At the head of the fjord, the English boys left them, though they stayed on the dock to watch little Suri taken aboard.
Arne kept a sharp lookout for falling rocks as they steamed homeward between the steep rocky cliffs. He was glad when they came to the places where the country flattened out a bit and there was room for a small village or a few farms at the foot of the mountain. Often he caught a glimpse of a saeter high above them.
“Do you think we’re going to get up to the saeter again this summer?” he asked Gustav, after one such glimpse. “I know the girls are counting on it.”
“I’ll have two or three days between my last trip on the Laks and the time the Stjerne sails,” said Gustav. “That will be early in August. Let’s go then.”
“Shall I make a trip up and tell the girls?” asked Arne eagerly. “They’ll have a lot of getting ready to do—a lot of baking and things.”
“You hope,” said Gustav, laughing. “Well, I hope so too, Arne. So we’ll figure out the time and you can hike up that mountain and tell them about it.”
Arne had made many pleasant journeys to the saeter, but there had never been one as gay as the trip up there with Gustav and Evart and a dozen other lads.
“Look! Look what the girls are using for pasture!” cried Arne, as they came in sight of the saeter. A shout of laughter went up, for Bergel had tethered a small white kid to the tiny birch tree on the roof of the cabin.
The shout brought out the girls, gay in their special holiday dresses. Arne thought they looked very pretty in their full, striped skirts with crisp, lace-trimmed white aprons and bright laced bodices over white blouses. A hand-made silver brooch fastened each blouse at the throat. Margret’s brooch was handed down to her by Besta, Arne knew; and he thought it was the prettiest one of all. These brooches were treasured possessions in Norwegian families.