Laura, who to-day was wearing her first light silk dress, grew suddenly red when she noticed a beardless youth standing in the passage and looking at her. It was the bailiff’s son, who had just taken his degree in forestry. “I wonder if he will take me in to dinner!” she thought, her heart beginning to beat.
The only person who lived in the town-hall building was the midwife of the district, who had two rooms in one wing. There the pastor’s wife was now busy, at the head of a flock of maids, serving the dinner. She was both angry and in despair, because the Railway Hotel, which was providing the dinner, had forgotten to send gravy with the joint, and now a servant came and said that Norby had come, and that people were sitting down to table.
“Who’s asked them to sit down to table?” cried the pastor’s wife. “A nice dinner-committee they are!” And she rushed to the telephone and rang up violently. “Hullo! Are you never going to let us have that gravy?”
[CHAPTER IX]
WHEN Norby entered the hall, the first thing he noticed was that Herlufsen was not among the guests; but all the other magnates were there, and there was a general greeting when he appeared.
It was a large, airy hall, and the setting sun shone through the long windows that looked out upon the fjord, and formed three broad bands of light across the floor, upon which the festively attired guests moved, either through the dark or through the gold. There was a hum of conversation, and there was a continual cracking of whips outside, where fresh carriages were driving up to the steps, or off towards the roads.
Among the dress-coated farmers, who cautiously kept close to the walls, while they glanced at the long table decorated with flowers, strutted the owner of the saw-mills, a stout man, with a gold chain dangling upon his expansive waistcoat. He laughed loudly, and his red face shone; for when he had heard that there was nothing to be got here but home-made wine, he had indulged a little before he left home. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “I don’t think you’re in a properly festive mood yet.”
The magistrate, a stout man with silvery hair and beard, took Norby by the arm and pointed out the walls. They were decorated with flags and garlands of leaves; and here and there, in place of arms, were old, artistic, domestic articles, such as painted and carved harness and saddles, wooden spoons and bowls with flowers painted on them. Fru Thora had lent the rudiments of her country museum.
“Look here!” said the magistrate, with a pleasant little laugh. “Isn’t that pretty? There’s Norwegian nature in the greenery, freedom in the flags, and our northern culture in all the rest. The combination forms a beautiful harmony.”