Lisbeth answered as unconcernedly as she could, "Yes, it is; I remember it."
"What cow do you believe they have at Svehaugen now for their home milking?"
"We could go over there and see whether it is-Bliros."
That was the first time since her mother's death that Lisbeth had spoken Bliros's name aloud. But to do that was easier than to name her mother.
It was not long before Lisbeth and Jacob were on their way over to Svehaugen. They had gone round the castle and the cow house without going very near them,-it was not worth while to tread down the grass, Jacob said. As they had expected, they found Bliros at Svehaugen; she was standing close by the gate. And they really thought that she knew Lisbeth again. They petted her, and talked to her, and gave her waffles and pancakes. It was just as if they wanted to make amends for not having had courage to stir up the memories connected with their old home itself. Jacob's heart was so touched at the last that he promised to buy Bliros back and give her to Lisbeth as soon as he was grown up. At that Lisbeth could contain herself no longer. She put her arms around Bliros's neck, looked at her a long time, and said, "Do you believe, Jacob, that Bliros remembers mother?" And then she began to cry.
That question came upon Jacob so unexpectedly that at first he could say nothing. After a moment's struggle he, too, was crying; but he managed to declare with decision, "Yes; if she remembers any one, it certainly must be mother."
CHAPTER X. SUNDAY AT THE SÆTER
Five summers had passed away since Lisbeth Longfrock first went up on the mountain; and no one who had not seen her during those years could have guessed that she had grown into the tall girl sitting by herself one Sunday on the stone which, so far back as any herder could remember, had been called the Pancake Stone, and which lay hidden away in a distant and lonely part of the mountain. She had grown so tall that the long frock, now used as a petticoat, came above her knees, and she no longer wore the birch-bark hat and birch-bark shoes. On this special Sunday her Sunday kerchief was on her head, and she sat with a book in her lap; for in the winter she was to go to the priest to be prepared for confirmation and in the spring she was to be confirmed. The reading did not progress very rapidly. The book had sunk down into her lap, and her calm blue eyes, now grown so womanly and earnest, were roving from one to another of the dear familiar places about her. Her flock lay quietly around the stone, chewing the cud. Indian summer was near its close. The sky was high vaulted and the air clear and cool. As far as the eye could reach all things were sketched in sharpest outline. Hills and marshes already glowed in autumnal tints, for these make their triumphal entry on the mountains earlier than below. The sun shone tranquilly and, as it were, a little coolly also. Everything was very still. Not even the sound of a bell was heard, for the animals were taking their afternoon rest; and no movement was discernible except far, far away, where Lisbeth spied a falcon flapping out from Glory Peak.
Just as it was now had Lisbeth seen the mountain at the close of each summer all these years. It had become familiar and dear to her, and she thought to herself how unchanging it was through all its variableness, while so much else altered never to be the same again. For much had changed since she first sat on this same stone and looked out over this same landscape. Few of the animals she now took care of had belonged to her original flock; the oldest had gone out and new ones had come in. The unlucky Morskol (Mother's Moolley) was now a full-grown cow, with horns of more than usual beauty. The former milkmaid was gone and another had taken her place. Ole and Peter, with whom Lisbeth in earlier years had tended her flock almost daily, were her companions no longer. They had not been up at the sæter since they were confirmed,-two years ago. Ole had even sailed to America. Lisbeth had missed the boys very much, and had many a time been lonely during the last two summers, for no new herders had come from the Hoegseth or Lunde farms. At home, too, at the Hoel Farm, there had been changes among the people, and Bearhunter had become blind. Lisbeth herself no longer occupied her old place by the heap of firewood in the great kitchen on winter evenings, but sat beside Kjersti on the wooden carving bench; that is, she sat there when she did not have to study her catechism or learn her hymns to be ready for school the next day.
And now still further changes were in store for her. This was to be the last summer she would be sitting up here tending her flock. What would come next? Kjersti Hoel had not said anything to her about the future,-perhaps Kjersti would not want her any longer. But Lisbeth put these thoughts aside,-she would not allow her mind to dwell on such perplexing subjects when all was so delightfully peaceful and beautiful around her. Whatever her lot might be, or wherever she might go, of one thing she was certain,-she would never forget these mountain scenes nor this stone which had always been her favorite resting place, especially since she had been so much alone; and she gazed around her again.
As her eyes wandered about she caught sight of a man far off on the marsh, sauntering along in her direction, stopping once in a while and stooping down, apparently to pluck an occasional cloudberry, for they were now beginning to ripen. This sent her thoughts into another channel.
Who could it be coming over the marsh? Not a man looking for horses, for no one goes out for that purpose on Sunday; nor a cloudberry picker, for the berries were not yet ripe enough to pay for the trouble of seeking. Surely it was some one who had made the ascent of the mountain for pleasure only. What if it should be Jacob! She had not seen him since the last autumn, and he had said then that he would come up to see her this summer. Nevertheless the young man did not look like Jacob; and Jacob, not being very well acquainted on the western mountain, would not be trying to find the Pancake Stone. Yet this person was steering his course exactly toward where she sat, and it was plain that he knew the marsh thoroughly,-where the cloudberries grew, and where it was not so wet but that you could get across. It could not possibly be--? She blushed the instant she thought of the name, and at the same moment the stranger disappeared behind a hill, so that she saw no more of him for the time.
Involuntarily she tied her kerchief freshly under her chin, stroked her light hair under the edge of the kerchief, and smoothed out the folds in her skirt. Then, sitting with her back half turned to the quarter where he might be expected to appear, she took up her book and bent her head over it as if reading.
Shortly afterward a young man shot up over the hill behind her. He had on brand-new gray woolen clothes, a "bought" scarf around his neck, and top-boots outside his trousers. He was not tall, but his figure was well knit and manly. In his youthful face, on which the merest shadow of down could be distinguished, was set a pair of brown eyes, trusting and trustworthy. He stopped a moment and looked down at the open space where Lisbeth sat upon the stone with the flock of animals around her. It was evident that he had a memory of the scene,-that he had seen that picture before. Lisbeth did not look up, but she knew he was there,-felt in her back, so to speak, that he was standing there gazing at her. He smiled and then swung his course around so as to approach her from the side, and so that the animals might have time to become gently aware of his presence and not scramble up in a flurry. Silently he drew near to her, until at last his shadow fell upon her book. Then she looked up and their eyes met. At that both of them flushed a little, and he said hastily, "Good day, Lisbeth Longfrock."