"Without definite object? Merely for the sake of work?"

He hesitated a moment, and then said,--

"I will tell you one thing, my good lady: Magnhild's misfortune has been that throughout her whole life she has had every want supplied, every meal, every garment. Had she been obliged to labor hard, or to bring up children, she would not have indulged so freely in dreams."

"So, then, work without definite aim?" repeated Ronnaug.

"There are so many kinds of aims," said Grong, peevishly,--and then he was silent. It was evident that he had been all round the circle and had returned to his wrath over what had befallen himself.

They had turned and were retracing their steps in the friendly birch avenue leading to the parsonage. The tones of a human voice were heard; they drew nearer, paused, and listened attentively. The windows were open, and every note rang out, clear and equal.

"Yes, there is purity in the voice," said Grong; "that is true. But purity is a mere pa.s.sive quality."

They went on.

"Not technical skill alone, then?" queried Ronnaug.

To this Grong made no reply. He had fallen into a new train of thought.

When they had reached the house, he roused himself.

"She and I are, both of us, I dare say, bearers of a half-completed family history. Nevertheless, her family dies out with her; and mine?

Oh, all this is enough to drive one mad! Where is my 'skyds?'"

With these words he strode past the main building to the court-yard behind. Ronnaug slowly followed. The "skyds" had not yet arrived.

Grumbling considerably, Grong sauntered up to the coach-house, whose doors stood open, and in which he saw Ronnaug's carriage. She joined him, and they discussed the carriage together. It was too light for a traveling carriage, Grong thought. One fore-wheel must already have been damaged, for it had been taken off. So, then, it depended upon the blacksmith how long the ladies would remain at the parsonage? But he would start without further delay; for there--at last--came the "skyds."

He bade her a light farewell, as though he were merely going to the next corner, and then went into the house for his luggage. Ronnaug, however, determined to wait until he came out again.

She had a kindly feeling for him. She earnestly hoped that the son's case was not so bad as the father now thought. There was so much unrest in Grong. Was not this caused by his having a great variety of "talents," but no one special talent? She had once heard Grong half jestingly make a similar a.s.sertion about another person. All these endowments, however, might be combined in one main tendency, of this Ronnaug felt sure. It might be the same in the case of Magnhild; but perhaps there was not sufficient talent there. Technical ability? Aye, if that were her chief endowment she could doubtless render it available in singing.

Ronnaug had failed to find the light she needed. This was truly discouraging; for counsel must be given, a resolution formed. She prayed G.o.d for her friend, and for this gloomy man now coming out of the house, accompanied by the priest's wife, who seemed to be the only person to whom he had said farewell.

"Present my greetings to my old teacher," he called down from the cariole, as he grasped the hand of the mistress of the house. "Tell him--tell him nothing!" and with this he whipped up his horse so suddenly that the "skyds" boy came near being left behind.

The priest's wife made some remarks about his surely being very unhappy, as she stood watching him drive away. While the ladies were still at the door, a woman came walking up the road toward them. She nodded and smiled at the mistress of the house as she pa.s.sed on her way to the kitchen.

"You made your sale?"

"Yes."

"I thought so from your looks."

Then turning to Ronnaug the priest's wife said,--

"This woman, you may well believe, made Magnhild happy this morning."

"How so?"

"Why, she stopped here with her work on her way to the dealer, who makes purchases for a merchant in town. Just as she stepped inside Magnhild came down into the kitchen. When the woman caught sight of her, she eagerly addressed her--she is a great talker--and she began to cry and to talk, to talk and to cry, telling how poor she had been and how well off both she and her children now were. Magnhild, you know, for many years taught an Industrial School up in these mountains, and this woman was one of her aptest pupils. This hand-work, I can a.s.sure you, has spread rapidly here; there are scarcely any poor people to be found in our parish now."

"But Magnhild--was she glad?"

"She certainly must have been glad, for soon afterward we heard her singing. And the last time she was here--about four or five years ago--we could not persuade her to go near the piano."

Ronnaug now greeted Miss Roland, who was coming toward her with the child. A little later, as she was going through the pa.s.sage to the sitting-room, the sounds of music once more floated out toward her. The priest's daughters were at the piano, singing a duet with feeble voices, one of which was more quavering than the other. They were drawling out,--

"All rests in G.o.d's paternal hand."

The door stood open. One of the girls sat at the piano, the other stood at its side. Magnhild sat facing them, leaning against the piano.

Peace radiated from the little hymn, because they who sang it were at peace. The small, yellow-haired heads above the stiff collars did not make a single movement, the piano almost whispered. But the sunshine, playing on the embroidered furniture and the embroidered covers, blended with the music a harmony from afar.

When they had finished singing, one of the girls told that a lady traveling that way had taught them the hymn, and the other, that her part had been arranged by the Froken. Without uttering a word, without even changing her position, Magnhild held out her hand, which was clasped by the young lady nearest her.

At this moment voices were heard out of doors. The priest was approaching, accompanied by several men. As they stopped at the door-steps, Ronnaug entered the sitting-room. Soon a tramping of many feet was heard on the steps; the group at the piano rose, Magnhild crossed the floor to where Ronnaug stood. First the dog, then the priest, entered in solemn procession, and slowly following them came dropping in, one by one, six or seven of the farmers of the little mountain parish, heavy, toil-worn men, all of them. Magnhild pressed close up to Ronnaug, who also drew back a little, so that they two stood in front of the gauze-covered mirror. The priest said good-morning, first to Mrs. Randon, then to Magnhild, and asked how they were. Then the men went round the room, one by one, and shook hands with every one present.

"Call mother," said the priest to one of his daughters, and cleared his throat.

The mistress of the house soon appeared, and again man after man stepped forward, shook hands, and returned to his place. The priest wiped his face, stationed himself in front of the frightened Magnhild, bowed, and said:--

"Dear Magnhild, there is no cause for alarm! The representatives of our little parish chanced to a.s.semble to-day in the school-house, and as I happened to mention that you were making a journey and had stopped at the parsonage on your way, some one said: 'It is due to her exertions that the poor-rates of this parish are so small.' Several others expressed the same sentiments. And then I told them that this should be said to your face; they all agreed with me. I do not suppose thanks have ever been offered to you, my dear child, either here or down at the Point, where the results of your work are even greater than here and have spread to the parishes on both sides of the fjord.

"Dear child, G.o.d's ways are inscrutable. As long as we can discern them in our own little destinies we are happy, but when we fail to see them we become very unhappy." (Here Magnhild burst into tears.)

"When you were carried downward by the landslide, with your sled in your little hand, you were saved in order that you might become a blessing to many.

"Do not scorn the grat.i.tude of this humble parish: it is a prayer for you to the Almighty. You know what He has said: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' May you realize this!"

The priest now turned toward his wife, and in the same solemn tone said,--

"Have refreshments handed to these men!"

He strode round among the latter with playful remarks, but the whole house seemed to shake beneath his tread. The more deeply Magnhild seemed moved the happier the priest was.

Magnhild felt a strong impulse to say something to him; for had she not found a refuge in his house, none of the results for which she had just received such unmerited thanks would have been accomplished. But the priest's impetuosity restrained her.

Refreshments were handed round; then the men once more shook hands with every one and withdrew, led by the priest, whose voice could be heard almost all the way to the school-house.

CHAPTER XIII.

In the afternoon the mail from the Point arrived, bringing a letter for Magnhild. She was alarmed, and handed the letter to Ronnaug, who soon returned it to her, with the information that she need not be afraid to read it herself.

"You will see by this what your journey has already brought about,"

Ronnaug added.