CHAPTER XII.
Ketil—A few sheep in the wilderness—Brown Ryper—The Norwegian peasants bad naturalists—More bridal stones—The effect of glacial action on rocks—“Catch hold of her tail”—Author makes himself at home in a deserted châlet—A dangerous playfellow—Suledal lake—Character of the inhabitants of Sætersdal—The landlord’s daughter—Wooden spoons—Mountain paths—A mournful cavalcade—Simple remedies—Landscape painting—The post-road from Gugaard to Bustetun—The clergyman of Roldal parish—Poor little Knut at home—A set of bores—The pencil as a weapon of defence—Still, still they come—A short cut, with the usual result—Author falls into a cavern—The vast white Folgefond—Mountain characteristics—Author arrives at Seligenstad—A milkmaid’s lullaby—Sweethearts—The author sees visions—The Hardanger Fjord—Something like scenery.
I was quite at Ketil’s mercy in a pecuniary point of view. But he was not one of the Lesere, and was moderate in his demands. After a scramble through his native bog, which would, I think, have put a very moss-trooper on his mettle, we debouched on the end of a lake. Here we took boat, and there being a spanking breeze, we soon shot over the six miles of water. With a stern-wind, fishing was not to be thought of; I never found it answer. At the other end of the lake was a stone cabin, where I took shelter from the blast, while Ketil went in search of his horse.
While I was engaged caulking the seams in my appetite, a fine young fellow in sailor’s costume, who had rowed from the opposite shore, looked in. Talleif, as he was yclept, was from Tjelmodal, with a flock of fourteen thousand sheep and twenty milking goats. He and his comrade, Lars, sleep in an old bear-hole in the Urden (loose rocks). They get nine skillings (threepence) a-head for tending the sheep for ten weeks. Besides this, they pay twelve dollars to Ketil and two other peasants, who are the possessors of these wilds. Their chief food is the milk of the goats. In winter they get their living by fishing.
“Have you any ryper here,” said I to Ketil, as we passed through some very likely-looking birch thickets.
“Yes.”
“What colour?”