Ovind: A Story Of Country Life In Norway Part 13

"Yes, I am paid for it," answered the boy.

Ovind was a little perplexed when he opened the note, it was so carefully wrapped up and sealed; it ran as follows:--

"He is on his way now, but he goes slowly. Go into the wood and hide.

You Know Who From."

"No, that I won't," thought Ovind, and looked defiantly up over the hill.

It was not long before an old man came into sight on the top of the hill; resting, then going a little further, and resting again. The father and the mother both left off working to look at him. Th.o.r.e smiled; but the mother, on the contrary, changed colour.

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, there's no mistaking him."

The old man came slowly nearer and nearer. He was somewhat tall and burly, and being rather lame, he could only with difficulty walk by the help of his staff. When he came close to, he stopped, took off his cap, and wiped his forehead. His head was quite bald at the back; he had a round tight-drawn face, small piercing eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a full row of teeth. He spoke in a sharp shrill voice, hopping, as it were, over gravel and stone, and every now and then resting with great delight upon an inviting R. In his younger days he had been known as a cheerful, but hot tempered, man; now, after many adversities, he had grown peevish and distrustful.

Th.o.r.e and his son had many journeys backwards and forwards before old Ole got up to them, but at last, as they came out from the hay loft, they saw him standing in front of the kitchen door, as though doubtful what to do; he held his cap and staff in one hand, and with the other wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. Ovind stood behind his father as he went up and accosted him.

"You must be tired, will you not come in?"

Ole turned and looked sharply at him, at the same time adjusting his cap, before he replied:

"No, I can rest where I stand, I shall not be long."

Since he had lost his hair his cap was far too big for him, it came down over his eyes; so that to be able to see, he had to hold his head right back.

"Is that your son standing there behind you?" he began in a harsh voice.

"They say so."

"His name is Ovind, is it not?"

"Yes, they call him Ovind."

"He has been to one of those Agricultural Schools in the south, hasn't he?"

"Yes, something of that kind."

"H'm, my girl, my granddaughter, Marit seems to have lost her senses in these latter days."

"That's a pity."

"She will not marry."

"What?"

"She won't have any of the fine young men who come to pay their addresses to her."

"Indeed?"

"And it is his fault, his that stands there."

"Indeed?"

"He has completely turned her head, that son of yours, Ovind."

"Do you say so?"

"See now, I don't like that any one should take my horses when I let them go to the mountains; and neither do I like that any one should take my daughters when I let them go to the dance, don't like it at all."

"No, of course not."

"I cannot go after them, I am old, I cannot take care of them."

"No no, no no."

"You see I wish to keep order, and when I say a thing must be done, it must, and when I say to her, not him, but him, it must be him, and not him!"

"Certainly!"

"But it is not so; for three years she has said no, and for three years there hasn't been a good understanding between us. That is not good, and if it is he who is the cause of it, I will only say to him, so that you hear it, you who are his father, that it is no use, he must give up."

"Well."

Ole looked a minute at Th.o.r.e, then said, "You give such short answers."

"I can't make the sausage longer than it is."

Here Ovind must laugh, though in sooth he was in no laughing mood; but with some people laughter and fear go hand in hand.

"What are you laughing at?" said Ole sharply.

"I?"

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Heavens preserve me!" but his own reply only made him worse.

Ole saw this, and it infuriated him. They would turn the conversation, and begged him to go in, but it was three years' pent up anger that now sought liberty, and it was not to be stayed.

"Don't think to make a fool of me," he began, "I seek my granddaughter's happiness as I understand it, and your giggling laughter shall not hinder me. One doesn't bring up a girl just to hand her over to the first peasant that turns up, neither does one labor for forty years to leave all to the first that fools her. My daughter went on so, till at last she married a scamp; he ruined them both through drink, and I had to take the child, and pay for the entertainment, but, on my word, it shall not be so with my granddaughter, do you hear that?

I tell you that as true as I am Ole Nordistuen of Heidegaard, the priest might as well think of publis.h.i.+ng the banns for the trolls up in the forest, as to give out such names from the pulpit as Marit's and your's, you puppy dog! You sly fox, as if I didn't know what you think of, you and she! You think old Ole must soon turn his nose up in the church-yard, and then you'll trip away to the altar. No, no, I've lived seventy years now, and you shall see, boy, that I shall not die till you are both tired out! I tell you, you may watch for her, and not even see her footprints, for I shall send her away somewhere where she will be safe, and you may roam about like a fool, and keep company with the wind and the rain! And now I shan't say any more to you, but you, who are his father, know my will, and if you desire his happiness in this respect, you will get him to turn the river where it can flow, for through my territory it shall not pa.s.s." He turned, and hobbled away with short quick steps, lifting the right foot higher than the left, and grumbling to himself.

An evil foreboding overshadowed those who remained; there was no more joking and laughter and the house stood as though empty. They entered without a word being said. The mother, who had overheard all from the kitchen door, looked at Ovind sorrowfully, almost in tears, and would not make matters harder for him by saying anything. The father sat down in the window, and looked after Ole. Ovind watched for the slightest change of expression on that grave and serious face, for on his first word the destiny of the future might depend. If Th.o.r.e should join Ole in saying no, it would hardly be possible to overcome it. His frightened thoughts bore him swiftly on from one obstruction to another. He saw before him only poverty, opposition, and misunderstanding, and each support that he had relied on seemed to give way under the thought. It increased his anxiety that his mother stood with her hand on the door-latch, uncertain whether to stay and see the result or not, and that at last she quite lost courage and stole quietly out. Th.o.r.e was still staring out of the window, and Ovind dared not speak to him, for he knew he must have his thought out. Just then, his own thoughts having run their unhappy course, took courage again, and, as he looked at his father's knitted brows, he thought: "None but G.o.d can separate us in the end." Th.o.r.e drew a long sigh, he rose, and at the same time met his son's gaze. He stopped, and looked long at him: "I should like it best if you could give her up, for one should not either beg, or force oneself upon others; but if you cannot, you must let me know, and perhaps I can help you." He went to his work, and the son followed.

In the evening Ovind had got his plan all ready. He would try to get to be Agriculturist for the district, and would ask the princ.i.p.al and the schoolmaster to help him. "If she will hold out, by G.o.d's help I shall win her through my work."