Ovind: A Story Of Country Life In Norway Part 17

"There, do you see that sheep skin fallen down, but has any one hung it up?" He did it himself.

"And there is the ladder out of place." He put it right, and turning to the schoolmaster, said, "The same thing day after day!"

As they went further they heard a lively song from the fields.

"Hark! they are singing at work," said the schoolmaster.

"No, it is little Knut Ostistuen who is singing; he is gathering leaves for his father. It is over there my people are working, they are not singing."

"It is not one of the country songs, that?"

"No, I hear it is not."

"Ovind Pladsen has been a great deal in Ostistuen; it must be one of those he has introduced; where he is, there is sure to be song."

No reply.

The field they went over was not in good condition, it wanted attention. The schoolmaster remarked it, whereupon Ole stopped.

"I cannot do any more," he said, almost in tears; "but it is hard to go over such a field, you may be sure."

As they began to talk again about the size of the farm, and what most required attention, they concluded to go up the hill side, where they could overlook the whole. When they had reached the place, and could see the farm laid out before them, the old man was quite moved.

"I should not like to leave it as it is. We have worked hard there both I and my parents before me; but now nothing is to be seen of our labour."

Just then, right above their heads, there burst out a song, with that peculiar sharpness that a lad's voice has when it is changing. They were not far from the tree where little Knut Ostistuen was sitting, pulling leaves for his father, and they listened to the song:--

All along by copse and glade Up the rocky mountain, Thro' the pleasant birch wood's shade, By the silver fountain.

Chase away each thought of care, Gaily, gladly singing, Through the pure and bracing air Joyful echoes ringing.

The birds salute from every tree, They form a charming choir, The air grows pure, and light, and free, Higher up and higher.

So the thought of childhood's hours To the memory rushes, Recollections from the flowers Peep with rosy blushes.

Stay and listen;--it is good, To thy heart appealing-- The grand deep song of solitude, Speaks to every feeling.

But a streamlet gurgling on, But a small stone rolling, Calls up forgotten duties gone, Like a death knell tolling.

Tremble, yes, but pray, poor soul 'Midst thy saddest thinking;-- Forward to the blessed goal,-- Keep thy heart from sinking.

There is Christ as once of old, Elias too, and Moses; When their glory ye behold, Faith in joy reposes.

Ole had seated himself, and hid his head in his hands.

"Let us talk together here," said the schoolmaster, and sat down by his side.

Down at the little farm, Ovind had just returned from a long journey, the chaise was still at the door, while the horses were resting.

Although Ovind had now a good salary as District Agriculturist, he still kept his little room, down at Pladsen, and a.s.sisted them in his spare time. Pladsen was now under good cultivation from one end to the other, but it was so small that Ovind called it "Mother's doll's play;"

for it was chiefly she who managed the farm.

He had just dressed after his journey, and so had the father who had come home white from the mill, and they were speaking of going out a little before supper, when the mother came in looking quite pale:

"Do look out, pray see the strangers coming to the house!"

They both went to the window, and Ovind was the first to exclaim,--

"It is the schoolmaster, and,----yes, I do believe it is,----yes, it is him!"

"Yes, it is old Ole Nordistuen," said Th.o.r.e, as he turned from the window to avoid being seen, for they were close at hand.

Ovind got a glance from the schoolmaster, as he retreated from the window; Baard smiled and looked back at old Ole, who was labouring along with his stick, and the small short steps, the one leg always lifted higher than the other. From inside they could hear the schoolmaster saying, "He has only just come home;" and Ole to repeat twice, "Hm-hm."

They waited a long time in the pa.s.sage, the mother had gone to the pantry where the milk stood, Ovind had his old place, his back leaning against the great table, his face to the door, and the father sat by his side. At last there came a knock, and in walked the schoolmaster, and took his hat off, then old Ole, and took his cap off, but back he turned to shut the door, and stood a long time, manifestly at a loss.

Th.o.r.e rose, and bade them be seated; they sat side by side on the window sill. Th.o.r.e sat down again.

Now thus was the matter settled.

The schoolmaster: "We have had beautiful weather this Autumn."

Th.o.r.e: "Yes, it has taken up of late."

"It will be sure to last so long as the wind remains in the same quarter."

"Are you ready with the harvest up there?"

"No, indeed, Ole Nordistuen here, as perhaps you know, would like to have your help, Ovind, if there's nothing in the way?"

Ovind: "When I am requested, I shall be glad to do what I can."

"Yes, but it wasn't only just for the present, he meant. He sees the farm is not doing well, and he thinks it is the right method and oversight that are wanting."

Ovind: "I am so little at home."

The schoolmaster looks at Ole, who feels that it is his turn to speak now, he moves uneasily a few times, and then begins quickly and abruptly: "It was, it is,--yes,--I thought you might stay,--that is, you might live with us up there, be there, when you were not away on your journeys."

"I thank you very much for the offer, but I should prefer to stay where I am."

Ole looks at the schoolmaster, who explains:

"Things seem in a muddle for Ole to-day; you see he was here once before, and the recollection of it makes it rather awkward."

Ole, quickly: "Yes, that's it, I went on like a fool, I was striving so long with the girl, that the edge of the axe grew blunt. But byegones shall be byegones. Rain brooks soon dry up. May snow does not last long. It is not thunder that kills people."

They all laughed, and the schoolmaster said, "Ole means that you must forget the past, and you also, Th.o.r.e."

Ole looks, and does not know whether he dare begin again.