school. He liked to get his skis and go flying down the steep slopes
behind the town with Nels and Oscar and Torger and some of the other
boys. Evart was away at school this year, and sometimes Arne took Bergel
with him coasting. She knew how to steer the long sled almost as well as
he did.
He would stop at home in the kitchen first, for he was sure to find
Mother and Besta having a cup of afternoon coffee. Sometimes Aunt
Tina would be there, too, and Signe and Margret. Sometimes one of the
neighbors would come in. But whether there was company or not, there was
sure to be something good to go with the coffee—slices from a big, round
loaf of ryebread with _gjetost_, Besta’s special goats’ milk cheese, or
coffeecake, or _bakkelse_—crisp, delicious little cakes fried in deep
fat, or some other of their many specialties. Mother and Besta were as
good cooks as you’d find in all Norway, Father often said; and he added
that that was saying a lot, for Norway was famous for its good cooks.
Sometimes as he came in, after skiing or skating or coasting, he would
hear Besta’s spinning wheel whirring comfortably away. She liked to
spin the wool for her knitting and weaving. Even Margret, up-to-date as
she considered herself, preferred the soft wool her grandmother spun to
any other. Besta never looked as contented as when her foot was on that
treadle, her practiced hand drawing out the fine strong woolen yarn.
Arne usually came from school with a rush and a bang. But one day he came
into the kitchen without saying a word. Bergel was with him, and she too
was quiet.
“Fresh _lefse_, Arne,” said his mother.
Arne nodded, but for once he didn’t make a move to take any.
Besta looked at him keenly. “Trouble in school, Arne?” she asked.
Arne’s face darkened, and he doubled up his fists. “That Herr Professor!”
he exclaimed. “He’s just so mean and unreasonable. All I did was to ask
Sigurd, just behind me, how far we were to study. And I had to stand up
in front of the whole room for an hour.” He flushed as he thought of it.
“Perhaps he thought you would have known how far to study if you had been
paying attention,” said Mother, shaking her head, though she felt sorry
for Arne.
“Well, I was thinking of something more important than English grammar.”
In spite of himself, Arne’s face lighted a little. For right in the midst
of class, he had suddenly thought of a delightful plan—a surprise for
everyone for Christmas. Mother was exactly right, though he didn’t like
to admit it. He had been thinking out details of his project instead of
paying attention.
“How do you get along with Herr Professor, Bergel?” asked Besta.
“Oh, of course she gets along fine!” exploded Arne. “She always has her
lessons, and she behaves like a little lady.” The mincing tone he assumed
almost made Mother and Besta smile, though they realized very well that
this was no laughing matter. “Herr Professor likes Bergel, but he sure
doesn’t like me. I might just as well stop trying to please him.”
“Oh, don’t do that, Arne,” urged Bergel. “You’ll get used to him. And
he does know a lot.” She wished from the bottom of her heart that Herr
Professor would say “well done” to Arne once in a while. He did do well
in his history and arithmetic.
“Well, have some _lefse_ and some _ost_ and try harder tomorrow,” said
his mother sensibly. “You’ll get along all right if you pay attention and
study.”
Arne took the _lefse_, but it didn’t taste as good as usual. It didn’t
seem to him he could ever learn to get along with Herr Professor
Engstrand. It certainly looked as if he were headed for trouble. And with
Christmas coming, too.
But he did make an effort, and school went better for some time.
Bergel mentioned it with pleasure as they walked home one afternoon.
“You’re really doing fine in school, Arne,” she said. “You haven’t been
in a bit of trouble lately. Herr Professor hasn’t even had to look your
way. I bet you could be right up at the head of the class if you’d try.”
“There are so many things I like to do better than to have my nose in a
book,” said Arne carelessly. “I like to work out in the workshop for one
thing. Right now,” he added, his face brightening, “I’m working on—” Then
he broke off abruptly and laughed. “Can’t tell you what—it’s a surprise.”
“Oh, go on, tell me,” coaxed Bergel, but Arne only shook his head
mysteriously.
“You’ll see,” was all he would say. “I’d better be getting home to get
at it. There’s a lot left to do if I’m going to have it ready in time.”
From early November, Arne had been spending every moment he could spare
in the little workshop out in back. He was making a number of small
ships, some with tiny sails, some with little oars, sawing and cutting
and gluing and painting with great care. They would be hung all over the
tree—red and green and yellow and blue.
There was to be at least one special one for each member of the family—a
fishing boat for Father, the tiniest sailboat for Margret, a red rowboat
for Besta, and a blue one for Mother. There should be one for each of the
cousins, too, and Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina. And he wanted to make several
for Gustav.
No one else in Nordheim or probably anywhere else would have a tree
trimmed like that. It would be a surprise for everyone. Arne almost
chuckled aloud whenever he thought of it.
His face was bright today as he ran into the kitchen. There were Mother
and Besta, having their afternoon cup of coffee. The kitchen was filled
with the good smell of baking. _Rosettes_ were spread out on the
table—delicate, beautifully-shaped cakes fried in deep fat. There were
also crisp star-shaped cinnamon cookies.
He pulled off his cap and asked eagerly, “Any broken pieces for me?” He
knew all the well-shaped cakes and cookies would be put away carefully
for Christmas.
“Besta broke a few for you,” said his mother, with a twinkle. “And before
you go out to that workshop, get me some soap from the storeroom. I am
going to take down the curtains and put them to soak.”
For weeks, now, the house had been in a bustle and flurry of Christmas
cleaning. Every spot was shining—floors and furniture, brass and copper.
The house fairly seemed to twinkle.
He couldn’t see why they had to take down the lace-trimmed window
curtains to be washed and stiffly starched. Those curtains looked white
as snow to him. But when he said that to Mother, she laughed out loud.
“Not have clean curtains for Christmas!” she exclaimed. “What a boy you
are, Arne! If your mother did such a thing, _Julenissen_ would be so
horrified he would run right away from our house.”
Arne laughed, too. You certainly wouldn’t want to scare away
_Julenissen_, the little elf with the pointed red cap and little red
suit. He was supposed to live in the attic and bring special good luck
at Christmas time, particularly if one always remembered to set out his
bowl of milk and give him his Christmas rice porridge. Arne had never
actually seen _Julenissen_, but he knew someone in the family always saw
to that milk and the porridge.
“_Julenissen_ hates dirt,” said Besta.
“I guess he’ll never get scared away from our house, then,” said Arne.
“And I should think he’d like the Christmas baking even better than the
cleaning.”
“If he doesn’t, I know somebody else who does,” chuckled his mother.
Arne knew there would be stacks of _flatbrod_, hard and crisp and round,
each piece larger than a plate. Besta baked these right on top of her
well-scrubbed cookstove. There would be heart-shaped waffles, and _lefse_
and _bakkelse_ and _rosettes_ and all kinds of good coffeecakes. His
mouth watered at the thought. If a boy hung around the kitchen at the
right times, he was sure to come in for a good many samples, especially
broken bits.
He knew there would also be a final scouring of the house just before
Christmas, that the windows and the copper flowerpots on the window sills
would be gleaming. The geraniums and begonias would be coaxed into bloom
for Christmas.
And of course the womenfolk would be busy planning and preparing food to
last through the Christmas season, for no one wanted to do much work
during the two weeks of the holidays. And there would be a great deal of
company.
Father would see to it that they had all the best kinds of fish—the
smoked and pickled herring. And the _lutfisk_—which he had so disliked to
bale in the summer—would be a favorite part of the Christmas feasting.
There would be cheeses, too, of many kinds, and pickled pigs’ feet and
headcheese, roasted meats and sausages. Mother always set out a good
_koltbord_—a table laden with all these good things and many others;
people could help themselves to suit their tastes.
Arne thought of all this as he fortified himself with a substantial
snack. Then he went out to the workshop. He had almost enough little
ships now, ready for sandpapering and painting. His worries about school
were forgotten, and the time flew as he worked, his lips puckered in a
low, contented whistle.
Suddenly he straightened with a start. It certainly couldn’t be supper
time yet. But Margret was coming down the path calling him.
“Don’t come in! Don’t come in!” he shouted, throwing an old blanket over
his work. Then he ran out and closed the door behind him.
“I wouldn’t come in, Arne. You know that,” she said. Her voice sounded
muffled and unnatural. In the light which streamed from the kitchen
window, he could see that her face looked as if she were trying not to
cry.
“What is it? What is it, Margret?” he asked anxiously. “Is something
wrong?”
“We heard something over the radio,” said Margret; and now, in spite of
her efforts, her voice broke into a sob. “Oh, Arne, there are storms at
sea—bad ones—sleet storms and ice storms right where the _Stjerne_ must
be now!”
Arne’s heart seemed to turn right over. He knew very well the danger his
brother was in. All his life he had heard of those winter storms at sea.
He wished with all his might that Gustav’s ship was safe right here in
Nordheim harbor.
[Illustration]
5
A very quiet family gathered around the supper table that evening. Even
the thought of his little ships didn’t bring Arne any cheer. Indeed, he
could hardly bear even to think of ships. Mother tried to talk as usual,
and so did Father, but no one’s heart was in it.
Arne could not settle down to anything. He wanted to ask questions, but
knew there could be no comforting answers. At last, without being told,
he wandered off to bed.
It was hard for him to keep his mind on schoolwork the next morning. He
rushed home at the midday recess, bolted his meal, got his field glasses,
and went up to the cliff as fast as he could get there. Gustav’s ship
should be coming in soon, if it hadn’t run into trouble. You never knew
for sure when a freighter would be in. Father said it was always best to
allow a little extra time even in good weather. But Arne had been hoping
it might come in a little ahead of time. Perhaps he’d even catch sight
of it today. Then there would certainly be rejoicing!
There was no sign of the ship as he looked out over the stormy waters,
but he lingered so long on the cliff that he barely got into the
schoolroom in time. Herr Engstrand looked at him severely, and though he
said nothing, Arne realized he had better not cut it so close again.
He couldn’t keep away from the cliff at noon. But each day he stood
there, looking, only a short time and was careful to get to school before
the bell rang.
[Illustration]
At home, Mother was trying her best to keep everything normal, but she
looked more and more anxious as the news of storms continued. Even
Father, accustomed as he was to ships and storms at sea, looked anxious
as he listened to the reports over the radio.
Christmas preparations went on, but there wasn’t much laughing or singing
over them now.
“Why don’t we hear something?” Arne asked his father in desperation.
“Couldn’t they let someone know if they’re in trouble? Couldn’t help go
to them?”
“We hear the names of some of the ships in trouble. But no word comes
of the _Stjerne_,” his father said, and paused. “I hope it is just that
their radio has gone bad. Yes, that must be it.” He spoke as if he wanted
to reassure himself as much as Arne.
That day the bell had rung before Arne slid into his seat at school. He
got a sharp reprimand from the teacher, but for once he didn’t care. He
could only think of Gustav, out there on the stormy sea.
But Bergel _did_ care. She knew Christmas plans were afoot in school, and
she could not bear to have him get into trouble now. The next noon Bergel
was watching for her cousin, and when she saw him start toward the cliff,
she seized her sled and ran after him.
“Arne! Arne!” she called over and over as she neared the cliff, but the
wind was strong, and he did not hear her. She hurried on, faster than
ever, looking anxious but determined. If they didn’t look out, they’d
both be late for school.
Yes, there he was, high up on the very peak of the cliff, looking out to
sea through his field glasses. She called and shouted, waving her arm in
a frantic signal. This time he heard, put his glasses away, and started
down.
“Look here, Bergel, you didn’t need to come—” he began, slightly annoyed.
“I know,” interrupted Bergel. “But today I think Herr Professor is going
to announce the trip up the mountain for Christmas greens. You don’t want
to be late and maybe have to stay home from that. I think my sled will
get us there on time.”
“So!” said Arne. Bergel was a pretty good kid. “Hop on, then. We’ll beat
that school bell. We’ll take the short cut, shall we? That’ll get us
there all right.”
“Well,” said Bergel, hesitating a little. “It’s dangerous, but—”
“Not with your cousin Arne as navigator! Come on!”
Arne was daring, Bergel knew that, but he was skillful, too. And she
certainly didn’t want to be late today. Herr Professor might punish
latecomers by refusing to let them go on that expedition up the mountain
for the Christmas greens. She got on the sled and shut her eyes tight as
they went flying down the steep hill toward the schoolgrounds. She was a
little frightened, it is true, but almost too excited to realize it. If
they avoided that big rock now, they’d be all right.
[Illustration]
Arne’s face was grim as they whizzed downward. This was a dangerous hill.
He had to give all his attention to steering and braking. Bergel had
risked her own good record and the chance of going up the mountain in
order to warn him. He just had to get her back safely and on time.
It was a triumphant moment when the breathless ride was accomplished
safely, and the cousins jumped off the sled. Then they made a dash across
the schoolground.
Arne’s thoughts were racing as fast as his feet. Where was that ship,
anyway? It was really overdue now, several days. Maybe something had
happened to Captain Olsen. Maybe Gustav had to bring in the ship. What
if he had had to take command and had failed to bring it safely to port?
Arne couldn’t bear to think of such a thing.
He looked so anxious that Bergel, glancing at him as they pulled off
their coats, said softly, “Don’t forget—it’s the Christmas _Star_ we’re
waiting for. And remember, that’s always come in safe and sure.”
Arne nodded and hurried across the schoolroom and slid into his seat just
as the bell rang. His spirits, never down for very long, rose a little.
He and Bergel had made port safely, anyhow, and in time, too.
But Herr Professor Engstrand looked at him gravely for a moment and said,
“Tardiness is a fault I do not wish my pupils to develop. Arne Dalen,
you have come in once this week just after the bell rang, and you have
repeatedly got in barely on time. I shall have to take strong measures if
you are tardy again.”
Arne’s face flushed, and he looked down in embarrassment. If he could
only explain! But you couldn’t explain things to Herr Professor.
He was heartily glad when the teacher went on in an entirely different
tone, “I have a pleasant announcement to make. On Friday afternoon,
all you older pupils are to go up the mountain for greens to decorate
the schoolhouse for the Christmas program. All bring flashlights and
sandwiches. We shall make a campfire and have a picnic. Froken Utvig
promises we shall practice some of our Christmas songs there.”
There was a stir of delight throughout the room. The trip up the mountain
for Christmas greens was a favorite yearly event. Getting the greens and
decorating was even more fun than the Christmas program itself. This
was the first time Arne and Bergel’s class had been included in the
expedition. Arne’s eyes glowed as he thought of the picnic supper, the
campfire up there on the dark mountain, the singing that would float all
up and down the mountainside.
But some of the girls looked a little perturbed, and the teacher almost
smiled as he said, “We shall not stand out there in the snow eating our
supper. Froken Utvig says we can find shelter in her father’s saeter
cabin.”
The Utvig saeter! Oh, that would be something, Arne thought. Everyone
said the Utvig cabin was the finest on the mountain. Arne had never been
there, and he almost forgot about the _Stjerne_ in his excitement. It was
wonderful fun to go up to a saeter in summer, but in winter it would be
a real adventure. He resolved to be on time for the rest of the week. He
certainly could not run the chance of being left out of that trip up the
mountain.
Arne could hardly keep his feet from taking the familiar cliff path the
next noon. If only there were just a little daylight after school. Then
he’d hurry as fast as he could up the cliff, get out those field glasses,
and stand looking as long as he liked. But it would be dark by that time.
And tomorrow was the day of the trip up the mountain. No, he couldn’t run
the risk of being late.
With a mighty effort he managed to trudge straight to school. He even
got there a little early. He was too anxious and miserable to stay out
playing, so he earned the pleased surprise of Herr Professor by going
straight into the schoolroom, opening his book, and settling down. But
his thoughts were not on his Norwegian history, though that was a subject
he really liked, full as it was of stirring events. His thoughts were
with the freighter _Stjerne_, in peril out there on the stormy sea.
Arne hurried home right after school, hoping better news had come in. His
mother was in a perfect fury of baking. She was making _lefse_, and he
usually liked to watch her doing that. But today he didn’t care much, for
one look at her face told him that the news was not good.
She whisked the kettle of potatoes off the fire, mashed them violently,
mixed in flour and salt and cream. Then she rolled out the dough into
large, thin, round cakes, and Besta baked them on the top of the
cookstove.
Both of them nodded a greeting to him, but no one seemed to feel like
talking. Presently Besta buttered a piece of warm _lefse_, spread it with
brown sugar, rolled it, and handed it to Arne. Even now he did not forget
the polite Norwegian “_Mange tak_,” “Many thanks.”
He took his _lefse_ and wandered off to the workshop, but there was a
lump in his throat as he drew the covering back and looked at his little
ships. It didn’t seem to him he could work at them today, and he started
to cover them again. Then he stopped and said fiercely right out loud,
“Look here, Arne Dalen! Gustav wouldn’t do that. He’s a great one to
stick at something until he gets it done.”
Somehow that idea comforted Arne. Wherever Gustav was, even if he was in
serious difficulties, he’d be doing something to try to put things right.
He remembered how quick and sure his brother had been last summer on the
_Laks_ when the rocks had fallen. And Gustav had weathered bad storms
before this. Captain Olsen, too. They were two good men, Father said.
And they had a good crew of Norwegian sailors. Arne picked up one of the
little ships and began a careful job of sandpapering. Even after supper
he came out and found comfort in working. When Gustav came home, the
surprise would be ready.
He lingered in the kitchen next morning for a few minutes after the
others had gone about their various duties. He wanted to talk to Mother
about preparations for that trip up the mountain. But more than that, he
wanted very much to say something encouraging to her.
It was hard to know just what to say. The Dalens came from a long line
of seafaring people, and no one talked much about it when there were
storms and ships were overdue. But Arne couldn’t bear that bleak look on
his mother’s face. It was not at all like her. She was a cheerful, busy
person, almost as full of lively plans and ideas as Arne himself.
It didn’t take long to settle about the lunch. Mother promised to make
him some extra nice _smörbröd_, or sandwiches. At a picnic like that, all
the sandwiches would be spread out and shared, and hers must do both Arne
and herself credit. She promised to decorate them in all kinds of fancy
patterns. She would put in some of the _bakkelse_, too, and other cakes.
Arne was well pleased with this, but he didn’t quite know how to go on to
the next subject. Then Bergel’s words of comfort came back to him. They
had made him feel better. Maybe Mother would like them too. He cleared
his throat and said gruffly, “Gustav’s ship is the Christmas _Star_, you
know, Mother. It’ll come in safe, I’m just sure it will.”
Tears sprang into his mother’s eyes and brimmed over, and Arne wished
earnestly that he had not spoken at all. He didn’t know whether to keep
still now or to try again, so he just put his arm around her and gave her
a quick, fervent hug.
She swallowed hard, shook herself, and wiped her eyes fiercely. “There
now, Arne,” she said, hustling the dishes off the table. “Of course it
will come in.” And somehow she managed to smile. “Run to school now, boy.
Don’t be late.”
When Arne came home at noon, a lunch was ready packed for him to take up
the mountain. He got out his flashlight and skis and put all the things
together. His mother tried to talk cheerfully of all these preparations
as they ate their lunch, but her sentences trailed off in a way not at
all like her.
The boy’s heart was heavy as he left the house. He started for school,
then stopped and swung swiftly around. He’d go like lightning up the
cliff, and maybe he’d see Gustav’s ship. Then he’d ski down the slope and
tell his mother. He’d have time. He was starting back to school earlier
than usual.
He hesitated just an instant. This was no day to be late. Then he set off
at full speed toward the cliff.
He caught his breath in exultation as his glasses swept the angry,
heaving waves. It was beginning to snow, but in spite of that he could
see there was a ship far out—a ship that could be the _Stjerne_! But it
was much too far away for him to make sure. And yet he couldn’t bear to
leave in uncertainty. The minutes flew by as he stood there, too intent
on watching to think of anything else.
Suddenly a bell far down below brought him up with a jerk. That was the
school bell. First bell, only. If he skied like mad, he might make it.
But though he felt as if he were actually flying down the slope, the last
bell sounded loud and clear through the wintry air before he even reached
the schoolground.
With all his heart Arne wished he didn’t have to go into that schoolroom.
But he knew he did. He paused for an instant at the door. Then he braced
himself and entered, his head erect but his cheeks crimson as he walked
quickly and quietly to his desk.
There was an air of excitement in the room, and Herr Engstrand had
evidently been talking, for no books were open. Now he paused and waited
till Arne took his seat.
“I am very sorry you chose to be late this noon, Arne,” he said, and
though his tone was stern, it did sound a little regretful, too. “I
dislike very much to keep you in today of all days, but you have been
warned and spoken to more than once. Get out your English grammar and do
the exercises on pages 63 and 64. Have them on my desk before you leave
the schoolroom. And now the rest of you may get your wraps and skis.
As I was beginning to explain, it has been decided on account of the
threatening snow that we start at once and get back before too late. The
afternoon session is excused.”
Arne sent a stunned glance at Bergel. They were actually going to have a
half-holiday and go up the mountain. And they were leaving him out of
it. Her face, sorrowful and reproachful, didn’t make him feel any better.
In the flurry of leaving, she seemed very busy with one or two papers.
Then she gave him a long look and rose to go with the others.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
6