SUMMER: TAKING THE ANIMALS UP TO THE SAETER
Upward over the open slope across the valley from Hoel Farm a lengthy
procession was taking its way.
Kjersti Hoel stood at the window of her room, following the procession
with her eyes as long as she could, for soon it would vanish from the
open slope into the wooded part of the mountain. The herds belonging to
Hoel Farm were that day being taken up to the saeter,[8] to spend the
summer grazing on the rich grass which grows in sunny spaces here and
there on the mountain heights.
[8] Pronounced (approximately) say'ter.
At the head of the procession rode the milkmaid on the military
horse,[9] which for this occasion had a woman's saddle upon its back.
The saddle had a high frame, so that it looked almost like an
easy-chair; and the milkmaid sitting aloft on it, dressed in her best,
and with a white linen kerchief on her head, was rosy, plump, and also
somewhat self-conscious, for was not she the most important person in
the company, the one who was to give all the commands?
[9] In some districts of Norway the farmers are required to keep
one or more horses subject to the needs of the government, under
certain conditions of use and payment.
After her came two farm hands, each leading a horse whose back fairly
curved in under its heavy load. Then followed the herds in order of
rank. First came the bell cow, then Brindle with her wounded horn that
had grown on awry, then Crookhorn, then Darkey, and behind Darkey the
whole long train of cows,--all except two, old Moolley and the pet, Wee
Bonny, who were to stay at home to furnish milk for the people there
and to teach the new calves to follow. After the cows stalked the big
bull, as if acting as rear guard for his herd.
Next came the goats, hurrying along and trying to get ahead; then the
sheep in a tight clump; and behind these, four great pigs and a few
calves; while at the very end of the train came the under-milkmaid, and
Lisbeth Longfrock with her lunch bag on her back.
In the beginning all had gone as gayly as a dance, for almost every one
had pleasant memories of the summer before, and it seemed impossible to
reach the mountain top quickly enough; but as they mounted, the way
became steeper and steeper, and the sun rose higher and higher, burning
their backs. The pigs began to lag behind, trying to branch off at
every side path so as to get a little nap in the shade or cool
themselves in a mudhole. The sheep and goats, feeling the need of
something in their stomachs, slipped aside whenever they spied a young
birch tree whose leaves they could nibble, or a fence to peep through,
or a plot of green grass. The last year's calves, who had not been to
the saeter before, saw no reason at all for hurrying, and made no
attempt at it except when the stick was used upon them.
So Lisbeth Longfrock had to keep rushing off the road into side paths,
behind bushes, into forest thickets and boggy marshes, to drag the
various creatures back into line; and scarcely did she get them safely
into the road from one side before they slipped out again on the other.
She had to take off one of her long knitted garters and tie it around
her waist so that she could tuck her long frock up out of the way; for
she was constantly on the run, coaxing, shouting, and circumventing.
It was a hard struggle. Her light hair became dripping wet and her face
was as red as a half-ripe mountain cranberry; but Lisbeth did not
notice her discomfort, so absorbed was she in what she had to do. The
under-milkmaid would return to the farm with the men when the saeter was
reached. It was Lisbeth who was to have the responsibility for the
smaller animals during the whole summer, and who was to bring them home
in the autumn fat and glossy. She and the head milkmaid had their
special responsibilities, each at her own end of the line, as it were;
and even if Lisbeth's was only the tail end, she did not wish to have
the disgrace of being unable to keep it in order.
The procession continued mounting higher and higher, and soon the whole
valley lay below, deep and wide and delicately green. The fir trees
became smaller and more scattered, the slender birches grew closer
together. Before long the first specimens of black crowberries and "old
woman's switches" (dwarf birch trees) were seen; and with that the
procession was up over the crest of the mountain side.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY AND THE FARMS]
Then, all at once, it seemed as if a heavy weight slipped off; as if
all weariness was smoothed away from man and beast. The whole mountain
sent its freshness and peace streaming over them. They were in a new
world. Before them, with its boundless surface broken into level spaces
and undulating slopes, lay the mountain top, stretching itself far, far
away, until lost in the deepening blue of a snow-streaked summit. If
they looked back, the valley seemed to have sunk out of sight; but on
the mountain top across the valley they could see wide expanses of open
land dotted with shining water and grassy saeter districts.
Drawing a long breath, all gazed silently around. What a tranquillity
lay over everything! Of their own accord the animals fell into order
along the stony road curving endlessly beyond them. They made no more
attempts to branch off into side paths, but walked slowly along at an
even pace. That gave Lisbeth a little time to view her surroundings.
She had never seen a place so broad and open. And up here she was to
spend the whole bright summer.
All at once, in the midst of this vastness and space, Lisbeth felt
herself so wonderfully little! But she was not at all terrified; she
only felt very solemn and peaceful.
She began to think of the future,--of the rest of the day, the coming
summer, and the many summers that would follow. Sometime she herself
would be big and grown up, like the head milkmaid, whom she could now
see sitting on the high saddle far ahead. Sometime she herself would
sit up there, perhaps, and ride at the front.
The pack horses refused to go slowly now, even under their heavy loads.
They forged ahead, passed the mounted milkmaid, and soon disappeared
over a distant ridge. The procession followed slowly. Hour after hour
it wound its curving way over ridges and brooks, past saeters and
shining mountain lakes. Lisbeth had the honor of sitting up in the
saddle and riding awhile, the milkmaid feeling that she would gladly
walk a little.
Evening began to draw nigh. They took their way high up through a gap
in the mountain which they had seen in the distance early in the
morning. After that the road began to descend. They met with birch
trees again and one single warped fir tree; and from below they heard
the rushing sound of a large river.
They reached at last the edge of the saeter valley to which they were
bound, and stood still to look down. Below them lay a comparatively
level space, peaceful and green, with its three saeter huts, belonging
to Hoegseth,[10] Lunde,[11] and Hoel farms. From the chimneys of two
of the huts smoke was ascending in the still afternoon air.
[10] Pronounce the _oe_ like the _e_ in _her_ and _th_ like
_t_.
[11] Loond'eh (_oo_ as in _good_).
The gazers were filled with delight. This, then, was the spot where
they were to spend the summer! The cows began to bellow. The smaller
animals, one and all, started on a run past the cows and down the hill.
* * * * *
Early the next morning Lisbeth was on her way across the mountain
pasture with the small animals in her charge. She did not have the
lunch bag on her back now, for while she was up at the saeter she was to
take dinner at the hut every noon.
The sunshine was brilliant. The cows had been turned loose and were
walking away on the nearest cow path, going in single file as if strung
on a line. The leader's bell rang deeply and regularly, its tone
mingling with others quite as deep from the neighboring saeters; and in
upon this solemn ringing broke the delicate, brisk dingle-dangle of the
smaller creatures' bells.
The time had now come when Lisbeth Longfrock was to make her first
entrance into the vast unknown. The milkmaid had told her that while
tending her animals this first day she should not wander too far, lest
she might not be able to find her way back. She was to listen to the
other herders and keep near them. The milkmaid did not know whether the
other herders were boys or girls this year.
Lisbeth kept looking back every now and then to keep track of the way
she had come, and was apparently loath to lose sight of the hut; but
the animals drifted rapidly off in the distance and she had to follow
so as not to lose sight of them altogether, and after a while, when she
looked back, the hut could not be seen. Around her were only the
unending wastes of hill and marsh and the faraway mountain peaks. How
spacious and silent it was! Not a sound was to be heard except that of
the bells; not even the river's rushing harmonies reached up to where
she stood.
She suddenly felt herself so utterly alone and remote and had such a
longing to caress some living creature that she went among the flock
and petted now this one and now that. The bell goat became so envious
that it butted the others out of the way and stood rubbing itself
against her.
All at once there came a call, "Ho-i-ho! ho-i-ho!" so loud and clear
that the mountains echoed with it. The goats pricked up their ears, and
Lisbeth, too, listened breathlessly. The call was so unexpected that
she had not distinguished from what quarter it came. It sounded near,
and yet, because of the echoes, from all directions.
"Ho-i-ho! ho-i-ho!" This time the call was still louder. Presently she
heard bells, several bells, and then she saw a large flock of sheep and
goats come straggling over the crest of a hill.
Very likely it was the other herders who were calling. Lisbeth saw two
straw hats rise above the hill, and by degrees two tall boys seemed to
grow up out of the hilltop,--boys about as big as Jacob.
At sight of them Lisbeth felt so shy that she kneeled down and hid
herself behind a bushy little mound.
The boys shaded their eyes with their hands and looked down from the
hilltop.
"Ho-i-ho!" they called, and then listened. "Ho-i-ho!"
No answer. All was still.
Then one of the boys cried out:
Oh, ho! you boy from Hoel, don't you hear?
If you have pluck, we call you to appear!
They stood awhile, watching. Then they darted forward, turned two or
three somersaults, and ran down the hill toward her, repeating their
call and shouting. Again they stopped and listened, as if uncertain.
"Ho-i-ho!" Again they challenged:
If you lie hid behind some bush or stone,
Come out and show there's marrow in your bone!
Then the two boys came to the bottom of the hill, where Lisbeth's flock
was, and looked around. No, they did not see any one. The new herder
from Hoel, who dared to lose track of his flock the first day, must be
a reckless young scamp--a fellow it might be fun to get acquainted
with. Very likely he had heard of their bathing place in the Sloping
Marsh. Probably that was where he had gone now.
Well, they would take his animals with them and go there themselves;
but first they would give another call. Perhaps he was not so far away
but that he might hear if they gave a good loud one.
"Ho-i-ho!" From far away echo repeated the sounds in "dwarf language,"
as the Norwegian boys call it.
When all was still again, there sounded close at hand, as thin and
clear as the peep of a bird, "Ho-i-ho!"
This was from Lisbeth, who, when she heard that they were going to take
her flock away, felt that she ought to call out, although it was
extremely embarrassing.
The boys stopped short, greatly astonished. From behind the bushy
little mound there arose something small, just like a tiny "hill
woman," in a plaid neckerchief and a long frock, who stood stock-still
and looked at them with large, shy eyes.
At sight of her the boys were somewhat abashed. It was a little
embarrassing for them to find that their boastful, taunting rhymes had
been directed against a poor timorous "young one," and a girl at that;
but it was exasperating, too, for they had expected to see a comrade of
their own size.
Humph! any one could see that Hoel Farm had women folk at the head of
it. The mistress was not willing that even the herder should be a boy.
If the "young one" had only been bigger,--bigger than themselves,--they
could have shown their contempt for her and chased her; but that little
midget! no, indeed, grown-up fellows like them did not waste either
words or blows on such small fry! It would be a good plan, however, to
talk with her a bit and hear whether another herder was not coming to
take her place. After that they would have nothing more to do with her.
They could get along by themselves for one summer. All that was
necessary was to frighten her a little, so that she would keep out of
their way.
They came over to Lisbeth and stood before her, big-boy-like, with
their hands in their pockets. Then one of them said, "Are you going to
be the Hoel herder this summer?"
"Yes," answered Lisbeth. Then, as if to excuse herself, she added
quickly, "Kjersti wanted me to."
"What is your name?"
"Lisbeth; and Jacob calls me Longfrock."
"Where are you from?"
"From Peerout."
"Are you Jacob Peerout's sister? We went to school with him last
winter."
"Yes, I am."
"What a nuisance that Jacob himself did not come! We haven't any use at
all for young ones like you up here."
The speaker, who was the larger of the two boys, stood awhile waiting
for a reply; but Lisbeth did not know what answer to make to his remark
and therefore said nothing. So he continued: "Well, we only wanted to
say to you--I'm Ole Hoegseth and that fellow over there is Peter
Lunde--that you must keep out of our way. You must not dare to come a
step beyond a line running from Pancake Stone down around the Sloping
Marsh to the Pointing Stump near the Hoegseth cow path. If you let
your animals graze beyond that line, your brother Jacob, next winter,
shall get all the thrashings you ought to have this summer."
Lisbeth was dreadfully frightened and her mouth began to tremble. Then
the second boy said to the larger one, "Yes, but Jacob is so strong
that he will get the best of you."
"Not when I have brought myself into good training. Hoi!" and he turned
a handspring.
"Now you know what Jacob may expect, so take care what you do! We boys
are going up to the Sloping Marsh to bathe. Ho-i-ho!"
With shout and call they took their way up over the hill again. At the
top they looked back and then glanced a little dubiously at each other.
Lisbeth Longfrock was still standing where they had left her, and--she
was crying!
Lisbeth felt very small and forlorn as she stood there. She certainly
did not want to do anything that Jacob would get a thrashing for. If
she only knew where it was that she was not allowed to go! but she had
not the least idea where either the Pointing Stump or the Sloping Marsh
lay. All that she could do would be to keep with her animals and find
out about these places later.
Sometime afterwards, when Lisbeth had mounted a small round hill, she
heard the bells of the boys' flocks again. That gave her a fright, and
she began to chase her animals off in another direction. But as she
turned around to do so she saw, far, far down the marsh, two white
figures running, jumping, and playing leapfrog in the sunshine beside a
gleaming pond. The boys had let their flocks stray away from them!
Lisbeth dreaded incurring more displeasure, but surely something ought
to be done. There was no help for it; she would really have to take
care of the stray animals for a while. The boys could not be angry at
that, she knew, because the greatest disgrace that can befall a herder
is the losing of his flock, and for boys so big as these to go back to
the saeter without any animals would be especially humiliating.
So Lisbeth went to work gathering the flocks together, jumping up on a
mound every now and then to see if the boys were not ready to come; but
they appeared to have forgotten everything except their play.
At length she saw that the boys suddenly stood still and listened,
peering about in all directions. Then they started into activity again,
snatched up their clothes, put them on in great haste, and started off
on a run toward the opposite edge of the marsh. Every little while they
would stop and listen, and then run on again. They were so far off that
there was no use in Lisbeth's shouting to them or trying to give the
call "Ho-i-ho!"
When the boys reached a round hill that lay on the other side of the
marsh, they ran to the top and again peered in all directions for a
long time. Then, as fast as their legs could carry them, they made
their way back across the marsh straight toward the small round hill
where Lisbeth was. As they neared it Lisbeth thought that now was the
time to give the herder's call, for the flocks were on the other side
of the hill and their bells could not be heard by the boys. Her first
call was too weak. She gave another somewhat stronger.
The boys stopped and answered.
Lisbeth called again, "Ho-i-ho!" and then the boys came up the hill.
They found it a little difficult to break the silence. It was rather
annoying to be obliged to question that "young one" about their flocks;
but there was no other way.
"Have you seen our animals?"
Lisbeth looked at them pleadingly. "They are here at the foot of the
hill. I have been taking care of them, but you must not thrash Jacob
for it."
The boys looked as they felt,--rather crestfallen. But they had to say
something, so Ole remarked, as they turned and left her, "Oh, well, we
'll let him off for this one time."
* * * * *
When Lisbeth went to fasten the gate of the fold that evening Peter
Lunde came bobbing along outside the fence.
"You haven't a strange sheep here, have you?"
"No; I have counted mine."
"Well, perhaps I counted mine wrong. Very likely they are all there."
The two stood looking at each other for a while; then both grew shy and
had to turn their eyes away. At last Peter said: "Lisbeth, if you want
to, you may tend your flock wherever we tend ours, and you may come to
our pond. I understood Ole to say that he is willing, too; but if he
makes any fuss about it, why I _can_ thrash him if I really want to."
"Yes, I will come gladly, you may be sure."
"Well, then, I will come after you to-morrow morning, back of the hill
here."
Lisbeth did not get a chance to say anything more, for Peter was off
like a flash around the corner. He had seen Ole coming.
Ole came lounging along in his usual fashion, with his hands in his
pockets.
"You haven't seen a strange sheep, have you?"
"No."
"Humph!"
"Is one of yours missing?"
"Oh, I don't know exactly. Humph! I thought I would tell you that you
need not bother yourself about what I said to-day. I did not mean
anything by it. It was Peter that made me say it; and if you want me
to, I can thrash him for it to-morrow."