There was a stir of delight throughout the room. The trip up the mountain for Christmas greens was a favorite yearly event. Getting the greens and decorating was even more fun than the Christmas program itself. This was the first time Arne and Bergel’s class had been included in the expedition. Arne’s eyes glowed as he thought of the picnic supper, the campfire up there on the dark mountain, the singing that would float all up and down the mountainside.
But some of the girls looked a little perturbed, and the teacher almost smiled as he said, “We shall not stand out there in the snow eating our supper. Froken Utvig says we can find shelter in her father’s saeter cabin.”
The Utvig saeter! Oh, that would be something, Arne thought. Everyone said the Utvig cabin was the finest on the mountain. Arne had never been there, and he almost forgot about the Stjerne in his excitement. It was wonderful fun to go up to a saeter in summer, but in winter it would be a real adventure. He resolved to be on time for the rest of the week. He certainly could not run the chance of being left out of that trip up the mountain.
Arne could hardly keep his feet from taking the familiar cliff path the next noon. If only there were just a little daylight after school. Then he’d hurry as fast as he could up the cliff, get out those field glasses, and stand looking as long as he liked. But it would be dark by that time. And tomorrow was the day of the trip up the mountain. No, he couldn’t run the risk of being late.
With a mighty effort he managed to trudge straight to school. He even got there a little early. He was too anxious and miserable to stay out playing, so he earned the pleased surprise of Herr Professor by going straight into the schoolroom, opening his book, and settling down. But his thoughts were not on his Norwegian history, though that was a subject he really liked, full as it was of stirring events. His thoughts were with the freighter Stjerne, in peril out there on the stormy sea.
Arne hurried home right after school, hoping better news had come in. His mother was in a perfect fury of baking. She was making lefse, and he usually liked to watch her doing that. But today he didn’t care much, for one look at her face told him that the news was not good.
She whisked the kettle of potatoes off the fire, mashed them violently, mixed in flour and salt and cream. Then she rolled out the dough into large, thin, round cakes, and Besta baked them on the top of the cookstove.
Both of them nodded a greeting to him, but no one seemed to feel like talking. Presently Besta buttered a piece of warm lefse, spread it with brown sugar, rolled it, and handed it to Arne. Even now he did not forget the polite Norwegian “Mange tak,” “Many thanks.”
He took his lefse and wandered off to the workshop, but there was a lump in his throat as he drew the covering back and looked at his little ships. It didn’t seem to him he could work at them today, and he started to cover them again. Then he stopped and said fiercely right out loud, “Look here, Arne Dalen! Gustav wouldn’t do that. He’s a great one to stick at something until he gets it done.”