Hallvard Halvorsen; or, the Avalanche. A story of the fjeld fjord and fos

Front matter

RESCUING ASTRID. [.Page 16. OR THE AVALANCHE a &tor» of tbe f jeto jfjort) anfc fos BY NELLIE CORNWALL London S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO. 9 Paternoster Row CONTENTS. PAGE I. The Water-lilies ----- q II. NlCOLAI HALVORSEN - - - - 21 III. A Visit to Nicolai - - - - 37 IV. The Village Schoolmaster - - 50 V. A Midnight Visit - - - - -66 VI. The Bear Hunt - - - - -79 VII. An Afternoon on Rod Fjeld - - - 94 VIII. The Christening Party - - - - no IX. The Cottage by the Fos - - - - 127 X. Gerda and Hallvard's last Sabbath at Home 151 XI. The Chrog Bondegaard - - - - 168 XII. The Sæter 187 XIII. The Missing Cake - - - - - 198 XIV. Christmas-eve - - - - - 221 XV. The Avalanche - - - - - 243 XVI. Little Ingeborg Goes Home - - - 271 XVII. Good for Evil - - - - - TO MISS C. G. CAVENDISH AND MISS PRIDEAUX-BRUN1 THIS BOOK is LOVINGLY INSCRIBED.

Chapter I

'J THE WATER-LILIES. " He hath translated, giving us such lines As we can trace In mountain grandeur and in lily grace, In sunset, cloudland, or soul-moulded face, Such alphabets and signs As we, His little ones, may slowly, softly read ; Supplying thus a deep, true spirit-need." Frances Ridley Htvoergal, Whitsun-eve, in Norway, some years WX/i before the opening of our story, the r&Sfo morning sun Avas silvering the needles of the tall, dark pines and sending long shafts of silver light through the budding boughs of the old oaks, elms, and beeches Avhich surrounded a large red-painted wooden house, glinting in at the windows and B Hallvard HalyoRsEA. 10 making a halo of light round the hooded-head of a gentle* looking old lady who sat spinning near one of them, and resting tenderly on the flaxen hair of a little girl as she sat on the floor, on a bear-skin rug, near the spinning wheel, playing with the ears of a beautiful greyhound.

The room in which the old lady and the child sat was a large one. Its walls were wainscoted with oak, which was almost black with age. The room was somewhat plainly furnished, but here and there, thrown about on the polished floor, were beautiful bear-skin and deer-skin rugs ; on the walls above the wainscot were pretty carved brackets with china pots, with sweet-scented violets growing in them, which filled the quaint old room with a delicious perfume. "Wherever can fader be, bestemoder ? " * said the child, looking up at the old lady. " He promised to come home and have an early dinner, and take me up Eidetind to gather some vandroser."t " He told me that he was going across the fjord to see Nicolai Halvorsen," replied the grandmother. " The poor dear man has been suffering terribly again lately, and so your fader felt he must go and see if he could cheer him, and take him a few little comforts.

His appetite is not very good at any time." " I wish fader had told me he was going to see Nicolai. I have finished the red cap I was knitting for him, and I should have liked him to have it for a Whitsun present." " Aren't we going to have any dinner to-day, bestemoder ? " " You must be bereft of yotir senses to have asked such a question, child." " It is later than you think, best^," said the little girl, blushing. " The clock has just struck the half-hour." " Dear, dear ! I did not know it was so late. Run into the kjoken,t Astrid, and tell Kristine to begin to make the milk-soup ; and say, too, that your fader will have fish-balls instead of the boiled chicken for his dinner to-day. I must spin this flax, and then I will come out and help her." * Bette'mcder, grandmother. t Vandroser, water-lilies. % Kjoken, kitchen.

Astrid got up and went out of the room, followed by the greyhound. " Dear Pettero, good old dog ! You shall go with us to Eidetind ; and you shall have a nice bone if Kristine will let you," said the little girl, patting the head of the dog before opening the kitchen door. Pettero apparently understood what Astrid said to him, for he gave a joyous bark and wagged his tail. He enjoyed a bone as much as any dog, and a mountain climb as much as his little mistress. Kristine was scrubbing the floor when Astrid and the dog entered the kitchen, and she looked as black as a thunder-cloud when she caught sight of Pettero behind the child. Astrid gave her grandmother's orders, and then said, "Kristine, dear, haven't you a bone for Pettero? He is going out with me and fader this afternoon, and I should like him to have a bone before he goes.

Do give him one, Kristine." " I can't throw my time away picking up bones for dogs," snapped the old woman. "And, Froken* Astrid, I won't have that horrid beast messing my clean kjoken." " I know you do not like Pettero," said the little girl, with tears in her large blue eyes, " but he is dear moder's last gift to me before she went to live with Jesus. And I do love him." " There ! there ! min lille due (my little dove), don't cry. I am a bad-tempered old woman, I know. I am feeling as sour as butter-milk to-day, for the risengrod is burnt. Frue will be vexed, I am afraid. Alack ! alack ! to think I should have been such an old fool as to let the risengrod burn, and Froken Brotkorb coming this even ing ! " " Never mind, Kristine, I don't think bestemoder will be vexed. It is only now half-past eleven, and you can make some more risengrod.

Can I do anything to help you ? " " You can bring out the milk for the soup, and put it in the soup-pot, if you will, Froken. On the lower shelf you will find a platter with beef-bones on it. You can * Froken, Miss. HALLVARD HALVORSEN. give them to Pettero ; he can eat them out in the vaske-hus."* " There, doggie dear, fader is right — he always says that Kristine's bark is worse than her bite." Kristine's black looks had vanished under Astrid's sweet ways, and she smiled on the child like an Easter sun, and laughed as she said : " But an old dog will not bark for nothing. Thy fader is crossing the fjord," she said, glancing out of the window. " Fruen did not expect him back for another half-an-hour or more. Make haste, kjereste (sweetheart), and bring out the milk." Astrid hastened to obey.

She brought out the rich, new milk, and poured it into the soup-pet, and put the pot on the stove, and then went out into the wash-house with the bones for the dog, after which she hastened to the side of the fjord to meet her father. How beautiful the fjord looked in the morning light. The wind was blowing gently up the fjord, and all the water was in a ripple, and on every ripple the sunbeams played. On either side of the Sogne Fjord the grand mountains stood, and looked everlasting in their majesty and strength. Many of them were thickly wooded, and their farthest heights crowned with snow, which looked exceedingly white under the intense blue of the June sky ; so white, indeed, did the snow appear, it seemed if God Himself had come down and washed it. "Well, Astrid, my child," said the pastor, stepping out of the little boat ; " are you ready for your mountain climb ?

" " Yes, dear fader. But I fear we shall not start very early, as dinner won't be ready before the usual time. Bestemoder did not expect you home so soon. How is poor Nicolai ? " " Rather better than I expected to find him, but just as good and patient as ever. He asked after you, Astrid. He said he was longing to see his sunbeam again, as he calls you, so I promised to take you over to see him on Whit-Monday, if the Lord will." * Vaske-hus, wash-house. "I am so glad, dear fader, for I shall be able to give him the little gift I have for him." Now, dear reader, before we take you a step farther iu our story, we will sit down and tell you something more about the Brotkorbs. Pastor Brotkorb was the beloved minister of the large sogn, or parish, of Skaanes, on the Sogne Fjord. He was a widower ; and Astrid, his only child, was the joy of his heart.

The old lady, Frue Stahel, whom we have already introduced to you was his wife's mother. She had left her own wealthy home in Christiania, much against the wishes of her friends, to come and live with her son-in-law, and to be as far as in her lay a mother to the child, whose mother God had taken. Pastor Brot korb was by no means a wealthy man, and there were many poor in his large parish to share the little he had. Frue had some property of her own, and, like her son-in-law, she was large-hearted and open-handed ; and the poor had a friend in the kind old lady, as well as in their dear friend Pastor Brotkorb. Now, we will take you farther on in our little tale. As soon as dinner was over Pastor Brotkorb and Astrid started for Eidetind. Eidetind was on the opposite side of the fjord. This mountain was a beautiful one.

At its foot were woods of beech, silver larch, oak, and fir ; under their shadow grew tender forget-me-nots, pale primroses, and other sweet spring flowers. Farther up the mountain, on the edge of precipices and on the ridges of dark ravines, stood the solemn pines. " I wonder if Tante* Brynhild likes flowers ? " said Astrid, as she took her seat in the little boat. " I shall gather some when we come back and put in her room. They will look lovely with the vandroser. Does she love flowers, fader ? " " She has your and bestemoder's liking for flowers, so you cannot put too many. She wasn't quite so old as you when I saw her last, which was ten years ago. Ah, me ! time seems to fly away like our brief northern summers." " Beste has put a huge piece of Whitsun-cake into my * Tante, aunt. HALL YARD HAL VORSEN. basket, fader.

She said we should sure to be hungry up in the mountain ; and as we would not wait for our two o'clock coffee, she said she daresay old Olaf would give us a cup of coffee if we ask him." " Olaf is so fond of you, fader, and so is everybody," said the little girl, tenderly. " It is your great love of me which makes you think so, my child. Eh, Pettero ? " The dog was nearly asleep, and only gave a feeble wag of his tail by way of reply. They crossed over the fjord in about twenty minutes, and very soon were climbing the mountain side. The snow was already beginning, to melt on the top of Eidetind, and down its sides the torrents rushed, leaping over huge boulders in their way, and making giant leaps into the woods below. As the waters fell they thundered and threw out and up on all sides great arms of milkwhite spray, forming arches of silver foam, fountains, and many other forms, and when they caught the sunbeams they were the colours of the rainbow.

Until the fosse, or waterfalls, were passed, the pastor and his little daughter could not hear each other speak for the thunder of the falls. The lake where the water-lilies grew was about half-way up the mountain. Close by the lake was a little cottage, or rather, hut, in which lived Olaf Josefsen and his grandson Elling. Elling was not a nice boy, but very sharp and clever. Olaf had been a travelling tailor, but he was now too old to go far from his home, and lately he had the care of his grandson, who was an orphan. The old man was by no means badly off, and his wants were very few. He had several goats, and a few sheep ; his house was his own, and a bit of pasture land as well. As soon as Olaf heard voices outside his hut he popped his grey head out of the window, and when he saw who it was hastened out and lifted his old velvet cap (it was like a night-cap), and said, in his odd, cracked voice : " Good-day, Herr Pastor ; good-day, Froken.

Art thou come to see Olaf, and to gather vandroser ? " " Yes," replied the pastor ; " and we should like to have a cup of coffee before we go home, Olaf." " My dear pastor is very welcome to anything old Olaf's humble home contains," returned the old man, " and I will go in and roast some berries at once." " How is Elling ? " inquired the pastor. " Quite well, I thank you," said the old tailor, going into his hut. " O fader, how lovely the vandroser look, and what a quantity," said Astrid, as she and her father stood by the side of the beautiful little lake, one of the many looking glasses of the sky and mountains, on Avhose placid water the lovely water-lilies — the vandroser of the northern land — rocked their silver cups. " Dear fader, these vandroser make me think so much of Nicolai Halvorsen."

" How so, my daughter ? " " I cannot quite put into words all I mean, fader, but I know that Nicolai is one of God's vandroser. He put him as it were into a dark lake of pain. It was awful at first, Nicolai said, until God's Great Easter Sun — the Resurrection, Life, and Light — rose up with healing in His wings above the mountain snows, the dark and the cold, and smiled down upon the lake of pain, and gave him light and life and hope and joy. Jesus reached him through the pain, he told me ; and as he lay there under the dark, cold water he felt His love, and on His love, dear fader, he struggled up to the surface, blossomed out into one of God's beautiful vandroser in the glorious sunshine ofthe wonderful love of Jesus." " It is a nice thought, Astrid ; I never thought of Nicolai in connection with the water-lilies before."

" I did not before our long last talk at Easter. And fader, see these lovely flowers are moored to the bottom of the lake, their sweet blossoms and broad leaves hide their mooring ; so to speak, Nicolai hides his pain too, fader, at least he very seldom speaks of it, and only God knows how much he suffers." " Nicolai feels it a great privilege to suffer with Jesus, my daughter. He wants to glorify Him in the place where His love has placed him, and that is the reason he is always so bright, brave, and patient. Our friend Nicolai is a silent preacher, like the flowers, but he preaches some very tender and some very forcible lessons sometimes. He told me once that his little pain was but a thorn-prick to what his dear Lord suffered for him." Whilst the pastor and his child were talking so pleas antly they had been busily gathering water-lilies.

" Be careful, Astrid, you do not fall in," the pastor said. " I will be careful, fader ; but I must get some of those lovely buds on the other side of the lake. I'll be back in a minute." Before her father could utter a word she was up and off like a young fawn, and the next thing he saw her leaning over the deep lake. The pastor and the dog rushed after the child, but before they were half-way to the spot where she lay among the reeds and rushes, to his horror, he saw her over-balance herself and fall headlong into the water. As the poor little thing disappeared under the dark water, a boy sprang up from under some bushes near and plunged in after her. When Astrid rose to the surface, the lad caught hold of her by the arm and swam with her to where the poor father stood in great agony of mind and too much frightened to move.

Pastor Brotkorb carried Astrid in his arms, dripping as she was, to Olafs hut, followed by the boy and Pettero. Olaf was roasting coffee-berries, or rather frying them in a pan, when they entered the room. The old man looked with astonished eyes, and as he surveyed the party he held up his hands, but did not speak. " Astrid fell into the lake, Olaf ; but thank the dear Lord she is not drowned. Where shall I take her ? " " I think, min Herre, it will be better to take her up to our little sleeping room in the loft. She can take off her wet clothes there, and then we can dry them." Olaf shouted to his grandson to come down ; and in about ten minutes a dark-haired, dark-eyed, short, fat boy came slowly down the stairs. He stared at the visitors, but, like his grandfather, he said nothing. The Nor wegians, as a rule, are very slow in their movements, especially the mountain folk.

The pastor carried Astrid up into the loft where Olaf and Elling slept. There was not any furniture in the room except a small form and two box-beds, which were filled with straw and covered over with large sheep-skins. When the little girl had taken off her wet clothes, her father wrapped her in one of the sheep-skins, and told her to lie in Elling's bed whilst her clothes were drying. He and Olaf spread the wet garments on some blueberry bushes to dry outside the hut. The pastor had been too much distressed at his daughter's accident to give more than a passing thought to the lad who had saved her life. " Olaf, what an ingrate, I am," exclaimed he. " I must go in and thank that dear, brave boy for jumping into the lake to save my child." " Whose son is he ? " " He is Nicolai Halvorsen's son," replied Olaf.

" I thought you knew him, you go so often to see his sick fader." " Yes, of course, I know him, I often see him at church ; but whenever I go to see Nicolai, the lad, for some reason or other, always keeps out of my way. Nicolai says there is a great deal of good in the boy, but that he is ever in mischief, and fears sometimes that he will come to no good." When Pastor Brotkorb and Olaf re-entered the cottage they found the boy gone, and Elling seeing to the coffee. " Elling, where is Hallvard ? " asked the old tailor. " I do notknow, bestefader," * Elling replied, sheepishly ; " he was here not long ago." " I hope you did not tell him to go," said Olaf, sharply. The boy did not reply to that, and only said, " Coffee is ready, bestefader." "I am vexed Hallvard has gone," said the pastor ; " he is wet to the skin."

" That does not matter, min Herre ; the sun will soon dry his clothes. We mountaineers think nothing of a wetting." The sun soon dried Astrid's clothes, and in little less than an hour after she had been fished out of the lake she was sitting dressed in her dry clothes at Olaf's table, drinking coffee and eating some of her grandmother's nice Whitsun-cake. She still looked rather pale, for she had been very much frightened, poor child. " Fader, dear, I must get some more vandroser before we go home," said Astrid, when she had drank her coffee ; * Bestefader, grandfather. "we have so few, and I do not like having come so far with only these to take home." " I feel I cannot allow you to go near the lake again to day," replied the pastor. " You have enough flowers to lay on the dear moder's grave.

Come, it is getting late, and quite time we were at home." "Adieu, Olaf! adieu, Elling! and God bless you ; and many thanks for the good coffee which we have enjoyed." As he shook the boy's hand he gave him an ort.* Filing's dark eyes glistened, and h'3 gripped the piece of silver like a miser. Olaf and Elling followed them to the door, and bowed as Astrid and her father went out. When the pastor and his little girl passed the clump of blueberry bushes, a little way from Olaf's cottage, they saw such a huge bunch of lovely water-lilies and buds lying on a bed of their own green leaves. " I believe Hallvard Halvorsen, the boy who went into the lake after you, has gathered those lilies for you. There must be a great deal of good feeling in the lad. We must pray much for him, Astrid." " That we will, fader.

We will all ask the dear Saviour that Hallvard may give his heart to God," Astrid returned, fervently. " I shall always feel grateful to Hallvard for saving my life." "And to God, my daughter." " Yes, and to God, dear fader." By the time Astrid and her father reached home it was getting late, and Frue Stahel was looking out anxiously for them. " You are very late, Tormiind," she said, a little re proachfully. " The steamer ' Olga ' arrived an hour ago." " What ! " exclaimed the pastor, " and has Brynhild come ? " " Yes, she is in the bestestue."t They hastened in to welcome their visitor. Whilst Pastor Brotkorb and Astrid are greeting their * An ort, sometimes called mark, is a little larger than our shilling piece. This and other coins named in our story are not in use in Norway now. f Bestestue, drawing-room. relative in true Norwegian fashion, we will take a look at the young lady.

She was very pleasant-looking, tall and fair, had pretty blue eyes and straight nose, a sweet mouth, and a firm, square chin. Altogether Froken Brotkorb was a good-looking Norwegian lady. About half an hour after they returned from Eidetind, Frue said to her son-in-law, " It is time, Tormund, you went to lay the flowers on the grave of our precious one. Astrid ought to have been in bed an hour ago." " You forget, bestemoder, that it is Whitsun-eve," Astrid said ; " I must stay up and have some risengrod." " The risengrod is looking delicious. Kristine is in a great state of mind, fearing it may burn again, and that you, Brynhild, my dear, will think lightly of her skill as cook," said the old lady, with a smile. " Will you come with us to the kirkegaard (churchyard), Brynhild ? " asked the pastor.

" You will see the place where the dear one sleeps." "Yes, I should like to go," replied the young lady, getting up. Astrid carried in her hand a lovely wreath of water-lilies and forget-me-nots, which were interwoven with little sprays of dark cypress — an emblem of immortality — and fresh young ferns. It is a custom in Norway to deoorate the grave with fresh flowers every Saturday, and very pretty the flower-covered graves looked in the evening sunlight as the pastor, his sister, and daughter entered the churchyard. Astrid hung the wreath on the iron cross that surmounted her mother's grave, and Froken Brynhild and the pastor laid little bunches of violets on the grave. The golden sunbeams rested tenderly on the iron cross with its wreath of flowers, and on the words " Rest in peace." They did not stay very long in the churchyard, as it was after nine o'clock, and Frue was anxious that Astrid should go to bed.

On their return to the house they went at once into the spise-vœrelse, or dining-room, to supper, where the long holm-oak table groaned under the weight of good things. The risengrod was greatly praised by all, much to Kristine's gratification. This risengrod, or rjce-porridge, is a dish the Norwegians HALLVARD HALVORSEA. always have for supper on Easter-eve, Whitsun-eve, and Christmas-eve ; only on Christmas-eve they call it Julegrod, that is, Christmas porridge. The risengrod is made of rice and milk, and kept on the stove for hours, until it is quite thick ; it is flavoured with fine ground cinnamon, and eaten with melted butter. It is considered a great dish in Norway, and must not be wanting on any supper table, however well off people may be ; and the poor try hard to have a dish of risengrod, even if they are too poor to have anything else for supper at those times.

When Frue Stahel and Froken Brotkorb were sitting in the window of the bestestue, after Astrid had gone to bed, watching the glorious sunset through the pine-trees, Pastor Brotkorb told them of his child's fall into the lake. The old lady was greatly moved, even to tears, and she said brokenly, " O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, for His mercy endureth for ever." Earnest prayer and thanksgiving went up to God that night from every heart in the Skaanes Præste-gaard, or parsonage ; and Astrid, before she went to sleep, not only returned thanks to God who had so graciously preserved her alive, but prayed much for the boy who was sent by Him to bring her out of the lake.

Chapter II. Nicolai Hala'orsen

Meek souls there are who little dream Their daily strife an angel's theme, Or that the rod they take so calm, Shall prove in heaven a martyr's palm." Keble " Patience is powerful." Longfellozv. jfsf^&BOUT a mile and a half from (SfeSfi Eidetind Avas built the large — — hamlet of Bjœrkestraud on one of the long branches of the Sogne Fjord. Many of the houses, which were all made of wood, faced the fjord. Amongst them stood a very picturesque-looking one, painted a madder-brown, and over its front was trained an apple-tree, Avhich just then Avas pink and white with blossom. This little Avooden house Avas something larger than the others. Ti; u>)z storey was occupied by a man called Christensen, his wife, mother, and little daughter, who was blind. In the lower storey lived Nicolai Halvorsen, his wife Ellisif, and their four children.

There were only two rooms on the ground floor. The front or living-room was very plainly furnished, but there was a glorious look-out from its large, broad window. Close by the window, on a box-bed, lay Nicolai Halvorsen, the poor bed-ridden man, little Astrid Brotkorb's friend. He was about forty years of age ; but as he lay there on that couch of pain, he did not look a day more than thirty, although his rather long, wavy hair was snow-white. Nicolai had been a fisherman, and, about six years before our tale begins, he was thrown back against the gunwale of a large fishing-boat, one stormy night, saving a fisher-lad who was washed overboard, and so injured his spine. Nicolai had been, in his health and strength, a splendid-looking man, nearly as strong as a giant ; but now, alas ! he was almost helpless as a babe, and weak as a child.

Instead of being the bread-getter, he had the intense pain of seeing his true, brave wife work hard from day to day, and from weary year to year, to get bread and to keep a roof over him and his children. God only knows the mental anguish as well as the physical suffering of the first year of his invalid life. His bright yellow hair had turned white in that first year of his sorrow. But He Who suffers with us in our pain came into Nicolai's heart and revealed Himself in His unspeakable love ; and then came the glorious change of peace and hope and joy in Jesus, and simple trust in God, Who laid him there on that weary bed of pain. Somebody has well said that we come not into our place by accident. How true it is ! Nicolai knew that, too, and that the God of wisdom, Who placed the beautiful stars each in its appointed place to shine in the skies, had laid him on his suffering bed to glorify Him, and to show forth the love and patience of Jesus, until He should remove him to shine in the full light around His throne in Heaven.

Sometimes Nicolai was able to earn a few orts when he was well enough by wood-carving, and now and then he helped his wife and daughters to prepare the wool and NICOL Al HAL I 'OR SEA . 23 flax, which they spun in the long dark days and evenings. They often made a good sum in that way. There was no work doing to-day : it was Whit-Sun day, and everything was so still and quiet ; even the grand old mountain and beautiful blue fjord made one feel that somehow it was the Lord's day — the Day of Rest. Breakfast had been over sometime, and the wife and two girls were in the next room getting ready to go to the church, which was on the opposite side of the fjord. Close by the Halvorsens' house was moored a brightly painted boat, waiting to take them and other church-goers across. Nicolai lay very still, and his long, lean, clever-looking hands were resting on the coverlet.