Part 18 (1/2)
She colored and looked down again; but she made no reply.
The priest, who had stood still, waiting, said finally, but this time in quite a low tone ”What if we should arrange it so that they should meet oftener at the parsonage?”
She glanced up at the priest to find out whether he was really in earnest. But she did not quite dare believe him.
The priest had begun to walk up and down again, but now he paused. ”See here, Margit! When it comes to the point, perhaps this was your whole errand here to-day, hey?”
She bowed her head far down, she thrust two fingers into the folded handkerchief, and brought out a corner of it. ”Well, yes, G.o.d help me; that was exactly what I wanted.”
The priest burst out laughing, and rubbed his hands. ”Perhaps that was what you wanted the last time you were here, too?”
She drew the corner of the handkerchief farther out; she stretched it and stretched it. ”Since you ask me, yes, it was just that.”
”Ha, ha, ha, ha! Ah, Margit! Margit! We shall see what we can do; for, to tell the truth, my wife and daughter have for a long time had the same thoughts as you.”
”Is it possible?” She looked up, at once so happy and so bashful, that the priest had his own delight in her open, pretty face, in which the childlike expression had been preserved through all sorrow and anxiety.
”Ah, well, Margit, you, whose love is so great, will, I have no doubt, obtain forgiveness, for love's sake, both from your G.o.d and from your son, for the wrong you have done. You have probably been punished enough already in the continual, wearing anxiety you have lived in; we shall, if G.o.d is willing, bring this to a speedy end, for, if He _wishes_ this, He will help us a little now.”
She drew a long sigh, which she repeated again and again; then she arose, gave her thanks, dropped a courtesy, and courtesied again at the door. But she was scarcely well outside before a change came over her.
She cast upward a look beaming with grat.i.tude, and she hurried more and more the farther she got away from people, and lightly as she tripped down toward Kampen that day, she had not done for many, many years. When she got so far on her way that she could see the thick smoke curling gayly up from the chimney, she blessed the house, the whole gard, the priest, and Arne,--and then remembered that they were going to have smoked beef for dinner,--her favorite dis.h.!.+
CHAPTER XIV.
Kampen was a beautiful gard. It lay in the midst of a plain, bordered below by the Kamp gorge, and above by the parish road; on the opposite side of the road was a thick wood, a little farther beyond, a rising mountain ridge, and behind this the blue, snow-capped mountains. On the other side of the gorge there was also a broad mountain range, which first entirely surrounded Black Water on the side where Boen lay, then grew higher toward Kampen, but at the same time turned aside to make way for the broad basin called the lower parish, and which began just below, for Kampen was the last gard in the upper parish.
The front door of the dwelling-house was turned toward the road; it was probably about two thousand paces off; a path with leafy birch-trees on either side led thither. The wood lay on both sides of the clearing; the fields and meadows could, therefore, extend as far as the owners themselves wished; it was in all respects a most excellent gard. A little garden lay in front of the house. Arne managed it as his books directed. To the left were the stables and other out-houses. They were nearly all new built, and formed a square opposite the dwelling-house.
The latter was painted red, with white window-frames and doors, was two stories high, thatched with turf, and small shrubs grew on the roof; the one gable had a vane staff, on which turned an iron c.o.c.k, with high, spread tail.
Spring had come to the mountain districts. It was a Sunday morning; there was a little heaviness in the air, but it was calm and without frost; mist hung over the wood, but Margit thought it would lift during the day. Arne had read the sermon for his mother and sung the hymns, which had done him good; now he was in full trim, ready to go up to the parsonage. He opened the door, the fresh perfume of the leaves was wafted toward him, the garden lay dew-covered and bowed by the morning mist, and from the Kamp gorge there came a roaring, mingled at intervals with mighty booms, making everything tremble to the ear and the eye.
Arne walked upward. The farther he got from the force the less awe-inspiring became its roar, which finally spread itself like the deep tones of an organ over the whole landscape.
”The Lord be with him on his way!” said the mother, opening the window and looking after him until the shrubbery closed about him. The fog lifted more and more, the sun cut through it; there was life now about the fields and in the garden; all Arne's work sprouted out in fresh growth, sending fragrance and joy up to the mother. Spring is lovely to those who long have been surrounded by winter.
Arne had no fixed errand at the parsonage, but still he wanted to learn about the papers he and the priest took together. Recently he had seen the names of several Nors.e.m.e.n who had done remarkably well digging gold in America, and among them was Kristian. Now Arne had heard a rumor that Kristian was expected home. He could, no doubt, get information about this at the parsonage,--and if Kristian had really returned, then Arne would go to him in the interval between spring and haying time. This was working in his mind until he had advanced so far that he could see Black Water, and Boen on the other side. The fog had lifted there, too; the sun was playing on the green, the mountain loomed up with s.h.i.+ning peak, but the fog was still lying in its lap; the wood darkened the water on the right side, but in front of the house the ground was more flat, and its white sand glittered in the suns.h.i.+ne. Suddenly his thoughts sped to the red-painted building with white doors and window-frames, that he had had in mind when he painted his own. He did not remember those first gloomy days he had pa.s.sed there; he only thought of that bright summer they had both seen, he and Eli, up beside her sick-bed. Since then he had not been to Boen, nor would he go there, not for the whole world. If only his thoughts barely touched on it, he grew crimson and abashed; and yet this happened again every day, and many times a day. If there was anything which could drive him out of the parish, it was just this!
Onward he went, as though he would flee from his thoughts, but the farther he walked the nearer opposite Boen he came, and the more he gazed upon it. The fog was entirely gone, the sky clear from one mountain outline to the other, the birds sailed along and called aloud to one another in the glad sunny air, the fields responded with millions of flowers; the Kamp force did not here compel gladness to bow the knee in submission and awe, but buoyant and frolicsome it tumbled over, singing, twinkling, rejoicing without end!
Arne had walked till he was in a glowing heat; he flung himself down in the gra.s.s at the foot of a hill, looked over towards Boen, then turned away to avoid seeing it. Presently he heard singing above him, pure and clear, as song had never sounded to him before; it floated out over the meadow, mingled with the chattering of the birds, and he was scarcely sure of the tune before he recognized the words too,--for the tune was his favorite one, and the words were those that had been working in his mind from the time he was a boy, and forgotten the same day he had brought them forth! He sprang up as though he would catch them, then paused and listened; here came the first stanza, here came the second, here came the third and the fourth of his own forgotten song streaming down to him:--
”Oh, how I wonder what I should see Over the lofty mountains!
Snow here shuts out the view from me, Round about stands the green pine-tree, Longing to hasten over-- Dare it become a rover?
”Soars the eagle with strong wing play, Over the lofty mountains; Rows through the young and vigorous day Sating his courage in quest of prey; When he will swooping downward, Tow'rd far-off lands gazing onward.
”Leaf-heavy apple, wilt thou not go Over the lofty mountains?
Forth putting buds 'mid summer's glow, Thou wilt till next time wait, I know; All of these birds art swinging, Knowing not what they're singing.
”He who for twenty years longed to flee Over the lofty mountains, Nor beyond them can hope to see, Smaller each year feels himself to be; Hears what the birds are singing, Thou art with confidence swinging.