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CHAPTER III
THE CHRISTENING

"O mother, I have something to tell you. I have just been down to the village, and I heard there that neighbour Hans's wife has a new baby. It is a boy. Every one says he is a fine little fellow," said Mari, one beautiful afternoon.

"Dear me! dear me! that is fine news, truly," said her mother. "I must make her a dish of my best porridge and take it to her in the morning."

"Did everybody remember you when I was born, mother?"

"Yes, dear, the people of the village seemed to vie with each other in preparing a dish of flödegrod. It did taste so good! It was hard to tell whose was the best. You must learn how to make this cream porridge now, Mari; you are quite old enough. You will never be thought a good housekeeper if you cannot make smooth flödegrod."

"The baby is to be christened next week. Everybody will be there, of course, mother."

The farm was only half a mile from a little fishing village on the shore of a deep bay. Such a long, narrow bay is called a fiord. There are many fiords in Norway.

There were only about a dozen cottages in the village, but in their midst was a tiny little church and a small building used as the schoolhouse. But school was not kept there all the year round. Half of the time the master taught in this place, and the rest of the year he spent in another little village a few miles up the coast. Neither of them was large enough to pay for a teacher the whole year round. The children, however, were glad to work hard while he was among them. They loved their teacher and their school, and they learned quickly.

Every one in the place was busy now, getting ready for the christening. At last came the great day, as bright and sunny a one as could be wished.

All the work on the farm was stopped and every one in the family was dressed in his best. Mari had a fresh white linen kerchief tied under her chin, and also a finely starched apron. Her plump little arms were bare. Her stomacher was worked with bright beads on scarlet cloth. She had embroidered it all herself and she could not help being proud of it.

But perhaps you do not know what a stomacher is. It is a piece of cloth worn as an ornament on the waist and over the stomach. Mari's mother wore one also, but hers was sparkling with silver trimmings that had belonged to her great-grandmother.

How fine the father looked in his short coat and knee-breeches. He wore a bright red vest, over which hung his long light beard.

But Mari's mother was the prettiest sight of all. Her muslin apron was trimmed with three rows of lovely open-work. Her scarlet waist was finished with bands of black velvet, with the beautiful stomacher in front of that. She had loose white linen sleeves, and such an odd cap. You never saw one like it, I am sure. It was made of crimped white muslin with a wide rim over the forehead, with a narrow band beneath that hid her hair. The corners fell down behind nearly to the waist.

Her silver ornaments must also be mentioned. They were really beautiful, and were hundreds of years old.

Ole looked fine, too, in a suit much like his father's and a little round cap, fitting tightly to his head. You would scarcely have known the family in their holiday dress.

They stepped off gaily, and soon reached the village. They arrived at the church just as the christening party reached it.

"Do look at the dear baby, Ole," said Mari. "Isn't he lovely?"

The nurse was carrying him. He was so swaddled in his fine clothes that you would have almost thought he was an Indian pappoose. Only his face could be seen. The swaddling bands were of many colours, – red, green, and white, and there was a large white satin bow, of course. Every Norse baby wears such a bow to its christening.

And now the flock of people followed the minister into the little church. They passed up to the front and gathered around the altar.

"The baby behaves finely, doesn't he?" whispered Ole. "I am real proud of him because he is to have the same name as myself. Did you hear the minister say Ole, Mari?"

"Yes, but look now. The baby's father and mother and his godparents are all going up behind the altar. What is that for?"

"They are laying presents there for the minister. Of course they want to thank him for the christening. I declare, Mari, our baby was christened only last year, and you have forgotten what people do at such times."

"I was so excited then, Ole, I don't believe I noticed it. But come, everybody is going out of the church. Now we shall have the best time, for you know we are invited to the party."

The building was soon empty, and all the people started gaily for the home of the new baby. The minister went with them, of course. He looked very dignified in his long black gown, with a great white ruff about his neck. He loved his people, and took part in all their merry-makings. Ole and Mari were very fond of him. They ran to his side as soon as they got outdoors. Ole took one hand and Mari the other.

It was only a few steps to the little home of the fisherman. Everything had been made ready for the company. The table was spread with the good things that the Norse people love best.

In the centre of the table stood the old silver bowl from which every one must drink to the health of the new baby. This bowl was the most precious thing in the simple home. It had not been used before since the parents of the baby came here and held their wedding-feast.

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 shining 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 shore, 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 shore. 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 rushing 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."

"Those ducks have a queer habit of plucking the softest feathers from their own breasts to line their nests. Don't you think so, Ole?"

"Yes, birds are a great deal nicer than we are apt to think. You know the mother-bird covers the eggs with this down before she flies away for food. She seems to understand that they must be kept warm, and the father-duck doesn't help her by bringing her food or taking her place while she is away. She has all the care on her own shoulders, poor thing.

"If her nest is robbed of the down, she will pluck more feathers from her breast and line it again. If it happens the third time, she flies to her mate and takes enough from him to fill their place. But after that her patience is worn out, she goes away and seeks another place in which she can build a new nest undisturbed."

"She certainly is a wise little creature, for she wouldn't be warm enough if she robbed herself too much," said Mari. "Mother has been to the city of Bergen, and she says cloaks lined with eider-down are sold in the stores there, and that they are worth a great deal of money."

"Of course, Mari. Some men make a business of robbing the nests of eider-ducks. It must be hard work, too. But see, there comes the postman. Let's go to meet him."

The children looked down the bay, and what do you think they saw?

At first it seemed as though a pine-tree standing up on the water were sailing straight toward them. But no! one could see as it came nearer that the tree was fastened into an odd little boat with a high curved bow. The tree must be taking the place of a sail, for the man inside was not rowing, yet the boat came steadily onward.

"Is it rough outside?" asked Ole, as the boat drew near.

"Yes, the wind was blowing so hard I did not dare to put up the sail. But right in here it is quiet and calm enough to suit any one."

When the postman had carried his letters up to the office, in the leading house in the village, he came back to the shore and sat down for a few moments' talk with the children.

"This is a wonderful country of ours," he said, as he looked at the shadows of the great mountains in the water. "And we who live here belong to a noble and a mighty race. Never forget that, Mari, will you, my child?"

"O no, Olaf, I love to think of the grand old times when the Vikings sailed out of these bays and travelled all over the world. They were the ones who discovered America, weren't they? Although I have heard it said that the honour is given now to Columbus, the Italian."