“Ours,” said Frolich, coolly. “This is the cheese you laid out on the ridge last night.”
“I believe it. I see it,” exclaimed Erica.
“Now, dear Erica, do not let us have the old story of your being frightened about what the demon will say and do. Nobody but you will be surprised that the Lapps help themselves with good things that lie strewing the ground. You know I gave you a hint, just twelve hours since, of what would become of this same cheese.”
“You did,” admitted Erica. To Frolich’s delight and surprise, she appeared too busy,—or was rather, perhaps, too happy—to lament this mischance, as she would formerly have done. Possibly she comforted herself with thinking, that if the demon had set its heart upon the cheese, it might have been beforehand with the Lapps. She contented herself with setting apart the dish till her mistress should decide what ought to be done with it. Just when a youth from the highest pasture on Sulitelma had come, running and panting, to present Frolich with a handful of fringed pinks and blue gentian, plucked from the very edge of the glacier, so that their colours were reflected in the ice, Stiorna appeared, in haste, to tell that a party, on horseback and on foot, were winding out of the ravine, and coming straight up over the pasture.—All was now certainty; and great was the bustle, to put out of sight all unseemly tokens of preparation. In the midst of the hurry, Frolich found time to twist some of her pretty flowers into her pretty hair; so that it might easily chance that the bishop would not miss her silk gown.—When, however, were unfashionable mothers known to forget the interests of their daughters? Madame Erlingsen never did! and she now engaged one of the bishop’s followers to ride forward with a certain bundle which Orga had carried on her lap. The man discharged his errand so readily that, on the arrival of the train, Frolich was seen so dressed, walking “in silk attire,” as to appear to all eyes as the daughter of the hostess.
The bishop’s reputation preceded him, as is usual in such cases.
“Where is he now?”
“How far off is he?”
“Why does he not come?” asked one and another of the expectant people, of those who first appeared before the seater.
“He is at the tents, speaking to the Lapps.”
“Speaking to the Lapps! Impossible! What Lapp would ever dream of being spoken to by a bishop of Tronyem?”