I.

In the melting snow on the hill-side by the sea, in the last rays of

the evening sun, stood a boy of fourteen, awestruck. He looked toward

the west, out across the sea; he looked toward the east, over town and

shore and the broad hills; in the background still higher peaks rose

far away in the clear sky.

The storm had lasted a long time; it had been more terrible, too, than

any the old people could remember. In spite of the new dyke, many ships

had been driven ashore, and many had sunk. The telegraph brought news

of wrecks all along the coast, and close by here the herring-nets had

been broken and washed away, oars and anchors had disappeared; it was

even feared that the worst was not yet known.

It was but a few hours since a calm had set in, the storm had abated,

the gusts of wind ceased, all was over--all except the last low

grumblings of the storm.

But the sea was rebellious; it does not do to stir up the deep and then

to run away. Far off in the distance great sea-waves, higher than

houses, came rolling up in endless lines with foam-white crests and a

crashing fall; the dull, heavy thud was heard across the town and

shore; it was like a piece of land slipping away down into space.

Each time the waves at full height stormed the mountain, the spray was

dashed up to a monstrous height; from afar it seemed as though the

great white sea-monsters of the old legends were trying to land just at

that very spot. But a few salt splashes were all that reached the top;

they stung the boy's cheek as he stood there motionless.

As a rule it was only the very worst westerly storms that could dash

the spray so high; but now it had reached the top though the air was so

calm. No one but he had ever seen such a sight.

Away in the far west, sky and sea seemed melting into one in the glow

of the setting sun. It was like some golden realm of peace; and all the

deep sea-waves, with their white crests rolling up from as far as the

eye could reach, were like banished rebels; they came crowding onward,

protesting, million-mouthed.

The contrast of colouring was now at its height; no more blending of

lights and shades, not even a red shimmer made its way across. _There_

was a rich, warm glow, _here_ a cold, blue-black lay over the sea and

snowy coast; all that could be seen of the town from the hill-side

dwindled away and seemed to grow less and less every time the boy

turned to look inland. But each time he looked he felt himself grow

more restless and uneasy; surely that was a bad sign; could more be

going to happen? His imagination was startled, and, tired as he was

from want of sleep, he had no strength to fight against this fear.

The splendour of the sky was disappearing, all the colour gradually

fading away. The roar from down below, where the sea-monsters were

trying to climb, grew louder and louder; or was it he who heard it more

plainly?

Was this meant for him? What in the world had he been doing? Or was he

going to do something wrong? Once before the same vague fear had proved

to be a bad omen.

It was not the storm alone that had frightened him; a short time ago a

lay preacher had prophesied that the end of the world was at hand; all

the signs of the Bible had come to pass, and the prophecies of Jeremiah

and Daniel were clearly to be understood. It made such a sensation that

the papers took up the matter and announced that the same thing had

been foretold so very often before, and those prophecies of Jeremiah

and Daniel were always suited to the occasion. But when the hurricane

came, and was fiercer and more terrible than any that could be

remembered; when ships loosed from their moorings were driven up

against the wharf, crushed themselves and crushing others, and

especially when night came on and shrouded everything in darkness, and

no lantern even could keep alight, ... the crashing fall of the waves

was heard but not seen, shouts of command, screamings and great

lamentations; and in the streets such terror, roofs were lifted right

off, houses shook, windows rattled, stones hurled about, and the

distant screams of those trying to escape only added to the fright, ...

then, indeed, were many who remembered the words of the preacher; God

help and save us, surely the last day has come and the stars are about

to fall. The children especially were frightened to death. The parents

had not time to stay with them; though the last day of the world had

come, still there was a doubt as to whether it really were the last

day, and from sheer force of habit it was thought wiser to look well

after all worldly goods, so they saved what they could, and put up

bolts and bars, and ran to look to the fires, and were busy everywhere.

But to the children they gave prayer-books and psalm-books, and told

them to read what was written about earthquakes and other plagues, and

about the day of judgment; hurriedly they found the places for them,

and then ran and left them. As if the children could read then!

Some there were who went to bed and pulled the bedclothes over their

heads; some took their dog or cat with them--it was company for them,

and they would die together. But it happened sometimes that neither dog

nor cat chose to die under the bedclothes, so then there was a fight.

The boy who now stood up on the top of the hill had been absolutely

crazy with fear. But he was one of those whom fright drove about from

place to place--out of the house into the street, from the street down

to the harbour, and then back home again. No less than three times had

his father been after him, caught him and locked him in, but he always

managed to get out again. Now this was not the sort of thing that could

have been done with impunity in an ordinary way, for no boy was kept

more strictly or got such abundance of thrashings as Edward Kallem; but

the one benefit the storm brought was that there were no blows that

night.

The night passed away, and the stars still shone clear until day dawned

once more, and the sun was as bright as ever; the storm died away and

with it all remains of fear.

But once one has been influenced by anything so terrifying there will

ever after be, as it were, a dread of the actual terror. Not only by

night in evil dreams, but by day when one fancies one's self safest, it

lurks in our imagination, ready to seize hold of us at the smallest

provocation, and devouring us with cunning eyes and bated breath drives

us sometimes to madness.

As the lad stood there he began to feel afraid of the deepening

twilight and the roar of the sea; and all at once a terrible fear came

upon him, and all the horrors of the last day began afresh. How could

he have been so foolish as to venture up there, and _alone_, too! He

stood like one paralysed, he dared not move one foot forward, it might

be noticed, and he was surrounded by enemies. He whispered a prayer to

his dead mother that if this really were the last day, and the

resurrection set her free, she would come to him up there and stay with

him; not with his sister, for she had the headmaster of the school to

take care of her; but he was quite alone.

But all remained as before. Only toward the west it grew lighter, but

darker toward the east; the cold grew more intense and reigned supreme;

but there was a comforting feeling in the more equal size and monotony

of all around. By degrees he regained courage, and began to breathe

more freely--timidly at first, then a long-drawn breath several times;

he began then to touch himself all over very gently and cautiously,

half afraid that those invisible powers which were looking out for him

might suspect some evil. Softly he crept away from the edge of the

precipice and drew nearer to the downward path. He was not going to run

away, oh dear no! He was not even sure that he would go down; he might

just try; certainly he would gladly come again. But the descent just

here was dangerous, and really ought to be got over before dark, and at

this time of year it got dark so very quickly. If he could manage to

climb down to the path that led across the mountain from the fishing

village down below, then there would be no danger; but up here--well,

he would go carefully, cautiously, one little step forward, then

another quite tiny little step. It was just a trial; he would be sure

to come again.

No sooner had he in this way clambered down the steepest and most

dangerous part of the descent, and stood where he felt himself

protected from those invisible powers he had been so anxiously

capitulating with, than he set to work to cheat them most thoroughly;

down he fled, leaping and jumping, bounding like an India-rubber ball

from one piece of rock to another, till suddenly he saw a pointed cap

sticking up so far down below him that he could only just distinguish

it. In an instant he came to a dead stop! His terror and flight, all he

had just gone through vanished; not a shadow of it remained. Now it was

his turn to frighten others; and here came the very boy he had been

waiting for all the time. His excitement, his eyes, his whole eager

attitude showed how he delighted in the knowledge that the other was

coming within range. How he would give it him!

The other boy came climbing upward, little suspecting the danger that

awaited him; slowly he jogged along as if enjoying his liberty and

solitude: soon his heavy boots were heard with their iron heels

clanking against the stones.

A well-built lad he was, tall and fair, a year or so older than the one

awaiting him. He wore coarse cloth clothes, and a woollen scarf around

his neck; his hands were encased in thick, knitted gloves; he carried

one of the little wooden boxes generally used by the peasants; it was

painted blue, with white and yellow roses.

A great mystery was now going to be revealed. For many days the whole

school had been waiting, wondering with whom, and how and where this

meeting would take place, and when the important moment would arrive

when Ole Tuft, confronted by one of the school's most solemn police

force would be obliged to confess where he went to, and what he did in

the afternoons and evenings.

Ole Tuft was the son and only child of a well-to-do peasant along the

coast. His father, who had been dead now a year, had been one of the

most popular lay preachers in all the West country, and had early

determined that his son should be a clergyman, that was why he went to

the town-school. Ole was clever, industrious, and so respectful to the

masters that he soon was a favourite with them all.

But no one can know a dog by his coat only. This most respectful and

simple lad began to disappear from the playground in the afternoons; he

was not at home (he lived with his aunt, his father's sister), and he

was not at the Schultzes, where he used to help two of the children

with their lessons--he always did that directly after dinner; neither

was he at the head-master's, which was the same as being with the

master's adopted daughter, Josephine Kallem, Edward's sister; Ole and

she were always so much together. Sometimes the other lads would see

him go in there, but never come out again, and yet they always found

Josephine alone when they went in to look for him; for they posted out

sentinels, and the whole search was carried on most methodically. They

could track him as far as to the school-yard but no farther--surely he

could not have disappeared into the earth? They ransacked the yard from

one end to the other, every corner, every hiding-place was visited over

and over again; Josephine herself went about with the boys and took

them even up to the cock-loft, down into the cellar, and into every

room where none of the family were sitting, assuring them, on her word

of honour, that he was not there; but they could look for themselves.

Where in all the world was he then?

It so happened that the dux of the school had just won in a lottery

"Les trois Mousquetaires," by Alexandre Dumas the elder, a splendid

book, with illustrations; but as he soon discovered it was not the kind

of book for so learned a man as he, he offered it as a reward to that

one of his school-fellows who could find out where Ole Tuft went to,

and what he did in the afternoons and evenings. This seemed a very

enticing offer to Edward Kallem; he had always lived in Spain until

about a year ago; he could read French just as well as Norwegian, and

he had heard that "Les trois Mousquetaires" was the most splendid novel

in the world. And now he stood sentinel for "Les trois Mousquetaires."

Hurrah for all the three! now they would be his.

Down he crept softly, softly, until he reached the path; the culprit

was close at hand.

There was something about Edward Kallem's head that made one think of a

bird of prey. The nose was like a beak; the eyes wild looking, partly

from their expression and partly because they had a slight squint. His

forehead was sharp and short, the light brown hair closely cropped

around it. There was an extraordinary mobility about him which made one

feel that he was very agile. He was standing still, but he bent his

body forward, shifted his feet and raised his arms as though the next

moment he would throw himself into the air.

"Boo-oo!" shouted he with all the strength of his lungs. How he

startled the boy who was climbing up--he nearly dropped his box. "Now I

have got you! It's all up with your secret now!"

Ole Tuft was like one turned to stone.

"So there you are! Ha, ha! What have you got in the box?" And he rushed

at him; but the other one quickly changed his box from right to left

hand, and held it behind him; it was impossible for Edward to get hold

of it. "What are you thinking of lad? Do you fancy you can escape? Give

up the box!"

"No, you shan't have it!"

"What! you won't obey? Then I'll just go down and ask."

"No; oh no!"

"Indeed but I will though."

"No, you won't?"

"Yes, I shall!" And he pushed past and tried to go down.

"I'll tell all, if only you'll not tell again."

"Not tell again? Are you out of your senses?"

"Oh, but you must not tell!"

"What a ridiculous idea! Give me the box or I'm away down to ask!"

shouted he.

"Well, you'll not tell about it?" And Ole's eyes filled with tears.

"I won't promise."

"Don't tell, Edward!"

"I tell you I won't promise. Out with the box; look sharp!"

"Indeed it's nothing wrong. Do you hear, Edward?"

"Then if it's nothing wrong, I suppose you can give it me. Come, be

quick!"

Boylike, Ole took this as a sort of half promise; he looked imploringly

at him and began hesitatingly: "I go down there to--to--oh, you

know--to walk in the ways of God." This last was said very timidly and

he burst into tears.

"In the ways of God?" repeated Edward, half uneasily but highly

astonished.

Then he remembered that once in a very drowsy geography class, the

master had asked, "What are the best kind of roads or ways?" The answer

in the lesson-book was, "The best way for the exportation of wares is

by sea."

"Well," repeated the master, "what ways arc the best? Answer, you,

Tuft!"

"The ways of God," answered Tuft. In an instant the whole class was

wide awake, a roar of laughter gave evidence of it.

But for all that Edward Kallem did not really know the true meaning of

"God's ways." Ole down in the fishing village, and walking in the ways

of God! From sheer curiosity he forgot that he was a member of the

moral police force, and blurted out, just like any other school-boy, "I

don't understand what you mean, Ole; walking in the ways of God, did

you say?"

Ole noticed the change at once; those wild-looking eyes were friendly

again, but still had that strange light which indeed never left them.

Edward Kallem was the one of all his school-fellows whom Ole secretly

admired the most. The peasant boy suffered much from the town boys'

superior brightness and sharpness, and both these qualities were very

much to the fore in Edward Kallem. And besides, there was as it were a

halo round his head--he was his brown-haired sister's brother.

He had one unbearable fault, he was a fearful tease. He often got a

beating for it from the master or his father, or his companions, but a

moment after he would begin again. This sort of courage was beyond the

peasant boy's comprehension. Therefore a friendly word or smile from

Edward had a greater effect than it was really worth; it had about it a

sunny glow of gracious condescension. This coaxing, kindly questioning,

coming from the bird of prey (though its beak only was visible),

together with the bright, shining eyes, made Ole give in. As soon as

Edward changed his tactics and asked innocently to be allowed to look

at the box he gave it up, and felt so safe and at his ease that he

dried his eyes with his big gloves, took off the one glove and blew

his nose, then remembering that someone had given him a checked

pocket-handkerchief for that purpose, he looked for it in his pockets

but could not find it.

Edward had unfastened the lid of the box; before he raised it he looked

up, saying, "May I?"

"Yes, you may."

Edward put the lid on one side and took off a handkerchief, under which

lay a large book; it was a Bible. He felt rather small, almost awed.

Underneath the Bible lay several unbound books; he took up a few of

them, turned them over and put them back again; they were religious

tracts. He laid down the Bible again carefully, just as he had found

it, spread the handkerchief over it, and shut the lid. In reality he

was not a bit wiser than before, but he was more curious.

"You surely don't read the Bible to the people down there?" asked he.