Arne and the Christmas Star

Far out to sea, the freighter Stjerne fought the storm bravely. At home in the little Norwegian fishing village, Arne and his family waited and prayed. It was the Christmas season, and the Stjerne was the Christmas ship this year, bearing Yuletide gifts and other good things for the village.

But more important than the gifts, the Stjerne carried her gallant crew—and Arne’s brother Gustav, her first mate.

How Arne does his part to help bring the Christmas ship safely into port makes a thrilling tale.

By the author of THE CHRISTMAS STOVE.

Arne
and the
Christmas Star

a story of Norway

Alta Halverson Seymour

illustrated by
Frank Nicholas

Wilcox and Follett Company CHICAGO

ARNE AND THE CHRISTMAS STAR
by ALTA HALVERSON SEYMOUR
Copyright 1952, by Wilcox & Follett Co.
Manufactured in the United States of America

Arne and the Christmas Star

To Todd
who was the first to make friends
with Arne

1

“Oh, Mother, I hear Uncle Jens’s folks are going up the mountain to the saeter tomorrow. Can I go along this time, do you suppose?” Arne’s tongue was flying as he burst into the kitchen, and his blue eyes looked eagerly around for his mother.

No one was in sight but his grandmother, busy with her mixing bowl at the kitchen table. “Where’s Mother, Besta?” he asked. “Cousin Bergel just told me they’re going to take the cows and goats up the mountain tomorrow. Do you know who all are going? Do you suppose I can—”

“For goodness’ sake, boy, you go on like a spinning wheel! It must be that red hair of yours that drives you along so fast. Just be quiet a minute, will you? I can only answer five or six questions at a time. Your mother and sister Margret are over helping Aunt Tina get things ready for the trip tomorrow.”

“They’re going, then! Oh, I hope I get to go too. I think I will, don’t you?” Arne helped himself to a bit of cooky dough from the sticky yellow mass on his grandmother’s floured board, looking warily at her out of the corner of his eye. Her hand was quick, and he might get a sharp rap on the knuckles.

But he didn’t this time. She merely moved her board away from him and began adding flour to the dough. “Such a boy!” she exclaimed. “It would be a rest to me if your mother let you stay up on the mountain all summer.”

Arne knew she didn’t mean that. The two were the best of friends. Grandmother Dalen, whom everyone called Besta as a shortened form of the dignified Norwegian bedstemor, seemed to enjoy his tricks and teasing. She had even been heard to say, when she didn’t know Arne was around, “I like naughty boys.” Then she had caught sight of him and added briskly, “They give you something to work on.”

Now she nipped off a piece of dough and molded it into a soft long roll which she deftly tied into a bowknot. She filled her pan with rows of similar bowknots and slipped it into the hot oven.

“Who’s going, Besta, do you know?” asked Arne, watching the cooky-making with interest but wishing she would hurry and answer his questions. “I just wish we had a saeter of our own.”

“Lots of use your father would have for such a thing!” scoffed Besta.

Arne’s father was in the fish-packing business and owned just enough land to grow a little hay and keep a cow or two and some goats. But Uncle Jens was a real farmer; and, like most farmers in Norway, he had his own skyland pastures high in the mountain valleys where the grass grew green and lush. These were called saeters, and each had its little cabin where some of the daughters of the family spent their summers. The girls milked the cows and goats which were taken from the home farm to be pastured up there, made the cheese, and churned the butter. Arne thought some of the best fun of the summer was at the saeter. The day of moving up there was especially jolly.

“Cousin Signe will have to go, of course,” he said, “and Bergel, I suppose.”

“Yes, Bergel’s old enough to help this year—almost as old as you. She’s eleven now. Your sister Margret will take our own cows and goats up and tend to them. And of course Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina and little Knut will take the housekeeping things and help get the girls settled. And Cousin Evart—”

“And me—did they say I’m going?” Arne asked eagerly, as she paused.

Besta was something the shape of one of her own butterballs, but that did not keep her from moving fast, or talking fast either, as a rule. Now, however, she seemed intent on her work, and when she answered she spoke almost reluctantly. “I haven’t heard anything about your going, Arne. I did hear your father say he needed some extra help baling lutfisk. He said he was glad school is out so you can help.”

“Baling lutfisk!” said Arne despairingly. He had done that before, plenty of times, especially when father had a shipment he wanted to get off in a hurry. “That’s such a tiresome job, and so smelly! Do I have to stay home for that stuff?”

“You like lutfisk as well as anyone when it comes to the table,” Besta reminded him. “Don’t you know how good it is, with melted butter or nice milk gravy?”

Arne knew that well enough, but he certainly did not relish the idea of staying home from the first saeter trip of the summer to bale lutfisk. Part of the work connected with lutfisk was all right. It was fun to help unload the big cod from the fishing boats, to watch the men expertly split and clean the fish and spread them to dry. Ole Berg, the old fisherman who was father’s right-hand man, had showed Arne how it was done, and even let him help.

Father thought Arne was a little young to handle the big, sharp knives, but Ole said the boy was very quick with his hands. So Herr Dalen gave his son a good Norwegian hunting knife with a silver handle shaped like a horse’s head and a neat leather sheath which fitted on his belt. Arne was very proud of it and put it to good use under Ole’s directions. But baling those bundles of dried fish was a very different matter. And certainly tomorrow was no day to spend on the packing-house dock at a tedious job like that. Then a hopeful thought struck him, and he asked, “Well, then, is Gustav going to help bale lutfisk too?”

His big brother Gustav was at home just now between voyages to sea—Gustav, who was going to be a ship’s captain some day. He would sail as first mate the very next time the steamer Laks came to port here in Nordheim on its way up the fjord.

“What’s that about Gustav?” called out a big voice; and a tall, dark-eyed young man with curly black hair came into the kitchen. “Oh, good for you, Besta! You’re making kringler! Are those for the trip to the saeter?”

“Are you going to the saeter too, Gustav?” cried Arne accusingly. “And I have to stay home and bale smelly old lutfisk!”

Disappointment swept over him. It was worse than ever if Gustav was going and he couldn’t. There was a lump in his throat, and it seemed to him he could hardly breathe. All spring he had been looking forward to this trip. He longed to be in the gay procession that would wind its way from the little village up the mountain road. Up it would go until the road became only a path, then still up and up. At last they would come to the little log house right on the cliff overlooking the fjord, with the pastures and valleys behind and mountains, gray with granite and green with pines, rising above it all.

First would go Suri, Uncle Jens’s fat, light tan fjord pony with its black mane and tail. Arne was a great favorite of Suri’s, for he always had a lump or two of sugar in his pocket, and she had learned to nuzzle for it as he patted and talked to her. Suri would pull the light hay cart piled with pots and kettles, milk pails and cans, chums and bedding, and all the other housekeeping things. When they reached the place where the road became no more than a trail, they would tether the pony and leave her to spend a pleasant day cropping tender mountain grass.

Aunt Tina would drive, and little Knut would ride beside her. The girls would be in charge of the cows and goats. Uncle Jens and Evart and Gustav would carry big packs, because they couldn’t burden fat little Suri too heavily. No horse-loving Norwegian would think of it.

There they would go, the bells on the pony’s harness jingling, the cowbells ringing, little Knut tooting or whistling, everyone singing and laughing. Even his cousin Bergel, just a girl and almost a year younger than he was, would be in that jolly procession; and he couldn’t go. This year it would be more fun than ever, for Gustav was going too, and there was always a special lot of fun where Gustav was. It seemed to Arne he would fairly burst with disappointment.

He had hard work to keep from crying, but of course you couldn’t do that when you were twelve years old—especially when there were people around. But his nose pricked and his throat ached; he had to wink fast and turn and walk over to the sink as if he wanted a drink of water—which he didn’t.

Gustav stood looking at Besta, and Besta stood looking back to him.

“You’ll be going up later on in the summer, Arne,” said Besta comfortingly.

“I don’t care about going later,” said Arne, and his voice came out something like a croak. “I want to go now, when Gustav’s going, and everything getting ready—”

“I was thinking,” said Gustav slowly. “They’re going to need all the help they can get to carry the stuff from where we leave Suri. Arne’s a pretty big boy now, and he could be a lot of help. I know that’s one of the reasons they want me to go.”

“They want you because everyone wants to have you around,” said Arne, his voice still muffled. But the heavy feeling in his chest lightened a little, and he turned half around, looking hopefully at his brother. Gustav was pretty good at finding a way out of things.

Gustav said, “Lutfisk could be baled tonight as well as tomorrow. Father wants to have the shipment ready to send off day after tomorrow, that’s all. We can work down there tonight. It’s light on the dock till nearly midnight, these June nights.”

“We?” Arne’s grin began to break out. “Do you mean you’re going to help?”

“Why not? I baled lutfisk when I was smaller than you are, and helped pack the kegs of pickled herring too, sampling as I packed. I used to kind of like to hang around that packing house. And it’s fun to think of fish from the little port of Nordheim going all over, even as far as America. Come on, boy.”

Arne dashed joyfully across the room. “Say, I like to hang around the warehouse, too, but I can do that any time, and the saeter—well, that’s different. And this year Uncle Jens is going to rig up an extra good kind of special works to send the milk cans and hay from the top of the cliff down to the level land. We’ve been talking a lot about it. I want to help with that.”

“Well, why not? You’re pretty good at that kind of thing. Now we’ll go down to the packing house, and I’ll show you how to grab up those stiff old lutfisk and wind the wire around in a hurry. I’ve got a good technique. We’ll work fast, and if we get enough done, maybe Father will let you go tomorrow.”

The two brothers did not have very far to go, although their white house with its red roof and doors stood near the edge of the little harbor town far up on the Norwegian coast, where a mighty fjord joins the sea. They walked quickly along the narrow, cobbled street that twisted its way down to the wharf, past the brightly-painted houses—orange, green, and red—past the stavkirke with its roofs and gables rising one above another.

Arne liked that old church. He liked the carved dragon heads which sprung from the highest gables and rose above the small turret that topped the whole edifice.

“We’re lucky to have it, you know,” said Gustav. “There aren’t many of those old churches around Norway, and none at all anywhere else. It’s nearly a thousand years old; did you know that? It’s lasted since the days the old Vikings used to have to carry spears or bows and arrows when they went to church.”

“I like those old Vikings. And those were good days, Gustav,” said Arne. “They didn’t have to be sending lutfisk to America in those days.”

Gustav laughed. “Well, we do. So shake a leg.”

The packing house stood at the edge of the fjord, handy for unloading the fishing boats and for loading the ships that carried the kegs and cans and bales of fish to far-off ports.

Father was a little surprised to see them; and he was pleased, too, though he didn’t say so. Usually he had to make it very clear when he expected Arne to report for duty. And here the boy had come down himself and offered to help. Here was Gustav, too, who was on a vacation and not expected to do real work.

Gustav did have a very quick way of handling that lutfisk. He picked up several of the long stiff pieces of fish which Arne thought looked exactly like pieces of wood. These he arranged neatly in a bundle, bound it with wire, fastened and clipped it. As he worked, he sang some of the rollicking folk songs Besta had taught them long ago; and that made the job go even faster. Old Ole worked with them; he knew songs Arne had never heard. Before long Father joined the group; and by the time they stopped for supper, a good share of the work was out of the way.

“There, now,” said Father with satisfaction. “We are going to see to it that those poor folks in America do not starve for good Norwegian lutfisk. Time to stop for supper. I wonder what Mother will have for us to eat.”

“Hope it won’t be lutfisk,” said Arne fervently, and they all laughed.

When they entered the kitchen a few minutes later, they were pleased to see that Mother was cooking a large pan of meat balls.

Arne thought his mother was very pretty, with her coppery hair that shone like one of her own brightly-polished pots, her deep blue eyes and quick smile. And he knew very well she was the most comfortable person in the world to be around. There was a capable air about her that made one feel good inside.

His mouth watered as she filled a large platter with meat balls while Margret set big mugs of milk on the table and Besta brought a large bowl of steaming hot potatoes. It was a favorite meal of Arne’s, but for once he was the first to finish. He ran around the table to bow to his mother and father with the customary Norwegian, “Tak for mad,” which meant, “Thank you for the meal.” Then he said, “Now, let’s get back to that lutfisk.”

Father glanced at Mother, and his voice sounded as if he wanted to smile. But all he said was, “I’m afraid Arne is working himself out of a job.”

Mother had been talking to Besta, and now she answered soberly, though her eyes twinkled. “It may be he will have to go along on that saeter trip and help there, if he’s so eager to work.”

Arne looked from one to the other. They sounded serious, but they often joked that way. He grinned and brought his hands together in a noisy clap. “Am I going to the saeter, then?”

“Let’s see how we get along this evening with the work,” was all Father would say. But Arne’s heart felt light as he went back to the dock with the others. His fingers flew, and he sang louder than anyone.

2

The sun was still high in that land of the midnight sun when Father said, “Past nine o’clock. Time for a boy to be in bed if he’s to be up early to start for the saeter.”

“Oh, Father! I can go?” cried Arne.

“Well, the lutfisk’s nearly all baled. We don’t want you around here tomorrow eating up all the pickled herring. Uncle Jens is going to need help. See that you give it to him.”

“Oh, I will! Oh yes, sir!” cried Arne joyfully.

He wanted to say a special thank-you to Gustav for making it possible, but he didn’t quite know how. Gustav was likely to make a joke of things, and this wasn’t a joke at all. He did look up at his big brother, half shyly, as they walked up the hill toward home, and say, “I’m glad I am going. It was your doing, really.”

“Oh that was just because I wanted you to carry the heaviest loads,” said Gustav, with a wink. “I plan to take it easy. Don’t you loaf on the job, boy.”

He smiled and gave a friendly yank at a lock of Arne’s red hair, and the boy felt so happy he ran and jumped nearly all the way home.

It was still broad daylight when Arne tumbled into his feather bed and pulled another feather bed over him for covering. June nights grew cold along the fjord.

It seemed to him he had hardly fallen asleep when his sister Margret was calling, “Get up, lazybones, if you want to come with the rest of us.”

Almost before Arne had finished his breakfast of mush and milk and cheese, he heard a clatter on the upper road behind the house and dashed out.

There they all came, just as he had pictured it. His cousin Bergel ran to meet him, her blue eyes shining. “Can you go, Arne?” she cried, and at his nod, “Oh, good! I like it lots better if you’re along.”

“So do I,” said Arne, and they both laughed.

He adjusted his pack and fell in with Gustav and Uncle Jens and Evart. Margret, flushed and pretty, ran around trying to persuade their two cows and the goats to fall in with the others. Arne would have enjoyed helping her with that, but cows and goats were definitely the province of womenfolk. He knew very well that Margret didn’t want any interference from him. Bergel and Signe came to her aid; and soon the procession was on its way, bells ringing, everyone singing and waving and laughing, while Mother and Father and Besta called out, “A pleasant trip!” “Good luck!” “God be with you!”

The road ran at first along the foot of the mountain. It was a good road, though there were fences across it in many places, marking someone’s land boundary. But each fence had a gate which was opened to let the little cavalcade through, and then carefully closed. Before long they branched off to a road which climbed the mountain ever more steeply and presently turned into a trail. Here they tethered fat little Suri, and the cart’s load was divided among them. The men would have to make more than one trip down to get the rest of the goods.

Arne had been here many times before, and he rushed ahead so fast that Uncle Jens called him a mountain goat and told him not to fall into the fjord if he got to the saeter before the others.

They came at last to a log cabin with a sod roof. Pansies and bluebells were growing on the roof, and even a few little bushes and a tiny birch tree. The cabin stood in a wide clearing not far from the edge of the cliff which overlooked the fjord. Little Knut had to be tethered to a tall fir tree for safety.

The older girls drove the cattle and goats into the pastures which sloped through the valley up toward the mountain.

Bergel wanted to go and gather wild flowers. “Come on, Arne,” she urged. “There are foxgloves up here, and wild pansies and—”

“Oh, let’s go fishing,” Arne answered. “You can get wild flowers any time.”

“That’s right, do that,” said Aunt Tina. “We could use some nice mountain trout. But first get in some wood, you two. It’s high time for midmorning coffee.”

“Evart, let’s you and me get another load from the cart, and then go fishing with Bergel and Arne as soon as we’ve had coffee,” said Gustav. “All right with you?”

“I’m always ready to go fishing,” replied Evart, with a grin.

“I’ll help get the load up; then I must get busy fixing our milk-can elevator,” said Uncle Jens. “I’ve arranged with my neighbor to see to the end of it down at the bottom.”

Arne was delighted to have the older boys in the fishing party. They were really experts, and he liked to watch them. Also they knew the best spots to fish. Up the trail a little way was a clear, deep stream, and there they soon got all the mountain trout they could use. Arne himself caught six, and Bergel four.

“Oh, I wish we could stay all summer,” said Arne. “Don’t you, Gustav?”

Gustav laughed. “This isn’t man’s work,” he declared. “This is just fun.”

“You’re getting anxious to sail off,” said Evart. “When do you go?”

“The Laks arrives in a few days. Then it will go up the fjord with me on it,” said Gustav. He sounded happy at the prospect, but Arne’s heart sank. He didn’t like to think of Gustav going away again.

“Wish I could go,” said Arne, with a gusty sigh. “I haven’t even been on a boat and bicycle trip yet like some of the boys.”

“You’re too young,” said Bergel in her practical way. “And you haven’t a bicycle.”

Gustav looked thoughtfully at his brother as they walked down to the cabin. “Could be we might take you along on one trip on the Laks, Arne. Put you to work, you know, swabbing the deck and peeling potatoes and all kinds of things.”

“Oh, boy!” cried Arne. “Do you think I could, Gustav? And say, if you’re going to be going up and down the fjord, you can touch home every now and then.”

“That’s just for a few trips,” said Gustav. “Then I sail with Captain Olsen on the Stjerne. He says that will be the Christmas boat this year.”

“Oh, good, the Christmas Star!” cried Bergel, for Stjerne is the Norwegian word for star. “That will be just right. It’ll be fun to have you on the Christmas boat.”

“First he goes clear to South America. Don’t you, Gustav?” said Arne proudly.

“Yes, to South American ports and others too. We’ll bring back meat and fruit and grain and unload a lot of it at Oslo. Then we’ll take on more cargo—mostly Christmas things—and make the Christmas trip up the coast.”

“And bring in toys and candies and fruit and nuts and gifts and everything nice,” said Arne, his eyes glowing. “And you’ll stay home for Christmas, won’t you?”

“Yes, Captain Olsen says the Christmas crew should be home for Christmas. Nordheim is one of the last stops before Captain Olsen’s home at Tromsö, where they’ll put in for a couple of weeks or more. One of the other boys will take my place for that short pull.”

“Everyone’s going to be glad to see that Christmas boat come in,” said Evart.

“And Mother’ll be glad right now to see these fish come in,” remarked Bergel.

Aunt Tina and the girls stopped their work of scrubbing every floor and wall and stick of furniture in the cabin to admire the morning’s catch. Bergel stayed to help with the cleaning, and the boys went to help Uncle Jens, who was busy with wires and tools.

Uncle Jens had had a wire elevator before this for use in sending down milk cans and hay, but he felt it had been a somewhat makeshift affair. This year he wanted it to be strong and secure enough for any reasonable load, for his herd was an extra large one.

Arne liked this kind of a job, and he felt proud to be working with Uncle Jens and Gustav and Evart. Strong wires were fastened securely to trees and firmly anchored below to posts driven at some distance from the foot of the cliff. A milk can or a large bundle of hay could be sent down those wires in a rope sling, easily and swiftly.

When the little elevator was ready at last, Uncle Jens said they must send down a large milk can to make sure everything was all right. They filled one with water, tied it securely with a heavy rope, and watched as it slid and swayed its way down. Then the wires were tightened again, and they drew the milk can up and made more tests.

“I think it will do,” Uncle Jens said at last.

With all the outdoor air and work, Arne was getting hungry again. So were the others, and every one was glad when Aunt Tina appeared with a large white coffeepot. “Time for afternoon coffee,” she called.

Gustav sat where he could look out over the fjord, as if he hoped he might see the Laks coming in ahead of time. Suddenly he gave an exclamation and jerked his field glasses out of his pocket. “Some kid down there has turned over in a sailboat!” he exclaimed, jumping up and rushing to the cliff edge. The others followed.

“Don’t believe that kid knows much about swimming,” Gustav said, taking another quick look through his glasses. “He isn’t making for shore—just trying to hang on to that capsized boat. That’s slippery business. The water’s deep and cold.”

“It’s Oscar Blessom’s boat!” cried Arne. “But Oscar’s on a bicycle trip. Must be Torger! He isn’t very big, and I know he can’t swim much. And there’s no one near enough to see or help him.” Arne looked at Gustav hopelessly. Not even Gustav could help now.

But Gustav’s lips were set, and he went quickly toward the wire elevator.

“What are you going to do?” cried Margret anxiously.

“Go down the wires,” said Gustav tersely.

“Oh, you can’t! You can’t do that!” protested Aunt Tina and the girls. “It isn’t strong enough! It wasn’t made for a man.”

“Got to try it. Don’t see any other way. Got to get there fast or it will be too late. Have you got some cloths, Aunt Tina? I have to wind them around my hands, or they’ll be torn on the wires so I can’t use them.”

Aunt Tina flew for cloths and wound them quickly around his hands while Uncle Jens and Evart made a rope loop for Gustav to sit in.

All this was speedily accomplished. Uncle Jens and Evart helped adjust him in the loop while Arne watched, proud of Gustav, fearful he might get hurt, afraid he might not get there in time.

“Here I go,” said Gustav. “Hold onto that rope, Uncle Jens, tight as you can.”

The group at the top of the cliff watched breathlessly as Gustav went down. At first the wires swayed dangerously under his weight. Arne’s heart seemed to come right up into his throat. Gustav was a good deal heavier than a full milk can. But he adjusted his weight to one side and another and then shot down swiftly.

The moment Gustav reached level ground, he jumped free of the rope. Torger must have lost his hold now. They could see that the boat had drifted away. Gustav knew that, too, for he was racing toward the water, pulling off his coat as he ran. He snatched off his shoes and plunged in.

Arne wished he had field glasses so that he could see every detail of what was going on. He could tell that Gustav was moving fast. But would he get there in time?

“He’s making it,” said Uncle Jens, his voice full of relief. “He’s got hold of whoever it is. Bringing him in to shore.”

“It’s Torger Blessom, all right,” said Arne. Gustav had the little boy on shore now. He laid him down on a large rock and bent over him, working quickly.

Arne looked at the wires and then at his uncle. Gustav could use some help down there. If they’d pull the rope right back up, maybe he could muster the courage to go down those wires as Gustav had done.

But to his relief, Uncle Jens said, “See, he has Torger on his feet. He’ll be all right now.”

“We must be thinking of getting started, now,” said Aunt Tina. “We can’t go down like Gustav. We have to take the long way around. I’ll be up in a week or two, Signe, and give you a hand with making the cheese. And Bergel can help. She’s eleven now, and it is time she learned.”

Bergel smoothed her apron as they walked toward the cabin. She felt pleased and proud that Arne had heard her mother say this. He sometimes acted as if he didn’t think girls amounted to much. But she liked him and longed for his good opinion.

“Arne, you come again,” said Bergel. “We’ll go fishing.”

“We’ll be up, all of us, from time to time,” said Aunt Tina, who loved the mountain saeter as much as anyone. It made her feel like a girl again to be up here, for in her younger days she too had had her turn at tending cows and goats on the mountain in summer, at caring for the milk and making the cheese. “Just for tonight I want to be the first to blow the saeter horn. Run and get it, Bergel.”

Bergel ran into the house and came out with a long wooden horn, which she handed to her mother. The little girl longed to try it herself. They had told her, other summers, that she was too little; but perhaps if she was considered big enough to help with the cheese, she might be big enough to blow the horn, too.

She watched eagerly as her mother lifted it to her lips and blew a deep, mellow blast to call the cows home. Then, to her delight, her mother handed it to her and said, “You try it, Bergel. It will take more than one blast to bring the cows home.”

Perhaps Bergel would have blown a good blast the first time if Arne had not stood mimicking her, pretending with great effort to lift an imaginary horn to his lips, puffing out his cheeks, pursing his lips, and bringing out a small squeak.

Bergel had to laugh, and so did the others. But Margret gave her brother a brisk shake and told him to try to behave himself for once. “Try again, Bergel,” she said. This time the little girl managed to bring out, if not as long and deep a blast as her mother had, at least a very creditable sound.

The girls would have to go out into the woods and valleys and up the mountainside to get some of the goats and even some of the cows, for the first few evenings at any rate. But before long, most of them would answer the call of the saeter horn.

The bells on the cows and goats were ringing over the valleys, and the saeter horn sounded again and again through the clear mountain air as they started down the path, Arne running ahead of everyone.

It had been a wonderful day, but he was glad to be going home. He wanted to hear all about the rescue of Torger Blessom, to see Torger himself and make sure he was all right. And he wanted very much to find out how Gustav felt going down those wires.

3

Gustav only laughed when Arne asked him how it felt to go down those wires. “You’ll really have to try it yourself to find out,” he said. “It wasn’t much. Now you’d better run over and see Torger.”

Torger was still a little pale and more than a little mortified over his accident. “Gustav said he’d give me a lesson in handling a boat,” he told Arne. “He said maybe we could go out tomorrow, the three of us.”

“If Gustav teaches you, believe me, you’ll learn how,” said Arne. “He’s the one who taught me to sail and swim. Wonder why your brother Oscar didn’t teach you.”

“They are too near of an age,” said Torger’s mother. “Gustav is quite a bit older than you, and you are willing to learn from him. When Oscar tries to show Torger how to do something, it generally ends up in a fight.”

The boys couldn’t help grinning, for they knew Fru Blessom was right.

The next morning, Gustav took both boys out on the fjord. There was a stiff wind blowing, and the sailboat was not easy to manage. He said it would be good experience for Arne, and that if Torger learned in this wind, he’d never be afraid of a sailboat. Gustav was thorough in his instructions, and both boys worked manfully.

“I’ve got the hang of it now,” Torger said confidently. “I bet I won’t turn over in a boat again.”

“I don’t believe you will, Torger,” said Gustav. “Now you two lads be sure to get out on the fjord and sail every chance you have. The best summer fun in the world is on a fjord.”

“And the best thing to have fun with is a boat,” said Arne.

“You’re right about that,” Gustav agreed heartily. Then he gave a sudden exclamation, “Put her hard over to the left, Arne! We’re going in now as fast as we can! Do you see what’s coming in from the sea? The Laks is almost in port.”

Gustav sounded very happy, but Arne’s heart felt heavy as he steered toward shore. It had been such fun to have his brother home, and the time had gone all too quickly. Now it would be months before he would be here for more than a short visit.

But Gustav wouldn’t let anyone be gloomy today. No sooner had they tied the little sailboat up at the warehouse dock than he was rushing toward the big wharf, the younger boys beside him.

“From the way Arne’s going, I’ll have to hurry to get there first. He’ll be going as first mate in my place, or maybe skipper,” Gustav called out.

He stopped to smooth his hair and shake his coat into place before he talked to the captain. After that he hurried home to get his things, which were ready packed.

Besta and Mother came back with him, and Father, too, came down to the wharf to see him off. Half the town was gathering there, indeed, especially the boys and girls. They liked to watch the boat unload its cargo of mail and freight and take on other cargo to go up through the fjord.

Arne and Torger watched as a bright new spinning wheel was unloaded. “That’s for my grandmother,” said Torger, “and about time, too. She’s been complaining that she wouldn’t have wool ready for the Christmas knitting if that wheel didn’t come soon.”

Crates of oranges from America were next, boxes of groceries and drygoods, and windows for the new house going up at the edge of town. There was not very much to load on the boat here. The fish from the packing house went to ports farther away. Towns along the fjord could catch their own fish. There was mail to go. A few passengers got on. Arne saw a group of boys on board with sleeping bags and rucksacks. He knew their bicycles were stowed away somewhere and that they were on a holiday jaunt up the fjords and over the mountains. One of these days he’d be going on such a jaunt, too.

A little flutter of interest in the crowd made him turn quickly. To his surprise, he saw Uncle Jens coming down the street, leading Suri. He went straight over to the captain and said, “I want to send Suri up to Blegen for a little while. My wife’s brother needs an extra pony to help with some farm work, and I can spare Suri just now. So can you take her aboard and make her comfortable?”

“Ja, Ja, certainly we can take care of Suri,” the captain assured him.

But Suri did not seem to care for such a trip in the least. A broad band was securely fastened around her and a derrick swung over to lift her aboard. But little Suri stamped and champed and lifted her head, her eyes rolling in fright as she complained in loud whinnies.

No one thought of such a thing as trying to force the little mare aboard. Uncle Jens talked to her, and she quieted down a bit; but when the derrick came toward her again, once more she backed and stamped and whinnied nervously.

The other loading was finished. The sailors were closing the holds. But the Laks could not weigh anchor because little Suri, in spite of all wheedling, was flatly refusing to go aboard.

Arne only wished he had the chance Suri was refusing, but nevertheless he felt very sorry for the frightened little horse. Perhaps he could coax her a bit—he had done it often enough before.

He went over to try, fishing in his pockets as he went. Yes, there were two lumps of sugar. He put an arm over Suri’s neck and offered her one, talking to her softly the while. She nuzzled her soft brown nose into his hand and seemed to feel comforted.

“Go on, Arne,” Uncle Jens encouraged him. “She seems to listen to you.”

So Arne stood there, coaxing little Suri, feeding her sugar, talking to her, patting her, until she stopped trembling and champing and at last let him fasten the big hook in the band which was fastened firmly about her. Then he ran onto the boat and stood there talking to her from the deck. Now at last she let them swing her aboard, and though she stamped anxiously at first, she allowed Arne to take the band off and lead her down into the hold.

“Wish I could go along with you, Suri,” he said, putting his cheek against her neck and giving her a pat.

Gustav had come down to see that everything was in good order, and now he gave his young brother an encouraging nod. “That was a pretty good job, Arne; you saved the skipper a lot of time, and that may turn out to be a good thing.”

“Do you think he might let me go on the boat some time, Gustav?” asked Arne eagerly.

“I can’t promise a thing yet. You skip ashore now, and we’ll see. The ship’s bell is ringing. They want to get started. And our captain wouldn’t care for a stowaway aboard, I know that.”

So it came about that Arne was laughing as he ran down the gangplank just as they were about to pull it up. And instead of feeling sad as the boat steamed away with Gustav aboard, he was thinking of the day when he might be aboard too.

He looked up to see his father standing there, smiling down at him. “I thought for a minute there I was going to have two sons on that ship this time,” he said. “Looked to me as if the captain could find a use for you.”

“Oh, I wish I could be aboard, especially when the Stjerne sails out,” said Arne, heaving a great sigh. “That’s the life, isn’t it, Father?”

His father laughed, a contented, good-natured laugh. “That’s the natural way for a Norwegian boy to feel, I guess. I did my share of sailing, too, in my early days. But I understand there’s such a thing as school. I hear boys are expected to go to that in Norway.”

Arne knew his father was joking; so he smiled back, though school never seemed to him a very good subject for a joke. “I suppose so,” he said. “But I like outdoor things so much better than schoolwork. I just wish it were summer all the year around.”

Arne was not the only one who wished it were summer all the year around. Up at the saeter, the girls were having a merry time in spite of the work of caring for the cows and goats, milking and making cheese. There were berry-picking excursions through the woods and valleys to gather blueberries, raspberries, and the lovely bright multer berries which grew thick and red on their low bushes. There were visits with girls in neighboring saeters and fishing trips up the mountain.

“Don’t forget I’m to learn to make cheese,” Bergel reminded Signe one day.

“Oh, yes. Mother wouldn’t like it a bit if we didn’t get that tended to. We’ll start with gammelost. That’s best, anyway.”

Under Signe’s direction, Bergel warmed the milk and let it stand until the curds and whey could be separated. Then she dried the curds, crumbling them carefully with her hand, and set it all aside to ripen. Signe even let her add the caraway seed and salt.

When it was brought out some days later for inspection, Margret looked at it with approval. “We should save that for company,” she said, sniffing with appreciation.

Bergel nodded, looking very grown-up as she tasted it with a businesslike air and added a little more salt. Then she put it away in a covered jar to ripen further. “I hope the company will be Arne and Evart and some of the other boys,” she said, and though the other girls laughed, they agreed with her.

Down in the town, Arne was keeping busy, too. He had jobs of many kinds at home, running errands and getting in the wood for the old cookstove Besta preferred to Mother’s new electric range. And he had to help Besta cut the hay in the little patch of ground that sloped from their house up the mountain. It was fun to get in there with a scythe, and to help Besta and Mother hang the hay over the wooden hay fences to dry before it could mildew on the damp ground.

He helped around the packing house, too. There were errands there as well as at home, and there was cleaning to do, and packing. Sometimes he was allowed to go out with the fishermen. He especially liked to go with Ole to fish for torsk and herring and halibut. Sometimes they took a rowboat or a small sailboat up the fjord. Sometimes they took Ole’s big boat and went out to sea.

There was time for play, too, in the summer afternoons and long, light evenings. More than once Arne went away on a day’s jaunt with Oscar and Torger and half a dozen other boys. They sailed and swam and fished on the fjord, and took long hikes up and down the fjord path and up the mountainside.

But Arne never let any of his activities keep him from being right on the dock when the Laks was due. Each time he hoped to hear the glad news that he was to be on board when the ship weighed anchor. Each time he asked Gustav eagerly if he was to go on this trip.

When two or three weeks went by with no invitation for Arne, he began to lose hope. But then one day Gustav jumped off the gangplank calling out, “Where’s that Arne? You better go get some packing done, boy.”

“Really, Gustav? Do I go this time?” cried Arne.

“Looks that way,” answered Gustav. “The skipper says we’re bringing Suri back this trip, and you’d be a good one to have aboard to help with that.”

Arne gave a big, “Oh!” on a deep, blissful sigh, and was off up the hill like a shot to tell Mother the good news and to see to that all-important packing. He had a lot of things he wanted to take, and he had a feeling Mother wouldn’t think half of them were necessary.

“We’ll be here for a couple of hours, at least,” Gustav called after him. “Tell Mother to put the coffeepot on.”

Arne loved that journey up and down the fjord, stopping at each small village with mail and freight. There were a few passengers, and he liked to see them get off amid the joyful greetings of their friends. Often they were met by a light boat which would take them aboard and then skim swiftly and quietly off to some town across the fjord or to some nearby farm.

He made friends with a little party of English lads who had bicycles on board and planned to leave the boat at the head of the fjord and go off through the valleys and over the mountains which Arne taught them to call by the Norwegian name of fjelds. He wished he had a sleeping bag like theirs and that he could sleep out with them on deck, though they told him it got pretty cold.

They let him share some of the meals they cooked over their tiny portable stove, and Gustav saw to it that he contributed fish balls or cheese or some other delicacy.

On the afternoon the Laks neared the head of the fjord, Gustav was at the wheel and Arne stood near him, watching the waterfalls dash violently down the high, steep mountain walls.

Suddenly he gave a shout, “Gustav, look out! Rocks falling! Big ones! Right ahead!”

Gustav gave one quick look, and his face was grim. Arne’s heart beat fast. He knew it would be terribly dangerous to hit those rocks here where the Laks steamed between sheer mountain walls. But he saw that his brother wasn’t losing his head for a moment. He was proud of the resolute look on Gustav’s white face, the sure, firm way he managed to turn the wheel and guide the boat to avoid the rocks.

The captain came running up, his face as pale as Gustav’s. “Good work, Gustav,” was all he said, but his relief was plain to see.

At the head of the fjord, the English boys left them, though they stayed on the dock to watch little Suri taken aboard.

Arne kept a sharp lookout for falling rocks as they steamed homeward between the steep rocky cliffs. He was glad when they came to the places where the country flattened out a bit and there was room for a small village or a few farms at the foot of the mountain. Often he caught a glimpse of a saeter high above them.

“Do you think we’re going to get up to the saeter again this summer?” he asked Gustav, after one such glimpse. “I know the girls are counting on it.”

“I’ll have two or three days between my last trip on the Laks and the time the Stjerne sails,” said Gustav. “That will be early in August. Let’s go then.”

“Shall I make a trip up and tell the girls?” asked Arne eagerly. “They’ll have a lot of getting ready to do—a lot of baking and things.”

“You hope,” said Gustav, laughing. “Well, I hope so too, Arne. So we’ll figure out the time and you can hike up that mountain and tell them about it.”

Arne had made many pleasant journeys to the saeter, but there had never been one as gay as the trip up there with Gustav and Evart and a dozen other lads.

“Look! Look what the girls are using for pasture!” cried Arne, as they came in sight of the saeter. A shout of laughter went up, for Bergel had tethered a small white kid to the tiny birch tree on the roof of the cabin.

The shout brought out the girls, gay in their special holiday dresses. Arne thought they looked very pretty in their full, striped skirts with crisp, lace-trimmed white aprons and bright laced bodices over white blouses. A hand-made silver brooch fastened each blouse at the throat. Margret’s brooch was handed down to her by Besta, Arne knew; and he thought it was the prettiest one of all. These brooches were treasured possessions in Norwegian families.

Signe and Margret and Bergel had invited girls from neighboring saeters, and a good thing, too, for Gustav had brought his accordion and Evart his fiddle. There was dancing and singing and laughter under the trees. Arne and Bergel joined in the fun, for they could do the old folk dances as well as any of them.

Then a feast was spread out on the long table—fish and cheese and lefse and big bowls of berries with whipped cream, and kringler and cakes and cookies of all kinds. Bergel’s gammelost was praised enough to make the young cheesemaker very proud.

The fun stopped toward evening, but only long enough for the girls to get in the cows and goats and do their milking, to make fresh coffee and replenish the dishes on the table. Then the dancing started again and went on far into the long summer evening.

At last the party from the village started down the trail for home, reluctantly, to be sure, but singing and laughing nevertheless.

It was a sleepy Arne who tumbled into his feather bed at last. This had been a long day, but a wonderful one.

4

The Stjerne came into port a few days later, and Gustav sailed away as first mate. He was so happy about it that Arne couldn’t help feeling some of that happiness too. He remembered what fun it had been to go up the fjord on the Laks, and he didn’t blame anyone for wanting to go to sea.

But Gustav was sailing far away this time, all the way to South America, touching at many ports on the voyage. It would be a long time before he returned.

“Oh, Gustav!” The words fairly burst from Arne as he stood watching the final packing. “I wish South America wasn’t so far away!”

Perhaps Gustav knew how he would have felt if he had been in Arne’s place. He put his arm around Arne’s shoulder and said, “Look here, fellow, I’ve got something I want to leave with you. Father gave me new field glasses as a parting gift. I want you to have my old ones.”

“For keeps?” cried Arne. It would be wonderful to have those glasses.

“For keeps,” said Gustav, and was fully rewarded by Arne’s shining face.

“Now you can watch us till we get clear out to sea and turn down the channel between the shore and the islands. In fact, if you go up on the cliff, you can watch us farther than that.”

“Oh, I will! Oh, Gustav! And I’ll be watching when the time comes for you to come home, too, you can bet on that.”

The gift took most of the sadness out of the parting, though Gustav would be gone now until December when the Stjerne would come in with its load of Christmas goods. Then he would be home all through the holidays. That was something to look forward to.

The rest of the summer slipped quickly away. It was time for the girls to come home from the saeter, and Arne went with Uncle Jens and the others to help bring down the girls and the gear, the cows and the calves, the goats and the kids and the cheeses.

School was to start the next week, and he felt a little dismal about it as he talked it over with Bergel. “I hear that new teacher is very strict—Herr Professor Engstrand. Oscar said Pastor Beckstrom’s son told him so.”

Bergel nodded. “I heard so, too. But maybe we have to expect that, now that we’re going to be in the upper room. Just think, Arne. We’ll start learning English, and do a lot of things we couldn’t do before.” Bergel, very quick at her lessons, was in the same grade as her cousin.

“I’ll like being in the same room with Nels and Oscar and those boys instead of a lot of little kids,” Arne admitted.

“Yes, I think it’s wonderful we’re going to be in with the upper grades. And a man teacher. Makes me feel pretty grown-up.”

Arne was surprised when he entered school that first morning and got his first glimpse of Herr Professor Engstrand. Somehow, from Oscar’s remarks, he had expected to see an elderly gentleman. Herr Professor didn’t look much older than Gustav. But he certainly was not like Gustav in any other way. There was no laughter in those stern gray eyes, and his mouth, straight and firm, didn’t look as if it ever even smiled. He stood stiffly beside his desk, his shoulders squared.

When the school was assembled, he made a short speech. “I am new here,” he said, “but we shall soon get to know one another. If you do your work well, we shall get along without trouble. I shall put up with no laziness, no disobedience. You are old enough to know how to work, and that is exactly what I expect you to do.” His words were clipped and curt, and Arne was sure you could have heard a pin drop in that quiet room. Lessons were assigned and classes were held in the most methodical order. Any lack of attention, any slightest sign of disorder, was promptly reprimanded or punished more severely.

Arne very soon made up his mind about one thing. He would try to obey orders to the letter. He could see there would be trouble ahead if he did anything else. He didn’t know, of course, that this was Herr Professor Engstrand’s first school and that he was desperately anxious to make a good job of it.

Winter set in early, and it was always a relief to Arne to get out of school. He liked to get his skis and go flying down the steep slopes behind the town with Nels and Oscar and Torger and some of the other boys. Evart was away at school this year, and sometimes Arne took Bergel with him coasting. She knew how to steer the long sled almost as well as he did.

He would stop at home in the kitchen first, for he was sure to find Mother and Besta having a cup of afternoon coffee. Sometimes Aunt Tina would be there, too, and Signe and Margret. Sometimes one of the neighbors would come in. But whether there was company or not, there was sure to be something good to go with the coffee—slices from a big, round loaf of ryebread with gjetost, Besta’s special goats’ milk cheese, or coffeecake, or bakkelse—crisp, delicious little cakes fried in deep fat, or some other of their many specialties. Mother and Besta were as good cooks as you’d find in all Norway, Father often said; and he added that that was saying a lot, for Norway was famous for its good cooks.

Sometimes as he came in, after skiing or skating or coasting, he would hear Besta’s spinning wheel whirring comfortably away. She liked to spin the wool for her knitting and weaving. Even Margret, up-to-date as she considered herself, preferred the soft wool her grandmother spun to any other. Besta never looked as contented as when her foot was on that treadle, her practiced hand drawing out the fine strong woolen yarn.

Arne usually came from school with a rush and a bang. But one day he came into the kitchen without saying a word. Bergel was with him, and she too was quiet.

“Fresh lefse, Arne,” said his mother.

Arne nodded, but for once he didn’t make a move to take any.

Besta looked at him keenly. “Trouble in school, Arne?” she asked.

Arne’s face darkened, and he doubled up his fists. “That Herr Professor!” he exclaimed. “He’s just so mean and unreasonable. All I did was to ask Sigurd, just behind me, how far we were to study. And I had to stand up in front of the whole room for an hour.” He flushed as he thought of it.

“Perhaps he thought you would have known how far to study if you had been paying attention,” said Mother, shaking her head, though she felt sorry for Arne.

“Well, I was thinking of something more important than English grammar.” In spite of himself, Arne’s face lighted a little. For right in the midst of class, he had suddenly thought of a delightful plan—a surprise for everyone for Christmas. Mother was exactly right, though he didn’t like to admit it. He had been thinking out details of his project instead of paying attention.

“How do you get along with Herr Professor, Bergel?” asked Besta.

“Oh, of course she gets along fine!” exploded Arne. “She always has her lessons, and she behaves like a little lady.” The mincing tone he assumed almost made Mother and Besta smile, though they realized very well that this was no laughing matter. “Herr Professor likes Bergel, but he sure doesn’t like me. I might just as well stop trying to please him.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Arne,” urged Bergel. “You’ll get used to him. And he does know a lot.” She wished from the bottom of her heart that Herr Professor would say “well done” to Arne once in a while. He did do well in his history and arithmetic.

“Well, have some lefse and some ost and try harder tomorrow,” said his mother sensibly. “You’ll get along all right if you pay attention and study.”

Arne took the lefse, but it didn’t taste as good as usual. It didn’t seem to him he could ever learn to get along with Herr Professor Engstrand. It certainly looked as if he were headed for trouble. And with Christmas coming, too.

But he did make an effort, and school went better for some time.

Bergel mentioned it with pleasure as they walked home one afternoon. “You’re really doing fine in school, Arne,” she said. “You haven’t been in a bit of trouble lately. Herr Professor hasn’t even had to look your way. I bet you could be right up at the head of the class if you’d try.”

“There are so many things I like to do better than to have my nose in a book,” said Arne carelessly. “I like to work out in the workshop for one thing. Right now,” he added, his face brightening, “I’m working on—” Then he broke off abruptly and laughed. “Can’t tell you what—it’s a surprise.”

“Oh, go on, tell me,” coaxed Bergel, but Arne only shook his head mysteriously.

“You’ll see,” was all he would say. “I’d better be getting home to get at it. There’s a lot left to do if I’m going to have it ready in time.”

From early November, Arne had been spending every moment he could spare in the little workshop out in back. He was making a number of small ships, some with tiny sails, some with little oars, sawing and cutting and gluing and painting with great care. They would be hung all over the tree—red and green and yellow and blue.

There was to be at least one special one for each member of the family—a fishing boat for Father, the tiniest sailboat for Margret, a red rowboat for Besta, and a blue one for Mother. There should be one for each of the cousins, too, and Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina. And he wanted to make several for Gustav.

No one else in Nordheim or probably anywhere else would have a tree trimmed like that. It would be a surprise for everyone. Arne almost chuckled aloud whenever he thought of it.

His face was bright today as he ran into the kitchen. There were Mother and Besta, having their afternoon cup of coffee. The kitchen was filled with the good smell of baking. Rosettes were spread out on the table—delicate, beautifully-shaped cakes fried in deep fat. There were also crisp star-shaped cinnamon cookies.

He pulled off his cap and asked eagerly, “Any broken pieces for me?” He knew all the well-shaped cakes and cookies would be put away carefully for Christmas.

“Besta broke a few for you,” said his mother, with a twinkle. “And before you go out to that workshop, get me some soap from the storeroom. I am going to take down the curtains and put them to soak.”

For weeks, now, the house had been in a bustle and flurry of Christmas cleaning. Every spot was shining—floors and furniture, brass and copper. The house fairly seemed to twinkle.

He couldn’t see why they had to take down the lace-trimmed window curtains to be washed and stiffly starched. Those curtains looked white as snow to him. But when he said that to Mother, she laughed out loud. “Not have clean curtains for Christmas!” she exclaimed. “What a boy you are, Arne! If your mother did such a thing, Julenissen would be so horrified he would run right away from our house.”

Arne laughed, too. You certainly wouldn’t want to scare away Julenissen, the little elf with the pointed red cap and little red suit. He was supposed to live in the attic and bring special good luck at Christmas time, particularly if one always remembered to set out his bowl of milk and give him his Christmas rice porridge. Arne had never actually seen Julenissen, but he knew someone in the family always saw to that milk and the porridge.