Chapter Eleven.
Dairy-maids’ talk.
It may be supposed that Erlingsen was anxious to be at home, when he had heard Erica’s story. He was not to be detained by any promise of berries and cream for supper. He put away the thought even of his hay, yet unfinished on the upland, and would not hear nothing that Frolich had to say of his fatigue at the end of a long working day. He took some provision with him, drank off a glass of corn-brandy, kissed Frolich, promised to send news, and, if possible, more helping hands, and set off, at a good pace, down the mountain.
The party he left behind was a dull one. When Jan came in to supper he became angry that he was left to get in the hay alone; even Stiorna could not help him to-morrow, for the cheese-making had already been put off too long while waiting for Erica’s arrival, and it must now be delayed no longer. It was true some one was to be sent from below, but such an one could not arrive before the next evening, and Jan would meanwhile have a long day alone, instead of having, as hitherto, his master for a comrade. Stiorna, for her part, was offended at the wish, openly expressed by all, that Hund might not be the person sent; she was sure he was the only proper person, but she saw that he would meet with no welcome, except from her.
Scarcely a word was spoken till Erica and Frolich were about their cheese-making the next morning. Erica had rather have kept the cattle, but Frolich so earnestly begged that she would let Stiorna do that, as she could not destroy the cattle in her ill-humour, while she might easily spoil the cheese, that Erica put away her knitting, tied on her apron, tucked up her sleeves, and prepared for the great work.
“There! let her go!” cried Frolich, looking after Stiorna, as she walked away slowly, trailing her lure after her. “She may knit all her ill-humour into her stocking, if she likes, as Hund is to wear it, and that is better than putting it into our cheese. Erica,” said the kind-hearted girl. “You are worth a hundred of her. What has she to disturb her, in comparison with you?—and yet you do just what I ask you, and work at our business as if nothing was the matter. If you chose to cry all day on the two graves down there at home, nobody could think it unreasonable.”
Erica was washing the bowls and cheese-moulds in juniper-water at this moment; and her tears streamed down upon them at Frolich’s kind words.
“We had better not talk about such things, dear,” said she, as soon as she could speak.
“Nay, now, I think it is the best thing we can do, Erica. Here, pour me this cream into the pan over the fire, and I will stir, while you strain some more whey. My back is towards you, and I cannot see you; and you can cry as you like, while I tell you all I think.”