like his neighbors, but his dark brown beard was always carefully combed, and his yellow mustache separated from it and brushed out to each side. He had a large nose and large eyes, he spoke little, but smiled when he did speak, and the more he smiled, the more serious was the expression of his eyes. When he was out fishing, he would occasionally snuff up a bailerful of sea-water, because he said it was wholesome. He cultivated his little patch of land better than any one else, and was the only man in the neighborhood that had a garden in front of his house, with bushes and flowers in it. When Kristàver came, Henry was winnowing corn in the barn. "You 've come just when I was in need of you," he said with a smile, as he brushed the corn-dust out of his beard. "For I suppose you'll need a half-share man this winter, won't you?" Kristàver recollected now that Henry was one of a boat's company that had been run down by a steamer the winter before in the middle of the night, and had lost both nets and boat. It was sad to think that this capable man would now have to go out as a common half-share man. he turned homeward with the knowledge that his boat was saved. 8 4 The snowflakes were already beginning to float down over Blue Hill in the north, and the days were dark and gloomy. The roads leading to the village shop resounded with the tramp of iron heels as the fishermen flocked to it like birds of passage assembling in preparation for their long journey. They all looked more or less alike in their white canvas blouse, black felt hat with a brim as wide as an umbrella, and gray homespun trousers that below hung down over the tops of their boots. Some, however, wore red woolen caps with a tassel that dangled over one ear. They went first to the shop on the nearer side of the bridge, which they filled, packed closely, shoulder to shoulder, while the humpbacked shopman behind the counter darted about hither and thither in the lamplight, taking things down from shelves and wrapping them up in wrong order. Occasionally he received money in exchange, which he threw into the till, but most of the purchases had to be entered in a long book to which a pencil was attached by a piece of string. Those customers whose purchases, as entered in the books, were of one and two years' standing, preferred to keep in the background and make remarks about the weather; but they were obliged to come forward in the end. They all wanted credit for sacks of flour, tobacco, rye-cake packed in brand-new casks, kegs of treacle, barrels of coffee, leather, and paraffin. They were almost all in debt from the year before, but they were all expecting that this time the Lofoten fisheries would both free them from debt and make them wealthy, for this year would surely be a good year. The humpbacked man behind the counter looked at them one after another. If they did not get what they wanted from him, they would go to his rival on the other side of the bridge; and if they got it there, they would go there first when they had something to pay with. The village shops, however, did not keep everything the fishermen wanted, so most of them sailed up the fiord through the falling snow to the town. On the wharves all round the harbor there were little shops where everything necessary for a fisherman's outfit could be obtained: oilskins, rope, twine for nets, hooks, etc., down to writing-paper for Lofoten letters. Heavy sea-boots, wet with mud and snow, stamped in here, and the fog from outside floated in through the door, to which a bell was attached. Behind the counter, with his back to a wall on which there was a great display of rope and twine, stood a sturdy man, dressed in homespun and high boots, his face, beard, and clothes all bearing traces of flour, tar, and treacle. This was Utnes, and he had once been a fisherman himself. Kristàver and Peter Suzansa met here when the shop was full of men from both inland and coast districts, all wanting their Lofoten outfit on credit. "Very well," Utnes was saying to a little red-bearded man, "but this must really be the last time." The gas over the counter was lighted, and the bell on the door kept on ringing, and many had been standing for hours without having stated their errand. At last Utnes's eye fell upon Peter Suzansa, who was standing with one hand in his pocket, and his shoulder thrust forward. "What do you want?" "We-ell, I should like the whole shop," said Peter with his nasal twang, his face quite serious. Utnes could not help smiling, for Peter Suzansa owed for several years; but it was cheering to the others standing round to find that some one was able to make the great man behind the counter drop his shop expression. Peter said he would have liked everything that was to be had there, and would have paid cash down, but, unfortunately, he had forgotten to bring any change, so he would have to be content with rather less; and he thereupon gave a list of all the things he must have. It was not easy to say "No" to a man who made the whole shopful of people laugh. Again the bell rang as the door opened to admit Jacob. He had been taken up the evening before for being drunk, and had spent the night at the police station; but now he was out again and had come to do business. There was certainly no false modesty about him. He pushed noisily in to the counter, and began to express his horror at all the poisonous, ill natured things people can say. "What's up now?" asked Utnes. "Why, there are those rascally fellows going about and saying that things are so much better at Larsen's down on the quay. I gave them a thrashing yesterday, and got a night's free lodging for it; but now, damn it all, you'll have to let me have some rope and twine for taking your part." Utnes shook his head doubtfully. He knew Jacob was lying, but even that was better than when men leaned over the counter and quoted Scripture when they wanted credit. But Kristàver wanted to buy a great deal, and Utnes opened his eyes wide: Kristàver wanted things for five men! "Yes, it's easy enough for you, when you can afford to buy a Lofoten boat," said Peter Suzansa; and this Utnes heard, as it was probably intended he should. He took it in. Kristàver looked like a man who would pay his way. When their purchases were made, the men sailed back down the fiord through the falling snow. There would be plenty to do now before Christmas. The living-room at Myran was full during those evenings, and the smoking lamp shed its dull yellow light upon many busy hands. At one side of the room sat Lars and Oluf, trying which of them could net cod-net the quickest, while Kristàver sat at another, putting the edge on to the nets. said to Lars, showing him one of the socks she was working at. Then they had the shoemaker in the house, and when Lars stood in his new, soft sea-boots that could fold down over the knee, but could also be pulled right up the thigh, he requested Oluf to get out of the way so that he could have room to move. And just at that moment his father brought in a large bag from the porch and threw it across to him, and out of it appeared a new, shining sou'wester and a yellow oilskin coat that smelled very fresh and was so sticky that his fingers almost stuck to it. "My word!" said Oluf, staring with all his eyes. "Hold your jaw!" said Lars, for there was still a large leather skirt to draw down over the tops of his boots. When at last he had put on all this finery, he looked quite like a warrior in full armor; and it was silly of that little donkey Jonetta to come just then and tease him by asking him to come out and run races. There followed some clear, windless, frosty evenings, which turned the road up through the ravine into a sinuous ribbon of shining ice, which went up and up until it was lost in the very sky itself. It was a grand time for tobogganing, and when Lars left his netting and went out on to the doorstep, and heard the shouts and laughter on the hills and saw the trail of sparks when the iron under the runners of a sledge passed over a stone or a patch of sand, it was not easy for him to resist joining in the sport. He was a Lofoten man now, it was true; but, on the other hand, he had a sledge that was called the Lightning, because it went so much faster than all the others. The ten-year-old Tosten and little Jonetta, who was six, were sitting on the floor, fully occupied in filling the netting-shuttles with twine. Màyra was hard at work knitting two thick woolen jerseys for the Lofoten men to wear over their woolen and cotton shirts, and they had blue and red rings round the sleeves and waist. Even the old grandmother, with spectacles on, was busy, and sat by the stove dipping the new woolen gloves and socks into hot soapy water, and rubbing them upon a fluted board, so that they would become matted and be thick and warm. "Your feet'll be nice and warm," she And before he knew what he was about, he had stolen round to the outhouse, and in another moment was racing up the hills with the sledge at his heels without having told Oluf. At the foot of the hills the boys and girls collected, and went up again all together, and Lars had friends enough all over the neighborhood. There was lanky Peter Rönningan, who stammered, and could never pass for confirmation because he was so stupid. The others called him Peter Galleas. Martin Bruvold was called Martin Fur-rug, and they called Lars Brighteyes, and Olavus Koya Dear-death. There were large and small sledges, and girls of about the same age as the boys, not mere children, nor yet quite grown up. As they hurried up the hill, talking busily, there came a shout from higher up out of the darkness. "Hullo! Clear the road!" sledge flew past, with many feet sticking out on both sides, and shouts from their owners. And a After half an hour's climbing they had reached the dark hills right up under the stars, from which they could see the fiord far below beneath the mountains in the west, with here and there upon its surface a ship's lantern, and farther east their own district, dotted all over with the lights from the fishermen's cottages as far out as Lindegaard. Three or four of the company placed themselves upon the largest sledges, where Martin Bruvold sat farthest forward, to steer with his feet. The girls shrieked with mingled terror and delight as they started and the speed grew faster and faster. The wind cut their faces and went through their bodies. The sledge rounded a curve on one runner, and in another curve nearly flew off into the broad ditch, but escaped it. On it went in the darkness, faster and faster, as the road grew steeper. On the middle of the last hill something black appeared that did not make way for for them. "It's a horse!" was the despairing shout from all on the sledge, but it was impossible to stop, and on one side of the road there was the rocky cliff, and on the other blocks of stone to mark the edge of the road, and beyond them a deep ditch. The horse reared and snorted, and the man holding the reins swore and shouted, but the sledge dashed past at the side of the road and disappeared in the darkness, leaving a fiery trail behind it. Just as the man was about to drive on, he heard more shouting, and ran forward to hold the horse's head; but he slipped on the ice and fell full length as a second sledge flew past. It was not every one that Lars would have with him on the Lightning. This evening it was Ellen Koya, although he and she had not been the best of friends of late, one reason being that she was always such a tease. Other people teased them both, however, declaring that they had been married some years before and were man and wife. The wedding had taken place in the barn at Koya one Sunday in the summer, when the children had assembled to play. One suggested that they should play at entertaining guests, another that Ellen and Lars should be bride and bridegroom. A door was laid upon a barrel to represent the altar, and Martin Bruvold, draped in a tarpaulin, was the priest; and the next moment Ellen and Lars were standing in front of the altar, with downcast eyes, like a real bride and bridegroom. The bride was then only twelve, and was dressed in a blue check dress. A wreath of buttercups rested upon her fair hair, above a face that was then, as now, pretty and pink; but no one could see her large blue eyes, for she never raised her eyelids, and stood with folded hands while the other children sang "The voice that breathed o'er Eden." "Lars Kristoffersen Myran," said the priest, "wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?" "Yes," said Lars. This was fun, and a thrill ran through him at the thought that now he was grown up and was being married. "I likewise ask thee, Ellen Olsdaughter Koya, if thou wilt have this man, Lars Kristoffersen Myran, to thy wedded husband." "Yes," answered Ellen, still looking down, with folded hands. "Will you be faithful to one another?" "Yes," said both Ellen and Lars. "Then join hands in token thereof," said Martin; and they joined hands, and Martin placed his upon their heads and blessed them, after which they had coffee and refreshments and dancing, just as at any grown-up wedding, in the barn. The next time they met was on the way to school. They were a large company, and Lars did not like to look in her direction. He had to put up with the teasing from the others, but when she came and asked him to carry her books, he thought it was going too far, and he told her in so many words that he was not her husband to-day because he had been it yesterday. "Silly!" she said, tossing her head and blushing crimson; and thereupon he was informed that if she ever took a husband, it would not be a cad like him. A quarrel ensued, to the great amusement of the others. "Poor things!" they said. "Have matters already gone so far, and only yesterday they were standing at the altar!" But from that day they preferred to ignore each other when they met. This evening they had happened to walk up side by side, and the distance between them and the others gradually increased. "You 're angry with me," she said. "It's you who are angry," he returned. She laughed at this, and then he laughed, too, and after that there was not much more to be said about the quarrel. "And to think that you 're a man already and are going to Lofoten!" she said. "And you 've been so ill," he said. "Was it inflammation of the lungs? Do you think it's wrong of you to be out this evening?" His thought for her touched her, and she took hold of the sledge-rope to help him pull; and it was strange how near their hands felt to one another, even though they had on woolen gloves. "You'll be writing Lofoten letters to all your sweethearts this winter, I suppose," she said. But Lars assured her that he was not even going to take pen and ink with him. "Oh, I like that! You are a storyteller! But I suppose it would n't do to write to a girl who is n't confirmed?" "No, I should be taken up and put in prison for that." "Hold my glove, will you, while I tie my garter?" she said. |