At a comparatively early hour, Torkel and his wife took their leave, as they had that evening to reach Lönvik, a pretty little farm in the interior, on the banks of a small lake of the same name, which Torkel’s father had given up to him on his marriage. But this by no means put a stop to the festivities, which were carried on to a late hour in the night, and at which, Sunday though it was, Nordlingen himself presided. Sunday in Norway begins at six o’clock on Saturday night, when invariably preparations are commenced for the next day, in the way of looking up Sunday clothes, and brushing up or washing out the house,—sometimes, in religious families, by special prayer, though that is not very common,—sometimes even by washing their own persons, though this, it must be confessed, is rarer still,—for all of them have a very great horror of the personal application of soap and water. Sunday, therefore, even as a day of worship, legitimately ceases at the same hour on the following day, and, as Nordlingen himself remarked,—what was a more fitting time for enjoyment than just after they had been admitted to their Lord’s presence, and had had their sins forgiven them. It was surely much more congruous than the English way of “making a Saturday night of it,” with all their sins yet upon their shoulders.
If, however, there was dancing, there was no visible drunkenness; the Pfarrherr was a man of sufficient influence to make a stand against the national vice, and if any of the guests did feel a little the worse for liquor, he quietly took himself, or was taken by his friends, beyond the glare of the great bonfire, where no one could see him,—for Nordlingen was wise enough not to look too closely into what was not intended for his inspection.
It was this idea, or perhaps the recollection that the Haabet was to sail the next day, that induced him to close his eyes to the fact that that innocent little Lilla had danced with no one but the Captain the whole evening, on the plea that no girl of the party, except herself, was able to talk to him in English. Whatever it was that they had to say to one another, there was a good deal of it, and it took a good while saying, and as Birger, who was outrageously jealous remarked spitefully,—“they, as well as the drunkards, preferred evidently the light of the moon to that of the great wedding bonfire,” and thinking, probably, how he would make up for lost time after the Haabet had tripped her anchor, whistled pensively the Swedish song—
“Hence on the shallows our little boat leaving,
On to the Haaf where the green waves are heaving,
Causing to Thyrsis so much dismay.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
And, now, my good friends, I’ve a fine opportunity
To obfuscate you all by sea terms with impunity.