A good level mile or two, where they could all sit in the carriage, was passed over at a gentle jog-trot. It was sultry with a slightly moist fragrance from the hay-cocks, and a slight impression of twilight over the land—Great-Ola yawned, the captain yawned, the horses yawned, Jörgen nodded, Thea slept, wrapped up under Ma's shawl. Now and then they were roused by the rushing of a mountain brook, as it flowed foaming under a bridge in the road.
Inger-Johanna sat dreaming, and at last saw a yellowish brown toad before her, with small, curious eyes and a great mouth—and then it rose up, so puffed up and ungainly, and hopped down towards her.
The horses stopped.
"Oh, I believe I was dreaming about the sheriff!" said Inger-Johanna, as she woke up shivering.
"We must get out here," came sleepily from the captain, "on the Rognerud hills; Ma can stay in with Thea."
The day was beginning to dawn. They saw the sun bathe the mountain tops in gold and the light creep down the slopes. The sun lay as it were still, and peeped at them first, till it at once bounded over the crest in the east like a golden ball, and colored red the wooded mountain sides and hills on the west side, clear down to the greensward shining with dew.
Still they toiled, foot by foot, up the hills.
On the Gilje lands the people had already been a long time at work spreading out the hay, when they saw them coming.
"It is good to be home again," declared Ma. "I wonder if Marit has remembered to hang the trout in the smoke."
Marit came rushing out of the door of the porch: "There was a fine city traveller came this way last night! He who was here two years ago, and had his shoes mended. I did not know anything better than to let him sleep in the blue chamber."