"No, I see that you have not; and it is a good thing. Now we shall be rid of her capers for a while. You have been a faithful and capable little worker, there is no doubt of that. And how you have grown! Why, your long frock is far above your toes now!"
Then the milkmaid and Lisbeth fastened the cows in their stalls, while Kjersti went to watch the unloading of the packs and to look at the tubs and boxes containing the butter and cheese that had been made at the sæter.
After that Kjersti came to them again and asked them to "Please walk in," exactly as if they were grand strangers. And when they had gone into the house they were invited into Kjersti's own sitting room, both Lisbeth and the milkmaid. Here the table was set with a welcoming meal, and oh, how delicious the food smelled! There were large hot pancakes as thin as paper, and pease bread, and hot new potatoes,—the finest feast you can give to people just home from a sæter. And Kjersti herself poured coffee for them and begged them to help themselves. Then they had to give an account of everything that had happened on the mountain; to tell about the cows,—which of them had given the most milk and which of them had stopped giving; about the sheep, goats, and pigs; and about the butter and cheese that had been made. And then Kjersti praised her two servants for their faithfulness and industry, and the trio rejoiced together over the success of the summer.
That evening when Lisbeth Longfrock again lay stretched out on her little bed in her room under the hall stairs and thought back over the summer and about the mountain, it seemed to her that she had had a glorious time, as delightful as could be thought of; but, all the same, it was pleasant to come home again, too,—especially when one was welcomed by such an unusually fine woman as Kjersti Hoel.
Autumn was passing away. The leaves had fallen and the trees spread out naked branches into the cold air. In the fields where grain had grown stood only the poles, now bare and slanting, on which the crops had been stacked. The verdure of the meadows was changed to yellowish brown.
There was no more food for the animals out of doors, so slaughtering day had come. That is the end of the season for the young herder, for on that day he gives up his responsibility. Thenceforward he is no longer a person with a special duty; he must be at every one's beck and call. And when winter comes with its long evenings, when the wood fire gleams out over the huge kitchen from the great open fireplace, while wool is being carded and the spinning wheel whirs, and the farm hands make brooms out of twigs and whittle thole pins and ax handles, then must the herder sit by the pile of twigs and logs at the side of the fireplace and feed the fire so that the rest can see to work while he studies his lessons.
By the pile of wood in Kjersti Hoel's big kitchen Lisbeth Longfrock had her place on the long winter evenings. She studied and listened, and heard so many curious things talked about that it seemed as if the evenings were too short and the days too few, in spite of the long, dark Norwegian winter. Before she knew it spring had come again; and when she looked down at her long frock she found that the hem reached no farther than the tops of her ankles.
CHAPTER VIII