Later in the season comes a morning when all is glistening white. A little snow has fallen during the night,-not enough to last, however; it melts away as the day goes on. But after this the animals no longer like to go up on the higher parts of the mountain. The cows stand lowing at the gate of the sæter inclosure; they know that sooner or later they will be allowed to slip in there to enjoy the last of the mountain's good grazing. The goats look inquiringly backward as they are let out of the fold. Summer is over. Every one longs to go down again to the home farm.
At last a day comes when the gate is opened and the cows rush into the sæter inclosure. They know now that they will not have to go up on the bare mountain again this year. Then the farm hands come up with pack horses, and other horses that have been running wild on the mountain all summer are found and taken home. The packs are tied up; there is a great washing, a clearing away of rubbish and putting things in order for the next summer, and at last Bufar day, the long-expected day of returning to the home farm, arrives.
* * * * *
On Bufar day Lisbeth Longfrock stood up on the ridge of the turf-covered cow-house roof, taking a final look at the surrounding scene. She was all ready for the journey. Her lunch bag was on her back, her birch-bark hat on her head, and the goat horn which Peter had given her hung on a string around her neck. In her hand she carried a stout stick. Within the sæter inclosure the cows and smaller animals were roving back and forth from fence to fence impatiently. They knew that Bufar day had come, for along the wall of the sæter hut, in a row, stood the horses' packs, filled with butter tubs, cheese tubs, and cheese boxes; and tied to the fence were the horses themselves. All of these had pack saddles on, except the military horse, which stood foremost among them, bearing a woman's saddle. The farm hands stood outside, too, smoking their pipes. They were all ready, and were only waiting for the milkmaid, who was inside the hut making the last batch of cheese from the morning's milk, which she could not allow to be wasted.
While Lisbeth was standing on the ridge of the cow house Ole and Peter came bobbing along past the fence of the fold. They were not so boisterous as usual to-day, and stopped at the gate, looking at Lisbeth without saying a word at first. Then Peter asked, "Are you going back to the farm to-day, Lisbeth?"
"Yes, I am all ready."
With one impulse Lisbeth and the boys gazed over the mountain's familiar expanse.
"The mountain begins to look barren now," said Peter; "but I shall be here a week longer."
"So long as that?" said Lisbeth. "And you, Ole?"
"I am going day after to-morrow."
All three were silent again for a while. Then Lisbeth said: "I suppose I must go with the others now. They surely must be ready."
She descended from the roof and went over to where the boys were. The conversation came to a standstill again; they could not think of anything to say. Finally Peter spoke.
"Are you coming again next summer, Lisbeth?"
"Yes, if Kjersti Hoel is pleased with me; but that can hardly be expected, since I am going home without Crookhorn."
"It would take a horse trainer to look after her," said Ole.
Again there was silence. Then Ole said: "We did not go up to Glory Peak this summer, to see the spot the king once visited."
"No, we didn't."
"We two boys are coming here again next summer, both of us."
"Perhaps we can go to Glory Peak after all then, even if it is so far away."
"Yes, we can," said Ole. "And I can tell you a good deal about the king's visit, for my father went with him and drove."
"Drove the king's carriage?"
"No, not the king's; the county magistrate's."
"My father went with him, too," said Peter, "and drove; so I can tell about it as well as you."
"Yes, but whose carriage did he drive? A homely old woman's!"
"But that homely old woman was next in rank to the queen. She was the one who went off to walk with the queen at the foot of Glory Peak."
Just then came a call for Lisbeth. She hesitated a moment, then stretched out her little hand and said: "Good-by. May you both fare well. Thanks for this summer."
"Thanks to you for the same," said Ole. "We are to meet again, then, next summer?"
"Yes."
"May you fare well," said Peter.
He stood holding her hand awhile; then, thinking he ought to say something more, he added, "I will greet Jacob from you, Lisbeth."
After that the boys vanished along the fence as noiselessly as they had come.
* * * * *
Inside the sæter inclosure the farm hands were putting the packs on the horses, and the military horse had been led to the gate. Lisbeth ran into the inclosure, drove her animals together and counted them, certainly for the tenth time that day. Soon everything stood ready for the homeward march.
The milkmaid appeared in the doorway, clad in her Sunday best, as on the day she came. She closed the sæter door with a bang, turned the large key solemnly in the lock, took it out and put it in her pocket. That key she would not intrust to any one else; she wanted to deliver it to Kjersti Hoel with her own hand. After trying the door vigorously to be sure that it was securely locked, she went to the window and looked in to assure herself that everything was in order and the fire entirely out. Then, going over to the military horse, she climbed into the saddle. One of the farm hands opened the gate for her as if she had been a queen, and out she rode.
After her followed the pack horses, one by one, and the cows in the same order as when they came up,-the bell cow, Brindle, and the whole long line. Behind the cows came the smaller animals, and, last of all, Lisbeth Longfrock with a stick in her hand, her birch-bark hat on her head, and her lunch bag on her back.
Lisbeth turned and looked at the scene she was leaving. There lay the sæter, desolate now. The mountain, too, appeared lonely and forsaken. Of course she, like all the others, had longed for home during these last days; but it was strange, after all, for her to be going away from everything up here. A little of the same feeling she had had when leaving Peerout Castle crept over her. How singular that she should happen to recall that sad time just at this moment! She had not thought of it at all since coming up on the mountain,-not once during the whole long summer.
Nor would she think of it now; there were other and happier things to remember. God be praised, all had gone well at the sæter, and the whole procession was on its way home. She was taking her animals safely back,-all except Crookhorn. Of her she had seen nothing since that day when the boys had tried to tame her; but she had heard that far off on the mountain a big goat went about with a herd of horses.
* * * * *
All day long the great procession went on its way over the mountain in steady, plodding fashion. The animals were fatter and heavier than in the spring; they trod the hills with a brisker and firmer step, and none showed any sign of being tired or lagging behind. The milkmaid was rosy-cheeked and plump ("Butterpack" she was always called in the autumn). As she and Lisbeth looked at the procession, one from the front and the other from the rear, they agreed in thinking that the animals, as well as the butter and cheese, were such as they need not be ashamed to take home to Kjersti Hoel.
Evening was drawing near, when suddenly the road pitched down over the edge of the mountain, the valley began to open before them, and they could even catch a glimpse of the slope on the other side. Every one looked over there, but all that could be seen as yet was a strip along the uppermost edge. The only one to distinguish a house upon the strip was Lisbeth Longfrock. Away up and off to one side she saw the setting sun glittering on a little pane of glass in a low gray hut. That hut was Peerout Castle.