wires. Fast as he was used to going on skis and sleds, he had never had
such a ride as this. The blood pounded in his ears as he rushed through
the air toward the foot of the cliff.
He hoped fervently that there would be a good, deep snowdrift where he
landed. There was! In another instant, Arne, encased in greens, his hands
bound with rags, plumped right into the midst of a great drift.
He heard the deep, throaty blast of the ship and a loud cheer from the
people who had gathered on the dock. He struggled and pushed, trying to
get free. After all he had gone through, here he was stuck in a drift.
And the _Stjerne_ was almost in port.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
8
Arne managed to struggle out of the snowdrift at last, and to get free of
the rope, but even then he could not rid himself of the greens nor the
rags so firmly tied about his hands. But he was determined not to miss
meeting that ship, even if he had to roll all the way to the dock. Once
he got there, someone would help him out of his strange trimmings. What
if he did look like a combination snowdrift and walking Christmas tree?
It was Bergel who saw him coming. She gave a scream of alarm and then
burst into laughter as Arne shouted, “It’s just me—Arne!”
She flew to his rescue, and Mother hurried to him too, and Margret and
Besta. He soon stood free of his greens and rags, explaining a little in
quick, eager sentences. But there was scant time for explanation, for the
_Stjerne’s_ bells were ringing, her whistle was blowing, and she was in
port.
All of them rushed to be right there when Gustav came down the gangplank.
Then there was excitement and joy, talk and laughter, and even happy
tears.
“I want to hear everything, Gustav—what happened—tell us all about it!”
cried Arne, rushing at his brother.
“Wait now,” said his mother. “Gustav, we have such a supper for you!
Uncle Jens and all are coming over. It is enough now we have you safe
home. We will hear the story at supper.”
[Illustration]
What a story Gustav had to tell—a story of storms, of a ship for a time
fairly sheeted with ice. He told of the injury to the engines, of the
radio going bad, of a struggling trip home, then another storm when they
were almost there.
“It was a big fire on the cliff that helped us—perhaps really saved us,”
he said. “We were trying to stay away from shore, the winds out there
were so violent. Then this fire guided us in. I wonder who made that
fire.”
“Arne did that,” said Bergel proudly. “Arne and Herr Professor Engstrand.”
“Of course it was his idea,” Arne said modestly. And the little company
listened in wonder as he explained how Herr Engstrand had thought of the
plan and they had worked together to carry it out.
“That was smart, Arne, really smart!” said Gustav. “I want to know this
Herr Professor of yours. He must have had confidence in you, too, to have
you help like that. It was a big job, and a good one.”
Arne hadn’t thought of that idea, and it pleased him enormously.
“Do you like our Herr Engstrand better now, Arne?” asked Bergel.
“Like him!” cried Arne. “A commando like that—someone who knew just
the right thing to do? Of course I like him. Not many boys have such a
teacher!”
His mother smiled at him. She had a feeling there wouldn’t be much
trouble about school from now on. “I think we must ask Herr Professor
here to share our Christmas Eve,” she said. “I believe he is far from his
home.”
Christmas preparations were redoubled now. There were only a few days
left, and work had lagged a little of late. Mother and Besta and Margret
cleaned and baked and cooked from morning till night.
Arne was very thankful he had stuck at his shipmaking in spite of
everything. Those ships would all be ready in time. He had only a little
more painting to finish. His big problem now was how to get them on the
Christmas tree without having everyone find out about them.
Mother and Besta and Margret always trimmed the tree. It stood in the
best room; the door was shut, and Mother kept her eye on it. Arne
certainly didn’t see how he was going to get those ships hung.
This year Uncle Jens’s family was to share Christmas Eve with them. Arne
knew Signe and Bergel were bringing some new tree ornaments they had
made—little straw goats, such as _Julenissen_ was supposed to ride.
These would be entrusted to Mother. But Arne couldn’t do that with his
ships. They were to be a surprise for everyone.
The night before Christmas Eve he was still turning the problem over in
his mind when he went to bed, and he stayed awake at least ten minutes,
thinking it over. When he awoke the next morning, the solution had come
to him. It was so simple he laughed out loud. He should have thought of
that right away. He would take Gustav into his confidence, and after the
tree was trimmed they would somehow smuggle in the little ships and hang
them all over the tree.
Gustav agreed readily to this plan. “Say, I want to see those ships,” he
said, and to Arne’s pleasure insisted on going out to the workshop then
and there. “These are good, Arne,” he said, picking up one and another.
“Really good.”
Arne was pleased yet a little shy, too, at the praise. “I did them mostly
for you,” he said, “and when you were so late coming it was awfully hard
to keep at them.”
Gustav nodded. “I can believe that all right, boy, but I’m glad you
stuck,” he said, and his dark eyes were softer than usual. “You
practically built Norway a new merchant fleet here.”
“Now how are we going to get them in there, Gustav?” asked Arne.
“We’ll smuggle them in while the womenfolk are busy about supper. You’ll
have them all bundled up ready, won’t you? We may have to make a foray in
through the parlor window.”
“Commando raid!” said Arne with a grin.
Gustav grinned back and rumpled Arne’s hair so that it stuck up even more
than usual. “That’s right. And on defenseless womenfolk at that. Now I’d
say late this afternoon would be about right. How does that strike you?”
Arne chuckled. “About the time Father fires off the gun that tells us
it’s Christmas Eve. You and I will be putting up the sheaves of grain for
the birds, and it will give us a good chance to get away.”
“You’ve got the idea, boy! And there’s lots to do between then and now.”
There was plenty to do indeed. Mother was calling Arne even as he came
out of the workshop. She had many errands for him, but her voice was so
happy Arne felt he wouldn’t mind running his legs off. Anyway, Christmas
errands were always fun.
There were baskets of good things to be carried to half a dozen houses.
Mother delighted especially in remembering anyone less fortunate than
themselves at Christmas time. And Arne went with Father to get the smoked
and pickled herring that was a favorite part of the _koltbord_ feast.
It was fun, too, to dash in and out of the kitchen where mutton was
roasting for the Christmas Eve supper, where the _lutfisk_ was soaking
ready to be simmered and drenched with butter, where everything was in
the most delightful bustle of preparation.
But whatever he was doing, his mind was not far from those ships he must
get ready to smuggle into the parlor. It was well into the afternoon
before he could find an opportunity to get out to the workshop. He worked
fast yet carefully, grinning to himself as he bundled up the little ships.
Gustav was busy with affairs of his own, back and forth to the dock
many times. Once Arne saw him whisk around the corner of the house with
a large crated affair that made the boy’s hopes go way up. Could it be
possible that the _Stjerne_ had brought him his longed-for bicycle? That
might mean he could take a holiday jaunt next summer, up the fjords and
through the mountain valleys with some of the other boys. Herr Professor
Engstrand was planning to conduct such a trip, he knew, and wouldn’t it
be wonderful if he could go along?
His work was done now, and a good thing, too, for Mother was calling him
to scrub himself thoroughly and get into his new Christmas clothes.
He was just ready when it was time for Father to fire that Christmas
salute. Then Gustav was calling him, and together they went to the barn
to get the two sheaves of grain that were ready to be put up on poles for
the birds. To Arne’s annoyance, Margret for once insisted on helping with
that. She ought to know it was men’s work. Perhaps it was because she was
so glad to have Gustav safe home that she wanted to be with him more than
usual. Arne looked at his brother in despair. How could they manage about
those ships if Margret stuck with them?
But he could see Gustav wasn’t worried, just amused; so he dropped his
own worries and enjoyed the little ceremony as much as the others did.
“I think Mother’s looking for you, Margret,” said Gustav, when the birds
were swooping down on their feast. Margret picked up her full holiday
skirts and ran to the house, while Gustav winked at Arne.
“It was all right, Arne. I did see Mother looking out and beckoning,”
he said, as they hurried off to the workshop. “Now, boy, we work fast.
You’ve got the bundle ready, I see. Good!”
In a twinkling he was around the house, Arne at his heels, and through
the parlor window, taking care not to muss those stiff white curtains.
Without a word he brought out a very small pocket flashlight, and Arne
had hard work not to giggle as they hung the little ships all around the
tree.
It was done so fast that Arne could hardly believe they had finished the
job, but in another moment they were safely around the corner of the
house and sauntering in at the kitchen door.
“Just in time,” said Besta. “Light the candles, you two. I see the folks
coming, Herr Engstrand from one direction and Uncle Jens and his family
from the other.”
Soon the Christmas greeting of “_God Jul_” sounded through the house, and
the guests assembled at that bountiful Christmas Eve table.
Christmas Eve supper was a wonderful meal, but Arne and Bergel could
hardly wait for the parlor doors to open. Bergel was thinking of the
straw goats she had helped Signe make, and Arne was anxious to hear what
the others would say when they saw the boats. Perhaps some of them found
it almost as hard to wait as Bergel and Arne did. When little Knut
slipped down from the table and went straight to that mysterious door,
Mother and Father rose from the table.
That was the signal for everybody to stand up. Father went over to throw
the door open.
There stood the tree in the lovely glow of candlelight—straw goats,
ships, and all.
Arne was sure they had never had a prettier tree. There were all sorts of
delighted comments. But Mother said, “Why, look at those ships! Where did
those lovely things come from? Did you bring them, Gustav?”
“Arne’s the lad who gets the credit for those. He made them all by
himself—one for every person here, from Knut up. How’s that for a good
surprise!”
Arne stood there, his cheeks red, his eyes shining. No one could quite
believe he had done it, and everyone was even more surprised than he had
hoped.
“That took patience as well as skill,” said Herr Engstrand. And perhaps
that quiet comment was the one that pleased Arne most of all.
The straw goats were admired, too, and the other ornaments the girls had
made. Then it was time for the gifts.
There was a beautiful hand-knit blue and red sweater for Arne, with
mittens to match and fine socks for skiing. But when Father trundled a
bicycle out from behind the tree straight toward him, Arne could hardly
see anything else.
Bergel was exclaiming in delight over a small and lovely tea set. And all
the others were just as pleased with their gifts.
In the excitement, Gustav went quietly out of the room, and even Arne did
not notice him. He was eagerly examining his bicycle, turning the wheels,
feeling the pedals, noting every detail of handlebar and seat, headlight
and horn and luggage carrier.
“Herr Professor, do you think I might be big enough to go on that trip
you’re going to conduct next summer?” he asked eagerly. “Now that I have
my bicycle?”
“You’re big enough to suit me. But let’s see what your father says.”
“We will wait to hear what _Julenissen_ says,” answered Herr Dalen, his
eyes twinkling. “If he seems to think you’re a good boy—” He broke off as
a great noise was heard in the hallway and a pair of astonishing figures
burst in.
Everyone laughed and clapped, for here was _Julenissen_ himself, with
his pointed red cap and long whiskers. He was larger than _Julenissen_
really should be, for his feet touched the ground as he bestrode the
straw-trimmed goat, _Julebuken_. But no one minded that, and everyone
screamed and laughed and tried to get out of his way.
There seemed to be no bad children in the Dalen relationship, for
_Julebuken_ stamped about the room without bumping anyone. He went so
fast, _Julenissen_ had hard work to keep up with him, and soon the lively
pair were on their way again, _Julenissen_ explaining, in a voice very
like Gustav’s, that this was a busy night.
“I didn’t get bumped, Father!” cried Arne.
“Must be _Julenissen_ thinks you are a good boy, then,” said his father
gravely, though his eyes twinkled. “I guess that means there’s a summer
trip ahead for you, Arne.”
[Illustration]
And now Mother and Besta brought out the special treat of Yule porridge—a
delicate rice pudding made with spices and milk. Gustav, his hair
somewhat rumpled, was there eating with the others.
“We mustn’t forget the bowl for _Julenissen_,” said Arne, with a sidewise
grin at his brother.
“No, he likes that,” said Gustav soberly, and took another helping.
There would be Christmas songs and games to follow, but first Father read
the Christmas story. At the beginning, Arne’s mind was so full of his
bicycle he could scarcely pay attention. But then a few of the beautiful,
familiar words caught his ear.
“‘When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy,’”
Father was reading.
Why, that’s exactly what they had done, right up here in Nordheim.
Arne thought of the star that had helped guide him to safety on the
mountain. And he remembered what Bergel had said when he was so worried
about Gustav. “The Christmas _Star_ has always come in safe and sure,”
she had said.
Why, of course. The Christmas star was always safe and sure. And wherever
you saw it, it brought “exceeding great joy.” Arne drew a sigh of deep
content and settled to listen. This was really Christmas.