Chapter Eleven.
Dairy-maids’ talk.
It may be supposed that Erlingsen was anxious to be at home, when he had heard Erica’s story. He was not to be detained by any promise of berries and cream for supper. He put away the thought even of his hay, yet unfinished on the upland, and would not hear nothing that Frolich had to say of his fatigue at the end of a long working day. He took some provision with him, drank off a glass of corn-brandy, kissed Frolich, promised to send news, and, if possible, more helping hands, and set off, at a good pace, down the mountain.
The party he left behind was a dull one. When Jan came in to supper he became angry that he was left to get in the hay alone; even Stiorna could not help him to-morrow, for the cheese-making had already been put off too long while waiting for Erica’s arrival, and it must now be delayed no longer. It was true some one was to be sent from below, but such an one could not arrive before the next evening, and Jan would meanwhile have a long day alone, instead of having, as hitherto, his master for a comrade. Stiorna, for her part, was offended at the wish, openly expressed by all, that Hund might not be the person sent; she was sure he was the only proper person, but she saw that he would meet with no welcome, except from her.
Scarcely a word was spoken till Erica and Frolich were about their cheese-making the next morning. Erica had rather have kept the cattle, but Frolich so earnestly begged that she would let Stiorna do that, as she could not destroy the cattle in her ill-humour, while she might easily spoil the cheese, that Erica put away her knitting, tied on her apron, tucked up her sleeves, and prepared for the great work.
“There! let her go!” cried Frolich, looking after Stiorna, as she walked away slowly, trailing her lure after her. “She may knit all her ill-humour into her stocking, if she likes, as Hund is to wear it, and that is better than putting it into our cheese. Erica,” said the kind-hearted girl. “You are worth a hundred of her. What has she to disturb her, in comparison with you?—and yet you do just what I ask you, and work at our business as if nothing was the matter. If you chose to cry all day on the two graves down there at home, nobody could think it unreasonable.”
Erica was washing the bowls and cheese-moulds in juniper-water at this moment; and her tears streamed down upon them at Frolich’s kind words.
“We had better not talk about such things, dear,” said she, as soon as she could speak.
“Nay, now, I think it is the best thing we can do, Erica. Here, pour me this cream into the pan over the fire, and I will stir, while you strain some more whey. My back is towards you, and I cannot see you; and you can cry as you like, while I tell you all I think.”
Erica found that this free leave to cry unseen was a great help towards stopping her tears; and she ceased weeping entirely while listening to all that Frolich had to say in favour of Rolf being still alive and safe. It was no great deal that could be said; only that Hund’s news was more likely to be false than true, and that there was no other evidence of any accident having happened.
“My dear!” exclaimed Erica; “where is he now, then?—why is he not here? O, Frolich! I can hardly wonder that we are punished when I think of our presumption. When we were talking beside those graves on the day of Ulla’s funeral, he laughed at me for even speaking of death and separation. ‘What! at our age!’ he said. ‘Death at our age,—and separation!’—and that with Henrica’s grave before our eyes!”
“Then, perhaps, this will prove to be a short and gentle separation, to teach him to speak more humbly. There is no being in the universe that would send death to punish light gay words, spoken from a joyful heart. If there were, I and many others should have been in our graves long since. Why, Erica! this is even a worse reason than Hund’s word. Now, just tell me, Erica, would you believe anything else that Hund said?”
“In a common way, perhaps not: but you cannot think what a changed man he is, Frolich. He is so humbled, so melancholy, so awe-struck, that he is not like the same man.”
“He may not be the better for that. He was more frightened than anybody at the moment the owl cried, on your betrothment night, when you fancied that Nipen had carried off Oddo. Yet never did I see Hund more malicious than he was half an hour afterwards. I doubt whether any such fright would make a liar into a truthful man, in a moment.”
Erica now remembered and told the falsehood of Hund about what he was doing when the boat was spirited away:—a falsehood told in the very midst of the humiliation and remorse she had described.
“Why there now!” exclaimed Frolich, ceasing her stirring for a moment to look round; “what a capital story that is! and how few people know it! and how neatly you catch him in his fib! And why should not something like it be happening now with Rolf? Rolf knows all the ins and outs of the fiord: and if he has been playing bo-peep with his enemies among the islands, and frightening Hund, is it not the most natural thing in the world that Hund should come scampering home, and get his place, and say that he is lost, while waiting to see whether he is or not!—O dear!” she exclaimed after a pause, during which Erica did not attempt to speak, “I know what I wish.”
“You wish something kind, dear, I am sure,” said Erica, with a deep sigh.
“We have so many,—so very many nice, useful things,—we can go up the mountains and sail away over the seas,—and look far abroad into the sky. I only wish we could do one little thing more. I really think, having so many things, we might have had just one little thing more given us;—and that is wings. I grudge them to yonder screaming eagles, when I want them so much.”
“My dear child, what strange things you say?”
“I do so very much want to fly abroad, just for once, over the fiord. If I could but look down into every nook and cove between Thor Islet and the sea, I would not be long in bringing you news. If I did not see Rolf, I would tell you plainly. Really, at such times it seems very odd that we have not wings.”
“Perhaps the time may come, dear.”
“I can never want them so much again.”
“My dear, you cannot want them as I do, if I dared to say such bold things as you do. You are not weary of the world, Frolich.”
“What! this beautiful world? Are you weary of it all, Erica?”
“Yes, dear.”
“What! of the airy mountains, and the silent forests, and the lonely lakes, and the blue glaciers, with flowers fringing them? Are you quite weary of all these?”
“O that I had wings like a dove! Then would I flee away, and be at rest.” Erica hardly murmured these words; but Frolich caught them.
“Do you know,” said she, softly, after a pause, “I doubt whether we can find rest by going to any place, in this world or out of it, unless—if— The truth is, Erica, I know my father and mother think that people who are afraid of selfish and revengeful spirits, such as demons and Nipen, can never have any peace of mind. Really religious people have their way straight before them;—they have only to do right, and God is their friend, and they can bear everything, and fear nothing. But the people about us are always in a fright about some selfish being or another not being properly humoured, and so being displeased. I would not be in such bondage, Erica,—no, not for the wings I was longing for just now. I should be freer if I were rooted like a tree, and without superstition, than if I had the wings of an eagle, with a belief in selfish demons.”
“Let us talk of something else,” said Erica, who was at the very moment considering where the mountain-demon would best like to have his Gammel cheese laid. “What is the quality of the cream, Frolich? Is it as good as it ought to be?”
“Stiorna would say that the demon will smack his lips over it. Come and taste.”
“Do not speak so, dear.”
“I was only quoting Stiorna—”
“What are you saying about me?” inquired Stiorna, appearing at the door. “Only talking about the cream and the cheese? Are you sure of that? Bless me! what a smell of the yellow flowers! It will be a prime cheese.”
“How can you leave the cattle, Stiorna?” cried Erica. “If they are all gone when you get back—”
“Well, come, then, and see the sight. I get scolded either way, always. You would have scolded me finely to-night if I had not called you to see the sight—”
“What sight?”
“Why there is such a procession of boats on the fiord, that you would suppose there were three weddings happening at once.”
“What can we do?” exclaimed Frolich, dolefully looking at the cream, which had reached such a point as that the stirring could not cease for a minute without risk of spoiling the cheese.
Erica took the long wooden spoon from Frolich’s hand, and bade her run and see where the bishop was going to land. The cream should not spoil while she was absent.
Frolich bounded away over the grass, declaring that if it was the bishop, going to her father’s, she could not possibly stay on the mountain for all the cheeses in Nordland.—Erica remained alone, patiently stirring the cream, and hardly heeding the heat of the fire, while planning how the bishop would be told her story, and how he would examine Hund, and perhaps be able to give some news of the pirates, and certainly be ready with his advice. Some degree of hope arose within her as she thought of the esteem in which all Norway held the wisdom and kindness of the bishop of Tronyem: and then again she felt it hard to be absent during the visit of the only person to whom she looked for comfort.
Frolich returned after a long while, to defer her hopes a little. The boats had all drawn to shore on the northern side of the fiord, where, no doubt, the bishop had a visit to pay before proceeding to Erlingsen’s. The cheese-making might yet be done in time, even if Frolich should be sent for home, to see and be seen by the good bishop.