BOOK II: FOUNDING THE KINGDOM

ON THE BORDER OF UTTER DARKNESS 249

THE POWER OF EVIL IN HIGH PLACES 295

THE GLORY OF THE LORD 354

THE GREAT PLAIN DRINKS THE BLOOD OF CHRISTIAN 424 MEN AND IS SATISFIED

FOREWORD

In offering this novel to the English-reading public, I feel the need of an explanation. Book I of _Giants In The Earth_ was published in Norway (Aschehoug & Co.) as a separate volume, in October, 1924; Book II, one year later.

I am aware of the slight similarity existing between Johan Bojer’s _The Emigrants_ and certain portions of the First Book of my novel; and lest the reader should consider me guilty of having plagiarized him, I find it necessary to offer the information that _The Land-Taking_ was in the hands of the Norwegian book dealers a little better than one month before Bojer’s book appeared. In a letter to me, dated January 11, 1925, Mr. Bojer writes: “It certainly was fortunate for me that I got my book finished when I did. Had it appeared much later, I should have been accused of having plagiarized you.”

The work of translating this novel has been a difficult task. The idiom of the characters offered serious problems. These settlers came from Nordland, Norway; and though the novel is written in the literary language of Norway, the speech of the characters themselves naturally had to be strongly colored by their native dialect; otherwise their utterances would have sounded stilted and untrue. To get these people to reveal clearly and effectively their psychology in English speech seemed at times impossible; for the idioms of a dialect are well-nigh untranslatable. A liberal use of footnotes was unavoidable.

If the old saying, that many cooks spoil the broth, is true, then surely the English text cannot be of much account; for many have worked at it. The following friends have helped with the translation: Mr. Ansten Anstensen, Columbia University; Miss Ruth Lima, Concordia College, Moorhead, Minnesota; Dr. Nils Flaten, Miss Nora Solum, Prof. Olav Lee, Miss Esther Gulbrandsen—all four of whom are fellow teachers in St. Olaf College; and Atty. John Heitmann, Duluth, Minnesota. I feel also greatly indebted to Dr. and Mrs. Clarence Berdahl, University of Illinois, for their many valuable suggestions and corrections. What I asked of these friends was a literal translation. They complied so willingly and so cheerfully. I take this opportunity to thank them all!

But most of all do I owe gratitude to my friend Lincoln Colcord, Minneapolis, Minnesota, who unified and literally rewrote the English text. As I got the translation from the others, I would wrestle with it for a while, and then send it on to him. When he had finished a division he and I would come together to work it over, he reading the manuscript aloud, I checking with the text of the original. How intensely we struggled with words and sentences! It would happen frequently that several pages had to be rewritten. But he never tired. His has been a real _labor amoris_. Were it not for his constant encouragement and for his inimitable willingness to help, this novel would most likely never have seen the light of day in an English translation.

O. E. Rölvaag.

St. Olaf College, Northfield, Minnesota, _July 15, 1927._

INTRODUCTION

I

It is a unique experience, all things considered, to have this novel by O. E. Rölvaag, so palpably European in its art and atmosphere, so distinctly American in everything it deals with. Translations from European authors have always been received with serious consideration in the United States; in Rölvaag we have a European author of our own—one who writes in America, about America, whose only aim is to tell of the contributions of his people to American life; and who yet must be translated for us out of a foreign tongue. I think I am right in stating that this is the first instance of the kind in the history of American letters.

There are certain points of technique and construction which show at a glance that the author of this book is not a native American. Rölvaag is primarily interested in psychology, in the unfolding of character; the native American writer is primarily interested in plot and incident. Rölvaag is preoccupied with the human cost of empire building, rather than with its glamour and romance. His chief character, Beret, is a failure in terms of pioneer life; he aims to reveal a deeper side of the problem, by showing the distress of one who could not take root in new soil. Beret’s homesickness is the dominant _motif_ of the tale. Even Per Hansa, the natural-born pioneer, must give his life before the spirit of the prairie is appeased. This treatment reflects something of the gloomy fatalism of the Norse mind; but it also runs close to the grim reality of pioneering, a place the bravest art would want to occupy. _Giants In The Earth_ never turns aside from the march of its sustained and inevitable tragedy. The story is told almost baldly at times, but with an unerring choice of simple human detail. When we lay it down we have gained a new insight into the founding of America.

II

Ole Edvart Rölvaag was born April 22, 1876, in a small settlement on the island of Dönna, in the district of Helgeland, just south of where the Arctic Circle cuts the coast of Norway. The place is far up in the Nordland. Strictly speaking, the settlement has no name; the cove where it lies is called _Rölvaag_ on the map, but it is merely an outskirt of one of the voting precincts on the island. Rölvaag, it will be seen, took his place name after coming to America; he has explained this practice in a footnote in the present work. His father’s Christian name was Peder, and in Norway he would have been Pedersen; his own sons, in turn, would have been Olsen. The name is pronounced with umlauted _ö_ rolled a little, as in _world_; the last syllable, _aag_, is like the first syllable in _auger_.

All the people in this settlement were fishermen. In summer they fished in small open boats, coming home every night; in winter they went in larger boats, carrying crews of from four to six men, to the historic fishing grounds off the Lofoten Islands, where the Maelstrom runs and the coast stretches away to North Cape and beyond. It was a life full of hardship and danger, with sorrow and poverty standing close at hand. The midnight sun shone on them for a season; during the winter they had the long darkness. The island of Dönna is a barren rock covered with gorse and heather—hardly a tree in sight. It looks like a bit of the coast of Labrador. An opening between low ledges of granite marks the cove named _Rölvaag_; at the head of the cove the houses of the settlement stand out stark and unprotected against the sky line. Behind them loom the iron mountains of the coast. A gloomy, desolate scene—a perilous stronghold on the fringe of the Arctic night. There Rölvaag’s forebears had lived, going out to the fisheries, since time immemorial.

His father, who is still alive, is the image of a New England sea captain. The family must have been a remarkable one. An uncle, his father’s brother, had broken away from the fishing life and made himself a teacher of prominence in a neighbouring locality. An older brother had the mind of a scholar; but something happened—he went on with the fishing, and died long ago. There was a brilliant sister, also, who died young. These two evidently overshadowed Rölvaag while he was growing up; his case as a child seemed hopeless—he could not learn. Nevertheless, he had a little schooling, mostly of a semireligious nature. The school lay seven miles away, across the rocks and moors; that gave him a fourteen-mile walk for his daily education. He went to school nine weeks a year, for seven years. This ended at the age of fourteen, when his father finally told him that he was not worth educating. That was all the schooling he had in Norway.

Once during the period of childhood he was walking in the dusk with his mother; they had been gathering kelp on the rocks which they boiled and fed to the cattle; and now they were on their way home. His mother took him by the hand and asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. “I want to be a poet,” he told her. This was the only time he ever revealed himself to a member of his family. He remembers the quiet chuckle with which his mother received the news; she did not take him to task, nor try to show him how absurd it was, but she couldn’t restrain a kindly chuckle as they went along the rock path together. That winter they had only potatoes and salt herring to eat, three times a day; his mother divided the potatoes carefully, for there were barely enough to go around.

In place of education was the reading—for this was a reading family. The precinct had a good library, furnished by the state. Rölvaag had learned to read after a long struggle, and his head was always in a book. The first novel he ever read was Cooper’s _The Last of the Mohicans_ in the Norwegian. All of Cooper’s novels followed, and the novels of Dickens and Captain Marryat and Bulwer-Lytton. Then came the works of Ingemann, the Danish historical novelist; the works of Zakarias Topelius, the great Swedish romanticist; the works of the German, Paul Heyse; and the complete works of their own great novelists, especially Björnson and Jonas Lie. For miscellaneous reading there were such things as the tales of Jules Verne and H. Rider Haggard and Alexandre Dumas, Carlyle’s _The French Revolution_, and Stanley’s _Across the Dark Continent_. Neither did they lack the usual assortment of dime novels and shilling-shockers, in paper covers. The list could be extended indefinitely; the parallel with the reading of the better-class American boy of a generation ago is little short of astonishing.

This reading, promiscuous but intensive, lasted through the period of his youth. Once it was rumoured that at a certain village, fourteen miles away, a copy of _Ivanhoe_ could be obtained; Rölvaag set out on foot to get it, and was gone two days on the journey. There is another incident, slight but deeply revealing, which shows the promise wrapped up in the husk of boyhood. In a moment of exaltation he decided to write a novel of his own. He may have been eleven or twelve when this creative impulse seized him. All one afternoon he spent in his bedroom writing; with infinite labour he had completed as many as five pages of the novel. Then his elder brother, who shared the room with him, came in—the brilliant brother of whom he stood in awe. “What are you doing there?” asked the brother. “Nothing,” Rölvaag answered, hastily trying to conceal the fruits of his first literary effort. “Let me see it!”—the brother had quickly sensed what was going on. “I won’t!” And so the battle had started—a terrific struggle that nearly wrecked the room, in the course of which the five pages were torn to shreds. But the brother had not seen a word of them. Rölvaag never attempted literary composition again until he was completing his education in America, fifteen years afterward.

Awhile later we find him reading Cooper and Marryat aloud to the fishermen at Lofoten, during the winter lay-up; there was a splendid library at this remote station, too, maintained by the state for the use of the fishing fleet. By this time Rölvaag had become a fisherman himself, like everyone else in the community. He went on his first trip to the Lofoten fishing grounds at the age of fifteen. In all, he fished five years, until he had just passed twenty. Every year he was growing more discontented. In the winter of 1893 a terrible storm devastated the fishing fleet, taking tragic toll among his friends and fellow fishermen. The boat he sailed in escaped only by a miracle. This experience killed his first romantic love of the fishing life; he sat down then and wrote to an uncle in South Dakota, asking him for a ticket to the United States. Not that he felt any particular call to go to America; he only thought of getting away. He longed for the unknown and untried—for something secret and inexpressible. Vaguely, stubbornly, he wanted the chance to fulfil himself before he died. But the uncle, doubtless influenced by Rölvaag’s family reputation, refused to help him; and the fishing life went on.

Two more years passed, years of deepening revolt—when suddenly the uncle in South Dakota changed his mind. One day a ticket for America arrived. The way of escape was at hand.

Then a dramatic thing happened. All the fishermen went to the summer fair at the market town of Björn. At this fair, boats were exposed for sale, the finest fishing craft in all Norway. Rölvaag’s master sought him out and took him down among the boats. His admiration for this master was extravagant; he speaks of him to-day as a sea king, the greatest human being he has ever known. The man led him directly to the best boat hauled out on the beach. They stood admiring her. He led him aft, under her stern, where they could see her beautiful lines. He patted her side as he spoke. He said: “If you will send back the ticket to your uncle, I will buy this boat for you. You shall command her; and when she has paid for herself she shall be yours.”

The offer swept him off his feet. Never, he affirms, can he hope to attain in life again a sensation of such complete and triumphant success as came to him at that moment. A new boat, the backing of the man he admired and loved above all others, a place at the top of his profession at the age of twenty, a chance to reign supreme in his little world. And yet, nothing beyond—it meant that this was all. To live and die a fisherman. No other worlds—the vague, beautiful worlds beyond the horizon. “I will have to think it over,” was his answer. He turned away, went up on a hillside above the town, and sat there alone all the afternoon.

This young man of twenty sitting on a hillside on the coast of Norway, wrestling with his immense problem, takes on the stature of a figure from the sagas. Which way will he make up his mind? “It was a fine, clear day in Nordland,” he tells me, speaking of the incident thirty years afterward. A fine, clear day—he could see a long way across the water. But not the shape of his own destiny. The life he knew was calling him with a thousand voices. How could he have heard the hail of things not yet seen? Where did he get the strength to make his momentous decision? He came down from the hillside at last, and found his master. “I am sorry,” he said, “but I cannot accept your offer. I am going to America.”

III

Rölvaag himself has told about the journey in his first book, _Amerika-Breve_ (Letters from America), published in 1912, a work which is largely autobiographical and which struck home in a personal way to his Norwegian-American readers. He landed in New York in August of 1896. He was not even aware that he would require money for food during the railway trip; in his pocket were an American dime and a copper piece from Norway. For three days and nights, from New York to South Dakota, he lived on a single loaf of bread; the dime went for tobacco somewhere along the vast stretches unfolding before him Through an error in calculation his uncle failed to meet him at the country station where he finally disembarked. He had no word of English with which to ask his way. The prairie spread on every hand; the sun was going down. He walked half the night, without food or water, until at last he found Norwegians who could direct him, reached his uncle’s farm, and received a warm welcome.

Then began three years of farming. At the end of that time he knew that he did not like it; this was not the life for him. He had saved a little money, but had picked up only a smattering of English. A friend kept urging him to go to school. But his father’s verdict, which so far had ruled his life, still had power over him; he firmly believed that it would be of no use, that he was not worth educating. Instead he went to Sioux City, Iowa, and tried to find work there—factory work, a chance to tend bar in a saloon, a job of washing dishes in a restaurant. But nothing offered; he was forced to return to the farm. He had now reached another crossroads in his life; a flat alternative faced him—farming or schooling. As the lesser of two evils, he entered Augustana College, a grammar or preparatory school in Canton, South Dakota, in the fall of 1899. At that time he was twenty-three years old.

Once at school, the fierce desire for knowledge, so long restrained, took him by storm. In a short while he discovered the cruel wrong that had been done him. His mind was mature and receptive; he was able to learn with amazing ease; in general reading, in grasp of life and strength of purpose, he was far in advance of his fellow students. He graduated from Augustana in the spring of 1901; that fall he entered St. Olaf College, with forty dollars in his pocket. In four years he had worked his way through St. Olaf, graduating with honours in 1905, at the age of twenty-eight. On the promise of a faculty position at his _alma mater_, he borrowed five hundred dollars and sent himself for a year to the University of Oslo in Norway. Returning from this post-graduate work in 1906, he took up his teaching at St. Olaf College, where he has been ever since. Professor Rölvaag now occupies the chair of Norwegian literature at that institution.

IV

I have mentioned the _Amerika-Breve_, published in 1912. There is an earlier work, still in manuscript—a novel written during his senior year at St. Olaf College. In all, Rölvaag has published six novels, two readers for class use, a couple of handbooks on Norwegian grammar and declamation, and one volume of essays. In 1914 appeared his second book, _Paa Glemte Veie_ (_The Forgotten Path_), a relatively unimportant product. Then came the war, which threw consternation into all creative work. Rölvaag walked the hills of southern Minnesota, his mind a blank, facing the downfall of civilization, seeing the death of those fine things of life which he had striven so hard to attain. It was during the war period that he compiled his readers and handbooks, for the publishing board of the Norwegian-American Lutheran Church.

He had married in 1908. In 1920 a tragedy occurred in his family—one of his children was drowned under terrible circumstances. This seems to have shaken him out of the war inertia and stirred his creative life again. That year he wrote and published his first strong novel, _To Tullinger_ (_Two Fools_), the story of a rough, uncultivated couple, incapable of refinement, who gain success in America and develop the hoarding instinct to a fantastic degree. This book, too, made a sensation among Norwegian-Americans.

Then, in 1922, came _Laengselens Baat_ (_The Ship of Longing_), which seems to have been Rölvaag’s most introspective and poetical effort up to the present time. It is the study of a sensitive, artistic youth who comes to America from Norway full of dreams and ideals, expecting to find all that his soul longs for; he does not find it, with the result that his life goes down in disaster. Needless to say, this book was not popular with his Norwegian-American audience. The truth-teller of _To Tullinger_ was now going a little too far.

All of these works were written and published in Norwegian. They were brought out under the imprint of the Augsburg Publishing House, of Minneapolis, and circulated only among those Norwegian-Americans who had retained the language of the old country. The reason why none of them had reached publication in Norway is characteristic. In 1912 the manuscript of _Amerika-Breve_ had been submitted to Norwegian publishers. They had returned a favourable and even enthusiastic opinion, but had insisted on certain changes in the text. These changes Rölvaag had refused to concede, feeling that they marred the artistic unity of his work. In anger and disappointment, he had at once published with the local house; and with each successive volume the feeling of artistic umbrage had persisted—it had not seemed worth while to try to reach the larger field.

But in the spring of 1923, an item appeared in the Norwegian press to the effect that the great novelist Johan Bojer was about to visit the United States, for the purpose of collecting material on the Norwegian-American immigration. He proposed to write an epic novel on the movement. This news excited Rölvaag tremendously; he felt that the inner truth of the Norwegian-American immigration could be written only by one who had experienced the transplanting of life, who shared the psychology of the settlers. His artistic ambition was up in arms; this was his own field.

He immediately obtained a year’s leave of absence from St. Olaf College, and set to work. The first few sections of _Giants In The Earth_ were written in a cabin in the north woods of Minnesota. Then he felt the need of visiting South Dakota again, to gather fresh material. In midwinter of that year he went abroad, locating temporarily in a cheap immigrant hotel in London, where he worked on the novel steadily. When spring opened in 1924, he went to Norway. There he met Bojer, visiting him at his country home. Bojer was delighted to learn that Rölvaag, of whom he had heard a great deal, was also working on a novel of the Norwegian-American settlement; the two men exchanged ideas generously. “How do you see the problem?” Rölvaag asked. The answer showed him that Bojer saw it from the viewpoint of Norway, not of America; to him it was mainly a problem of emigration. This greatly relieved Rölvaag’s mind, for there was no real conflict; he set to work with renewed energy, and soon finished the first book of _Giants In The Earth_.

In the meanwhile it had been placed with Norwegian publishers—the same firm, by the way, which had lost _Amerika-Breve_ twelve years before. It appeared in the latter part of 1924, under the title _I De Dage_ (_In Those Days_), a month in advance of Bojer’s _Vor Egen Stamme_ (_Our Own Tribe_), better known to us by its English title of _The Emigrants_. A year later the second book of the present volume was brought out, under the title _Riket Grundlaegges_ (_Founding the Kingdom_).

In Norway these two books have run through many editions; they have been hailed on every hand as something new in Norwegian literature. Swedish and Finnish editions will be published in 1927. Arrangements are being made for a German translation, and the book will probably be off the press in Germany soon after it has appeared in the United States. Rölvaag’s vigorous, idiomatic style (which, incidentally, has been the despair of those who have worked over the English translation) is an outstanding topic of recent Scandinavian criticism. The eminent Danish critic, Jörgen Bukdahl, for instance, in his latest work, _Det Skjulte Norge_ (_The Latent Norway_), devotes a whole chapter to Rölvaag and his novels of pioneering in South Dakota. A new name has been added to the literary firmament of Norway.

V

Does Rölvaag’s work belong legitimately to Norwegian or to American literature? The problem has unusual and interesting features. The volume before us deals with American life, and with one of the most characteristically American episodes in our history. It opens on the western plains; its material is altogether American. Yet it was written in Norwegian, and gained its first recognition in Norway. Whatever we may decide, it has already become a part of Norwegian literature. Rölvaag’s art seems mainly European; Rölvaag himself, as I have said, is typically American. His life and future are bound up in the New World; yet he will continue to write in a foreign language. Had he been born in America, would his art have been the same? It seems unlikely. On the other hand, had he remained in Norway—had he accepted the boat that fine, clear day in Nordland—how would his art have fared?

But such speculation, after all, is merely idle; these things do not matter. It has not yet been determined, even, what America is, or whether she herself is strictly American. And any sincere art is international. Given the artist, our chief interest lies in trying to fathom the sources of his art, and to recognize its sustaining impulses. What were the forces which have now projected into American letters a realist of the first quality writing in a foreign language a new tale of the founding of America? It is obvious that these forces must have been highly complex and that they will continue to be so throughout his working life; but beyond that we cannot safely go. The rest is a matter of opinion. When I have asked Rölvaag the simple question, Did Norway or America teach you to write? he has invariably thrown up his hands.

The same speculation, in different measure, applies to a considerable quantity of Norwegian-American literary production which as yet our criticism knows nothing about. The Norwegians are a book-loving people; no set of adverse conditions can for long restrain them from expressing themselves in literary form. Here in the Northwest, during the last thirty or forty years, they have built up a distinctive literature, written and published in the Norwegian language, but concerned wholly with American life. Until quite recently, in fact, the region supported a Norwegian fiction magazine.

There are the five substantial novels of Simon Johnson, for instance, with many short stories by the same author. There are the romantic novels of H. A. Foss; and the poetry, short stories, novels, and travelogues of Peer Strömme. There are the polemical and poetical works of O. A. Buslett, obscure and fantastic. There are the three novels and four collections of short stories by the able writer, Waldemar Ager. There is the lyric poetry of Julius B. Baumann and O. S. Sneve, the collected works of both of whom have now been brought out. There are the amazing Biblical dramas of the farmer-poet Jon Norstog—huge tomes with the titles of _Moses_, and _Israel_, and _Saul_, set up by his own hand and published from his own printing press, in a shanty on the prairies of North Dakota—works that reveal the flash of genius now and then, as I am told. Do all these serious efforts belong to Norwegian or to American literature? Their day is nearly done; the present generation of Norse stock has another native language. But it would be of value to have some of this early Norwegian-American product translated into English, to enrich our literature by a pure stream flowing out of the American environment—a stream which, for the general public, lies frozen in the ice of a foreign tongue.

Lincoln Colcord.

Minneapolis, Minnesota, _January, 1927._

_Book I_ THE LAND-TAKING

I. Toward the Sunset

I

Bright, clear sky over a plain so wide that the rim of the heavens cut down on it around the entire horizon.... Bright, clear sky, to-day, to-morrow, and for all time to come.

... And sun! And still more sun! It set the heavens afire every morning; it grew with the day to quivering golden light—then softened into all the shades of red and purple as evening fell.... Pure colour everywhere. A gust of wind, sweeping across the plain, threw into life waves of yellow and blue and green. Now and then a dead black wave would race over the scene ... a cloud’s gliding shadow ... now and then....

It was late afternoon. A small caravan was pushing its way through the tall grass. The track that it left behind was like the wake of a boat—except that instead of widening out astern it closed in again.

“Tish-ah!” said the grass.... “Tish-ah, tish-ah!” ... Never had it said anything else—never would it say anything else. It bent resiliently under the trampling feet; it did not break, but it complained aloud every time—for nothing like this had ever happened to it before.... “Tish-ah, tish-ah!” it cried, and rose up in surprise to look at this rough, hard thing that had crushed it to the ground so rudely, and then moved on.

A stocky, broad-shouldered man walked at the head of the caravan. He seemed shorter than he really was, because of the tall grass around him and the broad-brimmed hat of coarse straw which he wore. A few steps behind him followed a boy of about nine years of age. The boy’s blond hair was clearly marked against his brown, sunburnt neck; but the man’s hair and neck were of exactly the same shade of brown. From the looks of these two, and still more from their gait, it was easy to guess that here walked father and son.

Behind them a team of oxen jogged along; the oxen were drawing a vehicle which once upon a time might have been a wagon, but which now, on account of its many and grave infirmities, ought long since to have been consigned to the scrap heap—exactly the place, in point of fact, where the man had picked it up. Over the wagon box long willow saplings had been bent, in the form of arches in a church chancel—six of them in all. On these arches, and tied down to the body on each side, were spread first of all two handwoven blankets, that might well have adorned the walls of some manor house in the olden times; on top of the blankets were thrown two sheepskin robes, with the wool side down, which were used for bed-coverings at night. The rear of the wagon was stowed full of numberless articles, all the way up to the top. A large immigrant chest at the bottom of the pile, very long and high, devoured a big share of the space; around and above it were piled household utensils, tools, implements, and all their clothing.

Hitched to this wagon and trailing behind was another vehicle, homemade and very curious-looking, so solidly and quaintly constructed that it might easily have won a place in any museum. Indeed, it appeared strong enough to stand all the jolting from the Atlantic to the Pacific.... It, too, was a wagon, after a fashion; at least, it had been intended for such. The wheels were made from pieces of plank fitting roughly together; the box, considerably wider than that of the first wagon, was also loaded full of provisions and household gear, covered over with canvas and lashed down securely. Both wagons creaked and groaned loudly every time they bounced over a tussock or hove out of a hollow.... “Squeak, squeak!” said the one.... “Squeak, squeak!” answered the other.... The strident sound broke the silence of centuries.

A short distance behind the wagons followed a brindle cow. The caravan moved so slowly that she occasionally had time to stop and snatch a few mouthfuls, though there was never a chance for many at a time. But what little she got in this way she sorely needed. She had been jogging along all day, swinging and switching her tail, the rudder of the caravan. Soon it would be night, and then her part of the work would come—to furnish milk for the evening porridge, for all the company up ahead.

Across the front end of the box of the first wagon lay a rough piece of plank. On the right side of this plank sat a woman with a white kerchief over her head, driving the oxen. Against her thigh rested the blond head of a little girl, who was stretched out on the plank and sleeping sweetly. Now and then the hand of the mother moved across the child’s face to chase away the mosquitoes, which had begun to gather as the sun lowered. On the left side of the plank, beyond the girl, sat a boy about seven years old—a well-grown lad, his skin deeply tanned, a certain clever, watchful gleam in his eyes. With hands folded over one knee, he looked straight ahead.

This was the caravan of Per Hansa, who with his family and all his earthly possessions was moving west from Fillmore County, Minnesota, to Dakota Territory. There he intended to take up land and build himself a home; he was going to do something remarkable out there, which should become known far and wide. No lack of opportunity in that country, he had been told!... Per Hansa himself strode ahead and laid out the course; the boy Ole, or _Olamand_, followed closely after, and explored it. Beret, the wife, drove the oxen and took care of little Anna Marie, pet-named _And-Ongen_ (which means “The Duckling”), who was usually bubbling over with happiness. Hans Kristian, whose everyday name was _Store-Hans_ (meaning “Big Hans,” to distinguish him from his godfather, who was also named Hans, but who, of course, was three times his size), sat there on the wagon, and saw to it that everyone attended to business.... The cow Rosie trailed behind, swinging and switching her tail, following the caravan farther and farther yet into the endless vista of the plain.

“Tish-ah, tish-ah!” cried the grass.... “Tish-ah, tish-ah!” ...

II

The caravan seemed a miserably frail and Lilliputian thing as it crept over the boundless prairie toward the sky line. Of road or trail there lay not a trace ahead; as soon as the grass had straightened up again behind, no one could have told the direction from which it had come or whither it was bound. The whole train—Per Hansa with his wife and children, the oxen, the wagons, the cow, and all—might just as well have dropped down out of the sky. Nor was it at all impossible to imagine that they were trying to get back there again; their course was always the same—straight toward the west, straight toward the sky line....

Poverty-stricken, unspeakably forlorn, the caravan creaked along, advancing at a snail’s pace, deeper and deeper into a bluish-green infinity—on and on, and always farther on.... It steered for Sunset Land!...

For more than three weeks now, and well into the fourth, this caravan had been crawling across the plain.... Early in the journey it had passed through Blue Earth; it had left Chain Lakes behind; and one fine day it had crept into Jackson, on the Des Moines River. But that seemed ages ago.... From Jackson, after a short lay-up, it had pushed on westward—always westward—to Worthington, then to Rock River.... A little west of Rock River, Per Hansa had lost the trail completely. Since then he had not been able to find it again; at this moment he literally did not know where he was, nor how to get to the place he had to reach. But Split Rock Creek must lie out there somewhere in the sun; if he could only find that landmark, he could pick his way still farther without much trouble.... Strange that he hadn’t reached Split Rock Creek before this time! According to his directions, he should have been there two or three days ago; but he hadn’t seen anything that even looked like the place.... Oh, my God! If something didn’t turn up soon!... My God!...

The wagons creaked and groaned. Per Hansa’s eyes wandered over the plain. His bearded face swung constantly from side to side as he examined every inch of ground from the northeast to the southwest. At times he gave his whole attention to that part of the plain lying between him and the western sky line; with head bent forward and eyes fixed and searching, he would sniff the air, like an animal trying to find the scent. Every now and then he glanced at an old silver watch which he carried in his left hand; but his gaze would quickly wander off again, to take up its fruitless search of the empty horizon.

It was now nearing six o’clock. Since three in the afternoon he had been certain of his course; at that time he had taken his bearings by means of his watch and the sun.... Out here one had to get one’s cross-bearings from the very day itself—then trust to luck....

For a long while the little company had been silent. Per Hansa turned halfway around, and without slackening his pace spoke to the boy walking behind.

“Go back and drive for a while now, Ola[1].... You must talk to mother, too, so that it won’t be so lonesome for her. And be sure to keep as sharp a lookout as you can.”

[1] In most dialects of Norway the name Ole becomes Ola when spoken.

“I’m not tired yet!” said the boy, loath to leave the van.

“Go back, anyway! Maybe you’re not, but I can feel it beginning to tell on me. We’ll have to start cooking the porridge pretty soon.... You go back, and hold her on the sun for a while longer.”

“Do you think we’ll catch up with them to-night, Dad?” The boy was still undecided.

“Good Lord, no! They’ve got too long a start on us.... Look sharp, now! If you happen to see anything suspicious, sing out!” ... Per Hansa glanced again at his watch, turned forward, and strode steadily onward.

Ole said no more; he stepped out of the track and stood there waiting till the train came up. Then Store-Hans jumped down nimbly, while the other climbed up and took his seat.

“Have you seen anything?” the mother asked in an anxious voice.

“Why, no ... not yet,” answered the boy, evasively.

“I wonder if we shall ever see them again,” she said, as if speaking to herself, and looked down at the ground. “This seems to be taking us to the end of the world ... beyond the end of the world!”

Store-Hans, who was still walking beside the wagon, heard what she said and looked up at her. The buoyancy of childhood shone in his brown face.... Too bad that mother should be so scared!...

“Yes, Mother, but when we’re both steering for the sun, we’ll both land in the same place, won’t we?... The sun is a sure guide, you know!”

These were the very words which he had heard his father use the night before; now he repeated them. To Store-Hans the truth of them seemed as clear as the sun itself; in the first place, because dad had said it, and then because it sounded so reasonable.

He hurried up alongside his father and laid his hand in his—he always felt safer thus.

The two walked on side by side. Now and then the boy stole a glance at the face beside him, which was as stern and fixed as the prairie on which they were walking. He was anxious to talk, but couldn’t find anything to say that sounded grown-up enough; and so he kept quiet. At last, however, the silence grew too heavy for him to bear. He tried to say indifferently, just like his father:

“When I’m a man and have horses, I’m going to make a road over these plains, and ... and put up some posts for people to follow. Don’t you think that’ll be a good idea?”

A slight chuckle came from the bearded face set toward the sun.

“Sure thing, Store-Hans—you’ll manage that all right.... I might find time to help you an hour or two, now and then.”

The boy knew by his father’s voice that he was in a talkative mood. This made him so glad, that he forgot himself and did something that his mother always objected to; he began to whistle, and tried to take just as long strides as his father. But he could only make the grass say: “Swish-sh, swish-sh!”

On and on they went, farther out toward Sunset Land—farther into the deep glow of the evening.

The mother had taken little Anna up in her lap and was now leaning backward as much as she could; it gave such relief to her tired muscles. The caresses of the child and her lively chatter made her forget for a moment care and anxiety, and that vague sense of the unknown which bore in on them so strongly from all directions.... Ole sat there and drove like a full-grown man; by some means or other he managed to get more speed out of the oxen than the mother had done—she noticed this herself. His eyes were searching the prairie far and near.

Out on the sky line the huge plain now began to swell and rise, almost as if an abscess were forming under the skin of the earth. Although this elevation lay somewhat out of his course, Per Hansa swung over and held straight toward the highest part of it.

The afternoon breeze lulled, and finally dropped off altogether. The sun, whose golden lustre had faded imperceptibly into a reddish hue, shone now with a dull light, yet strong and clear; in a short while, deeper tones of violet began to creep across the red. The great ball grew enormous; it retreated farther and farther into the empty reaches of the western sky; then it sank suddenly.... The spell of evening quickly crowded in and laid hold of them all; the oxen wagged their ears; Rosie lifted her voice in a long moo, which died out slowly in the great stillness. At the moment when the sun closed his eye, the vastness of the plain seemed to rise up on every hand—and suddenly the landscape had grown desolate; something bleak and cold had come into the silence, filling it with terror.... Behind them, along the way they had come, the plain lay dark green and lifeless, under the gathering shadow of the dim, purple sky.

Ole sat motionless at his mother’s side. The falling of evening had made such a deep impression on him that his throat felt dry; he wanted to express some of the emotions that overwhelmed him, but only choked when he tried.

“Did you ever see anything so beautiful!” he whispered at last, and gave a heavy sigh.... Low down in the northwest, above the little hill, a few fleecy clouds hovered, betokening fair weather; now they were fringed with shining gold, which glowed with a mellow light. As if they had no weight, they floated lightly there....

The mother drew herself forward to an upright position. She still held the child in her lap. Per Hansa and Store-Hans were walking in the dusk far up ahead. For the last two days Per had kept well in advance of the caravan all the time; she thought she knew the reason why.

“Per,” she called out, wearily, “aren’t we going to stop soon?”

“Pretty soon.” ... He did not slacken his pace.

She shifted the child over into the other arm and began to weep silently. Ole saw it, but pretended not to notice, though he had to swallow big lumps that were forcing themselves up in his throat; he kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the scene ahead.

“Dad,” he shouted after a while, “I see a wood over there to the westward!”

“You do, do you? A great fellow you are! Store-Hans and I have seen that for a long time now.”

“Whereabouts is it?” whispered Store-Hans, eagerly.

“It begins down there on the slope to the left, and then goes around on the other side,” said his father. “Anyway, it doesn’t seem to be much of a wood.”

“D’you think they are there?”

“Not on your life! But we’re keeping the right course, anyhow.”

“Have the others been this way?”

“Of course they have—somewhere near, at any rate. There’s supposed to be a creek around here, by the name of Split Rock Creek, or whatever they call it in English.”

“Are there any people here, do you think?”

“People? Good Lord, no! There isn’t a soul around these parts.”

The sombre blue haze was now closing rapidly in on the caravan. One sensed the night near at hand; it breathed a chill as it came.

At last Per Hansa halted. “Well, I suppose we can’t drive any farther to-day. We and the animals would both drop pretty soon.” With these words he faced the oxen, held his arms straight out like the horizontal beam of a cross, shouted a long-drawn “Whoa!”—and then the creaking stopped for that day.

III

The preparations for the night were soon made; each had his own task and was now well used to it. Store-Hans brought the wood; it lay strapped under the hind wagon and consisted of small logs and dry branches from the last thicket they had passed.

Ole got the fireplace ready. From the last wagon he brought out two iron rods, cleft in one end; these he drove into the ground and then went back to the wagon for a third rod, which he laid across the other two. It was also his duty to see that there was water enough in the keg, no matter where they happened to stop; for the rest of it, he was on hand to help his mother.

The father tended to the cattle. First he lifted the yoke off the oxen and turned them loose; then he milked Rosie and let her go also. After that he made up a bed for the whole family under the wagon.

While the mother waited for the pot to boil she set the table. She spread a home-woven blanket on the ground, laid a spoon for each one on it, placed a couple of bowls for the milk, and fetched the dishes for the porridge. Meanwhile she had to keep an eye on And-Ongen, who was toddling about in the grass near by. The child stumbled, laughed, lay there a moment chattering to herself, then got up, only to trip on her skirt and tumble headlong again. Her prattling laughter rang on the evening air. Now and then the voice of the mother would mingle with it, warning the child not to stray too far.

Store-Hans was the first to get through with his task; he stood around awhile, but, finding nothing more to do, he strolled off westward. He was itching to know how far it was to the hill out there; it would be great fun to see what things looked like on the other side!... Now he started off in that direction. Perhaps he might come across the others? They surely must be somewhere. Just think, if he could only find them! He would yell and rush in on them like an Indian—and then they would be scared out of their senses!... He had gone quite far before he paused to look back. When he did so the sight sent a shiver over him; the wagons had shrunk to two small specks, away off on the floor of a huge, dusky room.... I’d better hurry at once, he thought; mother will surely have the porridge ready by this time! His legs had already adopted the idea of their own accord. But thoughts of his mother and the porridge didn’t quite bring him all the feeling of safety he needed; he hunted through his mind for a few strains of a hymn, and sang them over and over in a high-pitched, breaking voice, until he had no more breath left to sing with.... He didn’t feel entirely safe until the wagons had begun to assume their natural size once more.

The mother called to them that supper was ready. On the blanket stood two dishes of porridge—a large dish for the father and the two boys, a smaller one for the mother and And-Ongen. The evening milk was divided between two bowls, and set before them; Rosie, poor thing, was not giving much these days! The father said that he didn’t care for milk this evening, either; it had a tangy taste, he thought; and he drank water with his porridge. But when Ole also began to complain of the tangy taste and asked for water, the father grew stern and ordered him to go ahead and get that drop of milk down as quick as he could! There was nothing else on the table but milk and porridge.

Suddenly Ole and Store-Hans flared up in a quarrel; one blamed the other for eating too close to the edge, where the porridge was coolest. The father paused in his meal, listening to them a moment, then chuckled to himself. Taking his spoon and cutting three lines through the crust of the porridge, he quickly settled the matter between them.

“There you are! Here, Store-Hans, is your land; now take it and be satisfied. Ola, who is the biggest, gets another forty.... Shut up your mouths, now, and eat!” Per Hansa himself got the smallest share that evening.

Aside from this outbreak it was quiet at the table. A spell of silence lay upon them and they were not able to throw it off.... As soon as the father had eaten he licked his spoon carefully, wiped it off on his shirt sleeve, and threw it on the blanket. The boys did likewise as they finished; but And-Ongen wanted to tuck her spoon in her dress and keep it there till morning.

They sat around in the same silence after they were done. Then she who was the smallest of them repeated in a tiny voice:

“Thanks to Thee, Our Lord and Maker....

“Now I want to go to sleep in your lap!” she said, after the Amen. She climbed up into her mother’s lap and threw her arms around her neck.

“Oh, how quickly it grows dark out here!” the mother murmured.

Per Hansa gave a care-free shrug of his shoulders. “Well,” he said, dryly, “the sooner the day’s over, the sooner the next day comes!”

But now something seemed to be brewing back there over the prairie whence they had come. Up from the horizon swelled a supernatural light—a glow of pale yellow and transparent green, mingled with strange touches of red and gold. It spread upward as they watched; the colors deepened; the glow grew stronger, like the witching light of a fen fire.

All sat silently gazing. It was And-Ongen, hanging around her mother’s neck, who first found her voice.

“Oh, look!... She is coming up again!”

In solemn grandeur the moon swung up above the plain. She had been with them many nights now; but each time she seemed as wonderful a sight as ever. To-night a hush fell on their spirits as they watched her rise—just as the scene had hushed them the evening before, far away to the eastward somewhere on the plain. The silvery beams grew stronger; the first pale fen fire began to shimmer and spread; slowly the light mellowed into a mist of green and yellow and blue. And-Ongen exclaimed that the moon was much bigger to-night; but it had seemed bigger the night before also. Store-Hans again solemnly told her the reason for it—that the moon had to grow, just as she did! This seemed to her quite logical; she turned to her mother and asked whether the moon had milk and porridge every evening, too.

Per Hansa had been sitting on the tongue of the wagon, smoking his pipe. Now he got up, knocked out the ashes carefully, put his pipe in his pocket, and wound up his watch. These duties done, he gave the order to turn in for the night.

A little while later they all lay under the quilts, gazing off into the opalescent glow. When the mother thought that the children had gone to sleep she asked, soberly:

“Do you suppose we’ll ever find the others again?”

“Oh yes—I’m sure of it ... if they haven’t sunk through the ground!”

This was all Per Hansa said. He yawned once or twice, long and heavily, as if he were very sleepy, and turned away from her.

... After that she said no more, either.

IV

Truth to tell, Per Hansa was not a bit sleepy. For a long while he lay wide awake, staring into the night. Although the evening had grown cool, sweat started out on his body from time to time, as thoughts which he could not banish persisted in his mind.

He had good reason to sweat, at all the things he was forced to lie there and remember. Nor was it only to-night that these heavy thoughts came to trouble him; it had been just the same all through the day, and last night, too, and the night before. And now, the moment he had lain down, they had seized upon him with renewed strength; he recalled keenly all the scruples and misgivings that had obsessed his wife before they had started out on this long journey—both those which had been spoken and those which had been left unsaid. The latter had been the worst; they had seemed to grow deeper and more tragic as he had kept prying into them in his clumsy way.... But she wasn’t a bit stupid, that wife of his! As a matter of fact, she had more sense than most people. Indeed she had!

... No, it wasn’t a pleasant situation for Per Hansa, by any means. He had not seen a happy moment, day or night, since the mishap had struck them on the second afternoon this side of Jackson. There the first wagon had got stuck in a mud hole; in pulling it out they had wrecked it so hopelessly that he had been forced to put back to Jackson for repairs. Under the circumstances, it had seemed to him utterly senseless to hold up all the rest of the company four days. He simply wouldn’t listen to their waiting for him; for they had houses to build and fields to break, if they were to get anything into the ground this season. They must go on without him; he’d come along all right, in his own good time.... So they had given him full instructions about the course he was to follow and the halting places where he was to stop for the night; it had all seemed so simple to him at the time. Then they had started on together—Tönseten, who knew the way, and Hans Olsa, and the two Solum boys. They all had horses and strong new wagons. They travelled fast, those fellows!...

If he only had paid some attention to Hans Olsa, who for a long while had insisted on waiting for him. But he had overruled all their objections; it was entirely his own doing that Hans Olsa and the others had gone on, leaving him behind.

But he soon had learned that it wasn’t so easy. Hadn’t he lost his way altogether the other day, in the midst of a fog and drizzling rain? Until late in the afternoon that day he hadn’t had the faintest idea what direction he was taking. It had been after this experience that he had formed the habit of keeping so far ahead of the caravan. He simply couldn’t endure listening to her constant questions—questions which he found himself unable to answer....

The only thing he felt sure of was that he wasn’t on the right track; otherwise he would have come across the traces of their camps. It was getting to be a matter of life and death to him to find the trail—and find it soon.... A devil of a jaunt it would be to the Pacific Ocean—the wagon would never hold out _that_ long!... Oh yes, he realized it all too well—a matter of life and death. There weren’t many supplies left in the wagon. He had depended on his old comrade and Lofot-man,[2] Hans Olsa, for everything.

[2] A companion on the winter fishing grounds at the Lofoten Islands.

Per Hansa heaved a deep sigh; it came out before he could stop it.... Huh!—it was an easy matter enough for Hans Olsa! He had ample means, and could start out on a big scale from the beginning; he had a wife in whose heart there wasn’t a speck of fear!... The Lord only knew where they were now—whether they were east or west of him! And they had Tönseten, too, and his wife Kjersti,[3] both of them used to America. Why, they could talk the language and everything....

[3] The combination _kj_ in this name is pronounced like _ch_ in _church_; the final _i_ has the sound of _y_ in _godly_.

And then there were the Solum boys, who had actually been born in this country.... Indeed, east or west, it made no difference to them where they lay that night.

But here was he, the newcomer, who owned nothing and knew nothing, groping about with his dear ones in the endless wilderness!... Beret had taken such a dislike to this journey, too—although in many ways she was the more sensible of the two.... Well, he certainly had fixed up a nice mess for himself, and no mistake!

He wondered why he had ever left Fillmore County; as he lay there thinking it over, he couldn’t understand what had prompted him to do such a thing. He could easily have found a job there and stayed until his wife got up from childbed; then he could have moved west next spring. This had been what she had wanted, though she had never said it in so many words.

The quilt had grown oppressively heavy; he threw it aside.... How long it took her to go to sleep to-night! Why wouldn’t she try to get as much rest as possible? Surely she knew that it would be another tough day to-morrow?...

... Just so that confounded wagon didn’t go to pieces again!...

V

The night wore on. The children slept quietly and peacefully. The mother also seemed to have found rest at last. Per Hansa thought that she was sound asleep; he began to move slowly away from her. He threw his hand over on the quilt between them as if making a motion in his sleep.... No, she didn’t stir; he lay quiet for a while, then moved again. In so doing his hand happened to fall on that of Store-Hans; it was so chubby and round, that hand, so healthy and warm, and quite firm for the hand of only a child. Per Hansa lay still for a long time, holding the boy’s hand with a desperate earnestness.... Slowly the troublesome thoughts seemed to lighten and lift; his courage ebbed back again; surely everything would come out all right in the end!

Little by little he slipped the quilt off, crept out of bed as quietly as a mouse, got into his trousers, and pulled on his shoes.

Outside, the misty sheen of the moonlight shimmered so brightly that it blinded him. Near at hand, the prairie was bathed in a flood of tarnished green; farther off the faint blue tones began to appear, merging gradually into the purple dimness that shrouded all the horizon.

Per Hansa looked for the North Star, found it, turned about until he had it over his right shoulder; then he glanced at his watch, took a few steps, hesitated, and looked back as if taking a bearing of the wagons and the star. The next moment he faced about resolutely, and hurried off westward.

It felt good to be moving again; he almost broke into a trot. There were the oxen, busily grazing; they needed to get their fill all right, poor devils!... Rosie lay closer to the wagons; his eyes had passed over her at first, a dark spot in the vague, deceptive light. The cow must have noticed the shadow gliding along so swiftly; she gave a long moo.... This enraged Per Hansa; he broke into a run and got out of her sight as quickly as he could, for fear she would moo again.... If she only hadn’t waked Beret!

He set his course toward the point where he thought the crest of the ridge must lie. Now and then he stopped and looked around, to find out if he could still see the wagons. When he had lost them at last, and they were wholly swallowed up in the night, he gave an involuntary gasp—but clenched his teeth and went on.

The ridge lay farther off than he had thought. He had walked for a solid hour before he finally reached what he felt to be the highest point; he reckoned that he must be at least four miles from camp.... There he fell to examining the ground carefully; but first of all he looked at his watch again, and then at the North Star and the moon, trying to fix the bearings of the camp in his mind.

On the other side of the ridge the lay of the land seemed to be different; the slope was a little steeper; a thick underbrush covered it; through the tall bushes the moonlight shimmered strangely.... Per Hansa felt no fear, but every sense within him was alert. First he searched the northerly slope of the hill, beyond the edge of the thicket, stooping over as he went, his eyes scanning every foot of the ground. When he had found no trace of what he was looking for, he came back to the same starting point and searched an equal distance in the opposite direction; but he discovered nothing on this tack, either.

Now he began to walk along the edge of the thicket, in and out, crisscrossing the line in every direction; he pushed his way into each little grassless opening, and kicked over the earth there, before he went on. Sweat was running off him in streams. A quarter of an hour went by; he was still searching frantically.... All at once, right at the edge of the woods, he struck a piece of level ground with a larger clearing on it; in the middle of this clearing lay a wide, round patch in the grass. Per Hansa threw himself down on his knees, like a miser who has found a costly treasure; he bent over and sniffed the ground. His blood throbbed; his hands shook as he dug.... Yes, he was right—here there had been a fire! It couldn’t have been many days ago, either; the smell of the ashes was still fresh.... His eyes had grown so moist and dim that he had to wipe them.... But he wasn’t crying—no, not yet!...

He began to crawl around on all fours, farther and farther down the slope. Suddenly he stopped, sat up on his haunches, and held something in his hand that he was examining closely....

“I’ll be damned if it isn’t fresh horse dung!” ... His voice rang with a great joy. He tried the stuff between his fingers—crumbled it, sniffed at it ... there was no doubting the fact any longer.

Now he got up, walking erectly with a confident step, like a man who has just made a lucky strike, and began to search along the whole slope.... He might as well go ahead and find the ford to-night; then he wouldn’t be delayed by hunting for it in the morning. The underbrush thickened as he made his way down the slope.... Here, then, was Split Rock Creek; and here they had camped, as Tönseten had said they would!...

Once he had reached the edge of the creek, it did not take him long to find the ford that the others had used; the ruts still stood there plainly, as fresh and deep as if they had been made that very day. For a while he paused at the edge of the water, and looked about him.... Had they chosen the best crossing, after all? The bank of the creek on the other side formed a bend; the brink looked pretty steep. At last he waded out into the water, with his shoes still on.... Oh, well, the grade wasn’t so steep that the oxen couldn’t easily make it; there would be a bad jolt here at the edge, but after that they would have an even slope up the bank.... Stepping out on the opposite shore, he stood as if rooted to the ground.

... “What in the devil...!”

Per Hansa bent over and picked up the object that lay before him; he held it out in the moonlight, turned it over and over in his hands, smelled of it ... then took a bite.

... “By God! if it isn’t one of Hans Olsa’s dried mutton legs!”

He straightened himself up and gazed with deep thankfulness into the quivering bluish-green haze that glowed all around him.... “Yes, that’s the way it goes, when people have more than they can take care of!” ... He stuck the mutton leg under his arm; whistling a love ballad of Nordland, which seemed to have come into his mind unconsciously, he crossed the creek again.

On the way back he took his own time. Nothing mattered now; the night was fair and mild; his aching weariness was gone; he felt refreshed and strengthened. His wife and children were sleeping safe and sound; of food they still had supplies for a couple of weeks; and now he had found the trail again and could be certain of it all the way to Sioux Falls.... That wretched wagon was the only difficulty; it would have to hang together for a few days more!...

When he drew near enough to the wagons to make them out clearly in the moonlight, he slackened his pace, and a shiver passed over him.

Wasn’t some one sitting there on the wagon tongue? Surely that was a human form?

In growing apprehension, he hurried on.

“Good Heavens, Beret! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” His voice was full of alarm, yet softened by his great concern for her.

“It felt so awful to lie there alone, after you had gone.... I could hardly breathe ... so I got up.”

The words came with difficulty; he realized that her voice was hoarse with weeping; he had to pull himself sharply together in order to keep his own tears back.

“Were you awake, Beret?... You shouldn’t lie awake that way in the night!” he said, reproachfully.

“How can I sleep?... You lie there tossing back and forth, and say nothing!... You might have told me. I know very well what’s the matter!”

Suddenly she could stand it no longer. She ran over to him, flung her arms around his neck, and leaned close against him. The dam of her pent-up tears broke in a flood of emotion; she wept long and bitterly.

“Now calm yourself, dear.... You must calm yourself, Beret-girl!” ... He had put his arm lovingly around her, but found it hard to speak.... “Don’t you see that I’ve got one of Hans Olsa’s dried mutton legs under my arm?” ...

... That night Per Hansa was good to his wife.

II. Home-founding

I

On the side of a hill, which sloped gently away toward the southeast and followed with many windings a creek that wormed its way across the prairie, stood Hans Olsa, laying turf. He was building a sod house. The walls had now risen breast-high; in its half-finished condition, the structure resembled more a bulwark against some enemy than anything intended to be a human habitation. And the great heaps of cut sod, piled up in each corner, might well have been the stores of ammunition for defence of the stronghold.

For a man of his strength and massive build, his motions were unusually quick and agile; but he worked by fits and starts to-day. At times he stopped altogether; in these pauses he would straighten himself up and draw his sleeve with a quick stroke across his troubled face; with each stroke the sleeve would come away damper; and standing so, he would fix his gaze intently on the prairie to the eastward. His eyes had wandered so often now over the stretch of land lying before them, that they were familiar with every tussock and hollow.... No—nothing in sight yet!... He would resume his task, as if to make up for lost time, and work hard for a spell; only to forget himself once more, pause involuntarily, and stand inert and abstracted, gazing off into the distance.

Beyond the house a tent had been pitched; a wagon was drawn up close beside it. On the ground outside of the tent stood a stove, a couple of chairs, and a few other rough articles of furniture. A stout, healthy-looking woman, whose face radiated an air of simple wisdom and kindliness, was busy preparing the midday meal. She sang to herself as she worked. A ten-year-old girl, addressed by the woman as Sofie, was helping her. Now and then the girl would take up the tune and join in the singing.

Less than a quarter of a mile away, in a southeasterly direction, a finished sod house rose on the slope of the hill. Smoke was winding up from it at this moment. This house, which had been built the previous fall, belonged to Syvert Tönseten.

Some distance north from the place where Hans Olsa had located, two other sod houses were under construction; but a hillock lay between, so that he could not see them from where he stood. There the two Solum boys had driven down their stakes and had begun building. Tönseten’s completed house, and the other three half-finished ones, marked the beginning of the settlement on Spring Creek.

The woman who had been bustling about preparing the meal, now called to her husband that dinner was ready—he must come at once! He answered her, straightened up for the hundredth time, wiped his hands on his trousers, and stood for a moment gazing off eastward.... No use to look—not a soul in sight yet!... He sighed heavily, and walked with slow steps toward the tent, his eyes on the ground.

It was light and airy inside the tent, but stifling hot, because of the unobstructed sunlight beating down upon it. Two beds were ranged along the wall, both of them homemade; a big emigrant chest stood at the head of each. Nails had been driven into the centre pole of the tent, on which hung clothing; higher up a crosspiece, securely fastened, was likewise hung with clothes. Two of the walls were lined with furniture; on these pieces the dishes were displayed, all neatly arranged.

A large basin of water stood on a chair just inside the tent door. Hans Olsa washed his face and hands; then he came out and sat down on the ground, where his wife had spread the table. It was so much cooler outside. The meal was all ready; both mother and daughter had been waiting for him.

“I suppose you haven’t seen any signs of them yet?” his wife asked at last.

“No—nothing at all!”

“Can you imagine what has become of them?”

“The Lord forgive us—if I only knew!”

Her husband looked so anxious that she asked no more questions. Out of her kind heart rose a hopeful, “Don’t worry, they’ll get here all right!” ... But in spite of the cheerfulness of the words, she could not give them that ring of buoyant confidence which she would have liked to show.

... “Of course!” said the girl with a laugh. “Store-Hans and Ola have two good pairs of eyes. Leave it to them—they’ll find us!”

The father gave her a stern glance; he didn’t tell her in words to stop her foolish chatter—but she said no more. Without speaking once, he ate his dinner. As soon as he had finished, he tossed his spoon on the blanket, thanked them for the food, got up gloomily, and went back to the hal-fcompleted wall. There he sat down awhile, as if lost in thought ... gazing eastward. His large, rugged features were drawn and furrowed with anxiety.... “God Almighty!” he sighed, and folded his big hands. “What can have become of Per Hansa?”

His wife was watching him closely as he sat there on the wall. By and by she told her daughter to finish washing the dishes, and started to go over where he was. When he saw her coming, he tried to begin working as if there were nothing on his mind.

“Hans,” she said, quickly, when she had reached his side, “I think you ought to go out and look for them!”

He waited until he had got a strip of sod in place before he answered: “Easier said than done ... when we haven’t the faintest idea where to look ... on such stretches of prairie!”

“Yes, I know; but it would make us all feel better, anyway ... as if we were doing something.”

Hans Olsa laid another strip of turf; then he stopped, let his hands fall to his sides, and began thinking aloud as he gazed off into the distance....

“I know this much—you don’t often find a smarter fellow than Per Hansa.... That’s what makes it so queer! I don’t suppose he’s able to get much speed out of his oxen; but one thing I’m certain of—he has been hurrying as fast as he could. And we surely didn’t come along very fast ... but now it’s the fifth day since we arrived here! If he made use of these bright moonlight nights, as he probably did, I begin to be afraid that he’s gone on west of us somewhere, instead of being still to the eastward.... It’s certainly no child’s play to start looking for him!”

Hans Olsa slumped down on the wall, the picture of dejection. His wife quickly found a place beside him. Together they sat there in silence. The same fear that she felt him struggling with, a fear thrown into sharp relief by the things he had just been saying, had long since gripped her heart also.

“I feel so sorry for Beret, poor thing ... and the children. You must remember, though, that he couldn’t go very fast on account of her condition.... I think she is with child again!” She paused. “I dreamed about them last night ... a bad dream....”

Her husband glanced sidewise at her. “We mustn’t pay attention to such things. A bad dream is a good sign, anyway—that’s what my mother always said.... But I suppose I’ll never forgive myself for not waiting for him.” He got up heavily and laid another strip of turf. “He’s always been like that, Per Hansa; he never would take help from any man. But this time he’s carried it a little too far!”

His wife made no answer. She was watching a short stout man with a reddish beard who had started up the slope from the direction of the house to the south of them. He had cheeks like two rosy apples, a quick step, and eyes that flitted all about; he was noted among them for his glib tongue and the flood of his conversation. With hands stuck into the waistband of his trousers, and elbows out akimbo, the man looked half as broad again as he really was.

“Here comes Tönseten,” said the woman. “Why don’t you talk it over with him? I really think you ought to go out and look for them.”

“Seen anything of them yet, Hans Olsa?” asked the man, without further greeting, as soon as he arrived.... “Well, well! this looks fine! Ha, ha! It’s a warm house, you know, that’s built by the aid of a woman’s hand.”

Hans Olsa wheeled on him. “You haven’t caught sight of them yourself, Syvert, have you?”

“Caught sight of them? Why, man alive, that’s just what I’ve come up here to tell you! I’ve had them in sight for over an hour now. Seems to me you ought to be able to see them easy enough—you who carry your eyes so high up in the air!... Good Lord! it won’t be long before they arrive here, at the rate they’re coming!”

“What’s that you say?” the others burst out with one voice.... “Where are they?” ...

“I reckon Per Hansa must have got off his course a little. Maybe the oxen didn’t steer well, or maybe he didn’t figure the current right.... Look to the westward, neighbours! Look over there about west-northwest, and you’ll see him plain enough.... No need to worry. That fellow never would drown in such shallow water as this!... I wonder, now, how far west he’s really been?”

Hans Olsa and his wife faced around in the direction that Tönseten had indicated. Sure enough, out of the west a little caravan was crawling up toward them on the prairie.

“Can that be them?... I really believe it is!” said Hans Olsa in a half whisper, as if hardly daring yet to give vent to his joy.

“_Of course_ it is!” cried his wife, excitedly.... “Thank God!”

“Not the least doubt of it,” Tönseten assured them. “You might as well go and put your coffeepot on the stove, Mother Sörrina![4] That Kjersti of mine is coming over pretty soon; she’ll probably have something good tucked under her apron.... In half an hour we’ll have the lost sheep back in the fold!”

[4] The name properly is Sörine, with the accent on the second syllable; but in the dialect of Helgeland it is pronounced Sörrina, with the accent on the first. These people all came from the district of Helgeland, in Norway.

“Yes! Heavens and earth, Sörrina!” cried Hans Olsa, “fetch out the best you’ve got!... Per, Per, is it really you, old boy?... But why are you coming from the west, I’d like to know?”

Tönseten coughed, and gave the woman a sly wink.

“Look here, Mother Sörrina,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “won’t you be good enough, please, to take a peek at Hans Olsa’s Sunday bottle?... Not that _I_ want anything to drink, you understand—I should say not. Good Lord, no! But think of that poor woman out there, who has been suffering all this time without a drop! And I’d be willing to bet that Per Hansa wouldn’t object to having his stomach warmed up a little, too!”

At that they burst out laughing, from mingled joy and relief; but Tönseten’s laughter at his own joke was the loudest of all.... Work was resumed at once; Syvert began to carry the sods for Hans Olsa to lay up, while Mother Sörrina went off in a happy frame of mind, to make her preparations for the reception of the wanderers.

Before the half hour allotted by Tönseten had passed, the caravan came slowly crawling up the slope. Per Hansa still strode in the van, with Store-Hans at his side; Ole walked abreast of the oxen, driving them with the goad. Beret and And-Ongen sat in the wagon. Rosie came jogging along behind at her own gait; she gave a loud, prolonged “moo-o-o-o” as she discovered the other animals across the prairie.

Both families stood ready to receive them; Hans Olsa and Sörine, Tönseten and his Kjersti, all watching intently the movements of the approaching company; but the girl couldn’t possess her patience any longer, and ran down to meet the new arrivals. She took Store-Hans by the hand and fell in beside him; the first question she asked was whether he hadn’t been terribly scared at night?...

As the slope of the hill grew steeper, the oxen had to bend to the yoke.

“Hey, there, folks!” shouted Per Hansa, boisterously. “Don’t be standing around loafing, now! It’s only the middle of the afternoon. Haven’t you got anything to do around here?”

“Coffee time, coffee time, Per Hansa ... ha, ha, ha!” Tönseten was bubbling over with good spirits. “We thought we might as well wait a little while for you, you know.”

... “You’ve found us at last!” said Hans Olsa, with a deep, happy chuckle.... He didn’t seem able to let go of Per Hansa’s hand.

“Found you? Why, devil take it, it’s no trick to follow a course out here! You just have to keep on steering straight ahead. And you had marked the trail pretty well, all the way along. I found plenty of traces of you.... I guess we stood a little too far to the westward, between Sioux Falls and here; that’s how it happened.... So this is the place, is it?... The pastures of Goshen in the land of Egypt—eh?”

“Just so, just so!” cried Tönseten, nodding and laughing. “Pastures of Goshen—right you are! That’s exactly what we are going to call the place—_Goshen_—if only you haven’t sailed in to mix things up for us!” ...

Beret and the child had now got down from the wagon; the other two women hovered around her, drawing her toward the tent. But she hung back for a moment; she wanted to stop and look around.

... Was this the place?... _Here!..._ Could it be possible?... She stole a glance at the others, at the half-completed hut, then turned to look more closely at the group standing around her; and suddenly it struck her that _here something was about to go wrong_.... For several days she had sensed this same feeling; she could not seem to tear herself loose from the grip of it.... A great lump kept coming up in her throat; she swallowed hard to keep it back, and forced herself to look calm. Surely, surely, she mustn’t give way to her tears now, in the midst of all this joy....

Then she followed the other two women into the tent; seeing a chair, she sank down in it, as if her strength had gone!

Sörine was patting her on the shoulder.... “Come, get your things off, Beret. You ought to loosen up your clothes, you know. Just throw this dress of mine around you.... Here’s the water to wash yourself in. Let down your hair, and take your time about it.... Don’t mind Kjersti and me being around.”

After they had bustled about for a little while the others left her. The moment they had gone she jumped up and crossed the tent, to look out of the door.... How will human beings be able to endure this place? she thought. Why, there isn’t even a thing that one can _hide behind_!... Her sensitive, rather beautiful face was full of blank dismay; she turned away from the door and began to loosen her dress; then her eyes fell on the centre pole with its crosspiece, hung with clothes, and she stood a moment irresolute, gazing at it in startled fright.... It looked like the giants she had read about as a child; for a long while she was unable to banish the picture from her mind.

Outside the tent, Ole stood with his hand resting on one of the oxen. He was disgusted; the older people seemed to have clean forgotten his existence. They never would get done talking—when he, too, might have had a word to put in!...

“Hadn’t we better unhitch the oxen, Dad?”

“Yes, yes—that’s right, Ola. We might as well camp down here for the night, since we’ve run across some folks we used to know.... How about it, you fellows?” He turned to the other two. “I suppose there’s a little more land left around here, isn’t there, after you’ve got through?”

“_Land_? Good God! Per Hansa, what are you talking about? Take whatever you please, from here to the Pacific Ocean!” Tönseten’s enthusiasm got so far away with him that he had to pull one of his hands out of his waistband and make a sweeping circle with it in the air.

“You must take a look around as soon as you can,” Hans Olsa said, “and see if you find anything better that meets your fancy. In the meanwhile I’ve put down a stake for you on the quarter section that lies north of mine. We’ll go over and have a look at it pretty soon. Sam Solum wanted it, but I told him he’d better leave it till you came.... You see, you would be next to the creek there; and then you and I would be the nearest neighbours, just as we’ve always planned. It makes no particular difference to Sam; he can take the quarter alongside his brother’s.”

Per Hansa drew a deep breath, as if filling himself with life’s great goodness.... Here Hans Olsa had been worrying about him, and with kindly forethought had arranged everything to his advantage!... “Well, well, we’ll have to settle all that later, Hans Olsa. For the present, I can only say that I’m deeply thankful to you!... Unhitch the beasts, there, Ola!... And now, if you folks have got anything handy, to either eat or drink, I’ll accept it with pleasure.”

... “Or _both_, Per Hansa!” put in Tönseten, excitedly.

“Yes, both, Syvert. I won’t refuse!”

Soon they were all gathered around a white cloth which Mother Sörine had spread on the ground. On one side of it lay a whole leg of dried mutton; on the other a large heap of _flatbröd_, with cheese, bread, and butter; in the centre of the cloth stood a large bowl of sweet milk, and from the direction of the stove the breeze wafted to them a pleasant odour of fried bacon and strong coffee. Mother Sörine herself took charge of the ceremony, bringing the food and urging them all to sit down. The stocky figure of Per Hansa rocked back and forth in blissful delight as he squatted there with his legs crossed under him.

“Come, Sörrina, sit down!” he cried. “I guess we’ve fallen in with gentlefolks, by the looks of things around here.... I suppose you think you’re old Pharaoh himself—eh, Hans Olsa?”

“Who do you call me, then?” inquired Tönseten.

“You, Syvert? Well, now, I really don’t know what to say. Of course you’d like to be His Majesty’s butler, but you mustn’t be encouraged—remember what happened to that poor fellow!... I think we’d better make you the baker—it might be safer, all around. What’s your idea, Hans Olsa?”

By this time they were all laughing together.

In the midst of the jollification came Sörine, carrying a plate with a large bottle and a dram glass[5] on it.... “Here, take this off my hands, Hans Olsa—you will know what to do with it!”

[5] This bottle and glass would have been old family pieces from Norway, the bottle shaped something like an hourglass, with a contraction in the middle to be grasped by the hand.

Tönseten fairly bubbled over in his admiration for her:

“Oh, you sweet Sörrina-girl!—you’re dearer to my heart than a hundred women!... What a blessing it must be, to have a wife like that!”

“Stop your foolishness!” said Kjersti, but her voice didn’t sound too severe.

For a long while they continued to sit around the cloth, chatting, eating, and drinking, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Hans Olsa seemed like a different man from the one who had eaten here at noon. His loud voice led the cheerful talk; his ponderous bulk was always the centre of the merriment; it seemed as if he would never tire of gazing into that bearded, roguish face of Per Hansa’s.

Once, as Per Hansa was slicing off a piece of mutton, he regarded the cut thoughtfully, and asked:

“I suppose you brought all your supplies through safe enough?”

“Oh, sure,” answered Hans Olsa, innocently. “We had no trouble at all—didn’t lose anything; that is, except for the leg that we left behind somewhere, east on the prairie. But that’s hardly worth mentioning.”

Per Hansa paused with the piece of meat halfway to his mouth, and looked at Sörine with an expression of deep concern:

“The devil you say! Did you lose one of your legs...?”

Mother Sörine laughed heartily at him. “Oh no—not quite so bad as that.... But a leg of mutton might come in handy later on, I’ll tell you; there aren’t too many of them to be had around here.”

Per Hansa chewed away on the meat and looked very serious. At last he said:

“That’s always the way with folks who have more of the world’s goods than they can take care.... But I’ll promise you one thing, Sörrina: if I can get my old blunderbuss to work, you’re going to have your lost leg back again.... How about it, fellows? Have you seen any game that’s fit to eat out here?”

III

They sat on until the first blue haze of evening began to spread eastward over the plain. The talk had now drifted to questions of a more serious nature, mostly concerned with how they should manage things out here; of their immediate prospects; of what the future might hold in store for them; of land and crops, and of the new kingdom which they were about to found.... No one put the thought into words, but they all felt it strongly; now they had gone back to the very beginning of things....

As the evening shadows deepened the conversation gradually died away into silence. A peculiar mood came drifting in with the dusk. It seemed to float on the evening breeze, to issue forth out of the heart of the untamed nature round about them; it lurked in the very vastness and endlessness surrounding them on every hand; it even seemed to rise like an impalpable mist out of the ground on which they sat.

This mood brought vague premonitions to them, difficult to interpret.... No telling what might happen out here ... for almost anything _could_ happen!...

They were so far from the world ... cut off from the haunts of their fellow beings ... so terribly far!...

The faces that gazed into one another were sober now, as silence claimed the little company; but lines of strength and determination on nearly every countenance told of an inward resolve to keep the mood of depression from gaining full control.

Per Hansa was the first to rouse himself and throw off the spell. He jumped up with nervous energy; a shiver passed over him, as if he were having a chill.

“What is it—are you cold?” asked his wife. She had instinctively sensed his mood as she looked at him—and loved him better for it. Until that moment, she had supposed that she herself was the only one who felt this peculiar influence.

“Such crazy talk!” he burst out. “I believe we’ve all lost our senses, every last one of us! Here we sit around celebrating in broad daylight, in the middle of summer, as if it was the Christmas holidays!... Come on, woman, let’s go over to our new home!”

Everyone got up.

“You must do exactly as you please about it, Per Hansa,” spoke up Hans Olsa with an apologetic air. “Don’t feel that you must take this quarter if you don’t like it. But as far as I can see, it’s as good a piece of land as you could find anywhere around—every square foot of it plowland, except the hill over there. Plenty of water for both man and beast.... As for my part, if I can only sit here between you and Syvert, I certainly won’t be kicking about my neighbours.... But I don’t want you to feel that you have to take this quarter on my account, you understand.... If you do take it, though, we must get one of the Solum boys to go down to Sioux Falls with you the first thing to-morrow, so that you can file your claim. You’ll have to do that in any case, you know, whichever quarter you take.... There’s likely to be a lot of people moving into this region before the snow flies; we five oughtn’t to part company or let anyone get in between us.... You’ve heard my best advice, anyway.”

“Now, that’s the talk!” Tönseten chimed in, briskly. “And considering the size of the head it comes from, it isn’t half bad, either. You’re damned well right, Hans Olsa. Before the snow flies you’re going to see such a multitude swarming around these parts, that the thundering place won’t be fit to live in! Remember what I say, boys, in times to come—bear it in mind that those were Syvert’s very words!... You’ve got to go straight to Sioux Falls to-morrow morning, Per Hansa, and no two ways about it! If one of the Solum boys can’t go along to do the talking for you, why, I shall have to buckle down to the job myself.”

Once more Per Hansa’s heart filled with a deep sense of peace and contentment as he realized how matters were being smoothed out for him. They seemed to move of their own accord, but he knew better.... Was he really to own it? Was it really to become his possession, this big stretch of fine land that spread here before him? Was he really to have his friends for neighbours, both to the north and to the south—folks who cared for him and wanted to help him out in every way?...

He was still chuckling with the rare pleasure of it as he asked, “You haven’t discovered any signs of life since you came?”

“Devil, no!” Tönseten assured him. “Neither Israelites nor Canaanites! I was the first one to find this place, you know.... But there’s no telling how soon the drift will loosen, the way folks were talking back East last winter. And now the land office for this whole section of country has been moved to Sioux Falls, too. That means business; the government, you may be certain, has good reason for doing such a thing.” Tönseten spoke with all the importance of a man who has inside knowledge.

Per Hansa looked at him, and a bantering tone came into his voice:

“I see it clearly, Syvert—it would never do to keep you around here as a mere baker! We’ll have to promote you to a higher office, right away.... Now, boys, I’m going over to see this empire that you two have set aside for me. Ola, you hitch up the oxen again and bring the wagons along.”

With these commands he walked rapidly away; the others had almost to run in order to keep up with him. Strong emotions surged through him as he strode on....

“It lies high,” he observed after a while, when they had looked all the plowland over.... “There must be a fine view from the top of that hill.”

They were bending their steps in this direction, and soon had reached the highest point. It seemed so spacious and beautiful to stand high above the prairie and look around, especially now, when the shades of evening were falling.... Suddenly Per Hansa began to step more cautiously; he sniffed the air like an animal; in a moment he stopped beside a small depression in the ground, and stood gazing at it intently for quite a while; then he said, quietly:

“There are people buried here.... That is a grave!”

“Oh no, Per Hansa! It can’t be possible.”

“No doubt about it,” he said in the same subdued but positive tone.

Tönseten and Hans Olsa were so astonished that they could hardly credit the fact; they came over at once to where Per Hansa stood, and gazed down into the hollow.

Hans Olsa bent over and picked up a small stone that his eyes had lighted on; he turned it around in his hand several times.... “That’s a queer-looking piece of stone! I almost believe people have shaped it for some use.... Here, see what you make of it, Syvert.”

Tönseten’s ruddy face grew sober and thoughtful as he examined the object.

“By thunder! It certainly looks as if the Indians had been here!... Now isn’t that rotten luck?” ...

“I’m afraid so,” said Per Hansa, with a vigorous nod. Then he added, sharply, “But we needn’t shout the fact from the house-tops, you know!... It takes so very little to scare some folks around here.”

He waited no longer but walked hastily down the hill; at the foot he called to Ole, telling him not to drive any farther; but first he turned to Hans Olsa to find out whether they were well across the line between the two quarters.

“No use in building farther away from you than is absolutely necessary,” he said. “It’s going to be lonesome for the women-folks at times.” ...

... Awhile later, Tönseten was dragging his way homeward. For reasons that he wouldn’t admit even to himself, he walked a good deal heavier now than when he had climbed the slope that afternoon.

Per Hansa returned with his other neighbour to the wagons, where Beret and the children were waiting. Again he inquired about the line between the two quarters; then asked Beret and Hans Olsa to help pick the best building place; his words, though few and soberly spoken, had in them an unmistakable ring of determination.... This vast stretch of beautiful land was to be his—yes, _his_—and no ghost of a dead Indian would drive him away!... His heart began to expand with a mighty exaltation. An emotion he had never felt before filled him and made him walk erect.... “Good God!” he panted. “This kingdom is going to be _mine_!”

IV

Early the next morning Per Hansa and one of the Solum boys set out on the fifty-two-mile journey to Sioux Falls, where Per Hansa filed an application for the quarter-section of land which lay to the north of Hans Olsa’s. To confirm the application, he received a temporary deed to the land. The deed was made out in the name of _Peder Benjamin Hansen_; it contained a description of the land, the conditions which he agreed to fulfil in order to become the owner, and the date, _June 6, 1873_.

Sörine wanted Beret and the children to stay with her during the two days that her husband would be away; but she refused the offer with thanks. If they were to get ready a home for the summer, she said, she would have to take hold of matters right away.

... “For the summer?” exclaimed the other woman, showing her astonishment. “What about the winter, then?”

Beret saw that she had uttered a thought which she ought to have kept to herself; she evaded the question as best she could.

During the first day, both she and the boys found so much to do that they hardly took time to eat. They unloaded both the wagons, set up the stove, and carried out the table. Then Beret arranged their bedroom in the larger wagon. With all the things taken out it was quite roomy in there; it made a tidy bedroom when everything had been put in order. The boys thought this work great fun, and she herself found some relief in it for her troubled mind. But something vague and intangible hovering in the air would not allow her to be wholly at ease; she had to stop often and look about, or stand erect and listen.... Was that a sound she heard?... All the while, the thought that had struck her yesterday when she had first got down from the wagon, stood vividly before her mind: here there was nothing even to hide behind!... When the room was finished, and a blanket had been hung up to serve as a door, she seemed a little less conscious of this feeling. But back in the recesses of her mind it still was there....

After they had milked the cow, eaten their evening porridge, and talked awhile to the oxen, she took the boys and And-Ongen and strolled away from camp. With a common impulse, they went toward the hill; when they had reached the summit, Beret sat down and let her gaze wander aimlessly around.... In a certain sense, she had to admit to herself, it was lovely up here. The broad expanse stretching away endlessly in every direction, seemed almost like the ocean—especially now, when darkness was falling. It reminded her strongly of the sea, and yet it was very different.... This formless prairie had no heart that beat, no waves that sang, no soul that could be touched ... or cared....

The infinitude surrounding her on every hand might not have been so oppressive, might even have brought her a measure of peace, if it had not been for the deep silence, which lay heavier here than in a church. Indeed, what was there to break it? She had passed beyond the outposts of civilization; the nearest dwelling places of men were far away. Here no warbling of birds rose on the air, no buzzing of insects sounded;[6] even the wind had died away; the waving blades of grass that trembled to the faintest breath now stood erect and quiet, as if listening, in the great hush of the evening.... All along the way, coming out, she had noticed this strange thing: the stillness had grown deeper, the silence more depressing, the farther west they journeyed; it must have been over two weeks now since she had heard a bird sing! Had they travelled into some nameless, abandoned region? Could no living thing exist out here, in the empty, desolate, endless wastes of green and blue?... How _could_ existence go on, she thought, desperately? If life is to thrive and endure, it must at least have something to hide behind!...

[6] Original settlers are agreed that there was neither bird nor insect life on the prairie, with the exception of mosquitoes, the first year that they came.

The children were playing boisterously a little way off. What a terrible noise they made! But she had better let them keep on with their play, as long as they were happy.... She sat perfectly quiet, thinking of the long, oh, so interminably long march that they would have to make, back to the place where human beings dwelt. It would be small hardship for her, of course, sitting in the wagon; but she pitied Per Hansa and the boys—and then the poor oxen!... He certainly would soon find out for himself that a home for men and women and children could never be established in this wilderness.... And how could she bring new life into the world out here!...

Slowly her thoughts began to centre on her husband; they grew warm and tender as they dwelt on him. She trembled as they came....

But only for a brief while. As her eyes darted nervously here and there, flitting from object to object and trying to pierce the purple dimness that was steadily closing in, a sense of desolation so profound settled upon her that she seemed unable to think at all. It would not do to gaze any longer at the terror out there, where everything was turning to grim and awful darkness.... She threw herself back in the grass and looked up into the heavens. But darkness and infinitude lay there, also—the sense of utter desolation still remained.... Suddenly, for the first time, she realized the full extent of her loneliness, the dreadful nature of the fate that had overtaken her. Lying there on her back, and staring up into the quiet sky across which the shadows of night were imperceptibly creeping, she went over in her mind every step of their wanderings, every mile of the distance they had travelled since they had left home....

First they had boarded the boat at Sandnessjöen.... This boat had carried them southward along the coast.... In Namsos there had been a large ship with many white sails, that had taken her, with her dear ones, and sailed away—that had carried them off relentlessly, farther and farther from the land they knew. In this ship they had sailed for weeks; the weeks had even grown into months; they had seemed to be crossing an ocean which had no end.... There had been something almost laughable in this blind course, steadily fixed on the sunset! When head winds came, they beat up against them; before sweeping fair breezes they scudded along; but always they were westering!...

... At last they had landed in Quebec. There she had walked about the streets, confused and bewildered by a jargon of unintelligible sounds that did not seem like the speech of people.... Was this the Promised Land? Ah no—it was only the beginning of the real journey.... Then something within her had risen up in revolt: I will go no farther!...

... But they had kept on, just the same—had pushed steadily westward, over plains, through deserts, into towns, and out of them again.... One fine day they had stood in Detroit, Michigan. This wasn’t the place, either, it seemed.... Move on!... Once more she had felt the spirit of revolt rising to shout aloud: I will go no farther!... But it had been as if a resistless flood had torn them loose from their foundations and was carrying them helplessly along on its current—flinging them here and there, hurling them madly onward, with no known destination ahead.

Farther and farther onward ... always west.... For a brief while there had been a chance to relax once more; they had travelled on water again, and she could hear the familiar splash of waves against the ship’s side. This language she knew of old, and did not fear; it had lessened the torture of that section of the journey for her, though they had been subjected to much ill-treatment and there had been a great deal of bullying and brawling on board.

At last the day had arrived when they had landed in Milwaukee. But here they were only to make a new start—to take another plunge into the unknown.... Farther, and always farther.... The relentless current kept whirling them along.... Was it bound nowhere, then?... Did it have no end?...

In the course of time they had come jogging into a place called Prairie du Chien.... Had that been in Wisconsin, or some other place named after savages?... It made no difference—they had gone on. They had floundered along to Lansing, in Iowa.... Onward again. Finally they had reached Fillmore County, in Minnesota.... But even that wasn’t the place, it seemed!...

... Now she was lying here on a little green hillock, surrounded by the open, endless prairie, far off in a spot from which no road led back!... It seemed to her that she had lived many lives already, in each one of which she had done nothing but wander and wander, always straying farther away from the home that was dear to her.

She sat up at last, heaved a deep sigh, and glanced around as if waking from a dream.... The unusual blending of the gentle and forceful in her features seemed to be thrown into relief by the scene in which she sat and the twilight hovering about her, as a beautiful picture is enhanced by a well-chosen frame.

The two boys and their little sister were having great fun up here. So many queer things were concealed under the tufts of grass. Store-Hans came running, and brought a handful of little flat, reddish chips of stone that looked as though they had been carved out of the solid rock; they were pointed at one end and broadened out evenly on both sides, like the head of a spear. The edges were quite sharp; in the broad end a deep groove had been filed. Ole brought more of them, and gave a couple to his little sister to play with.... The mother sat for a while with the stones in her lap, where the children had placed them; at last she took them up, one by one, and examined them closely.... These must have been formed by human hands, she thought.

Suddenly Ole made another rare discovery. He brought her a larger stone, that looked like a sledge hammer; in this the groove was deep and broad.

The mother got up hastily.

“Where are you finding these things?”

The boys at once took her to the place; in a moment she, too, was standing beside the little hollow at the brow of the hill, which the men had discovered the night before; the queer stones that the children had been bringing her lay scattered all around.

“Ola says that the Indians made them!” cried Store-Hans, excitedly. “Is it true, mother?... Do you suppose they’ll ever come back?”

“Yes, maybe—if we stay here long enough....” She remained standing awhile beside the hollow; the same thought possessed her that had seized hold of her husband when he had first found the spot—here a human being lay buried. Strangely enough, it did not frighten her; it only showed her more plainly, in a stronger, harsher light, how unspeakably lonesome this place was.

The evening dusk had now almost deepened into night. It seemed to gather all its strength around her, to close in on every side, to have its centre in the spot where she stood. The wagons had become only a dim speck in the darkness, far, far away; the tent at Hans Olsa’s looked like a tuft of grass that had whitened at the top; Tönseten’s sod house she was unable to make out at all.... She could not bring herself to call aloud to the boys; instead, she walked around the hollow, spoke to them softly, and said that it was time to go home.... No, no, they mustn’t take the stones with them to-night! But to-morrow they might come up here again to play.

... Beret could not go to sleep for a long time that night. At last she grew thoroughly angry with herself; her nerves were taut as bowstrings; her head kept rising up from the pillow to listen—but there was nothing to hear ... nothing except the night wind, which now had begun to stir.

... It stirred with so many unknown things!...

V

Per Hansa came home late the following afternoon; he had so many words of praise for what she and the boys had accomplished while he had been gone, that he fairly bewildered her. Now it had taken possession of him again—that indomitable, conquering mood which seemed to give him the right of way wherever he went, whatever he did. Outwardly, at such times, he showed only a buoyant recklessness, as if wrapped in a cloak of gay, wanton levity; but down beneath all this lay a stern determination of purpose, a driving force, so strong that she shrank back from the least contact with it.

To-day he was talking in a steady stream.

“Here is the deed to our kingdom, Beret-girl! See to it that you take good care of the papers.... Isn’t it stranger than a fairy tale, that a man can have such things here, just for the taking?... Yes—and years after he won the princess, too!” He cocked his head on one side. “I’ll tell you what, it seems so impossible and unheard of, that I can’t quite swallow it all yet.... What do you say, my Beret-girl?”

Beret stood smiling at him, with tears in her eyes, beside the improvised house that she had made; there was little for her to say. And what would be the use of speaking now? He was so completely wrapped up in his own plans that he would not listen nor understand. It would be wrong, too, to trouble him with her fears and misgivings.... When he felt like this he was so tender to her, so cheerful, so loving and kind.... How well she knew Per Hansa!...

“What are you thinking about it all, my Beret-girl?” He flung his arm around her, whirled her off her feet, and drew her toward him.

“Oh, Per, it’s only this—I’m so afraid out here!” She snuggled up against him, as if trying to hide herself. “It’s all so big and open ... so empty.... Oh, Per! Not another human being from here to the end of the world!”

Per Hansa laughed loud and long, so that she winced under the force and meaning of it. “There’ll soon be more people, girl ... never you fear.... By God! there’ll soon be more people here!”

But suddenly another idea took hold of him. He led her over to the large chest, made her sit down, and stood in front of her with a swaggering air:

“Now let me tell you what came into my mind yesterday, after I had got the papers. I went right out and bought ten sacks of potatoes! I felt so good, Beret—and you know how we men from Nordland like potatoes!” he added with a laugh. “This is the point of it: we’re not going to start right in with building a house. The others are just foolish to do it.” His voice grew low and eager. “They’re beginning at the wrong end, you see. For my part, I’m going over to Hans Olsa’s this very night and borrow his plow—and to-morrow morning I shall start breaking my ground! Yes, sir! I tell you those potatoes have got to go into the ground at once. Do you hear me, Beret-girl? If the soil out here is half as good as it’s cracked up to be, we’ll have a fine crop the very first fall!... Then I can build later in the summer, you know, when I am able to take my time about it.... Just wait, my girl, just wait. It’s going to be wonderful; you’ll see how wonderful I can make it for you, this kingdom of ours!” He laughed until his eyes were drawn out in two narrow slits. “And no old worn-out, thin-shanked, pot-bellied king is going to come around and tell me what I have to do about it, either!”

He explained to her at great length how he intended to arrange everything and how success would crown his efforts, she sitting there silently on the chest, he standing in front of her, waving his arms; while about them descended the grandeur of the evening. But with all his strength and enthusiasm, and with all her love, he didn’t succeed in winning her heart over altogether—no, not altogether. She had heard with her own ears how no bird sang out here; she had seen with her own eyes how, day after day as they journeyed, they had left the abodes of men farther and farther behind. Wasn’t she sitting here now, gazing off into an endless blue-green solitude that had neither heart nor soul?...

“Do you know,” she said, quietly, as she got up once more and leaned close against him, “I believe there is a grave over there on the hill?”

“Why, Beret! Did you find it? Have you been going around brooding over that, too?... Don’t worry, girl. He’ll bring us nothing but good luck, the fellow who lies up there.”

“Perhaps.... But it seems so strange that some one lies buried in unconsecrated ground right at our very door. How quiet it must be there!... The children found so many things to play with, while we were up on the hill last night, that I let them go again to-night. Come, we had better begin to look for them.... It is beautiful up there.” She sighed, and moved away.

They climbed the hill together, holding each other’s hands. There was something in that sad resignation of hers which he was powerless against. As he walked beside her and held her hand, he felt as if he could laugh and cry in the same breath.... She was so dear, so dear to him. Why could he never make her understand it fully? It was a strange, baffling thing! But perhaps the reason for it lay in this: she was not built to wrestle with fortune—she was too fine-grained.... Oh, well—he knew one person, at any rate, who stood ready to do the fighting for her!

* * * * *

Per Hansa had so much to think about that night that a long time passed before he could get to sleep. Now was a good chance to make his plans, while Beret lay at his side, sleeping safe and sound; he must utilize every moment now; he didn’t feel very tired, either.

There seemed to be no end to the things he needed. But thirty dollars was all the money he had in the world; and when he thought of what would have to be bought in the near future, and of everything that waited to be done, the list grew as long as the distance they had travelled.... First of all, house and barn; that would need doors and windows. Then food and tobacco; shoes and clothing; and implements—yes, farming implements! If he only had horses and the necessary implements, the whole quarter-section would soon blossom like a garden.... The horses he would have to do without, to begin with. But he ought to get at least one more cow before fall came—no dodging that fact.... And pigs—he absolutely had to have some pigs for winter!... If the potatoes turned out well, there would be plenty to feed them on.... Then he would buy some chickens, as soon as he could run across any folks who had chickens to sell. Things like that would only be pleasant diversions for Beret.... There certainly seemed to be no end to all that he needed.

... But now came the main hitch in his calculations: Beret was going to have a baby again.... Only a blessing, of course—but what a lot of their time it would take up, just now!... Oh, well, she would have to bear the brunt of it herself, as the woman usually did. A remarkably brave and clever wife, that she was ... a woman of tender kindness, of deep, fine fancies—one whom you could not treat like an ordinary clod.

... How hard he would strive to make life pleasant for her out here! Her image dominated all the visions which now seemed to come to him of their own accord.... The Whole farm lay there before him, broken and under cultivation, yielding its fruitful harvests; there ran many horses and cows, both young and grown. And over on the location where to-day he was about to build the sod hut should stand a large dwelling ... a _white_ house, it would be! Then it would gleam so beautifully in the sun, white all over—but the cornices should be bright green!...

When, long ago, Per Hansa had had his first vision of the house, it had been painted white, with green cornices; and these colours had belonged to it in his mind ever since. But the stable, the barn, and all the rest of the outhouses should be painted red, with white cornices—for that gave such a fine effect!... Oh yes, that Beret-girl of his should certainly have a royal mansion for herself and her little princess!...

VI

As Per Hansa lay there dreaming of the future it seemed to him that hidden springs of energy, hitherto unsuspected even by himself, were welling up in his heart. He felt as if his strength were inexhaustible. And so he commenced his labours with a fourteen-hour day; but soon, as the plans grew clearer, he began to realize how little could be accomplished in that short span of time, with so much work always ahead of him; he accordingly lengthened the day to sixteen hours, and threw in another hour for good measure; at last he found himself wondering if a man couldn’t get along with only five hours of rest, in this fine summer weather.

His waking dreams passed unconsciously into those of sleep; all that night a pleasant buoyancy seemed to be lifting him up and carrying him along; at dawn, when he opened his eyelids, morning was there to greet him—the morning of a glorious new day.... He saw that it was already broad daylight; with a guilty start, he came wide awake. Heavens! he might have overslept himself—on _this_ morning!... He jumped into his clothes, and found some cold porridge to quiet his hunger for the time being; then he hurried out, put the yoke on the oxen, and went across to Hans Olsa’s to fetch the plow.... Over there no life was stirring yet. Well, maybe they could afford to sleep late in the morning; but he had arrived five days behind the others, and had just been delayed for two days more; they had a big start over him already. His heart sang as he thought how he would have to hurry!... He led the oxen carefully, trying to make as little noise around the tent as possible.

Dragging the plow, he drove out for some distance toward the hillock, then stopped and looked around. This was as good a place as anywhere to start breaking.... He straightened up the plow, planted the share firmly in the ground, and spoke to the oxen: “Come now, move along, you lazy rascals!” He had meant to speak gruffly, but the thrill of joy that surged over him as he sank the plow in his own land for the first time, threw such an unexpected tone of gentleness into his voice that the oxen paid no attention to it; he found that he would have to resort to more powerful encouragement; but even with the goad it was hard to make them bend to the yoke so early in the morning. After a little, however, they began to stretch their muscles. Then they were off; the plow moved ... sank deeper ... the first furrow was breaking....

It would have gone much easier now if Ole had only been there to drive the oxen, so that he could have given his whole attention to the plow. But never mind that!... The boy ought to sleep for at least another hour; the day would be plenty long enough for him, before it was through.... Young bulls have tender sinews—though for one of his age, Ole was an exceptionally able youngster.

That first furrow turned out very crooked for Per Hansa; he made a long one of it, too. When he thought he had gone far enough and halted the oxen, the furrow came winding up behind him like a snake. He turned around, drove the oxen back in the opposite direction, and laid another furrow up against the one he had already struck.... At the starting point again, he surveyed his work ruefully. Well, the second furrow wasn’t any _crookeder_ than the first, at all events!... When he had made another round he let the oxen stand awhile; taking the spade which he had brought out, he began to cut the sod on one side of the breaking into strips that could be handled. This was to be his building material.... Field for planting on the one hand, sods for a house on the other—that was the way to plow!... Leave it to Per Hansa—he was the fellow to have everything figured out beforehand!

By breakfast time he had made a fine start. No sooner had he swallowed the last morsel than he ordered both the boys to turn to, hitched the oxen to the old homemade wagon, and off they all went together toward the field, Per Hansa leading the way.... “You’d better cook the kettles full to-day!” he shouted back, as they were leaving. “We’re going to punish a lot of food when we come in!”

Now Per Hansa began working in real earnest. He and Store-Hans, with plow and oxen, broke up the land; Ole used the hoe, but the poor fellow was having a hard time of it. The sod, which had been slumbering there undisturbed for countless ages, was tough of fibre and would not give up its hold on the earth without a struggle. It almost had to be turned by main strength, piece by piece; it was a dark brownish colour on the under side—a rich, black mould that gave promise of wonderful fertility; it actually gleamed and glistened under the rays of the morning sun, where the plow had carved and polished its upturned face.... Ole toiled on, settling and straightening the furrows as best he could, now and then cutting out the clods that fell unevenly. When Per Hansa had made a couple of rounds, he let the oxen stand awhile to catch their breath, and came over to Ole to instruct him. “This is the way to do it!” he said, seizing the hoe. “Watch me, now—_like this_!” He hewed away till the clods were flying around him.... When they quit work at noon a good many furrows lay stretched out on the slope, smiling up at the sun; they were also able to bring home with them a full wagonload of building material; at coffee time they brought another; at supper another. But when, arriving home at the end of the day, they found that supper was not quite ready, Per Hansa felt that he must go after still another load; they had better make use of every minute of time!

VII

He began building the house that same evening.

“You ought to rest, Per Hansa!” Beret pleaded. “Please use a little common sense!”

“Rest—of course! That’s just what I propose to do!... Come along, now, all hands of you; you can’t imagine what fun this is going to be.... Just think of it—a new house on our own estate! I don’t mean that you’ve got to work, you know; but come along and watch the royal mansion rise!”

They all joined in, nevertheless ... couldn’t have kept their hands off. It gave them such keen enjoyment that they worked away until they could no longer see to place the strips of sod. Then Per Hansa called a halt—that was enough for one day. They had laboured hard and faithfully; well, they would get their wages in due time, every last one of them—but he couldn’t bother with such trifles just now!

... That night sleep overpowered him at once; he was too tired even to dream.

From now on Per Hansa worked on the house every morning before breakfast, and every evening as soon as he had finished supper. The whole family joined in the task when they had nothing else to do; it seemed like a fascinating game.

To the eyes of Tönseten and Hans Olsa, it appeared as if nothing short of witchcraft must be at work on Per Hansa’s quarter section; in spite of the fact that he and his entire family were breaking ground in the fields the whole day long, a great sod house shot up beside the wagon, like an enormous mushroom.

Per Hansa plowed and harrowed, delved and dug; he built away at the house, and he planted the potatoes; he had such a zest for everything and thought it all such fun that he could hardly bear to waste a moment in stupid sleep. It was Beret who finally put a check on him. One morning, as he threw off the blanket at dawn, on the point of jumping up in his reckless way, she lay there awake, waiting for him. The moment he stirred, she put her arms lovingly around him and told him that he must stay in bed awhile longer. This would never do, she said; he ought to remember that he was only a human being.... She begged him so gently and soothingly that he gave in at last and stayed in bed with her. But he was ill at ease over the loss of time. It wouldn’t take long to lay a round of sod, and every round helped.... This Beret-girl of his meant well enough, but she didn’t realize the multitude of things that weighed on his mind—things that couldn’t wait, that had to be attended to immediately!

... Yes, she was an exceptional woman, this Beret of his; he didn’t believe that her like existed anywhere else under the sun. During the last two days she had hurried through her housework, and then, taking And-Ongen by the hand, had come out in the field with them; she had let the child roam around and play in the grass while she herself had joined in their labour; she had pitched in beside them and taken her full term like any man. It had all been done to make things easier for him ... and now she was lying awake here, just to look after him!

... He thought of other things that she had done. When they had harrowed and hoed sufficient seed ground, Beret had looked over her bundles and produced all kinds of seeds—he couldn’t imagine how or where she had got them—turnips, and carrots, and onions, and tomatoes, and melons, even!... What a wife she was!... Well, he had better stay in bed and please her this time, when she had been so clever and thoughtful about everything.

However it was accomplished, on Per Hansa’s estate they had a field all broken and harrowed and seeded down, and a large house ready for thatching, by the time that Hans Olsa and the Solum boys had barely finished thatching their houses and started the plowing. Tönseten, though, was ahead of him with the breaking—Per Hansa had to accept that—and was now busy planting his potatoes. But Syvert had every reason to be in the lead; his house had been all ready to move into when they had arrived. That little stable which he had built wasn’t more than a decent day’s work for an able man. And he had horses, too.... Of course, such things gave him a big advantage!

They finished planting the big field at Per Hansa’s late one afternoon; all the potatoes that he had brought home from Sioux Falls had been cut in small pieces and tucked away in the ground.... “Only one eye to each piece!” he had warned Beret as she sat beside him, cutting them up. “That’s enough for such rich soil.” ... The other seed, which she had provided with such splendid forethought, had also been planted. The field looked larger than it really was. It stood out clearly against the fresh verdure of the hillside; from a little distance it appeared as if some one had sewn a dark brown patch on a huge green cloth.... That patch looked mighty good to Per Hansa as he stood surveying the scene, his whole being filled with the sense of completed effort. Here he had barely arrived in a new country; yet already he had got more seed into the ground than on any previous year since Beret and he had started out for themselves.... Just wait! What couldn’t he do another year!

“Well, Beret-girl,” he said, “we’ve cleaned up a busy spring season, all right! To-night we ought to have an extra-fine dish of porridge, to bless what has been put into the ground.” He stood there with sparkling eyes, admiring his wonderful field.

Beret was tired out with the labour she had undergone; her back ached as if it would break. She, too, was looking at the field, but the joy he felt found no response in her.

... I’m glad that he is happy, she thought, sadly. Perhaps in time I will learn to like it, too.... But she did not utter the thought; she merely took the child by the hand, turned away, and went back to their wagon-home. There she measured out half of the milk that Rosie had given that morning, dipped some grits from the bag and prepared the porridge, adding water until it was thin enough. Before she served it up she put a small dab of butter in each dish, like a tiny eye that would hardly keep open; then she sprinkled over the porridge a small portion of sugar; this was all the luxury she could afford. Indeed, her heart began to reproach her even for this extravagance. But when she saw the joyful faces of the boys, and heard Per Hansa’s exclamations over her merits as a housekeeper, she brightened up a little, cast her fears to the wind, and sprinkled on more sugar from the bag.... Then she sat down among them, smiling and happy; she was glad that she hadn’t told them how her back was aching....

... They all worked at the house building that night as long as they could see.

VIII

Per Hansa’s house certainly looked as if it were intended for a royal mansion. When Tönseten saw it close at hand for the first time he exclaimed:

“Will you please inform me, Per Hansa, what the devil you think you’re building? Is it just a house, or is it a church and parsonage rolled in one?... Have you lost your senses altogether, man? You won’t be able to get a roof over this crazy thing in a month of Sundays!... Why, damn it all, there aren’t willows enough in this whole region to thatch a half of it! You might just as well tear it down again, for all the good it will do.”

“The hell you say!” cried Per Hansa, genially. “But there it stands, as big as Billy-be-damned, so what are you going to do about it?... The notion I had was this: I might as well build for my sons, too, while I was about it. Then when they got married and needed more room they could thatch a new section any time.... What ails you, Syvert? Isn’t there plenty of sod for roofing, all the way from here to the Pacific coast?”

But Tönseten took a serious view of the affair:

“I tell you, Per Hansa, there’s no sense in such a performance. It isn’t the sod, it’s the poles—you know it damned well!... You’d better go right ahead and tear it down as fast as ever you can!”

“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to, then,” said Per Hansa, dryly.

As a matter of fact, it was hardly to be wondered at that Tönseten grew excited when he saw this structure; it differed radically from the one he had built and from all the others that he had ever seen. He wondered if such a silly house as this could be found anywhere else in the whole country.... His own hut measured fourteen by sixteen feet; the one that the Solum boys were building was only fourteen feet each way; Hans Olsa had been reckless and had laid his out eighteen feet long and sixteen feet wide.... But look at this house of Per Hansa’s—_twenty-eight_ feet long and _eighteen_ feet wide! Moreover, it had _two_ rooms, one of them eighteen by eighteen, the other eighteen by ten. The rooms were separated by a wall; one had a door opening toward the south, the other a door opening toward the east. Two doors in a sod hut! My God! what folly! In the smaller room the sod even had been taken up, so that the floor level there was a foot below that of the larger room. What was the sense of that?... If we don’t look out, thought Tönseten, this crazy man will start building a tower on it, too!

Things surely looked serious to Tönseten. In the first place, Per Hansa plainly was getting big-headed; heavens and earth, it was nothing but an ordinary sod hut that he was building! In the second place, it wasn’t a practical scheme. If he were to search till doomsday, he wouldn’t be able to find enough willows for the thatching. Why, he might just as well thatch the whole firmament, and be done with it!... As soon as he had looked his fill, Tönseten trotted right over to Hans Olsa’s, told him all about it, and asked him to go and reason with the man.... But, no, Hans Olsa didn’t care to meddle in that affair. Per Hansa had a considerable family already; it might grow in the next few years; at any rate, he needed a fairly large house. Above all, he wasn’t the man to bite off more than he could chew.

“But that’s just it—he doesn’t know what he’s bitten off! He doesn’t know anything at all about building a house!” With these drastic words, Tönseten went directly to the Solum boys; they had been born and brought up in America, and knew what was what. Now they must go, right away, and talk to Per Hansa about this crazy building that he was putting up! The only way out of it that he could think of was for them and himself—and maybe Hans Olsa—to go in a body and show him what to do, and help him to build a house then and there. The thing that he had put up was frankly impossible; the poor man would ruin himself before he got a decent start!...

To his great disappointment, the Solum boys wouldn’t go, either. It was Per Hansa’s own business, they said, what sort of a house he wanted to build for himself. So Tönseten had to give it up as a bad job. He shook his head solemnly.... A damned shame, that a perfectly good man had to go to ruin through sheer folly!

Per Hansa had put a great deal of thought into this matter of building a house; ever since he had first seen a sod hut he had pondered the problem. On the day that he was coming home from Sioux Falls a brilliant idea had struck him—an idea which had seemed perhaps a little queer, but which had grown more attractive the longer he turned it over in his mind. How would it do to build house and barn under one roof? It was to be only a temporary shelter, anyway—just a sort of makeshift, until he could begin on his real mansion. This plan would save time and labour, and both the house and the barn would be warmer for being together.... He had a vague recollection of having heard how people in the olden days used to build their houses in that way—rich people, even! It might not be fashionable any longer; but it was far from foolish, just the same.

It will go hard with Beret, he thought; she won’t like it. But after a while he picked up courage to mention his plan to her.

... House and barn under the same roof?... She said no more, but fell into deep and troubled thought.... Man and beast in one building? How could one live that way?... At first it seemed utterly impossible to her; but then she thought of how desolate and lonesome everything was here and of what a comfortable companion Rosie might be on dark evenings and during the long winter nights. She shuddered, and answered her husband that it made no difference to her whichever way he built, so long as it was snug and warm; but she said nothing about the real reason that had changed her mind.

This answer made Per Hansa very happy.

“Beret-girl, you are the most sensible woman that I know!... Of course it’s better, all around, for us to build that way!”

He, too, had reasons that he kept to himself.... Now he would get ahead of both Hans Olsa and the Solum boys! None of them had even begun to think of building a barn yet; while according to his plan, his barn would be finished when his house was done.

IX

One evening Per Hansa came over with his oxen to Hans Olsa’s to borrow his new wagon; the time had come to get his poles for the thatching. The others had been able to gather what they needed along the banks of a creek some ten miles to the southward, where a fringe of scattering willows grew; but it was small stock and a scanty supply at that; their roofs were certainly none too strong, and might not hold up through the next winter.... Per Hansa had a bigger and more original scheme in mind. If conditions were really as bad as Tönseten had made out, he’d have to find something besides willow poles for rafters on that house of his. The busy season of spring was over; now he proposed to rest on his oars awhile ... take a little time to nose around the prairie at his leisure. He had been told that the Sioux River was only twenty-five or thirty miles away; big stands of timber were reported to lie in that direction, and several settlements of Trönders,[7] who had lived there for a number of years; many other interesting things would turn up, of course—things that he hadn’t heard about; he wanted to see it all and get a running idea of the whole locality. He confided to Hans Olsa where he was going, but asked him not to mention it to anyone else.... “We might as well keep this matter to ourselves, you know. Besides, something has got to be done about getting fuel for the winter.”

[7] People from the district of Trondhjem, Norway.

He brought the wagon home that evening, merely explaining that he and Store-Hans were going out to gather wood. Ole would have to look after the farm while they were away, and take the full responsibility on his shoulders. Store-Hans, who had been chosen to go on the trip, was overjoyed at the news; but his brother was reduced to the verge of tears at such an outrageous injustice. The idea of taking that _boy_ along, and letting a grown man loaf around the house with nothing to do! For the first time his faith in his father’s judgment was shattered.... And the situation grew worse and worse as Ole watched the extensive preparations for the trip; it looked for all the world as if they intended to move out West! The father was taking along a kettle, and was measuring out supplies of flour, and salt, and coffee, and milk, besides a big heap of _flatbröd_ and plenty of other food. But, heaviest blow of all, the rifle—Old Maria—was brought out from the big chest! Ole wept at that in sheer anger. Ax, rope, and sacks, too—everything was going!... And on top of it all, this youngster who wasn’t dry behind the ears yet had grown so conceited that he wouldn’t deign to talk to his brother; he kept fussing and smirking around his father all the time, speaking to him in low, confidential tones, and pushing himself to the front on every occasion! He seemed to be bubbling over with foolish questions. Shouldn’t they take this along, and _this_, and _this_?... But when at last he came dragging a piece of chain, even Per Hansa had to laugh outright. “That’s the boy, now! I might have forgotten the chain. And how could we go to the woods without a chain, I’d like to know?”

Beret got the food ready for the journey. Her face wore a sad, sober expression.... Yes, of course, the house must have a roof; she knew that perfectly well. How could they live in a house without a roof?... But now he was going to be away for another two-day stretch—two whole days and a night!... It wasn’t so bad in the daytime ... but at night...!

“You’d better take the children with you and go over to Mother Sörrina’s to-morrow evening,” Per Hansa advised her, cheerfully. “You can spend the whole evening there, you know, visiting and talking. It’ll make the time pass quicker, and you won’t be so lonesome.... You do that, Beret!”

To this suggestion she answered neither yes nor no. In her heart she knew very well that she wouldn’t follow his advice. She never could forget that evening of his trip to Sioux Falls, when she and the children had come down the hill toward the wagons; the air of the place had suddenly filled with terror and mystery. The wagons had floated like grey specks in the dusk; and all at once it had seemed as if the whole desolation of a vast continent were centring there and drawing a magic circle about their home. She had even seen the intangible barrier with her own eyes ... had seen it clearly ... had had to force herself to step across it.... Now she went on getting the food ready for them as well as she could; but from her sad lips there came not a word.

This was destined to be a memorable journey, both for those who went and for those who stayed at home.... Before it was over the latter were in a panic of apprehension and fear. The second day passed as the first had done; the second night, too; the third day came ... noon, but no one in sight.

Beret had not really begun to expect them until sometime during the second day; Per Hansa had told her not to begin looking before they came in sight. Nevertheless, she had found herself unconsciously doing it shortly after dinner on the very first day. She knew that it was foolish—they hadn’t even got there yet; but she couldn’t refrain from scanning the sky line in the quarter where they had disappeared.... She went to bed with the children early that evening.

The following evening she took them up on the hill; they sat there silently, gazing eastward over the plain. From this elevation her sight seemed to take flight and carry a long, long distance.... In the eastern sky the evening haze was gathering; it merged slowly into the purple dusk, out of which an intangible, mysterious presence seemed to be creeping closer and closer upon them. They sat trying to pierce it with their gaze; but neither wagon nor oxen crossed the line of their vision.... Ole took no interest in keeping watch; it was more fun for him to look for queer stones around the grave.... When the day was well-nigh dead and nothing had appeared, Beret suddenly felt that she must talk to some one to-night ... hear some human voice other than those of the two children. Almost in spite of herself, she directed her steps toward Hans Olsa’s.

—Hadn’t Per Hansa returned yet?

—No. She couldn’t imagine what had become of him! He surely ought to have been home by this time.

—Oh, well, she mustn’t worry; he had probably travelled a long way on this trip; no doubt he had made use of the opportunity to look around for winter fuel.

—Winter fuel?... She had never given a thought to that before; but of course they would need wood if they were going to stay through the winter. It suddenly occurred to her how much there was for Per Hansa to plan about and worry over; but she also felt a twinge of jealousy because he had not confided in her.... Winter fuel? Of course; it was the thing they needed most of all!

Mother Sörine was well aware that her neighbour did not have any courage to spare. She realized, too, how lonesome it must be for Beret, to sleep over there in the wagon with only the children. As the visitors were leaving she got up, called her daughter, and insisted on accompanying them back to the wagon. They chatted gaily and freely all the way ... and that night there was no magic circle to step across!

Some time after noon on the third day Per Hansa and Store-Hans came home with a load so big that the oxen were just barely able to sag up the slope with it. It was like an incident out of a fairy tale, that famous load. There was a stout timber for the ridgepole, there were crossbeams and scantlings, and rafters for the roof; but Ole only sneered at such prosaic things. Was _that_ all they had gone for, he’d like to know? Farther down in the load, however, lay six bundles of young trees; their tops had been trimmed off, and the soil had been carefully wrapped around their roots with strips of bark.... “Those are to be planted around the house!” Store-Hans explained. “Would you believe it. Mother—in this bundle there are twelve plum trees! They grow great big plums! We met a man who told us all about them.” Store-Hans caught his breath from sheer excitement.... There were still stranger things in that load. In the back of the wagon, as the father unloaded, an opening almost like a small room was gradually revealed. Here lay two great bags—two bags brimful of curious articles. One of them evidently contained fish; the other seemed to hold the flayed carcass of a calf; at least, Ole thought so, and wanted to know where it had come from.

“_Calf!_” exclaimed Store-Hans. “What makes you think it’s a calf?” ...

Per Hansa winked slyly at his travelling companion; the wink warned him that he’d better say no more—for a little while!... Store-Hans assumed a knowing silence; but it could be seen with half an eye that he was bursting with important secrets. At last he was no longer able to contain himself.

... “_Antelope!_” he burst out, ecstatically.

Beret watched with speechless admiration the unloading of all the wonderful things that they had brought; she was so overjoyed to have her dear ones with her again that she could have burst into hysterical tears; as she stood beside the oxen she stroked their necks fondly, murmuring in a low voice that they were nice fellows to have hauled home such a heavy load.

... “Well, there!” said Per Hansa at last, when he had cleared the wagon. “Now, this is the idea: Store-Hans and I have figured on having fresh fish to-day, cooked in regular Nordland fashion, with soup and everything. We nearly killed ourselves, and the beasts, too, to get here in time.... Beret, what the devil have we got to put all this meat and fish into?”

Store-Hans ate that day as if he could never get enough; there seemed to be no bottom to the boy.... When he had finished the father chased him off to bed at once; and strange to say, he wasn’t at all unwilling though it was only the latter part of the afternoon. When evening came the mother tried to shake life into him again, but without success; once he roused enough to sit up in bed, but couldn’t get so far as to take off his clothes; the next moment he had thrown himself flat once more and was sleeping like a log.

As time went on this first expedition of Per Hansa’s came to be of great consequence to the new settlement on Spring Creek.... In the first place, there were all the trees that he had brought home and planted. This alone excited Tönseten’s enthusiasm to such a pitch that he was for leaving at once to get a supply of his own; but Hans Olsa and the Solum boys advised him to wait until the coming fall, so Tönseten reluctantly had to give up still another plan.

... But there were other things to do when fall came, and several years went by before the others had followed Per Hansa’s lead. This is the reason why, in the course of time, a stout grove of trees began to grow up around Per Hansa’s house before anything larger than a bush was to be seen elsewhere in the whole neighbourhood.

But the most important result of all, perhaps, was the acquaintance with the Trönders eastward on the Sioux River, which sprang out of this journey. Amid these strange surroundings, confronted by new problems, the two tribes, Trönder and Helgelander, met in a quite different relationship than on the Lofoten fishing grounds. Here they were glad enough to join forces in their common fight against the unknown wilderness....

... The Great Plain watched them breathlessly....

III. “Rosie!—Rosie!”

I

The food supply was steadily vanishing. Bags and sacks yawned empty and had nothing to yield. The settlers shared freely with one another as long as they had anything left; but even at Hans Olsa’s, where plenty usually reigned, the food at last began to give out. Among the menfolk a crumb of tobacco was as rare as gold.... High time that they took the situation in hand and did something about it! Besides, the season was getting so far advanced that they would soon have to start in haying. No two ways about it—they must make a trip to town.

All the men, accordingly—Per Hansa, and Tönseten, and Hans Olsa, and the two Solum boys—met together one Sunday to discuss the matter. A trip to town in those days was a serious affair, which had to be planned carefully from beginning to end. The seventy or eighty miles through desolate country was in itself no trifle; one couldn’t expect to be back in less than four days, even with horses. And under pressure of time, it was hard to accomplish everything that one wanted to do. Provisions of all sorts must be replenished for the next season; first of all came food, and after that clothing; then tools and farming implements, as far as their money would go. If it wouldn’t go far enough they would have to find some other way out of the fix, but they must hold down to essentials in order to keep alive.... As yet, no one in the Spring Creek settlement was in a position to carry any produce along, to be sold for cash or given in exchange for wares. But they all looked forward to the time when this would be possible; it would be harder work to haul a load both ways, of course; but what a help it would be—and what a satisfaction—to have their own products to barter!

They at once agreed that some of the menfolk would have to stay at home, in case anything untoward happened.... It was a singular thing, not a soul in this little colony ever felt wholly at ease, though no one referred to the fact or cared to frame the thought in words. All of a sudden, apparently without any cause, a vague, nameless dread would seize hold of them; it would shake them for a while like an attack of nerves; or again, it might fill them with restless apprehension, making them quiet and cautious in everything they did. They seemed to sense an unseen force around them.... The men grew taciturn under the strain; they would cast about for some task or other on which they could work off the spell. With the women it found an outlet in talk; they often became extravagantly loud and boisterous over nothing at all. Few realized what this strange feeling was; none of them would have admitted that he was afraid.

... Yes, God defend them! Man’s strength availed but little out here. They had already experienced it more than once. Terrible storms would come up—so suddenly, with such appalling violence!... Mother Sörine had reason to be frightened of these storms. Less than a week ago their tent had been carried away in one of them; Sörine, trapped inside and half choked, had been swept along with the canvas. Hans Olsa had laid the tent rope across his shoulder, planted his feet solidly in the ground, and summoned all his giant strength; but he had been whirled away like a tuft of wool. It had turned out all right, however; no one was seriously hurt ... this time.

And then, the Indians!... “_Injuns_,” as the red children of the great plain were called in common speech. Kjersti, Tönseten’s wife, didn’t mind the storms so much; they never committed inhuman outrages ... weren’t out for your scalp, at any rate! But fear of the Indians was ever vividly present in her mind. Not a day passed that she didn’t search the sky line many times.... Why, one of the savages actually lay buried over on Per Hansa’s land! And where the dead had their abode, the living were sure to come.... Since she had learned of the grave she was always on the lookout....

Truth to tell, her fear of the Indians was very natural. She and Syvert had heard the tale of the terrors of ’62 so often that they could have repeated it word for word, as if from an open book. When they were living in Fillmore County, Minnesota, two refugees from the Norway Lake massacre had drifted into the place; the story of the horrors they had undergone had taken on new and grewsome details as it passed from mouth to mouth; out here now on the open prairie, where no hiding place could be found, the form in which Kjersti remembered it had assumed the fantastic proportions of a myth.

Tönseten, however, wasn’t a bit afraid of the Indians—not he! Who ever heard of such nonsense? Why should he or anyone else fear them, now that they had become peaceful and civilized? He tried his best to instill this idea into the others.... Per Hansa would sit listening to Tönseten with a quizzical smile on his face. “That’s right, Syvert—go on,” he would agree. “All the Indians have turned into honest-to-God gentlemen these last ten years, with red skullcaps, and wooden shoes, and long pipes, and everything else they need. It’s no trick at all, you know, for a savage to learn fine manners, as crowded with folks to teach him as it is out here!” ... From the Trönders on the Sioux River, Per Hansa had learned a great deal of valuable information about the Indians; he had heard of a place, not very far away, called Flandreau or some such outlandish name, where they had a permanent colony; west from this place an Indian trail ran all the way through to Nebraska, and along this route the red man was said to make his yearly journeys. More than likely, Per Hansa thought, his own quarter-section lay directly in their path; he inferred this from the grave on the hill and from what he had heard.... If it were true, the fact would be certain to come to light before the summer was over. In the meanwhile—well, no use to cross a bridge until you came to it.

The men never spoke of the Indians while the womenfolk were around. But at other times, whenever the subject came up for discussion, Ole and Store-Hans stood listening with open mouths.... The grave where they found the stones had now begun to strike a chill into their hearts; but it also exerted a strange and irresistible fascination.

... So here they all were, afraid of something or other. But the women were the worst off; Kjersti feared the Indians, Sörine the storms; and Beret, poor thing, feared both—and feared the very air.

The outcome of their deliberations that Sunday was only what might have been expected; it seemed the logical thing for Hans Olsa and Tönseten and Henry Solum, each of whom owned horses and wagon, to make up the party for the journey. That would give three men and three separate teams; such a caravan ought to be able to haul home on one trip whatever the settlement could afford to buy.

Per Hansa was badly out of sorts that day; every word that he let fall had a bitter sting to it; he said little and sat morose and silent most of the time. In his eyes, the whole affair had the appearance of having been settled beforehand. He and the other Solum boy were to stay at home and look after the settlement; that was the plan, though it hadn’t been stated in outright terms. It looked to Per Hansa like a pretty mean piece of business.... For his part, he took it as a matter of course that he was a better man for the trip to town than Syvert Tönseten or Henry Solum—neither of whom, God knows, had any more wits than he could get along with!... In all their talk, no one had even hinted at that side of the question. And certainly Per Hansa wasn’t the sort of man to force himself down anybody’s throat.... But, by God! it was disgusting to have to lie around the house with the womenfolk while the others were off on such a fine expedition!... The thirst for adventure was burning in his blood.

When the party left on Monday morning Per Hansa was in a towering ill humour; he rose with the others at dawn, woke Ole, and hitched the oxen to the plow. On that day he broke up an acre and a half of prairie, with only the crude implements at hand—a record that stood for many years in that part of the country.

But at quitting time that night, when he paced around the field and discovered what an enormous day’s work he had done, he felt so elated that he began to whistle the tune of an old ballad.... Just look at that! If they didn’t hurry back, he’d have the whole farm broken up before they arrived.... By God! he’d show them! He’d give them a chance to see for themselves who was the better man!

II

The next day he did not drive himself so hard; but he turned off a good day’s work, just the same.

Per Hansa was again in a good humour that afternoon as he and Ole sauntered home from the field; he felt that during this interval he would easily get ahead of Tönseten. Ole’s tired feet dragged at every step; his voice was hoarse from steadily shouting at the oxen.

They had not got far on their way home when Store-Hans came running out to meet them; he began shouting as soon as he caught sight of them, and arrived all out of breath.

“Dad ... quick ... people are coming!” ...

The news sounded so incredible that Ole stopped short in his tracks and stared at his brother with his mouth wide open, but the father only laughed as he looked indulgently at the boy.

“Of course people are coming!” he said with a chuckle.... “And you’ll grow up to be a man, too, some day—at about the same rate, I guess! You’ve both got a long distance yet to travel.”

But Store-Hans was too excited to be thrown off the track by his father’s kindly sarcasm.

“Look!... _look there_!” he cried, pointing toward the southwest.... “Mother thinks they may be Indians!” ...

Per Hansa took in the whole western horizon in one swift glance.... “Huh!” he grunted ... and immediately began to walk faster. The longer he looked, the more haste he made. At last he was taking such mighty strides that the boys had to run in order to keep up with him.

Beret was standing just beyond the wagon, holding And-Ongen in her arms.

“They have come,” she said in a calm voice; but her sad, resigned face was pale and drawn.

“Well, don’t stand there!... Go and look after the cooking as if nothing had happened!” ... He spoke rapidly, with a metallic ring in his voice.

In an instant he was over at the new house, which as yet was only half thatched. The boys followed close at his heels; he spoke to them in quick, low tones; all his words had the same hard, metallic ring.

“Hans, run over to Sam’s and tell him what’s up.... Hurry, now!”

“Yes.” ... The boy hesitated.

“_Hurry_, I said!”

“Yes, sir!” ... Store-Hans found his legs and was off like lightning.

Per Hansa turned to Ole. “You go and get Old Maria. You’ll find her in the big chest—and something to load her with in the till. Stand the gun and everything just inside the door here.... And listen”—his face was hard set—“when I _whistle_, I want her—but not before!... Are you afraid?”

“N-n-no.” ... Ole ran to execute the order.

Per Hansa began to work away at the thatching as if nothing unusual were going on; but his eyes were steadily fixed on the approaching train. Little by little, as he watched, he grew calmer; the look of anxiety slowly faded away from his features, to be replaced by the half-sly, half-roguish expression of his lighter moods.... No war party, this—nothing but harmless families roaming over the plain!

Just then Ole arrived with the rifle.

“Never mind,” said Per Hansa. He was laughing now. “Go back and hide those things where you found them.... That fellow Store-Hans is a regular little rascal—the way he nearly scared us out of our wits!”

“But don’t you want the gun, Father?”

“No, I guess not.... Go and put her back—then come and run an errand for me.”

The boy ran inside, and returned in a moment empty-handed. Per Hansa was sitting on the edge of the roof; he kept looking off to the westward as he gave his orders:

“Run over and tell Sörrina that the Indians are coming, but don’t frighten the life out of her. Tell her it’s only a wandering tribe—just peaceful people like ourselves.... And tell her they are likely to camp for the night over here on the hill; if she is afraid, she can stay with us.... Don’t get off a lot of wild talk, now. Be sensible!”

Almost before he had heard the words, Ole was gone.... Per Hansa came down to the ground, heaved an armful of sod up on the roof, and then climbed back unconcernedly to his work.

The band of Indians crawled slowly toward them out of the west. Per Hansa counted the teams—fourteen in all, he made it—but he couldn’t be certain of the exact number; they drove close together and were headed straight in the direction of the settlement.... No doubt about it any longer—here lay an old Indian trail!

He was kneeling on the roof awhile later, trying to fit a strip of sod in place, when suddenly a figure stood below him; it had appeared so swiftly and silently that Per Hansa was startled in spite of himself.... The next moment he saw that it was Sam Solum, frightened and excited, gun in hand. He had run so fast that Store-Hans had been left far behind.

“You must be going hunting to-night,” Per Hansa observed, dryly.

“Haven’t you seen ’em?... Don’t you know...?” Sam had to stop to catch his breath.

“Seen who?”

“The Indians!... They’re right on top of us!”

“I see you look like the scared fool you are, all right!... What are you ramming around with that rattletrap of a gun of yours for? Put it out of sight as quick as you can! Then come here and help me with the thatching.... Store-Hans, you’d better go and stay with mother.”

Sam did as he was bid, without half understanding; he took his gun inside the house, stood it against the wall, and came out again; in front of the door he paused, staring open-mouthed at the approaching train.... Seated above him on the roof, Per Hansa glanced alternately westward and down at the puzzled youth.

“I suppose we ought to warn Kjersti—she’s always so skittish,” he said with a grin. “Why don’t you go down and tell her that our red neighbours are coming?... But don’t scare the wits out of the poor woman!”

Sam hesitated; the task obviously wasn’t to his liking.

... “Or should we wait, and let the Indians take her scalp?”

At these words Sam jumped, then suddenly broke into a run.

Per Hansa laughed heartily as he watched him go.

“Hey, there! Don’t tear off as if your pants had caught fire!” he shouted. “You needn’t be in such an awful sweat about Kjersti, either!”

But Kjersti herself had seen the enemy; she must have been on the lookout, as usual.... At that moment she hove in sight on the slope of the hill, leading her cow.

At the same time Ole arrived, with Sörine and the girl close behind him; but Sörine, unfortunately, hadn’t thought of her cow, which was grazing off on the prairie to the westward, some distance from Hans Olsa’s house.

Soon they were all gathered in a little knot—the three women, Ole, and the Solum boy; but Store-Hans felt that it would be safer with his father, and had gone over to where Per Hansa was still working.... Kjersti was moaning and wailing because her Syvert was away at a time when the Lord sent such tribulations upon her; Mother Sörine was comforting her as best she could, saying that, after all, Indians were only people—human beings ... just human beings!... Beret listened in stony silence to it all.

At last Per Hansa took a quick slide down from the roof and went over to the agitated group.

“What have we here—a sewing circle?... By George! It seems to me that three nice modest girls like you oughtn’t to be standing around and making eyes at strange menfolk. They’ve got their own women with ’em, too.... Maybe the squaws would have a word or two to say about that!”

Per Hansa’s sally broke the tension; Beret immediately resumed her preparations for supper, and Mother Sörine began to help her; Kjersti found a pail and milked her cow; and Per Hansa himself went back to his roof and laid a few more strips of sod before supper was ready.

III

... While they sat waiting for the porridge to cool, they watched with anxious attention the Indian band as it crept up the slope of the hill toward the crest. The foremost team reached the summit, passed some distance beyond it on the other side, and came to a halt; at that they all drew up, the whole train forming a crescent around the brow of the hill, facing the house of Per Hansa. One by one the horses were unhitched from the rickety wagons and turned loose on the prairie.... Per Hansa’s face brightened still more as he noticed this move. People who did a thing like that could have no evil intentions!

Just then, however, Sörine’s cow, which was still grazing some distance off on the prairie, suddenly seemed to go crazy. She bellowed loud and long, lifted her head and tail high in the air, and galloped away toward the wagons of the newcomers. All watched her in amazement. Sörine burst out crying, blaming herself for being so shortsighted as to forget all about her precious cow.... As he saw the beast gallop away, Per Hansa cursed it from the bottom of his heart.

In an instant, before the little company sitting there had found time to gather their scattered wits, all the rest of their cattle were smitten by the same craze. At the first bellow of Sörine’s cow they had looked up inquiringly, had caught sight of the new arrivals, and at once had started off behind their leader—Rosie first, then Kjersti’s Brindlesides—both rearing their tails on high and galloping straight toward the camp of the Indians.

... “Damn the luck!” muttered Per Hansa between his teeth. “There goes the milk for our porridge!... The devil salt and burn their blasted tails!”

A far-away “moo-o-o” drifted in from the north, and there the Solum boys’ Daisy came running at full speed, to join the deserters![8]

[8] The cattle of the first settlers, from the wandering habits they had formed during the outward journey, had to be watched, for they wanted to join every caravan that came along.

At that Per Hansa burst into a loud laugh.... “You’d better go after your cow,” he said to Sam, “unless you want to munch dry porridge all winter!”

The women took the matter each in her own way, according to her feeling for her particular cow. Kjersti wept and took on, vowing that this was the worst thing that had ever happened to her—it was just awful; Sörine’s eyes were moist, but she believed that her cow would come back, just the same; she had never seen a better cow than Dolly and had tended her like a mother.... But Beret remained quite calm; she seemed more annoyed than frightened. Why didn’t one of the men go after the cows?... When they remained sitting and made no move, she rose and laid her spoon aside.

“We must get them at once,” she announced, firmly. “If the Indians were to leave to-night, the cows would follow—that is perfectly plain!” ... She took And-Ongen in her arms and started for the hill.

“Good Heavens, Beret,” cried Kjersti in despair. “You must be crazy!”

Per Hansa gazed fondly at his wife; across his face came a light that almost made him handsome.... _There_ was a woman for you!... He got up before she had gone many steps, and ran to her side.

“Go back and eat, Beret-girl! There isn’t anything to worry about, really and truly.... Leave the cows to me. It can just as well wait till after we have eaten.... We must behave like well-mannered folk, you know.”

As they sat over the last of their porridge Per Hansa drew such ghastly pictures to Sam of the cruelty with which the Indians would probably treat the cows, that the women shuddered at his words.... “I’ve often heard—have read it in books, too—that Indians would rather take the scalp of a cow any day, than of a man.... Haven’t you ever read about it? Huh! that’s strange!... Well, they’re just crazy, you see, for the scalp of a cow. They dry them out and use them for winter caps!” ...

Beret looked at him reproachfully. It seemed to her that it ill behooved him to talk in this fashion; if they were all afraid, they couldn’t help it; the words sounded coarse in his mouth, and seemed to coarsen him also.... “Can’t you shut up with that talk!” she said in her quiet, cutting way, without looking up. “It isn’t such a brave and manly thing, to terrorize poor womenfolk who are frightened already.”

Per Hansa fell suddenly silent; his face grew burning red. In all the years that they had lived together it had never happened till now that she had shamed him before others. And she had spoken so quietly—hadn’t even looked up!... He ate his porridge slowly and thoughtfully. What she had said kept repeating itself in his mind, and cut deeper each time.

At last he laid his spoon aside and got to his feet; he stuck his pipe in his mouth—the pipe that had been empty and cold so long now, for lack of fuel—and began sucking the stem.

“I suppose in all fairness, Sam, you ought to go chasing your own damned beast—you who are such a sharper in both the American and Indian languages!” he snapped out.... “But—oh, well, there might be some women over there who were worth having a look at!” he muttered with plain insinuation. “I guess I’d better go myself and make it a good _job_!”

Store-Hans jumped up like a flash and put his hand in his father’s.... Per Hansa glanced down into the beaming, ruddy face that smiled up at him and begged so earnestly.... But the boy uttered never a word.

“Come along, then,” said the father. Still holding the outstretched hand, he began to walk away.

“Hans, come here!” his mother cried out, sharply. A wild anxiety had come into her voice—a note of desperate pleading.

“No,” said Per Hansa, shortly. “Hans is going with me.” ... He waited for no answer, but grasped the boy’s hand firmly and started off.

IV

Store-Hans had been too absorbed in what was going on to notice the clash between his parents. As they went along, his whole being was athrill with excitement; he took long, manly strides, and chattered on in a low, rapid voice, but always returned to the same question:

—What was his father going to do to the Indians?

—Do?... Per Hansa’s mind refused to act any further. The biting words of his wife, spoken in the plain hearing of all, kept ringing in his ears.

“Yes, Dad, what are you going to do?”

“We’ll see about that later.” ... He tried to wrench himself out of his abstraction, repeating in a loud tone: “We’ll see later—when the time comes!”

“Are you ... are you going to fight them, Dad?”

Per Hansa gave the boy’s hand a good squeeze. “I guess we’ll have to be satisfied with a scalp or two!”

The only thing Store-Hans knew about scalping was that it was the most dreadful thing in the world; as to the actual process, he had only a hazy idea. Now he asked, fearfully, what did it mean, anyway—to scalp some one?

—Oh, nothing much.... Didn’t he know how it was done?

“No.... Please tell me, Dad?”

Per Hansa shifted the empty pipe to the other corner of his mouth; he laughed as he said:

“You see, Store-Hans, when the hide begins to get good and dry on the heads of some people, then the Indians peel it off.”

“Does it grow out new again?” Store-Hans gave a sidewise glance at the top of his father’s head; before he realized it, his hand had gone up under his own cap.

“Oh, I suppose so.”

“But ... but doesn’t it hurt awfully?”

“No, not at all ... that is, when the skin is good and dry.”

That seemed quite logical; Store-Hans grasped it immediately.

“But what do they do with the scalp?”

“What do they do with the scalp?” Per Hansa spoke slowly, as if his mind were elsewhere.... “They use it, I guess ... for mittens, and things like that.... They turn the hair side in, you see.” ...

“Oh, you’re only fooling!” cried Store-Hans, lengthening his stride in order not to fall behind.

“Maybe I am fooling.... I thought you knew all about it, though.”

The boy was dying to ask about other things; but he was getting afraid to raise his voice now—his throat, too, seemed very dry.... And, besides, they were drawing so near to the Indian camp now, that his eyes kept him fully occupied.

There was a good deal to see, up there on the hill.... A big tent, or wigwam, had been pitched in the centre of the crescent, with four smaller ones on each side. A troop of brown, half-naked children were running around among the tents.... They seemed to be playing games, thought Store-Hans; and immediately he picked up courage. He saw women moving about, too.... There couldn’t be any real danger here!

The rough tents, constructed of poles and hides, stood some distance back of the semicircle of oddly-assorted vehicles. Halfway between, a group of dusky squaws were busy at a fire, carrying wood from the wagons and throwing it on; around the fire several bronzed men were sitting motionless, with their legs crossed under them.... These men were smoking—that was the first thing that caught Per Hansa’s eye. The flames of the camp fire threw a lurid glare over the figures sitting around it, turning their copper-coloured faces to a still deeper hue, their raven hair to a more intense and glistening black. They smoked on in silence.

When the two visitors had arrived within the illuminated circle, one of the Indians pointed to them with his pipe; a few words were spoken among them in a guttural tongue; beyond this the coming of Per Hansa and his son created not a ripple of excitement.

Per Hansa stepped forward and greeted them in English—he had picked up enough words for that. The greeting was returned in the same language.... One of the braves put something that sounded like a question; two of the others, sitting beside him, added to it.... Per Hansa stood helpless for a moment; he could not understand a word.

But in this crisis Store-Hans, who had been half hiding behind his father, came to his aid; he whispered, rapidly:

“They want to know if we live here.”

“How the devil could you tell that?... By God! I guess we do!” Per Hansa nodded emphatically toward the Indians. “Tell them there isn’t any doubt of it—not the least doubt in the world—but say it nicely, now!”

Store-Hans stepped out in front, facing the seated redskins; he tried his best to make them understand, using what little English he had learned during the past winter.

* * * * *

The visit was soon over; after that strange, impassive meeting there seemed to be nothing else for Per Hansa to say or do. The stray cows, all four of them, had finally lain down beside the Indian wagons; he would only need to round them up and drive them home.... Yet there was something that made it almost impossible for him to tear himself away. The odour from the pipes wafted to him so enchantingly on the evening breeze, enthralled and held him captive. He hadn’t had a decent smoke for over two weeks, and he could smell that this was good strong tobacco.

At last the temptation grew altogether too powerful; he simply couldn’t resist it any longer. He glanced around the circle, picked out the face that looked to him the most approachable, then took the empty pipe from his mouth and indicated by signs that he needed something to fill it with.

The man he had chosen understood him perfectly. He gave a laugh, remarked something to the others, pulled a large leather pouch from his shirt, and held it out with a dignified gesture. Per Hansa grasped the pouch with an eager hand, took a deep dive into it, and gave his pipe a good fill.... “Many thanks, good friend! If Hans Olsa happens to get back before you’re gone, I’ll see that you are well repaid!... Hans, translate that to him the best way you know how.... What a thundering shame that we can’t talk with such good folks!” ... Per Hansa went over to the fire, raked out a glowing ember, lit his pipe, and pulled at it long and deeply, while an expression of rare contentment passed over his face.

V

Turning away from the fire, as he stood there enjoying his smoke, he noticed a face on the ground at his side—a face that peered out of the folds of a gaudily coloured blanket, so close to the fire that it startled him.... Good Lord! was the man trying to singe himself?

Per Hansa stared down into the face incredulously; the form in the blanket gazed up as fixedly at him in return. It struck him at once that the Indian must be suffering terrible pain; his features were distorted in agony.

“Store-Hans!” he called, hastily. “Come here and ask this fellow what’s the matter with him. It looks to me as if he were fighting death itself!”

Again Store-Hans had to try out his meagre stock of newcomer English on the Indians. The face moaned; in a moment it gave answer. The boy repeated his question; a second answer came, and then another long moan.

“He says his hand is hurt,” Store-Hans reported.

“Is that it? Too bad!... Tell him I’d like to take a look at that hand of his.”

But Store-Hans didn’t have to repeat the request. The man had been lying there watching them as they spoke together, looking closely and intently at Per Hansa. Now he got up beside him without a word; first he removed the blanket from his arm, and then unwound a bundle of dirty coloured rags that were wrapped around his hand.

When this was done, he held out an ugly-looking claw, swollen to the size of a log; not only the hand, but the wrist and a large part of the arm as well were badly swollen and infected. The evil seemed to have its source in a festering wound in the palm of the hand.... Per Hansa examined the hand, felt of it, squeezed it, and turned it over, as if he had done nothing else all the days of his life but tend to such cases. The flesh was as hard to the touch as a block of wood; but the wound itself didn’t look serious.

“Sure enough!” he observed, wisely. “If this doesn’t end up with blood poisoning my name isn’t Per! Maybe it’s come to that already.... Tell him”—he turned to Store-Hans—“tell him we’ve got to have some warm water at once—and more rags. But they must be clean—_clean white rags_, tell him!... See what a good job of talking you can do, now!” With these words, he went back to his examination.

The job of talking, however, was more than Store-Hans could handle—he stuck in it halfway. That his father wanted warm water he could make them understand; but the other request for clean white rags was either beyond his English or a little too much for their comprehension.

The sick Indian had kept his eyes intently fixed on the man who was examining his hand with all the assurance of an expert. Others had now risen and come up to them, one by one. A close circle had formed about the little group. The women were also joining it; the children stopped playing and slipped in among their elders; at last the whole camp had gathered in a silent ring around the three.... Per Hansa’s face wore a sober expression, but all the while he kept drawing long, deep puffs from his pipe.

“Seventeen devils of a claw you’ve got, man!” he exclaimed at last, when he had finished his diagnosis.... “I can’t see any way out of it, Store-Hans. You’ll have to run home and get mother. Tell her an old chief is lying over here almost ready to die—tell her it’s blood poisoning. She must bring the small kettle, and all the clean rags she can spare. Can you remember to say _white_ rags?... And she must bring a pinch of salt, too.... The man has got to have help this very night, tell her.... Now run along. You aren’t afraid, are you?”

Certainly Store-Hans wasn’t frightened any longer; this was the greatest experience he had ever had or ever expected to have.... He had already pressed his way through the throng when his father thought of something which he had forgotten, and called him back.

... “Tell Sörrina to go home and see if there isn’t a drop left in Hans Olsa’s bottle. Even if it isn’t more than a thimbleful, we ought to have it; it’s a matter of life or death here.... And mother must bring some pepper.... Let’s see, now, how well you can remember everything!”

The boy was off like a flash. As soon as he had gone, Per Hansa began treating the hand. First of all, he made them understand that he needed water to wash his own hands.... “Yes, water, _water_!” he said, going through the motion of dipping his hands and rubbing them. They caught his meaning at once; the word was passed among them, and a woman immediately brought some water in a tin bucket.

Per Hansa washed his hands very carefully; then he poured out the water and motioned for more.... “Yes, yes—more, more!” ... He got it at once and began to wash the wound—first the hand, and then the wrist and the arm, but particularly the hand, and the wound itself most of all.... Brown it had been in the beginning, that skin—and brown it remained; Per Hansa couldn’t be certain whether he had got it clean. But now he led the man as close to the fire as the heat would allow; there he sat down with him, and began to draw on the great store of experience he had gathered as a fisherman on the Lofoten seas. First he massaged the flesh around the wound for a long time; then he moved upward to the wrist, and afterward to the arm. He rubbed with the palm of his hand, making circular motions, gently for a while, then stronger and firmer; from time to time he bent over the hand, breathed heavily on the wound, and continued the rubbing.

At last Store-Hans returned, bringing his mother, who carried all the articles his father had sent for. Per Hansa noticed that she had put on her Sunday clothes; for some reason, this pleased him. When she stepped within the circle of the camp fire, she paused, greeted the strangers quietly, and dropped a curtsy.

“What do you think you are doing here?” she asked in a low voice; the words seemed to carry more of reproach than fear.... He suddenly remembered the incident at supper awhile ago; the wave of bitterness rose again in his heart.... What a silly question for a grown woman to ask!

When she received no answer, she continued:

“Kjersti is crying her eyes out—and the rest aren’t much better off.... These people have got to look after themselves. You must come home at once!”

Per Hansa still remained silent.... This speech was so unlike the Beret that he knew, that he glanced up at her quickly.

“Give me that kettle!... Yes—water, _water_!” he shouted at them, pointing to the kettle. But then he remembered Store-Hans.... “Tell them that I want clean water—yes, clean, that’s it! And it must be hot, too!”

Now he found time to turn to his wife.... “Oh, well, Kjersti isn’t going to miscarry to-night!... But if you don’t want to stay here, to help save a human life in dire distress, you’d better go home.... Here, give me the rest of the things!” Her words of an hour before were again ringing loud in his ears; his own voice had taken on an added harshness; he knew it and felt glad.

Beret said no more; she stood looking silently at him, flushed and confused.

The kettle had now been placed on the fire.

“Where is the salt?... We need salt in the water.”

He took the antique whisky bottle that Sörine had sent; it was still a good half full. The pepper, done up in a little package, had been brought over in a cup. Per Hansa looked at it for a moment in grave doubt.... “No, it’s too much—never in the world can he stand all that!... Hold out your apron, Beret, to catch this.... There’s too much pepper.”

“Now, don’t be so hasty!” she said. She took the pepper from him, made a funnel of the bag, and held it out for him to pour in as much as he wanted.

Then Per Hansa concocted for the sick Indian that “horse cure” which is famous among all the inhabitants of Nordland. A goodly tablespoonful of pepper lay in the cup; he filled it up with whisky, stirred it around, put the bottle down on the ground, and motioned to the Indian to drink.

The man took the cup, sniffed at it, and smiled; then he put it to his mouth and took a draught, smacking his lips and making a fearful grimace.

“Tell him to drain it off at once, Store-Hans!... He’ll live through it—though it does kick powerfully to begin with!”

The Indian downed the rest of the mixture without wincing.

As Per Hansa was pouring the whisky from the bottle a couple of the others had suddenly grown restless; as soon as he set it down, one of these rose to his feet with a jerk and sauntered in their direction; the other followed close at his heels.

“They’re taking the bottle!” whispered Beret, frightened at their manner.

Per Hansa whirled like a flash and caught hold of a brown arm; he grasped it firmly and gave it a violent twist. A howl of pain echoed through the camp.... “What the hell are you doing!” cried Per Hansa, wrenching loose the bottle with his other hand. “That bottle belongs to Hans Olsa. Don’t you dare to touch it!” He looked so fiercely at the pair that they slunk off, afraid.

“Now come here and help me, woman!... Hold this bottle, and let the liquor drip down on his hand while I rub it in.... Right on the wound—only a drop at a time ... God! did you ever see a nastier-looking hand?”

Beret did as he told her, but her own hand was shaking violently. He looked at her closely. Her face was flushed; tears hung in her eyes.... And all at once the loud ringing of bitter words died away in his ears.

He massaged the hand of the Indian for a long while, pouring the whisky on freely. Then he asked for the rags which she had brought. These he dipped in the kettle, where the water was now boiling; he wrung them out slightly and began swathing them around the hand—one rag over the other. The man gasped and moaned in his great agony.

“Now, Beret, we ought to have a clean, dry cloth to wrap around the whole business.... But probably you didn’t bring anything like that?”

She hesitated for an instant, then untied her apron and handed it over to him. He knew that it was her very best apron. He could not bear to take it, but he did not say so.

“That’s just it, Beret-girl—the very thing! If that doesn’t help him, I don’t know anything in the wide world that would cure his hand!... Now, take mother with you and go home, Store-Hans. You can see for yourselves, there’s nothing to be afraid of here. I’ll bring the cows back with me when I come.”

“But when will you come?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Oh, I shall have to stay here part of the night, at least. If we can’t make the swelling go down, and that right quick, there’s nothing under God’s heaven that can save him! I’ll have to change the rags every half hour.... But you go right along, now, and don’t worry!”

Beret paused a moment; she gazed at him, saying not a word, but her mouth quivered. Then she took Store-Hans by the hand and walked away.

VI

During the first part of the night Per Hansa kept constant vigil over the sick man, frequently looking at his watch and changing the bandages; every time the hand was exposed, he rubbed in a few more drops from Hans Olsa’s bottle. It was evident from the man’s face that the pain was growing no worse; he even slept at intervals.

Midnight passed. The whole camp was now asleep; the men lay around like mummies, wrapped in their gaudy blankets, their feet towards the fire. Occasionally one of them would rise and throw on more wood; Per Hansa noticed that it was always the same man.... The night was vast and still; the glow of the fire spread a strange light a little way around ... beyond hovered impenetrable darkness.

Per Hansa felt tired and drowsy; he realized that he would have to pull himself together in order to keep going through the middle watch.... Suddenly he pricked up his ears; in an instant he was wide awake. He had heard a sound like steps in the grass, off on one side—steps that seemed to be hesitating as if in fear. They trod cautiously, drawing closer and closer; then they stopped, as if the person were listening.... He glanced around; the sick man slept at his side; all the others seemed to be sleeping. Who could it be, reconnoitring so quietly out there?... He got up abruptly, stepped closer to the fire, and stood fully revealed against the glare. Now the steps were heard again, firmly approaching.... The next moment Beret stood within the circle of the camp fire, silently looking at him.

Per Hansa’s eyes leaped out and embraced his wife’s form: a great glow of love and tenderness surged through him.... “Beret-girl, come here!” he called in a low voice. “Don’t be frightened; the whole crew is asleep!”

She advanced slowly to the side of the fire where he stood; but she did not look at him. Her face was flushed and swollen with weeping.... “How she must have been crying!” he thought; and the memory of his harsh words filled him with deep remorse. He went up to her timidly, took her by the hand, and led her nearer the fire.... “Beret, you ought to be sleeping at this hour of the night!... Have you been frightened again?”

Her body shook with sobs; they tore her so convulsively that she could not speak a word. Like a crushed thing she sank inertly to the ground. He threw himself down beside her, put one arm around her waist, and sought her hand.... Then she began to weep softly; he heard it, and stroked the hand he had found. After a while he had tried to say, lightly: “I guess the old fellow is going to pull through, all right.” ... But the moment the words were out of his mouth he felt that he hadn’t said the right thing; in his confusion, he asked her how all the others were at home.

She made no response to either of his attempts; then he heard the sick Indian stir, and looked around at him. The man lay wide awake, staring at them fixedly with his black, beady eyes.

For a while Per Hansa busied himself once more with the injured hand; the man sat up as the treatment went on; Beret rose and stood close by, watching the operation.

“If you had a string to tie around the rags, so that they wouldn’t loosen when they got dry, they would keep the heat longer,” she said in a low voice, but calm and clear.

“Oh yes!... If I only had it!”

She turned away for a moment and began fumbling at her clothes; then, with a bashful but determined air, she handed him one of her home-braided garters.... “Will this do?” she asked.

“_Do_?... My God! Beret, that’s exactly what we need!” ... He bound up the sick hand tightly, and tied the garter around the bandage.... “The fellow’s better already!” he cried. “I can see it in his eyes—and his hand feels softer.... But it’s still bad enough; he isn’t over it yet, by any means!”

When the bandage had been firmly fastened the Indian got up, went to one of the wagons, and fetched three heavy blankets; these he gave to Per Hansa, motioning that they should cover themselves and lie down.

“Now, doesn’t that show, Beret, what decent people they are?... I think the fellow will be able to take care of himself for a while. We might as well turn in!” ... He wrapped one blanket around her, another around himself; then they both lay down with their feet to the fire, and pulled the third blanket over the two of them. Per Hansa put his arm around his wife and held her close in a fond, protecting embrace. “Now try to sleep, my dear Beret-girl!” he whispered, reassuringly.... She dropped off almost at once, and slept until the crimson dawn fell on the eastern prairie.

* * * * *

The Indians remained for another day and night. During their stay Per Hansa spent more time with them than he did at home. Store-Hans practically lived on the hill, keeping an eye on things. And Ole, too, strolled over to the Indian camp at odd times.... But Sam Solum let the savages severely alone; and the women, though they were curious to see the camp, felt too timid to venture near.

The Indians, for their part, kept strictly to themselves. They did not once approach the houses of the settlement; neither, strange to say, did they allow their women to come over.

It was noon of the third day before they broke camp, to continue the journey northward. The hand of the sick man still looked very bad, but the immediate danger seemed to be over. Per Hansa had made a sling for him, in which he carried his arm. When the long train of queer-looking teams had got well under way, they saw the sick Indian coming down the hill toward the house, leading a fully saddled pony by the bridle; one of the wagons stood waiting for him farther along the hill.

The fellow is probably coming to say good-bye, thought Per Hansa; he got up and went to meet him. Beret and the children followed slowly a little way behind. The man walked straight up to Per Hansa and uttered a few unintelligible words; he laid in Per Hansa’s hand the bridle by which he was leading the pony; then he said a few more words, made a short, stiff bow, turned on his heel and stalked away.... He was a tall, broad-shouldered savage, well built and handsome.

“Has the old boy gone stark crazy?” exclaimed Per Hansa. “Can you imagine what he means?”

“He wants to give you the pony!” shouted Store-Hans, his eyes round with wonder.

Per Hansa roared out an emphatic protest, and started after the stranger.... “No, no!” he cried. “That will never do!” ...

But the Indian only strode to the waiting wagon, climbed in, and rode away.

“I’ve never seen the beat of it in all my born days!” said Per Hansa, solemnly. He stood as if dumfounded, holding the bridle over his arm.... “Saddle and everything!” ...

Store-Hans gave a leap into the air, turned a somersault, which immediately had to be repeated. Never in his life had he felt so supremely happy.... Then he and his brother ran over to claim the prize.

VII

In the evening of the following day the loaded wagons arrived from town; they brought great stores of curiosities, and the men who drove them had many remarkable tales to tell.

Hans Olsa, who had carried fifteen dollars in cash from Per Hansa to buy merchandise with besides going surety for him for a plow and a horse rake, came first to their house to unload, before going home. There was a great mountain of bags and packages, sacks and boxes; but best of all were the plow and the rake. The latter, especially,—it was painted in such beautiful, rich colours, red, blue, and green; it looked so impressive standing there in the yard, with its seat reared high in the air ... like a veritable throne! Nothing would do but Store-Hans must climb up and try it at once; he was wondering if they couldn’t hitch their new pony to this wonderful rig!... Still more marvellous things than this had come from town; but Store-Hans was fully occupied for a while and did not see them till later. Over at Tönseten’s stood a mowing machine, which could cut both hay and wheat; this also had a seat high up in the air; and at the Solum boys’ the sights were equally remarkable.

There was a grand celebration at Hans Olsa’s house that night. Tönseten and Per Hansa arrived long before the others to have a talk together. They found much to do, and many important matters to discuss and settle. Everything that had been borrowed during the past season must now be paid back, and that was a complicated affair; for at one time one kind of measure had been used, at another time another; they were all in the same boat. Everyone owed everyone else—and now it was time to square the accounts. Hans Olsa, who during the shortage had had the most to lend, was now left with enough supplies to stock a good-sized store.

But the goods were what interested Per Hansa least of all just now; he was eaten up with curiosity, and only wanted to ask questions; he had to hear every detail of their difficulties and adventures on the way.... Had they run across many people? What news had they picked up? Did there seem to be many settlers moving west? How did the prospects look where they had been?... Was he a fair-minded man, this fellow they had bargained with—the one who had trusted them for the plow and the rake? Did he look like a chap who would extend still further credit to a poor devil who had an honest face and came to him in a straightforward way?... God knows, Per Hansa needed such a blessed lot of things!

—Yes, Hans Olsa would say that the man seemed to be a pretty decent sort of fellow; he spoke only English, however, so one couldn’t get far with him in the way of talk; this was a bad piece of news for Per Hansa. His goods were fairly expensive, too; but one couldn’t expect anything better out here.... On second thought, Hans Olsa seriously doubted whether it would be possible to get further credit from him. At the start of their dickering, the man wouldn’t listen to a word of extending credit; but Syvert had argued with him so long and sensibly that he had finally yielded, on condition that they both sign their names as security for the plow and the rake.... By this time, anyway, he knew they were going to buy so much from him that it wouldn’t have paid him to be unreasonable.

The returned voyagers, however, thought that the folks at home had stranger tales than their own to tell. It seemed nothing short of a miracle that Per Hansa had been able to bring back to life an Indian chief with one foot in the grave—those were the very words Kjersti had used to her husband. Tönseten swore that he had never heard anything so strange; by George! it was more exciting than any storybook ever written!

... “I declare, Per Hansa,” said Hans Olsa, looking at him in open admiration, “it’s a queer thing about you! No matter how hard you’re put to it, you always give a good account of yourself!... I was dead set on having you go along with us this trip; we could have arranged it somehow, you know. Syvert and I were speaking about it only the night before we left; but then we both decided that we could feel so much more comfortable about going away, knowing that you were here.... It was an act of Providence, I say, to leave you home this time!” ... Tönseten nodded yes-and-amen to all that Hans Olsa had said.

Per Hansa accepted their homage very modestly; he drew a deep breath and started to reply; but words failed him, and he had to begin all over again.

... “Oh, well—so much for that, boys. Forget it, now! I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. But I might as well own up that when I told Ole to get Old Maria I didn’t have any courage to spare!... There came the band of Indians, thirty strong or more—and here I stood, alone with three crazy women!... It looked like far from plain sailing, I can tell you!” ...

“I don’t doubt it a bit!” agreed Hans Olsa. “It’s a wonder to me that you didn’t take the women and try to run away!”

“Yes, but where could I run to? Besides, they had horses.... The women were crying and carrying on, you know.... And just then it crossed my mind, Hans Olsa, that if you were only near enough to sing out to—and you, too, Syvert—I’d gladly have given my right hand, or both of them!”

“Sam wasn’t much use to you, eh?” asked Tönseten.

“No, Syvert, Sam isn’t quite equal to such a job.” But then Per Hansa felt that he had been too harsh; he quickly added: “Let’s hope that he, too, will have guts some day.... The boy has plenty of good qualities....”

Meanwhile Beret and Kjersti had arrived; the Solum boys turned up at last, and then they were all gathered. The women had gone with Sörine into her new house; they were curious to see what her husband had brought; she had to give both of them a taste from this bag and that. The menfolk remained sitting behind the barn; they had many weighty matters to discuss, and didn’t want to be interrupted; just now the hay cutting seemed to be the all-absorbing topic.... Per Hansa’s boys and Hans Olsa’s girl were chasing one another around the sod hut, playing “Indian.”

It was a strange thing, however, the number of trips the men had to make into the barn to look at the window and door which Hans Olsa had brought. There must indeed be something very odd about that window and that door. The men never seemed to be done looking at them; they went in and came out—came out only to go in again; each time they reappeared they were laughing and talking more glibly. The children sneaked close to the walls whenever the men were inside.... It must be some very secret business they were about! Their voices sank so low—most of the time nothing but whispering could be heard.... And such a volley of hawking and coughing and clearing of throats came from the interior of the barn, such a smacking of lips, such a steady gurgling—like water running out of a bottle—that the children pressed against the wall outside couldn’t help laughing.... There, one of them had given a tremendous sneeze!... “Hush!” whispered Sofie. “That was Syvert—he must have swallowed wrong!”

... Something very strange, indeed, whatever it was.... Now they heard Tönseten swear that it was his turn. He had forgotten himself and spoken out loud: “Can’t I treat Per Hansa to an honest drink, when he has saved both my wife and my cow from dire death and scalping!... Toss it off, Per, old boy, and let the rest of us get a chance!”

Then more jolly laughter and smacking of lips.

“What do you suppose they’re doing?” whispered Sofie, making a wry face.

“Drinking, of course!” said Ole, curtly, furious because he was not allowed to be in on this.... Surely he was grown-up enough to take a drink or two! He could drive the oxen fully as well as his father.

Then Sörine appeared in the doorway, shouting to them that now they must all come in. In one of the boxes which her husband had brought she had found two bottles. As far as she could make out, it was neither kerosene nor liniment; she felt pretty sure that it wasn’t syrup!... It would do no harm to find out exactly what the stuff was—to-night they had good reason for rejoicing. She brought a glass, treated both of the neighbour women, took a wee drop herself, and then called in the men.

All five of the menfolk entered in a body and drew up in a close group at the door; at sight of the whisky they had suddenly become bashful and cautious.

“You shouldn’t be handing around costly Christmas treats in the middle of the haying season!” said Tönseten, craftily.... “What sort of a housekeeper is this that you’ve got, Hans Olsa?”

“Oh, come on, Syvert!” laughed Sörine.

—What, _he_? Good gracious! _no_—he wouldn’t have anything. He couldn’t stand liquor right after supper, anyway.... She ought not to lead a weak brother into temptation!

But he was chuckling, and his four companions were chuckling with him.

Per Hansa pushed Hans Olsa forward.

“Here, Hans Olsa, you are the boss of this house. Show us how the thing ought to be done.... Syvert, you see, isn’t feeling well, poor devil!”

—Now, it would never do for him to be first—this was Hans Olsa’s ruling. Where he had been brought up, that wasn’t considered proper.

“If you don’t come at once and take this glass,” said Sörine with mock severity, “I’ll pour it back into the bottle.... Then you can stand there wishing for it as much as you please!”

... “Hold on, there, Sörrina—not so hasty, not so hasty I Be careful with the blessings of the Lord!... Of course I’ll sample it for you, if you’ve got to have it done!” ... It was Tönseten, after all, who had first spoken and come forward. But it seemed to take him an awful while to swallow that dram; he hawked and grinned over every little sip, and said the liquor burnt his throat so unmercifully that he could hardly get it down.... “Tell me, Hans Olsa, where did you find this stuff?”

“Now, heave it in, Syvert, so that the rest of us can have a whack before it gets too cold!” laughed Hans Olsa. “You’ve got to help me with that window, you know, before you leave to-night.”

“Right you are!... Yes, right you are!” agreed Tönseten, solemnly, and emptied the glass without more ado.

Sörine treated them all.... And now the menfolk were sorry, but they really had no time to stay indoors; Hans Olsa needed all their help to get that window in before it came dark; and out they trooped in a body again, as soon as they had emptied their glasses.

When the celebration was over and they finally set out for home that night, it seemed to Kjersti that Syvert walked very queerly. No matter how she adjusted her own steps, he would either range ahead of her or lag behind; when the latter took place, he would suddenly discover it and lurch forward, struggling hard to keep his balance; once he had caught up with her again, he would come to a stop and stand there babbling.

“What in the name of common sense are you mumbling about? What ails you, Syvert dear?... You act as if you were walking and talking in your sleep on the open prairie!”

“Hic!... Don’t know!” he sighed.... “Feel awright ... Maybe li’l’ queer.... Sort o’ diz’ ... sort o’ dizzy, y’ know.... Feet don’t work prop’ly!” He lurched ahead like a boat scudding down the slope of a wave.... “You know, I think ... abs’lutely I do ... must be that stuff ... that damned stuff of Sörrina’s!”

“Oh, well,” said Kjersti, consolingly, laughing to herself, “if it isn’t anything worse than that, you’ll soon be all right again.”

VIII

It was two days later that the great misfortune befell them. And according to the manner of such events, it came while everything seemed safe and serene and even the thought of ill luck was far away.

They had finished their afternoon lunch. Hans Olsa was cutting hay; his new machine hummed lustily over the prairie, shearing the grass so evenly and so close to the ground that his heart leaped with joy to behold the sight.... What a difference, this, from pounding away with an old scythe, on steep, stony hillsides!... All the men had gathered around to see him start; Per Hansa had returned home from that send-off firmly determined to get another cow for the winter, even if he had to steal one; for with such a machine it would be nothing to cut the hay.

Per Hansa was finishing his thatching that afternoon. Ole and Store-Hans were helping; even Beret came out from time to time to lend a hand. The father was chatting with the boys, who answered him gayly; now and then they became so boisterous and laughed so heartily together that little And-Ongen wanted to get up on the roof with them. Some distance away the pony was tethered; the boys petted him constantly, and already he seemed so tame that in a short while it would be safe to turn him loose.

Tönseten was breaking some new land, with Sam as helper; from his high lookout, Per Hansa had just noticed how well Syvert was getting along with his field. But wait a bit, my good Syvert, wait a bit!... Per Hansa simply didn’t feel like hurrying to-day. He shouted down once more to Beret, asking her to see whether the roof would hold water; that was one of his little jokes. The point was this: it had sounded so pleasant to hear her voice in the room below while he had been working on the roof; but now that the thatch was on, the low tone in which she naturally spoke didn’t carry through the thickness of the sod; he missed hearing her, and liked to make her shout now and then.... He seemed to notice that she was growing better satisfied with things as they were out here.

Henry Solum was digging a well down by the creek. Everyone was busy with his own particular task; the little frontier settlement hummed with the keen joy of labour.

... Then the blow fell upon them—suddenly!

Kjersti noticed it first. At lunch time she had brought out a bite to eat and a drop of coffee for the men. Plenty reigned just now, after the trip to town. As she was about to enter her own house again it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Brindlesides, either on the way over or on the way back.... The cow must have been in sight, somewhere around. She turned and walked a little way beyond the corner of the house, then stopped and surveyed the scene.... Kjersti kept on looking until her eyes watered—until she could hear the heavy pounding of her heart; but her cow was not to be seen on the whole wide prairie ... and not a single one of the other critters, either!

In her wild excitement she ran straight to Sörine’s and rushed into the house, crying:

“Have you any idea where your cow is?”

“My cow...?” Sörine noticed her agitated face, and could not say another word.

“That’s just what I said, Sörrina!... Where is she—where is she?... Oh, merciful Heaven!” ...

“You are scaring the life out of me, Kjersti! The cow must be right around here.” ... But she didn’t wait for an answer; the women rushed out of the house together.

... Sure enough, no cows in sight anywhere!

“I can’t understand it!” exclaimed Sörine.... “Can you?”

“They’ve run away!” cried Kjersti in despair.

“Of course they couldn’t have sunk through the earth!” Sörine was always a sensible woman in a crisis.

“Oh, where are they?” wailed Kjersti. “Where have they gone?”

“We must tell the men this minute!” declared Sörine, firmly. She saw that it was no use to waste time in waiting for her neighbour; leaving Kjersti to look after herself, she hastened over to where her husband was working.

Hans Olsa pulled up the horses abruptly when he saw the two women straggling across the field.

... The cows? Oh, nothing worse than that!... Well, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the cows; but they must be around somewhere.... He was in such high spirits because of the smooth way the new machine was running, and of the ease with which they would now be able to get all the hay they needed, that he felt as if nothing could worry him to-day.... It was a sin how nervous these women were. Good Lord! the cows would show up all right at milking time!

“We must begin to search for them at once!” ... Sörine was so earnest and determined about it, that almost unconsciously he found himself looking around.... Strange, not a beast to be seen!... Then he, too, became serious; he unhitched the horses, tied one of them to the mowing machine, mounted the other, and rode up the hill.

“We must go and tell Per Hansa!” said Sörine, briskly.

“Oh, what’s the use!” wailed Kjersti, wringing her hands. “You can see for yourself that they are gone!... Yes, gone—and if anyone is to find them, we’ll have to do it!”

Sörine was now both angry and frightened—angry with Kjersti, frightened over the cows. She hurried on ahead, the other trailing after.

But there was no information to be had at Per Hansa’s, either. None of them there had thought of keeping an eye on the cows; the animals had gone around loose every day, and had invariably come home at milking time in the evening; they never had been in the habit of straying so far away that they couldn’t be seen.... Ole could distinctly remember having noticed them over by the creek, that very forenoon.

Per Hansa took the matter calmly and made a comforting suggestion; the cows were probably lying down in the tall grass, somewhere along the creek; they’d turn up safe and sound when it came milking time.... But just then Hans Olsa rode up with a very sober face and related that he hadn’t seen a sign of life stirring on the whole prairie!

When Hans Olsa took it that way, and spoke so seriously, Per Hansa, too, began to get worried; he and the boys at once came down from the roof.

“Take the pony, Ola, and ride down to the creek. Search upstream first, then turn and go south. If you don’t see anything, you’d better notify the Solum boys and Tönseten.” ... Per Hansa still believed that the cows would come back all right of their own accord; but he proposed that they all should quit work fairly early; then if the cows hadn’t shown up they could get together and decide what was best to be done. For surely the gnomes hadn’t taken them underground....

IX

The evening wore on; outside of every hut the settlers stood watching, but no cows appeared. The uneasiness deepened, and that sneaking dread which comes to all when life about them has suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.... The wind blew from the southwest, driving heavy rain clouds; they hung so low that the grass seemed to bend as they swept over it where the plain swelled up to meet the sky.

A depressing gloom hovered over each of the four families sitting around the supper table. At Per Hansa’s, little And-Ongen wept bitterly and inconsolably because she hadn’t been taken along to pet Rosie while her mother milked. As they were sitting down to supper, the child had asked if they weren’t going to milk the cow to-night; Beret didn’t have the heart to tell her what had happened, and said hastily that she had milked already. The child felt that a great injustice had been done her—that she had been defrauded of something which was hers by right. She had burst out crying and had wanted to go to Rosie at once; but the mother had said: No, Rosie had gone away as soon as she had given her milk, and would not come back till to-morrow. And-Ongen had hung tearfully around her mother’s neck, trying to make her promise never to go milking again unless she took her along. The mother had comforted her as best she could; although she had not said much, it had been more affecting to look at her than at the child.

Store-Hans listened to them until, all at once, he had to lay his spoon aside. He couldn’t have swallowed another mouthful of his porridge. He got up quietly, his eyes on the floor, slipped outside, and ran behind the house.... The very thought of eating was horrible; every spoonful had threatened to choke him. It had seemed as if he were dipping the spoon in Rosie’s very blood.... And dear Rosie, around whose neck he had put his arms so many times, resting his cheek against her soft skin.... He felt now that he loved her almost more than any living being in the world!

The elder brother, who considered himself a full-grown man, had remained at the table, gulping down large mouthfuls of milk and porridge with an indifferent air. He noticed his brother go out; then he said in a loud voice, just let the cows wait till he got hold of them! He’d lash their hides so thoroughly that they wouldn’t ever dare to play that trick again!... His father shot a glance at the boy, which silenced him immediately. The next moment he, too, had lost his appetite and laid his spoon aside. After a while he went out; though he could hear where his brother was, by certain unmistakable sounds, he did not try to find him; instead he climbed up on the roof and sat down there alone.

A little later the whole colony gathered on top of the Indian hill near Per Hansa’s. Per Hansa himself, with Beret and the child, came last of all, although they had the shortest distance to walk. Away behind them Ole sauntered along; but Store-Hans was nowhere to be seen. The evening lay heavily on the plain. Toward the south, where the clouds were massing together, it was already deepening into night. No life, no sound—only the wind moaning under a lowering sky.... The evening brought memories to them—memories of half-forgotten tales which people had heard and repeated long, long ago, about happenings away off in a far country. There it had been known to have actually taken place, that both man and beast would be spirited away by trolls.... So many strange things were hovering between heaven and earth, if one stopped to think ... and remember!... But that anything of the sort could happen out here on the open prairie, where not so much as a single jutting cliff or wooded ridge appeared, that was the strangest of all!

The folk stood around in gloomy silence; each was thinking the same thoughts.

... “They _must_ be down by the creek!” repeated Tönseten for the hundredth time.

The hopelessness in his voice struck the same chord of desolation that possessed them all; no one had courage to ask Tönseten what he supposed could have happened to the cows down there. When he got no answer, he added with an even deeper note of melancholy:

... “Talk about mystery!”

The wind swept over them with a chilly breath, now and then flicking a drop of rain from the dense clouds. Sam Solum rose from where he had been sitting on the ground, and began to walk up and down as if he had made up his mind.

“In my opinion,” he announced, firmly, “it’s the doings of the red man!... He’s at his work again!”

All turned to look at him.

“You saw how crazy mad the cows acted that night when the Indians came? Well, most likely they noticed it, too, and have come back here after them. That’s where we’ll have to look for our cows, my friends!” ... Sam spoke in a bold, convincing voice; now he had solved the riddle for them and felt very superior.

His idea at once gained general acceptance; it was at least a natural explanation. To the women it sounded very reasonable; they wondered why they hadn’t thought of it themselves; for they had all seen how crazy the cattle acted that night.... Hans Olsa and Tönseten pondered deeply over the problem for a while; they said nothing at first; this explanation had at least dispersed the feeling of weirdness that had gripped the colony; but the longer they thought, the more they realized that scant consolation lay in the theory that the Indians had enticed the cattle away; for where could they find the Indians, or how could they recover the cattle after they had been found? If they had stolen them, they meant to keep them—and keep them they could.

Tönseten marched straight up to Per Hansa; he spoke rapidly, in a voice of great determination:

“If that’s the case, by God! you’ve got to go and get the cows the first thing in the morning—you who are so friendly with the Indians.... We must have our cows right away!”

“Yes, good Heavens!” Kjersti put it. “How can we get along if that drop of milk is taken away from us?... You ought to go this very minute!”

Per Hansa sat gazing steadily off into the distance; but he said never a word. At Kjersti’s remark, however, it seemed as if something had suddenly stung him; he bounded up from the ground like a rubber ball.

“That’s just the job for you and Sam!... Come on, wife, let’s go home and get to bed.”

With these words he stalked away; everyone could see that now Per Hansa was thoroughly angry.

X

Rest was a long time in coming to them at Per Hansa’s that night; a strange uneasiness had entered there and would not leave the house.

Store-Hans had not accompanied them to the hill; his brother found him sitting outside when he came home, and told him what Sam had said; he added it as his own opinion that undoubtedly the Indians had been there and stolen all the cows!... Ole had then left his brother and gone in to bed; the father and mother were inside already, getting ready for the night; but time went on and the other boy did not come.... After a while the mother had gone out to look for him; she had called several times and had walked around the house; finally she had received a gruff answer from the gable of the roof. There sat the boy, staring out into the darkness. He refused to come down until she spoke to him harshly, saying that she would call his father if he did not mind her at once.... Then he slid down quickly and silently, ran into the house, slipped off his clothes, and flung himself into bed.

Quiet gradually settled on the room; the father and mother had at last retired. As they were on the point of falling to sleep, a violent sob came from the boys’ bed; silence immediately followed—breathless silence; then came another sob, more violent than the first—a strangled gasp of anguish.... The mother called across the room, asking what was the matter—was Store-Hans sick? At that he broke down in earnest, with long heaves and gasps, with sobs so violent that they threatened to choke him. Beret spoke to him gently and soothingly; little by little the storm over there in the dark abated, lulled away, and finally seemed to die out altogether ... except for a flutter or two.... Suddenly there arose a hoarse sound like that of bellows inhaling the air, which ended in a tear-choked gasp: “Rosie!... _Ro-o-sie_!”

“Stay where you are, Beret,” said Per Hansa. “I’ll get up and tend to the little fellow!” He pulled on his trousers, and went over in the dark to the boys’ bed; his voice was so low that it could hardly be heard.

... “Come, Hansy-boy, I’ll tell you a secret!”

He put his arm around the youngster, lifted him out of bed, took a coat from the wall and wrapped it around him, then carried him outside. Over by the woodpile, which they had hauled home together from the Sioux River, he sat down with the boy in his lap.... They began to talk. At first only the father did the speaking; but after a while, between sobs, Store-Hans began to join in. The wind, driving warm raindrops full in their faces, seemed to ask if they had gone crazy, sitting out here at this hour of the night; but they paid not the slightest attention....

Store-Hans was finding consolation in his father’s wise and kindly chat.

... “It’s a burning shame,” Per Hansa was saying, “that we haven’t got two ponies! Then you could go with me to-morrow when I ride out to fetch those pesky cows!”

—Oh!... Did he know where they were, then?—slipped out between two sobs.

“Of course I do!”

Store-Hans snuggled deeper into his father’s lap at this assurance, feeling an infinite, blissful safety there.

—Was it the Indians who had taken them?

“Certainly not! Those were honest Indians.... You could see that for yourself.”

—But where were the cows, then?

“Oh, they’ve just strayed off so far that they can’t find their way home again.... But don’t worry, boy. To-morrow morning I’m going to ride out and get them, never fear!”

A long silence followed this promise; Store-Hans felt a blissful happiness settling upon him; the sobs gradually ceased.

“The Indians don’t scalp cows, do they?”

“No, indeed!... They aren’t such barbarians!”

“They are good people, aren’t they, Dad?”

“Yes, just ordinary folks.”

“Cows wouldn’t be anything for Indian braves to fight for, would they?”

“I should say not!... And much less for _chiefs_!”

It was growing very late; the raindrops were still falling steadily; the father said that they ought to be getting back to bed. But Store-Hans seemed well contented where he was.

“Are you going to start early to-morrow?”

“I suppose so.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“That depends on how far I have to go.”

“There won’t be any danger if the Indians come back while you are away.... I can talk to them, you know!”

“Right you are, son!... Nothing to worry about as long as I have you here at home!”

Then Per Hansa got up and carried the boy back to bed.

Store-Hans fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. But some time later in the night he suddenly rose to his knees.

“Here I come, Rosie!” he cried out, clearly—then sank back in a heap on the pillow, and slept on.

XI

At the first faint streaks of day Per Hansa slipped out of bed, made a fire, and put on the coffeepot. His wife, he noticed, was already awake. He told her to stay in bed; to this she made no reply in words, but she got up immediately, dressed herself, and began to prepare him a meal. A small lamp burned in the room; the day was yet too young to give much light.

Per Hansa sat down at the table and began to eat; the coffee wasn’t quite ready; his wife stood over by the stove, waiting for it to boil. An air of fixed determination hung about her; although she had not spoken, he felt it just the same.

All night long Beret had been lying there with her eyes wide open, staring up at a picture that would not go away; a picture of a nameless, blue-green solitude, flat, endless, still, with nothing to hide behind.... Some cows were grazing on it.... Yes, animals of flesh and blood were there ... and in the next moment they were not there!...

The picture had been full of unearthly, awful suggestions. She had lain awake in terror, lost in her own imaginings, wrestling with fearsome thoughts that only increased the dread in her soul.... And now he was leaving her—now he would probably stay away for a long time and she would have no knowledge of where he was faring.... It must have been the Indians who had taken the cows. Could it have been anything else—could it have been?... She knew too well how hasty and fearless her husband was, plunging headlong into whatever lay before him!... The thought made her tremble.

... It seemed plain to her now that human life could not endure in this country. She had lived here for six weeks and more without seeing another civilized face than those of their own company. Not a settled habitation of man lay nearer than several days’ journey; if any visitor came, it was a savage, a wild man, whom one must fear!... To get what supplies they needed they must journey four whole days, and make preparations as if for a voyage to Lofoten!... What would happen if something sudden should befall them ... attack, or sickness, or fire ... yes, _what would they do_?

... Ah no, this wasn’t a place for human beings to dwell in.... And then, what of the children? Suppose they were to grow up here, would they not come to be exactly like the red children of the wilderness—or perhaps something worse?... It was uncivilized; they would not learn the ways of man; no civilization would ever come.... Never, never, would it be otherwise!

... Perhaps, then, it was an act of Providence that the cattle had been lost.... It ought to show them how things stood out here—that man could not exist in this savage, desolate wilderness; they ought to be able to see that much, at any rate.... Even he might see it, too!...

She could not tell whether she had slept at all that night; it did not seem so; she had heard her husband’s first move when he began to stir. She remembered, too, the last thought she had been struggling with in bed; she shuddered at it, now that there was a light in the house. There in the darkness she had felt that it would be a blessing if the cows never turned up.... How could she ever have thought it? That, too, was only a part of the hideous evil out here!...

“You aren’t going alone?” she asked, from over by the stove.

He had not mentioned going yet; he gave her a quick look.

“We’ll see.”

“Will you be gone long?”

“You’d better not look for me till you see me.... I may be gone overnight.”

She asked no more for a time; in a few moments she came and poured out his coffee.

“Which way are you going?”

“I don’t exactly know yet.... Eastward, I suppose.”

“You are doing a wrong thing, and I must tell you so!” she said, decisively, putting the coffeepot back on the stove.... “A wrong thing!” she repeated with even more emphasis.

The vehemence of her tone took hold of him.

“Perhaps it is,” he answered, rather meekly.... “But we must try to get the cows back somehow, just the same.”

“No more than the others!” she exclaimed, her agitation suddenly flaring up.... “If they can do without them, we can too!”

“But look here, Beret,” he reasoned, trying to calm her, “you know that it’s necessary for some one to go and look for the cattle. Hans Olsa hasn’t time to do it, because of the haying; and as for the others, I haven’t much faith in them.... There aren’t many to choose from here, you know.”

“Does it seem right to you, then,” she burst out, wildly, “that I should be left alone here with the children while you are chasing around in the wilderness?... You may be gone for a day or a week—how can I know?... Why can’t Sam or Henry go? They have no one sitting at home waiting for them!” She did not look up from the floor while she was speaking; deep passion burned in her words.

... Now she has fallen into one of her unreasonable moods, thought Per Hansa; but perhaps she couldn’t help it, poor thing!... “It’s this way, Beret, you see: I don’t believe it would be any use for those fellows to go.”

“Then Tönseten will have to do it!” ... Now she was going to cry—he heard it in her voice.

“Oh, God Almighty!... then the cows would surely come home!” he groaned, not far from tears himself.

She did not answer; her rigid form remained standing over by the window, staring out into the drab, dismal dawn.

Per Hansa said no more, either; he gulped down his coffee hurriedly, found his hat and put it on; then he went to the door, paused an instant, opened it quietly, and stepped outside. There he stood still for a moment.... No, no—he couldn’t leave Beret this way!... But what had struck her? It was beyond his comprehension! She had more common sense than any other person he knew; yet here she was, talking more unreasonably than a cross child. What strange influence had come over her since they had arrived out here?... He oughtn’t to leave her this way—but what could he do?... In a deep quandary, he walked over to the woodpile, saddled and bridled the pony, which was tethered close by ... then paused again.

XII

Before he could make up his mind to jump into the saddle he heard footfalls behind him, and turned toward the house. It had flashed through his mind: here she is coming now; everything will be all right and I can be off at once.... I need to hurry!

But in the same flash he had realized that it wasn’t from the direction of the door that the sound had come.... He turned to find Hans Olsa rounding the corner of the house. Did Hans Olsa think of going? Well, that was another matter; that man was equal to any task. But who would drive the mowing machine while he was gone? And it looked like fine weather for making hay—it seemed to be clearing.... All these thoughts passed through Per Hansa’s head as he watched his neighbour draw near; he wished that Hans Olsa hadn’t come just now ... no, not just now! His usual frankness was lacking in his greeting:

“You seem to be out early, Hans Olsa.”

“And so are you, I see. I sort of expected it; I wanted to talk to you before you went.... You’re going, aren’t you?”

Per Hansa glanced aside and did not answer immediately; at last he said, after a long pause: “Some one will have to go, I suppose.... It seems best for you to keep on with the haying, so that we can get the job done.... I am no hand at machinery, you know.”

“I know that you can ride faster than I can—that is the better reason.... Guess what Sörrina told me last night?”

Per Hansa made no attempt at it; he wasn’t in a mood to solve riddles just now. His eyes were on his neighbour, but his thoughts were in the house.... She must have heard their voices by this time.... Would she come out?

... “Well,” said Hans Olsa, raising his eyebrows significantly, “yesterday morning Sörrina suspected that cow of ours of wanting male company!”

Per Hansa came back to reality with a violent jolt.

“What’s that you say, Hans Olsa?”

“Those were her very words—‘male company’!... Do you suppose that old cow of mine could have taken it into her head to ramble all the way back to Fillmore County, just for _that_—and the others followed her?... The idea occurred to me, anyway; and I thought it best to tell you at once, before you got away.”

“Ha-ha!... Ha-ha!... She had to have a man, that old dame of yours—and led the others with her into temptation!”

... “Well, who knows?”

“Good enough!” ... Per Hansa leaned forward and untied the horse; he sprang quickly into the saddle.... “I was thinking of the Trönders all last night; now I’m going over and make them a visit. There’s no telling when you’ll see me back. Perhaps you’ll keep an eye on things for me here, while I am gone?” ... He paused, glanced toward the house, and added in a low voice: “Be sure and send Sörrina over here to-night.... And you keep on with the haying as hard as you can; it looks to me as if it were going to clear up soon!”

He headed the pony past the house and around it to the side where the door lay; there he drew up, coughed loudly, listened a moment—then rode away.

... In the window looking toward the east a woman’s face, tear-stained and swollen with weeping, watched his figure grow less and less in the dim grey light of the breaking day, until at last it had disappeared altogether.... To her it seemed as though he were sinking deeper and deeper into an unknown, lifeless sea; the sombre greyness rose and covered him.

* * * * *

Soon the word was passed around that Per Hansa had set out eastward to the Sioux River, to look for the cattle; everyone was willing to let the matter rest at that. His pony was fleet-footed; there was no need for any of the others to take up the search; they had better wait to see what luck he had.... Not that Tönseten had any faith or hope in the trip. He had kept turning the matter over in his mind all night; he had got from Kjersti a detailed account of how the cattle had behaved when the Indians came, and when he had risen that morning he had been fully convinced that Sam’s solution of the riddle was the right and only one. To Tönseten’s mind, all that remained of the problem was how to get hold of the beasts again without causing bloodshed and war—how to wrest them from the possession of the redskins before they had gobbled them all up.... When he heard of Per Hansa’s intended visit to the Trönders, he spluttered with anger; he was disgusted, too, with Hans Olsa because he had not dissuaded him from such a brainless move.... But his anger at Per Hansa simply knew no bounds. So—he was not the courageous fellow, then, that he posed as being! Didn’t he know that the responsibility for getting the cattle back rested solely on him? For he had been the one who was so friendly with that robber brood. He hadn’t chased them back where they had come from, as he should have done. Oh no, he had taken gifts from them instead—and been gloriously fooled into the bargain! And why did he waste his time now, in revelling with the Trönders on the Sioux River? The man had better be made to understand that they needed their cows at once!... Tönseten went about breathing fire and brimstone, and didn’t care who heard him.

The gloom of this loss lay heavy upon the others as well; they went about their work as usual, but their eyes strayed elsewhere.

Evening came, but neither Per Hansa nor the cattle. Folks did not care to go to bed; they sat about staring and waiting. All of Hans Olsa’s family went over to Beret’s; Tönseten and Kjersti, having first stopped at Hans Olsa’s and found them out, went there, too. The Solum boys could see no reason for moping around their hut alone; they soon joined the others.... But none of them found cheer in this place, either. Beret seemed distant and strangely calm, as if the whole affair didn’t in the least concern her. They wondered at her manner, it was no unnatural.

When they were leaving, however, she said, quietly, as if musing to herself:

“Somehow, I can’t figure this out.... Night has come now; Per Hansa is wandering off there alone in this endless wilderness. And four grown men are sitting here talking the time away.... But aren’t the cattle just as much theirs as his?... No, I can’t seem to figure it out at all....”

Over in the bed little And-Ongen began to cry for her father; the mother went and sat down beside her; she kept her eyes on the floor. Her words still lingered in the air; not a voice cared to answer. There seemed to be nothing to say, and the silence only made the gloom deeper....

When the others had gone and the children were asleep, Beret rose and hung some heavy clothes up over the windows—the thickest clothes she could find—to shut out the night—She felt that she could never go to bed, with all the eyes out there staring in upon her....

... Last of all, she pulled the big chest in front of the door.

XIII

The following day there was no getting the boys down from the roof; they climbed up immediately after breakfast and sat there hour after hour. The forenoon passed; noon came. Ole jumped down to eat, but Store-Hans remained at his post; the mother let him stay. Coffee time finally went by, yet no one in sight....

Then, all of a sudden, eager shouts rang out from the roof; Store-Hans was screaming in an excited voice that now ... right over there ... dad was coming!... Yes, now he was coming! Ole’s voice joined in.... And he has the rattle with him, too!

“Come on—let’s run and tell the others!” cried Ole.... “Mother first!” shrieked Store-Hans, forgetting that they had both been shouting the news. They jumped down from the roof together, jerked open the door, and announced in one breath that their father was coming; the next instant they were gone. The word was first carried to Hans Olsa, then to Tönseten, last of all to the Solum boys. In each place the same message: “Dad is coming!”—that from Ole.... “And he’s got the cows!”—this from Store-Hans.

Sure enough, here came Per Hansa riding the pony, and driving before him a small herd of cows. As the caravan came in sight from the several huts, each family proceeded to count the animals.... What was the meaning of this? Were they seeing double?... They counted over again with the same result; every person who tried his hand got one cow too many! There should be only four—now there were five. No getting away from it: five there were! They were easy enough to count; they straggled over the prairie one by one, like beads on a string.... Per Hansa on the pony brought up the rear.

As the people stood outside, looking at the approaching train, they instinctively set out for Per Hansa’s. Each had to get his own cow; all were eager to learn where Per Hansa had been these last two days, and to find out about that fifth cow!

The last question had already been answered in part; before the train had arrived they had made out that the fifth animal wasn’t a cow at all! No cow, indeed—but a yearling bull!... Per Hansa himself was barely recognizable; his face was grimy and streaked with sweat, which had been running down it in streams, and still ran as freely as ever. But what they first noticed about the man was that he carried something strapped to his chest—some sort of a box, it looked like.... No—wonder of wonders!—it was a bird cage, made of thin slats; and inside lay a rooster and two hens!

Beret had stepped outside the house at last; she came forward without paying any attention to the others; they felt embarrassed now, and did not dare to approach her; some of them even shrank back as she came near.

... “Per, what have you brought?” she asked in a low, tender voice, as if she were shy of him.

Per Hansa was unfastening the cage; he seemed wearied to the point of stupor.

“Oh, well,” he said with an effort, “since I had to go so far, I thought I might as well do something worth while.” ... He handed her the cage.... “Here are your chickens, Beret.... I don’t know whether there’s any life left in them yet, or not.”

Beret took the cage, turned slowly away, and walked toward the house. The others all thronged about him, eager to hear what adventures he had met with.

Tönseten pushed in ahead:

“I say, Per Hansa, who is that fellow you brought with the rest of the cattle?”

The shadow of a grin brightened the grimy face:

“That fellow?... Oh, just a Trönder.”

“Oh-ho!... then he must be a good one! Trönders, they say.... But where did you pick him up?”

Per Hansa pretended not to hear; he dismounted and threw the bridle to Store-Hans.... “Water him now, and feed him well!... Where did I pick that fellow up? Oh, I beguiled a kind Trönder woman into letting me take him for a year. I promised her ten dollars into the bargain; that makes exactly two dollars and a half for your share, Syvert. But that’ll be cheaper for you in the long run, you see, than to chase up and down the whole of Dakota Territory looking for your cow!”

Sörine and Kjersti were both very outspoken in their gratitude to Per Hansa; they plainly meant every word that they said. But it seemed to Per Hansa that the deepest word of wisdom on this occasion was offered by Kjersti. She stood listening patiently until the story of his long ride had come to an end; then she remarked, as if quietly musing:

“When lust can be so strong in a dumb brute, what mustn’t it be in a human being!... I shall never forget this trick you have turned, Per Hansa!”

... At that they all laughed heartily.

IV. What the Waving Grass Revealed

I

That summer Per Hansa was transported, was carried farther and ever farther away on the wings of a wondrous fairy tale—a romance in which he was both prince and king, the sole possessor of countless treasures. In this, as in all other fairy tales, the story grew ever more fascinating and dear to the heart, the farther it advanced. Per Hansa drank it in; he was like the child who constantly cries: “More—more!”

These days he was never at rest, except when fatigue had overcome him and sleep had taken him away from toil and care. But this was seldom, however; he found his tasks too interesting to be a burden; nothing tired him, out here. Ever more beautiful grew the tale; ever more dazzlingly shone the sunlight over the fairy castle.

How could he steal the time to rest, these days? Was he not owner of a hundred and sixty acres of the best land in the world? Wasn’t his title to it becoming more firmly established with every day that passed and every new-broken furrow that turned?... He gazed at his estate and laughed happily, as if at some pleasant and amusing spectacle.... Such soil! Only to sink the plow into it, to turn over the sod—and there was a field ready for seeding.... And this was not just ordinary soil, fit for barley, and oats, and potatoes, and hay, and that sort of thing; indeed, it had been meant for much finer and daintier uses; it was the soil for wheat, the king of all grains! Such soil had been especially created by the good Lord to bear this noble seed; and here was Per Hansa, walking around on a hundred and sixty acres of it, all his very own!

A beautiful, alluring thought had begun to beckon him. His first quarter-section was rightly only tillage land; the quarter next to it to the east would be about what he needed for hay and pasture for the cattle; yes, he could even use the one to the west of it, too, if his plans worked out; but he wanted the one to the east first, for it had open water on the creek. These two quarter-sections would make an estate more magnificent than that of many a king of old.... He never mentioned this dream to anyone; he could see no way at present of getting hold of another quarter; but his boys were growing bigger day by day; in time they would be able to earn the wherewithal.... No hurry yet ... this was just the beginning!

And there were many other tantalizing, delectable thoughts, of things that would have to come first, before the fine estate was won. The live stock, for instance; in the course of time he would have great numbers—horses and pigs and cattle, chickens and ducks and geese—animals both big and small, of every kind. There would be quacking and grunting, mooing and neighing, from every nook and corner of the farm.... The place would need plenty of life, for his Beret to mother!

But dearest to him of all, and most delectable, was the thought of the royal mansion which he had already erected in his mind. There would be houses for both chickens and pigs, roomy stables, a magnificent storehouse and barn ... and then the splendid palace itself! The royal mansion would shine in the sun—it would stand out far and wide! The palace itself would be white, with green cornices; but the big barn would be as red as blood, with cornices of driven snow. Wouldn’t it be beautiful—wasn’t it going to be great fun!... And he and his boys would build it all!

And stranger things than this transpired in fancy—just as in the fairy tale: they seemed to lie enchanted under the most prosaic and deceptive semblances, invisible to the eye of man; but then he came and touched them, pouring on a few drops from the magic horn; the charm was instantly broken, and behold, treasures sprang forth, shining in all their newborn freshness and beauty!... Just now, for instance, he beheld a vision so fair that his face shone with a glowing light that transfigured his coarse features; he had suddenly discovered a new object outside the palace of his dreams.... Yes, sir—there it was! Nothing less than a snow-white picket fence around a big, big garden! And many trees grew there, both within and without; some bore apples, others various kinds of fruit: and some ... _some had cones_ ... yes, trees with _pine cones_ on them!... Per Hansa’s eyes swam and shone; a sudden moisture dimmed his sight; dear God, there really were pine cones hanging from some of the trees!... He didn’t know where they waited for him, those trees ... but they would come!...

And so Per Hansa could not be still for a moment. A divine restlessness ran in his blood; he strode forward with outstretched arms toward the wonders of the future, already partly realized. He seemed to have the elfin, playful spirit of a boy; at times he was irresistible; he had to caress everything that he came near.... But he never could be still. To remain inactive over the Sabbath would drive him into a fit of ill humour; by noon he had to go outdoors and stir around. If nothing else turned up, he took a long jaunt over the prairies; on these trips he selected many a pretty spot that would be a fine site for a home.... Some day a settler will locate here, he thought; I’ll remember this, and show him where to build!... Wherever he went, no matter how far, he found the same kind of soil.

... Endless it was, and wonderful!...

II

One Sunday evening the boys had come home wild with excitement. They had made a long trip westward on the prairie to some big swamps which lay out there, with tall grass growing from them, and long stretches of open water in between. They told of thousands upon thousands of ducks, so tame that you could almost take them in your hand. Store-Hans vowed that never in his life had he seen anything like it. He described the ducks, how many and how tame they were, until the words stuck in his throat, and his whole body trembled; his brother raged on even worse.

From then on the boys were always talking about the ducks. Was there no way to get them?... But they had no shotgun, the father said, and Old Maria had not been built for that purpose; as it was, they had only a small supply of “feed” for her, which must be kept in case ... well, no one could tell. Just what it was that “no one could tell,” he didn’t say; but they understood this much that no ducks would ever be shot with that gun. So the ducks continued to live there, swimming leisurely about in countless numbers, and flying from one pond to the next whenever the boys came too close. And not even a good-sized pebble to be found ... plague take it all!

Ever since the boys had first discovered the ducks they had made a practice of going out to look at them every Sunday. Each time the birds seemed to have multiplied in numbers. Soon the boys never pretended to speak of anything else between themselves; they thought only of the ducks, and of how to get hold of them.... Their father had not yet found time to go with them and behold this wonder.

Then one Sunday afternoon, in the early part of August, Per Hansa went for a stroll westward with Store-Hans. Ole was told to stay at home; it would never do to let mother sit there alone, the father said, when she had three grown men in the family; Ole, the older of the two boys, would have to take his turn first. The boy raised such a commotion over this disappointment that his mother said they had better take him along. The father was firm, however; next Sunday he himself would stay at home, and then Ole could go; but to-day the boy must do as he had been told.

So it fell to Per Hansa and Store-Hans to make the trip alone. Plenty of ducks there were, no doubt about that. When he first saw the place Per Hansa was reminded of the great bird cliffs in Finmarken. Store-Hans pointed at the birds, whispering hoarsely to his father, until he choked, and tears came in his eyes.

—Wasn’t there any possible way to get a few of ’em?

—Well—the father seemed quite serious—one might try salt on their tails.

—Salt on their tails? Was that any good?

—Oh yes—they often did it in the olden days.

But then the father had to laugh, and that spoiled it all. As he stood there gazing longingly at the birds no boy could have been more thrilled by the wonderful spectacle. By George! there would _have_ to be some way out of this fix; he’d have to _make_ a way when he got time to cast about!... Maybe the fairy tale had nothing to say about the king’s having a shotgun; but he ate plenty of ducks, just the same!... What had been done once could be done again!

Store-Hans didn’t exactly approve of his father’s jocular air; this was no fooling matter. If he only wanted to, he could easily rig up some sort of a contrivance for catching them; he could work miracles when he tried ... Well then, why didn’t he begin to get busy. He certainly saw how thick they were!...

But Store-Hans had to possess his soul in patience awhile longer; no birds were captured on their first trip to the swamps.

It was on the way home from this trip that Per Hansa made his startling discovery. Store-Hans had taken a short cut home; he had to hurry back and tell his brother what they had seen. But the father never liked to follow an old path while there was still unexplored land left around him; accordingly, he made a long détour to the westward. He had often wondered how far west his land extended, but had never taken the time to pace it off. Since he was headed in that direction now, he might as well pace down the western border line of his and his neighbours’ new kingdom.

He had a pretty good idea of the location of Tönseten’s south line, as well as of the corners on it where his east and west lines began; the southeast corner, in fact, was near Tönseten’s house. He cut across country until he judged himself to be about on this south line, and walked east for some distance; then he decided that it would be too far to go all the way in, just to pick up the corner; so he turned west again. He would have to be satisfied with an approximate position of Tönseten’s southwest corner to-day.... About _here_, it ought to be, he thought; he stopped, gazed around, and took his bearings for the walk north. He had been following this course for perhaps a hundred paces when the toe of his boot suddenly struck against a small stake—a little fellow who stood hiding there, nodding in drowsy lonesomeness, just at the edge of a thick tuft of grass. Per Hansa looked down, saw the stake, and brought up with a violent start.... Here was Tönseten’s southwest corner! What, had Syvert been so cautious as to put down stakes here, too? A very careful man was Syvert, indeed!

Per Hansa bent down closer to examine the stake. Yes, he was right—it was a corner stake; there stood the description, indicating both section and quarter. But the name below ... _the name_ ... good God! what was this? He dropped to his knees and peered at it until the letters danced before his eyes; he wondered if he were dreaming. The name on the stake wasn’t _S. H. Tönseten_ at all, as it should have been; it was just _O’Hara_ ... nothing else but _O’Hara_! The letters had been carved on the stake with a knife, and the arrow pointed east, to Tönseten’s quarter!... When Per Hansa finally rose, he smoothed the grass carefully over with his hand, where his knees had bent it to the ground; the action was quite involuntary.

... “Well!” he exclaimed, and walked hastily away. But presently he stopped, turned around, and went back to the stake, to read the name once more. In order to be sure that his eyes hadn’t deceived him, he spelled it out letter by letter, tracing the carving with his forefinger.... No doubt about it—the thing was true!

And now he laid his course to the northward, walking slowly. The radiant, happy look had vanished from his face; it looked old and worn. All at once, as if struck by a new thought, he quickened his pace. He hurried on until he had reached the vicinity of Hans Olsa’s south line, dividing his land from Tönseten’s; here he began to search the ground, first to the eastward, then to the westward, working slowly forward into the next quarter-section.

At last he found it—another stake, Hans Olsa’s southwest corner!... He looked carefully around; no one was in sight. Then he fell on his knees and examined the stake; he didn’t bother to glance at the description this time; but the name—the name! Tears suddenly came to his eyes as he stooped over; for an instant he found it hard to see.... But there it was, exactly as he had feared; this stake had _Joe Gill_ carved on it ... _Joe Gill_, when it should have been _H. P. Olsen_!... He got up at last; his round, jovial face now looked drawn and sinister.

Moving mechanically, he strode toward the north until he had reached the line between Hans Olsa’s quarter and his own; there he repeated his tactics of a while before, zigzagging back and forth over a broad space; but though he kept tacking around for a long time, he was unable to locate any stake. That a stake was there, however, he felt very certain; it was unthinkable that this misfortune should have befallen both Tönseten and Hans Olsa, and not have run him down at the same time.... He searched until he had to give it up in despair; then he went north to the line between himself and Henry Solum, and fell to searching in this locality; but no, he couldn’t find any stake here, either. It was now growing so late that he had to quit and go home.... A short while before, he had been as happy and light-hearted as a child; he came home full of a weariness greater than he had ever known....

III

... By God! the trolls must be after him! It was only natural that he should meet them somewhere out here; but to think of their coming in just this dirty fashion!... Ah, well, trolls were trolls, no matter how they came!...

Per Hansa didn’t know what to do with himself that evening; he felt that the only thing that would relieve him just now would be to hitch the oxen to the plow and break a stretch of new land. He looked longingly at the oxen, and at the plow over yonder.... No, it was the Sabbath—and evening already.

His discovery had been so utterly disheartening that he could not have mentioned it to anyone for the price of his soul. He would have liked to tell his wife about it, and hear her opinion; but that was out of the question; she was disturbed enough already.... But Per Hansa had to do something, or he would go mad; he walked across the yard and sat down on the woodpile; there he remained a long while, staring listlessly at the ground.

... These trolls would not be easy to cope with—not if he knew them!... But why hadn’t he been able to discover their tracks on his own quarter? That was the strangest thing of all!

The boys were only waiting for a chance to talk with their father, now he had been west to the swamps and had seen how thick the birds were there. They came up and spoke to him, but got no response; first one of them tried, and then the other; soon they both were talking at him together; a little later their mother came out and asked him something, but he paid no attention. He sat there in a silence like a stone wall....

He’s probably thinking of the ducks, Store-Hans decided; the knowledge made him very happy. Of course he was thinking of the ducks, and would soon hit upon some fine way to capture them!... At last Store-Hans could no longer restrain himself; he edged over to his father’s side, laid his hand on the stout thigh, and said in a deep joy:

... “Weren’t there a lot of ’em, Dad?” ...

“_What_?”

“Did you ever see so many ducks in all your life?”

“Ducks?... No.”

“You think we can get some of them, don’t you?” asked the boy, in a hushed, confidential tone.

But the father made no answer; he was already far away and did not hear. Just then the mother came out with the milk pail on her arm and called loudly to Rosie. This reached Per Hansa’s ears; he got up and took the pail from her.... “I might as well do the milking, since I’m only sitting here idling away my time.” ... He seemed so absent-minded that she looked hard at him; as he walked away his head drooped forward, his shoulders were slouched down, his whole body seemed strangely shrunken....

The next morning he was up earlier than usual; he left the house without saying a word. As soon as he was gone, Beret got up and went to the window to see what became of him. The early dawn was still in the sky; she saw him stride off westward; soon the slope of the hill hid him from view.... It’s only the ducks, she thought; I’m glad that he and the boys have found some diversion; but just the same, he ought not to wear himself out over such trifling things.... Beret turned away from the window, her face heavy with sadness.

The boys were up and the food was on the table when Per Hansa returned.... He was heated as if from a brisk walk, his wife noticed. She had to look at him a second time; there was something queer about his face this morning; it seemed so hard set and forbidding; although it glowed with the heat of his body, it lacked any warmth of expression. Instinctively she asked:

“Is anything wrong with you, Per?”

“No.” ... But he did not look up.

As soon as he had eaten he left the table, telling the boys to come along and help him; now was a good time to pace out the west line of their land; it had to be done soon, anyway; perhaps they would break a stretch of ground out there.... His words sounded cold and distant; he went out, and said no more.

Beret watched him narrowly.... There’s certainly something the matter with him, she thought.

Striking west from the house, Per Hansa paralleled his own south line, between his land and Hans Olsa’s; he knew exactly how far in from this line the house had been built; so he merely kept along with it, counting the paces. When he had reached the western limit of his quarter, he stood still; the grass had been trampled down all over the place.... “This is where it ought to be; the line should run straight north from here.” ... He walked a few paces north to show them the direction.... “There ought to be a small black stake driven down in the grass here somewhere, but I can’t seem to find it. Let’s go south first; look sharp and see if you can’t pick it up. If we don’t find it there, we’ll go the other way. Keep your eyes open, now, every step!”

“When did you put a stake down here?” asked Ole.

His father apparently didn’t hear him.... “It ought to be right here; funny, that we can’t find it!... The cattle must have tramped it into the ground.”

All three of them kept searching steadily the whole forenoon; the father seemed so excited, and walked so fast, that the boys could hardly keep up with him. They made tack after tack, north until they stood on Henry’s land, south to Hans Olsa’s; they did not go in single file, but walked abreast, four or five paces apart.

... “Look in the grass, boys—look carefully in the grass!” the father repeated a thousand times.

Whenever they reached the end of the line they zigzagged east and west; they looked everywhere, and combed the ground; but with all their labour and painstaking care, no stake could be found. The boys noticed something very odd about their father’s manner: the longer their search went on unsuccessfully, the less impenetrable became that wall of isolation around him. When they finally stopped on the last tack, looked around, and saw that they had covered every possible place, his voice sounded almost joyful.... “It must be that the cows have tramped it down!... Well, no harm done ... it was nothing but an old stick, anyway.”

IV

Beret soon came to realize that he was absorbed in things of which she was not to know. Whenever she happened to speak to him unexpectedly he seemed to be present and yet absent; even when he made an effort to converse naturally, he kept her at a distance; all his ardour seemed to have disappeared, and with it the childlike joyousness that she had loved so much in him, though she had been unable to respond to it.... No more did she hear his cheerful, fairy-tale banter about the royal mansion, and the king and queen; she was aware how often he lay awake at night, or tossed restlessly about in his sleep.... In a short while she became fully convinced that something had happened at last which he had to conceal from her; but she could not imagine what it might be. The whole affair was so unlike him, that it worried her night and day.... What, in Heaven’s name, could there be to conceal out here?

This mood lasted with him throughout the week. On the morning of the next Monday he was up early.... Beret had been lying awake the latter part of the night, feeling keenly that he was wrestling beside her with a monster which would not leave him in peace; but after a while she had fallen asleep again. When she finally opened her eyes the dim grey of dawn was creeping through the window; her husband was up and gone. The room somehow gave her the sensation that he must have left a long time ago; not a sound could be heard anywhere.... Beret got up, dressed herself hurriedly, and went outdoors. The plow was still there, she noticed, and the oxen lay a short distance from the house; but Per Hansa was nowhere in sight.... She felt so forlorn, so helpless, filled as she was with gnawing loneliness. Here she stood, abandoned in the great solitude, not knowing where he had gone nor what the trouble was.... What had happened to him? What was he struggling with, that had to be kept from her?... She called his name aloud a couple of times; but her voice trembled so strangely that she did not dare to call again. The sound died away unheeded.... It seemed to Beret that she had never felt the awful desolation of the place weigh so heavily upon her as on this morning.

In the meantime Per Hansa was engaged in a very curious task west on the prairie. He had risen before daylight; had gone out and hunted up the spade, which he had stuck under his arm; then he had started off in a general westerly direction. He made a longer détour than necessary around Hans Olsa’s house, watching closely as he went by to see if anyone there was up and stirring; once safely past, he quickened his gait.... So he came to a place at the southwest corner of Hans Olsa’s land, where a black imp stood nodding sleepily in the grass; there he came to a halt and looked about in all directions.... Not a soul to be seen. His eyes were snapping now; his mouth was tight and drawn; all his features seemed hardened into solid rock.... “God!” he muttered, “Hans Olsa has got himself into a nice mess!” ... He grasped the thing firmly, pulled it slowly out of the ground, and laid it aside with great care. Then he examined the hole, planning what he had better do; when he was finished, it was going to be hard to see that _here_ a stake had ever been standing! He worked now with deep forethought and cunning; first he brought some loose soil from a distance in the spade, and filled the hole almost to the top; next he stopped it up with a sod plug; the grass of the plug grew as stout and green as that around it; he also took good care not to tramp down the grass near the hole, placing his feet lightly, as if he were afraid to rest his full weight on them.

At last he had finished and stood regarding his handiwork.... “If they only give the grass time to grow a little. I’ll be damned if they can chase Hans Olsa away on account of that stick of wood!” ... Then Per Hansa went on to the place when he had found the stake of Tönseten’s land; here he repeated the performance, but was even more careful not to trample down the grass.

When he returned home that morning he did not arrive from the west, but from the north. The boys were eating breakfast; the mother was busy, but she kept a watch through the window; she saw him come into the yard, stop by the woodpile and throw down the spade—then pause and glance hastily toward the house; but she went on with her work as if she had noticed nothing. Soon after she heard his footfall outside, passing along the wall.... He had gone into the stable!... He stayed there for some time before he came into the house.

As he entered the room Beret glanced at him from the corner of her eye.... Yes, there he stood, the man she knew ... but in his face shone something hard and menacing.... To-day they were going to plow, he told the boys—yes, _plow_! Both they and the oxen would get their bellyful.... His voice had the same unnatural, metallic hardness as his face; it seemed as if sparks flew when he spoke.

The stable was unoccupied as yet; at present it served as tool room, carpenter shop, and storehouse combined; Beret also used it for hanging spare clothes.... After they were gone, she happened to go into the stable looking for some garments that needed mending. There, quite by chance, she found the stakes; Per Hansa had hidden them behind the clothes. Burnt black to withstand the moisture, they hardly differed in colour from the walls; she would not have seen them at all, except for the carved letters; these stood out in the natural colour of the wood and looked like large worms in the black sod; they startled her—she had to see what they were. She picked the two stakes up and stood turning them over in her hands.... Here were some figures and letters ... more letters, that joined together and made something like names.... “Joe Gill,” said one; the other, “O’Hara.” ...

... What strange names, she thought.... Did people really have such names? If so, they must be Indians!... She kept turning the stakes over and over. The ends tapered down to a sharp point; they must have been made to stand in the ground; in fact, little particles of soil were clinging to them now. Where could Per Hansa have found them?... She put them back, found the garments she was looking for, returned to the house, and sat down to mend....

But she could not dismiss those mysterious stakes from her mind.... What did the numbers mean ... the numbers and letters ... and then, the names?... They must be landmarks. And they had been standing in the ground, too.... It suddenly occurred to her that he must have put them in there recently; it was only last week that she had hung up those clothes.... Perhaps ... could he have done it this very morning?... She laid her work aside and went out to the stable to examine them once more.... Yes, certainly they had been in the ground—just so far down they had been!

Back at her sewing again, her hands moved more and more slowly as she thought.... He had been struggling with something which must be kept from her.... His voice was sharper to-day, his face more determined.... It _must_ be that he had brought them back with him this morning....

... Her thoughts slowly began to spin; the longer they spun, the less she liked the web; after a while she became so frightened that her hand shook and she had to drop her sewing....

When he came home for dinner, she told herself, she would ask him for an explanation of this matter; her fear was somewhat appeased by this resolution.... But then he came, still in a rigid, forbidding mood; and her thoughts grew so unspeakably dark and ugly that she could not utter them. At the same time, he seemed relieved in a measure, and more like himself.

After supper that night she heard him go into the stable and rummage around; then he came out and went across the yard. She stole to her post at the window; there he stood by the block, chopping up a stick of wood; it was burnt black, and tapered at one end; it had stood in the ground. He picked up every piece that he had split and cut them into short kindling wood!... He took another black stick and did the same with it.... Then he went down on his knees and began to gather the kindling, piece by piece, on his arm.... Now, what in the world.... Here he came, bringing it all into the house!...

Beret had timidly withdrawn to the corner by the stove; he saw her standing there but did not look at her directly; then he took off the lid of the stove and dumped in the armful of kindling.

... “Are you making a fire now?”

“Just some rubbish I picked up around the chopping block.”

She wanted to run around the stove and stop him, but could not; she felt that her knees would not carry her even those few steps. A question trembled on her lips; she must ask him now ... but the words would not come ... her tongue refused to obey.

... No, she could not ask such a question!... It was so hideous, so utterly appalling, the thought which she harboured; God forgive him, he was meddling with other folks’ landmarks!... How often she had heard it said, both here and in the old country: a blacker sin than this a man could hardly commit against his fellows![9]

[9] In the light of Norwegian peasant psychology, Beret’s fear is easily understandable; for a more heinous crime than meddling with other people’s landmarks could hardly be imagined. In fact, the crime was so dark that a special punishment after death was meted out to it. The visionary literature of the Middle Ages gives many examples.

She stood motionless in the corner beyond the stove, watching her husband burn the proofs of his guilt; the terror that possessed her now was immeasurably greater than that which she had felt in the morning, when she had called his name and got no answer....

... That night Per Hansa slept the sleep of the righteous in spite of what he had done; now it was Beret who had a monster to wrestle with....

V

During the weeks that followed. Per Hansa’s temper made him hard of approach; the man seemed driven by a restless energy, an indomitable will that knew but one course—to break as much new land as possible each day.... “Do you intend to break the whole quarter-section this fall?” Hans Olsa asked him more than once. He had broken a large part of it already; a new piece was added every day; but still he found no rest, nor would the joyous peace of the early summer return to him.... His face now always wore that forbidding, menacing look, which often would flare up into a flame, and his voice would suddenly be hard as flint.

Before his thoughts stood ever the same problem: How would it turn out when the trolls came? Would he be able to hack off their heads and wrest the kingdom from their power?... It might happen that he would be going about with some object in his hand, and would suddenly grip it hard; all his strength would be needed to wield the enchanted sword.... For these would be archtrolls, no less. Here they had come and, disregarding all law and justice, had taken land in an unlawful manner.

There was another chain of thought which frequently led him on: Perhaps these men would never come back? They might just have happened along here the previous fall, before Tönseten arrived; have taken a liking to the place, and put down their stakes; and then have failed to go to the land office until _after_ Tönseten’s visit there, at which time they would have found their claims taken up and recorded by another; or still more likely, for some reason or other they had never gone to the land office at all, but had allowed their claims to go by default.... That _might_ have happened.

... But no, the explanation didn’t sound reasonable; those stakes hadn’t stood in the ground all winter—they didn’t look that way.... By God! the trolls had arrived _after_ Tönseten’s sod house had been built; they had “beheld the land, and seen that it was good”!... So, there was nothing to do but wait for them to come back.... Not by a breath or a syllable did Per Hansa betray the secret of what he had done. At one time he had strongly considered telling Hans Olsa, but had finally given up the idea; better to keep him out of this for the time being!... In all this trouble, it never once occurred to him that had there been a prior claim on these quarters, Tönseten and Hans Olsa couldn’t have filed on them, and that the act of putting down claim stakes made no difference at all.

Beret’s thoughts continued to spin; the web had grown so dreadful to look at that she longed to cast it aside, but lacked the power.... He has done it, he has done it!—the thoughts spun on.... Here we are sitting on another man’s land, and Per Hansa intends to stay!... He has destroyed another man’s landmarks.... Oh, my God!...

In a certain sense, however, his guilt began to appear less fatal in her eyes as she continued to look at it; surely there was enough land out here for everyone; whether they got this quarter or another made no difference. She could not understand why one should make a fuss over a thing like that.... But the dishonourableness of the act made her shrink back in disgust.... And now a new terror—the terror of consequences! Per Hansa, poor fellow, could not even speak the language. How would he ever defend himself, when the case came up?... The stories that she had heard, both in Norway and east in Fillmore, of how people in this wild country would ruthlessly take the matters of law and justice into their own hands, also crept into the web of her thoughts. Here he was, unable to give a satisfactory explanation, guilty before the law of one of the blackest crimes that it was possible for man to commit.... He was so hasty and quick-tempered, too, whenever things went wrong; and now he was in a mood which made people afraid to approach him....

... Beret would look at her web until her whole body trembled and she had to reach out and grasp something to steady herself.

VI

Beret had now formed the habit of constantly watching the prairie; out in the open, she would fix her eyes on one point of the sky line—and then, before she knew it, her gaze would have swung around the whole compass; but it was ever, ever the same.... Life it held not; a magic ring lay on the horizon, extending upward into the sky; within this circle no living form could enter; it was like the chain inclosing the king’s garden, that prevented it from bearing fruit.... How could human beings continue to live here while that magic ring encompassed them? And those who were strong enough to break through were only being enticed still farther to their destruction!...

They had been here four months now; to her it seemed like so many generations; in all this time they had seen no strangers except the Indians—nor would they be likely to see any others.... Almost imperceptibly, her terror because of the stakes which her husband had burned had faded away and disappeared.... They had probably belonged to the Indians, so it did not matter; he had become fast friends with them....

People had never dwelt here, people would never come; never could they find home in this vast, wind-swept void.... Yes, _they_ were the only ones who had been bewitched into straying out here!... Thus it was with the erring sons of men; they were lost before they knew it; they went astray without being aware; only others could see them as they were. Some were saved, and returned from their wanderings, changed into different people; others never came back.... God pity them: others never came back!...

At these times, a hopeless depression would take hold of her; she would look around at the circle of the sky line; although it lay so far distant, it seemed threatening to draw in and choke her....

... So she grew more taciturn, given to brooding thoughts.

But then the unthinkable took place: some one from outside broke through the magic circle....

It happened one evening. Ole had ridden the pony west to the swamps; on the way home he noticed a large white speck moving along through the haze on the eastern horizon. It did not seem so very far away; as he watched it came creeping closer; the boy was so startled that he could hear the beating of his own heart; he had to investigate this thing. The pony was fleet-footed; he had plenty of time to make a turn to the eastward; he rode directly toward the speck. When he had satisfied himself that west-movers were coming—the wagons indicated that—he turned toward home and urged the pony till his body lay flat to the ground. On the way in he stopped at Tönseten’s with the news, then at Hans Olsa’s; hastening on to his own house, he shouted loudly for them to come out and look ... come out in a hurry!

... What a strange feeling it gave them!... Two horses in front of a wagon; the wagon covered, just like their own!... And like their own, it came slowly creeping out of the eastern haze; like them, these folks were steering for Sunset Land.... Alas! thought Beret, some one else has been led astray!

The wagon held on toward Tönseten’s; it reached his place and halted. The incident was so unusual and startling that all in the little settlement forgot their good manners and rushed pell-mell over to Tönseten’s. Even Beret could not keep away; she put on a clean apron, took And-Ongen by the hand, and joined the others.... The whole colony, young and old, were gathered there when she arrived—everyone except Per Hansa.... He came up silently at last, carrying a heavy stick.

The company consisted of four men; they were from Iowa.... No, they didn’t intend to stop here; they were bound for a place about seventy miles to the southwest; the land was nearly all taken up around here, they had been told.... Tönseten and the Solum boys were conversing with them in English; Hans Olsa, together with the women and children, stood respectfully listening; as for Per Hansa, he was all eyes and ears, scrutinizing the four visitors from head to foot, trying to make out what they were saying.... His grip on the stick relaxed; hadn’t he understood that they were going seventy miles farther?...

At last he grew impatient, because he was unable to follow the conversation as well as he wished; he grasped Tönseten by the arm and pinched it so hard that he turned around angrily; but the next second he was talking again.

“What sort of people are they?”

“Germans.... Don’t bother me now!”

“You must tell them not to stop.... We want only _Norwegians_ here, you know!”

But Tönseten had no time now to waste words on Per Hansa; that could be attended to in due season; he was deep in a long discussion with the strangers, all about the prospects for the future out here.

These four unexpected evening arrivals stayed with them overnight, and went on their way the next morning; the Spring Creek settlers had never seen them before; they would perhaps never see them again; but they all felt that this was the greatest event which had yet happened in the settlement.... Seventy miles farther into the evening glow these fellows were going—seventy long miles! Then this place would no longer be life’s last outpost!... Folks were coming, were passing on ... folks who intended to build homes!...

... A living bulwark was springing up between them and the endless desolation!...

Before the Germans left in the morning they came to examine Per Hansa’s house; Tönseten had told them of one of his neighbours who had built a dwelling and stable under one roof; they thought it would be well worth the trouble to go and look at a structure of that kind; they themselves were just beginning, and needed ideas. While they were there Per Hansa got a chance to sell them some potatoes and vegetables, to the amount of two dollars and seventy-five cents; this was the first produce to be sold out of the settlement on Spring Creek.... Tönseten didn’t take it kindly at all; he could have done as much himself; but who would ever have thought of such a thing?... He certainly watches his chances, that fellow Per Hansa!

VII

The strangers finally managed to make a start late that forenoon; the Spring Creek folks stood watching the wagon as it grew smaller and smaller, until it was only a dot on the horizon, receding farther and farther under the brow of the heavens; at last it disappeared—but whether into the earth or into the sky, no one could tell....

This visit affected each one differently, according to his own traits and peculiarities; but with all it was a new incentive to let their eyes scan the prairie. They had always done this, of course; but more often it had been with the object of straightening their tired backs for a moment, than to seek for actual traces of wandering fellow beings.... The visit had encouraged them all, but Tönseten and his wife were especially firm and optimistic in their faith; from now on Syvert always spoke of the future with fervent conviction, and Kjersti went about listening to him in a glow of silent but none the less ardent devotion. The Solum boys also had little doubt of the omen—this wagon was only the forerunner of more to come! The next in order of enthusiasm was Sörine, to whom faith imparted a glad calmness. Hans Olsa let every day be sufficient unto itself, enjoyed the confident spirits of the others, and set himself every day to accomplish something needful; he was not a fast worker, but got things done with a peculiar sureness of purpose and steadiness of gait; it did not seem of great importance to him how many new people came; the important thing was how they got along—the folks who were here already.

Per Hansa was even louder in his optimism than Tönseten. Now there were settlers to both the east and the southwest of them; far away to the northeast, too, folks were known to have taken up land; the time wasn’t far distant when they would have near neighbours all around. There were moments, even, when he felt confident that he would live to see the day when most of the land of the prairie would be taken up; in such moods, there was something fascinating about him; bright emanations of creative force seemed to issue out of his square, stocky figure; his whole form became beautiful, the lines of his face soft and delicate; whenever he spoke a tone of deep joy rang in his words.... But these moods did not last; when there came a pause in the fairy tale, Per Hansa fell silent about the future, worked, intensely and grew cross and irritable; at such times he was a hard man to deal with.

To Beret the visit had seemed nothing but a brief interruption to the endless solitude. The facts were unchangeable—it was useless to juggle with them, or delude oneself; nothing but an eternal, unbroken wilderness encompassed them round about, extending boundlessly in every direction; that these vast plains, so like infinity, should ever be peopled and settled, would be a greater miracle than for dead men to rise up and walk!...

It happened about a week later, that another caravan came creeping slowly out of the evening. This was a great procession—six teams of horses, with the same number of wagons.... Darkness was already falling when they were sighted. Per Hansa’s boys wanted to start out at once, and were quarrelling over who should ride to meet the strangers; but the father suddenly came and told them both to stay at home; he spoke in such a determined voice that they understood it would be useless to mention the matter again.... They shouldn’t be running out to meet every stranger, he went on, as though they had never seen people before! Time enough to speak with these newcomers to-morrow. He was going over now to find out if they needed any potatoes.... He suited the action to the word.

At Hans Olsa’s house the caravan had not yet been sighted; Per Hansa saw a light in the window as he passed. Tönseten was standing outside when he arrived there; the caravan lay some distance off to the southward, steering too far west to fetch the settlement.

“You’re going to have visitors,” Per Hansa greeted his neighbour.

“It looks that way!” chuckled Tönseten.... “Though I’m afraid they’re heading a little too far west.”

They stood gazing at the train of wagons, now less than a hundred yards away; through the dusk they could just make out the forms of the men driving. Kjersti stood behind them in the door, laughing to herself and wondering how she could put them all up for the night.... Oh, well, if it couldn’t be arranged here, Per Hansa would have to take some of them home to his place.

... “I wonder what kind of people they are?” Tönseten mused.... “Are they going to pass right by an open door?”

“That’s just what they’re doing!” said Per Hansa, curtly, fearing that now the trolls were upon them.

“But surely they can see us?”

“They ought to, if they have eyes!”

The caravan had now drawn abreast of them to the southwest; it was so near that they could hear the panting of the horses; then the foremost wagon swung off a trifle and took a more westerly course; they evidently had no intention of camping here for the night.

“You’d better go over and talk to them, Syvert,” said Kjersti.... “We’ll make room for them somehow.”

Tönseten gazed at them open-mouthed; tears of disappointment stood in his eyes.... “That’s a fine way to act!” he spluttered.... “Hadn’t we better go over and invite them?”

Per Hansa’s eyes flashed daggers; his face lighted up with irresistible forcefulness.... “We won’t bother about that just yet.... They might be high-toned, you know—heading for Hans Olsa’s place, or mine!”

The train moved slowly on toward the northwest, until it was on the line between Hans Olsa’s and Tönseten’s; there the wagons stopped and the horses were unhitched; the newcomers had evidently decided to pitch their camp for the night.

... “It’s the strangest thing I ever saw!” said Tönseten, as if speaking to himself. “Can you imagine anyone coming into a neighbourhood where the houses are standing around as thick as fleas on a dog’s back, and not even wanting to talk to the folks who live in ’em?... I call it a damned outrage! What’s the matter—are they afraid of us?”

“It doesn’t seem as if they can really be civilized people!” put in Kjersti.

“Most likely they’ve got some nice-looking girls aboard, and are afraid the place is full of knock-about single men!” Per Hansa explained, calmly.

The three puzzled folks stood there watching and wondering; through the deepening dusk they couldn’t make out clearly what the strangers were doing.... Apparently they were building a fire down on the slope; a glare of flames intermittently rose and spread, waned and reappeared; it seemed to flit back and forth on the ground.

“Do you know what, Syvert?” Per Hansa suggested, mischievously.... “Since those fellows won’t come and talk to us, we’d better take a trip over and visit them. We might even talk them into buying some potatoes—eh? We must watch our chances, you know.” ... He was anxious to get a look at them.

Tönseten could see no particular objection, especially since Per Hansa had an errand with them; but it did seem rather humiliating to go and shake hands with folks who had refused to say “hullo” to them.... But after a moment they started on their way.

They had walked only a few steps, however, when he drew up with a jerk. “Let’s go over to Hans Olsa’s and take him along; he’d like to shake hands with them too, you know.”

—Not at all—certainly not!—was Per Hansa’s decisive reply. Hans Olsa knew no more English than he did; and it was devilish awkward to stand around and stare strangers in the face, without knowing a word they said; he himself would never have thought of going if it hadn’t been that they ought to make use of the opportunity to sell some potatoes!...

They went on a few steps farther, and then Tönseten stopped again; his courage was dripping away.... Suppose they were Scandinavians?

—What nonsense!... Per Hansa kept right on walking. Neither Swedes nor Danes behaved in that boorish fashion; anyway, they probably had all gone to bed at Hans Olsa’s; they always turned in early there.

The fire burned lustily over on the prairie; four women went to and fro placing dishes of food on a big green cloth spread on the ground; some of the men had already gathered around it; others were occupied with the wagons.... As they drew near, Per Hansa counted ten men in all; he scrutinized their faces closely, one by one; but he found none that he liked.... Tönseten went briskly up to the fire and greeted those who were sitting around; Per Hansa did likewise. The strangers plainly sneered at their greeting; they said something among themselves which Per Hansa did not understand....

—Where did these men come from? Tönseten asked, boldly.

—From down in Iowa.

—Were they going far west?

—No!

This much Per Hansa was able to follow; but here he began to lose the meaning; the men spoke English too fast, and Tönseten wasn’t much better; not that it made any difference, however; Per Hansa knew all that he needed to know.... _They had come at last_!... Of the conversation that followed he only understood that it was about land and that the men were making sport with Tönseten, who had grown angry and now spoke still faster.... It was unbelievable how fast Syvert could rattle off the English!... The strangers’ mockery was getting rather ugly now; he could tell it by the sound of their laughter.... Damn it all, to think that he couldn’t talk to them!

“Huh!” exclaimed Tönseten, turning suddenly to his neighbour ... “Can you imagine what they are saying?... They ... they insist that both my quarter and Hans Olsa’s belong to them!”

“You don’t say!... What about _mine_?”

But Tönseten paid no further attention to him; he was off again in his squabble with the Irishmen, and growing more and more excited with every word.... It struck Per Hansa that if Syvert didn’t stop a moment to catch his breath, he was either going to explode, or else he would burst into tears; he grasped his arm firmly.

“What do they say, Syvert?”

“They say they’ve taken up all the land between the creek and the swamps over to the westward, a strip two quarter-sections wide.... And they talk rougher and wilder than anything I ever heard; they’re threatening murder, and fire, and state’s prison!”

“Do they say when they were here?”

“Last summer, and late in the fall, and early this spring, too!”

“What cultivation have they done to meet the law?” ... Per Hansa spoke calmly and thoughtfully.

“They claim that they’ve been granted exemption from the government because they were soldiers in the Civil War!... Isn’t that the devil’s own luck?”

“Ask to see their papers.”

“They say they’ve got the papers. They’ll produce them in the morning, all right!”

“Then we might as well go home and get to bed!” said Per Hansa, calmly.... “But be sure to ask whether they need any _potatoes_!” he added with a flash of roguishness.

But Tönseten had not heard; he was once more absorbed in wrangling. The men about the fire had now all risen; those who were working at the wagons had joined them; a close circle had formed around the pair. Per Hansa watched in silence, his pipe hanging unlighted from one corner of his mouth; when his eyes caught those of one of the strangers he held on some time before letting go.

“Well,” he put in, dryly, as Tönseten stopped to catch his breath, “don’t they want to buy any potatoes?” ...

“_Potatoes_!” cried Tönseten.... “You ought to hear how savagely they talk! They say they don’t need to show any papers to thieves and claim jumpers like us!”

“All right.... Have they got their stakes down here, too?”

“On both quarters, they say!” ...

Per Hansa saw that if Tönseten kept on much longer, he would go to pieces entirely; that would be rather embarrassing for both of them.

“Come on, Syvert, let’s go home to bed.... It looks as though we couldn’t make a deal in potatoes, anyway!”

At that he calmly began to elbow his way out of the circle; Tönseten saw him going, grew alarmed, and hurried after. Some one of the Irish must have tripped him; he stumbled and nearly lost his balance; this made them all laugh—but one man in particular roared with glee; his jeering voice had an offensive, deliberately insulting tone.

... Per Hansa wheeled suddenly and stood glaring at them; Tönseten glanced at him and grew frightened in earnest.

... “Come on!” he cried with chattering teeth, and took to his heels.

... “Hell, Syvert—wait a minute!”

Per Hansa kept searching the crowd until he found the face from which that insolent jeering came; a grim, cold sneer had spread over his own. At last he located the fellow, close at hand; he held his clenched fist under the man’s nose, drew his head well down between his shoulders in order to get more power, and said in a dry, rasping voice, in the broadest Nordland dialect:

“Now, by God! you’d better shut up your mouth or I’ll wipe that grin off your face for you!”

His eyes actually seemed to scorch the man; then he let up, straightened his shoulders, and glanced around at the crowd.

... Apparently no one was anxious to have anything to do with him; the jeering laughter died away. Then he let his gaze travel slowly back to the first man; the fellow had sense enough not to laugh any more.... And so, since he couldn’t talk to them, there was nothing left for Per Hansa to do but go away....

Off in the dark he could hear a faint calling; by the sound of Tönseten’s voice he was not far from tears now.

“I’ll take all our papers along to-morrow and show them—they’ll see what’s what!” he blubbered, as Per Hansa came up.... “You shouldn’t be so hasty! Suppose they had all fallen upon us!... Good heavens!...”

“Well, you can try your papers on them, if you want to.... But let me tell you this, my good Syvert: with these people you can’t use either the ‘Catechism’ or the ‘Epitome’; they don’t live according to the Scriptures!” ...

Tönseten drew a long and heavy sigh.... “My God! what troubles a man may fall into!... It makes me shudder to think how wild they talked!”

When they parted it was agreed that all the menfolk should meet early next morning, to counsel together as to what must be done. Per Hansa was to notify Hans Olsa and the Solum boys, and bring all three over to Tönseten’s.

“Don’t breathe a word to Kjersti about how things are!” Per Hansa warned him.... “If the women ever get hold of this, they’ll die of fright!... We’ll find a way out somehow—I tell you we will!”

VIII

As he walked homeward Per Hansa was a totally different man from the one who had gone over to Tönseten’s a couple of hours before. Then he had carried a heavy burden of worry and care; but now he walked with a lightsome, buoyant step, very well pleased with the turn events had taken. His mood lightened and brightened as he figured things out and added up the total. The problem came out just right.... These fellows were nothing but a pack of scoundrels; the thought was so comforting to him that he felt like thanking the Lord. They had not filed their claims at all; he doubted very much if they were soldiers; if they had had a clear case, they would have produced their papers at once.... Why, one only needed to look at their faces! Next moment he began to whistle, striking up the merry tune of an old polka. It wasn’t so much because they would not be able to chase him away that he was glad; but because now he was once more a guiltless man! He felt so light-hearted and free again that he could have leaped up and soared through the air.... How fine life was, after all! He didn’t know, just at present, exactly how he was to snatch his neighbours out of the grip of the trolls; but matters would straighten themselves out somehow; the magic sword would be there when he needed it!...

When he got home the boys were sitting up in bed, undressed and waiting for him; Beret stood by the stove, roasting a substitute for coffee which she made from potatoes; the room was filled with smoke and the door stood open. She looked at him in the faint glimmer from the lamp; his face bore nothing but signs of good, she saw; then no danger hung over them! Perhaps a few more settlers would arrive as the years passed.... The boys were asking questions both together in a steady stream; now and then she quietly slipped in a question of her own; but the flood of talk from the bed was so torrential that she could scarcely be heard. The father had to go over and give them a box or two on the ears, to quiet them down; but it turned into skylarking instead of chastising, with screams of laughter and a new flood of questions; they had forgotten their anger at not being allowed to go with him!... The wife asked, and the boys asked over and over again: what nationality the newcomers belonged to, how many they were, and whether they were going to settle here; how many horses they had, how many cattle; whether they had any women; what they had brought in their wagons; if they had bargained for many potatoes; and the like. It seemed as if their curiosity could never be satisfied.... But the father was in such a good humour that he had a bantering answer for everything, no matter what silly questions they asked; he entered wholeheartedly into the hilarity of the boys, till he too was talking only nonsense.... These folks were all Irish, he explained; their women were terrible trolls, with noses as long as rake handles.... Settle here? Not they! No, they were going on to the end of the world, and a long way farther. They were much, much uglier than the Indians, and spoke so terribly fast that it sounded like _this_.... He hardly thought there would be a chance to sell any potatoes; troll women ate the flesh of Christian men, instead of potatoes—didn’t they know that? Just the same, he was going to take a couple of sacks along to-morrow, to see whether he couldn’t tempt them away from their regular fare.... His banter grew so boisterous at last that Beret was half-frightened; but his voice sounded so bright and cheerful, and had such a warm, infectious gladness running through it, that she could not find it in her heart to reprove him. When they went to bed later in the evening he put his arm lovingly around her and fell asleep almost immediately.... She felt sure there could be no danger this time.

But before she was awake, and long before the faintest light of day shone into the room, Per Hansa was up again; he ate some cold porridge left from the night before, put the deed into his pocket, and went over to the Solum boys’ place; there he roused them, and waited till they had eaten a mouthful or two; then all three continued on to Hans Olsa’s.

As they walked along Per Hansa reviewed the situation for them; with the help of their questions, he gradually explained his plan:

“It’s this way, boys: there’s no danger for any of us three; our neighbours are the ones who are in trouble and stand in need of help; but as for that, you realize as well as I do that we wouldn’t have a very pleasant future ahead of us, either, if they were chased away from here.... Now, you’re a pretty good talker, Henry, and had better be spokesman for the rest of us; Tönseten gets excited so easily you know; then you, Sam, must translate for Hans Olsa and me, in order that we may follow what’s going on. Those fellows must be made to show their papers; be sure to look closely at dates and signatures and that sort of thing, to satisfy yourself that they haven’t been tampered with.... After that, we want to know if they have planted _stakes_ here, and where they are! Just tell them straight from the shoulder, in good plain English, that here we are, and here we intend to stay until some one kicks us out.... Put all the guts into it that you can!”

The Solum boys took a sensible view of the whole matter; to Henry it seemed just an amusing interruption to their loneliness; the idea of chasing people away from a place that was nearly destitute of human beings already, seemed comical.... Even Sam was brave to-day; these were white folks, with whom one could talk and reason; that wasn’t so dangerous!...

Per Hansa told them to keep on to Tönseten’s; he and Hans Olsa would come as soon as they could.

IX

Everything about Hans Olsa was of unusual dimensions; his great body made strangers stop and look; it loomed up like a mountain when he rose to his full height; his strength was in proportion to his bulk; things that he took hold of often got crushed in his grip. New ideas found their way behind that big forehead with great difficulty; he had to look at a thought for some time before he could comprehend it; on the other hand, it invariably held true that when an idea had once become well lodged in there, it would remain clear and unchanged forever. His mind worked in the same way as his body; he was slow to grasp, but rarely dropped anything after he had picked it up; on this account he always found it difficult to turn back, once he had chosen his path. Right and wrong were eternal verities with him, which could not be changed and must not be tampered with; right was right, and wrong was wrong; thus it had always been, and thus it must remain as long as the world should stand.

When Per Hansa entered his neighbour’s house that morning, he found himself immediately embarrassed; both husband and wife were up, and he did not care to speak of their predicament while Sörine was listening; the women ought to be kept out of this! Time was pressing, however, and he couldn’t waste it in lengthy explanations; besides, Hans Olsa and his wife had already discovered the camp to the westward and were planning to go over and visit the strangers, with Tönseten as an interpreter.... Per Hansa hardly knew which way to turn; he looked at Sörine’s face, and again, as so often before, was impressed by the goodness and intelligence in it; then he made up his mind and related frankly the whole experience which had befallen him and Tönseten the night before.

... “Now, Sörrina, I know you are a sensible woman and will keep your mouth shut,” he added, quickly, when he was through. “Beret doesn’t know anything about this, neither does Kjersti; there’s no need of alarming folks who are in a bad way already.... Not that we need to worry over this business; I’m sure they’ll take it peaceably when we show them our papers.... Now we must hurry. Get your deed, Hans Olsa!”

But it was a sheer impossibility for Hans Olsa to hurry in a matter of this kind; he had to ask about it over and over again. Facts were facts, which in this case were clear beyond questioning: He himself had gone to the land office in person; Tönseten had put his finger on precisely this quarter-section on the map, and had asked in Hans Olsa’s name if it could be taken up; there had been nothing in the way, not the slightest claim; it was so stated in the document; and he had moved directly on to his land and had done everything that the law prescribed. If anything was wrong, the government would have to clear it up; but how could anything possibly be wrong?...

“Why, certainly,” said Per Hansa, with shrewd common sense.... “The government is all right in its place—no one questions that! But out here this morning, the government is a little too far away ... that’s where the trouble comes in.”

“You don’t mean that they actually intend to _kick us out_?” demanded Hans Olsa in an astonished voice, unconsciously stretching his huge frame.

“That’s just what they intend to do, as I understand them.... We’ll have to show them where we stand, in black and white!” ... Per Hansa looked at the woman.

“You don’t say, Per Hansa! Are there ... are there many of them?”

“I counted ten men and four women; I believe that’s all there are.” ... The ghost of a smile passed over Per Hansa’s face.

Hans Olsa sat in silence for a while, with the deed folded up in his hand: then he smoothed it out again and looked at it closely. The greater part of it was unintelligible to him, but he understood all the essentials: the date, the description of the land, the signature of the government, and his own. All this was correct in every way; and up to this very minute he had kept his part of the contract to the letter of the law. He handed the paper to Per Hansa, and said in a ponderous voice:

“Do you see anything wrong there?”

Per Hansa was growing impatient; here they sat, wasting precious time; his laugh had a hard, short ring:

“No! It isn’t you who are wrong in this case, you see; it’s those devils who have squatted here on your land!”

“Do they look like peaceable folks?” asked Sörine, calmly.

“One would suppose so ... they have their women along!”

Hans Olsa spoke slowly: “We’d better go over and talk to them.”

“That’s the idea!... Just put the deed in your pocket, and let’s get started!”

X

Tönseten and the Solum boys were waiting impatiently when the others arrived. Later on, Tönseten let it out that he had told his wife the whole story as soon as he had come home the night before; neither of them had slept a wink all night. He was nervous and jumpy this morning, and wanted to start out immediately.

“No, this won’t do,” said Per Hansa, firmly. “We mustn’t go without a plan. How are we going to tackle the business when we get there?”

“We’ve got to drive them away from here!” cried Tönseten, excitedly.

“Fine!... But the question is: How are we going about it?”

“We’ve got to convince them that we are here with the full sanction of law and justice,” said Hans Olsa, solemnly.

“You’re damned right we must!” flashed Per Hansa.... “Have you got your paper, Syvert?”

—No, Tönseten had thought of bringing the deed with him, but he feared it would be too risky.... “They might take it away from me, and then I’d be in a devil of a hole!” Tönseten’s face was so agitated that it was a pity to look at.

But Per Hansa now took charge in a determined manner.... “Go in and get that deed immediately, Syvert, so that we can get going!... Don’t worry—we’ll see to it that no one molests you!”

And so they started. On the way over, Per Hansa explained the tactics they were to follow; Henry Solum and Tönseten should be the spokesmen, Sam the interpreter; Per Hansa took pains to impress upon Sam how important it was that he translate correctly and rapidly, so that he and Hans Olsa could keep abreast of proceedings.... “I think it will be best for you, Henry, to cut loose; then you, Syvert, can put in your oar when you think it’s needed. But don’t say much; and for Heaven’s sake, be careful not to talk too fast; you know how quickly you get short-winded. Remember we have the whole day ahead of us!”

Tönseten was highly displeased with this plan of Per Hansa’s, but he lacked the strength to protest; matters had reached such a bad pass already that they could hardly get worse....

It was plainly evident that the strangers had not overslept themselves that morning; although the hour was still very early—full daylight had barely come—all hands were busily at work when the five settlers reached the camp. Two of the wagons had already been unloaded; a few of the men were beginning to open up the others, while the rest of the crew were putting up a large tent.

Per Hansa and Henry Solum walked ahead; then came Hans Olsa and Sam; Tönseten, who at first had trotted along with the van, had now quietly dropped back to the rear.

“Ah-ha!” observed Per Hansa to his companions. “They’re planning to settle here, it seems!... Now, first you must ask to see their papers; and then the stakes—insist on the _stakes_! Talk pleasantly to begin with ... but it won’t do any harm to have a little sport with them, you know. If they get ugly, just tease them on awhile.”

Their friendly greetings were returned in a churlish fashion; the strangers didn’t seem anxious for company; each man went about his task without paying the slightest attention to the visitors.

—What were they doing here? Henry demanded.—This quarter had been taken up long ago.

—Indeed? Two of the men stopped their work and entered the conversation.

—Yes, the man who owned the land was standing right there—Henry pointed to Hans Olsa.—That fellow; he had his papers along, too; and now they must show their papers! If the land office had granted the same quarter-section to two different men, a bad mistake had been made, but it could easily be cleared up.

—Well, so they wanted to see the papers—was that the idea? Had they brought their _spectacles_? A roar of laughter from the others greeted this sally; but the man who had spoken wasn’t exactly laughing—he held his head tilted on one side, his whole face screwed into an ugly leer.... Sam translated as accurately as he could.

—Yes, Henry continued in a firmer and more imperative tone, they had come to see both their papers and their stakes! Furthermore, there was a court in Sioux Falls to settle such matters. They had been living here all summer, breaking and planting, and hadn’t the least thought of moving away.... Per Hansa sensed by the tone of Henry’s voice that he was speaking well.

“That’s right, Henry.... Give ’em hell!”

The man who had spoken with such an evil look a moment before, now threw down his sledge hammer and came up to them.

—All right, boys! Since they wouldn’t take his word for it, he’d soon show them in black and white! The papers had been packed away somewhere and couldn’t be found just now. They would have to wait awhile to look at them; but he would show them the stakes! They’d better come right along with him now; he was in a devil of a hurry; he had both plowing and building to do before the snow flew.

The stranger began to walk rapidly westward; Per Hansa was right at his heels; as they hurried on, he breathed a prayer that the grass might have sprung up freshly where he had done that little piece of work!...

The man seemed very certain about his direction. As they approached Hans Olsa’s southwest corner, he slackened his pace and began pushing the grass aside with his foot; Per Hansa had in the meanwhile discovered with his eyes the exact spot where the stake had stood. He all but laughed aloud; indeed, the rain and the sun of the good Lord had done their work well; not a blade of grass seemed displaced, not a broken stalk could be seen!... Besides, the man was mistaken about the location of the spot; he had gone too far to the north and west before he got down on his knees to scan the ground. He did a thorough job, however; walked a few steps, knelt and examined the ground round about; rose, went forward a little distance, got down on his knees again; but all the while he was moving farther and farther away from the right spot.... Per Hansa could hardly restrain himself; quiet chuckles were beginning to rise in his throat; but he realized the danger in time, and coughed them away.

The man searched and searched, back and forth, around and around; at first he went at it hastily, as if finding the stake were the easiest thing in the world; after a while he looked more slowly and cautiously.... He was swearing like a trooper now; Per Hansa knew enough English to understand most of it; he didn’t wonder that the fellow felt moved to say a little something, under the circumstances....

At last the searcher got up and called loudly to the others.... A man came over from the camp—a small man with reddish hair and a face as freckled as a moor dotted with heather. They began to talk together in low tones, from time to time casting angry glances at Hans Olsa; they searched the whole region again, but found no trace of what they were looking for.

Hans Olsa made strenuous efforts to take in what was happening; his big, rough-hewn face, with the rugged features that ordinarily were the picture of trust and honesty, had become strange to behold. He gazed at these two men, hurrying here and there, trying to prove that he was a scoundrel; he heard what Sam managed to translate of their complimentary remarks about him; and it all seemed to awaken a new and ominous force behind that impassive countenance; his big childlike eyes blazed with astonishment, occasionally emitting sharp flashes; he trembled slightly all over, though he was not aware of it.

Suddenly the two men abandoned the search, exchanged a few heated remarks, turned away, and went back to the camp without saying another word.... The five settlers followed.

“If they have no better luck with the papers,” said Per Hansa, “things don’t look very bright for them!”

When the five reached the camp all ten of the strangers stood in a group, talking angrily together. The women were nowhere in sight; as the Nordlanders came up a burly, red-faced man stepped out from the group, evidently their leader.... “God be with you, Henry.... Stand right up to him and talk him down!” Per Hansa whispered to the Solum boy.... It was clearly evident from the man’s face that a storm was brewing; the fact that the big Irishman carried a sledge hammer in his hand also attracted Per Hansa’s attention.

“Where are the men who claim to have taken up this land?” he snapped at them.

—Right there, those two!—Henry pointed to Tönseten and Hans Olsa.—That one—Tönseten—owned the quarter to the south; this one—Hans Olsa—the one they now stood on.

The Irishman singled out Hans Olsa and looked him up and down.

—What was the matter with that fellow—was he deaf and dumb? He couldn’t seem to get his mouth open! The man fingered his sledge hammer, and glared around at Henry as if he would swallow him up.

—Oh no, Hans Olsa had his faculties, all right! He just couldn’t talk English.

Sam was translating all this as best he could.

—Well, he could tell this dirty son-of-a-——that he was a thief and a blackguard who had destroyed another man’s landmarks!

Sam translated rapidly, trembling with fear.

The Irishman came closer.

—If the whole damned gang of sneaking swine didn’t get off their land right away, he’d give them something to start with!—Perhaps they’d understand that language better!—The man swung his sledge hammer.

“Look out, now!” shouted Per Hansa. “Here the trouble starts!” ...

And so it did, only much faster than he or any of the others had anticipated. When Hans Olsa saw the Irishman loom up before him in that threatening attitude, he stared at him blankly, and stood for a moment as if rooted to the ground. Then, all of a sudden, the upper part of his body seemed to stretch; he stepped aside to evade the onslaught ... his left fist shot out and struck the man below the ear. There was a crashing sound; with a loud groan the man sank in a heap and lay perfectly still.

“Look out there, Henry!” cried Per Hansa.... “See that you get your man, and I’ll get mine!... Wait a minute!”

The crowd had drawn back in front of one of the empty wagons; they stood as if dazed. Hans Olsa stared at them wildly, took a step forward, and stumbled over the heap on the ground. Regaining his balance, he stopped, bent over, and plunged both hands into the inert heap of flesh; the next instant he lifted it high in the air and flung it bodily over the heads of the crowd, where it crashed into the wagon standing behind. The wagon shook violently at the impact.... At the same moment the group scattered and took to their heels southward across the prairie. From one of the wagons, still covered by its canvas, sounded a scream of terror; four women came tumbling out and followed after the men.

Hans Olsa stood motionless, quivering in every muscle; he seemed like a man half stunned.

Per Hansa jumped to his side and slapped him on the shoulder:

“Goodness! Hans Olsa, that was beautiful! I don’t believe there’s another man in the whole country who could do such a thing!... Now I think we can safely go home; those folks aren’t likely to start any more arguments about land!”

Hans Olsa was slowly regaining his natural poise; he stroked his face and sighed deeply, like one recovering from an attack of delirium.

“I’m afraid I handled him pretty roughly; you’d better go and look at him, Per Hansa.”

Per Hansa laughed confidently.... “No, leave him alone; just do as I say, now! We’re going straight home, the whole lot of us.... Later in the day I’ll take a little trip of my own out westward!”

They did as he bade them—though Tönseten could not be found anywhere; he had vanished from the scene long before. In the latter part of the afternoon Per Hansa returned to the camp of the Irish, to find out what they were doing and how they were getting along; he took Store-Hans with him as interpreter.... He found the whole camp moved to one of the two quarter-sections lying west of Tönseten’s and Hans Olsa’s land.

Per Hansa made frequent visits to them during the next few days; before the third day was over, he had sold them more than ten dollars’ worth of potatoes; he felt that he had struck up a profitable business.

* * * * *

The Irish finally settled on these two quarters west of them. They returned east to Iowa just before the snow fell in the fall; but early the following spring they came back with a large company, and started their permanent settlement.

XI

On the morning when the men had gone out to parley with the Irish, Kjersti was left all alone in the house. She felt gloomy and depressed; there had been little or no sleep for either of them during the night; Syvert had tossed to and fro in bed, telling and retelling the same unhappy story—of the terrible folks who had come, of what they proposed to do, and of the dreary future that awaited him and Hans Olsa, who would now be forced to start everything anew.... Perhaps they had better just move east again, and be done with it! He had lain twisting and turning as he bemoaned their fate, his mood steadily growing gloomier and gloomier.... This had kept up so long that it had driven her nearly distracted; at last she had grown tired of his everlasting whimpering and had told him so in plain words. As yet, she pointed out, no one in the settlement had lost either life or limb; their papers were all correct, law and justice ruled the land, and five strong men were here on hand to look after things ... _four_, at any rate! And at the worst, these were white people, thank the Lord!...

All this and more she had said to Syvert; every word of it had been well meant and fully considered. But he had grown angry and had accused her of not having a particle of common sense; then one word had led to another. When the quarrel had finally worn itself out they had found themselves at opposite ends of the earth, though lying side by side in the same bed.

It was lonesome after the men had left that morning; Kjersti kept the coffeepot on the stove, and laid on a couple of fresh sticks of wood; he would be sure to look in for a drop when he came back!... Then she put on Syvert’s old hat and went over to see Beret; she wanted to find out what Per Hansa had told her when he came home the night before.

She got little information or comfort there, however.... First she recounted most of what Tönseten had let out to her—that people had arrived who claimed to own Hans Olsa’s land, as well as his own; that these people wouldn’t listen to reason, so in all probability they would have to seek the aid of the law.... Hadn’t Per Hansa told her what had happened?

The boys were eating their breakfast; Beret sat over by the stove, dressing the child; she made no answer to Kjersti; her face flushed but she did not look up.

Ole, however, laughingly began to repeat some of the crazy stories his father had told them the night before; Store-Hans remembered more of them, and helped his brother out when his memory failed; the boys were still highly excited, and kept on making such a noise and chatter that Kjersti threw up her hands, begging them for the Lord’s sake to be quiet!...

Beret listened in a rigid, frozen silence; she let the boys say anything they wanted to, as if she lacked the strength to make them stop.... One thought seemed to possess her whole being: he had destroyed the stakes on other people’s land—and now he was going to drive them away!... Good God! could this be possible?...

But at last the boys went so far that she had to interfere; they had begun to laugh together in a coarse, bold way, and use evil words.... How truly it is said, she thought, that the seed which is sown in secret bears fruit openly!... With the child in her arms, she got up decisively, crossed the room, and flashed out at the boys; she was very stern now, and scolded them harshly.

All the while Kjersti had been growing more disturbed; she had to find consolation somewhere, and said, as if trying to bolster herself up:

“This can’t be anything to worry about! Why, we have been given this quarter, and were the first to arrive here!”

“What about Per Hansa’s land?” asked Beret.

“It seems they don’t intend to claim that, according to what Syvert says.... I don’t know why!”

“Probably nothing can be done about it,” said Beret, quietly. “There is no telling who may have been wandering around out here before we came.... Many may have been here.”

This aimless talk only irritated Kjersti.

“I should think they would keep all that straightened out—the people whose business it is to look after such things! If Syvert weren’t such a milksop of a man, he would have gone after the sheriff at once.... Folks are put in prison for such deeds in America!”

Beret was silent for a moment; she bent over the child, while a deep flush slowly covered her face; then she said in a low voice:

“The guilty will receive their punishment in the end!” ... As soon as she had spoken, she got up and left the house abruptly; outside, she put down the child, and stood like a stone image looking westward; there she remained standing until Kjersti came out.

“I see them coming now,” she said, as the other appeared. At that, Kjersti had to hurry off home, to get the breakfast for Syvert.

But Tönseten had returned long before the others; he was in bed when she came in; though the fall day was mild, he had covered himself up with the heavy blanket. At first she couldn’t get a word out of him; she thought he must be ill, especially as he refused the coffee which she poured out for him.... They can’t possibly have done him an injury? she thought. She began plying him with questions, and kept on until he finally admitted that they had come to blows out there on the prairie. His words were thickly interspersed with moans and groans; she began to fear in earnest that they had maltreated him; she felt him all over, and demanded to know where he had been hit.

... “Where did they hit me?... Why talk!” He would say no more on the subject. Then he gave a heavy sigh, adding: “It’s terrible!” ...

It was impossible for him to lie there long, however, without seeking an outlet; he had to confide in some one, or he would burst; so he finally told her his version of everything that had taken place that morning. Some of the things he had seen; the rest were phantoms of his own terror; he enlarged on certain points in his narrative very fully—especially the awful language which the Irish had used, and the effective replies which he had made to them. The general impression given by his story was that in all probability he would have brought the Irish around all right, if Per Hansa and Henry Solum hadn’t stirred them up to fight; they had done just exactly the wrong things. And so a big ruffian had rushed forward with a sledge hammer; and Hans Olsa had gone into a mad rage and killed the man! From now on there would be nothing but war and bloodshed; so they might as well pack up and move right away! What a tragedy it was!...

Tönseten stayed safely in bed until late in the afternoon; then Kjersti came and told him that the strangers had gone. He got up immediately to see if it was true.... After that he seemed quite like himself again.

For a long time the Irish were the standing topic of discussion in the little settlement.

But whenever they were mentioned, Beret kept silent; she took no part in the joy and relief of the others, for there were certain circumstances connected with the affair which she couldn’t get out of her mind; the longer she looked at them the uglier they appeared.

... He had destroyed the stakes; and worse than that, he had kept it secret from everyone ... even from her!

... Shame had probably made him do that.... To be sure, she knew now that the stakes had been put down unlawfully. But suppose it had been otherwise—would he have done any different?... Was this the person in whom she had believed no evil could dwell?... Had it always been thus with him?

... Lives might have been lost; that, too, would have been his fault.... Nevertheless, he seemed to feel nothing but joy over the thing that he had done!...

... The explanation was plain; this desolation out here called forth all that was evil in human nature. Land fully as good as theirs extended round about them for thousands of miles; but then these people had come, and had immediately wanted to seize what had already been taken, thinking that it would be an easy matter, since they were the stronger; then her own husband had used deceit and force to drive them away; and now all was well!...

What would become of children who had to grow up in such an atmosphere?... Their own children!... She listened to her boys gloating over the incidents of the recent encounter—and her soul shuddered.

... No, she knew _one_ who could not endure it forever out here!

One afternoon a few days later the Irish came over to Per Hansa’s to buy more potatoes; they stayed for some time and asked for information on various matters; the boys translated the questions to their father as well as they could; Per Hansa thought the Irish were excellent folk!

At both Tönseten’s and Hans Olsa’s they had noticed the strangers come and go; in the evening they all went to Per Hansa’s to learn how the Irish had behaved.

... “Finest people in the world!” Per Hansa assured them, pacing the floor, uplifted by a surge of high spirits that somehow had to find an outlet. No sooner did he sit down than he was up again; his sallies of humour had a dashing quality that made them positively contagious. Tönseten was in a continual gale of hilarity; Kjersti and Sörine, who sat on the big bed with their knitting, had to let their work drop at intervals to laugh at Syvert’s and Per Hansa’s extravagances. Beret had just laid the child in the other bed, and was sitting beside her on the edge; both boys were listening eagerly to the talk of their elders.

That evening Per Hansa told them all about the stakes; of how he had found them, of what he had thought, and of the way he had finally disposed of them. He related the story in a loud voice, with boisterous, care-free zest; he made it sound exactly like a fairy tale.... Many words of praise were bestowed on his wise action; Tönseten was especially effusive—there was a neighbour for you! As for Kjersti, she was moved almost to tears over such a man. What a difference from that spineless jellyfish of a husband of hers!

“I’ll have to admit,” said Hans Olsa, soberly, “that you played a risky game; and it was the hand of the Lord that kept you from telling. For if they had been able to show that their stakes had ever been on my land, we’d probably be building a new house now, somewhere out to the westward. All our work this summer would have been for others.... My thanks to you, Per Hansa!”

As Beret listened to the tale, she had to examine the narrator closely; surely this couldn’t be Per Hansa! She remembered the morning when he had brought the stakes home; how he had chopped them up and put them furtively into the stove; and how his temper had taken hold of him at that time.... This was an entirely different person!

... So it had come to this, that he no longer felt ashamed of his sinful deed ... and that respectable folks sat around, rejoicing with him over it!... She got up quickly, overcome by a sudden feeling of suffocation; involuntarily, with out stopping to think, she said in a level, biting tone:

“Where I come from, it was always considered a shameful sin to destroy another man’s landmarks.... But here, I see, people are proud of such doings!”

Her outburst shocked the others into silence—all but Per Hansa. With a loud laugh he reached out clownishly, trying to catch her in his arms.

“Oh, Beret, come on, now!... Just kick the dog that bites you—that’s always the easiest way out, and the simplest, too!”

“I understand that perfectly well—though it makes poor Christianity.... But you were anything but confident, I noticed, that night when you stood over by the block, chopping up the stakes.” She turned away from him and seemed to speak to them all.... “Remember what the Book says: ‘Cursed be he that removeth his neighbour’s landmarks! And all the people shall say, Amen.’ ... words like these we used to heed.... In my opinion, we’d better take care lest we all turn into beasts and savages out here!” ...

Per Hansa laughed again with unnecessary loudness; but in the midst of the laugh he stopped, a wave of anger suddenly surging over him:

“We need a preacher, I hear.... Well, now we’ve got one!”

To this Beret made no reply; instead, she left the room abruptly. Outside, it was pitch dark; she knew not where to turn nor what she did; then she stumbled over the plow standing in the yard, and sank inertly on the plow beam.... As she sat there the storm within her slowly died away; deep melancholy came instead.... Long after the others had gone she remained in the same position. Per Hansa had not come out to look for her.... When she went in at last he had gone to bed; she could not make out if he was sleeping, but she did not speak to him. The boys also had gone to bed....

During the days that followed, words were few and distant between Per Hansa and his wife.

V. Facing the Great Desolation

I

In the beginning of October a memorable event stirred the little Spring Creek settlement. This, the greatest happening of the year, chose an opportune moment for its arrival.

It was shortly after dinner. In the early morning Per Hansa, Hans Olsa, and Henry Solum had gone east to the Sioux River after wood; Tönseten was so sorely troubled by rheumatism that he hadn’t been able to go along; anyway, he had wood enough on hand to last until after Christmas, and hauling would be easier on the snow. He did want some trees for planting; but as it was getting so late in the fall, with little likelihood of their taking root, he had given up the project.

Beret sat by the window at home; she was knitting some sort of a round affair—something so tiny that Store-Hans had asked her whether it was a new thumb for one of dad’s mittens?... His mother had given him a queer smile, and answered, maybe it was....

Beret had grown more sober as the autumn came, more locked up within herself; a heavy heart lay all the time in her bosom, but she tried her best to hide it from her husband.... Her knitting needles worked rapidly, with an involuntary rhythm; but her mind was not on her task; she barely glanced at the knitting as she emptied a needle; her gaze constantly wandered out-of-doors, flitting back and forth over the section of the plain that lay in her view. Her face wore that weary, abandoned expression which had now become habitual to it whenever she was left alone; a sense of such deep melancholy lay upon her, that her whole appearance seemed to reflect a never-ending struggle with unreality.... Round after round was added to the knitting; her gaze continued to wander....

... Without volition, it fastened on an object somewhere out there—and stayed. The knitting sank to her lap; she sat and gazed for a long time, motionless, self-absorbed. Deep compassion was mingled with her melancholy, as in the heart of one who would gladly give up life to save another from destruction.

... There must be many in that caravan!... She leaned forward, trying to count the wagons.... No, she could not make them out; the wagon train had already crossed the sky line and had come some distance toward her, settling into the blue-green stillness that lay over the intervening prairie.

... Some one else has gone astray!... Poor folks—poor folks!

Suddenly a strong impulse took hold of her to do something to save these people; she felt as if she ought to go and tell them to turn back; yes, turn back—turn back—before they had strayed any farther into destruction!...

She laid her knitting on the table, went outside, and stood at the door to look at them more clearly.... Were there five wagons in the caravan?... That meant a good many people.

... “Almighty God!” she sighed, “show mercy now to the children of men! Let not these folks be altogether lost in the trackless wilderness.... For it is only I who have sinned so sorely against Thee!”

Ole had gone to the woods with his father; Store-Hans at that moment came riding up from the creek, where he had been to water the pony; he saw his mother standing outside the door in an attitude of constrained attention, and rode rapidly toward her.

“What do you want, Mother?... What are you looking at?”

His words brought her out of her deep abstraction; she took a few steps forward, then halted again.... What was the use of trying? She couldn’t even speak the language of these people!... A feeling of unfathomable loneliness settled upon her; the cruelty of her fate suddenly took on fanciful proportions.... Here she was, an exile in an unknown desert; even when human beings passed, her own kind, she could not talk with them! How could the Lord have found it in His heart to smite a soul so heavily?... Beret put her hand up under her breast, where her own heart was beating, and pressed convulsively....

“What is it, Mother—what is it?”

“Ride ... ride over to them and see if you can’t do something ... help them out!”

The boy was suddenly all aglow with life; he wheeled the pony around, followed the direction of his mother’s gaze, and immediately discovered the caravan.

“We must tell Syvert at once!” ... Store-Hans turned his head, waiting for his mother’s opinion.

... “Syvert?” ... A shadow spread over her face.... What possible help could Syvert be to these poor people in their grievous need? She sighed in hopeless impotence.... “No, just ride over and ask them if you can do anything.... Tell them your father isn’t at home.”

Store-Hans couldn’t remember when he had ever heard his mother talk so sensibly; he straightened himself in the saddle, sitting like a grown man; then he spoke to the pony, gave it a slap with the flat of his hand, and shouted to his mother: “Now I’m off!... You had better go and tell Syvert!”

But other eyes than hers had wandered across the prairie to the eastern sky line that day. All at once Sam came running to tell the news; he stopped only an instant, then continued on toward Tönseten’s. Beret went into the house, roused And-Ongen, who was asleep on the bed, and took her along to tell Sörine; she, too, would be glad over a bit of news.... On the way over she prayed fervently to the Lord for these people, that they should not be lost in the blue-green endlessness.... She felt secretly glad because her husband was away from home.

II

Soon they were all gathered in front of Tönseten’s house, gazing with absorbed curiosity at the approaching train; it had drawn so close now that each wagon could be clearly distinguished; Store-Hans was riding abreast of the foremost team.

Tönseten fussed about excitedly, constantly thrusting his hands in and out of the waistband of his trousers; he was here, there, and everywhere, muttering incoherently all the while.... Good Lord! he thought, were these more Irish—as tough a gang as their last visitors? And Hans Olsa far away at the Sioux River!... Here was a fine mess, indeed!

Then Store-Hans came galloping in, and told a story so strange that all were lost in amazement.

“They are _Norskies_!” he shouted as he pulled up.

“What’s that you say?” exclaimed Tönseten.

“Yes, Norskies, every single one, I tell you! A whole shoal of them—and they are coming right here! They talk Norwegian, too.”

“Are you crazy!” shouted Tönseten.... At once he began to assume a great dignity and authority; he ordered Kjersti indoors to put on the coffeepot, and sent the other women to help her.... “Don’t you hear Hans say that they are Norskies! Decent folks must get a decent reception!”

And now he took Sam with him, and did like the patriarch of old: he went out to meet the strangers, entreating them to enter in under his humble roof.

A great event, indeed! The company consisted of five wagons and the same number of horse teams; they were good horses, too—Tönseten could see that they were in fine condition. There were twenty men in the company, all Sognings and Vossings[10]—but mostly Sognings; the majority of them were married men; some had large families back east in Minnesota; all were out seeking new homesteads; they intended to go back east in the fall, but would move west permanently as soon as spring came next year. They had passed through Sioux Falls and had been told at the land office of a settlement out here somewhere; so they had thought they’d better look the place over; but they were heading farther southwest, making for the James River or thereabouts.... Still, it was no small joy to these west-movers, to come across a cluster of sod huts inhabited by Norwegians out here on the endless prairie, and to find this hospitable, talkative man who was everywhere bustling about, trying to be of service to them.

[10] People from the districts of Sogn and Voss, in Norway.

They camped in the yard in front of Tönseten’s house. When he discovered how many they were he said no more about coffee; but he brought them potatoes and other vegetables, and generously shared the evening milk with them. He would not hear of their sleeping in the open that night.... Stay outside, he shouted, when they had come to Norwegians who owned a new-built house? That would never, never do!... At turning-in time, he and Kjersti crawled into bed first; then the floor space was packed with as many of the strangers as it would accommodate, the rest seeking shelter in the barn.

Tönseten didn’t get much rest that night; the worst of it was that he couldn’t talk to Kjersti, at a time when he so sorely needed her counsel.... Good God! how could he sleep, with this tremendous responsibility suddenly thrust upon him? A whole settlement of Norwegians snoring right in front of his bed!... Fine people, excellent people, every one! And there would be still more in the company when they moved west next spring.... Hang the luck!—that Per Hansa should be far away on the Sioux River at this important moment!... If he could only persuade them to settle here, the future would be secure for both himself and his neighbours.... Yes, let him bring that about, and things would look so bright that he could turn over in bed and drop asleep every night with a thankful heart!

... He ought to start out right now, and get Per Hansa, who had such a wonderfully persuasive gift of tongue. But he couldn’t discuss it with Kjersti; neither could he see any way to get out of the house; men lay snoring side by side, from the edge of the bed clear over to the door!...

When all the strangers finally left the room in the morning, so that he and Kjersti could get out of bed, Tönseten felt as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night; he realized full well that now he rose to confront his day of days.

He had no time to eat breakfast—he hardly noticed Kjersti when she called him; already he was deep in conversation with the west-movers, telling them all about the land around Spring Creek.... Surely they wouldn’t leave without first looking at it?... What?... No, that would be a great mistake, he’d better go along with them and show them around; he was just the man for the job, he dared say, for here he was thoroughly at home. Hadn’t he been the original discoverer of the place, the first to select it, and the first to build here and move in? He ought to have known what he was about when he chose _this_ particular spot—he who had been to Fox River, had visited Muskego and Koshkonong, had travelled all over Minnesota, and even through large parts of the Dakota Territory![11] ... Tönseten gave them a full account of his expedition last fall to the western region where they were bound; the land around Vermilion was quite familiar to him; Yankton he had seen with his own eyes. At this point he spun into the narrative a little yarn which he had fabricated last night in bed; it wasn’t exactly gospel truth, but—well, it might have happened! It was all about a man whom he had met in Yankton, an impoverished Scotchman, who had tried homesteading for two whole years up in the James River country; but the Indians and the fleas had been so annoying that they had finally driven him out of the place; his wife had died, and his cow had been stolen by the Indians!... Tönseten related the incident with a great show of sympathy.

[11] These are the first three Norwegian settlements in the Northwest.

The Sognings and Vossings were an inquiring people; they had many questions to ask; of course they would consider the Spring Creek locality before leaving it—that was their business on this trip.

Immediately after breakfast they started out to survey the place. Sam Solum went with them, talking and explaining volubly; Store-Hans also tagged along, and with him was Sofie; but by noontime she was so tired from scurrying around with Store-Hans, looking for badger holes, and still more from listening to the ceaseless talk of Tönseten, that she could endure it no longer and ran home. After she left Store-Hans joined the rest of the group; now and then he would put in a word that sounded grown-up when he thought the occasion called for it.

The prospective settlers kept asking and looking, and were still undecided about the matter; they liked the place, and yet they didn’t; the land seemed good; it lay nicely enough, and was easily tillable; but how bare and endless the scene was for the eye to rest upon!... Nothing but naked sky line all the way around!... It must be a desolate place in winter, without even a bramble bush for shelter.... And what were people to use for fuel? What for building material? Surely they couldn’t live in sod huts all their lives!... These were a few of the objections; and many more were added as the survey went on.

Tönseten fully realized what was at stake; he trembled with excitement; that day he argued and chattered until the small of his back ached and he had to sit down in sheer exhaustion.... But they were not able to advance a single objection that he couldn’t meet and do away with.

... “Wood for fuel and shelter?” ... His voice lowered with fervent zeal; his hands fought the air.... Wood? Man alive, this was exactly one of their most valuable assets! Here folks could have just as much woodland as they wanted—no more, and no less! One of his neighbours had planted half an acre of trees this summer, and had now gone for more seedlings; he would probably bring enough to plant another half acre when he returned—more than he and his descendants could ever use.... “I’ll just tell you, fellows, if it’s only wood, you can go east to the Sioux River as soon as you’ve unloaded your wagons, and get enough trees planted this very fall to last you for a thousand generations! I’ll go along and help you, and it won’t cost you a cent!... You see, folks, it’s really a matter to be thankful for, that there aren’t any woods already standing here; in these few months since we arrived, we’ve broken more land than one could break in ten years in a cutover country; in two years I’ll have my whole quarter-section under the plow!... For Heaven’s sake, fellows, don’t talk to me about _wood_!”

In this fashion Tönseten talked against time; he pictured the future to them with a fervour that was prophetic; his reddish beard glowed as if with a living fire; his eyes beamed; his voice shook with emotion; his body trembled; his arms made magnificent sweeping gestures in the air.... He told about the schools which they would found, and the church which they would build together; about the thriving town which would spring up on the spot where they stood, and the railroads that would crisscross the prairie in every direction; for the railroad had already reached Worthington—soon it would be at Sioux Falls! Then they would have only a twenty-five-mile journey to town—did they realize that? Only _twen-ty-five mi-les_!... Tönseten chopped the words up into syllables, and showed them each piece.... And just look at Sioux Falls! Why, only a year ago he had been obliged to go all the way down to Vermilion—not a sign of a land office in Sioux Falls at that time! But you could just bet that the government knew what it was about in coming so far north—just wait and see!... Tönseten apparently had the future all charted and laid out in detail before him; he never stumbled, never made a mistake; the man burned with an unquenchable fire.

... If they would settle here now, more would be sure to follow next spring; then they would all be Norskies here—a settlement made to order for all of them!... But suppose they went to a place where no one had come yet? Couldn’t they understand that all of Dakota Territory would never be peopled? Why, there weren’t enough folks in the whole world for that, and never would be, either!... Or if they should be so unfortunate as to choose a location where no one followed after?... What then?...

The strangers listened seriously to him; they were forced to admit that there was a good deal of common sense in what he said.

The party did not get back to camp until late in the afternoon. Then they cooked a substantial meal from the potatoes which Tönseten had given them; after that they held council; the majority were for settling down right here.

When Tönseten heard the decision, he gave an excited laugh; he ran hurriedly into the house and told Kjersti, who wept over the news; the next instant he had bounced out again. He felt now that Destiny had used him as her tool. He had only reached out his hand, and, lo! he had brought in twenty neighbours with a single stroke—Norwegians, every last mother’s son of them!... This good fortune seemed so overwhelming, it had befallen him so suddenly, that he wasn’t willing to trust it too far.... When the strangers hitched up their horses and crossed the creek—they had decided to settle on the east side, with a chance to expand southward—he felt obliged to go along with them; but after night had fallen and they had pitched their tents, and he was forced to leave them—then he was full of alarms.

... Many things might happen during the night!

III

They would soon have to make another trip to town. Beret looked forward to it with dread; it meant that Per Hansa would be gone for a whole week’s time. The evenings were long and the nights hung heavy over the hut; she had to struggle with so many fearful fancies—fancies that multiplied as time went on; though she felt unable to speak to him about it—though he would be unable to help her if she did—yet it was a great relief to have him near, for then it seemed as if the horror dared not touch her. She dreaded each occasion which took him away from home, even if it was only for half a day’s work with one of the neighbours.... And now he would be gone for a whole week’s time!

... She realized, too, that they would have to have provisions for the winter; the children were sadly in need of clothes, and Per Hansa himself needed many things. But in her condition, these material affairs became more and more unreal to her; it seemed as if she stood apart from them—they did not concern her.... All this she kept to herself, however; ah, what was the use of speaking where no one could hear!... She helped him get ready for the journey as if nothing were wrong; whenever he begged to know what he could buy for her and for the house, she would stop to ponder the question with a distant look in her eyes, as if trying to think of many things which she couldn’t for the moment remember. At that he would joke her, saying she mustn’t be backward about it, for now they had plenty of money; what was she standing there thinking of?... To this question he either would receive no answer at all, or else he would hear her repeat what she had just been saying; or perhaps she would make some absent-minded, irrelevant remark, as if she had not heard him.... At such times Per Hansa would look at his wife and sigh; then he would take hold of her and swing her around, trying to cheer her....

But beyond that he was too busy to pay much attention to her. On this trip to town he was going himself; Tönseten had offered to lend him his horses and wagon, and had promised to stay home and look after things. The Sognings and Vossings were still here; they needed advice and help in so many ways; and he, Tönseten, was just the man for that; he held himself like a father to them—yes, like Providence itself!... Per Hansa had a lot of plans to make before starting out; he wasn’t so short of money now; the Irish were fond of potatoes and had been good customers; as for the Sognings, they seemed even fonder of potatoes than the Irish; he had managed to sell them more than ten dollars’ worth; however it had happened, his cash supply was a good deal larger to-day than when he had first arrived in the early summer.

On the other hand, there was no end to all the things he needed; he had jotted down a long list of articles that simply had to be bought, and a still longer list that he ought to get if the money only held out.

When the mother wasn’t listening he talked earnestly to the boys of how they must look after the place during his absence. Ole, who was the bigger, would have to assume responsibility for everything out-of-doors; Injun, and Rosie, and the two oxen must be well taken care of; and then the wood—he must promise to chop up stacks of wood!... Store-Hans should serve as handy man to mother indoors; that was no easy job, even for a clever fellow like him—he understood that, of course?... The boys were far from enthusiastic over this arrangement; Ole had been hoping that his father would let him go along this time; he had taken pains to make himself useful on every occasion, ever since the trip had first been mentioned. Store-Hans, for his part, had harboured a secret hope that his father would bear in mind how exceedingly practical it was to have him along—he was so quick and handy about everything; he, too, had watched for every opportunity to please his father; he and his brother had often fought for the chance to run an errand. The disappointment hit Store-Hans the harder; here he would have to go pottering around like a hired girl—just like another woman! He fell to nagging, sulking, and fighting with his brother, all of which did not help in the least.

The father pitied him more than his older brother; he called him into the stable and talked to him long and confidentially, as though he were an old man with a long beard on his chin.... “You see, mother isn’t in such condition that we can both leave her,” he explained in a tone of open comradeship. “So if you go, I’ll have to stay at home!” ...

This was more than Store-Hans could understand; there wasn’t anything the matter with mother, was there? She looked well enough, except for her face; but wasn’t that probably because cold weather was coming on?

... “Oh, she’s healthy enough, Store-Hans—it isn’t that, you know. But”—the father’s voice grew low and queer—“You’d better not tell this to your brother—but there may be another little Store-Hans coming around here, say about Christmas time; and mother will have to bear the brunt of that business!... You understand, now, we mustn’t both leave her.”

My, but this was strange! Deep wonderment rose in the eyes of Store-Hans. How could another come here—another boy?... He didn’t dare to ask; he turned his head away from his father; a glowing blush covered his face.... Now he saw what the dream had meant that he had had the other night; he had seen both Joseph and Benjamin playing just beyond the house; and with them had been a tiny little fellow, who wasn’t mentioned in the Bible story!

... Oh yes ... of course he would take care of mother!

But, here was another thing: couldn’t father get hold of a shotgun when he went to town? The last time Store-Hans had been to the swamps the ducks had been thicker than ever.... And the Irish had settled awfully close to them!

... Well, the father didn’t know; he would see what he could do; he had thought of another way to catch those ducks, but what it was he wouldn’t let out now.

Indeed, Per Hansa’s mind was full of busy thoughts.... In the cellar were many more potatoes than they could consume during the winter or use as seed next spring; and now he was going to town with horses and wagon; it would be strange enough if he couldn’t find people who needed food. Alas! however, it was now already the twelfth of October; some nights it froze—and potatoes were sensitive to cold! But ever since the world was made the people of Nordland had known how to bring potatoes safely all the way up to Lofoten, even in the middle of January.... It could certainly be done again, with a little care!

Per Hansa pondered, looked at the weather, sniffed and tried the air. On the afternoon before their departure he came to a decision: there were more potatoes than they could use; if they froze, they froze. Yes, sir! he would give it a try! And so he went over to Tönseten’s and brought the wagon; he padded it thickly, bottom and sides, with soft hay; then he loaded it with potatoes in bulk. On top of the load he placed two sacks of rutabagas, and one of carrots; finally he picked out some of the nicest melons that were left in the cellar; these he tucked in between the sacks, covering everything with hay, and spreading some old clothes over the load.

Early the next morning they started off; Henry Solum and Hans Olsa went with him.

IV

The wagons drifted slowly through the outspread day, creeping on through indolent, drowsy fall sunshine and blue-green haze, toward a distant sky line from which hung a quivering yellow veil. For all they drove, the sky line came no closer; but when the purple shadows of evening fell, there seemed to be a chance, at least, that they might reach it.

This was a great day for Per Hansa. Now he was travelling the very trail he should have followed on his way out last summer; but in one day’s march he traversed a stretch that then took him four times as long.... All day the landscape was the same, yet its details seemed ever changing and ever new; prairies that extended to the end of the world; prairies that billowed into slopes, rose in low hills, then flattened out again and sank away into an endless plain.

The caravan headed for the sky; it steered straight onward. Now, at last, Per Hansa had time to look about him and rejoice in what he saw.... And all he saw was beautiful. Even the others, who had gone this way before, found many strange new things to look at, the farther they advanced into the bluish-yellow haze.... Here and there a sod hut peeped up from the ground, where last summer there was nothing but gopher hills.

Their goal that first day’s journey was Split Rock Creek, where they intended to camp for the night. They took turns with three teams at hauling Per Hansa’s load, in order to ease up on his horses and so make faster progress; thirty-eight miles they had come that day when they finally reached Split Rock Creek, on the other side of the Sioux River; there they found a ford over the creek, and pitched their camp on the eastern shore.... When they had been crossing the Sioux River earlier in the day—it seemed an almost unbelievably long while ago—they had stopped long enough to catch three big pickerel. Now Per Hansa slung a kettle over the fire and cooked the fresh fish for supper; he buried some potatoes in the ashes next to the kettle. Soon they were all seated on the bank, partaking of a lordly feast for them, even though it was only of fish and potatoes.... The water purled by below, murmuring gently, reminding them of much that was dear and half forgotten.... Conversation flowed freely while they ate, but after they had finished it began to lull away. They laid more wood on the fire and got out their pipes; then they could better hear what the crooning waters told. Deep silence fell.... A big star stood in the western sky, looking into their faces.

When the pipes had been emptied a second time they rose, tended to the horses for the night and crawled under the wagons; there they slept dreamlessly until the day began once more to gild the blue wall of the east. The coffee was boiled; enough cold fish and potatoes were left from supper to make a meal; very soon each one was seated in his wagon again, jogging still farther away from a place they knew ... a place they seemed to remember ... a place far off under the western skies, where a group of sod huts ought to be lying!... Wasn’t there such a place out there somewhere. But it seemed strangely vague and distant now!... Per Hansa braced up in his seat, put his mind intently on Beret and Store-Hans—and then the sod huts stood out more vividly....

... Poor Beret-girl! If only she wouldn’t be too lonesome while he was away!

This day’s journey also turned out to be full of interesting things. As they went along, sod huts stood here and there moping dejectedly, where, according to Hans Olsa and the Solum boy, no house should have been.... Good Heavens! where had they all come from? Settlers must be swarming out of the ground like ants in summertime!... Well, no—not so terribly many; it was only this, that there shouldn’t have been any at all!... Too bad! Why hadn’t these folks crossed a few more sky lines to the westward before they settled down for good!

Late in the forenoon they came upon two sod houses which must have sprung up since they were last here; neither Hans Olsa nor the Solum boy could remember a trace of them. Low and forlorn they lay there on the face of the prairie—only two sod huts, but situated so directly in their course that they couldn’t resist stopping to learn what kind of folks lived here.... Beyond the huts a man and his wife were hard at work, breaking prairie; here, too, the sod must be tough of fibre, for the job didn’t seem to be going very fast. What first arrested the eyes of the travellers was the team that pulled the plow; an ox with shining brass sockets on the ends of his huge horns had been yoked together with a skinny poll-cow. The woman walked alongside the team, driving; the man, whose patriarchal beard swept his chest, steered the plow, pushing from behind with all his might.

These folks were Hallings[12]; Per Hansa and Hans Olsa were very glad to hear it. A Halling is usually easy of approach; they at once struck up a conversation with these people.... Only another incredible fairy tale! With nothing but this team, the man related, he had brought his family and all his earthly possessions the whole distance from Iowa, a matter of over four-hundred miles—“a long, laborious journey,” as he quaintly expressed it.

[12] People from Hallingdal, in Norway.

—They surely hadn’t made the whole trip with those horses? asked Per Hansa.

—Why, certainly they had!... The Halling laughed.

—How long had it taken?

—Oh, not so very long—seven weeks and two days, to be exact. They hadn’t been able to hurry, because of the cow; she was the one who supplied most of their food, and so they had to be reasonable with her.

“Do tell me!” said Per Hansa, flabbergasted. “You don’t mean to say that she’s milking, that cow of yours?”

“Certainly she’s milking!... That is, when we don’t drive her too hard.”

“By God! that must be a wonderful cow!... But say, now: don’t you need some potatoes with the milk? I’ve got a whole load of ’em here that I’m trying to sell.”

The Halling looked at him, his jaw dropping, and evidently wanted to say something; but no sound came. A force was working there under the long beard which gave his whole face a comical expression; it seemed for a moment as if the man might be chuckling; but when Per Hansa looked at him more closely, he discovered a film of moisture in the man’s blinking eyes.

... “_Potatoes_, you say?... Well, now!” ...

The man wiped his eyes and regarded Per Hansa dumbly. His wife stood beside him; her face was long and drawn.... Suddenly she wept....

“Have you got any food in the house?” demanded Per Hansa.

“Er—yes ... as long as the cow gives milk!” ... It was the woman who supplied this information.

Then Per Hansa burst out laughing.... “Listen here, woman—you run in after a pail, and we’ll treat you to a decent meal ... since we’re the visitors!”

And this is sure: it didn’t take the woman long to produce the pail! Per Hansa grabbed it from her, filled it with potatoes, and gave her a quick look—then looked again; at that, he poured the potatoes out on the ground, filled the measure once more, and gave her a second pailful.

... “There you are—one for each of you; don’t kill yourselves eating, now!”

The man gazed at Per Hansa, blinked his eyes, coughed emphatically, and said: “So far, so good.... But give me four more pailfuls, and I’ll pay you a whole dollar when I get the money; you’ll probably be passing here again.... If you should happen to die before that time, the potatoes wouldn’t do you any good.”

“No, but I might need the dollar!” laughed Per Hansa. “But never mind—thanks for your offer, just the same!... What do you say to eight pailfuls and two dollars—when you get the money?”

Then the Halling laughed so that his big beard shook.... “Listen here, man; why not sixteen pailfuls and four dollars? You’ll get your money sometime.... To tell the truth, there’s very little to eat in our house.” ...

The woman had already taken one pailful inside; now she was down on her knees, gathering the loose potatoes in her skirt; she worked with feverish haste, using both her hands, and eying Per Hansa askance from time to time.

Per Hansa laughed good-naturedly at the Halling.... “Now I’ll just tell you how we’ll do this: you have enough here for the time being; you can wait till I get back home—and then I’ll bring you a whole load.... You need food, man!... I’ll take the money when I get it.”

So the agreement was made; before they went on, however, Per Hansa gave them one of the left-over fishes, half a pailful of carrots from the sack, and the nicest melon he could find on the load.... “Don’t kill yourselves eating, now!” were his parting words to the Hallings.

... Again he sat on the wagon, creaking along toward a yellowish-blue horizon; he couldn’t remember when life had been so much fun!

V

Around noon of the day after their visit with the Hallings, the three wagons entered Worthington. There was nothing much of an urban air about the place; as yet, the town consisted merely of a couple of dozen houses scattered all about, some just rough shanties, others only sod huts; all bore the earmarks of having been hurriedly constructed, and intended only for temporary shelter. The place had much the appearance of a camp, that to-day would be here, but to-morrow might have moved miles away. However, it contained a couple of stores; and most important item of all—the railroad, the main artery of life in this far region, had made its way thither.

Per Hansa drove from house to house, greeting the people with a cheerful grin and asking in his broadest Nordland dialect if they didn’t want any potatoes; he said nothing of the other wares which he had brought. Luck wasn’t sitting in every doorway waiting for him, however; the peddling proved to be a slow business. Not until he reached a sod hut at the other end of the town did he make a bargain worth mentioning; here he happened on a widow with two half-grown boys; the widow was Danish and ran a small poultry farm.

... Yes, indeed, she needed potatoes, for both herself and the boys, and for the birds as well; she hadn’t any money in the house, but she had the chickens.... Wouldn’t he trade some potatoes for a fowl or two?

—Of course he would! Per Hansa was more than willing; after dickering awhile, he bartered nine pails of potatoes for three young chickens.

—This is a mighty profitable deal!—he thought—The Hallings are good people, but the Danes are even better.... “Listen, Mother, perhaps you’d just as soon take three pailfuls more and give me the fourth hen?” ... The widow agreed to that at once and Per Hansa felt that now he had made a fine bargain indeed.

The widow, too, seemed very well satisfied; they beamed in mutual gratitude, filled with generous thoughts. Their eyes looked into each other’s....

... Per Hansa started to leave. But the widow wouldn’t hear of such a thing; of course he mustn’t leave yet awhile! She had an old rooster cooking on the stove; it had been boiling since early in the forenoon and ought to be tender pretty soon; he must unhitch his horses and tie them to the wagon, and then come inside; where there was enough for three, there would always be something left over for a fourth.... Now he must go and do as she said, and then come right in!... Per Hansa wasn’t refusing!

But when he saw the inside of the hut he grew more enthusiastic over it than he had been over the widow; if her face had been bright and cheerful, the face of the room in which he now found himself was even more attractive; it seemed that he had never seen anything so cozy as this room! It was only a sod hut, smaller than his own, with three tiny chambers; but a homely feeling pervaded every nook and corner of it. But best of all, the walls were not a dirty black like those in his house; they were a dazzling white—a white so pure and gleaming that it caught up and reflected the gold of the sun!... A real fairy house, that’s what it was!

Per Hansa looked and looked—and forgot to sit down.

... “No, never mind the food, Mother,” he said. “I’d rather you would tell me how you’ve gone about it to make things so extra fine in here! Is this _paint_, I’d like to know?... It must be terribly expensive!” ... His face showed nothing but sheer good nature and open admiration as he stood there looking into her eyes; she gave him a merry laugh, as though she had known him for many a year.

—Oh no, it wasn’t paint at all—far from it! Just ordinary lime and water!

—_Lime_?... What did they call that in English?... Lime, lime.... He said the word over to himself a number of times.... My, how strange everything was!... How did they mix it? Could it be bought in town? Was it very expensive?

The widow gave him all the desired information while she prepared the meal; she rattled on in a steady stream as she went about her work. He needn’t worry about remembering the name; there was a Norwegian lumberman in town who sold the stuff; perhaps he might be able to barter potatoes for it!... _Thus_ and _thus_ he must mix it.

“You’re crazy, Mother!” interrupted Per Hansa; he stood in the middle of the floor, overcome by a wild impulse to hug the cheery widow.... “Do you actually think he might take potatoes? I’ve got some carrots and melons, too!... I swear. Mother, that if I had met you in time, I would have courted you!”

The man’s happiness was so rollicking and genuine that the widow suddenly burst out laughing.... He might have done a worse thing than that for himself! she answered. No telling how that courting might have turned out!...

But now dinner was ready. In came two little boys, with ruddy, beaming faces, just like their mother’s; it seemed to Per Hansa as if he would never tire of looking at them; then he remembered the melons, and went out for the best one he could find; he brought it in and placed it on the floor.... He sat there eating the rooster with the widow and her boys—and it all seemed exactly like a fairy tale. As clear as daylight, luck was with him now!... Before he took his leave, he gave the boys another melon, and half a pailful of carrots to the mother.

... “It’s a sin to ruin good-hearted people!” he said.

Indeed, luck followed Per Hansa that day. From the widow’s he drove straight to the lumberman’s, and asked if he would barter some building materials for a load of potatoes and other such delicacies; the man came over to look at his load.... Yes, that wasn’t at all impossible. What did he want, and how much of it, for his load?

Per Hansa gave a loud laugh at this question: “I really should have everything you’ve got in the place!... But I’ll be reasonable and take a few sacks of lime and a few pieces of boards. You carry lime, don’t you?”

The dicker finally resulted in Per Hansa’s getting all the lime he needed, more lumber than he expected, and even some nails thrown into the bargain. The boards were planed smooth; Per Hansa handled them as if they had been the fine leaves of some costly book.

... “A dandy boat this is going to make for the little fellow to rock in!... Now he can come along any time!”

... He turned to the lumberman: “Next fall I’ll show up here and buy out your whole shebang; I need all you’ve got, and lots more too, let me tell you!”

After that he had to chat a little while with this man; it seemed so pleasant to meet a Norwegian here; Per Hansa felt as if a part of the town belonged to him. He found so many questions to ask, so many matters that he wanted to be posted on; the lumberman, who wasn’t very busy just then, seemed more than willing to talk and to hear how things were getting on, out to the westward where they lived. Per Hansa sat chatting with him a long time.

In the meanwhile his companions had finished their trading and had eaten their dinner; when he finally drove up to the general store they were loading their wagons with the merchandise they had bought. As soon as this was done all three entered the store again.

The moment he got in there among the many different kinds of merchandise, Per Hansa began to grow uneasy. Pleasant odours from all the wares mingled in the air; a strong scent of whisky permeated the whole place; he went sniffing about and stamping on the floor, moving restlessly from one thing to another.

... “Oh, the devil! If I wasn’t so short of money!... But it won’t do any harm to know where they keep things, when once we get the cash—eh, boys?”

Before he started trading, Per Hansa had to make an agreement about the plow and the rake, which stood on the books against him; the Solum boy acted as interpreter.

—He could pay the whole amount, of course?—the trader asked, as if taking it for granted.

—Is the fellow plumb crazy! Per Hansa shouted.

—Huh! how much could he pay, then?

“Tell him fifteen dollars, Henry—and that’s the last cent, too!”

The trader’s voice grew hard as he asked: Was _that_ all?

—Yes, that was all!—said Per Hansa; a hard note had come into his voice, too.—He hadn’t anything more, unless the fellow wanted to take his hide. But as for that—here he laughed and looked the man in the eye—the hide was so old and wrinkled that it wasn’t good for much.

—We-ell—drawled the merchant—this was pretty poor business; but he would let it pass this time. He’d be ashamed to take such a weather-beaten hide.... Did Per Hansa have anything at home?

—You bet he had!—laughed Per Hansa.—A wife and three youngsters, and one cow!... And something more coming!...

—Huh!—said the other, his face hardening again.—He could keep his wife and youngsters; but the cow he would have to forfeit eventually, if he couldn’t raise other means.... Business was business!

The matter was finally arranged, however, in the way that Per Hansa wanted it; the balance of the amount should stand until next fall, at fifteen per cent interest.

Then Per Hansa started to trade. The first thing he called for was _net twine_!... The Solum boy and Hans Olsa burst out laughing; was he planning to knit a net out here on the open prairie?... Never mind; he needed _twine_—twine first and foremost! When he finally had found a kind that he thought might do, he bought several balls; and then he called for rope—he had to have rope for the sheeting—how could he get along without _that_?... It seemed to his companions that he was wasting good money; it was a long way to the Sioux River and few trips could be made during the year! This they pointed out to him emphatically. But it did not affect him at all.... “Just order that rope for me, Henry!” commanded Per Hansa.

Now the real provisioning, for which he had come all this distance, was ready to begin; he ordered a few trifles, in such a low, bashful voice, that Henry had to ask him a second time before he understood; just some calico of a gaudy pattern, a few bits of ribbon and thread, and some soft, dainty white cotton goods. And, listen here—this was very important—some Hoffman’s drops, and a small bottle of sweet oil!... It was awfully awkward to have to use the Solum boy as interpreter in such matters—he was only a bachelor and had tried so few things in this world! Per Hansa managed to get what he wanted, however.... Next, the real needs of the household had to be met; flour was the most important item, and came first on the list; then cloth, and tobacco, and matches, and kerosene; after that coffee, and molasses, and _salt_. This item of salt again threw his companions into consternation; Per Hansa ordered such an unreasonable quantity of it, and still he wondered if it wouldn’t be too little!... Lord! there was no limit to all the things Per Hansa thought he must have; but his money soon ran out and that put an end to the trading.

At last they were ready to leave.

“Aren’t we going to have a single drop on this trip?” Hans Olsa mused aloud.

“There you said something!” exclaimed Per Hansa. “That reminds me—I was to get three bottles for Syvert! But not a word about it to Kjersti—bear that in mind when we get home.... He’s going to use it as liniment for his rheumatism, you know!”

The trader treated them all around before he filled the bottles. Henry got two bottles for himself, and one for his brother; Hans Olsa had brought along his Sunday bottle to be filled; as that would hardly be enough he bought a smaller one, which he put in his pocket; Per Hansa got two for himself, and three for Tönseten.... When the trader had filled all their orders he felt that he had had such good business with these fellows that he could well afford to stand another round of treats—they seemed to be such decent folk, too! And before they left they felt obliged to follow the good old custom of sampling one another’s bottles. Good Lord! it wasn’t every day that they came to town.... Hans Olsa was stepping very cautiously when he climbed into his wagon; he planked himself down upon the seat with slow and ponderous movements; but once down, there his big bulk sat secure.

It was late in the afternoon when they finally set out for home. Ninety long miles lay ahead of them, but no one thought of that; they had plenty of food, the vaulted heavens for a roof wherever they chose to camp, and fair weather to send them on....

Per Hansa drove in the van; he was continually clucking to his horses. His eyes were fixed on the western sky, already tinted by the strong glow of evening.... God! how beautiful these prairies were!... Why couldn’t they keep on driving all night long?...

When they at last pitched camp at the end of the day, and Hans Olsa had made the fire and hung the porridge pot over it, Per Hansa sat down by the firelight and began to whittle some shuttles for net knitting; he made two shuttles, and then a reel.

His companions laughed at him and told him he must be crazy; first he had thrown away good money on a lot of twine, and now he was wasting his time over such nonsense!

... “Never mind,” said Per Hansa with his merry laugh. “One only talks according to his sense!” ... He kept on working till he had finished the reel.

VI

The days were long for the boys during their father’s absence. Ole soon tired of standing at the chopping block without the company of his brother; he idled aimlessly about, and made frequent errands into the house to see whether he couldn’t hatch up something to break the monotony. Store-Hans wasn’t much better off; the secret which his father had entrusted to him was certainly interesting; but it wasn’t quite fascinating enough to hold its own with the vision of the ducks out there in the swamps. The father would surely bring something home from town to solve this problem; he and his brother ought to be over west reconnoitering every spare minute of the time. And now the Irish had all gone away, too; their sod huts were standing empty; there would be many curious things to look at and pry into!... Besides, their mother said so little these days; it was no fun to be with her any longer. Often when he spoke to her she was not there; she neither saw nor heard him, said only yes and no, which seemed to come from far away.... Probably she was brooding over the strange thing about to happen, Store-Hans told himself; he often looked wonderingly at her, thinking many thoughts beyond his years.... He remembered his father’s words, and never left her for long, although it was very lonesome for him in the house.

A couple of days after the men’s departure, she sent the boy over to Kjersti to borrow a darning needle; she had hidden her own away so carefully that she could not find it. Such things occurred commonly now; she would put something away, she could not remember where, and would potter around looking for it without really searching; at last, she would forget altogether what she was about, and would sit down with a peculiarly vacant look on her face; at such times she seemed like a stranger.... Ole was sitting in the house that morning, finishing a sling-shot which he had just made.

Suddenly Store-Hans came darting back with the needle; he had run until he was all out of breath. He burst out with the strangest news, of Tönseten’s having killed a big animal; it was awfully big—almost like a bear!... Tönseten said it was a bear, so it must be true! Tönseten and Kjersti were skinning him right now; Kjersti had told him that if he would bring a pail, they could have fresh meat for supper. Both boys immediately began pleading for permission to go and see the animal; their mother scarcely answered; she gave them a pail and asked them not to stay long.

The boys came runing down the hill just as Kjersti was cutting up the carcass; Tönseten was struggling with the hide, trying to stretch it on the barn door; his mouth bristled with nails, his hands were bloody—he was a frightful spectacle!

“What’s that you’ve got?” asked Ole.

“Bear, my boy—bear!” ... Tönseten wagged his head, took the nails out of his mouth, and spat a gob of tobacco juice.

“Bear!” snorted Ole, scornfully.

“That’s no bear!” put in Store-Hans, though less doubtingly.

“By George! boys, to-day he had to bite the dust!” ...

“But there aren’t any bears out here, I tell you!” Ole protested.

“Is that so—huh?... There isn’t an animal living that you can’t find out here!” Tönseten spoke with such certainty that it was difficult for the boys to gainsay him.

“Where did you get him?” Store-Hans asked.

“Out west of the Irish a little way.... There were two of ’em; they had gone into the ground for the winter; this is the young one, you see—the old mammy got away from me!”

“But you didn’t have any gun!” was Ole’s next objection.

“Better than that, my boy!... I went for him with the crowbar!” Tönseten spat fiercely and looked at the boys.... “I smashed in his skull!... With that old bar I’d tackle either a tiger or a rhinoceros!”

“What became of the old she-bear?” Ole asked, falling under the spell of Tönseten’s enthusiasm.

“She went north across the prairie, lickety-split!... Come here, now—take some of these chunks of meat home with you.... This will make delicious stew, let me tell you!”

“Is it fit to eat?” asked Store-Hans, still doubting.

“Fit to eat? No finer meat to be found than bear meat—don’t you know that?”

The boys followed him over to where Kjersti was still cutting up the animal; it must have been a large carcass, for the cut meat made a sizable heap.

“Is it ... is it really bear?” asked Ole, in a more humble tone.

“He’s meaty enough for it!... Here, give me the pail; Beret needs some good, strengthening food.... Maybe you’ll take a little to Sörrina, too; you can stop in with it on the way.... Careful—don’t spill it, now!”

The boys loitered along on the way home; from time to time they had to put down the pail, in order to discuss this extraordinary event.... So there actually were bears slinking about this country!... If bears, there must be lions and tigers and other such wild beasts; this was worth while!... Suppose they were to go home and get Old Maria, hunt up the she-bear herself, and put a big bullet clear through her head? They thrilled with excitement.... “Do you dare to shoot her off?” Store-Hans demanded of his brother; Ole scowled ominously and clenched his fists.... “_I_!... I’d aim straight for her temple, and she’d drop deader than a herring!” ... “Yes, aim at her _temple_!” Store-Hans advised, soberly. “And if it’s close range, you must draw the bead very fine!” ... “Fine as a hair!” said Ole, excitedly.

They picked up the pail at last, and finally succeeded in reaching Sörine’s, where there was another long delay; a detailed account had to be given of the marvellous feat which Tönseten had performed.

When they were about to leave Sofie came out and wanted to know if they weren’t frightened; maybe the old mother bear was slinking about the prairie right now, looking for her cub! The boys lingered to talk with her; they drew a glowing picture for the girl of how they were going home this minute to get Old Maria, and then go hunting for the she-bear herself ... just watch them bring home a real roast pretty soon!... But weren’t they scared? she asked.... “Scared?” exclaimed Store-Hans.... “Oh, fiddlesticks!” cried Ole. “Only girls and old women get scared!”

Sofie only laughed; at which they affected a swaggering gruffness and tried to spit like Tönseten—but theirs wouldn’t come brown....

They were gone such a long time that their mother grew anxious; when they came over from Sörine’s at last she stood outside the door watching for them. She had dressed And-Ongen, and was almost on the point of starting out to search; the boys were too preoccupied to notice this; Store-Hans spoke first:

“Just think, there’s a big she-bear over there to the westward!” ...

“We’re going to take the gun and shoot her!” exclaimed Ole, gleefully.

“We’ll aim straight for her temple!” Store-Hans assured his mother.

“Now we’ll have plenty of bear meat!” continued Ole in the next breath, with absolute confidence.

The boys were all raging excitement; their mood frightened Beret still more; she grasped them frantically, one hand on the shoulder of each, and gave them a hard shake.... They were to go inside this very minute, and take their books! They weren’t going out of this house to-day!... “Go in, don’t you hear me!... Go in!” ...

... But this wasn’t fair! Ole began reasoning with his mother; he used strong words, his eyes flaming.... Didn’t she realize that there was a real _bear_ over to the westward—a real full-grown _grizzly_ bear!... Mother ... please ... _please_!... Dad wasn’t home, but the gun was all loaded and ready; they could easily manage the rest of it! In an hour’s time they would have that bear’s hide! Store-Hans even thought that he could go straight to the lair.... _Right through the temple_ they would put the bullet!... The boys carried on like a raging hurricane.

The mother had to use force to get them indoors.... “Go in, I say, and take your books! Can’t you hear what I’m saying?” ...

This was hard on them; they burst into the house like two mad bull calves; she had to repeat the order several times more before they finally submitted and began to hunt for their books. At last Ole snatched up the “Epitome,” his brother the “Bible History.” They sat down to read by the table in front of the window, in a state of mutinous rebellion.

Trouble soon arose. Each wanted the seat immediately in front of the window, where the most light fell; and neither would give up the position. A terrible battle broke out; Ole was the stronger, but his brother the quicker. On account of his age and size Ole considered himself the legitimate master of the house in the absence of his father, and therefore had the right to do anything; he now burst out with words which he had heard in the mouths of the men when something went wrong with their work. As soon as Store-Hans heard this he too began to use vile language; if Ole dared, he certainly did; he knew those words, and plenty more!... The boys kept up their scrimmage until they almost upset the table; their books suffered bad treatment and lay scattered about on the floor. And-Ongen watched them open-mouthed until she suddenly grew frightened and set up a howl.

Over by the stove the mother was washing the meat, putting it into a kettle which she had placed on the fire.... Although she heard every word, she kept on working in silence; but her face turned ashen grey.

When she had finished the task she went out hurriedly; in a moment she came back with a willow switch in her hand. Going straight over to the table, she began to lay about her with the switch; she seemed beside herself, struck out blindly, hit whatever she happened to aim at, and kept it up without saying a word. The switch whizzed and struck; shrieks of pain arose. The boys at once stopped fighting and gazed horror-stricken at their mother; they could not remember that she had ever laid a hand on them before.... And now there was such a strange, unnatural look in her eyes!...

They flew out on the floor to gather up their books, while the blows continued to rain down upon them; And-Ongen stood in the middle of the floor, screaming with terror....

Not until the mother struck amiss, breaking the switch against the edge of the table, did she stop.... Suddenly she seemed to come to her senses; she left the child screaming in the middle of the floor, went out of the house, and was gone a long time. When she came back, she carried an armful of wood; she went over to the stove and fed the fire; then she picked up And-Ongen, and lay down on the bed with her.... The boys sat quietly at the table reading; neither of them had the courage to look up....

The house seemed strangely still after the passage of the storm. Ole put his fingers into his ears to shut out the terrible silence; his brother began to read aloud. It was bad enough for Ole, but worse for Store-Hans; he now recalled clearly what his father had confided in him; he thought of his own solemn promise; here he had been away from the house nearly the whole day! He felt burning hot all over his body.... He had opened the book where it told about the choosing of the twelve disciples, and now he tried to read; but _that_ wasn’t the stuff for him just now!... He turned the pages forward to the story of Samson, and read it diligently; then to David and Goliath; then to the story about Joseph and his brethren. The last eased his heart somewhat.... Joseph was just the sort of boy that he longed to be!

Ole had felt ashamed at the sight of his mother bringing in the wood, though that was not his task; his brother was to be the hired girl!... Suddenly anger seized him; this time it certainly was the fault of Store-Hans—he should have given him the place!... He dragged himself through the _Third Article_, which he knew perfectly well already; when the tumult within him had somewhat subsided he sat there thinking of how shamefully Tönseten must have deceived them.... _He_ kill a bear! It was nothing but a measly old badger! And now this nasty stuff was cooking on the stove—they were going to have it for supper! And mother was so angry that one would never dare to explain it to her!... There sat his younger brother, snuffling and reading his brains out; plain to be seen that he would never amount to anything!... Ole closed his book with a bang, got up, and went outdoors to chop more wood; but he did not dare to look at the bed as he passed....

Store-Hans sat over his book until it grew so dark that he could no longer distinguish the letters.... From time to time he looked up; his mother lay on the bed perfectly still; he could not see her face; And-Ongen was fast asleep with her head high on the pillow. The boy rose quietly, looked around—then took an empty pail and went out for water. He left the pailful of water outside the door; then he brought Rosie and Injun and the two oxen into the stable, and tied them up for the night. He spoke loudly and gruffly to the animals; mother should hear that he was tending to business!... When he finally brought in the water his mother was up again; he could see nothing unusual about her.

... No, she hadn’t been crying this time! The thought made Store-Hans so happy that he went straight to his brother, who was toiling over the chopping block as if possessed, and made friends with him again. The boys stayed outside until it was pitch dark; they talked fast and nervously, about a multitude of things; but that which weighed most heavily on their hearts—the way their mother’s face had looked when she whipped them—they could not mention.

Inside the house the lamp had been lit. And-Ongen toddled about the floor, busy over her own little affairs; the boys came in quietly and sat down to their books again; but very little reading was done now.... At last the kettle of meat that had been boiling on the stove was ready; the mother put the food on the table; the boys drew up, Ole somewhat reluctantly.... “You get that troll stuff down!” he whispered to his brother, making a wry face. To this command Store-Hans made no answer; he had stuck his spoon into a crack between the boards of the table; they were large, those cracks—he could see a broad section of floor when he laid his eye down close. The earthen floor had such a rich brown colour in the dim sheen of the lamp; the cracks in the table made stripes across the shadow down there; it looked pretty, too—and just then it had occurred to Store-Hans how nice it would be if they could only have the floor looking like that by daylight.

The mother filled the big bowl from the kettle and put it on the table; she had made a thick stew, with potatoes, carrots, and pieces of the meat; it looked appetizing enough but somehow the boys felt in no hurry to start. The mother came and sat down, bringing And-Ongen with her; the child was so delighted over the holiday fare they had to-night that she hurried to say grace.

She and the mother immediately began to eat; the boys no longer had an excuse to sit watching. Store-Hans dipped up a spoonful of the stew, blew on it, closed his eyes, and gulped it down. Ole did the same, but coughed as if he had swallowed the wrong way; then he leaned under the table and spat it out....

The mother asked quietly how they liked the supper.... At that, Ole could no longer restrain himself; he looked at his mother imploringly, and said in a tear-choked voice as he laid his spoon aside:

“It tastes like dog to me!”

To Store-Hans it seemed a shameful thing for Ole to speak that way of food which their mother had prepared for them; he swallowed spoonful after spoonful, while sweat poured from him.

“I have heard it said many times,” the mother went on, quietly, “that bear meat is all right.... The stew has a tangy taste, I notice, but not so bad that it can’t be eaten.... You’d better leave the meat if you don’t like it.”

“It isn’t bear at all!” Ole blurted out.

“What?” cried the mother in alarm, lowering her spoon.

“It’s only a lousy old badger!... I’ve heard dad say often that they aren’t fit to eat!” ...

“It’s true, every word of it!” cried Store-Hans, suddenly feeling frightened and jamming his spoon farther down into the crack.... “I could tell it by his tail—Syvert had forgotten to cut it off!... Oh, I’m going to be sick—I can feel it coming!”

Beret got up, trembling in every limb; she took the bowl and carried it out into the darkness; a long way from the house she emptied it on the ground; And-Ongen cried and toddled after her.... The boys sat on at the table, glaring reproachfully at each other; in the eyes of both blazed the same accusation:

“A nice mess you’ve made of things! Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut?”

The mother came in again; she set the empty kettle on the stove and scoured it out carefully.... Then she cooked porridge for them, but when it was ready she could eat nothing herself....

... That night she hung still more clothes over the window than she had the evening before. She sat up very late; it seemed as if she was unable to go to bed.

VII

She had been lying awake a long time; sleep would not come. Her thoughts drifted....

... So it had come to this; they were no longer ashamed to eat troll food; they even sent it from house to house, as lordly fare!

All night long as she tossed in bed, bitter revolt raged within her. _They should not stay here through the winter_!... As soon as Per Hansa came home they must start on the journey back east; he, too, ought to be able to see by this time that they would all become wild beasts if they remained here much longer. Everything human in them would gradually be blotted out.... They saw nothing, learned nothing.... It would be even worse for their children—and what of their children’s children?... Couldn’t he understand that if the Lord God had intended these infinities to be peopled, He would not have left them desolate down through all the ages ... until now, when the end was nearing?...

After a while the bitterness of her revolt began to subside; her thoughts became clear and shrewd, she tried to reason out the best way of getting back to civilization. That night she did not sleep at all.

The next morning she got up earlier than usual, kindled the fire, got the breakfast and waked the children. The food was soon prepared; first she poured some water into the pot, put in a spoonful or two of molasses, and added a few pieces of cinnamon; then she cut into bits the cold porridge from last night, and put them into the big bowl; when the sweetened water was hot she poured it over the porridge.... This was all they had—and no one asked for more.

While she ate she looked repeatedly at the big chest, trying to recall how everything had been packed when they came out last summer. Where did she keep all the things now? She had better get the packing done at once—then that job would be out of the way when he came home....

The greatest difficulty would be to obtain wagons.... Alas! those old wagons! The smaller one he had taken apart and used in making the very table around which they were now seated; as for the larger wagon, she knew only too well that it would never hang together through the long journey back; only the other day she had heard Per Hansa mention that he intended to break it up, and see if he couldn’t make something or other out of it.... Well—how to get the wagons would be his business! They certainly couldn’t perish out here for want of a wagon or two! Was there not One who once upon a time had had mercy on a great city full of wicked people, only because one just human being interceded?

... One just human being.... Alas!... Beret sighed heavily and put her hand up under her breast.

When there was no more porridge left in the bowl she rose, washed the dish, and put it away on the shelf. Ole had nothing to do in the house that morning; he walked toward the door, motioning to his brother to follow; but Store-Hans shook his head. Then Ole went out; the other boy sat there looking at his mother, not knowing what to do, unhappy and heavy-hearted; he felt a sudden impulse to throw himself down on the floor and weep aloud.

The mother was pottering about at some trifles, her thoughts constantly occupied with the idea of returning to civilization. Into her serious, grey-pale face, still soft and beautiful, had crept an expression of firmness and defiance; soon this aspect grew so marked that her face appeared to simulate anger, like that of one playing at being ferocious with a child.

As soon as she had finished her housework she went over to the big chest, opened the lid, sank down on her knees beside it, and began to rearrange the contents. The task was quickly done; then she took the clothes from the last washing, folded them up, and laid them carefully in the chest; there weren’t many clothes left now! He ought to realize that they would soon be naked if they stayed here much longer! And where were they to get money for everything they needed out here?... Beret stood up and looked around the room, trying to decide what to pack first. On the shelf above the window lay an old Bible, a gift to her from her grandfather; it was so old that it was hard to read now, because of the many changes the language had undergone since then; but it was the only one they had. This book had been in her family many generations; her great-grandfather had owned it before her grandfather; from her it should pass on to Store-Hans; thus she had always determined when she thought of the matter. On top of the Bible lay the hymn book, in which she had read a little every Sunday since their arrival here....

She put both books in the chest.

Again Beret rose and glanced around the room. Perhaps she had better take the school books, too; the boys were none too eager to use them; they might as well be excused for the rest of the day; either that day or the next the father would surely come.... She asked Store-Hans to bring the books to her so that she could pack them.

Not until then did the boy fully take in what his mother was doing; it startled him so that for a moment he could not get up.

“Mother, what are you doing?” ...

“We must begin to get ready!” ... She sighed, and pressed her hands tightly under her burden; it was painful to her, stooping over so long at a time.

“Get ready? Are ... are we going _away_?” ... Store-Hans’s throat contracted; his eyes stared big and terror-stricken at his mother.

“Why, yes, Hansy-boy—we had better be going back where people live before the winter is upon us,” she told him, sadly.

The boy had risen, and new stood at the end of the table; he wanted to go to his mother but fear chained him to the spot; he stared at her with his mouth wide open. At last he got out:

“What will dad say?” ... The words came accusingly but there were tears in them.

She looked at him like one in a dream; again she looked, but could not utter a word.... The sheer impossibility of what she was about to do was written as if in fire on the face and whole body of the boy—as if in rays that struck her, lighted everything up with an awful radiance, and revealed the utter futility of it all.... She turned slowly toward the chest, let down the lid, and sank on it in untold weariness.... Again the child stirred within her, kicking and twisting, so that she had to press her hand hard against it.

... O God!... now _he_ was protesting, too! Was it only by ruthless sacrifice of life that this endless desolation could ever be peopled?

... “Thou canst not be so cruel!” she moaned.... “Demand not this awful sacrifice of a frail human being!” ...

She rose slowly from the chest; as she walked across the floor and opened the door she felt as if she were dragging leaden weights.... Her gaze flitted fearfully toward the sky line—reached it, but dared not travel upward....

Store-Hans remained at the end of the table, staring after her; he wanted to scream, but could not utter a sound. Then he ran to her, put his arms around her, and whispered hoarsely between sobs:

“Mother, are you ... are you ... getting sick now?”

Beret stroked the head that was pressed so hard against her side; it had such a vigorous, healthy warmth; the hair was soft and pleasant to the touch; she had to run her fingers through it repeatedly.... Then she stooped over and put her arm around the boy; his response to her embrace was so violent that it almost choked her ... O God! how sorely she needed some one to be kind to her now!... She was weeping; Store-Hans, too, was struggling with wild, tearing sobs. Little And-Ongen, who could not imagine what the two were doing over there by the door, came toddling to them and gazed up into their faces; then she opened her mouth wide, brought her hand up to it, and shrieked aloud.... At that moment Ole came ♦running down the hill, his feet flying against the sky, and shouted out to them:

♦ “runing” replaced with “running”

“They are coming!... Get the coffee on!”

... Gone was the boy like a gust of wind; he threw himself on the pony and galloped away to meet the returning caravan.

Beret and Store-Hans had both sprung to their feet and stood looking across the prairie.... Yes, there they were, away off to the southeast!... And now Store-Hans, also, forgot himself; he glanced imploringly into his mother’s face, his eyes eagerly questioning:

“Would it be safe to leave you while I run to meet dad?”

She smiled down into the eager face—a benign, spreading smile.

“Don’t worry about me.... Just run along.” ...

VIII

The father sat at the table eating, with And-Ongen on his knee; the boys stood opposite him, listening enthusiastically to the story of his adventures along the way; the mother went to and fro between the stove and the table. There was an enchanting joyousness about Per Hansa to-day which coloured all he said; no matter how much he told, it always sounded as if he were keeping back the best till later on. This had a positively intoxicating effect on the boys; it made them impatient and eager for more, and caused a steady flood of fresh questions.

Even Beret was smiling, though her hand trembled.

At last the boys had to give an account of how they had managed affairs at home. When, after much teasing and banter, Per Hansa had finally heard the whole absurd story—it came little by little, in disjointed outbursts—of Tönseten and the bear, and their ill-starred badger stew of the night before, he laughed until the tears came and he had to stop eating. His mirth was so free and hearty that the boys, too, began to see the real fun of the incident, and joined in boisterously. Beret stood over by the stove, listening to it all; their infectious merriment carried her away, but at the same time she had to wipe her eyes.... She was glad that she had remembered to take out of the chest the things that she had begun to pack awhile before!

“Come here, Store-Hans,” said the father, still laughing. “What’s that across the back of your neck?”

The question caught the boy unawares; he ran over and stood beside his father.

“Why, it’s a big red welt!... Have you been trying to hang yourself, boy?”

Store-Hans turned crimson; he suddenly remembered the fearful blows of last night.

Ole glanced quickly at his mother.... “Oh, pshaw!” he said with a manly air.... “That was only Hans and me fighting!”

“Ah-ha!” exclaimed the father, with another laugh. “So that’s the way you two have been acting while I was away? Mother couldn’t manage you, eh?... Well, now you’ll soon be dancing to a different tune; we’ve got so much work on our hands that there won’t be any peace here day or night.... Thanks for good food, Beret-girl!”

He got up, took the boys with him, and began to carry things in from the wagon. Most of the load they stored away in the house; some extra things, however, had to find a temporary place in the stable.

At length Per Hansa brought in a small armful of bottles and set them on the table.

“Come here, Beret-girl of mine! You have earned a good drink, and a good drink you shall have!” ... He went over to the water pail with the coffee cup from which he had just been drinking, rinsed it out with a little water, and emptied it on the floor; then he poured out a good half cupful of whisky and offered it to her. She put out her hand as if to push him away.... Yes, indeed, she would have to take it, he told her, putting his arm around her waist and lifting the cup to her lips. She took the cup and emptied it in one draught.... “There, that’s a good little wife!... You’re going to have just another little drop!” He went to the table again and poured out a second drink, but not so much this time. “Two legs, and one for each! Just drink it down!... And now you take care of the bottles!”

That was a busy day in the humble dwelling of Per Hansa. First of all, he had promised a load of potatoes to the Hallings, who waited back east somewhere under a bleak sky, without even a potato peeling to put in their pot; he must carry food to them. When Beret heard how poorly things were in that hut—about the woman with the drawn cheeks and the starved look in her eyes—she straightway began to hurry him up; he must go while he had the horses and wagon here. Couldn’t he get started to-day?

“Not so hasty there, my girl, not so hasty!” laughed Per Hansa, his face beaming.... “I’m not going to sleep with any _Halling woman_ to-night—that I can tell you!”

Now he was his old irresistible self again. How strong, how precious to her, he seemed!... She felt a loving impulse to grasp his hair and shake him....

Ole was immediately put to work knitting the net. The father had already knitted four fathoms of it, by the light of the camp fire the night before; he had sat up working over the net long after the others had turned in.... The boys grew wild with enthusiasm at the sight of the net; were they going fishing in the Sioux River? Both of them immediately began begging to be taken along.... “Just keep your fingers moving, Olamand—hurry them up, I tell you!” ... The father made a great mystery of it, and refused to give any further explanation.

As for himself and Store-Hans, they busied themselves over the lime; it was all carried inside and placed in a corner where no moisture could reach it. The preparations for the mixing required a good deal of work; the first thing was to make a wooden box sufficiently tight to hold water. Well, there was plenty of lumber now, at any rate! Per Hansa built the box and carried it down to the creek; there he placed it under water, hoping that it would swell enough to be tight by the time he needed it.

Evening fell all too soon on a wonderfully busy and joyful day. The boys were at last in bed, fast asleep.

But Per Hansa had no time for rest; to-night that net simply had to be finished. He finally made Beret go to bed, but she wasn’t a bit sleepy; she lay there talking to him and filling the shuttles whenever they were empty. He explained fully to her how he intended to use the net; first he would set it in the Sioux River as he passed by there to-morrow; he knew of just the place; he would leave it there until he came back from the Hallings’. Unless the cards were stacked against him he would bring back a nice mess of fish.... That, however, wasn’t his great plan with the net, he told her; but she mustn’t say a word about this to the boys. It was to be a big surprise for them; they were such brave fellows! The fact of the matter was, he planned to catch _ducks_ with that net; that had been the real reason for his buying the twine; there would be other fare than badger stew in this hut, he would just let her know, if the weather only held a few days more!

All at once it occurred to Beret that she had forgotten to cover up the windows to-night; she smiled to herself at the discovery.... What was the need of it, anyway? Cover the windows ... what nonsense!... She smiled again, feeling a languorous drowsiness creep over her.

Per Hansa knit away on the net, chatting happily with her as he worked; a confident ring of joy sounded in all he said. He had fastened the net to the bedpost, just as her father always had done. She listened peacefully to his warm, cheerful voice, which after a while began to sound more distant, like the indolent swish and gurgle of lapping ocean waves on a fair summer’s night. Gradually she was borne away on this sound, and slept the whole night through without stirring.

When she awoke next morning Per Hansa, still fully dressed, lay beside her, over against the wall; he evidently had thrown himself down to rest only a little while before. Light was creeping into the room; directly in front of the bed lay a big white heap of something.... Those careless boys—had they thrown their clothes on the floor again?... She stooped over to pick the clothes up and put them on the bench; she grasped hold of the heap—and it was a new net, sheeted and fully rigged, as a new net ought to be!

... Poor man!—he must have sat up all night!... She spread the quilt carefully over him.

That morning Beret took some of the precious white flour and made a batch of pancakes. He deserved to have one good meal before he went away again!

He left right after breakfast. Beret worked industriously throughout the day, while many thoughts came and went.... It must be her destiny, this! There was One who governed all things.... He knew what was best, and against His will it was useless to struggle!...

... Often that day she went to the window to look eastward. Every time she looked, it seemed to be growing darker over there....

... That evening she again covered the window....

VI. The Heart that Dared Not Let in the Sun

I

During the first days of October a few white, downy snowflakes hung quivering in the air ... floated about ... fell in great oscillating circles. They seemed headed for nowhere; they followed no common course; but finally they reached the ground and disappeared.

The air cleared again. There came a drowsy, sun-filled interval ... nothing but golden haze ... quiet bereft of all life....

The sun had no strength these days. It peeped out in the morning, glided across the sky as before, yet life it had not until toward evening, as it was nearing the western rim of the prairie. Then it awoke, grew big and blushing, took on a splendour which forced everyone to stop and look; the western sky foamed and flooded with a wanton richness of colour, which ran up in streams to meet the coming night. Folks would walk about in the evenings speaking in low tones.... Never in their lives had they seen such sunsets!...

... Day after day the same ... evening after evening. Strangely still the days ... the evenings more mysteriously quiet. How could one lift one’s voice against such silence!...

Then one morning—October was nearly passed—the sun could not get his eye open at all; the heavens rested close above the plain, grey, dense, and still. The chill of this greyness drove through the air though no wind stirred. People went indoors to put on more clothes, came out again, but froze worse than ever.... Bleak, grey, God-forsaken, the empty desolation stretched on every hand....

Sometime in the afternoon snowflakes began to fall. They came sailing down from the north until the air was a close-packed swarm of greyish-white specks, all bound in the same direction. The evening was short-lived that day, and died in a pitch-black night that weighed down the heart....

... Again day came, and brought no other light than that which the greyish-white specks gave.... All that day the snow fell—all the next night....

At last it grew light once more—but the day had no sun. A cold wind howled about the huts—left them, and tore down into the white snow blanket, shaking out of it blinding swirls.... The swirls vanished and reappeared—died down, flared up again and tore on.... New ones constantly rose ... many....

II

Per Hansa and his boys worked like firebrands during the last days before winter set in. Every task that came to their hands delighted them; they went from one fairy tale into the next—came out again, and there was a new one at hand; they gave themselves no peace, either by night or by day.... But Beret could not share their mood; she would watch them absently as they left the house; or when they were due to return, she would wander about with And-Ongen on her arm, looking for them through the window, and keeping a hot dish in readiness on the stove. They were sure to be cold, poor fellows!... Then when they were seated around the table, wrapped up in all their remarkable experiences, the talk would jump from one incident to another, and she would find herself unable to follow it. Their liveliness and loud laughter only drove her heavy thoughts into a still deeper darkness.

She had to admit, however, that Per Hansa could accomplish the most marvellous things; she could not imagine where he had learned it all.... There were the walls, for example, of which he himself was especially proud, and which Store-Hans never tired of admiring. He had begun work on these walls immediately after he had returned from the trip east to the Hallings’ with the potatoes. The lime had been mixed according to directions, and spread over the walls—three coats of it, no less; now the sod hut shone so brightly inside that it dazzled the eyes.... Before the snow came, Beret thought it delightful to have such walls; but after there was nothing but whiteness outside—pure whiteness as far as the eye could see and the thought could reach—she regretted that he had touched them. Her eyes were blinded wherever she looked, either outdoors or indoors; the black-brown earthen floor was the only object on which she could rest them comfortably; and so she always looked down now, as she sat in the house. But hint at it, and thus ruin his pleasure, she could not.... And it really didn’t matter much to her; she would endure it for the brief time that remained!...

She was thankful enough, though, for all the fine fish that he had brought home. Per Hansa had taken both boys with him on the great expedition east to the Sioux River; there they had made a tremendous catch with the help of the net, and Per Hansa had talked with the Trönders about many extraordinary things, and had gained much valuable information.... Heaps of frozen fish now lay outside all along the wall; Per Hansa explained to her what a God-send it was that the snow finally had come. Hm! Good Heavens! If it hadn’t come soon he would have been obliged to go out and get it! Now he was spared that trouble; with the aid of the snowdrifts they could have fresh fish through the whole winter.... “Hey, woman!” he said with a laugh, whenever she complained of how desolate it was since the snow had come. “Can’t you understand that we could never manage things without the snow?... Hey, wife—white and fine, both outdoors and indoors!... Wonder if something couldn’t be done to the floor, too?” ...

Now it came to light what had been working in Per Hansa’s mind when he had bought all that salt; he salted down quantities of the fish, and packed them away in all the vessels they could spare.

But in the opinion of the boys, the duck hunt with the net was the crowning adventure. Never had there been such an enthusiastic party; the father was almost the worst of the three! Now the great secret of his planning and scheming over the ducks was revealed. While Store-Hans and his brother had only talked about capturing them and wondered what could be done, Per Hansa had figured out every detail in his mind; if the ducks got the best of him on one tack, he would fool them on another; into the net somehow they must go!... For three nights they had all stayed out in the swamps to the westward, toiling and fighting among the myriads of birds; in the morning they would come home after daylight, wet as crows, numb all over, and blue in the face with cold. But they always brought a catch!... As soon as the evening came they would be off again.

Each time Beret pleaded sadly, both by word and glance, for them to stay at home.... They would wear themselves out this way. What could they possibly do with all these fowl? Just wait and see; they might not need so much food—something might happen.... The boys only laughed at these objections; their mother sounded just like Sofie; probably all women were alike—they had no sense. Just imagine such a ridiculous idea—catch no more birds!... The father joined in with them and poked mild fun at the mother. How silly it would be not to grab good food when it lay right at their door! Suppose the swamps were to freeze up to-night? And after they had picked the ducks, there would be fine feather beds for both herself and Little Per!... Per Hansa’s voice softened.... And besides, there was no more delicate fare than those ducks on any king’s table!...

But she would not be carried along.... “We won’t need them!” she said, dispiritedly ... and fell into silence.

Dusk settled, the menfolk left—and she was alone with the child again.

* * * * *

But at last winter shut down in earnest; the swamps froze up and duck hunting came to an end for that year.

“I think we ought to carry some soup meat to our neighbours,” said Per Hansa.... “This time it’ll be something better than badger stew!” ...

Every person in the little settlement had been rushed with work during the last days before Father Winter came. They all had a feeling that he wasn’t very far away, that old fellow, and thought it best to be well prepared to receive him. Hans Olsa, Tönseten, and the Solum boys had been east to the Sioux River again for wood; they had made two trips, and home had seen very little of them lately. Few visits had been made; everyone had been busy with his own affairs.... For other reasons than this, visitors came but seldom to Per Hansa’s now; there was something queer about the woman in that place; she said so little; at times people felt that they were unwelcome there. She was apt to break out suddenly with some remark that they could only wonder at; they hardly knew whether to be surprised or offended.

But on the day when the boys carried a gift of ducks to all the houses in the neighbourhood, proud of the dainty food they brought, and relating what sounded like a fairy tale, everyone went over to Per Hansa’s to learn how he had gone about catching these birds. For Ole and Store-Hans wouldn’t tell, though they plied them with questions.... The Solum boys came first, with Tönseten and Kjersti hard upon their heels; last of all came Hans Olsa and Sörine.

Once inside, they completely forgot their curiosity about the duck hunting; they stood with their mouths open, looking up one wall and down the next.

... Why ... why ... what in the wide world was this? Had they plastered _snow_ on the walls? Sam thought it really was snow, and touched it gingerly with his finger.... What was it, anyway? Could it possibly be paint?... My stars, how fine it looked!... Per Hansa sat there, sucking his pipe and enjoying his little triumph; it seemed to him that he had never liked his neighbours so well as at this moment.... Beret went about listening quietly; in her face was a troubled expression. Not for all the world would she have had the work on the walls undone!...

Amazement was universal.... Sörine smiled in her pleasant, kindly way; she went over to Beret and said with warm sympathy:

“Now you certainly have got a fine house!... You’ll thrive all the better for it.” ... At that, she began to help her with the work. But Kjersti, with an emphatic slap on her thigh, voiced it as her opinion that it was a dirty shame that she and Sörrina had picked up such poor sticks for husbands! Why couldn’t they ever hatch up some nice scheme? Why was Per Hansa the only man among them with his head on the right end? Yes, they certainly ought to feel ashamed of themselves, sitting there!... Tönseten took offence at this; he felt constrained to remind her that he was the fellow who had risen to the occasion and captured the Sognings! She’d better remember that; for what would have become of them all in the long run if the Sognings hadn’t joined them?... “And I don’t exactly see what this new notion of Per Hansa’s is really good for,” he spluttered on. “It’s getting to be so damned swell in here that pretty soon a fellow can’t even _spit_!” ... Tönseten looked accusingly at Beret; it was from her that Per Hansa got these stuck-up airs. She was never willing to be like plain folks, that woman!... The Solum boys took great delight in the white walls; this was really beautiful. When they got married they would do the very same thing!

Hans Olsa sucked his pipe and said but little. This seemed very queer to him; he turned it over and over in his mind, but couldn’t solve the problem. Was this like Per Hansa, who had always confided everything to him?... But here he was going about doing everything alone! When he had learned how a black earthen wall could be made shining white at so small a cost, why hadn’t he told the others? There was so little cheer out here; they all sorely needed to share whatever they found.... The big, rugged features were very sober; he had to look hard at Per Hansa. No, it was the same good-natured face that one liked so well to have near by! This affair was just one of his many pranks; the longer Hans Olsa gazed at his neighbour, the more plausible grew this solution inside that big head of his.

Awhile later, as the two men stood together outside the door, watching the falling snow, he said, quietly:

“You have made it pretty fine inside, Per Hansa; but He Who is now whitening the outside of your walls does fully as well.... You shouldn’t be vain in your own strength, you know!”

“Oh, nonsense, Hans Olsa!” laughed Per Hansa. “What are you prating about?... Here, take along a couple more ducks for Sörrina!” ...

III

It was well enough that winter had come at last, thought Per Hansa; he really needed to lay off and rest awhile. After a good square meal of ducks or fresh fish, he would light his pipe and stretch himself, saying:

“Ha!—now we’re really as well off here, my Beret-girl, as anybody could ever wish to be!” ... He did not always expect an answer, and seldom got one. Then he would throw himself on the bed and take a good after-dinner nap, often sleeping continuously on into the night.... Life seemed very pleasant now!

In this fashion he spent quite a number of days; the bad weather still held out. Per Hansa continued to do full justice to the fare. When he had eaten his fill he would point out again to Beret how well off they were, and go to his couch to sleep the sleep of the righteous. It was almost uncanny—he could never seem to get sleep enough! He slept both day and night; and still he felt the need of more rest.... Now and then he would go to the door to look out at the weather, and glance across toward the neighbours. No ... nothing to do outside—the weather was too beastly! He would come in again, and stretch himself, and yawn....

The days wore on.

Yes, they wore on.... One exactly like the other....

Per Hansa couldn’t grasp the strange contradiction that had begun to impress him; he knew that the days were actually growing shorter—were being shorn more closely by every passing night; but—weren’t they growing longer?

Indeed they were—no question about it! They finally grew so long that he was at a dead loss to find something to do with which to end them. He assured himself that all this leisure was very fine; that he needed to ease up a bit; during the fall he hadn’t spared himself; now it felt like a blessing to sit around and play the gentleman. Times would be strenuous enough for him once more, when spring came with fair weather and his great estate needed to be planted; he would just lay off and rest for a while yet!...

The days only grew longer and longer.

In the end, this enforced idleness began to gall him. The landscape showed a monotonous sameness ... never the slightest change.... Grey sky—damp, icy cold.... Snow fell ... snow flew.... He could only guess now where the huts of Hans Olsa lay. There wasn’t a thing to do outdoors; plenty of wood lay chopped and ready for use; it took but a little while to do the chores.... Beyond this, everything took care of itself outside.

Per Hansa sat by the table, or lay down on the bed when he got tired of sitting up; tried to sleep as long as possible; woke up with a start; turned over and tried to sleep again; rose and sat by the table once more, when he grew weary of lying down.

The days wore on, and yet got nowhere.... Time had simply come to a standstill! He had never seen the like; this was worse than the deadest lay-up in Lofoten!

The boys were almost as badly off; they too sat restless and idle; and because they had nothing at all to occupy their minds they often came to blows, so that the father had to interfere.... But he was never very rough with them; poor boys, what else could they find for amusement?... The mother always reminded him of their books.... Yes, of course—certainly they must learn to read, the father said; no heathen were going to grow up in his house! He tried to be stern with them over this matter; but then ... after all, boys were boys, he remembered!

At length he realized that this sort of life could not go on. He didn’t give a hang for the weather—put on his coat and bade the boys do the same; then they went out and attacked the woodpile. They sawed and they chopped; they lugged in wood and piled it up; first they stacked up as much chopped wood as they could stow in the odd corners of the house; then they built a curious little fort of chopped wood out in the yard—very neatly and craftily constructed—and piled it full, too; this work cheered them up and kept their minds occupied, though the weather was bitterly cold and inclement. They toiled at it from early morning until late at night, and hardly took time off to eat their dinner; the boys began to get sick of the job and complained of being tired. The woodpile lasted exactly four days; when they had chopped up the last stick there was nothing left for them to do outside.

Then they sat idle again.

The bad spell of weather held out interminably. A cold, piercing wind from the northeast blew the livelong day, and moaned about the corners at night.... Snow flew ... more snow fell.

No sun.... No sky.... The air was a grey, ashen mist which breathed a deathly chill; it hung around and above them thick and frozen.... In the course of time there was a full moon at night, somewhere behind the veil. Then the mist grew luminous and alive—strange to behold.... Night after night the ghostly spectacle would return.

Per Hansa would gaze at it and think: Now the trolls are surely abroad!...

* * * * *

One evening Tönseten and Kjersti came over. They sat and talked until it grew very late. One could readily see that Syvert was out of sorts about something; he puffed at his pipe in glum, ill humor, glared at Per Hansa’s walls, and didn’t have much to say. When he did speak his voice was unnecessarily loud.

Kjersti and Beret sat together on the bed; they seemed to be finding a good deal to chat about.

Kjersti was in an unusually neighbourly mood; she had come over to ask if ... well, if she couldn’t do something for Beret? She had some woollen yarn at home in her chest, very soft and very fine. Would Beret be offended if she knitted a pair of socks for the little newcomer they were all awaiting?... It was fine yarn, the very finest! Beret must just try to imagine how lonesome she was, sitting at home all alone with that useless husband of hers—and no little newcomer to wait for!... She had plenty of yarn; she could easily make the socks long enough to serve as leggings, too. The work would really bring joy to her—and to Syvert, too, poor fellow, to whom no little newcomer would ever arrive!

... Ah, well!... God pity us, Syvert wasn’t so bad, after all—far be it from her to complain!... At that, Kjersti happened to think of a story she had heard, about a couple who couldn’t seem to get a child though they wanted one very badly. Here the story was, since they happened to be talking about such matters.... This wife had so little sense that she sought the aid of a witch woman, who gave her both _devil’s drink_ and _beaver-geld_; she rubbed herself with the stuff and drank some of it, too, but no change came; that is, not until one summer when a shoal of herring came into the fjord and with it a fleet of strange fishermen.... Alas! desire makes a hot fire, once it has been kindled! But what do you suppose?—her husband became just as fond of that child as if he had been the father of it!... Wasn’t that a queer thing?... But when the boy was a year old and was on the point of being christened—well, on that very Sunday it happened, as they were sailing across the fjord, that the boat capsized and the Lord took both mother and child, right there and then! He had taken away what he had refused to give in honour, and more besides.... There was something mysterious about such things, didn’t Beret think so? And wasn’t it strange that the father should have been so fond of _that_ child?... Kjersti had known them both very well.

Beret listened attentively to this tale, putting in a word here and there.

Over at the table, the men had pricked up their ears as the story began; they heard it all. Per Hansa looked at Syvert and laughed; Syvert, in turn, glared at the wall and said, angrily:

“I should think you’d be able to find something American to talk about!... We’re through now with all that troll business over in Norway!” ... He got up and started to go....

But Per Hansa wouldn’t listen to their leaving just yet; since they had braved the weather to make a call they might as well sit awhile longer.... “You’ll have the wind astern, Syvert, going home!... Come on, sit down and behave yourself!”

* * * * *

On another afternoon all of Hans Olsa’s household came over. They stayed till dark; then they began to say that perhaps they’d better be going now—but they made no move to leave.... Sörine had brought a gift for Beret. There had been a few bits of cloth lying around the house, for which she could find no use; it had been rather lonesome these days and she had needed something to do, so she had made a little article for this newcomer whom everyone was waiting for!... At that, Sörine drew out from her ample bosom a child’s cap, of red, white, and blue stripes, with long silk ribbons, all sewed with the greatest care. It was a beautiful cap; all had to see it; there were many warm words of praise. Beret received it in silence; her eyes were wet as she took the cap and laid it carefully in the big chest....

To-night it was Beret who refused to let the visitors leave. She absolutely insisted. Such quantities of food lay outside around the house—far more than they would ever need—that they might as well stay for supper and help to eat it!... This proposal overjoyed Per Hansa. It was the plain truth, as Beret said, they had more than they needed—and there was plenty left in the Sioux River, for that matter; to-night they were going to celebrate with fresh fish for supper!... He went outside and brought in a generous supply of the frozen fish, which he scaled and cut up; he was in the finest of spirits—it seemed just like the good old days in Lofoten.

... That evening was a happy interlude for them all.

IV

... No, the days would not pass!... Why, here it was, only the middle of November! It seemed to Per Hansa, as he sat by the table puffing his pipe and following Beret around with his eyes, that many winters must have gone by already.

He found himself watching Beret very often; during the last two weeks he had discovered many things about her which he had never noticed before. Just trifles, they were, but so many of them—one thing after another. Sitting here now with nothing else to occupy his mind, he began slowly and carefully to piece together what he had observed; the result pleased him less and less as he went on adding. He tried to wave the truth aside—to deny the plain facts; he even succeeded for a while—in the beginning.... Goodness! nothing but trifles—things that were always likely to happen under such circumstances!... Oh no! There was no danger that Beret couldn’t stand her watch; things would right themselves when the time came; for it was only the law of nature, which man must obey.... Of course she couldn’t help dreading it, poor thing!

... Did her face seem a good deal more wasted this time—or was he mistaken? She didn’t look well at all.... No.... Then why didn’t she eat more? Good Heavens! she wasn’t trying to save on the food? Here was everything—quantities of it: meat aplenty, and any amount of flour!... She should help herself, this Beret-girl of his, or he would make her dance to another tune!

One day at table he burst out with it, telling her that she mustn’t act the stranger in her own house! He made his voice sound gruff and commanding: Now she must sit up and eat like a grown woman.... “Here, help yourself!” ... He took a big piece of fish from the platter and put it on her plate; but she merely picked at it, and left the most of it lying there.

“It is hard when you have to force every mouthful down,” she complained.

“But look here, you’ve got to eat, both for yourself and—Of course you must eat!”

“Oh, well,” she said, wearily, as she got up and left the table.... “It doesn’t matter much about the food.” ...

Lately he had also begun to notice that she lay awake the greater part of the night; he always dropped off to sleep before she did; yet she would be wide awake in the morning when he first stirred, although he was by habit an early riser. And if by chance he woke up in the night, he would be almost certain to find her lying awake beside him.... One night she had called him; she had been sitting up in bed, and must have been crying—her voice sounded like it. And she had only wanted him to get up and see what ailed Store-Hans; he had been moaning in his sleep all night, she said. Per Hansa had risen to look after the boy, and had found nothing the matter, as he had expected.... That night he had been seriously frightened. When he had come back to lie down she had started crying so despairingly; he hadn’t been able to make any sense of the few words he got out of her.... From that time on, he had been scared to show her any tenderness; he had noticed that when he did so, the tears were sure to come. And that, certainly, was not good for her!

As he sat through the long, long day observing his wife, he grew more and more worried about Beret, poor thing. Every day there were new trifles to be noticed.

She, who had always been so neat and could make whatever clothes she put on look becoming, was now going about shabby and unkempt; she didn’t even bother to wash herself. He realized that he had noticed it subconsciously for a long time.... But now he seldom saw her even wash her face. And her hair, her beautiful hair which he admired so greatly and loved to fondle when she was in good spirits, now hung down in frowsy coils.... Wasn’t it two days since she had touched her hair? Well—_that_ he didn’t dare to mention!... How could he ever speak of cleanliness at all to his Beret—his Beret who was always so prim and often nagged him for being slovenly and careless about his own appearance.... Not that she wasn’t pretty enough, just as she was, his Beret-girl; this Per Hansa told himself many times. But one day as he sat looking at her, he suddenly got up, went over to the window, and stood there gazing out; and then he said:

“I really think you ought to go and fix up your hair, Beret-girl.... I kind of feel that we’re going to have company to-day.”

She gave him a quick glance, blushed deeply, rose, and left the room. He heard her go into the stable, where she stayed a long time; he couldn’t imagine what she was doing in there at that hour of the day. Her actions made him feel worried and uncertain. When she came in again he did not dare to look at her.... Then she began to tidy herself; she took some water and washed, loosened up her braids and combed her hair, and afterward coiled it very prettily. She gave herself plenty of time, and took careful pains.... At last he had to look at her; his whole self was in the gaze that he fixed upon her; he would have liked to say something kind and loving to her now. But she did not glance at him, and so he dared not speak.... In a little while he found an excuse to go out; passing close to her, he said in a tender, admiring voice:

“Now we’ve got a fine-looking lady!”

All the rest of that day he felt happier than he had been for a long while.... Of course his Beret-girl would be all right.... Indeed, she _was_ all right, as far as that went!...

But ... other days followed. Per Hansa remained idle and had nothing to do but look at his wife. He looked and looked, until he had to face the hard fact that something was wrong.

... Had she ever been so brooding and taciturn when she was with child before? He could talk to the boys about the future until they would be completely carried away by his visions; but whenever he tried to draw her into the conversation he failed completely—failed, no matter which tack he took nor how hard he tried. He understood it clearly: it wasn’t because she did not want to respond—she _couldn’t_!... The pain of it surged through him like a wave. God in Heaven, had she grown so weak and helpless!... She wasn’t even able to take nourishment.... There Beret sat in the room with them, within four paces—yet she was far, far away. He spoke to her now, to her alone, but could not make her come out of the enchanted ring that lay about her.... When he discovered this, it hurt him so that he could have shrieked....

... Another queer thing, she was always losing the commonest objects—completely losing them, though they were right at hand. He had seen it happen several times without taking much notice; but by and by it began to occur so frequently that he was forced to pay attention. She would put a thing down, merely turn around, and then go about searching for it in vain; and the thing would lie exactly where she had placed it, all the time.... This happened again and again; sometimes it struck them all as very funny.... “It looks as if your eyes were in your way, Mother!” Store-Hans once exclaimed, laughing so heartily that the others had to join in; but Per Hansa soon noticed that she was hurt when they made fun of her.

One day she was looking for the scissors. She had been sitting by the stove, mending a garment; had risen to put on more fuel; and when she sat down again had been unable to find her scissors, which she held all the while in her hand. She searched diligently, and asked the others to help her. Suddenly Ole discovered the scissors in his mother’s hand; he ran up to her and jerked them away; the boy was roaring with laughter.... Then she burst into violent tears, laid her work aside, threw herself down on the bed, and buried her face in the pillow. All three menfolk felt painfully embarrassed.

And sometimes she had moments of unusual tenderness toward them all—particularly toward Per Hansa. Her concern would grow touchingly childlike; it was as if she could not do enough for him and the children. But it was a tenderness so delicate that he dared not respond to it. Nevertheless, he felt very happy when these moods came; they gave him renewed courage.

... Of course she would be all right again as soon as it was over!... And now the event could not be far away!...

V

Winter was ever tightening its grip. The drifting snow flew wildly under a low sky, and stirred up the whole universe into a whirling mass; it swept the plain like the giant broom of a witch, churning up a flurry so thick that people could scarcely open their eyes.

As soon as the weather cleared icy gusts drove through every chink and cranny, leaving white frost behind; people’s breaths hung frozen in the air the moment it was out of the mouth; if one touched iron, a piece of skin would be torn away.

At intervals a day of bright sunshine came. Then the whole vast plain glittered with the flashing brilliance of diamonds; the glare was so strong that it burnt the sight; the eyes saw blackness where there was nothing but shining white....

... Evenings ... magic, still evenings, surpassing in beauty the most fantastic dreams of childhood!... Out to the westward—so surprisingly near—a blazing countenance sank to rest on a white couch ... set it afire ... kindled a radiance ... a golden flame that flowed in many streams from horizon to horizon; the light played on the hundreds and thousands and millions of diamonds, and turned them into glittering points of yellow and red, green and blue fire.

... Such evenings were dangerous for all life. To the strong they brought reckless laughter—for who had ever seen such moon-nights?... To the weak they brought tears, hopeless tears. This was not life, but eternity itself....

Per Hansa sat in his hut, ate, drank, puffed at his pipe, and followed his wife with his eyes in vague alarm; for the life of him he didn’t know what to do. Where could he betake himself? It wouldn’t do for him to go from house to house, when things were in such a bad way at home.... No, here he was condemned to sit!... His temper was growing steadily worse; he found it more and more difficult to keep his hands off things.

He would be seized by a sudden, almost irresistible desire to take Beret, his own blessed Beret, hold her on his knee like a naughty child—just _make_ her sit there—and reason with her ... talk some sense into her!

For this wasn’t altogether fair play on her part! Of course it was hard for her these days; but after all, the time would soon come to an end; and _that_ was something real to struggle with—something to glory in! Besides, she had her wonted round of duties to perform.... But he!... Here he was forced to sit in idleness, and just let his eyes wander!...

... And it wasn’t right for him to feel this way, either; but the endless waiting had at last got on his nerves.... Strange, how long it took! Hadn’t the time ought to be drawing near pretty soon?... During these days he often thought about the matter of a name. He immediately decided that if it turned out to be a girl, she should be named _Beret_; that part of it was settled. But suppose she bore him a boy? In that case he wasn’t so certain. Two boy’s names were running in his mind, but—well, time would tell.... If she would only hurry up and bring forth the child, he would guarantee to find a suitable name for it!

He began to feel weak and miserable as he dragged himself about the house.... Then, one day, came a fascinating thought: if he could only make a short trip east to the Sioux River, to visit the Trönders! This spell of cold weather was nothing to mind; it was a long way, to be sure, but he felt that he could easily manage it. Hadn’t he sailed a cockleshell of an eight-oared boat all the way from Helgeland to West Lofoten in the dark of winter? This would be mere child’s play compared to that journey.... What great sport it would be to fish with a net through the ice! From the Trönders, who were old settlers in this region, he could get a lot more valuable information; it was really remarkable, what they had told him last time, about the fur trade with the Indians north at Flandreau.... Whenever the thought of this journey came to him he could hardly push it aside.

... Useless even to dream of such a thing! Here was poor Beret, pottering helplessly about—he must think only of her.

And Per Hansa tried his best to think of her to some effect. He had noticed that she minded the cold; she never complained, but he was well aware of it; from now on he tended, the fire himself and kept the stove red hot most of the day. In spite of that he couldn’t get the house properly warm when the cold was at its worst; the earthen floor was always cold and Beret’s feet seemed particularly sensitive.

One day Per Hansa got an idea which gave him much diversion. While they had been busy chopping the wood he had selected a few of the largest and straightest-grained sticks, trimmed them out square, and stood them behind the stove to dry; he had promised himself that he would make something out of them during the winter. Now he chose the best piece he could pick out; he had decided to make a pair of clogs for Beret; he knew by experience that such shoes were very warm while they were new. For a long while he couldn’t think of any material to use for the vamps; then he resolutely cut off a corner of the old sheepskin robe which they used on their bed; he sheared the wool snug, and made the vamps of that.... He did a neat, attractive job and felt rather proud when the job was finished.

He brought the clogs to Beret and put them on her feet.

It was plain to be seen that she was touched by the gift; but then she said something that he wished she had left unspoken:

“You might have thought of this before, it seems to me. Here I have gone with cold feet all winter.” ... The words were uttered quietly; she meant no reproach by them, but merely said what came into her mind.

He turned away and went out of the house; outside the door he paused, and stood for a long time gazing off into the evening.... Somewhere out there life was still happy.... There was no solitude.... Didn’t it seem to call to him?

Per Hansa felt that now he needed to cry....

VI

A day came when Per Hansa flared up in a rage that frightened even himself; he struck out blindly and smashed whatever happened to lie within his reach. It was one of the Solum boys that brought it about. One forenoon Henry came over and sat chatting for a long while, as if he had nothing in particular on his mind; Per Hansa was glad of the visit, and urged Henry to stay. When the lad finally rose to go he asked if Per Hansa would be willing to keep their cow until the time of the spring planting; he could have the calf she would drop in January, so he would be nothing out; and there was plenty of hay left in their barn, which could be hauled over ... Henry spoke slowly, without looking up; he seemed almost ashamed to explain his errand.

Per Hansa’s eyes blinked fast.... This was indeed handsome of Henry; imagine his thinking more of Beret and the children than of himself! In fact, it was so generous, and handsomely done, that Per Hansa felt quite overcome; his eyes blinked till they watered.... But he mustn’t take an offer like this! True enough, Rosie was drying up and milk wasn’t very plentiful in their house; but they had learned to get along without it; they made plenty of soup, and that filled the same need. No, it would never do to take the milk away from the Solum boys.... “I don’t very well see how I can take your cow,” Per Hansa answered.

Henry seemed perplexed, looked down at the floor, and apparently did not know how to go on.

—Well, that wasn’t exactly the idea, he said.... He and his brother had made a sleigh, and now they wanted to try it out. The cow couldn’t be left alone after they were gone.

Per Hansa’s eyes fairly danced; he leaned across the table, speaking fast and eagerly: The devil you say—going east to the Sioux River, perhaps?... What?... He wished to the Lord he could go along with them! Couldn’t they hold up for just a little while—until he got ready?... He threw a swift glance at his wife.

—No, that wasn’t exactly the idea, either, Henry confessed, still more embarrassed. Their parents were sitting alone, back there in Minnesota; he and Sam had agreed that they had better go east and celebrate Christmas with the old folks. They had been getting pretty lonesome here, anyway; there seemed to be nothing to do in the dead of winter; but they fully intended to come back in the spring, as soon as the prairie was open.... Couldn’t he do them the favour of keeping the cow?

For an instant all the light seemed to die out of Per Hansa’s face: then it suddenly flared up again in a flame of rage that positively snapped and crackled.

“Take your damned old cow along with you, Henry! We want none of your milk!” ... His lips trembled like those of one on the point of bursting into tears.

—Well—said Henry, calmly—if that was the way Per Hansa felt about it, he would have to ask some of the others; he certainly didn’t want to force the cow on anyone! If they could find no other way out of it, they would have to slaughter the beast; they couldn’t possibly take her with them.... Without further words he left the house.

It was then that the storm broke loose in earnest.... The boys were sitting at the table, each with a piece of charcoal, drawing ponies and Indians on top; those of Store-Hans’s were waging war against Ole’s; the boys were so taken up with their play that they hardly noticed what was going on in the room. Beret sat by the stove, mending a garment; the child had also been given needle and thread, and was industriously sewing away at a piece of rag.... Per Hansa stood at the window, glaring out.

All at once Beret remarked in her quiet manner, without looking up, that it didn’t seem a bit strange to her that the Solum boys wanted to leave the place. Why should they lie exiled out here in the wilderness?

It was as if something had suddenly stung Per Hansa; he wheeled quickly and looked at his wife, his eyes hard and glazed.

“Hell!” he snapped ... “If they were _men_, instead of such god-damned lousy _worms_, they would find something to do!” ... Quiet fell on the room after this outburst; Per Hansa sank down heavily on the edge of the bench.... All of a sudden he burst out again:

—Ha—do!... Two strong men! Here lay the finest sleighing that one could wish for! If they had been grown-up men, and not a couple of babies, they would now be hauling home logs for their new house!... If _he_ didn’t have to sit here like a sick woman, _he_ would have had enough lumber on hand for the finest farmstead, long ago—perhaps would have started to build by now! Did she actually believe there was nothing to do around here?...

His words cut through the little room like the harsh grating of a file on a saw blade.

Again there was silence. He got up savagely and stuck his pipe in his mouth, but did not light it; he did not know what he was doing now....

It was Beret who broke the silence; although her question was uttered very calmly, it seemed to cut deeper than his violent outburst:

—Well, why didn’t he go to work and do it, then?

Go to work?—he snarled.—Did _she_ need to ask why he wasn’t doing anything? Was she in such a condition that he could ever leave the house?...

—Oh, she was in the condition he had brought her to—no worse and no better—she said. Now her words, too, vibrated with passion.—No, indeed, he didn’t need to sit at home on her account! she added sharply.

Per Hansa drove his fist into the table with a terrible crash. The boys jumped up in fright and shrank away—never had they seen their father like this; he looked as if he would strike their mother the next instant. Little And-Ongen threw the rag in her mother’s lap, put her hand into her mouth, and screamed in terror.

“You talk like a fool!... That only shows how much sense you’ve got!”

He saw a cap over on a wall somewhere, seized it, found the door, and was gone....

Per Hansa stayed outside nearly all of the day. Before evening had come, however, he had made a pair of skis for each of the boys: they were rather heavy and clumsy affairs, but would serve the purpose; the boys stood looking at them wide-eyed and happy—but still they hardly dared to come near their father.... When he finally entered the house that evening the supper stood ready on the table.... Beret had gone to bed.

As soon as he had eaten he told the boys that he would have to go on an errand over to Hans Olsa’s; he wasn’t sure when he would be back; if he stayed late, they must go to bed.... No, they couldn’t go with him!... He gave a glance toward the bed as he went out....

When he reached Hans Olsa’s house he asked at once if he might speak to Sörine alone; he seemed bashful and embarrassed—tried to assume a bantering air, but didn’t quite succeed. When Sörine had stepped outside with him he asked beseechingly if she would be kind enough to go over and look after Beret—the sooner the better!

—Was there anything going on? Sörine asked.

—No, not exactly _that_—though it must be nearly time now. But Sörine ought to remember that it was pretty lonesome for her, sitting there alone, unable even to go outside the door. Day after day Beret neither saw nor heard another person, outside of the family!

—Yes, certainly—she would be glad to run over!

—Could she go right away?

—Was there such an awful hurry?—Sörine still suspected Per Hansa’s denial. If that was the case, he had better go and get Kjersti at once; she didn’t care to tackle this job alone!

—No, no—it wasn’t that!

Sörine went in for a moment to put on her coat; soon she came out again, ready to start. He went with her for some distance....

—Wasn’t he coming along?—she asked, stopping to look inquiringly at him.

—No, he guessed he wouldn’t; he needed to have a little talk with Hans Olsa to-night. He only wanted to say this: that she who understood all such things so capably, must look well to Beret now; she mustn’t come away and leave her too soon!

Sörine’s kind, intelligent face looked straight into his.

“I can see that you’re worried about your wife to-night, Per Hansa.... That’s fine of you, I say!”

“God richly bless you for those words, Sörrina!”

Per Hansa suddenly felt like a new person; and yet he lacked the courage to look up.

“But let me tell you one thing, Sörrina: I’m not half so worried about my wife as I am about myself! To-day I nearly laid hands on her—that’s how fine I am, and now you know it!... Hurry along!”

“You ought to have a whaling for that, Per Hansa!” she said with a laugh, but immediately grew serious.... “Alas! life lays a hard hand on all of us!... Well, now I’m off. You don’t need to hurry to-night—if we need you, I’ll send Ola.”

Per Hansa stood there in the darkness of the winter night, looking after the disappearing figure.... No, her equal was not to be found! She could be both minister and father confessor, that woman!

VII

He had barely entered Hans Olsa’s house, found a seat, and lighted his pipe, when another visitor arrived. Tönseten came in, apparently in a bad humour; no, he didn’t want to sit down; he was going farther on in a minute or two. Did they know that the Solum boys were about to leave?

“I guess we know as much as you do,” said Per Hansa, dryly.... “There’s such a lot going on around here these days!”

“But this won’t do, folks, I tell you—it simply won’t do! As Kjersti says, soon we’ll have nothing but the snow left!”

“And I hope that’ll go in time, too,” laughed Per Hansa.

“It probably will!” Tönseten snapped, irritably. “But what I don’t understand is, why have you folks let things come to such a pass?”

“_We_...?” Per Hansa asked.

“Yes, _you_!... The two of you!”

“We can’t very well _tie up_ the boys, when they are bent on going,” said Hans Olsa.

“I didn’t say we could!” ... Tönseten stood in front of him, waving his arms excitedly. “But we can use common sense, can’t we?”

“Very well, Syvert, let’s hear your common sense,” spoke up Per Hansa.

“You talk like a fool, Per Hansa! Here you both sit around and twiddle your thumbs, doing nothing; but you’ve got cubs, and will soon have more! Why don’t you join forces and hire Henry Solum to teach school for your brats this winter? There’s a good enough head on Henry’s shoulders, let me tell you; he hasn’t had much schooling, to be sure; but the boy was born and raised in this country, and can sling the English like a native—that much _I_ know.... I haven’t any brats of my own to send; but I’ll gladly chip in a few dollars when my wheat is threshed next fall!” ... Tönseten seemed to have the details fully laid out, as usual.

The other two listened in silence. The eyes of Per Hansa began to shoot rapid, sparkling glances, which always betrayed the fact that he was in good humour; but it was some time before he opened his mouth. Hans Olsa sat pondering over the new idea that had just been proposed; it was perfectly true that the children needed schooling; but how did this bear on the case, when the Solum boys were ready and determined to go?

“I see you’re still hesitating!” Tönseten exclaimed, snappishly. “Listen here, now: we’re all going straight over to the Solum boys and talk them into it right away!”

“It strikes me this way,” said Hans Olsa, slowly. “If they have made up their minds, it isn’t right for us to interfere.”

“Made up their minds!” snorted Tönseten, contemptuously. “What nonsense you’re talking, Hans Olsa! How many times have you made up your mind, I’d like to know, and then unmade it again?... I can assure you of one thing, fellows: if we let Sam and Henry slip away from us now, it’s certainly doubtful if we ever see them again—single and unhitched as they are! That’s just Kjersti’s opinion, too. Then won’t we be left in a fine mess, I ask you—for what chance would we stand of ever getting such good neighbours again?”

“We might try it,” Hans Olsa conceded. “What do you think, Per Hansa?”

Per Hansa jumped up from his chair. “I’ll do whatever you say, friends. We can get no worse than a refusal.” ... But then he remembered something, and hesitated for a moment.... “I really oughtn’t to be going over there; but—oh, well! who cares!” He grabbed up his cap impulsively.... “I might as well give Henry a chance to tell me what he thinks of me!... The sooner, the better!”

They held a lengthy conference with the Solum boys that night. Outside of their hut the sleigh waited in readiness; inside the door the chest stood packed; the boys were on the point of going to bed when the three men entered, and were evidently annoyed to see them.... The newcomers seemed unaccountably bashful.

Hans Olsa announced their errand.

At this Henry burst out laughing.... No, a school-teacher he could never be, he said; he had other things to think of; back east in Minnesota somewhere, a girl was straying about looking for him; if he could only find her, he too would be needing a teacher by and by!...

Then Tönseten began to talk; there was a note in his voice that put all joking aside, even though they had to laugh at him now and then:

“If you leave this place, you’ll have to take Kjersti and me along with you, though I don’t know what we would do with ourselves back in Minnesota! She and I crossed the Red Sea, as it were, when we left last spring.... For her and me there is no road leading back!... What do you think we’re going to do, I’d like to know, when you are gone? At Hans Olsa’s they don’t play cards; and Per Hansa, poor devil—well, he has a sick woman on his hands.... God alone knows how that business is going to come off. That’s just what Kjersti says, too!”

Per Hansa had been silent ever since he came in; now he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, rose from the chest, and turned to Henry:

“I’ll tell you exactly how we stand—and this is gospel truth. If you and Sam leave us now, it’ll be so dull and dreary for the rest of us that we might as well hang ourselves. You saw how I went to pieces to-day? You came and made me the finest kind of an offer, and in return I flew right in your face; you know blamed well, Henry, that such is not my way.” ... Here he paused for a moment, and then went on: “What sort of a school-teacher you’ll make I haven’t the faintest idea; I only know this, that you and your brother are both fine fellows and that none of us can afford to lose you.... Now, go ahead and do as your heart bids!”

Per Hansa had spoken with forced calmness; the seriousness of the situation bore in upon them all. Everyone in the room had the same thought: this strong man was likely at any minute to burst into tears.

... A long silence fell. Tönseten blew his nose violently between his fingers, after which he wiped them off on his trousers.

At last Henry spoke—his voice was husky and subdued: “It’s harder on us than it is on you. We have only each other; but you have wives and children to squabble with!”

“Children!” cried Tönseten, wiping his eyes.... “Good God! what are you saying, Henry?” ...

“Well, all the same,” Henry continued, earnestly, “if you will undertake to give us supper, one week with each of you, and have our clothes mended, we’ll try to hang on a little while.... What do you say, Sam?”

VIII

The days wore on ... sunny days ... bleak, gloomy days, with cold that congealed all life.

There was one who heeded not the light of the day, whether it might be grey or golden. Beret stared at the earthen floor of the hut and saw only night round about her.

Yes ... she faced only darkness. She tried hard, but she could not let in the sun.

Ever since she had come out here a grim conviction had been taking stronger and stronger hold on her.

This was her retribution!

Now had fallen the punishment which the Lord God had meted out to her; at last His visitation had found her out and she must drink the cup of his wrath. Far away she had fled, from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof ... so it had seemed to her ... but the arm of His might had reached farther still. No, she could not escape—this was her retribution!

The stillness out here had given her full opportunity for reflection; all the fall she had done nothing but brood and remember.... Alas! she had much to remember!

She had accepted the hand of Per Hansa because she must—although no law had compelled her; she and he were the only people who had willed it thus. She had been gotten with child by him out of wedlock; nevertheless, no one had compelled her to marry him—neither father, nor mother, nor anyone in authority. It had been wholly her own doing. Her parents, in fact, had set themselves against the marriage with all their might, even after the child, Ole, had come.

... It had mattered nothing at all what they had said, nor what anyone else had said; for her there had been no other person in the world but Per Hansa! Whenever she had been with him she had forgotten the admonitions and prayers of her father and mother.... He had been life itself to her; without him there had been nothing.... Therefore she had given herself to him, although she had known it was a sin—had continued to give herself freely, in a spirit of abandoned joy.

Now she found plenty of time to remember how her parents had begged and threatened her to break with him; she recalled all that they had said, turning it over in her mind and examining it minutely.... Per Hansa was a shiftless fellow, they had told her; he drank; he fought; he was wild and reckless; he got himself tangled up in all sorts of brawls; no honourable woman could be happy with such a man. He probably had affairs with other women, too, whenever he had a chance.... All the other accusations she knew to be true; but not the last—no, not the last! She alone among women held his heart. The certainty of this fact had been the very sweetness of life to her.... What did she care for the rest of it! All was as nothing compared with this great certainty.... Ah, no—she knew it well enough: for him she was the only princess!

But now she understood clearly all that her parents had done to end it between them, and all the sacrifices they had been willing to make; she had not realized it at the time.... Oh, those kind-hearted parents on whom she had turned her back in order that she might cleave to him: how they must have suffered! The life which she and he had begotten in common guilt they had offered to take as their own, give it their name and their inheritance, and bring it up as their very child. They had freely offered to use their hard-earned savings to send her away from the scene of her shame ... so precious had she been to them! But she had only said no, and no, and no, to all their offers of sacrifice and love!... Had there ever been a transgression so grievous as hers!

... Yet how could she ever have broken with him? Where Per Hansa was, there dwelt high summer and there it bloomed for her. How can a human forsake his very life?... Whenever she heard of one of his desperately reckless cruises through rough and stormy seas, on which he had played with the lives of his comrades as well as his own, her cheeks would glow and her heart would flame. This was the man her heart had chosen—this was he, and he alone! a voice would sing within her. Or when she sat among the heather on the mountain side in the fair summer night, and he came to her and laid his head in her lap—the tousled head that only she could lull to sleep—then she felt that now she was crossing the very threshold of paradise!... Though she had had a thousand lives, she would have thrown them all away for one such moment—and would have been glad of the bargain!...

... Yes, she remembered all that had happened in those days; it was so still out here ... so easy to remember!

No one had ever told her, but she knew full well who it was that had persuaded Hans Olsa to leave the land and the ancient farm that had been in his family for generations, and go to America. There had been only one other person in the world whom Per Hansa loved, and that was Hans Olsa. She had been jealous of Hans Olsa because of this; it had seemed to her that he took something that rightfully belonged to her. She had even felt the same way toward Sörine, who was kindness itself; on this account she had not been able to hold her friendship as fully as she needed to, either in Norway or here....

... But when Per Hansa had come home from Lofoten that spring and announced in his reckless, masterful way, that he was off for America: would Beret come now, or wait until later?... Well, there hadn’t been a “no” in her mouth then! There she had sat, with three children in a nice little home which, after the manner of simple folk, they had managed to build.... But she had risen up, taken the children with her, and left it all as if nothing mattered but him!

... How her mother had wept at that time!... How her father had grieved when they had left! Time after time he had come begging to Per Hansa, offering him all that he had—boat and fishing outfit, house and farm—if only he would settle down in Norway and not take their daughter from them forever.... But Per Hansa had laughed it all aside! There had been a power in his unflinching determination which had sent hot waves through her. She must have led a double life at that time; she had been sad with her parents but had rejoiced with Per Hansa. He had raged like a storm through those days, wild and reckless—and sometimes ruthless, too.... No!—he had cried—they would just make that little trip across the ocean! America—that’s the country where a poor devil can get ahead! Besides, it was only a little way; if they didn’t like it, they could drift back on the first fair western breeze!... So they had sold off everything that they had won with so much toil, had left it all like a pair of worn-out shoes—parents, home, fatherland, and people.... And she had done it gladly, even rejoicingly!... Was there ever a sin like hers?

IX

... Then she had arrived in America. The country did not at all come up to her expectations; here, too, she saw enough of poverty and grinding toil. What did it avail, that the rich soil lay in endless stretches? More than ever did she realize that “man liveth not by bread alone!” ... Even the bread was none too plentiful at times....

Beyond a doubt, it was Destiny that had brought her thither.... Destiny, the inexorable law of life, which the Lord God from eternity had laid down for every human being, according to the path He knew would be taken.... Now punishment stood here awaiting her—the punishment for having broken God’s commandment of filial obedience.... Throughout the fall she had been reckoning up her score, and it came out exactly thus: Destiny had so arranged everything that the punishment should strike her all the more inevitably. Destiny had cast her into the arms of Per Hansa—and she did not regret it! Destiny had held up America as an enticing will-o’-the-wisp—and they had followed!...

But no sooner had they reached America than the west-fever had smitten the old settlements like a plague. Such a thing had never happened before in the history of mankind; people were intoxicated by bewildering visions; they spoke dazedly, as though under the force of a spell.... “Go west!... Go west, folks!... The farther west, the better the land!” ... Men beheld in feverish dreams the endless plains, teeming with fruitfulness, glowing, out there where day sank into night—a Beulah Land of corn and wine!... She had never dreamed that the good Lord would let such folly loose among men. Were it only the young people who had been caught by the plague, she would not have wondered; but the old had been taken even worse.... “Now we’re bound west!” said the young.... “Wait a minute—we’re going along with you!” cried the old, and followed after.... Human beings gathered together, in small companies and large—took whatever was movable along, and left the old homestead without as much as a sigh! Ever westward led the course, to where the sun glowed in matchless glory as it sank at night; people drifted about in a sort of delirium, like sea birds in mating time; then they flew toward the sunset, in small flocks and large—always toward Sunset Land.... Now she saw it clearly: here on the trackless plains, the thousand-year-old hunger of the poor after human happiness had been unloosed!

Into this feverish atmosphere they had come. Could Destiny have spun his web more cunningly? She remembered well how the eyes of Per Hansa had immediately begun to gleam and glow!... And the strange thing about this spell had been that he had become so very kind under it. How playfully affectionate he had grown toward her during the last winter and spring! It had been even more deliciously sweet to give herself to him then, than back in those days when she had first won him. Was it not worth all the care and sorrow in the world to taste such bliss, she had often asked herself—but had been unable to answer. But—then it had happened: this spring she had been gotten with child again.... Let no one tell her that this was not Destiny!

She had urged against this last journey; she had argued that they must tarry where they were until she had borne the child. One year more or less would make no difference, considering all the land there was in the west.... Hans Olsa, however, had been ready to start; and so there had been no use in trying to hold back Per Hansa. All her misgiving he had turned to sport and laughter, or playful love; he had embraced her, danced around with her, and become so roguish that she had been forced to laugh with him.... “Come here, _Litagod_—now we’re gone!” ... She well recalled how lovely this endearing term had sounded in her ears, the first night he had used it....

But this was clear to her beyond a doubt: Per Hansa was without blame in what had happened—all the blame was hers.... He had never been so tender toward her as in the days since they had come out here; she could not have thought it possible for one human being to have such strong desire for another as he held.... Who could match him—who dared follow where he led? She remembered all that he had wrought since they had set out on their journey last spring, and felt that no one else could do it after him. He was like the north wind that sweeps the cloud banks from the heavens!... At these thoughts, something unspeakably soft and loving came into Beret’s eyes.... No, not like the north wind: like the gentle breeze of a summer’s night—that’s how he was!... And this, too, was only retribution. She had bound herself inseparably to this man; now she was but a hindrance to him, like chains around his feet; him, whom she loved unto madness, she burdened and impeded ... she was only in his way!

... But that he could not understand it—that he could not fathom the source of her trouble; that seemed wholly incomprehensible to her. Didn’t he realize that she could never be like him?... No one in all the world was like him! How could she be?...

X

Beret struggled with many thoughts these days.

... Wasn’t it remarkable how ingeniously Destiny had arranged it all? For ten long years he had cast her about like a chip on the current, and then had finally washed her ashore here. _Here_, far off in the great stillness, where there was nothing to hide behind—here the punishment would fall!... Could a better place have been found in which to lay her low?

... Life was drawing to a close. One fact stood before her constantly: she would never rise again from the bed in which she was soon to lie down.... This was the end.

... Often, now, she found herself thinking of the churchyard at home.... It would have been so pleasant to lie down there.... The churchyard was enclosed by a massive stone wall, broad and heavy; one couldn’t imagine anything more reliable than that wall. She had sat on it often in the years when she was still her father’s little girl.... In the midst of the churchyard lay the church, securely protecting everything round about. No fear had ever dwelt in that place; she could well remember how the boys used to jump over the graves; it had been great fun, too—at times she had joined the game.... Within that wall many of her dear ones slumbered: two brothers whom she had never seen, and a little sister that she remembered quite clearly, though she had died long, long ago; her grandparents, on both her father’s and her mother’s side, also rested here, and one of her great-grandfathers. She knew where all these graves lay. Her whole family, generation after generation, rested there—many more than she had any knowledge of.... Around the churchyard stood a row of venerable trees, looking silently down on the peace and the stillness within.... They gave such good shelter, those old trees!

... She could not imagine where he would bury her out here.... _Now_, in the dead of winter—the ground frozen hard!... How would he go about it?... If he would only dig deep down ... the wolves gave such unearthly howls at night! No matter what he thought of it, she would have to speak to him about the grave.... Well, no need to mention it just now.

One day when Beret had to go out she stayed longer than usual. Before she finally came back to the house she went to the spot where the woodpile had stood, visited the curious little fort which they had built of chopped wood, and then entered the stable.... It worried her to know where he would find material for a coffin. She had looked everywhere outside, but had discovered only a few bits of plank and the box in which he had mixed the lime.... Hadn’t she better remind him of this at once? Then perhaps he could go to the Trönders, east on the Sioux River, and get some lumber from them.... Never mind, she wouldn’t do anything about it for a few days yet.

... If he could only spare her the big chest!... Beret fell to looking at it, and grew easier in her mind.... That chest had belonged to her great-grandfather, but it must have been in the family long before his day; on it she could make out only the words “_Anno_ 16—” ... the rest was completely worn away. Along the edges and running twice around the middle were heavy iron bands.... Beret would go about looking at the chest—would lift the lid and gaze down inside.... Plenty of room in there, if they would only put something under her head and back! She felt as if she could sleep safely in that bed. She would have to talk to Sörine about all these matters.... One day Beret began to empty the chest; she got Per Hansa to make a small cupboard out of the mortar box, and put all the things in there; but she took great care not to do this while he was around.

She realized now the great forethought he had shown last summer in building the house and stable under one roof. They undoubtedly had the warmest house in the neighbourhood; and then she enjoyed the company of the animals as she lay awake at night; it felt so cosy and secure to lie there and listen to them.... She could easily distinguish each animal by its particular manner of breathing and lying down. The oxen were always the last to finish munching; Rosie was the first to go to sleep; Injun’s habits were entirely different from those of the others; he moved softly, almost without noise, as if engaged in some secret business. She never could hear him, except when the howl of a wolf sounded near by; then he would snort and stamp his feet. It was probably the wild blood in him that made him so different!... Beret had learned to love the pony.

When she was not listening to the animals she had other things to occupy her mind.... As a little girl, she had often been taken into bed by her grandmother. This grandmother had been a kindly woman, sunny and always happy, in spite of her great age; each night before going to sleep she would repeat to herself pious little verses from memory. Beret could not remember them all now; but she managed to patch them together little by little, inserting new lines of her own, and repeating them over and over to herself. This she would do for hours at a time, occasionally sitting up in bed to say the verses aloud:

“Thy heavy wrath avert From me, a wretched sinner; Thy blissful mercy grant, Father of love eternal!

“My sins are as many As dust in the rays of the sun, And as sands on the shore of the sea— If by Thee requited, I must sink benighted.

“Look with pity, Tender Saviour, At my wretched state! Wounds of sin are burning; May Thy hands, in love returning, Heal my stinging stripes!

“Weighed by guilt I weary wander In the desert here below; When I measure My transgressions, Breaches of Thy holy law, I must ponder Oft, and wonder; Canst Thou grace on me bestow?

“Gentle Saviour, Cast my burden Deep into the mercy-sea! Blessed Jesus, Mild Redeemer, Thou Who gav’st Thy life for me!”

XI

The day before Christmas Eve snow fell. It fell all that night and the following forenoon.... Still weather, and dry, powdery snow.... Murk without, and leaden dusk in the huts. People sat oppressed in the sombre gloom.

... Things were in a bad way over at Per Hansa’s now; everyone knew it and feared what might befall both Beret and him.... No one could help; all that could be done was to bide the time; for soon a change must come!

“Listen, folks,” said Tönseten, trying to comfort them as best he could. “Beret can’t keep this up forever! I think you had better go over to her again, Kjersti!”

Both neighbour women were now taking turns at staying with her, each one a day at a time. They saw clearly that Per Hansa was more in need of help than Beret; there was no helping her now, while something, at least, could be done for him and the children. Christmas would soon be here, too, and the house ought to be made comfortable and cosy!

They all felt very sorry for Per Hansa. He walked about like a ragged stray dog; his eyes burned with a hunted look. Each day, the children were sent over to Hans Olsa’s to stay for a while; if they remained longer than they had been told, he made no protest; at last they formed the habit of staying the whole day. He did not realize that it was bad for Beret to be without them so much; he tried to keep the talk going himself, but she had little to say; she answered in monosyllables and had grown peculiarly quiet and distant. In the shadow of a faint smile which she occasionally gave him there lay a melancholy deeper than the dusk of the Arctic Sea on a rainy, grey fall evening.

About noon of Christmas Eve the air suddenly cleared. An invisible fan was pushed in under the thick, heavy curtain that hung trembling between earth and heaven—made a giant sweep, and revealed the open, blue sky overhead. The sun shone down with powerful beams, and started a slight trickling from the eaves. Toward evening, it built a golden fairy castle for itself out yonder, just beyond Indian Hill.

The children were at Hans Olsa’s; And-Ongen wanted to stay outside and watch the sunset. Sofie had told her that to-day was Christmas Eve, and that on every Christmas Jesus came down from heaven. The child asked many questions.... Would he come driving? Couldn’t they lend him the pony?... Sofie hardly thought so—he probably would be driving an angel-pony!

Store-Hans, who was listening to them, thought this very silly and just like girls. He knew better!... Toward evening he suddenly wanted to go home, and was almost beside himself when his godfather said that he couldn’t: all the children were to stay with Sofie to-night. They had to hold him back by force.... This was _Christmas Eve_.... He understood very well that something was about to go wrong at home. Why had his mother looked so wan and worn of late, and his father acted so queer that one couldn’t talk to him?

That afternoon Beret was in childbed.... The grim struggle marked Per Hansa for life; he had fought his way through many a hard fight, but they had all been as nothing compared with this. He had ridden the frail keel of a capsized boat on the Lofoten seas, had seen the huge, combing waves snatch away his comrades one by one, and had rejoiced in the thought that the end would soon come for him also; but things of that sort had been mere child’s play.... _This_ was the uttermost darkness. Here was neither beginning nor end—only an awful void in which he groped alone....

Sörine and Kjersti had both arrived a long time since. When they had come he had put on his coat and gone outside; but he hadn’t been able to tear himself many steps away from the house.

Now it was evening; he had wandered into the stable to milk Rosie, forgetting that she had gone dry long ago; he had tended to Injun and the oxen, without knowing what he was about.... He listened to Beret wailing in the other room, and his heart shrivelled; thus a weak human being could not continue to suffer, and yet live.... And this was his own Beret!

He stood in the door of the stable, completely undone. Just then Kjersti ran out to find him; he must come in at once; Beret was asking for him!... Kjersti was gone in a flash.... He entered the house, took off his outdoor clothes, and washed his hands....

... Beret sat half dressed on the edge of the bed. He looked at her, and thought that he had never seen such terror on any face.... God in heaven—this was beyond human endurance!

She was fully rational, and asked the neighbour women to leave the room for a moment, as she had something to say to her husband. She spoke with great composure; they obeyed immediately. When the door closed behind them Beret rose and came over to him, her face distorted. She laid a hand on each of his shoulders, and looked deep into his eyes, then clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled him violently toward her. Putting his arms firmly around her, he lifted her up gently and carried her to the bed; there he laid her down. He started to pull the covers over her.... But she held on to him; his solicitous care she heeded not at all.

When he had freed himself, she spoke brokenly, between gasps:

... “To-night I am leaving you.... Yes, I must leave you.... I know this is the end! The Lord has found me out because of my sins.... It is written, ‘To fall into the hands of the living God!’ ... Oh!—it is terrible!... I can’t see how you will get along when you are left alone ... though I have only been a burden to you lately.... You had better give And-Ongen to Kjersti ... she wants a child so badly—she is a kind woman.... You must take the boys with you—and _go away from here_!... How lonesome it will be for me ... to lie here all alone!”

Tears came to her eyes, but she did not weep; between moans she went on strongly and collectedly:

“But promise me one thing: put me away in the big chest!... I have emptied it and made it ready.... Promise to lay me away in the big chest, Per Hansa!... And you must be sure to dig the grave deep!... You haven’t heard how terribly the wolves howl at night!... Promise to take plenty of time and dig deep down—do you hear!”

His wife’s request cut Per Hansa’s heart like sharp ice; he threw himself on his knees beside the bed and wiped the cold perspiration from her face with a shaking hand.

... “There now, blessed Beret-girl of mine!” ... His words sounded far off—a note of frenzy in them.... “Can’t you understand that this will soon be over?... To-morrow you’ll be as chipper as a lark again!”

Her terror tore her only the worse. Without heeding his words, she spoke with great force out of the clearness of her vision:

“I shall die to-night.... Take the big chest!... At first I thought of asking you not to go away when spring came ... and leave me here alone.... But that would be a sin!... I tell you, you _must go_!... Leave as soon as spring comes! Human beings cannot exist here!... They grow into beasts....”

The throes were tearing her so violently now that she could say no more. But when she saw him rise she made a great effort and sat up in bed.

... “Oh!—don’t leave me!—don’t go away!... Can’t you see how sorely I need you?... And now I shall die!... Love me—oh, do love me once more, Per Hansa!” ... She leaned her body toward him.... “You must go back to Norway.... Take the children with you ... let them grow up there. Ask father and mother to forgive me!... Tell father that I am lying in the big chest!... Can’t you stay with me to-night ... stay with me and love me?... Oh!—_there they come for me_!”

Beret gave a long shriek that rent the night. Then she sobbed violently, praying that they should not take her away from Per Hansa....

Per Hansa leaped to his feet, and found his voice.

“Satan—now you shall leave her alone!” he shouted, flinging the door open and calling loudly to the women outside. Then he vanished into the darkness.

No one thought of seeking rest that night. All the evening, lights shone from the four huts; later they were extinguished in two of them; but in the house of Hans Olsa four men sat on, grieving over the way things were going at Per Hansa’s. When they could bear the suspense no longer some one proposed going over to get news.

Tönseten offered to go first.... When he came back little sense could be gathered from what he said. He had not been allowed inside; the women were in a frenzy; the house was completely upset; Beret was wailing so loud that it was dreadful to hear. And Per Hansa himself was nowhere to be found.... “We must go and look for him, boys!... Haven’t you got a Bible or something to read from, Hans Olsa? This is an awful thing!”

... There they sat, each occupied with his own thoughts—but all their thoughts were of the same trend. If Beret died to-night, it would go hard with Per Hansa—indeed it would. In that case he probably wouldn’t stay out here very long.... But if he went away, the rest of them might as well pack up and go, too!

Sam ran over to inquire; then Henry; at last it was Hans Olsa’s turn. He managed to get a couple of words with his wife, who said that Beret would hardly stand it. No one had seen Per Hansa.

“Can you imagine where the man can be keeping himself?” asked Tönseten, giving voice to the fear that oppressed them all.... “May the Lord preserve his wits, even if He chooses to take his wife away!” ...

Per Hansa walked to and fro outside the hut all night long; when he heard some one coming he would run away into the darkness. He could not speak to a living soul to-night. As soon as the visitor had gone he would approach the hut again, circle around it, stop, and listen. Tears were streaming down his face, though he was not aware of it.... Every shriek that pierced the walls of the hut drove him off as if a whip had struck him; but as soon as it had died out, something would draw him back again. At intervals he went to the door and held it ajar.... What did Per Hansa care for custom and decency, now that his Beret lay struggling with death!... Each time Sörine came to the door; each time she shook her head sadly, and told him there was no change yet; it was doubtful if Beret would be able to pull through; no person could endure this much longer; God have mercy on all of them!

That was all the comfort Sörine could give him.... Then he would rush off into the darkness again, to continue his endless pacing; when daylight came they found a hard path tramped into the snow around the hut.

The night was well-nigh spent when the wails in there began to weaken—then died out completely, and did not come again. Per Hansa crept up to the door, laid his ear close to it, and listened.... So now the end had come! His breath seemed to leave him in a great sob. The whole prairie began to whirl around with him; he staggered forward a few steps and threw himself face downward on the snow.

... But then suddenly things didn’t seem so bad to him ... really not so bad.... He saw a rope ... a rope.... It was a good, strong rope that would hold anything.... It hung just inside the barn door—and the crossbeam ran just _there_!... No trick at all to find these things. Per Hansa felt almost happy at the thought; that piece of rope was good and strong—and the crossbeam ran just _there_!

... A door opened somewhere; a gleam of light flashed across the snow, and vanished. Some one came out of the hut quietly—then stopped, as if searching.

“Per Hansa!” a low voice called.... “Per Hansa, where are you?” ... He rose and staggered toward Kjersti like a drunken man.

“You must come in at once!” she whispered, and hurried in before him.

The light was dim in there; nevertheless it blinded him so strongly that he could not see a thing. He stood a moment leaning against the door until his eyes had grown accustomed to it.... A snug, cosy warmth enveloped him; it carried with it an odd, pleasant odour. The light, the warmth, and the pleasant smell overcame him like sweet sleep that holds a person who has been roused, but who does not care to awaken just yet.

“How is it?” he heard a man’s voice ask. Then he came back to his senses.... Was that he himself speaking?...

“You’ll have to ask Sörrina,” Kjersti answered.

Sörine was tending something on the bed; not until now did he discover her—and wake up completely.... What was this?... the expression on her face? Wasn’t it beaming with motherly goodness and kindliness?

“Yes, here’s your little fellow! I have done all I know how. Come and look at him.... It’s the greatest miracle I ever saw, Per Hansa, that you didn’t lose your wife to-night, and the child too!... I pray the Lord _I_ never have to suffer so!”

“Is there any hope?” was all Per Hansa could gasp—and then he clenched his teeth.

“It looks so, now—but you had better christen him at once.... We had to handle him roughly, let me tell you.”

“_Christen him_?” Per Hansa repeated, unable to comprehend the words.

“Why, yes, of course. I wouldn’t wait, if he were mine.”

Per Hansa heard no more—for now Beret turned her head and a wave of such warm joy welled up in him that all the ice melted. He found himself crying softly, sobbing like a child.... He approached the bed on tiptoe, bent over it, and gazed down into the weary, pale face. It lay there so white and still; her hair, braided in two thick plaits, flowed over the pillow. All the dread, all the tormenting fear that had so long disfigured her features, had vanished completely.... She turned her head a little, barely opened her eyes, and said, wearily:

“Oh, leave me in peace, Per Hansa.... Now I was sleeping so well.”

... The eyelids immediately closed.

XII

Per Hansa stood for a long time looking at his wife, hardly daring to believe what he saw. She slept peacefully; a small bundle lay beside her, from which peeped out a tiny, red, wrinkled face.... As he continued to gaze at her he sensed clearly that this moment was making him a better man!

At last he gathered his wits sufficiently to turn to Sörine and ask:

“Tell me, what sort of a fellow is this you have brought me—a boy or a girl?”

“Heavens! Per Hansa, how silly you talk!” ... Kjersti and Sörine both had to laugh as they looked at Per Hansa; such a foolish, simple expression they had never seen on the face of a living man!... But Sörine immediately grew serious once more, and said that this was no time for joking; the way they had tugged and pulled at him during the night, you couldn’t tell what might happen; Per Hansa must get the child christened right away; if he put it off, she refused to be responsible.

A puzzled expression came over the grinning face.

“You’d better do that christening yourself, Sörrina!”

—No!—she shook her head emphatically. That wasn’t a woman’s job—he must understand!... “And you ought to have it done with proper decorum, and thank the Lord for doing so well by you!”

Without another word Per Hansa found his cap and went to the door; but there he paused a moment to say:

“I know only one person around here who is worthy to perform such an act; since you are unwilling, I must go and get him.... In the meanwhile, you make ready what we will need; the hymn book you’ll find on the shelf over by the window.... I won’t be long!”

The kindly eyes of Sörine beamed with joy and pride; she knew very well the one he intended to get; this was really handsome of Per Hansa!... But then another thought crossed her mind; she followed him out, and closed the door after her.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “I must tell you that your boy had the helmet[13] on when he came!... I think you ought to find a very beautiful name for him!”

[13] The English equivalent is, “to be born with the caul.” Considerable superstition has always been attached to this phenomenon and in Norway especially so; a person born with the helmet on had been singled out by Destiny for something extraordinary.

“What are you saying, Sörrina!”

“Yes, sir—that he had!... And you know what that means!”

Per Hansa drew his sleeve across his face—then turned and walked away. A moisture dimmed his eyes—he could not see....

Outside it was now broad daylight; the sun stood some distance up in the sky, looking down on a desolate earth. It was going to be cold to-day, Per Hansa noticed; clouds of frosty mist like huge writhing serpents curled over the surface of the purplish-yellow plain. The sunbeams plunging into them kindled a weird light. He tingled with the cold; his eyelashes froze together so that he had to rub them with his mittens to keep them free.

... How remarkable—the child had been born with the helmet on!... He quickened his pace; in a moment he was running....

“Peace be upon this house, and a merry Christmas, folks!” he greeted them as he entered Hans Olsa’s door.... The room was cold; the Solum boys lay in one bed, fully dressed; both were so sound asleep that they did not wake up at his coming. His own children and Sofie lay in the other bed, Ole by himself down at the foot, the other three on the pillow; Store-Hans held And-Ongen close, as if trying to protect her. Hans Olsa and Tönseten had moved their chairs up to the stove, and sat hunched over on either side; Tönseten was nodding, the other was wide awake; both men jumped up when Per Hansa came in, and stood staring at him.

Per Hansa had to laugh outright at them; they were looking at him as if they had seen a ghost. But to the two men his laugh sounded pleasanter than anything they had heard in many a year.

“How are things coming?” asked Tönseten, excitedly, working his shoulders.

“Oh, it might have been worse!”

Hans Olsa grasped his hand: “Will she pull through?”

“It looks that way.”

Then Tönseten suddenly seemed to realize that it was cold in the room; he began to walk around, beating goose with his arms.... “I’m ready to bet both my horses that it’s a boy! I can see it in your face!” he exclaimed, still beating.

“All signs point that way, Syvert! But he’s in pretty poor condition, Sörrina tells me.... Now look here, Hans Olsa: it’s up to you to come over and christen the boy for me!”

Hans Olsa looked terror-stricken at his neighbour.... “You must be crazy, Per Hansa!”

“Nothing of the kind, Hans Olsa.... You just get yourself ready.... It’s all written down in the hymn book—what to say, and how to go about it.”

“No, no—I couldn’t think of such a thing!” protested Hans Olsa, all of a tremble with the feeling of awe that had suddenly taken possession of him.... “A sinner like me!” ...

Then Per Hansa made a remark that Tönseten thought was extremely well put:

“How you stand with the Lord I don’t know. But this I do know: that a better man either on land or sea, He will have to look a long way to find.... And it seems to me that He has got to take that, too, into His reckoning!”

But Hans Olsa only stood there in terror.... “You’d better ask Syvert to do it!”

Then Tönseten grew alarmed:

“Don’t stand there talking like a fool!... We all know that if one of us two is to tackle this job, it must be you, Hans Olsa.... There is nothing for you to do but go at once; this business won’t stand any dilly-dallying, let me tell you!”

Hans Olsa gazed straight ahead; his helplessness grew so great that he was funny to look at; but no one thought of laughing, just the same.... “If it only won’t be blasphemy!” ... He finally struggled into his big coat and put on his mittens. Then he turned to Tönseten.... “The book says: ‘In an extreme emergency a layman may perform this act’—isn’t that so?”

“Yes, yes—just so!... Whatever else you’ll need, is written there too!”

Through the frosty morning the two men walked silently across the prairie, Per Hansa in the lead. When they had covered half the distance he stopped short and said to his neighbour:

“If it had been a girl, you see, she should have been named Beret—I decided that a long while ago.... But seeing that it’s a boy, we’ll have to name him Per; you must say Peder, of course!... I’ve thought a good deal about Joseph—he was a pretty fine lad, no doubt.... But grandfather’s name was Per, and there wasn’t a braver, worthier man on that part of the coast; so it’ll just have to be Per again this time.... But say, now—” Per Hansa paused a moment, pondering; then he looked up at his neighbour, and his eyes began to gleam.... “The boy must have a second name—so you’d better christen him Peder Seier![14] ... The last is after your Sörrina.... She has done me a greater service this night than I can ever repay! And now the boy is to be named after her!”

[14] The name _Seier_, which means _Victorious_, was altogether unusual to Norwegian ears. The English equivalent will be used from now on. As this name plays such an important part in the psychology of Book II the reader would do well to remember the Norwegian form.

Hans Olsa could think of nothing to say in answer to all this. They walked on in silence....

When they came into the room, they stepped across the threshold reverently. An air of Sabbath had descended on the room. The sun shone brightly through the window, spreading a golden lustre over the white walls; only along the north wall, where the bed stood, a half shadow lingered.... The fire crackled in the stove; the coffeepot was boiling. The table had been spread with a white cover; upon it lay the open hymn book, with the page turned down. Beside the hymn book stood a bowl of water; beside that lay a piece of white cloth.... Kjersti was tending the stove, piling the wood in diligently.... Sörine sat in the corner, crooning over a tiny bundle; out of the bundle at intervals came faint, wheezy chirrups, like the sounds that rise from a nest of young birds.

An irresistible force drew Per Hansa to the bed.... She lay sound asleep.... Thank God, that awful look of dread had not come back! He straightened himself up and glanced around the room; never before had he seen anything that looked so beautiful....

Sörine got up, went to the table, and bared a little rosy human head.

“If you are going to be the minister here,” she said, turning to her husband, who had remained standing motionless at the door, “then you must hurry up and get ready.... First of all you must wash your hands.”

The next moment they had all gathered around the table.

“Here’s the book.... Just read it out as well as you can, and we’ll do whatever the book says,” Sörine encouraged her husband. She seemed to have taken charge of the ceremony, and spoke in low, reassuring tones, as if she had done nothing else all her life but attend to such duties; and it was her confidence that gave Hans Olsa the courage he needed.... He went up to the table, took the book, and read the ritual in a trembling voice, slowly, with many pauses. And so he christened the child Peder Victorious, pronouncing the name clearly. Whereupon he said the Lord’s Prayer so beautifully, that Kjersti exclaimed she had never heard the like.

“There, now!” said Kjersti with great emphasis. “I don’t believe there is a thing lacking to make this christening perfectly correct!... Now the coffee is ready and we’re all going to have a cup.”

But Per Hansa was searching over in the corner; at last he produced a bottle. First he treated Sörine; then Kjersti.... “If ever two people have earned something good, you two are it!... Come on, now, have another little drop!... And hurry up about it, please! Hans Olsa and I feel pretty weak in the knees ourselves!”

... After a while both food and drink were served.... “It looks as if we were going to have a _real_ Christmas, after all!” said Per Hansa with a laugh, as they sat around the table enjoying their coffee.

END OF BOOK I