"Certainly," said Tante, nodding approvingly, "thou art a true artiste, Mette."
"I do it best when I'm watched," said Mette, laughing. "Then I get excited."
"An artiste should get excited," said Knutty.
Then Knutty learnt that there were other kinds of fladbröd, the coarsest quality being made of beans, barley, and water. And she was still acquiring accurate knowledge on this important subject, and listening delightedly to Mette's animated explanations, when a clap of thunder was heard.
"Nei da!" cried Mette, "we are in for a storm. I must go and call my poor cows home. It is nearly milking-time."
Tante found Gerda, Katharine, and Alan standing together in the courtyard.
"Here comes my Ejnar," Gerda exclaimed, as a lone figure came into view on the hillside. "I am thankful he has not strayed far. Solli says we are in for an awful storm."
"And I see some one yonder," Katharine said. "I daresay that is Professor Thornton."
But it proved to be the Sorenskriver. He hastened back to the Gaard, hurrying the loitering Ejnar on with him. Every one had now returned except Clifford. The sky grew blacker and more threatening. There was no rain. Hesitating claps of thunder were heard. Knutty, Katharine, and some of the others gathered together on the verandah, which commanded the whole view of the valley, and watched the awe-inspiring exhibition of Nature's anger. The fury of the storm broke loose. The lightning was blinding, the thunder terrific. Time after time they all thought that the Gaard must have been struck. At last the rain fell heavily and more heavily. Every one was relieved to hear it; for the turf on the roofs of all the black houses and barns was as dry as matchwood. Every one in different corners of the Gaard was keeping a look-out for Clifford.
Knutty pretended to be philosophic, and said at intervals: