Mari, Our Little Norwegian Cousin Part 3

There is much eating, and frequent handshaking. It seemed as though the company could only show how loving they felt toward one another by the hearty shakes which they gave so often.

When every one had eaten so much that he could hold no more with comfort, the table was quickly cleared, and a young man brought out a fiddle from the corner of the room.

"Now for some of our Norse songs," cried one of the company.

"Good, good," cried all, and soon the room was filled with lively music.

The new baby behaved very well, and went to sleep in the midst of it.

But Mari's baby brother, who had come to the party with the rest of the family, was having too good a time to shut his eyes for a moment. It was not until the dancing began that his little head commenced to nod and his eyes could keep open no longer.

The older folk and children sat against the wall and talked together while the younger people waltzed around the room.

"Gustav, we want to see you and Frigga in the Spring Dance," said one of the party after a while.

"O yes, Gustav, you can both do it so well," cried another. "We must see it before we go home."

Gustav stepped out into the middle of the room and was followed by the young girl whom he was soon to marry. Her cheeks grew rosy as every one looked at her. She was a pretty girl, and her long, fair braids reached way below her waist.

And now the fiddler started up again with a lively tune. Who could keep still now? Surely Gustav could not. He took hold of one of Frigga's hands, and away they spun around the room. But it was not a simple waltz such as you have seen. The young girl held her other hand above her head and showed her grace as she kept moving around Gustav; she kept perfect time and step as she did so.

Other odd dances followed the Spring Dance. Ole's and Mari's eyes were wide open with delight as they watched their older friends. Whenever one of the dances came to an end, there was a general shaking of hands in which the children joined with a right good will.

The time to go home came all too soon. But as it was near the middle of summer, it was not dark even now at ten o'clock in the evening.

"Gud nag, gud nag," cried every one, after they had drunk again to the health of the baby and his proud parents, and the hands of all had been heartily shaken once more.

CHAPTER IV.

THE LOST PIN

"MARI, Ole, come here to me at once," called their mother.

It was the morning after the christening. The two children were sitting with their pet magpie under a tree near the house.

"What can be the matter, mother speaks so quickly?" whispered Ole, as he and his sister hurried to obey.

"Have you seen the silver brooch I wore at my throat yesterday?" said their mother, as soon as they came into the house.

The good woman seemed nervous. Her words came quickly, which was not a common thing, for she was a slow speaker, like other Norse people.

"Why, no, mother, of course not," said Mari. "Didn't you put it away in the box where you always keep it?"

"Certainly, my child, but I did not lock the box as usual. I found it open just now. Can it be possible that a thief has been here? It does not seem probable. Besides, my other ornaments are there safe. A thief would have taken all."

"I shouldn't wonder if I could guess who took the brooch, mother," said Ole. "It's the magpie. You know you said magpies like all kinds of s.h.i.+ning objects."

"You handsome little mischief, have you done it?" said the boy, as he looked at his pet.

The magpie had kept his seat on Ole's shoulder when the children came into the house. He looked from him to the boy's mother with bright eyes, as much as to say, "I could tell all about it, if I wished."

"It seems as though the bird understands what we are talking about, but of course he doesn't. Still, I believe he has done something with your brooch, mother," said Mari.

"It may be so, indeed, children. The box was possibly left open, although I am generally so careful. If that is so, Ole and Mari, you must find it. Unless you are able to do so, you cannot keep your pet any longer."

You may be sure the children were anxious to find the brooch now. All that day they searched in every nook and corner of the house and yard.

"You know, we let him fly around for a long time this morning," said Ole, when night came and still the brooch could not be found. "If it was carried up into some tree, we may never see it again."

Ole had crawled out upon the limbs of all the trees near the house, and his legs were pretty tired.

"You can't do any more to-night, children," said the farmer, when supper was over and the family were gathered on the porch to talk over the trouble. "Go to bed, and do not fret. In the morning, let the magpie out of the cage, and allow him to go where he pleases. Watch him, and perhaps you will find he has some hiding-place where he stores his treasures."

Those were wise words. The next morning the children did as their father had directed, and the magpie was set free. Five minutes afterward he flew out of the house, and away he went toward the barn.

Now it happened that a pole stretched out from under the low roof of this building. In winter-time a bundle of grain was fastened to this pole from time to time. It was placed there to give food to the hungry birds that came that way. They might starve during freezing weather, if kind people did not think of them.

A bunch of the old straw was still fastened to the pole. The magpie flew to it, and alighted.

"The brooch may be stowed away in that straw," said Ole. "I'll get a ladder and see, anyway."

A moment after, the boy was shouting in delight.

"I have it, I have it, Mari. How glad mother will be. O, you naughty magpie. We will be careful that you don't get any more brooches of my great-grandmother's."

Delighted indeed was the mother when they came in with the lost brooch.

"You may go down to the sh.o.r.e, and spend the afternoon," she said. "You can have a fine time with your playmates in the village."

A half-hour later Ole and Mari were playing barefooted on the edge of the bay, or fiord, as, you remember, Mari calls it. But there was no beach of smooth sand here, for rocks and ledges covered the sh.o.r.e.

There was only one little nook where it was easy for boats to land.

The village was built at the head of this narrow bay, as it reached far into the land. It was a long sail out to the open ocean. Mari had never yet seen it, although she had lived so near the water all her life.

It was a wonderful sight that the children looked upon this afternoon.

Great cliffs rose high up from the water on each side of the bay. They were so straight and tall, they seemed to join it to the sky above.

A waterfall came rus.h.i.+ng down from the top of one of these cliffs. It made a whirlpool in the spot where it fell into the bay. But everywhere else the water was very quiet. It was so still, that as you looked up to the steep mountains on each side, it would have made you almost fearful, it seemed so lonely and apart from the rest of the world.

"I climbed way up that cliff by the waterfall last spring," Ole told his sister, as the children sat down upon a rock to rest.

"Weren't you afraid?" she asked, as she looked at him proudly. Then she added, quickly, "Of course you weren't. I never knew you to be afraid of anything in your life. But why did you do it?"

"I was after down for mother's cloak. The eider-ducks build their nests in the crannies of the rocks. I found three of them that day, I remember. It seemed almost too bad to rob the nests, but still you know there is nothing so soft and warm as the down. And I shall be proud when mother has enough to line her cloak and finish it."