LISBETH APPOINTED HEAD MILKMAID
It was the first Sunday after Easter, early in the morning. Lisbeth sat by the small table in her little sleeping room, with one elbow leaning on the table and her hand under her chin, while she stared down at a big black book which lay open before her. The book was the New Testament, and Lisbeth's lips moved softly as she read. That morning, for the first time in several years, she had not gone into the cow house. Kjersti Hoel had said that she was to have a couple of hours in which she could be alone. No one was to disturb her.
She sat there somewhat stiff and helpless, in a long black dress with a strip of white in the neck. The dress seemed to her rather tight, so tight that she held her elbows close to her side and hardly dared to bend her back. It was the first time she had had a close-fitting dress on,—her usual costume being a jacket and skirt. Her light hair was drawn smoothly back and twisted into a knot at her neck. That was for the first time, too. She was a trifle paler than usual, and her lips, as she moved them, were dark red and dewy; but her eyes shone with peace. All in all, she was beautiful, as she sat there in her little room waiting for church time to come. This was the day that she was to be confirmed.
A knock was heard at the door, and in stepped Kjersti Hoel. She also was dressed in her very best,—an old-fashioned black dress with a gathered waist, and a freshly ironed cap with a frill around the face and strings hanging down. In her hand she carried the big psalm book, a handsome one printed in large type, which she used only on the greatest occasions. On top of the psalm book lay a neatly folded pocket handkerchief.
Standing still for a moment and looking earnestly at Lisbeth, Kjersti said, "Do you think you are ready now, Lisbeth?"
Lisbeth answered quietly, "Yes, I think so."
"Then it is time for us to start. Come, let me tie your kerchief, so that your hair will not get untidy."
She tied the kerchief on Lisbeth's head and then they went slowly out through the hall way. Outside, at the door, stood the broad wagon with the military horse harnessed to it.
"You may come and sit up here by me, Lisbeth," said Kjersti.
So they both got into the wagon and drove off. Not a word was spoken the whole way. As they drove down the hill from the farm and out on the main road, they were encompassed by all the effervescence of the spring,—its myriads of sights, sounds, and odors. The brooks and rivers rushed tunefully along, birds by the thousands were singing and calling, insects were buzzing, trees and plants of many sorts were pouring their fragrance over the whole valley; and above it all stood the sun, shedding down its glittering light. But these things failed to arouse in Lisbeth the feelings they usually awakened. They had, instead, the effect of a roar and a disturbance, of something inharmonious that caused her to quiver with discomfort. Involuntarily she drew nearer to Kjersti on the wagon seat. She felt a longing for one thing only,—silence. Thus they drove for a while along the sunlit valley road.