Arne and the Christmas Star
_Far out to sea, the freighter ~Stjerne~ fought the storm bravely. At
home in the little Norwegian fishing village, Arne and his family waited
and prayed. It was the Christmas season, and the ~Stjerne~ was the
Christmas ship this year, bearing Yuletide gifts and other good things
for the village._
_But more important than the gifts, the ~Stjerne~ carried her gallant
crew—and Arne’s brother Gustav, her first mate._
_How Arne does his part to help bring the Christmas ship safely into port
makes a thrilling tale._
By the author of THE CHRISTMAS STOVE.
Arne
and the
Christmas Star
_a story of Norway_
Alta Halverson Seymour
_illustrated by
Frank Nicholas_
_Wilcox and Follett Company_ CHICAGO
ARNE AND THE CHRISTMAS STAR
_by_ ALTA HALVERSON SEYMOUR
_Copyright 1952, by Wilcox & Follett Co._
_Manufactured in the United States of America_
Arne and the Christmas Star
_To Todd
who was the first to make friends
with Arne_
[Illustration]
1
“Oh, Mother, I hear Uncle Jens’s folks are going up the mountain to the
saeter tomorrow. Can I go along this time, do you suppose?” Arne’s tongue
was flying as he burst into the kitchen, and his blue eyes looked eagerly
around for his mother.
No one was in sight but his grandmother, busy with her mixing bowl at
the kitchen table. “Where’s Mother, Besta?” he asked. “Cousin Bergel
just told me they’re going to take the cows and goats up the mountain
tomorrow. Do you know who all are going? Do you suppose I can—”
“For goodness’ sake, boy, you go on like a spinning wheel! It must be
that red hair of yours that drives you along so fast. Just be quiet a
minute, will you? I can only answer five or six questions at a time. Your
mother and sister Margret are over helping Aunt Tina get things ready for
the trip tomorrow.”
[Illustration]
“They’re going, then! Oh, I hope I get to go too. I think I will, don’t
you?” Arne helped himself to a bit of cooky dough from the sticky yellow
mass on his grandmother’s floured board, looking warily at her out of the
corner of his eye. Her hand was quick, and he might get a sharp rap on
the knuckles.
But he didn’t this time. She merely moved her board away from him and
began adding flour to the dough. “Such a boy!” she exclaimed. “It would
be a rest to me if your mother let you stay up on the mountain all
summer.”
Arne knew she didn’t mean that. The two were the best of friends.
Grandmother Dalen, whom everyone called Besta as a shortened form of the
dignified Norwegian _bedstemor_, seemed to enjoy his tricks and teasing.
She had even been heard to say, when she didn’t know Arne was around, “I
like naughty boys.” Then she had caught sight of him and added briskly,
“They give you something to work on.”
Now she nipped off a piece of dough and molded it into a soft long roll
which she deftly tied into a bowknot. She filled her pan with rows of
similar bowknots and slipped it into the hot oven.
“Who’s going, Besta, do you know?” asked Arne, watching the cooky-making
with interest but wishing she would hurry and answer his questions. “I
just wish we had a saeter of our own.”
[Illustration]
“Lots of use your father would have for such a thing!” scoffed Besta.
Arne’s father was in the fish-packing business and owned just enough land
to grow a little hay and keep a cow or two and some goats. But Uncle
Jens was a real farmer; and, like most farmers in Norway, he had his own
skyland pastures high in the mountain valleys where the grass grew green
and lush. These were called saeters, and each had its little cabin where
some of the daughters of the family spent their summers. The girls milked
the cows and goats which were taken from the home farm to be pastured up
there, made the cheese, and churned the butter. Arne thought some of the
best fun of the summer was at the saeter. The day of moving up there was
especially jolly.
“Cousin Signe will have to go, of course,” he said, “and Bergel, I
suppose.”
“Yes, Bergel’s old enough to help this year—almost as old as you. She’s
eleven now. Your sister Margret will take our own cows and goats up and
tend to them. And of course Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina and little Knut will
take the housekeeping things and help get the girls settled. And Cousin
Evart—”
“And me—did they say I’m going?” Arne asked eagerly, as she paused.
Besta was something the shape of one of her own butterballs, but that
did not keep her from moving fast, or talking fast either, as a rule.
Now, however, she seemed intent on her work, and when she answered she
spoke almost reluctantly. “I haven’t heard anything about your going,
Arne. I did hear your father say he needed some extra help baling
_lutfisk_. He said he was glad school is out so you can help.”
“Baling _lutfisk_!” said Arne despairingly. He had done that before,
plenty of times, especially when father had a shipment he wanted to get
off in a hurry. “That’s such a tiresome job, and so smelly! Do I have to
stay home for that stuff?”
“You like _lutfisk_ as well as anyone when it comes to the table,” Besta
reminded him. “Don’t you know how good it is, with melted butter or nice
milk gravy?”
Arne knew that well enough, but he certainly did not relish the idea of
staying home from the first saeter trip of the summer to bale _lutfisk_.
Part of the work connected with _lutfisk_ was all right. It was fun to
help unload the big cod from the fishing boats, to watch the men expertly
split and clean the fish and spread them to dry. Ole Berg, the old
fisherman who was father’s right-hand man, had showed Arne how it was
done, and even let him help.
Father thought Arne was a little young to handle the big, sharp knives,
but Ole said the boy was very quick with his hands. So Herr Dalen gave
his son a good Norwegian hunting knife with a silver handle shaped like
a horse’s head and a neat leather sheath which fitted on his belt. Arne
was very proud of it and put it to good use under Ole’s directions. But
baling those bundles of dried fish was a very different matter. And
certainly tomorrow was no day to spend on the packing-house dock at a
tedious job like that. Then a hopeful thought struck him, and he asked,
“Well, then, is Gustav going to help bale _lutfisk_ too?”
His big brother Gustav was at home just now between voyages to
sea—Gustav, who was going to be a ship’s captain some day. He would sail
as first mate the very next time the steamer _Laks_ came to port here in
Nordheim on its way up the fjord.
“What’s that about Gustav?” called out a big voice; and a tall, dark-eyed
young man with curly black hair came into the kitchen. “Oh, good for you,
Besta! You’re making _kringler_! Are those for the trip to the saeter?”
“Are you going to the saeter too, Gustav?” cried Arne accusingly. “And I
have to stay home and bale smelly old _lutfisk_!”
Disappointment swept over him. It was worse than ever if Gustav was going
and he couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat, and it seemed to him
he could hardly breathe. All spring he had been looking forward to this
trip. He longed to be in the gay procession that would wind its way from
the little village up the mountain road. Up it would go until the road
became only a path, then still up and up. At last they would come to
the little log house right on the cliff overlooking the fjord, with the
pastures and valleys behind and mountains, gray with granite and green
with pines, rising above it all.
First would go Suri, Uncle Jens’s fat, light tan fjord pony with its
black mane and tail. Arne was a great favorite of Suri’s, for he always
had a lump or two of sugar in his pocket, and she had learned to nuzzle
for it as he patted and talked to her. Suri would pull the light hay cart
piled with pots and kettles, milk pails and cans, chums and bedding, and
all the other housekeeping things. When they reached the place where the
road became no more than a trail, they would tether the pony and leave
her to spend a pleasant day cropping tender mountain grass.
Aunt Tina would drive, and little Knut would ride beside her. The girls
would be in charge of the cows and goats. Uncle Jens and Evart and
Gustav would carry big packs, because they couldn’t burden fat little
Suri too heavily. No horse-loving Norwegian would think of it.
There they would go, the bells on the pony’s harness jingling, the
cowbells ringing, little Knut tooting or whistling, everyone singing and
laughing. Even his cousin Bergel, just a girl and almost a year younger
than he was, would be in that jolly procession; and he couldn’t go. This
year it would be more fun than ever, for Gustav was going too, and there
was always a special lot of fun where Gustav was. It seemed to Arne he
would fairly burst with disappointment.
He had hard work to keep from crying, but of course you couldn’t do that
when you were twelve years old—especially when there were people around.
But his nose pricked and his throat ached; he had to wink fast and turn
and walk over to the sink as if he wanted a drink of water—which he
didn’t.
Gustav stood looking at Besta, and Besta stood looking back to him.
“You’ll be going up later on in the summer, Arne,” said Besta
comfortingly.
“I don’t care about going later,” said Arne, and his voice came out
something like a croak. “I want to go now, when Gustav’s going, and
everything getting ready—”
“I was thinking,” said Gustav slowly. “They’re going to need all the help
they can get to carry the stuff from where we leave Suri. Arne’s a pretty
big boy now, and he could be a lot of help. I know that’s one of the
reasons they want me to go.”
“They want you because everyone wants to have you around,” said Arne,
his voice still muffled. But the heavy feeling in his chest lightened
a little, and he turned half around, looking hopefully at his brother.
Gustav was pretty good at finding a way out of things.
Gustav said, “_Lutfisk_ could be baled tonight as well as tomorrow.
Father wants to have the shipment ready to send off day after tomorrow,
that’s all. We can work down there tonight. It’s light on the dock till
nearly midnight, these June nights.”
“We?” Arne’s grin began to break out. “Do you mean you’re going to help?”
“Why not? I baled _lutfisk_ when I was smaller than you are, and helped
pack the kegs of pickled herring too, sampling as I packed. I used to
kind of like to hang around that packing house. And it’s fun to think
of fish from the little port of Nordheim going all over, even as far as
America. Come on, boy.”
Arne dashed joyfully across the room. “Say, I like to hang around the
warehouse, too, but I can do that any time, and the saeter—well, that’s
different. And this year Uncle Jens is going to rig up an extra good kind
of special works to send the milk cans and hay from the top of the cliff
down to the level land. We’ve been talking a lot about it. I want to help
with that.”
“Well, why not? You’re pretty good at that kind of thing. Now we’ll go
down to the packing house, and I’ll show you how to grab up those stiff
old _lutfisk_ and wind the wire around in a hurry. I’ve got a good
technique. We’ll work fast, and if we get enough done, maybe Father will
let you go tomorrow.”
The two brothers did not have very far to go, although their white house
with its red roof and doors stood near the edge of the little harbor
town far up on the Norwegian coast, where a mighty fjord joins the sea.
They walked quickly along the narrow, cobbled street that twisted its
way down to the wharf, past the brightly-painted houses—orange, green,
and red—past the _stavkirke_ with its roofs and gables rising one above
another.
Arne liked that old church. He liked the carved dragon heads which sprung
from the highest gables and rose above the small turret that topped the
whole edifice.
“We’re lucky to have it, you know,” said Gustav. “There aren’t many of
those old churches around Norway, and none at all anywhere else. It’s
nearly a thousand years old; did you know that? It’s lasted since the
days the old Vikings used to have to carry spears or bows and arrows when
they went to church.”
“I like those old Vikings. And those were good days, Gustav,” said Arne.
“They didn’t have to be sending _lutfisk_ to America in those days.”
Gustav laughed. “Well, we do. So shake a leg.”
The packing house stood at the edge of the fjord, handy for unloading the
fishing boats and for loading the ships that carried the kegs and cans
and bales of fish to far-off ports.
Father was a little surprised to see them; and he was pleased, too,
though he didn’t say so. Usually he had to make it very clear when he
expected Arne to report for duty. And here the boy had come down himself
and offered to help. Here was Gustav, too, who was on a vacation and not
expected to do real work.
Gustav did have a very quick way of handling that _lutfisk_. He picked
up several of the long stiff pieces of fish which Arne thought looked
exactly like pieces of wood. These he arranged neatly in a bundle, bound
it with wire, fastened and clipped it. As he worked, he sang some of the
rollicking folk songs Besta had taught them long ago; and that made the
job go even faster. Old Ole worked with them; he knew songs Arne had
never heard. Before long Father joined the group; and by the time they
stopped for supper, a good share of the work was out of the way.
“There, now,” said Father with satisfaction. “We are going to see to
it that those poor folks in America do not starve for good Norwegian
_lutfisk_. Time to stop for supper. I wonder what Mother will have for us
to eat.”
“Hope it won’t be _lutfisk_,” said Arne fervently, and they all laughed.
When they entered the kitchen a few minutes later, they were pleased to
see that Mother was cooking a large pan of meat balls.
Arne thought his mother was very pretty, with her coppery hair that shone
like one of her own brightly-polished pots, her deep blue eyes and quick
smile. And he knew very well she was the most comfortable person in the
world to be around. There was a capable air about her that made one feel
good inside.
His mouth watered as she filled a large platter with meat balls while
Margret set big mugs of milk on the table and Besta brought a large bowl
of steaming hot potatoes. It was a favorite meal of Arne’s, but for once
he was the first to finish. He ran around the table to bow to his mother
and father with the customary Norwegian, “_Tak for mad_,” which meant,
“Thank you for the meal.” Then he said, “Now, let’s get back to that
_lutfisk_.”
Father glanced at Mother, and his voice sounded as if he wanted to smile.
But all he said was, “I’m afraid Arne is working himself out of a job.”
Mother had been talking to Besta, and now she answered soberly, though
her eyes twinkled. “It may be he will have to go along on that saeter
trip and help there, if he’s so eager to work.”
Arne looked from one to the other. They sounded serious, but they often
joked that way. He grinned and brought his hands together in a noisy
clap. “Am I going to the saeter, then?”
“Let’s see how we get along this evening with the work,” was all Father
would say. But Arne’s heart felt light as he went back to the dock with
the others. His fingers flew, and he sang louder than anyone.
[Illustration]
2
The sun was still high in that land of the midnight sun when Father said,
“Past nine o’clock. Time for a boy to be in bed if he’s to be up early to
start for the saeter.”
“Oh, Father! I can go?” cried Arne.
“Well, the _lutfisk’s_ nearly all baled. We don’t want you around here
tomorrow eating up all the pickled herring. Uncle Jens is going to need
help. See that you give it to him.”
“Oh, I will! Oh yes, sir!” cried Arne joyfully.
He wanted to say a special thank-you to Gustav for making it possible,
but he didn’t quite know how. Gustav was likely to make a joke of things,
and this wasn’t a joke at all. He did look up at his big brother, half
shyly, as they walked up the hill toward home, and say, “I’m glad I am
going. It was your doing, really.”
“Oh that was just because I wanted you to carry the heaviest loads,”
said Gustav, with a wink. “I plan to take it easy. Don’t you loaf on the
job, boy.”
He smiled and gave a friendly yank at a lock of Arne’s red hair, and the
boy felt so happy he ran and jumped nearly all the way home.
It was still broad daylight when Arne tumbled into his feather bed and
pulled another feather bed over him for covering. June nights grew cold
along the fjord.
It seemed to him he had hardly fallen asleep when his sister Margret was
calling, “Get up, lazybones, if you want to come with the rest of us.”
Almost before Arne had finished his breakfast of mush and milk and
cheese, he heard a clatter on the upper road behind the house and dashed
out.
There they all came, just as he had pictured it. His cousin Bergel ran to
meet him, her blue eyes shining. “Can you go, Arne?” she cried, and at
his nod, “Oh, good! I like it lots better if you’re along.”
“So do I,” said Arne, and they both laughed.
He adjusted his pack and fell in with Gustav and Uncle Jens and Evart.
Margret, flushed and pretty, ran around trying to persuade their two
cows and the goats to fall in with the others. Arne would have enjoyed
helping her with that, but cows and goats were definitely the province
of womenfolk. He knew very well that Margret didn’t want any interference
from him. Bergel and Signe came to her aid; and soon the procession was
on its way, bells ringing, everyone singing and waving and laughing,
while Mother and Father and Besta called out, “A pleasant trip!” “Good
luck!” “God be with you!”
The road ran at first along the foot of the mountain. It was a good road,
though there were fences across it in many places, marking someone’s land
boundary. But each fence had a gate which was opened to let the little
cavalcade through, and then carefully closed. Before long they branched
off to a road which climbed the mountain ever more steeply and presently
turned into a trail. Here they tethered fat little Suri, and the cart’s
load was divided among them. The men would have to make more than one
trip down to get the rest of the goods.
Arne had been here many times before, and he rushed ahead so fast that
Uncle Jens called him a mountain goat and told him not to fall into the
fjord if he got to the saeter before the others.
[Illustration]
They came at last to a log cabin with a sod roof. Pansies and bluebells
were growing on the roof, and even a few little bushes and a tiny birch
tree. The cabin stood in a wide clearing not far from the edge of the
cliff which overlooked the fjord. Little Knut had to be tethered to a
tall fir tree for safety.
The older girls drove the cattle and goats into the pastures which sloped
through the valley up toward the mountain.
Bergel wanted to go and gather wild flowers. “Come on, Arne,” she urged.
“There are foxgloves up here, and wild pansies and—”
“Oh, let’s go fishing,” Arne answered. “You can get wild flowers any
time.”
“That’s right, do that,” said Aunt Tina. “We could use some nice mountain
trout. But first get in some wood, you two. It’s high time for midmorning
coffee.”
“Evart, let’s you and me get another load from the cart, and then go
fishing with Bergel and Arne as soon as we’ve had coffee,” said Gustav.
“All right with you?”
“I’m always ready to go fishing,” replied Evart, with a grin.
“I’ll help get the load up; then I must get busy fixing our milk-can
elevator,” said Uncle Jens. “I’ve arranged with my neighbor to see to the
end of it down at the bottom.”
Arne was delighted to have the older boys in the fishing party. They were
really experts, and he liked to watch them. Also they knew the best
spots to fish. Up the trail a little way was a clear, deep stream, and
there they soon got all the mountain trout they could use. Arne himself
caught six, and Bergel four.
“Oh, I wish we could stay all summer,” said Arne. “Don’t you, Gustav?”
Gustav laughed. “This isn’t man’s work,” he declared. “This is just fun.”
“You’re getting anxious to sail off,” said Evart. “When do you go?”
“The _Laks_ arrives in a few days. Then it will go up the fjord with me
on it,” said Gustav. He sounded happy at the prospect, but Arne’s heart
sank. He didn’t like to think of Gustav going away again.
“Wish I could go,” said Arne, with a gusty sigh. “I haven’t even been on
a boat and bicycle trip yet like some of the boys.”
“You’re too young,” said Bergel in her practical way. “And you haven’t a
bicycle.”
Gustav looked thoughtfully at his brother as they walked down to the
cabin. “Could be we might take you along on one trip on the _Laks_, Arne.
Put you to work, you know, swabbing the deck and peeling potatoes and all
kinds of things.”
“Oh, boy!” cried Arne. “Do you think I could, Gustav? And say, if you’re
going to be going up and down the fjord, you can touch home every now and
then.”
“That’s just for a few trips,” said Gustav. “Then I sail with Captain
Olsen on the _Stjerne_. He says that will be the Christmas boat this
year.”
“Oh, good, the Christmas _Star_!” cried Bergel, for _Stjerne_ is the
Norwegian word for star. “That will be just right. It’ll be fun to have
you on the Christmas boat.”
“First he goes clear to South America. Don’t you, Gustav?” said Arne
proudly.
“Yes, to South American ports and others too. We’ll bring back meat and
fruit and grain and unload a lot of it at Oslo. Then we’ll take on more
cargo—mostly Christmas things—and make the Christmas trip up the coast.”
“And bring in toys and candies and fruit and nuts and gifts and
everything nice,” said Arne, his eyes glowing. “And you’ll stay home for
Christmas, won’t you?”
“Yes, Captain Olsen says the Christmas crew should be home for Christmas.
Nordheim is one of the last stops before Captain Olsen’s home at Tromsö,
where they’ll put in for a couple of weeks or more. One of the other boys
will take my place for that short pull.”
“Everyone’s going to be glad to see that Christmas boat come in,” said
Evart.
“And Mother’ll be glad right now to see these fish come in,” remarked
Bergel.
Aunt Tina and the girls stopped their work of scrubbing every floor and
wall and stick of furniture in the cabin to admire the morning’s catch.
Bergel stayed to help with the cleaning, and the boys went to help Uncle
Jens, who was busy with wires and tools.
Uncle Jens had had a wire elevator before this for use in sending down
milk cans and hay, but he felt it had been a somewhat makeshift affair.
This year he wanted it to be strong and secure enough for any reasonable
load, for his herd was an extra large one.
Arne liked this kind of a job, and he felt proud to be working with Uncle
Jens and Gustav and Evart. Strong wires were fastened securely to trees
and firmly anchored below to posts driven at some distance from the foot
of the cliff. A milk can or a large bundle of hay could be sent down
those wires in a rope sling, easily and swiftly.
When the little elevator was ready at last, Uncle Jens said they must
send down a large milk can to make sure everything was all right. They
filled one with water, tied it securely with a heavy rope, and watched as
it slid and swayed its way down. Then the wires were tightened again,
and they drew the milk can up and made more tests.
“I think it will do,” Uncle Jens said at last.
With all the outdoor air and work, Arne was getting hungry again. So were
the others, and every one was glad when Aunt Tina appeared with a large
white coffeepot. “Time for afternoon coffee,” she called.
Gustav sat where he could look out over the fjord, as if he hoped he
might see the _Laks_ coming in ahead of time. Suddenly he gave an
exclamation and jerked his field glasses out of his pocket. “Some kid
down there has turned over in a sailboat!” he exclaimed, jumping up and
rushing to the cliff edge. The others followed.
“Don’t believe that kid knows much about swimming,” Gustav said, taking
another quick look through his glasses. “He isn’t making for shore—just
trying to hang on to that capsized boat. That’s slippery business. The
water’s deep and cold.”
“It’s Oscar Blessom’s boat!” cried Arne. “But Oscar’s on a bicycle trip.
Must be Torger! He isn’t very big, and I know he can’t swim much. And
there’s no one near enough to see or help him.” Arne looked at Gustav
hopelessly. Not even Gustav could help now.
But Gustav’s lips were set, and he went quickly toward the wire elevator.
“What are you going to do?” cried Margret anxiously.
“Go down the wires,” said Gustav tersely.
“Oh, you can’t! You can’t do that!” protested Aunt Tina and the girls.
“It isn’t strong enough! It wasn’t made for a man.”
“Got to try it. Don’t see any other way. Got to get there fast or it will
be too late. Have you got some cloths, Aunt Tina? I have to wind them
around my hands, or they’ll be torn on the wires so I can’t use them.”
Aunt Tina flew for cloths and wound them quickly around his hands while
Uncle Jens and Evart made a rope loop for Gustav to sit in.
All this was speedily accomplished. Uncle Jens and Evart helped adjust
him in the loop while Arne watched, proud of Gustav, fearful he might get
hurt, afraid he might not get there in time.
“Here I go,” said Gustav. “Hold onto that rope, Uncle Jens, tight as you
can.”
The group at the top of the cliff watched breathlessly as Gustav went
down. At first the wires swayed dangerously under his weight. Arne’s
heart seemed to come right up into his throat. Gustav was a good deal
heavier than a full milk can. But he adjusted his weight to one side and
another and then shot down swiftly.
The moment Gustav reached level ground, he jumped free of the rope.
Torger must have lost his hold now. They could see that the boat had
drifted away. Gustav knew that, too, for he was racing toward the water,
pulling off his coat as he ran. He snatched off his shoes and plunged in.
[Illustration]
Arne wished he had field glasses so that he could see every detail of
what was going on. He could tell that Gustav was moving fast. But would
he get there in time?
“He’s making it,” said Uncle Jens, his voice full of relief. “He’s got
hold of whoever it is. Bringing him in to shore.”
“It’s Torger Blessom, all right,” said Arne. Gustav had the little boy on
shore now. He laid him down on a large rock and bent over him, working
quickly.
Arne looked at the wires and then at his uncle. Gustav could use some
help down there. If they’d pull the rope right back up, maybe he could
muster the courage to go down those wires as Gustav had done.
But to his relief, Uncle Jens said, “See, he has Torger on his feet.
He’ll be all right now.”
“We must be thinking of getting started, now,” said Aunt Tina. “We can’t
go down like Gustav. We have to take the long way around. I’ll be up in
a week or two, Signe, and give you a hand with making the cheese. And
Bergel can help. She’s eleven now, and it is time she learned.”
Bergel smoothed her apron as they walked toward the cabin. She felt
pleased and proud that Arne had heard her mother say this. He sometimes
acted as if he didn’t think girls amounted to much. But she liked him
and longed for his good opinion.
“Arne, you come again,” said Bergel. “We’ll go fishing.”
“We’ll be up, all of us, from time to time,” said Aunt Tina, who loved
the mountain saeter as much as anyone. It made her feel like a girl
again to be up here, for in her younger days she too had had her turn at
tending cows and goats on the mountain in summer, at caring for the milk
and making the cheese. “Just for tonight I want to be the first to blow
the saeter horn. Run and get it, Bergel.”
Bergel ran into the house and came out with a long wooden horn, which she
handed to her mother. The little girl longed to try it herself. They had
told her, other summers, that she was too little; but perhaps if she was
considered big enough to help with the cheese, she might be big enough to
blow the horn, too.
She watched eagerly as her mother lifted it to her lips and blew a deep,
mellow blast to call the cows home. Then, to her delight, her mother
handed it to her and said, “You try it, Bergel. It will take more than
one blast to bring the cows home.”
Perhaps Bergel would have blown a good blast the first time if Arne
had not stood mimicking her, pretending with great effort to lift an
imaginary horn to his lips, puffing out his cheeks, pursing his lips, and
bringing out a small squeak.
Bergel had to laugh, and so did the others. But Margret gave her brother
a brisk shake and told him to try to behave himself for once. “Try again,
Bergel,” she said. This time the little girl managed to bring out, if not
as long and deep a blast as her mother had, at least a very creditable
sound.
The girls would have to go out into the woods and valleys and up the
mountainside to get some of the goats and even some of the cows, for
the first few evenings at any rate. But before long, most of them would
answer the call of the saeter horn.
The bells on the cows and goats were ringing over the valleys, and the
saeter horn sounded again and again through the clear mountain air as
they started down the path, Arne running ahead of everyone.
It had been a wonderful day, but he was glad to be going home. He wanted
to hear all about the rescue of Torger Blessom, to see Torger himself
and make sure he was all right. And he wanted very much to find out how
Gustav felt going down those wires.
[Illustration]
3
Gustav only laughed when Arne asked him how it felt to go down those
wires. “You’ll really have to try it yourself to find out,” he said. “It
wasn’t much. Now you’d better run over and see Torger.”
Torger was still a little pale and more than a little mortified over his
accident. “Gustav said he’d give me a lesson in handling a boat,” he told
Arne. “He said maybe we could go out tomorrow, the three of us.”
“If Gustav teaches you, believe me, you’ll learn how,” said Arne. “He’s
the one who taught me to sail and swim. Wonder why your brother Oscar
didn’t teach you.”
“They are too near of an age,” said Torger’s mother. “Gustav is quite a
bit older than you, and you are willing to learn from him. When Oscar
tries to show Torger how to do something, it generally ends up in a
fight.”
The boys couldn’t help grinning, for they knew Fru Blessom was right.
The next morning, Gustav took both boys out on the fjord. There was a
stiff wind blowing, and the sailboat was not easy to manage. He said it
would be good experience for Arne, and that if Torger learned in this
wind, he’d never be afraid of a sailboat. Gustav was thorough in his
instructions, and both boys worked manfully.
“I’ve got the hang of it now,” Torger said confidently. “I bet I won’t
turn over in a boat again.”
“I don’t believe you will, Torger,” said Gustav. “Now you two lads be
sure to get out on the fjord and sail every chance you have. The best
summer fun in the world is on a fjord.”
“And the best thing to have fun with is a boat,” said Arne.
“You’re right about that,” Gustav agreed heartily. Then he gave a sudden
exclamation, “Put her hard over to the left, Arne! We’re going in now as
fast as we can! Do you see what’s coming in from the sea? The _Laks_ is
almost in port.”
Gustav sounded very happy, but Arne’s heart felt heavy as he steered
toward shore. It had been such fun to have his brother home, and the time
had gone all too quickly. Now it would be months before he would be here
for more than a short visit.
But Gustav wouldn’t let anyone be gloomy today. No sooner had they tied
the little sailboat up at the warehouse dock than he was rushing toward
the big wharf, the younger boys beside him.
“From the way Arne’s going, I’ll have to hurry to get there first. He’ll
be going as first mate in my place, or maybe skipper,” Gustav called out.
He stopped to smooth his hair and shake his coat into place before he
talked to the captain. After that he hurried home to get his things,
which were ready packed.
Besta and Mother came back with him, and Father, too, came down to
the wharf to see him off. Half the town was gathering there, indeed,
especially the boys and girls. They liked to watch the boat unload its
cargo of mail and freight and take on other cargo to go up through the
fjord.
Arne and Torger watched as a bright new spinning wheel was unloaded.
“That’s for my grandmother,” said Torger, “and about time, too. She’s
been complaining that she wouldn’t have wool ready for the Christmas
knitting if that wheel didn’t come soon.”
Crates of oranges from America were next, boxes of groceries and
drygoods, and windows for the new house going up at the edge of town.
There was not very much to load on the boat here. The fish from the
packing house went to ports farther away. Towns along the fjord could
catch their own fish. There was mail to go. A few passengers got on. Arne
saw a group of boys on board with sleeping bags and rucksacks. He knew
their bicycles were stowed away somewhere and that they were on a holiday
jaunt up the fjords and over the mountains. One of these days he’d be
going on such a jaunt, too.
A little flutter of interest in the crowd made him turn quickly. To his
surprise, he saw Uncle Jens coming down the street, leading Suri. He went
straight over to the captain and said, “I want to send Suri up to Blegen
for a little while. My wife’s brother needs an extra pony to help with
some farm work, and I can spare Suri just now. So can you take her aboard
and make her comfortable?”
“_Ja, Ja_, certainly we can take care of Suri,” the captain assured him.
But Suri did not seem to care for such a trip in the least. A broad band
was securely fastened around her and a derrick swung over to lift her
aboard. But little Suri stamped and champed and lifted her head, her eyes
rolling in fright as she complained in loud whinnies.
No one thought of such a thing as trying to force the little mare aboard.
Uncle Jens talked to her, and she quieted down a bit; but when the
derrick came toward her again, once more she backed and stamped and
whinnied nervously.
The other loading was finished. The sailors were closing the holds. But
the _Laks_ could not weigh anchor because little Suri, in spite of all
wheedling, was flatly refusing to go aboard.
Arne only wished he had the chance Suri was refusing, but nevertheless he
felt very sorry for the frightened little horse. Perhaps he could coax
her a bit—he had done it often enough before.
He went over to try, fishing in his pockets as he went. Yes, there were
two lumps of sugar. He put an arm over Suri’s neck and offered her one,
talking to her softly the while. She nuzzled her soft brown nose into his
hand and seemed to feel comforted.
“Go on, Arne,” Uncle Jens encouraged him. “She seems to listen to you.”
So Arne stood there, coaxing little Suri, feeding her sugar, talking to
her, patting her, until she stopped trembling and champing and at last
let him fasten the big hook in the band which was fastened firmly about
her. Then he ran onto the boat and stood there talking to her from the
deck. Now at last she let them swing her aboard, and though she stamped
anxiously at first, she allowed Arne to take the band off and lead her
down into the hold.
“Wish I could go along with you, Suri,” he said, putting his cheek
against her neck and giving her a pat.
[Illustration]
Gustav had come down to see that everything was in good order, and now he
gave his young brother an encouraging nod. “That was a pretty good job,
Arne; you saved the skipper a lot of time, and that may turn out to be a
good thing.”
“Do you think he might let me go on the boat some time, Gustav?” asked
Arne eagerly.
“I can’t promise a thing yet. You skip ashore now, and we’ll see. The
ship’s bell is ringing. They want to get started. And our captain
wouldn’t care for a stowaway aboard, I know that.”
So it came about that Arne was laughing as he ran down the gangplank just
as they were about to pull it up. And instead of feeling sad as the boat
steamed away with Gustav aboard, he was thinking of the day when he might
be aboard too.
He looked up to see his father standing there, smiling down at him. “I
thought for a minute there I was going to have two sons on that ship this
time,” he said. “Looked to me as if the captain could find a use for you.”
“Oh, I wish I could be aboard, especially when the _Stjerne_ sails out,”
said Arne, heaving a great sigh. “That’s the life, isn’t it, Father?”
His father laughed, a contented, good-natured laugh. “That’s the natural
way for a Norwegian boy to feel, I guess. I did my share of sailing, too,
in my early days. But I understand there’s such a thing as school. I
hear boys are expected to go to that in Norway.”
Arne knew his father was joking; so he smiled back, though school never
seemed to him a very good subject for a joke. “I suppose so,” he said.
“But I like outdoor things so much better than schoolwork. I just wish it
were summer all the year around.”
Arne was not the only one who wished it were summer all the year around.
Up at the saeter, the girls were having a merry time in spite of the
work of caring for the cows and goats, milking and making cheese. There
were berry-picking excursions through the woods and valleys to gather
blueberries, raspberries, and the lovely bright _multer_ berries which
grew thick and red on their low bushes. There were visits with girls in
neighboring saeters and fishing trips up the mountain.
“Don’t forget I’m to learn to make cheese,” Bergel reminded Signe one day.
“Oh, yes. Mother wouldn’t like it a bit if we didn’t get that tended to.
We’ll start with _gammelost_. That’s best, anyway.”
Under Signe’s direction, Bergel warmed the milk and let it stand until
the curds and whey could be separated. Then she dried the curds,
crumbling them carefully with her hand, and set it all aside to ripen.
Signe even let her add the caraway seed and salt.
When it was brought out some days later for inspection, Margret looked at
it with approval. “We should save that for company,” she said, sniffing
with appreciation.
Bergel nodded, looking very grown-up as she tasted it with a businesslike
air and added a little more salt. Then she put it away in a covered jar
to ripen further. “I hope the company will be Arne and Evart and some
of the other boys,” she said, and though the other girls laughed, they
agreed with her.
Down in the town, Arne was keeping busy, too. He had jobs of many kinds
at home, running errands and getting in the wood for the old cookstove
Besta preferred to Mother’s new electric range. And he had to help Besta
cut the hay in the little patch of ground that sloped from their house up
the mountain. It was fun to get in there with a scythe, and to help Besta
and Mother hang the hay over the wooden hay fences to dry before it could
mildew on the damp ground.
He helped around the packing house, too. There were errands there as well
as at home, and there was cleaning to do, and packing. Sometimes he was
allowed to go out with the fishermen. He especially liked to go with
Ole to fish for _torsk_ and herring and halibut. Sometimes they took a
rowboat or a small sailboat up the fjord. Sometimes they took Ole’s big
boat and went out to sea.
There was time for play, too, in the summer afternoons and long, light
evenings. More than once Arne went away on a day’s jaunt with Oscar and
Torger and half a dozen other boys. They sailed and swam and fished on
the fjord, and took long hikes up and down the fjord path and up the
mountainside.
But Arne never let any of his activities keep him from being right on the
dock when the _Laks_ was due. Each time he hoped to hear the glad news
that he was to be on board when the ship weighed anchor. Each time he
asked Gustav eagerly if he was to go on this trip.
When two or three weeks went by with no invitation for Arne, he began to
lose hope. But then one day Gustav jumped off the gangplank calling out,
“Where’s that Arne? You better go get some packing done, boy.”
“Really, Gustav? Do I go this time?” cried Arne.
“Looks that way,” answered Gustav. “The skipper says we’re bringing Suri
back this trip, and you’d be a good one to have aboard to help with that.”
Arne gave a big, “Oh!” on a deep, blissful sigh, and was off up the hill
like a shot to tell Mother the good news and to see to that all-important
packing. He had a lot of things he wanted to take, and he had a feeling
Mother wouldn’t think half of them were necessary.
“We’ll be here for a couple of hours, at least,” Gustav called after him.
“Tell Mother to put the coffeepot on.”
Arne loved that journey up and down the fjord, stopping at each small
village with mail and freight. There were a few passengers, and he liked
to see them get off amid the joyful greetings of their friends. Often
they were met by a light boat which would take them aboard and then skim
swiftly and quietly off to some town across the fjord or to some nearby
farm.
He made friends with a little party of English lads who had bicycles on
board and planned to leave the boat at the head of the fjord and go off
through the valleys and over the mountains which Arne taught them to call
by the Norwegian name of _fjelds_. He wished he had a sleeping bag like
theirs and that he could sleep out with them on deck, though they told
him it got pretty cold.
They let him share some of the meals they cooked over their tiny portable
stove, and Gustav saw to it that he contributed fish balls or cheese or
some other delicacy.
On the afternoon the _Laks_ neared the head of the fjord, Gustav was at
the wheel and Arne stood near him, watching the waterfalls dash violently
down the high, steep mountain walls.
Suddenly he gave a shout, “Gustav, look out! Rocks falling! Big ones!
Right ahead!”
Gustav gave one quick look, and his face was grim. Arne’s heart beat
fast. He knew it would be terribly dangerous to hit those rocks here
where the _Laks_ steamed between sheer mountain walls. But he saw that
his brother wasn’t losing his head for a moment. He was proud of the
resolute look on Gustav’s white face, the sure, firm way he managed to
turn the wheel and guide the boat to avoid the rocks.
The captain came running up, his face as pale as Gustav’s. “Good work,
Gustav,” was all he said, but his relief was plain to see.
At the head of the fjord, the English boys left them, though they stayed
on the dock to watch little Suri taken aboard.
Arne kept a sharp lookout for falling rocks as they steamed homeward
between the steep rocky cliffs. He was glad when they came to the places
where the country flattened out a bit and there was room for a small
village or a few farms at the foot of the mountain. Often he caught a
glimpse of a saeter high above them.
“Do you think we’re going to get up to the saeter again this summer?” he
asked Gustav, after one such glimpse. “I know the girls are counting on
it.”
“I’ll have two or three days between my last trip on the _Laks_ and the
time the _Stjerne_ sails,” said Gustav. “That will be early in August.
Let’s go then.”
“Shall I make a trip up and tell the girls?” asked Arne eagerly. “They’ll
have a lot of getting ready to do—a lot of baking and things.”
“You hope,” said Gustav, laughing. “Well, I hope so too, Arne. So we’ll
figure out the time and you can hike up that mountain and tell them about
it.”
Arne had made many pleasant journeys to the saeter, but there had never
been one as gay as the trip up there with Gustav and Evart and a dozen
other lads.
“Look! Look what the girls are using for pasture!” cried Arne, as they
came in sight of the saeter. A shout of laughter went up, for Bergel had
tethered a small white kid to the tiny birch tree on the roof of the
cabin.
[Illustration]
The shout brought out the girls, gay in their special holiday dresses.
Arne thought they looked very pretty in their full, striped skirts with
crisp, lace-trimmed white aprons and bright laced bodices over white
blouses. A hand-made silver brooch fastened each blouse at the throat.
Margret’s brooch was handed down to her by Besta, Arne knew; and he
thought it was the prettiest one of all. These brooches were treasured
possessions in Norwegian families.
Signe and Margret and Bergel had invited girls from neighboring saeters,
and a good thing, too, for Gustav had brought his accordion and Evart his
fiddle. There was dancing and singing and laughter under the trees. Arne
and Bergel joined in the fun, for they could do the old folk dances as
well as any of them.
Then a feast was spread out on the long table—fish and cheese and _lefse_
and big bowls of berries with whipped cream, and _kringler_ and cakes and
cookies of all kinds. Bergel’s _gammelost_ was praised enough to make the
young cheesemaker very proud.
The fun stopped toward evening, but only long enough for the girls to
get in the cows and goats and do their milking, to make fresh coffee and
replenish the dishes on the table. Then the dancing started again and
went on far into the long summer evening.
At last the party from the village started down the trail for home,
reluctantly, to be sure, but singing and laughing nevertheless.
It was a sleepy Arne who tumbled into his feather bed at last. This had
been a long day, but a wonderful one.
[Illustration]
4
The _Stjerne_ came into port a few days later, and Gustav sailed away as
first mate. He was so happy about it that Arne couldn’t help feeling some
of that happiness too. He remembered what fun it had been to go up the
fjord on the _Laks_, and he didn’t blame anyone for wanting to go to sea.
But Gustav was sailing far away this time, all the way to South America,
touching at many ports on the voyage. It would be a long time before he
returned.
“Oh, Gustav!” The words fairly burst from Arne as he stood watching the
final packing. “I wish South America wasn’t so far away!”
Perhaps Gustav knew how he would have felt if he had been in Arne’s
place. He put his arm around Arne’s shoulder and said, “Look here,
fellow, I’ve got something I want to leave with you. Father gave me new
field glasses as a parting gift. I want you to have my old ones.”
“For keeps?” cried Arne. It would be wonderful to have those glasses.
“For keeps,” said Gustav, and was fully rewarded by Arne’s shining face.
“Now you can watch us till we get clear out to sea and turn down the
channel between the shore and the islands. In fact, if you go up on the
cliff, you can watch us farther than that.”
“Oh, I will! Oh, Gustav! And I’ll be watching when the time comes for you
to come home, too, you can bet on that.”
The gift took most of the sadness out of the parting, though Gustav would
be gone now until December when the _Stjerne_ would come in with its load
of Christmas goods. Then he would be home all through the holidays. That
was something to look forward to.
The rest of the summer slipped quickly away. It was time for the girls to
come home from the saeter, and Arne went with Uncle Jens and the others
to help bring down the girls and the gear, the cows and the calves, the
goats and the kids and the cheeses.
School was to start the next week, and he felt a little dismal about
it as he talked it over with Bergel. “I hear that new teacher is very
strict—Herr Professor Engstrand. Oscar said Pastor Beckstrom’s son told
him so.”
Bergel nodded. “I heard so, too. But maybe we have to expect that, now
that we’re going to be in the upper room. Just think, Arne. We’ll start
learning English, and do a lot of things we couldn’t do before.” Bergel,
very quick at her lessons, was in the same grade as her cousin.
“I’ll like being in the same room with Nels and Oscar and those boys
instead of a lot of little kids,” Arne admitted.
“Yes, I think it’s wonderful we’re going to be in with the upper grades.
And a man teacher. Makes me feel pretty grown-up.”
Arne was surprised when he entered school that first morning and got
his first glimpse of Herr Professor Engstrand. Somehow, from Oscar’s
remarks, he had expected to see an elderly gentleman. Herr Professor
didn’t look much older than Gustav. But he certainly was not like Gustav
in any other way. There was no laughter in those stern gray eyes, and his
mouth, straight and firm, didn’t look as if it ever even smiled. He stood
stiffly beside his desk, his shoulders squared.
When the school was assembled, he made a short speech. “I am new here,”
he said, “but we shall soon get to know one another. If you do your
work well, we shall get along without trouble. I shall put up with no
laziness, no disobedience. You are old enough to know how to work, and
that is exactly what I expect you to do.” His words were clipped and
curt, and Arne was sure you could have heard a pin drop in that quiet
room. Lessons were assigned and classes were held in the most methodical
order. Any lack of attention, any slightest sign of disorder, was
promptly reprimanded or punished more severely.
[Illustration]
Arne very soon made up his mind about one thing. He would try to obey
orders to the letter. He could see there would be trouble ahead if he did
anything else. He didn’t know, of course, that this was Herr Professor
Engstrand’s first school and that he was desperately anxious to make a
good job of it.