The Castle Builder. VIII, IX

THE CASTLE BUILDER. BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OF "ADDED UPON," "MARCUS KING MORMON," ETC. PART FIRST. VIII. CONVALESCENCE. It was a sad home-coming to Sandstad. Maria had left her isolated and now desolate home, and had taken refuge with her mother and Dagmar, and there her father found her on his return. Harald was yet weak and unable to do hard work. He often went about as if he were dazed or stunned, and when he discovered Maria sitting in some corner, crying, he could not keep the tears back from his own eyes. He had done well at Lofoten up to the time of the great storm. His share was four hundred fish, which, when sold, gave him a considerable sum of money. A large portion of it, he sent to his grandmother, bidding her make such presents to the brothers and Hulda as she thought wise. A small part he placed in the savings bank at Tromso as a begining for a boat of his own, as his uncle had suggested. He mourned for Jo- han as if he had been a brother. He had not known many inti- mate associates, nor enjoyed many close friendships. Johan had been much of an ideal to him. Now, something had gone out of his life. To whom could he talk as he had talked to his cousin? Who would laugh at his mistakes, and then good-naturedly show him his error, as Johan had done many times while learning to fish? He sailed over to Johan's deserted home every day when the weather was fair to tend to the one cow Maria owned. As the spring months came on, the sail across the narrow

426 IMPROVEMENT ERA. fjord was generally pleasant. The green grass began to grow on the sunny side of the big rocks, and some hardy flowers were shoot- ing their first leaves above the soil. On warm afternoons, Harald would sit in some sunny nook by Johan's house to let the solitude enwrap him as with a cloak. It was a kind of said pleasure, to sit thus alone, to dream of his dead cousin. What ambitions that cousin had ! Had he lived, he would have been more than a mere fisherman all his life. He had scarcely attended school, yet he knew more of history, and of knowledge in general, than many a schoolmaster. He had not been confirmed, yet he seemed to know vastly more about the Bible than he himself did. Their last conversation on religion and the Bible came to him now as a farewell and a benediction. One day, Maria and Dagmar went with him. Dagmar did her best to direct the talk to other topics, but the other two insisted on finding something to say about Johan; and when Harald told of their last conversation, and what his cousin had advised him to do, and to be, Dagmar ceased her light-mindedness to listen. "He reminded me of my grandmother down at Opdal," said Harald, "she used to speak to me like that. She is constantly looking far ahead, to behold wonderful opportunities. One could never get discouraged with grandmother for company; and so it was with cousin Johan. Life was always full of hope for him, as if he could see clearly some brilliant future." "Which, in his case, has been realized," said Maria with a sob, "but his poor wife and children, what shall become of us?" It was difficult to say more. Up at the lonely house, Maria went about from place to place with heart-breaking sadness. A box of articles, which had belonged to Johan, stood unopened on the floor. His wife opened it, and took out the things one by one. At the bottom of the box was found Johan's Bible. Maria placed it on the floor beside his watch, and Harald picked it up. "Give me this, Cousin Maria," said Harald. "I should like a keep-sake too." Maria took the book, turned over the leaves, and hesitated. "Yes," she said; "I have many more keep-sakes. Take it, Harald." She pressed the book to her lips, then gave it to him. Another afternoon when Harald was coming home from an

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 427 errand to Maria's house, instead of sailing his boat to the usual landing, he headed up the fjord to where a sloop lay anchored close to the shore. From a tall pole on the land floated a white flag, whose meaning he well knew. The sloop was loaded with cod, fresh from the fisheries. On the clean, pebbled beach, at the head of the fjord, the fish were to be cured. The flag was a signal that help was wanted for this work, and, on a nearer approach, he could see that many boys and girls from Sandstad were already busy spreading the split and salted cod on the warm rocks. Harald sailed up to the sloop, climbed on board to have a chat with the owner, who, however, was on land directing the workers. Harald reentered his boat and soon tied up to the rocks. He went up to the curing grounds. There was a busy scene of life and animation, laughing and shouting. The wooden shoes clattered on the rocks, and the youths' faces were rosy with color. Every heart was glad with the joy of living. But Harald walked among them, lonesome still. He talked with the master of the vessel, chatted pleasantly with the boys and girls, yet it was a mere outward form. In his soul, he was alone. He walked across the rocky beach to the grass land. Then he climbed a small hill to the level, upland valley. Some distance away, he saw a party of turf -cutters working in the peat-bogs. He caught glimpses of gray-clad forms, with here and there a moving bit of color, red and yellow and blue— the kerchiefs of the girls. As Harald drew nearer, he heard snatches of songs come up from the marsh, and the echo of a peal of laughter came now and then to him through the clear air. Yes, they were all happy down there, though hard at work in the wet, black bog, and well smeared with its grime. Harald seated himself on a warm rock, for he was not yet strong, and he soon tired. A few, soft, fleecy clouds sailed across the sky. The day was warm. The fjord lay blue and still, curv- ing in and out and around the rock-bound land. The last snow had vanished from the near-by mountain tops, and wherever there was a patch of soil, there was the green grass. The whole earth lay in a soft, warm embrace, and all life on its surface seemed glad. Yet the young fisherman was not in touch with the day nor its beauties. He seemed apart from it all. The chain of sympathy

428 IMPROVEMENT ERA. which connects us to mother earth and all her creatures, was brok- en in every link. He seemed absolutely, alone, and oh, what a state to be in! He could have sat there, though surrounded by all the wealth and beauty of earth, and cried all the afternoon. Listlessly, unwillingly, he moved on down across the bogs to the turf-cutters. One man was down in a hole left from last year's cutting; and, with a sharp, square spade, he was cutting away blocks from the sides of the exposed bog. These blocks he threw out, and they were loaded on barrows and wheeled away to higher ground to dry. Dagmar wheeled a barrow, and her loads were neither small nor light. Yet when Harald came up, she laughingly invited him, if he wished to ride, to take a seat on the topmost turf -block of her load. "No, thank you," replied Harald. "Get on. I can wheel you," said Dagmar, and she shook the load until the top pieces tumbled off. Then she put down the handles of her barrow and seated herself on one of them. "Did you ever do such dirty work as this, Harald?" she asked. "I have never cut turf," he said. "Then you don't know what hard work is. I believe that we girls in Nordland do more work than the men folks in the South — " "Or in the North, either. Make no distinctions, and I'll ac- cept your statement." "Well, our men do have it hard sometimes, on the sea, but I suppose it's no harder than cutting turf. Here, take this load over to the drying-ground. The pile near the pit is getting pretty large." Harald pushed the barrow along the boards laid over the soft places. It wobbled from side to side, and at last the wheel slipped off into the mud. Then the workers shouted. Harald lifted the wheel back onto the boards and went on again safely to the dry- ing-grounds, where he scattered his turf and returned for more. "That will do now. You mustn't overwork yourself. See how you are sweating already." So Dagmar relieved him of the barrow, and he helped to load, during the remainder of the afternoon. When it was time to go home, Harald explained that his boat was at the landing by the rocky beach, and he would have to go that way.

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 429 "Then I'll go with you," said Dagmar, "I would rather sail than walk, every time." There were, no doubt, others in that company who shared her opinions, but they said nothing, so the two went down the valley towards the boat. "Did you get your letter?" asked Dagmar. "What letter?" The mail came just as I left home this morning, and there was one for you." "I did not get it. Whom was it from?" "Well, how should I know? However, it had the Vangen postmark, and you can guess the rest." "Oh." They walked along in silence. Harald plucked every blossom he found on the way, and there were yet a few of the dainty marsh- berry flowers on the bog. A letter from Thora — perhaps — it might be from someone else. Father or grandmother might have been at Vangan and mailed the letter there. Thora had answered his letters from Lofoten. Why should she write, she having none of his to answer? Dagmar stopped to take a stick from her shoe. The light hair went tumbling over her face as she stooped, and the move- ment brought vividly to Harald's recollection another girl. Dag- mar was fair, and full of limb and form. This other girl was darker, tall, and frail of form — and from this the young man went on in his comparisons. She was dainty; Dagmar was strong and robust. Her face was pale; his cousin's was rosy with health. She was daughter of a merchant; Dagmar, like himself, was a working-man's child. Yet the thoughts of the far-oif Thora did more to drive away the loneliness of the day, than the presence of the fair cousin by his side. "If you pick any more flowers," said Dagmar, "you'll have to pay extra postage on your letter." Harald colored. Her aim had been true. He had thought of sending some of them in his next letter. "Here, you have some of them," he laughingly said. "Thank you — now tell me, Harald, who is that girl at Van- gen ?»

430 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "You mean the one who wished to know something about Nordland— " "And the doings of one Harald Einersen? Yes." "She's the daughter of a merchant down there.. Her name is Thora Bernhard. My father has worked much for her father — we were confirmed on the same day. Now, what of it?" ''A merchant's daughter! Rich, too, I suppose! My, my, what a bold cousin I have!" "Bold; why? Grandmother often told me that we could have anything we wanted in reason and righteousness, if God spared our lives, and we did our part, and — " He checked himself. What was he saying! But the secret was out. Harald's thoughts had been along that line, and in an instant of forgetfulness, he had spoken from his heart. He had meant to ridicule the idea expressed by Dagmar, but now it was useless. IShe had his thoughts, and from that moment certain thoughts within her own mind underwent a change. Dagmar seem- ed not to be disquieted by the expression. She laughed as usual, and placed in her hair some of the flowers that he had given her. The talk lagged again. At the beach, the cod was lying spread open on the warm rocks, and most of the workers had gone home. There was no wind, so Harald took one oar and Dagmar the other, and they rowed silently down the fjord to the wharf. That night Harald did not open his letter until he went into his own room. The message was characteristic of the writer. On a heavy, cream-tinted sheet, with wide margins, she had written this: Vangen, June 30 — Dear Friend Harald: — I am coming to Nordland to spend my vacation. Look out for me. Sincerely, Thora Bernhard. IX. THE MIDNIGHT SUN — A NEW CASTLE. The pleasure derived from the receipt of Thora's letter was not altogether unalloyed. The note was so provokingly indefinite.

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 431 When would she come? Where would she come? Would she wish to stop at Sandstad? How would Aunt Karen entertain her? It was all very well when one could choose the time, place and conditions of such a meeting, but to come unaware, with them unprepared, might prove very humiliating indeed. Harald sensed his position. Thora had received training in polite society, had gone to the higher schools, had always been surrounded with the comforts, and many elegancies of life. He was a farmer, a fisher- man, living their lives. Nordland customs were oftimes crude — perhaps, however, no cruder than himself. What would Thora think of it all? Would she not go away disgusted? But the situation must be faced. Thora was coming; and, possibly, right away, so he read the short letter to Aunt Karen, explaining who the visitor was, and then asked for advice. His aunt smiled good naturedly at his agitation. "Well, if she comes to Sandstad, she shall be welcome," she said. "We will give her the best we have, and that is all anyone can do." The best up-stairs room was vacated, thoroughly cleaned, and left in rigid order, to await the coming of the expected guest. The larger coast steamers did not stop at Sandstad. Six miles across the island was the port of Ringvik, where the mail steamers, going north and south, touched. From Ringvik small steamers plied among the lesser water-ways, touching at all the small hamlets on the islands and along the mainland. It was hoped that if Miss Bernhard came to Sandstad direct from Ringvik, she would let them know by letter beforehand. Fully a week passed, yet nothing was heard of the expected visitor. Harald's nerves had settled somewhat. He having had time to add some needed articles to his wardrobe, and to trim him- self, as the occasion suggested. From his window, he could see the landing, and on the semi-weekly mail days, he watched the steamer closely to see if any one came on shore. Twice he had had a change of clothing ready but each time there was no need of getting rid of his usual work-day attire. The creek that flows into the sea at Sandstad comes tum- bling over its rocky bed with much violence, and the energy thus exhibited is utilized by the Nordlanders of the village in running

432 IMPROVEMENT ERA. their primitive flour mills. Up the stream a few rods, apart stand a number of small, one-roomed log huts. Through the floor of each of these huts protrudes a beam which reaches down to the water. The lower end of the beam is furnished with arms or paddles, against which the water is directed. The beam turn- ing, turns one of the mill-stones in the room above, and thus barley is ground. One afternoon, Harald shouldered a sack of barley and started out to fill up the box that the mill might grind all night. As he paused for breath, on the top of a somewhat steep rise in the road, he saw, coming down the opposite hill, on a fast trot> Uncle Erik in his two-wheeled cart. Beside his uncle sat Thora Bernhard. Harald's first thought was to get away somewhere out of sight, but both had seen him, so that would be useless. He placed his sack of barley on the side of the road, and seating him- self on it awaited results. The cart rattled up and with a p-r-r-r, the horse was stopped. Harald's face was full of color, though he tried hard to check it. Thora held out her gloved hand and said, "How are you," in quite a formal manner. "I've reached here, you see," she continued. "I met your uncle at Ringvik. He said I would have to wait there until to- morrow, there being no boat earlier. Then I asked him how he was going home, and he spoke depreciatingly of his good horse and cart here — why, I wouldn't have missed this delightful ride over the island for a great deal." "You have been considerably shaken," suggested the driver. "Not a bit. It has been fine — where are you going with that sack, Harald? Here, I'll get out and you may then place your load by my valise." She jumped out of the cart before he could remonstrate. Then, when he had explained, she said: "So that's your mill, is it? I should very much like to see it. May I go with you? Mr. Svensen will take my baggage to the house, wont you, and I'll go along with Harald." So Uncle Erik drove off and left them together. Harald shouldered his barley and they soon reached the mill, where the grist was emptied into a large box from which a small stream of grain ran into the opening in the center of the revolving mill-

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 433 stone. Thora was very much interested in what she saw, and cared little for the considerable flour dust on her clothing. She, of course, did not notice Harald's odd Nordland's dress, nor his wooden shoes — he wore wooden shoes around the house only, not usually when there was company to entertain. Harald found little to say. What a change the year had brought in her! She was a full-grown woman, more beautiful than ever. Her thin face had become fuller. Her dark hair was long and lay coiled up under the small cap. She was the Thora of his dreams, and he, he, also must have changed, not much for the better — a clod-hopper still! "I am pleased to see you looking so well, Harald, You have had quite a time getting over your illness, I understand!" "I'm getting quite strong now, yes, thank you; and how are you and all the folks in the south?" Harald had finished his errand. He should have taken a sack of flour home with him, but this he neglected. They walked down the road together, and there was much peeping through windows at them as they passed. "Father said I studied too hard last winter, and I agreed with him that a trip to Nordland would do me good. Your letters be- gan it, and I am glad of it. I've had a splendid time thus far. I never appreciated the truth of Bjornson's -poem before when he likens our many islands around the coast to water fowls swimming around their mother. * * * * * "But now, I must remember your grandmother. She keeps up wonderfully well — and she's a philosopher, too, isn't she? I get her into my room everytime she comes to Vangen, and loosen her stock of wisdom by coffee and cake. It's the best talk I ever hear; it makes one feel that nothing in this world is too good for us, or beyond our reach." "I am glad she is well." "Your brother Holger is a big, stout boy, Jens herds the sheep, I understand, and Hulda is growing to be quite a girl. Your father is getting along well, I believe." Aunt Karen and the cousins received Thora with the respect due her station. In the sitting room that evening, Uncle Erik was considerate enough not to till the air with tobacco smoke. Dagmar and Maria did hot appear in dresses in anyway stained with

434 IMPROVEMENT ERA. bog and out-door work. Harald had donned the neat, brown clothes which he had recently obtained. Thora was dressed in a very simple becoming: suit of gray. "And are you traveling this long distance alone?" asked Aunt Karen, solicitously. "0 no; I left father at Namsos,and will join him again at Tromso. "So you think the country up here is worth looking at, do you?" enquired Uncle Erik. "Ah, I think it's just grand!" "Well, may be it is. The summer is well enough, I suppose, and especially to tourists whose living doesn't depend on the con- dition of the weather, but I sometimes think the icy pole is slowly creeping down farther upon us, and will in time crowd us out. It's often a hard life up here in Nordland, Miss Bernhard." "But I was surprised to see the. richness of your vegetation," continued Thora." "I saw fields of barley and potatoes when crossing the island today. The hills were covered with birch- trees, and in the open spaces there was much grass, and a profu- sion of many-colored flowers." "Yes," replied Maria, "it is true as father says that life is ofttimes hard, but for all that we who have lived here all our lives love our home, and would not change it for any other in the world. I once went south as far as Christiania, but the low hills and flat country soon wearied me, and I was glad to return to the wild, rocky land, the winding fjords, and the innumerable Islands of Nordland." "Tut, tut," exclaimed the father, "a little imagination and ro- mance. I always look at the real side of life." "I have noticed, however," replied Maria, "that the people who get tired of Nordland and move away, always return again." "Always? How about Lars Haling?" "Ah, well he went to America." "That's where we all ought to go. What do you think, Miss Bernhard, about going to America?" "I — I don't know; Norway is good enough for me, just now." The talk went cherrily on until Aunt Karen came to her res- cue, as she had to Harald's the first evening he spent in Sandatad. She led her up to the neatly painted room above.

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 435 Next morning there was threatening rain, but Thora urged Dagmar to take^her out on the fjord and teach her how to fish with the Nordland pilk, or tin-bait. Harald might go along to row, she said. Dagmar readily agreed to this, so after the morn- ing's work was finished, the three set out for the boat-house. Water- proofs were brought along in case wet weather might overtake them, and Harald carried their lines. Harald obediently took the oars, as he was good-naturedly commanded to do, and soon the boat was out in good fishing water. Dagmar then sank her line with the heavy tin-fish sinker down to the bottom, then drew it up an arm's length. She instructed Thora how to do the same. Har- ald rested on his oars and looked on. Then the pupil was in- structed how to let the line slowly fall, then to jerk it upward swiftly. It was explained that the fish, seeing the glitter of the descending sinker, would take it for a small fish, and would make a dart for it. The swift upward movement would catch the fish on one of the two sharp hooks protruding from the lower end of the tin-bait. Thora established herself well in the opinion of the people of Sandstad, and especially in the household of Erik Svensen. She was neither vain of mind nor showy in dress. She entered pleas- antly into their daily affairs, and very much appreciated the efforts put forth to entertain her. The days wont rapidly, to Harald, as in a dream; and then the week was up and Thora must leave. Then Harald awoke. Thora was going — and what of it? She could not stay at Sandstad forever. Her father would be waiting for her at Tromso. What was it to Harald Einersen, the fisher- man? Had it been Harald Einersen the — well something else, it might have made some difference, but now it possibly could not. Thora was going and she did not seem to care, she would not un- derstand how he would feel it. She was going — going out of his life — perhaps forever. The gulf between them was too deep. Then it came to him with the force of a shock: what had he done to bridge this gulf? What progress had he made to arise to her level? She might think much of him, yet she was helpless in the matter. It was he that must move, and that rapidly, if ever they should stand on equality. What puny castles he had built!

436 IMPROVEMENT ERA. The owner of a boat — the master of four men at Lofoten: — that had been the extent of it! What a boy he had been! But now he was a man. Now he would be a man, and do manly things. If it were not now too late! Thora was going. The pleasant day was over. Night was coming, a cold, dark Nordland night. Yet she had been a constant inspiration to him. She could still continue to be that, even if nothing more than a will-o'-the-wisp to lead him on. Then cousin Johan's words came again to him. They rang in his ears as a voice from the ocean. They spoke to him like an echo from over the hills of eternity. They stirred his heart as it had never been stirred before, and then and there, Harald Einersen projected another castle, and made a solemn vow that, with God's help, he would yet complete it from foundation stones to pinnacle. Thora was to board the coast steamer at Lundholm, a small port a few miles from Sandstad. The steamer was due at Lund- holm about midnight, and Harald was to take the passenger there in his sail boat. Dagmar said she would go along, too, but Thora said no. She bade them farewell with invitations for them to pay her a visit at Vangen some day. Harald carried her valise to the boat, helped her in, spread the sail to the breeze, and away they sailed. "I have had such a good time, Harald, and I am ever so much obliged to you all. I'll tell grandmother all about it, when I reach home." "When do you expect to return to Vangen." "From Tromso, I'm going to North Cape with papa, and then I suppose we shall return directly home." Thora trailed her fingers through the water, and looked down into the green waves as she asked: "Are you going to Lofoten next winter?" "Yes; that's the place to earn money, and I must have some." "1 suppose you will want to own a boat like your Uncle Erik?"' "No; 1 want money to go to school. I'm going to school all I can just fish long enough to keep me supplied with means." "And then?" "I don't know. Be s( mething more than a mere fisherman, at least."

THE CASTLE BUILDER. 437 "You'll want to graduate. That will take a long time." "Four or five years for that — ten for what I want to be." "That's a long time — " she had no idea of what he was thinking. "Yes; but it takes persons who are at the bottom of the ladder longer to reach the top than those who are already half way up." "That depends on the rate traveled by each." "True; and the strength of the power that draws one on." The boat rounded a headland, and Lundholm was in sight. "I think likely that I am through with school for a while," said she. Father wishes me to accompany him to England and perhaps farther, this fall, and I may be away for years." He was silent. It was too true, then, that she was going, going for good. Why didn't she say so, and be done with it? Why had she come to Nordland? He would give her back the withered rose. He could keep it no longer. He took it from between the leaves of his note book. She was looking at him, and he hisitated with nervousness; but retreat he would not now. She was sitting with her back to the sail, directly facing him. He placed the rose in her lap, saying nothing. "What is it?" she asked. "A rose." "A rose — and all withered. Where did you get it?" "You gave it to me, and now I suppose you want it back." "I — yes — now I remember. 0, Harald, don't you want it?" Her voice trembled. "Yes, but — but — what's the use, Thora. You don't care for me. Why should I keep it as a continual reminder of — of my foolishness — call it what you will." "Don't say that, Harald." "What else can I say. You are going away. I may never see you again. I have been foolish in thinking about you as I have, but I imagined that you loved me, something that you have done, trifling things, have led me to believe it. You have been to me as yonder Polar star is to the mariner, but now — " "And why may I not be so still, Harald?" There were tears in her eyes now. "The Polar star never changes." The hour of midnight approaches. The sun sinks down be-

438 IMPROVEMENT ERA. hind the sea, yet it is as light as in the shade of noon-day. The breeze is gentle, and the sea is 'still, save for the shining swells which softly rise and fall. Then the sun comes forth again. First appears its upper curved edge, then more and more seem- ingly it rocks and bobs up and down on the waves until it rises above the sea — a round, blood-red disk, making a shining path from the horizon to the boat, a path paved with shimmering blocks of purple and gold. The whole sea is now tinged with red light. The clouds around the sun are bathed in blood, and the crimson reflection is cast on hills and rocks, waves and boat. Thora's face is rose-colored, and her »whole form is bathed in the same warm tint. The mountains and the distant islands are enwrapped in a trembling haze of red. It as a golden night. Its beauty enters the soul, and banishes fears and worldly sorrow. Care departs into -the mellow atmosphere. Earth-troubles sink into this sea of peace, and are lost. Faith comes back— faith in man and faith in God. The world is no longer a gray, lifeless larva, but a full-grown butterfly, floating on its shining wings in the balmy air of summer. The black smoke of the steamer appeared behind a headland, and soon the boat was in sight. Harald steered towards the anchorage and lay to, awaiting its coming. Out from the shore came the boatman with the mail. The water gurgled softly under their own boat, and the little waves lightly patted its sides — that was all they heard until the swish of the steamer broke the silence, churning the water with its reversed propeller. The iron door in the vessel's side was opened, the mail was exchanged, and Thora was helped in. From the doorway, she reached out her hand to Harald, in the boat close alongside. He held it for an in- stant, then raised it to his lips. As he did so, the little withered rose which she was about to give him, slipped from her hand into the sea, and its dry, loose petals floated over the waves in every di- rection. The iron door was closed, the propeller churned the water again, and the steamer headed on its course. From the deck of the steamer, Thora waved her handkerchief as long as she could distinguish the little boat which lay dancing on the waves of the shining sea. (end of part one.) ( To be Continued.)