A Little Norsk

Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen, by Garland Hamlin

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Title: A Little Norsk; Or, Ol' Pap's Flaxen
Author: Garland Hamlin
Release Date: June 18, 2007 [EBook #21850]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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A LITTLE NORSK
OR
OL' PAP'S FLAXEN

By
HAMLIN GARLAND

AUTHOR OF MAIN TRAVELED ROADS, A MEMBER OF THE THIRD HOUSE, A SPOIL OF OFFICE, JASON EDWARDS, ETC.

NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1892
Copyright, 1892, By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
Printed at the Appleton Press, U.S.A.

On the Plain.
My cabin cowers in the pathless sweep Of the terrible northern blast; Above its roof the wild clouds leap And shriek as they hurtle past. The snow-waves hiss along the plain, Like spectral wolves they stretch and strain And race and ramp--with hissing beat, Like stealthy tread of myriad feet, I hear them pass; upon the roof The icy showers swirl and rattle; At times the moon, from storms aloof, Shines white and wan within the room-- Then swift clouds drive across the light And all the plain is lost to sight, The cabin rocks, and on my palm The sifted snow falls, cold and calm.
God! What a power is in the wind! I lay my cheek to the cabin side To feel the weight of his giant hands-- A speck, a fly in the blasting tide Of streaming, pitiless, icy sands; A single heart with its feeble beat-- A mouse in the lion's throat-- A swimmer at sea--a sunbeam's mote In the grasp of a tempest of hail and sleet!

Contents.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Her Adoptive Parents 1
CHAPTER II.
Her First Trip in a Blizzard 9
CHAPTER III.
The Burial of her Dead Mother 22
CHAPTER IV.
Flaxen Adopts Anson as "Pap" 32
CHAPTER V.
Flaxen Becomes Indispensable to the Two Old Bachelors 38
CHAPTER VI.
A Question of Dress 46
CHAPTER VII.
After Harvest 69
CHAPTER VIII.
An Empty House 78
CHAPTER IX.
"Baching" it Again 86
CHAPTER X.
Flaxen Comes Home on a Vacation 105
CHAPTER XI.
Flaxen Grows Restless 113
CHAPTER XII.
Flaxen Says Good-bye 124
CHAPTER XIII.
Flaxen's Great Need 133
CHAPTER XIV.
Kendall Steps Out 148
CHAPTER XV.
Bert Comes Back 153

A LITTLE NORSK.
CHAPTER I.
HER ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
"Ans, the next time you twist hay f'r the fire, I wish't you'd dodge the damp spots," said the cook, rising from a prolonged scrutiny of the stove and the bread in the oven. His pose was threatening.
"Cooks are always grumblin'," calmly remarked Anson, drawing on his gloves preparatory to going out to the barn; "but seein' 's this is Chris'mus, I'll go out an' knock a barrel to pieces. I want them biscuit to be O.K. See?"
"Yes: I see."
"Say, Bert!"
"Well?"
"Can't we have some sugar-'lasses on our biscuits, seein' it's Chris'mus?"
"Well, I s'pose we can, Ans; but we're gittin' purty low on the thing these days, an' they ain't no tellin' when we'll be able to git more."
"Well, jes' as you say, not as I care." Anson went out into the roaring wind with a shout of defiance, but came back instantly, as if to say something he had forgotten. "Say, wha' d'ye s'pose is the trouble over to the Norsk's? I hain't seen a sign o' smoke over there f'r two 'r three days."
"Well, now you speak of it, Ans, I've be'n thinkin' about that myself. I'm afraid he's out o' coal, 'r sick, 'r somethin'. It 'u'd be mighty tough f'r the woman an' babe to be there without any fire, an' this blizzard whoopin' her up. I guess you'd better go over an' see what's up. I was goin' to speak of it this mornin', but f'rgot it, I'm cook this week, so I guess the job falls on you."
"All right. Here goes."
"Better take a horse."
"No: I guess not. The snow is driftin' purty bad, an' he couldn't git through the drifts, anyway."
"Well, lookout f'r y'rself, ol' man. It looks purty owly off in the west. Don't waste any time. I'd hate like thunder to be left alone on a Dakota prairie f'r the rest o' the winter."
Anson laughed back through the mist of snow that blew in the open door, his great-coat and cap allowing only a glimpse of his cheeks.
The sky was bright overhead, but low down around the horizon it looked wild. The air was frightfully cold--far below zero--and the wind had been blowing almost every day for a week, and was still strong. The snow was sliding fitfully along the sod with a stealthy, menacing motion, and far off in the west