In God's Way: A Novel

by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

"Yes, a few pence I have;" she laid down her oars and looked in her pocket for the money.

"You take my books!" shouted he as he rushed up the street. Shortly after he too was out on the high road.

III.

The day had been dull, the air thick, and the clouds were driving along against a light southerly wind; it was mild, though, and had begun to thaw again; the roads were in a fearful state with snow slush and mud, especially close by the town where it had been trampled and trodden into a perfect morass.

Edward had not been walking more than ten minutes before his somewhat thin boots were wet through. Well, that did not matter, what was much worse was that he had finished his last biscuit and was by no means satisfied--not by a long way! However, even that did not matter as he would soon overtake Ole, he walked so much quicker and lighter than he did, and then he was hurrying tremendously. As soon as he reached him he would put things right again; not for an instant did he doubt that. Ole was very easily managed and he, Edward, would make all square with the other boys, it was the least he could do; he would enjoy it, too; he would get others to join him and they would have a fight.

But after he had walked a quarter of a mile[^[1]] without seeing any traces of Ole's boots in the mud and no sign of himself either, and particularly after he had dragged on for another quarter along the most dreadful roads, his feet dripping wet, now perspiring, now cold, then half-dry, then wet again--it was threatening rain and the wind was getting up, and all nature seemed so uncomfortably lonely along the stony ridges with dark woods between each valley--then indeed his courage fell considerably.

And it seemed so strange, too, that after the first quarter of a mile he never met a soul. There were plenty of footmarks on the road both of horses, people, and dogs; they were all bent in the same direction as himself and most of them were quite fresh, but there was not a creature to be seen anywhere, not even in the farmyards, not a dog did he hear bark, nor did he see a chimney smoke; all was deserted. He passed by one empty cove after the other; they were divided by jutting out ridges of loose stones caused by landslips; on each side of these ridges lay a cove, and in every cove one or more farmyards and a brook or stream, but no people. So many times had the boy now struggled up these stony hills and gone so far along that he could see across the next field without distinguishing Ole on the high road, in fact without seeing anyone, so he began to think that he would have to trudge on, hungry and tired as he was, the whole way to Store Tuft. It was nearly a mile distant; that would keep him away so long that his father would hear of his absence, and then it would be a case of scolding and lecturing, and probably of beating and swearing as well, and the head-master would very likely look in and then it would all begin over again.... He could not help it, the tears would come. Confound Anders Hegge, with his greedy, fishy eyes and oily smile, his mocking laugh and sneaking friendliness, the story-teller, the brute! Here was he now forced to tramp along with tingling feet in all the mud, tired and done up. This then was the meaning of his fearful fright the evening before, now all was explained.

But, hang it all! who would cry about that? One must arrive some day at the journey's end, and a beating would be nothing new, tra-la-la! And he broke into a Spanish ditty and sang verse upon verse till he became quite breathless and was obliged to slacken his pace, but taking fright when he no longer heard the sound of his own voice, he began afresh and kept on singing all the way through the long valley.

He met nobody there either, only traces of cart-wheels and footmarks of old and young folk, of horses and dogs from the farms; all bound in the same direction. What could be going on? A fire? An auction? But then they would not have taken carts with them. Had there been a landslip anywhere? Or was it a wreck from yesterday's storm? Well, it was all the same to him. Just as he was crossing over the next ridge which jutted out into the bay, he caught sight for the first time of Ole's footsteps on the hill; he could see that he had walked along by the side of the road; he recognized the iron heels and the straps under each foot. The marks were quite fresh too, so Ole could not be far off. This was exciting, and he hurried on.

Here there was a thick fir-wood, very still and quiet, and as he had to stop singing going up-hill it was rather uncanny. The farther he advanced into the wood the thicker it became; the snow lay firmer on the ground, stones and small tufts of heather peeping up through it like animals; and then there was a crack here and a rustle there and sometimes a cry; a startled capercailzie flew up with great flapping of wings, and the boy in a terrible fright bent down to look for Ole's foot-marks, just for company's sake--the terror of the day before was on him again. If he dared but begin to run, and if the wood would only come to an end! In the painfully long silence that followed the capercailzie's cry he felt that a very little more and he would go mad with fright. And this bit of road with high banks on each side, through which he would have to pass--he looked on ahead at the steep dark sides which seemed as if they would close over him; terrible looking trees hung over the top peering down at him. When at last he arrived there, he felt as if he were the tiniest little ant in a wood; if only all would keep still, or at least no one swoop down upon him and seize him by the neck, or drop down suddenly before him, or behind him, or begin to puff and blow at him.... He walked on with stiff eyes, like one walking in his sleep, the gnarled and crooked roots of the fir-trees stretched along the banks, they seemed as though alive, but he pretended not to notice them. High up in the air far in front of him a bird was winging its way toward the town he came from. Ah, if he might but mount that bird! He could see the town distinctly and the ships in the harbour; he could hear the cheery heave-a-hoy songs and the rattling of anchor chains, the rolling of barrels along the wharf, and the merry screams of laughter and the shouts of command.... Yes, he could even hear those, and the whistle of a steamer! and then another, a shrill one! and voices! Those were voices! And neighing of horses, and barking of dogs! And again the sound of voices, many voices. He had got through the road with the steep banks, for it had only been a short bit, and through the trees he could see the sea and boats.... But what was that? Was he back in town again? Had he been walking round and round? No, surely he had followed the sea all the way. He began to run, he felt all right again. But had he really walked straight on? Of course, here is the clearing in the wood, and there the bay, he knew it well, and the little islands, he remembered them too, it was the right way, and it was not so very far now to Store Tuft.... But what are all those boats doing there? And what is the meaning of that steady buzzing noise? Herring fishing! Hurrah! herring fishing! He had come right into the midst of a take of herrings, hurrah! hurrah! And away with hunger, fatigue, and fear, off flew the boy down the hill with mighty strides.