It occurred to us to go to church, but there was the uncertainty as to the time the services commenced, and whether there would be any service on that particular Sunday. In some districts service is only held on occasional Sundays, as we remember to have been the case in some parishes in Wales. The country churches are built of wood; we only met with one exception. No church bells in the valley sounded over the waters of the lake.
A large number of peasants congregated round us as we sat down on a rock; wherever we moved there they came. As we lounged about near our tents, and looked round at the peasants of all sizes and ages, females with children in their arms, young girls and ragged boys wandering after us through the rocky mazes of the broken ground, like a comet’s tail, but not quite so luminous, we resigned ourselves to our fate. The peasants seemed as interested as usual, and we conversed as well as we could with them. They are a friendly, kind people. One boy spoke English very fairly, though he had never been in England; there was an intelligence about him which pleased us. Several questions were propounded, one was whether we had grapes in England—if we had much fruit—whether we could fish free—what kind of winter we had in England—if we had been in France and Germany? The boy was much astonished when we told him we had not only been to France and Germany, but all round the world. The boy was told, if he would come to our camp in the evening, he should have an English book as a present.
Notwithstanding frequent solicitations that we would give them some music, we remained firm, and gave our reasons. They asked if we had any objection to a peasant playing. They were told to please themselves, so that it was not close to our tents. The peasant had a large, powerful, fine-toned accordion, and, if it had not been Sunday, we should have managed a pleasant concert.
Noah and Zachariah had leave of absence till three o’clock; they returned at half-past two o’clock. Having crossed the lake in a boat, they had been for a ramble on the “Kjölen Fjeldene.” A peasant boy had offered them the use of the boat if we stayed a day longer. Our dinner consisted of six fish and five eggs, fried in oil, with black bread and tea. Though our visitors were then reduced to about twenty-five persons, at three o’clock there were again fresh arrivals; one peasant woman brought the donkeys fresh grass. They hurried up in parties, perspiring in the warm sun, inquiring for “den asen.” Then they hastened as fast as they could over the rocks to where they were. Endless discussions were held over them; our poor donkeys must have been much astonished at their sudden importance.
CHAPTER XIX.
SERENADE.
Thy gipsy-eye, bright as the star
That sends its light from heaven afar,
Will, with the strains of thy guitar,
This heart with rapture fill.
Then, maiden fair, beneath this star,
Come, touch with me the light guitar.
Thy brow, unmarked by lines of care,
Deck’d with locks of raven hair,
Seems ever beautiful and fair
At moonlight’s stilly hour.
What bliss! beside the leafy maze,
Illumined by the moon’s pale rays,
On thy sweet face to sit and gaze,
Thou wild, uncultured flower.
Then, maiden fair, beneath this star,
Come, touch with me the light guitar.
ESMERALDA AT THE LAKE—OUR CADEAU—THE VISITORS—DISAPPOINTMENT—AN ADONIS—THE SILENT VISIT—THE OLD MILL—A NORWEGIAN FOX—THE PURU RAWNEE’S FALL—THE FOREST SCENE—ZACHARIAH’S TORMENT—UNDER DISCIPLINE—MUSIC IN THE FOREST—DISTANT ADMIRERS—THE ENGLISH HUNTER’S GIFT—OUR GIPSIES FISHING—THE MILITIA CAMP—SILENT VISITOR—ORNAMENTAL FLADBRÖD—A FOREST CONCERT.
Some of the peasants, especially women, were most anxious to explore the hidden recesses of our tents, but this could not be permitted. Our gipsies were very well conducted, and quiet in their demeanour, as befitted the day.