To the right lay "The Estate," the first column of smoke, just curling from the kitchen chimney; all round here the chimneys had been smoking for a long time, and a little smoke hung here and there over the town.
The day was warm. They toiled, perspiring, up the mountain-side, and she thought of those who, after a day's hard work, had every evening to climb these twenty, thirty, or even fifty stages for supper, wood chopping, and bed.
She did not meet a single person, though she saw several, mostly old men, sitting before the doors with their pipes. The working men generally slept till dinner time on Sundays, and the women were all by the kitchen fires. Here and there an idle lass might be seen, sitting on a step, chatting to a girl-friend who had most likely come up to join in the evening's amusements. Or perhaps a young sailor, who, with his pipe in his mouth, and his hands in his pockets, leant over a wall talking to a girl who stood shyly before him.
Little more than half-way up they came upon a party of lads and girls who lay or sat round a large flat stone. There was no noise or talking; Tomasine did not know they were there, until she was close upon them.
They were in the very worst of the smells, but that did not seem to affect them. What could they be engaged in? There was nothing to show it. She inquired the way, and one or two half rose, while one, who was older, answered her, pointing to a red house with white painted window-frames.
Tomasine had just wiped her spectacles and she could see the house, but she also saw distinctly by their manner that they all knew her, and every one guessed just what she wanted at Mother Stoa's. No one said anything, but she heard a little tittering and whispering when she had gone by.
She asked Berg what they could be doing, since they were all so quiet; and he replied that he believed that the boys were playing cards, and the girls looking on, but that, as it was at the time of the Sunday sermon, they hid the cards away if a stranger went by. She began to reflect on the difference between the working people in a little Norwegian town and those of a large foreign city, raising thereby many old memories. But something occupied her along with her thinking, a disagreeable something which would not leave off. What was that? Yes, it was the same frantic screaming from up the hill. Now that she came nearer, she recognised it, and it brought a painful feeling with it. It was her son's old, spiteful scream. There was no doubt of it--the same to such a degree in tone of voice, in description, and vigour, that it tortured and stabbed her. Could it be his sister who was up there scoffing at her? She had been hot before, and now she was in a glow; some of the old dread seized upon her, bewildering thoughts from the old days, of struggles with her son. But, "Frue, you are going too fast," called Andreas Berg from lower down the hill; she could hardly see him, her glasses were dim; she took them off and wiped them, and her eyes as well, drew a long breath and began to laugh. Berg came up slowly. The child's crying continued, but now that she had recovered her senses, she noticed that it came from the right, while she could see Marit Stoen's house, the red one with white window-frames, almost exactly before her on the slope to the left; it was the largest house up there, and undoubtedly the one she had seen, she could not be mistaken; she felt quite lighthearted as she walked towards it.
They could not go straight to it, but were obliged to make a circuit and come back along Marit Stoen's garden fence, which had also been painted, though evidently not so recently.
The two windows of the house looked out towards the garden, and there was an extensive view from them, but the door was in the end wall to the left, to which a porch had been added, with a few steps leading up to it. All was quiet here, inside and out, but the jubilant voices of the little ones below, and the screams of the angry child from the other side, further away, met in the air.
The garden, along which they passed, was the largest they had seen on the mountains, though certainly neither it, nor the house, were what one would call well kept. But there was comfort, or whatever one might call it: Tomasine hesitated for the right word. She now saw a child with dark hair and bright, wondering eyes, who got up from the steps, letting something fall from her lap, as she ran quickly into the house-place. Immediately afterwards there appeared a tall elderly woman, with dark untidy hair, and a handsome and intelligent, though rather dirty face. The woman at once recognised Tomasine, who now came up the steps and entered the porch.
"Have you come to see us, Frue?" she asked, smiling.
Tomasine was again busy with her eternal spectacles, and when she put them on again, the woman had tidied up the place as well as she could, with the little girl clinging with both hands to her skirt, so that, however the woman turned, the child was hidden from the strange lady.
Andreas Berg remained outside. Marit Stoen apologised for her untidy room, with a pleasant voice and simple skill. It was getting on to dinner-time, she said, and everything certainly ought to be very different. But there had been a dance there the evening before. They like to keep it up a long time, you see. She would still less like to ask the lady to come into the parlour, for it was even worse, she said, laughing. It was by no means a small sum that she made by letting the room, and by the coffee she sold. Her room was the largest on that side; for the mountain was divided in two as it were. "The people here will have nothing to do with those on the other side." And she laughed again.
Tomasine Rendalen had taken a seat, but when she began to look round the room, she found that the spectacles must come off again. She was warmer than she had supposed. As she took them off, she asked after the child's mother. The woman replied that Petrea was married.
"Married!"
"Yes, to a mate of the name of Aslaksen. He was a smart, clever fellow, and he would have her. They did not live here any longer," she said, and proceeded to explain their circumstances in detail. "Aslaksen would soon get a ship."
The child peeped now and again from behind her grandmother's skirts, and each time Tomasine glanced towards her. She had a shock of dark hair like her grandmother's, and in other respects was a blending of John Kurt and the woman standing before her--a blending which, she could not deny it, gave her a feeling of aversion. And yet the little thing was pretty. She had undoubtedly Kurt's wild eyes, but there was laughter in them as well as wildness.
"So the child remains with you?" said Tomasine, pointing with her parasol to where she was hiding.
"The child, yes, she's all right," answered the grandmother, while she patted her grandchild's head. "John Kurt, he paid for Petrea, as soon as ever she had her misfortune. And had a christening, so grand as you would hardly believe, and along a' that, he gives her a savings-bank book with a hundred specie-daler in it, and his father gave her another on top of it with just as much in it again." And Marit Stoen began to cry from sheer gratitude, because John Kurt had given two hundred daler to his own child.
Up to that time Tomasine had had no idea of this "Have you any of the money left?" she asked.
"I should think we have some of it left," laughed Marit; "why that is a likely idea that the little 'un could want it all." She laughed, and again took hold of the child's curly head, and drew it towards her. But the little one slipped back again directly.
"Is she not very much in the way, now you are alone and have to work?"
"Oh! as for that, no. We are not so particular as all that comes to.
She sits herself away somewhere;" and she turned half round, laughing, towards the child behind her.
"Is she easy to manage--not passionate?"
"Oh! not so bad," laughed Marit; "and she's so comical as well, poor little thing." And she now forcibly pulled her forward, the child still struggling against her. "Now, now, don't be such a silly."
Tomasine, however, did not wish to come into close contact with the child. So she got up, and looked round the house-place. The hearth was in the corner of the inner room; close by the window stood the table, with the remains of breakfast on it; a coffee-cup and a milk-bowl, with the dregs still in them.
On the wall opposite, and also on that between the fire-place and the door, hung some daguerreotypes, and two or three pictures were nailed up as well. The daguerreotypes, of course, represented Aslaksen and Petrea. Fru Rendalen passed these without looking at them. The pictures were, one a large ship in full sail, the others, the new Emperor and Empress of the French. As Tomasine had never seen any likeness of the latter she went up to them. The Emperor, who had a large nose, looked about twenty-four; the Empress was but lightly clad, though she looked all the same a very innocent little girl of hardly sixteen.
"They are only the sort o' things they carry about to sell," explained Marit. "I thought it would be amusing like to have her. She was not born to it, nor, for the matter of that, was he."
Tomasine was now opposite the open door. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed, "what child can that be who is always screaming?"
Marit laughed. "Oh! that's Lars Tobiassen's boy, that is."
"He never does anything else but scream," was suddenly heard from the little girl behind her grandmother's gown. She came forward in her excitement. Then, frightened at the sound of her own voice, she hid her head again.
"Perhaps the lady knows Lars Tobiassen?" inquired Marit.
Tomasine noticed something in her voice. "No, what is he?"
"It is rather a difficult job to say, that," answered Marit. "He's such a lot of things. He's a hard drinker, he is. He's turned butcher lately, for they say as drinking won't do no harm in that business.
Have you never seen him?"
"No, why do you ask me?"
"Ah, I don't hardly like to say anything about it," and she laughed rather slyly.
"But why not?"
"Well, I only says what others says to me. It was not as found it out,"
and she laughed again.
"What is said, then?"
"Well, folk do say that he's a Kurt too. Not any of them last ones, but a bit further back."
She saw this made some impression on Tomasine, and hastily added, "Like enough, it's nought but talk. He's like no Kurt that ever I saw. He's a rare fighter, he is."
"Some of the Kurts have been that too," answered Tomasine, by way of saying something; and she turned to the window and looked out.
"Yes, I've heard that," answered Marit; "there are two sorts of 'em.
Some fat and dark, and others just as thin; but they have always been good-natured, the most of 'em. Folk can say what they will, but to the poor people...." Her hand sought the child.
Tomasine turned at the moment and beckoned to Marit. Through the window they could see a number of people beyond the garden-fence. Andreas Berg was there as well, talking to some of them, perhaps to keep them there, and prevent them from coming to the door. They were mostly young. Now she saw that they were the same whom she had passed down below, sitting round the flat stone; a few others might perhaps have joined them. They all stood staring up at the window.
"My, what a lot there are!" cried Marit.
"Do you see that ragged boy, with the fair curly hair?" asked Tomasine.
"Yes, he is easy enough to see," and Marit's voice showed that she understood what Tomasine wished to know. "He is the son of young Consul Furst, and like enough to his father." It was true. That curly hair, those blue eyes, re-recalled the partner of many a dance. Tomasine blushed crimson. "Why, my gracious, and you did not know before, Frue?
Well, it's my turn to ask you something now," she continued. "Do you know that lass over there, as is holding her petticoat on with her hand? She has pulled off the string, poor thing. Her, without much more on than her shift. Her with hair as is neither yellow nor red, and a ridiculous white skin. Dear me, _that_ one over there. Can't you really see who she is?" Yes, Tomasine had done so long ago; she had had plenty of practice in the foreign schools in recognising parents by their children, and children by their parents. "Yes, she's Froken Engel right enough, if any one chose to call her so," laughed Marit, "though she's not dressed in silks." Tomasine drew back from the window.
Again Marit laughed, though this time not altogether without malice.
"One sees the wrong side of the world up here on the mountain."