HOME FROM THE SAETER
Summer, with its light nights and brilliant days, comes rapidly to full
power on the mountains in Norway. The season is brief but intense.
It begins with a creeping of light green over the gentle slopes and
unending marshes, and a trickling of light green down around each
_tue_, or little mound of earth covered with moss and tiny berry
plants. Ptarmigans roam about in solitary pairs, murmuring when any one
comes too near their nests; gnats and horseflies buzz through the air;
and cows, with tails set straight up, scamper friskily about, trying to
escape the irritating stings.
Over everything lies a thick, warm, dark-blue haze, hindering a free
outlook.
But soon come the blueberries, the marsh wool or cotton grass, and
later the cloudberries; and on some fine day when the mother ptarmigans
go out to walk, peeping sounds are heard around them, here, there, and
everywhere. The mother birds scold more than ever, now that their young
ones are whirling like so many feathery balls a yard or more upward,
and two or three yards forward, and then tumbling down into the heather
again, head foremost. By this time the cows roam about quietly and
meditatively over the mountain, seeking the juiciest, best-flavored
herbage to nibble; the warm haze melts away and the air becomes so
sparklingly clear that mountain peaks miles distant are as delicately
and sharply outlined as the nearest little mound. Then the cloudberry
blossoms fall, and soon the marshes grow yellow and red, the tiny
blossoms of the heather color all the knolls and rocky places, the
greenness vanishes, and over the patches of white reindeer moss, which
shine out like snow here and there on the mountain, comes a blush of
red and a tinge of brown. Autumn is now drawing near.
Much of the time the sun shines brightly, and when it does, how
glorious to be the herder of a flock!
But there come days also when the fog spreads itself like a close gray
blanket, under which the ground, with its mounds and bushes and
heather, creeps stealthily, disappearing a few yards away. And out of
the fog comes a fine, mist-like rain, which deposits itself in tiny
gray beads on every blade and every pine needle, so that wherever any
one goes there is a little sprinkling of water.
In such weather it is far from pleasant to be in charge of a flock. If
the animals move forward quietly, the herder must seek shelter under
every bush, with a piece of sacking over his shoulders to shield him
from the wet. But it is far more likely that he will be obliged to run
about, with the water squeezing in and out of his shoes, trying to keep
track of his animals; for in weather like this the mushrooms spring up
plentifully and the animals scatter eagerly in all directions to find
them, scorning other food when these may be obtained. Sometimes when
the herder is speeding along the edge of the marsh, a pair of large,
powerful cranes, who are on their journey south, will loom suddenly
before him out of the fog. This startles him greatly, for the cranes
seem to the herder much larger than they really are. They look like a
couple of great sheep with wings on.
Later in the season comes a morning when all is glistening white. A
little snow has fallen during the night,--not enough to last, however;
it melts away as the day goes on. But after this the animals no longer
like to go up on the higher parts of the mountain. The cows stand
lowing at the gate of the saeter inclosure; they know that sooner or
later they will be allowed to slip in there to enjoy the last of the
mountain's good grazing. The goats look inquiringly backward as they
are let out of the fold. Summer is over. Every one longs to go down
again to the home farm.
At last a day comes when the gate is opened and the cows rush into the
saeter inclosure. They know now that they will not have to go up on the
bare mountain again this year. Then the farm hands come up with pack
horses, and other horses that have been running wild on the mountain
all summer are found and taken home. The packs are tied up; there is a
great washing, a clearing away of rubbish and putting things in order
for the next summer, and at last _Bufar_ day, the long-expected day of
returning to the home farm, arrives.
* * * * *
On Bufar day Lisbeth Longfrock stood up on the ridge of the
turf-covered cow-house roof, taking a final look at the surrounding
scene. She was all ready for the journey. Her lunch bag was on her
back, her birch-bark hat on her head, and the goat horn which Peter had
given her hung on a string around her neck. In her hand she carried a
stout stick. Within the saeter inclosure the cows and smaller animals
were roving back and forth from fence to fence impatiently. They knew
that Bufar day had come, for along the wall of the saeter hut, in a row,
stood the horses' packs, filled with butter tubs, cheese tubs, and
cheese boxes; and tied to the fence were the horses themselves. All of
these had pack saddles on, except the military horse, which stood
foremost among them, bearing a woman's saddle. The farm hands stood
outside, too, smoking their pipes. They were all ready, and were only
waiting for the milkmaid, who was inside the hut making the last batch
of cheese from the morning's milk, which she could not allow to be
wasted.
While Lisbeth was standing on the ridge of the cow house Ole and Peter
came bobbing along past the fence of the fold. They were not so
boisterous as usual to-day, and stopped at the gate, looking at Lisbeth
without saying a word at first. Then Peter asked, "Are you going back
to the farm to-day, Lisbeth?"
"Yes, I am all ready."
With one impulse Lisbeth and the boys gazed over the mountain's
familiar expanse.
"The mountain begins to look barren now," said Peter; "but I shall be
here a week longer."
"So long as that?" said Lisbeth. "And you, Ole?"
"I am going day after to-morrow."
All three were silent again for a while. Then Lisbeth said: "I suppose
I must go with the others now. They surely must be ready."
She descended from the roof and went over to where the boys were. The
conversation came to a standstill again; they could not think of
anything to say. Finally Peter spoke.
"Are you coming again next summer, Lisbeth?"
"Yes, if Kjersti Hoel is pleased with me; but that can hardly be
expected, since I am going home without Crookhorn."
"It would take a horse trainer to look after her," said Ole.
Again there was silence. Then Ole said: "We did not go up to Glory Peak
this summer, to see the spot the king once visited."
"No, we didn't."
"We two boys are coming here again next summer, both of us."
"Perhaps we can go to Glory Peak after all then, even if it is so far
away."
"Yes, we can," said Ole. "And I can tell you a good deal about the
king's visit, for my father went with him and drove."
"Drove the king's carriage?"
"No, not the king's; the county magistrate's."
"My father went with him, too," said Peter, "and drove; so I can tell
about it as well as you."
"Yes, but whose carriage did he drive? A homely old woman's!"
"But that homely old woman was next in rank to the queen. She was the
one who went off to walk with the queen at the foot of Glory Peak."
Just then came a call for Lisbeth. She hesitated a moment, then
stretched out her little hand and said: "Good-by. May you both fare
well. Thanks for this summer."
"Thanks to you for the same," said Ole. "We are to meet again, then,
next summer?"
"Yes."
"May you fare well," said Peter.
He stood holding her hand awhile; then, thinking he ought to say
something more, he added, "I will greet Jacob from you, Lisbeth."
After that the boys vanished along the fence as noiselessly as they had
come.
* * * * *
Inside the saeter inclosure the farm hands were putting the packs on the
horses, and the military horse had been led to the gate. Lisbeth ran
into the inclosure, drove her animals together and counted them,
certainly for the tenth time that day. Soon everything stood ready for
the homeward march.
The milkmaid appeared in the doorway, clad in her Sunday best, as on
the day she came. She closed the saeter door with a bang, turned the
large key solemnly in the lock, took it out and put it in her pocket.
That key she would not intrust to any one else; she wanted to deliver
it to Kjersti Hoel with her own hand. After trying the door vigorously
to be sure that it was securely locked, she went to the window and
looked in to assure herself that everything was in order and the fire
entirely out. Then, going over to the military horse, she climbed into
the saddle. One of the farm hands opened the gate for her as if she had
been a queen, and out she rode.
After her followed the pack horses, one by one, and the cows in the
same order as when they came up,--the bell cow, Brindle, and the whole
long line. Behind the cows came the smaller animals, and, last of all,
Lisbeth Longfrock with a stick in her hand, her birch-bark hat on her
head, and her lunch bag on her back.
Lisbeth turned and looked at the scene she was leaving. There lay the
saeter, desolate now. The mountain, too, appeared lonely and forsaken.
Of course she, like all the others, had longed for home during these
last days; but it was strange, after all, for her to be going away from
everything up here. A little of the same feeling she had had when
leaving Peerout Castle crept over her. How singular that she should
happen to recall that sad time just at this moment! She had not thought
of it at all since coming up on the mountain,--not once during the
whole long summer.
Nor would she think of it now; there were other and happier things to
remember. God be praised, all had gone well at the saeter, and the whole
procession was on its way home. She was taking her animals safely
back,--all except Crookhorn. Of her she had seen nothing since that day
when the boys had tried to tame her; but she had heard that far off on
the mountain a big goat went about with a herd of horses.
* * * * *
All day long the great procession went on its way over the mountain in
steady, plodding fashion. The animals were fatter and heavier than in
the spring; they trod the hills with a brisker and firmer step, and
none showed any sign of being tired or lagging behind. The milkmaid was
rosy-cheeked and plump ("Butterpack" she was always called in the
autumn). As she and Lisbeth looked at the procession, one from the
front and the other from the rear, they agreed in thinking that the
animals, as well as the butter and cheese, were such as they need not
be ashamed to take home to Kjersti Hoel.
Evening was drawing near, when suddenly the road pitched down over the
edge of the mountain, the valley began to open before them, and they
could even catch a glimpse of the slope on the other side. Every one
looked over there, but all that could be seen as yet was a strip along
the uppermost edge. The only one to distinguish a house upon the strip
was Lisbeth Longfrock. Away up and off to one side she saw the setting
sun glittering on a little pane of glass in a low gray hut. That hut
was Peerout Castle.
Then all at once they came out upon the open mountain side, and the
whole valley lay before them, broad and peaceful, with its yellow
fields and stacks of grain, its green spaces, and its slope of birch
trees flaming in yellow, with here and there a red mountain ash among
them. And over across they spied Hoel,--large, substantial, and well
cared for,--with its broad, shining windows and its general air of
comfort. Smoke was issuing from its chimney,--such an inviting,
coffee-suggesting, welcoming smoke! Kjersti had probably hung the
coffee kettle over the fire already, so as to receive them in a
suitable manner.
The whole procession now began to show more life. Every member of it
knew that Kjersti Hoel stood over there in the window watching the long
line as it curved down the open slope. All moved forward more quickly.
The horses hurried ahead; the cows began to trot, the bell cow sending
out an eager Moo-oo! across the valley; the bells jingled merrily; and
Lisbeth Longfrock trilled a vigorous call through her little goat horn.
They wanted every one to hear that the great company of animals
belonging to Hoel Farm was now coming back again.
Thus they hastened down to the bottom of the valley and then up the
opposite side. It was not long before they were actually at home.
Kjersti Hoel herself stood at the cow-house door and opened it for
them. The cows recognized her, and each one of them, as they went by
her in turn, received a word or a pat on the head; after which, proud
and satisfied, they went to their separate stalls,--not a single cow
making a mistake. They went swiftly, too, for they knew that there was
something good in the mangers to welcome them. And they needed
something, surely, for there had not been time to eat anything along
the road that day.
When the milkmaid had dismounted from her horse Kjersti took her hand
and said, "Welcome home!" Then Kjersti went over to the door of the
sheep barn, opened that also, and counted the goats and sheep as they
went in; and when Lisbeth Longfrock came following in their wake,
Kjersti took her hand also and said, "Welcome home!"
"But," faltered Lisbeth, "I have not brought Crookhorn back with me."
"No, I see that you have not; and it is a good thing. Now we shall be
rid of her capers for a while. You have been a faithful and capable
little worker, there is no doubt of that. And how you have grown! Why,
your long frock is far above your toes now!"
Then the milkmaid and Lisbeth fastened the cows in their stalls, while
Kjersti went to watch the unloading of the packs and to look at the
tubs and boxes containing the butter and cheese that had been made at
the saeter.
After that Kjersti came to them again and asked them to "Please walk
in," exactly as if they were grand strangers. And when they had gone
into the house they were invited into Kjersti's own sitting room, both
Lisbeth and the milkmaid. Here the table was set with a welcoming meal,
and oh, how delicious the food smelled! There were large hot pancakes
as thin as paper, and pease bread, and hot new potatoes,--the finest
feast you can give to people just home from a saeter. And Kjersti
herself poured coffee for them and begged them to help themselves. Then
they had to give an account of everything that had happened on the
mountain; to tell about the cows,--which of them had given the most
milk and which of them had stopped giving; about the sheep, goats, and
pigs; and about the butter and cheese that had been made. And then
Kjersti praised her two servants for their faithfulness and industry,
and the trio rejoiced together over the success of the summer.
That evening when Lisbeth Longfrock again lay stretched out on her
little bed in her room under the hall stairs and thought back over the
summer and about the mountain, it seemed to her that she had had a
glorious time, as delightful as could be thought of; but, all the same,
it was pleasant to come home again, too,--especially when one was
welcomed by such an unusually fine woman as Kjersti Hoel.
* * * * *
Autumn was passing away. The leaves had fallen and the trees spread out
naked branches into the cold air. In the fields where grain had grown
stood only the poles, now bare and slanting, on which the crops had
been stacked. The verdure of the meadows was changed to yellowish
brown.
There was no more food for the animals out of doors, so slaughtering
day had come. That is the end of the season for the young herder, for
on that day he gives up his responsibility. Thenceforward he is no
longer a person with a special duty; he must be at every one's beck and
call. And when winter comes with its long evenings, when the wood fire
gleams out over the huge kitchen from the great open fireplace, while
wool is being carded and the spinning wheel whirs, and the farm hands
make brooms out of twigs and whittle thole pins and ax handles, then
must the herder sit by the pile of twigs and logs at the side of the
fireplace and feed the fire so that the rest can see to work while he
studies his lessons.
By the pile of wood in Kjersti Hoel's big kitchen Lisbeth Longfrock had
her place on the long winter evenings. She studied and listened, and
heard so many curious things talked about that it seemed as if the
evenings were too short and the days too few, in spite of the long,
dark Norwegian winter. Before she knew it spring had come again; and
when she looked down at her long frock she found that the hem reached
no farther than the tops of her ankles.