"Bedstemor is going to give trouble!" Ragnhild whispered. "Thou knowest she likes to have everything very, very grand. She wants us to do twice as much as we are doing. Ak! There she comes now. Wilt thou not keep her and talk with her? Let her tell thee again about her marriage, and how she danced her shoes through on her wedding-day."
Knutty captured Bedstemor, and the old lady sat in the porch and talked of poor Bedstefar.
"A ja," she said quaintly, "he is dead at last, poor man. He was two years dying. It seemed a long time." Then she added mysteriously:
"God has been very good to me. And I feel very happy."
"Aha, that is a good thing," said Knutty. "Nei, nei, Bedstemor, don't go and make yourself hotter in the kitchen. It is terribly hot this afternoon. Stay here with me and tell me about your wedding. Tell me the history of this old, old family. And is it true, Bedstemor, that when you were fifteen, you were carried off by the mountain-people? Tell me all about it. You can trust me. I won't breathe a word to any one."
So in this way Bedstemor was kept quiet, entertained and entertaining by speaking of herself and old days, and old ways. She told Knutty about Föderaad, the legal dues paid to the parents by the eldest son who takes over the management of the Gaard. Knutty learnt that Föderaad varied in different families; but in the Solli family it meant the possession of five cows, eight sheep, sixteen sacks of grain annually, a two-year-old calf for killing each autumn; also a pig, and a potato-field, or else the payment of 60 kroner a-year. Bedstefar's death would deprive Bedstemor of rather less than half this Föderaad; she would have three cows, five sheep, half the quantity of grain, half the value of the potato-field, and, of course, pig and calf entire; and the dower-house with all its belongings undisturbed.
But the moment arrived when Bedstemor could no longer be deterred from going into the Gaard which had once been hers, and making straight for the kitchen, in a masterful manner born of reawakened memories of ownership. Then Mor Inga came out and had a cry; but Tante patted her on the back and whispered cheering words which brought a smile to Mor Inga's tearful face.
"Ja," said Mor Inga, "thou art right, thou. One can never please one's relatives. It is stupid to expect to do so. It was a wise remark. Thou good Danish friend of mine!"
She told Tante that the old order of things was passing away, even in the more remote parts of the valley; but as Bedstefar belonged to the old order, he was to be buried according to the "gammel skik" (the old custom). But they intended to reduce the number of feast-days to the lowest number compatible with the dignity of the family and due honour to the dead—about four days; only in that case it would be necessary to show more than ordinarily lavish hospitality, so that none of the guests might feel that the family had not the means nor the desire to entertain them right royally. The kitchen had already become the scene of increased industry; and Ragnhild would soon be cooking countless jellies and innumerable fancy biscuits. No cakes were to be made; for, according to custom, the guests would bring them on the day of the funeral, or send them the day before. A sheep, an ox, and a calf were to be killed that very evening, and some one would be sent to bring back fresh Mysost from the Saeter. And two days before the burial, Jens and a fair-haired cousin Olaf would go up into the mountains to bring back a good supply of trout from the lake. Mor Inga reckoned that they would need about two hundred pounds. Then the main dwelling-house and all the brown houses would have to be thoroughly scoured and put in order.
"The guests must not see one speck of dust nor one unpolished door-handle," Mor Inga said. "For they will walk over the whole house and notice everything."