"Why, there is such a procession of boats on the fiord that you would suppose there were three weddings happening at once."
"What can we do?" exclaimed Frolich, dolefully looking at the cream, which had reached such a point that the stirring could not cease for a minute without risk of spoiling the cheese.
Erica took the long wooden spoon from Frolich's hand, and bade her run and see where the bishop (for no doubt it was the bishop) was going to land. The cream should not spoil while she was absent.
Frolich bounded away over the grass, declaring that if it was the bishop going to her father's, she could not possibly stay on the mountain for all the cheeses in Nordland. Erica remained alone, patiently stirring the cream, and hardly heeding the heat of the fire, while planning how the bishop would be told her story, and how he would examine Hund, and perhaps be able to give some news of the pirates, and certainly be ready with his advice. Some degree of hope arose within her as she thought of the esteem in which all Norway held the wisdom and kindness of the Bishop of Tronyem, and then again she felt it hard to be absent during the visit of the only person to whom she looked for comfort.
Frolich returned after a long while to defer her hopes a little. The boats had all drawn to shore on the northern side of the fiord, where, no doubt, the bishop had a visit to pay before proceeding to Erlingsen's. The cheese-making might yet be done in time, even if Frolich should be sent for from home to see and be seen by the good bishop.
The day after Erica's departure to the dairy, Peder was sitting alone in his house weaving a frail basket. He sighed to think how empty and silent the house appeared. Erica's light, active step was gone. Rolf's hearty laugh was silent, perhaps for ever. Oddo was an inmate still, but Oddo was much altered of late; and who could wonder?
From the hour of Hund's return, the boy had hardly been heard to speak. All these thoughts were too melancholy for old Peder; and, to break the silence, he began to sing as he wove his basket.
He had nearly got through a ballad of a hundred and five stanzas when he heard a footstep on the floor.
"Oddo, my boy," said he, "surely you are in early. Can it be dinner-time yet?"
"No, not this hour," replied Oddo in a low voice, which sank to a whisper as he said, "I have left Hund laying the troughs to water the meadow;[[4]] and if he misses me I don't care. I could not stay; I could not help coming; and if he kills me for telling you, he may, for tell you I must."