Seeing I took an interest in legends, the two elder sisters had routed out some tracts on the subject, and the little Arilda presented me with some Norwegian views, and a piece of ore from the neighbouring mine. Miss Lisa blushed and smiled, and did not know what to make of it, when I wickedly proposed that she should come with me to Oxford.
“No,” said mamma, “if you were twenty years older, perhaps.”
“And I hope, when next you visit us,” said the priest, “you’ll be married, and bring Mrs. M.”
“Married! you know what I’ve told you about Fellowships. We are Protestant monks.”
“Well,” retorted his reverence, “I always say England is a great and enlightened country; but if you wish to see an effete custom clung to with desperate tenacity, go to England.”
What torrents of rain poured down that day, as we journeyed along towards Kongsberg.
Poor Sigur was speedily soaked through, his wadmel coat mopping up the deluge like a sponge. But he took the thing quite as a matter of course. As for the horse, he went on quite swimmingly. Being encased in lengthy Cording’s fishing boots, a sou’-wester on my head, and a long mackintosh on my shoulders, I was quite jubilant, and could not help defying the storm with certain exclamations, such as,
Blow winds, and crack your cheeks, &c.
Sigur, astonished at my spouting, asked for an explanation, and on getting it, looked anything but an assent to my proposition.