Ticket No. 9672 | Page 7

skirt, for she had never laid aside her mourning since her
husband's death. Below the shoulder-straps of a brown bodice appeared
the long full sleeves of an unbleached cotton chemise. On her shoulders
she wore a small dark-colored fichu that crossed upon her breast, which
was also covered by the large bib of her apron. She always wore as a
head-dress a close-fitting black-silk cap that covered almost her entire

head, and tied behind, a kind of head-dress that is rarely seen
nowadays.
Seated stiffly erect in her wooden arm-chair, the grave hostess
neglected her spinning-wheel only to enjoy a small birchwood pipe,
whose smoke enveloped her in a faint cloud.
Really, the house would have seemed very gloomy had it not been for
the presence of the two children.
A worthy lad was Joel Hansen. Twenty-five years of age, well built, tall,
like all Norwegian mountaineers, proud in bearing, though not in the
least boastful or conceited. He had fine hair, verging upon chestnut,
with blue eyes so dark as to seem almost black. His garb displayed to
admirable advantage his powerful shoulders, his broad chest, in which
his lungs had full play, and stalwart limbs which never failed him even
in the most difficult mountain ascents. His dark-blue jacket, fitting
tightly at the waist, was adorned on the shoulders with epaulets, and in
the back with designs in colored embroidery similar to those that
embellish the vests of the Breton peasantry. His yellow breeches were
fastened at the knee by large buckles. Upon his head he wore a
broad-brimmed brown hat with a red-and-black band, and his legs were
usually incased either in coarse cloth gaiters or in long stout boots
without heels.
His vocation was that of a mountain guide in the district of the
Telemark, and even in the Hardanger. Always ready to start, and
untiring in his exertions, he was a worthy descendant of the Norwegian
hero Rollo, the walker, celebrated in the legends of that country.
Between times he accompanied English sportsmen who repair to that
region to shoot the riper, a species of ptarmigan, larger than that found
in the Hebrides, and the jerpir, a partridge much more delicate in its
flavor than the grouse of Scotland. When winter came, the hunting of
wolves engrossed his attention, for at that season of the year these
fierce animals, emboldened by hunger, not unfrequently venture out
upon the surface of the frozen lake. Then there was bear hunting in
summer, when that animal, accompanied by her young, comes to secure
its feast of fresh grass, and when one must pursue it over plateaus at an

altitude of from ten to twelve thousand feet. More than once Joel had
owed his life solely to the great strength that enabled him to endure the
embraces of these formidable animals, and to the imperturbable
coolness which enabled him to eventually dispatch them.
But when there was neither tourist nor hunter to be guided through the
valley of the Vesfjorddal, Joel devoted his attention to the soetur, the
little mountain farm where a young shepherd kept guard over half a
dozen cows and about thirty sheep--a soetur consisting exclusively of
pasture land.
Joel, being naturally very pleasant and obliging, was known and loved
in every village in the Telemark; but two persons for whom he felt a
boundless affection were his cousin Ole and his sister Hulda.
When Ole Kamp left Dal to embark for the last time, how deeply Joel
regretted his inability to dower Hulda and thus avert the necessity for
her lover's departure! In fact, if he had been accustomed to the sea, he
would certainly have gone in his cousin's place. But money was needed
to start them in housekeeping, and as Dame Hansen had offered no
assistance, Joel understood only too well that she did not feel inclined
to devote any portion of the estate to that purpose, so there was nothing
for Ole to do but cross the broad Atlantic.
Joel had accompanied him to the extreme end of the valley on his way
to Bergen, and there, after a long embrace, he wished him a pleasant
journey and a speedy return, and then returned to console his sister,
whom he loved with an affection which was at the same time fraternal
and paternal in its character.
Hulda at that time was exactly eighteen years of age. She was not the
piga, as the servant in a Norwegian inn is called, but rather the froken,
the young lady of the house, as her mother was the madame. What a
charming face was hers, framed in a wealth of pale golden hair, under a
thin linen cap projecting in the back to give room for the long plaits of
hair! What a lovely form incased in