Among these broken pieces of mountain it was extremely easy for the traveller to lose his way; there was not the vestige of a path, that is to say, a path leading to any place to which he could possibly want to go. The grass was particularly good and sweet there, and sheep and cows are intensely conservative in their idiosyncracy; so stoutly had they kept up the principle of stare super antiquas vias, that the appearance was as if the whole region was thickly inhabited and intersected with foot-paths in every direction, while every animal that helps to make them rings its own individual bell, and carries its own individual brand, but pastures in uncontrolled liberty. A cow is a very good guide to a lost man, for, if he has patience to wait till evening, she is sure to feed her way to the sœter to be milked; but woe to the man who puts his trust in bullocks or in sheep; they feed at ease, and roam at pleasure, till the frosts and snows of approaching winter bring them home to the fold, the stall, and the salting-tub.
Much of the shrubbery appearance of the scene is produced by the numerous plants of the vaccinium tribe, the bright glossy leaves of which look like myrtle; and the blue aconite, and the gentian, and the lily of the valley, flowers which we seldom meet with in England, absolutely wild, and the familiar leaves of the raspberry, and black currant, suggest ideas of home, while the turf on which the traveller treads, looks as if it had been mown by the gardener that very morning.
The course, though varied by quite as many ups and downs as there were ins and outs, was, upon the whole, continually ascending; and, as the higher regions were attained, and the facilities of transport diminished, the tall stately fir began to assert its natural supremacy among the northern sylva. Still, however, there was enough of birch, and even of the softer woods, to diversify the foliage, and preserve the park-like aspect. Heather, of which the Parson had anticipated making his couch, there was none; but, on the other hand, there was no furze to irritate the shins, or brambles to tear the clothes. The latter does grow in Norway, and is much more prized for its fruit than either raspberry or strawberry, but the former cannot stand the winters. Linnæus is said to have sat for hours in delighted contemplation of an English field of furze in full bloom, and the plant is generally seen in Swedish conservatories to this day, or set out in pots as oranges and myrtles are with us.
The mid-day sun had scattered the clouds of the morning, as, in truth, it very generally does on a Norway summer day, and, shining down in patches of brilliant light through the openings, added to the beauty of the scene, and diminished in an equal proportion all regrets at leaving the Torjedahl behind; for it was quite evident that, except in the Hell Fall, or the pools, little or nothing could be done on so bright a day, had the baulks been entirely out of the question.
It was an hour or two past noon when they arrived at the ridge which divides the valley of the Torjedahl from that of the Aalfjer—not that ridge is the proper expression, for the ground had, for some miles, become so nearly level that, were it not for a little rill, whose line of rushes had been for some time their guide, they would not have known whether they were ascending or descending. The country still preserved its character of beauty, but its features had gradually become more tame, so that the inequalities which, in the beginning of their journey had looked like fragments of mountains, were now rounded and regular, like so many gigantic mole-hills.
Between two of these, the turf of which was green and unbroken to the summit, and shorter and more velvety, if that were possible, than any they had passed over, was the source of the rill, a black, boggy, rushy, uninviting bit of ground, but covered with myrica bushes, which diffused through the still air their peculiarly aromatic and refreshing scent; in the centre of this was a deep still hole—it could be called nothing else—it certainly was not a spring head, for there was not a bubble of springing water; it was perfectly still and motionless, and looked absolutely black in its clearness.
It was a welcome halt to all, for the sun was hot and the way was long. The well-head was a noted haunt of the dwarfs or Trolls, indeed it was said to penetrate to the centre of the earth, and to be the passage through which they emerged to upper air.
This was the reason why, though everything around was scorching and dropping in the withering heat, and though the unshaded sun fell full upon the unprotected surface, the water was at all times very cold, and yet in the hardest winter no ice ever formed upon it—its cold was that of the well of Urdar which waters the roots of Yggdrassil, the tree of life; no frost can bind these waters, neither can they be polluted with leaves or sticks, for a dwarf sits continually on guard there, to keep open the passage for his brethren.
“Well,” said Birger, “I can readily believe that these are the waters of life, I never met with anything so refreshing, it beats all the brandy in the universe.”
Jacob put in no protest to this heresy, but expressed a practical dissent by applying his mouth to a private bottle and passing it to Tom.