“One of the Ofwer Jagmästerer, the officers, that is, whose business it is to call out the peasantry to keep down the wild beasts; he is very good authority on such matters, and I vote we accept your friend Moodie’s invitation, it is much the best chance we have of seeing sport.”
The Captain looked a little puzzled; he was anxious enough to go, but the invitation had been to him and the Parson, and of course had not included Birger, whose existence was necessarily unknown to Moodie; in fact, the Captain had not thought of that difficulty. Birger, who had spent a good part of his leave in England, where he had some friends, burst out laughing.
“Ah, that is just your English way, you think you cannot take me, because your friend has not sent me a written invitation in due form—that is not the way we go on here; my friend’s friend is my friend, and if your countryman has not learnt that in the four years during which, Bjornstjerna tells me, he has been living in the country, it is high time he should learn. When does he drive his flocks and herds to Gotheborg?”
“Why, if we would meet him, we must start directly, for he comes next week.”
“Well, why not start directly? come Parson! one river is as good as another.”
“Scarcely that,” said the Parson, laughing; “but I do want to see how Moodie carries on the war in your barbarous country; so let us go—Tom,” raising his voice so as to be heard from below, “when does the next steamer sail for Valö?”
“The day after to-morrow, at day-break,” said Tom, whose head was a perfect register of naval events.
“That will never do,” said the Parson, who contemplated a farewell visit to the Torjedahl salmon.
“Not do!” said Birger, “why it is the very thing. Strike the tents to-morrow, early,—down the river without stopping at Christiansand Bridge,—run alongside the steamer, take our berths,—stow our goods,—and then we shall have half the day to land and visit our stores at Ullitz’s, kiss Marie, and make what changes we want in the baggage department. I must take my uniform for Gotheborg; we are not ashamed of our uniform in our country,” he added, significantly nodding at the Captain, who, like most English soldiers, was rather addicted to mufti; “and you too will want more baggage, now that you are going into a civilized country.”
“Do not let Torkel hear you say that. He considers Christiansand the emporium of fashion and the centre of civilization. By-the-bye, what are we to do with our men? I will not leave Torkel behind,—I have quite an affection for the fellow.”