The Castle Builder II

THE CASTLE BUILDER. )> «, BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF ADDED UPON," MARCUS KING,. MORMON," ETC.

PART FIRST. II.

CELEBRATION OF HARALD'S BIRTHDAY —GRANDMA'S COUNSEL. The day had been stormy and wet, so the sheep had been penned early. Harald Einersen was doing his chores, in the long, summer twilight. He did not hurry with his work there was — plenty of time. The Norwegian day, at this time of the year, and at this latitude, extends far into the hours of night. The Gundersen houses, for there were two of them, occupied a small clearing on the gently sloping sides of the hill which ex- tended down to the waters of the Lifjord. Part of this clearing was grass-land, and part of it was planted to rye and potatoes- Near one of the huts was a small vegetable garden, and some goose-berry and currant bushes stood in a row from the door down to the spring. Some flowering shrubs could also be seen by the walls of this hut. The clearing on three sides was enclosed by the pine and spruce forest. The narrow fjord lay below, across whick was another sloping hill, with some clearings and log huts upon them. Above the slope was a mountain, which reached back to other mountains, purple and blue in the distance. Harald was up in the pines gathering dry twigs for the mor_ row's cooking. Through the dripping pine branches, he could see the clouds scurying before the wind from the ocean to their rendez- vous around the summit of the Dovre mountains. The rains had penetrated the sod, and the wild odor of wet woods was in the air. But to the boy gathering sticks, all this richness of woods and

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mountains, earth and sky, were as if it had never been. Not that it was altogether lost to him, for in future years, the very essence

of it all seemed to find lodgment within his soul, and it gave him joy in many a weary hour. Harald Einersen lived in the hut nearest the woods —the one with the flowers by the wall. The flowers had been his mother's. She had planted them, and had cared for them just a little longer than she had cared for him. In that log hut, Harald had been born, and there, a few weeks later, his mother had died. He lived there with his grandmother. His father lived in "the other house," as Harald always called the dwelHng across the clearing, on the other side of the spring. Harald was the only child of that first wife; but his father had married again, and he with his wife and four children occupied "the other house." This latter abode was a small improvement on the one-roomed hut wherein Harald and his grand- mother lived. When Einer Gundersen had courted his second wife, she had demurred to going into- the one-roomed hut to live with his mother and Harald; so, of necessity, the second house had to be built, and the grandmother was left in the old, with Harald to keep her c ompany. These were days of extreme scarcity and poverty. Sometimes Old Norway, struggling against the disadvantages of soil and climate, failed in supplying her children with bread. Then if the winter was severe, and the fishing poor, as sometimes happened, it became a daily battle with many of the poorer class to keep life in their bodies. Einer Gundersen had a hard struggle to supply his family with the bare necessities, and, to make matters worse, he had a craving for drink, which he satisfied as often as he could get money enough to buy a bottle of rum. Sometimes, when he had work at some neighboring farm house, or obtained a job cutting timber in the forest, he would remain away from home days at a time, after the work was over, and then he would come home as poor as when he went, but with an added nervousness in his step, and with a less fierce and brutal way of whipping his children- During these times, the responsibility of the home affairs rested on Harald, and especially the care of the small herd of sheep they had in charge for the summer for Merchant Bernhard. The grass was now growing, and the potatoes and rye were

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food in prospective; but bright prospects could not exactly still that painful gnawing in the stomach of a growing boy. And, oh, the food had been a mere pittance during the winter, and was even scarcer now. By the spring stood a barrel full of the soft inner bark of the fir tree, ground into flour, and placed there to soak out the resinous matter. This flour was made into mush and eaten. Bones were chopped and cooked, then crushed with a hammer, then ground into flour. Out of this, mush and bread were made. The tender reindeer moss was also dried and powdered, and even ground rye straw was pressed into service as a help to eke out the meagre food substance. Harald Einersen was hungrier than ever that evening, up there in the woods. — Grandmother had been away all day she had gone to Vangen, a distance of nine miles, to deliver some knitting, and she had not yet returned. If the berries had only been ripe —but itwas useless to wish, so he munched the tender shoots which he picked from the trees, and, gathering up his bundle, trudged home- ward. He deposited his bundle under a small shed by the side of the house and then went in. With some dry wood from yesterday's gathering, he made a fire in the stove. This stove, by the way, was made of three old iron pots, with their bottoms knocked out, one placed on top of the other, the largest one underneath. The chimney was built inside the hut and extended from the floor. One chair and a stool, a small pine board table, two rough bedsteads, one hidden in a corner by a curtain,, a box-like cupboard, a small, odd-looking bureau, and a spinning wheel, were the chief articles of furniture in the room. When Harald had gathered up the last bit of bark from his fire-making, grandmother came in. Grandmother could not toler- ate rubbish around her stove, so she looked approvingly at the boy. She deposited a basket on the table, and then, taking the kerchief from her head, sat down to rest a few minutes. Grandmother could not walk the nine miles to Vangen and back as easily as formerly, and she was tired. "Well, my boy, I suppose you're hungry." Harald cast a side glance towards the basket. "Well, I think I am, grandmother."

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"Yes; of course you are, my boy. God speed the growing crops. saw they are doing well down the road. Have you done I

your work for the night? If not, get it finished, and then we'll see what we've got, my boy." He went out again. Not that he had much to do, but he sus- pected there would be some cooking, and he did not wish to be tantalized by the delicious odors. In half an hour his grandmother called, "Come in, my boy, come in. I've got something for you but stay, Harald, we are getting greedy. Run over and ask the children to come. Poor dears, its little enough they have had this day, I am sure." Harald soon came back with his two brothers, Holger and Jens, and his little sister, Hulda, whom he carried in his arms. They all came noisily into grandmother's house, and then how they stared and sniffed! "Now then, behave yourselves, children, or not a mouthful you get," commanded grandmother, as she shook the wooden mush ladle at the noisy company. "Jens, you stand here, and Holger there, and you, Hulda, you may sit in grandmother's chair. Harald, draw up your stool." So they all stood or sat around the Uttle board table while grandmother gave each of them a small plateful of steaming mush. "Be careful, now," she gave them warning, "don't be too greedy, and burn your mouths. Take your time there, Jens, you know you haven't any milk to cool it with." "0, how nice!" said Holger. "I believe there's wheat flour in it," remarked Jens. "Now Hsten to that!" exclaimed the cook. "He beUeves there is wheat flour in it. I tell you, Jens Einersen, that that mush is

made of one-half wheat flour —the finest to be had in Merchant Bernhard's store, too." Then there arose a chorus of exclamations and expressions of delight and gratification. The children took small spoonfulls from the edge of the dainty mass, and prolonged the pleasure as long as possible, but at length the last mouthful disappeared. ' "Now, wait a minute," said grandmother, and the children

became suddenly very quiet. Was there something more? What

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a wonder grandmother was, to be sure! out came a plate, Yes; and on it was a pile of warm pan-cakes.They were not much larger around than the top of a tea-cup, and their thickness was nothing to speak of, but they were pan-cakes, anyway, and not made of bark or bone, but of beautiful white flour; and right in the middle of each cake rested a large raisin, surrounded by perhaps a dozen smaller ones arranged in a circle. The children could hardly believe their eyes, but they said nothing, for fear they were not intended for them. "Now then," said grandmother, "I am going to give each of you one of these cakes. These are made of all wheat flour, and the raisins were given to you by little Thora Bernhard. Some day you must all thank her for them, as she is a good girl, God bless her. Sh— listen, we are celebrating Harald's birthday today. To- day he is fourteen years old. Did you know that, Harald?" "I had forgotten it, grandmother." "Yes, I knew you had, so I gave you this surprise," she chuckled over the success of her plan, and Harald indeed looked the happy boy he was at that moment. The raisins were carefully picked away from the cakes. The cakes were then dispatched, and the raisins were kept, to be minced at leisurely. When the three children had been dismissed, grandmother turned to Harald and said: "Harald, I saw you give Hulda most of your mush. It was hardly a taste for you, and you so hungry. Now, it's your birth- day and you must have enough to eat for this once. See, I have saved a big plate-full for you, and here are some cakes and the raisins which Thora sent. She said they were for the children, but I knew by the way she talked that she wished you to have your full share. She told me what happened down by the rocks the other day." "0, Grandmother," said the boy, and then he choked. The tears stood in his eyes. "You haven't had any yet," he said. "I had a good dinner at Vangen, I'm not hungry, but I'll keep you company, anyway!" and she, too, took a spoon and ate. Outside, the rain had begun again, and the evening was quite dark. The fire in the pot-stove had gone down. Grandmother put more wood in, and when it blazed up well, she took away the piece of sheet iron that served for a door, and let the dancing light shine

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into the room. She then drew up her chair to the fire, and placed a low stool near it. The boy having finished his supper, the dishes were cleared away. Grandmother then got her knitting, and took her seat by the stove. ''Come, my boy," she said,"you need not spin tonight" — had it

been the custom for Harald to spin yarn while she knitted. She did her spinning during the day — "Come sit down by the stove, on this stool while I talk to you." The boy obeyed. She was both father and mother to him. During the fourteen years of his life, he had known no other true counselor, no other true friend. From her, he had received what he had known of kindness; from her he had obtained his crude ideas of hfe and the world; and from that kindly, deeply-marked soul, he had drawn his childish dreams and boyish ambitions. "You are fourteen years old today, Harald. You are getting to be quite a man. Fourteen years ago, today, — yes, I remember it well." Grandmother mused, while the needles nearly stopped their click. The boy looked into the fire. "And, Harald, my boy, I want you to continue to be a man. You haven't had much chance in the world yet, but you will have your chances, many of them, and I want you take advantage of them as they come. "Your grandfather used to say that he could trace his ances- try back to Harald Haarfagre, and he was not a little proud in the boast that he was of the ancient royal lineage. I don't know

— about that I never took much interest in such matters. I always said that it matters very little what our forefathers were, but it matters very much what we are; and whether you, my boy, have in you the blood of Viking kings, or whether you have not, what you amount to will depend upon your own endeavors. I want you to remember that, Harald." "Yes, grandmother." "Your present poverty-stricken condition must not daunt you. Your extremely humble beginning must not make you discouraged. What credit has he who is born into so-called wealth and honor? Of far greater worth is your condition, my boy, down here at the bottom of the ladder, with energy and heart to climb by your own