The bishop 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 were not 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.
"I wish," said Erica, with a sigh—"I do wish I knew what to think about Nipen."
"Ay! here it comes," observed M. Kollsen, folding his arms as if for an argument.
Encouraged by the bishop, Erica told the whole story of the last few months, from the night of Oddo's prank to that which found her at the feet of her friend; for she cast herself down at the bishop's feet, sitting as she had done in her childhood, looking up in his face.
"You want to know what I think of all this?" said the bishop, when she had done. "I think that you could hardly help believing as you have believed, amidst these strange circumstances, and with your mind full of the common accounts of Nipen. Yet I do not believe there is any such spirit as Nipen, or any demon in the forest, or on the mountain.
"This is one of the many tales belonging to the old religion of this country. And how did this old religion arise? Why, the people saw grand spectacles every day, and heard wonders whichever way they turned; and they supposed that the whole universe was alive. The sun as it travelled they thought was alive, and kind and good to men. The tempest they thought was alive, and angry with men. The fire and frost they thought were alive, pleased to make sport with them."
"As people who ought to know better," observed M. Kollsen, "now think the wind is alive, and call it Nipen; or the mist of the lake and river, which they call the sprite Uldra."
"It is true," said the bishop, "that we now have better knowledge, and see that the earth, and all that is in it, is made and moved by one Good Spirit, who, instead of sporting with men, or being angry with them, rules all things for their good. But I am not surprised that some of the old stories remain, and are believed in still, and by good and dutiful Christians too. The mother sings the old songs over the cradle, and the child hears tell of sprites and demons before it hears of the good God, who 'sends forth the snow and rain, the hail and vapour, and the stormy winds fulfilling His word.' And when the child is grown to be a man or woman, the northern lights shooting over the sky, and the sighing of the winds in the pine forest, bring back those old songs and old thoughts about demons and sprites, and the stoutest man trembles. I do not wonder, nor do I blame any man or woman for this, though I wish they were as happy as the weakest infant or the most worn-out old man, who has learned from the gentle Jesus to fear nothing at any time, because His Father was with Him."
Erica hid her face, ashamed under the good man's smile.