Note 1. Ants abound in Norway, both in the forests and on the mountains. Some, of a large kind, are boiled for the sake of the (formic) acid they contain; and the water when strained is used for vinegar. It is as good as weak vinegar.
Note 2. Tydder and roer are the cock and hen of the wild bird called in Scotland the capercailzie. The ryper is the ptarmigan. The jerper is of the grouse species.—Lloyd’s “Field Sports of the North of Europe.”
Chapter Sixteen.
Old Tales and Better Tidings.
When the bishop came forth in the afternoon to take his seat in the shade of the wood, those who were there assembled were singing “For Norgé.” Instead of permitting them to stop, on account of his arrival, he joined in the song, and solely because his heart was in it. Seldom had he witnessed such a scene as this; and as he looked around him, and saw deep shades and sunny uplands, blue glaciers above, green pastures and glittering waters below, and all around herds on every hill-side, he felt his love of old Norway, and his thankfulness for being one of her sons, as warm as that of any one of the singers in the wood. Out of the fulness of his heart, the good bishop addressed his companions on the goodness of God in creating such a land, and placing them in it, with their happiness so far in their own hands as that little worthy of being called evil could befall them, except through faults of their own. M. Kollsen, who had before uttered his complaints of the superstition of his flock, hoped that his bishop was now about to attack the mischief vigorously.
The bishop, however, only took his seat,—the mossy seat prepared for him,—and declared himself to be now at the service of any who wished to consult or converse with him. Instead of thrusting his own opinions and reproofs upon them, as it was M. Kollsen’s wont to do, he waited for the people to open their minds to him in their own way, and by this means, whatever he found occasion to say had double influence from coming naturally. The words dropped by him that day to the anxious mother awaiting the confirmation of her child,—to the young person preparing for that important event,—to the bereaved,—to the penitent,—to the thoughtless,—and to those who wondered why God had given them so many rich blessings—what the good bishop said to all these was so fit and so welcome, that not a word was forgotten through long years after, and he was quoted half a century after he had been in his grave, as old Ulla had quoted the good bishop of Tronyem of her day.
In a few hours many of the people were gone for the present,—some being wanted at home, and others for the expected affair on the fiord. The bishop and M. Kollsen had thought themselves alone in their shady retreat when they saw Erica lingering near among the trees. With a kind smile, the bishop beckoned to her, and bade her sit down, and tell him whether he had not been right in promising, a while ago, that God would soothe her sorrows with time, as is the plan of his kind providence. He remembered well the story of the death of her mother. Erica replied that not only had her grief been soothed, but that she was now so blessed that her heart was burdened with its gratitude. She wished,—she needed to pour out all that she felt; but M. Kollsen was there, and she could not speak quite freely before him. He, for his part, observed that, if she was now so happy, she must have given up some of her superstitions, for certainly he had never known any one less likely to enjoy peace than Erica, on all occasions on which he had seen her,—so great was her dread of evil spirits on every hand.
“I wish,” said Erica, with a sigh,—“I do wish I knew what to think about Nipen.”