At this moment a carriage drawn by two horses hove in sight. It was an English traveling party—an old gentleman and two ladies, evidently his wife and daughter. As they drew near they seemed to be a little perplexed at the singular equipage before them—a small horse, nearly dead and lathered all over with foam; a cariole bespattered with mud; a dashing fine girl behind, with flaunting hair, a short petticoat, and a flaming pair of red stockings; myself in the body of the cariole, covered from head to foot with mire, my beard flying out in every direction, and my hair still standing on end from the effects of recent fright—a very singular spectacle to meet in the middle of a public highway, even in Norway. The road was very narrow at the point of meeting. It became necessary for one of the vehicles to pull up the side of the hill a little in order to allow room for the other to pass. Being the lighter party as well as under obligations of gallantry, I at once gave way. While endeavoring to make a passage, the old gentleman gruffly observed to the public generally,
“What an excessively bad road!”
“Very!” said I.
“Beastly!” growled the Englishman.
“Abominable!” said I.
“Oh, you are an Englishman?” said the elderly lady.
“No, madam—an American,” I answered, with great suavity.
“Oh, an American!” said the young lady, taking out her note-book; “dear me, how very interesting!”
“From California,” I added, with a smile of pride.
“How very interesting!” exclaimed the young lady.