeth as well as to the rest. Last
of all came Bearhunter, who also wanted to have a part in what was
going on.
When the procession reached the cow house there was again a sudden
silence. The cows, one and all, turned their heads toward the people as
they came in, and looked at them with large, expectant eyes.
The procession then divided into groups, and definite work was assigned
to each person. The head milkmaid was to unfasten the cows; Lisbeth and
the under-milkmaid and the housemaids, each with her stout stick, were
to steer the cows out through the door; the farm hands were to stand in
the cow lane to meet the creatures and guide them into the right road
(they were to be pastured up in the north meadow) and to separate those
who fought with each other; and Kjersti and Bearhunter were to watch
everything from the gateway.
All was ready. 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. She knew very well that she was the principal
cow of the herd, and that the first place when they went out and in
through the cow-house door belonged to her; but she knew also that even
she had to be on her best behavior when Kjersti, the mistress of the
whole farm, did her the honor of clasping around her neck the cow
collar with its bell,--emblem of dignity and power,--and of unfastening
the chain that held her in the stall. Kjersti clasped on the bell and
unloosed the chain, which fell rattling to the floor; and then the bell
cow swung slowly and deliberately out of the stall, like a big, heavy
ship out of its dock, and wended her way with solemn dignity toward the
door. She carried her head so high and so stiffly that you could not
see the least swaying of her horns, and her bell gave only a single
decided stroke at each step.
The next to be let out was the big bull. The head milkmaid unloosed
him, and he sailed out just as stiffly and heavily as the bell cow had
done, with horns so high that they nearly touched the cow-house roof,
and so wide apart that they seemed to stretch across the whole
passageway. Lisbeth had never realized before how large the bull was.
And then, one by one, in regular turn, the rest of the cows marched
out. They were Brindle, Morlik (which means "like its mother"), Goldie,
Speckle, Blackie, Pusher, Summer-Leaf, Darkey, Wee Bonny, Trot-About,
Wreathie, and Moolley.[7] Wreathie was so named because the white marks
on her hide looked something like a wreath.
[7] Mulley (cow without horns).
Beyond the cow stalls, now empty, were the stalls of the heifers, whose
names no one quite remembered as yet, and of the half-grown bulls, who
did not have any names at all.
When it came to the unloosing of the heifers and young bulls, the scene
grew livelier and livelier. They stretched their necks and rubbed
against their chains. They fell on their knees as soon as the unlooped
chains slipped from their necks, and as they sprang up again you could
hear their legs creak,--so stiff were they from standing in the stall
all winter. They ran plump against the side wall or up into the wrong
passageway. They dashed noisily against the door, two reaching it at
the same time and trying to rush through together but getting wedged by
their fat sides; while those who had been set free after them came
close on their heels, pushing, clashing their horns, butting and
bellowing,--until suddenly, the blockade being broken, out rushed the
whole throng.
Directly in the wake of the heifers and young bulls, to Lisbeth's
extreme surprise, followed Crookhorn, who, kicking up her heels, made a
swift dash out through the doorway.
Outside the cow house, too, all was life and stir. As the animals came
into the lane, they lifted their heads, sniffed the air from the
mountain side, and became eager and excited. Stiff-legged old cows, as
well as young calves, kicked up their hind legs and made frolicsome
leaps this way and that. They rushed playfully or angrily at each
other, clashing their horns, and giving a short bellow if worsted in
the tussle; then they dashed off to assail other members of the crowd.
Everything combined to form a hubbub of lowing and bellowing, horn
clashing and fence creaking, whacking of sticks and shouting of people;
while back and forth through all the confusion, with his horns high
above all the other horns, went the big bull, like a great heavy
snowplow, clearing the way. Of the whole herd, only one cow stood
undisturbed amid the wild uproar, calmly waiting and looking about.
That was the bell cow, whom, of course, none of the other cows dared to
disturb.
At last the head milkmaid came to the front and gave a call. The bell
cow threw up her head and with a loud, echoing bellow started to follow
her. Next came Brindle, still sniffing with anger after her many
encounters. She had got the best of all who were worth getting the best
of, and if she could not be the bell cow, she would, at any rate, stand
next to her.
Directly after Brindle came Crookhorn, with a self-important air and
making herself as tall as possible. But Brindle was in no mood for
seeing the funny side of things to-day, so she lunged out with one of
her long hind legs and gave Crookhorn a blow on the head that made the
prideful goat see stars. But Crookhorn merely tossed her head and went
on as if nothing had happened. Such actions, she thought, were probably
customary among cows.
The head milkmaid kept on calling, and the cows, one after another,
hearing her voice, started toward her. Soon the whole noisy herd, led
by the deep-toned bell and urged by shouts and flourishing of sticks,
was going in full swing toward the north meadow.
Up in the meadow, which they reached after a while, the ground was
level and there was plenty of room, so that the danger of collisions
and other accidents was lessened. The young creatures danced around in
wild play, and those of the cows who had not settled the question of
mastery fought now a battle that was to be decisive for the whole
summer. Soon, however, everything became quiet again, and in a couple
of hours all of the animals, even the worst combatants, were grazing
placidly side by side.
After this the farm people began to go home,--all except the head
milkmaid and Lisbeth, who were to remain a while longer so as to be on
hand in case anything happened. And something did happen. Brindle,
whose quiet behavior had been only temporary, soon began to rove
uneasily back and forth, sniffing hard. _She_ was really the one who
ought to be wearing the bell, she sniffed to herself; and then
suddenly, with a violent rush, she hurled herself at the bell cow. Such
a fight as there was then! The turf flew in all directions. Soon a
sharp crack was heard, and a short, wild bellow, and one of Brindle's
horns hung dangling.
Brindle shook her head till the blood splashed; then, giving another
bellow, she turned and ran the shortest way home as fast as her legs
could carry her, never stopping until she had reached the cow-house
door. There she gave vent to a terrible bellowing, as if she wanted to
bring all the farm buildings down over the people's ears.
* * * * *
After dinner the calves were let out. Lisbeth had finally named the
three cow calves Yellow Speckle, Redsides, and Young Moolley, but as
yet she had found no name to suit her for the bull calf. Lisbeth saw
plainly that Kjersti wondered why she had not called any of the calves
after Bliros (Gentle Cow), but she gave no sign of having noticed
Kjersti's thought.
This is the way the calves were induced to leave their pen and to cross
the cow-house floor. To begin with, a good-sized pail with a little
milk in it was held out to each calf. In their eagerness to get the
milk the calves thrust their heads clear into the pails; and when the
persons holding these began to run, the calves ran too, with the pails
over their heads like hats. Outside the cow-house door the pails were
snatched off and there stood the calves, who had never before been
beyond their pen, in the very midst of the great, wonderful new world.
The startled creatures gave an amazed look and then began to back, just
as if they felt themselves suddenly standing at the head of a steep
stairway; but soon they ventured to put one foot carefully forward,
then another, and another. It was slow work, one step at a time; but at
length they found that there was firm ground in this new region. They
concluded that the world was only a larger calf pen, after all; but it
was a wonderfully light calf pen, and its walls were certainly a long
way off. Swish! up went their tails into the air and away they
scampered like the wildest of forest animals.
Then began a great race in the big field,--from fence to fence, this
way and that, crosswise, and round and round. Every time the calves
jumped over a hillock Kjersti and Lisbeth saw their tails stand
straight up against the sky like tillers. Lisbeth thought she had never
seen anything so funny. But they could not keep together long. They
soon ran off in various directions, and in the evening Lisbeth had to
go to the farthest corners of the field with a pail and coax them home
one by one; for of course they did not have sense enough to know when
to go home,--they who were out in the world for the first time!
* * * * *
Lisbeth was lying again in her little room. It was the evening of her
first working day. She had said her simple evening prayer, as usual,
and then stretched herself out on the bed, feeling how good it was to
rest, for her body was tired through and through.
What a day it had been! A long day, too, she knew; nevertheless, she
could not imagine where it had gone. She felt that she must think over
all that had happened. But drowsiness came stealing upon her and threw
the scenes of the day into confusion. She saw a pair of big horns that
plowed like a snow plow through a swarming crowd, and then she saw
Brindle standing in her stall with her head on one side and a big
bandage over one of her horns, looking exactly like an old peasant
woman with a kerchief tied around her head for a headache; and then she
thought she saw, written in the air, a couplet that she had once heard:
Rearing its tail against the sky,
Danced the calf on the hilltop high.
And then Lisbeth Longfrock fell asleep.
* * * * *
The next day, with the lunch bag upon her back, Lisbeth Longfrock set
out for a forest that lay not far off, taking the sheep and goats with
her. She had not succeeded in getting Crookhorn to go along, however.
The self-willed goat had taken the shortest cut up to the north meadow,
where the cows were again pastured.
Lisbeth's second working day, like her first, seemed a very long one,
for the forest was wonderfully lonesome and still. The little girl had
time to think of many, many things,--of her mother and Jacob and
Peerout Castle; and it must be acknowledged that she cried a wee bit,
too.