{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_31993/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_31993","id":"gutenberg_31993","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31993","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Christmas","Christmas -- Juvenile fiction","Christmas stories","Norway -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Bryan Ness, Anne Grieve and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n +-------------------------------------------------------------+\n |                                                             |\n | Transcriber's note:                                         |\n |                                                             |\n | Throughout this text, oe has been substituted for both the  |\n | oe ligature and the letter o with an umlaut. The ae ligature|\n | has been replaced by ae.                                    |\n |                                                             |\n | This book contains illustrations, several of which are      |\n | printed in mid-paragraph, either on a separate page or      |\n | alongside the text itself. To avoid disrupting the flow of  |\n | the text, the markers for these illustrations have been     |\n | moved to paragraph breaks. The original illustrations have  |\n | no captions, but descriptions have been added to them for   |\n | the enhancement of this text version.                       |\n |                                                             |\n | Punctuation surrounding reported speech has been            |\n | regularised, all other punctuation and spelling has been    |\n | left as in the original text.                               |\n |                                                             |\n +-------------------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: Picture of a troll pulling girl by the arm]\n\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a laughing troll]\n\n\n'Round the Yule-Log\n\nChristmas in Norway\n\n\nBY\n\nP. CHR. ASBJOERNSEN\n\n\nTRANSLATED BY\n\nH. L. BROEKSTAD.\n\n\nBOSTON\n\nDANA ESTES AND CO.\n\nPUBLISHERS\n\n\n_Copyright, 1895,_\n\nBY ESTES AND LAURIAT\n\n_All rights reserved_\n\n\nColonial Press\n\nElectrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.\n\nBoston, Mass., U. S. A.\n\n\n\n\n'ROUND THE YULE-LOG.\n\n\nThe wind was whistling through the old lime and maple trees opposite my\nwindows, the snow was sweeping down the street, and the sky was black as\na December sky can possibly be here in Christiania. I was in just as\nblack a mood. It was Christmas Eve,--the first I was to spend away from\nthe cosey fireside of my home. I had lately received my officer's\ncommission, and had hoped that I should have gladdened my aged parents\nwith my presence during the holidays, and had also hoped that I should\nbe able to show myself in all my glory and splendour to the ladies of\nour parish. But a fever had brought me to the hospital, which I had left\nonly a week before, and now I found myself in the much-extolled state of\nconvalescence. I had written home for a horse and sledge and my father's\nfur coat, but my letter could scarcely reach our valley before the day\nafter Christmas, and the horse could not be in town before New Year's\nEve.\n\nMy comrades had all left town, and I knew no family with whom I could\nmake myself at home during the holidays. The two old maids I lodged with\nwere certainly very kind and friendly people, and they had taken great\ncare of me in the commencement of my illness, but the peculiar ways and\nhabits of these ladies were too much of the old school to prove\nattractive to the fancies of youth. Their thoughts dwelt mostly on the\npast; and when they, as often might occur, related to me some stories of\nthe town, its people and its customs, these stories reminded me, not\nonly by their contents, but also by the simple, unaffected way in which\nthey were rendered, of a past age.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of two old maids]\n\nThe antiquated appearance of these ladies was also in the strictest\nharmony with the house in which they lived. It was one of those old\nhouses in Custom House Street, with deep windows, long dark passages and\nstaircases, gloomy rooms and garrets, where one could not help thinking\nof ghosts and brownies; in short, just such a house, and perhaps it was\nthe very one, which Mauritz Hansen has described in his story, \"The Old\nDame with the Hood.\" Their circle of acquaintances was very limited;\nbesides a married sister and her children, no other visitors came there\nbut a couple of tiresome old ladies. The only relief to this kind of\nlife was a pretty niece and some merry little cousins of hers, who\nalways made me tell them fairy tales and stories.\n\nI tried to divert myself in my loneliness and melancholy mood by looking\nout at all the people who passed up and down the street in the snow and\nwind, with blue noses and half-shut eyes. It amused me to see the bustle\nand the life in the apothecary's shop across the street. The door was\nscarcely shut for a moment. Servants and peasants streamed in and out,\nand commenced to study the labels and directions when they came out in\nthe street. Some appeared to be able to make them out, but sometimes a\nlengthy study and a dubious shake of the head showed that the solution\nwas too difficult. It was growing dusk. I could not distinguish the\ncountenances any longer, but gazed across at the old building. The\napothecary's house, \"The Swan,\" as it is still called, stood there,\nwith its dark, reddish-brown walls, its pointed gables and towers, with\nweather-cocks and latticed windows, as a monument of the architecture of\nthe time of King Christian the Fourth. The Swan looked then, as now, a\nmost respectable and sedate bird, with its gold ring round its neck, its\nspur-boots, and its wings stretched out as if to fly. I was about to\nplunge myself into reflection on imprisoned birds when I was disturbed\nby noise and laughter proceeding from some children in the adjoining\nroom, and by a gentle, old-maidish knock at my door.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of an old maid knocking at the door]\n\nOn my requesting the visitor to come in, the elder of my landladies,\nMiss Mette, entered the room with a courtesy in the good old style; she\ninquired after my health, and invited me, without further ceremony, to\ncome and make myself at home with them for the evening. \"It isn't good\nfor you, dear Lieutenant, to sit thus alone here in the dark,\" she\nadded. \"Will you not come in to us now at once? Old Mother Skau and my\nbrother's little girls have come; they will perhaps amuse you a little.\nYou are so fond of the dear children.\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of an old woman wearing a cap]\n\nI accepted the friendly invitation. As I entered the room, the fire from\nthe large square stove, where the logs were burning lustily, threw a\nred, flickering light through the wide-open door over the room, which\nwas very deep, and furnished in the old style, with high-back, Russia\nleather chairs, and one of those settees which were intended for\nfarthingales and straight up-and-down positions. The walls were adorned\nwith oil paintings, portraits of stiff ladies with powdered coiffures,\nof bewigged Oldenborgians, and other redoubtable persons in mail and\narmour or red coats.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of the narrator looking at the paintings]\n\n\"You must really excuse us, Lieutenant, for not having lighted the\ncandles yet,\" said Miss Cicely, the younger sister, who was generally\ncalled \"Cilly,\" and who came towards me and dropped a courtesy, exactly\nlike her sister's; \"but the children do so like to tumble about here\nbefore the fire in the dusk of the evening, and Madam Skau does also\nenjoy a quiet little chat in the chimney corner.\"\n\n\"Oh, chat me here and chat me there! there is nothing you like yourself\nbetter than a little bit of gossip in the dusk of the evening, Cilly,\nand then we are to get the blame of it,\" answered the old asthmatic lady\nwhom they called Mother Skau.\n\n\"Eh! good evening, sir,\" she said to me, as she drew herself up to make\nthe best of her own inflated, bulky appearance. \"Come and sit down here\nand tell me how it fares with you; but, by my troth, you are nothing but\nskin and bones!\"\n\nI had to tell her all about my illness, and in return I had to endure a\nvery long and circumstantial account of her rheumatism and her\nasthmatical ailments, which, fortunately, was interrupted by the noisy\narrival of the children from the kitchen, where they had paid a visit to\nold Stine, a fixture in the house.\n\n\"Oh, auntie, do you know what Stine says?\" cried a little brown-eyed\nbeauty. \"She says I shall go with her into the hay-loft to-night and\ngive the brownie his Christmas porridge. But I won't go; I am afraid of\nthe brownies!\"\n\n\"Never mind, my dear, Stine says it only to get rid of you; she dare not\ngo into the hay-loft herself--the foolish old thing--in the dark, for\nshe knows well enough she was frightened once by the brownies herself,\"\nsaid Miss Mette. \"But are you not going to say good evening to the\nLieutenant, children?\"\n\n\"Oh, is that you, Lieutenant? I did not know you. How pale you are! It\nis such a long time since I saw you!\" shouted the children all at once,\nas they flocked round me.\n\n\"Now you must tell us something awfully jolly! It is such a long time\nsince you told us anything. Oh, tell us about Buttercup, dear Mr.\nLieutenant, do tell us about Buttercup and Goldentooth!\"\n\nI had to tell them about Buttercup and the dog Goldentooth, but they\nwould not let me off until I gave them a couple of stories into the\nbargain about the brownies at Vager and at Bure, who stole hay from each\nother, and who met at last with a load of hay on their backs, and how\nthey fought till they vanished in a cloud of hay-dust. I had also to\ntell them the story of the brownie at Hesselberg, who teased the\nhouse-dog till the farmer came out and threw him over the barn bridge.\nThe children clapped their hands in great joy and laughed heartily.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of two brownies fighting]\n\n\"It served him right, the naughty brownie!\" they shouted, and asked for\nanother story.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"I will tell you the story of Peter Gynt and the trolls.\n\n\"In the olden days there lived in Kvam a hunter whose name was Peter\nGynt, and who was always roaming about in the mountains after bears and\nelks, for in those days there were more forests on the mountains than\nthere are now, and consequently plenty of wild beasts.\n\n\"One day, shortly before Christmas, Peter set out on an expedition. He\nhad heard of a farm on Doorefell which was invaded by such a number of\ntrolls every Christmas Eve that the people on the farm had to move out,\nand get shelter at some of their neighbours'. He was anxious to go\nthere, for he had a great fancy to come across the trolls, and see if he\ncould not overcome them. He dressed himself in some old ragged clothes,\nand took a tame white bear which he had with him, as well as an awl,\nsome pitch and twine. When he came to the farm he went in and asked for\nlodgings.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of Peter Gynt and his tame white bear]\n\n\"'God help us!' said the farmer; 'we can't give you any lodgings. We\nhave to clear out of the house ourselves soon and look for lodgings, for\nevery Christmas Eve we have the trolls here.'\n\n\"But Peter thought he should be able to clear the trolls out,--he had\ndone such a thing before; and then he got leave to stay, and a pig's\nskin into the bargain. The bear lay down behind the fireplace, and\nPeter took out his awl and pitch and twine, and began making a big, big\nshoe, which it took the whole pig's skin to make. He put a strong rope\nin for lacings, that he might pull the shoe tightly together, and,\nfinally, he armed himself with a couple of handspikes.\n\n\"Shortly he heard the trolls coming. They had a fiddler with them, and\nsome began dancing, while others fell to eating the Christmas fare on\nthe table,--some fried bacon, and some fried frogs and toads, and other\nnasty things which they had brought with them. During this some of the\ntrolls found the shoe Peter had made. They thought it must belong to a\nvery big foot. They all wanted to try it on at once, so they put a foot\neach into it; but Peter made haste and tightened the rope, took one of\nthe handspikes and fastened the rope around it, and got them at last\nsecurely tied up in the shoe.\n\n\"Just then the bear put his nose out from behind the fireplace, where he\nwas lying, and smelt they were frying something.\n\n\"'Will you have a sausage, pussy?' said one of the trolls, and threw a\nhot frog right into the bear's jaws.\n\n\"'Scratch them, pussy!' said Peter.\n\n\"The bear got so angry that he rushed at the trolls and scratched them\nall over, while Peter took the other handspike and hammered away at them\nas if he wanted to beat their brains out. The trolls had to clear out at\nlast, but Peter stayed and enjoyed himself with all the Christmas fare\nthe whole week. After that the trolls were not heard of there for many\nyears.\n\n\"Some years afterwards, about Christmas time, Peter was out in the\nforest cutting wood for the holidays, when a troll came up to him and\nshouted,--\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a troll shouting at Peter Gynt]\n\n\"'Have you got that big pussy of yours, yet?'\n\n\"'Oh, yes! she is at home behind the fireplace,' said he; 'and she has\ngot seven kittens, all bigger and larger than herself.'\n\n\"'We'll never come to you any more, then,' said the troll, and they\nnever did.\"\n\nThe children were all delighted with this story.\n\n\"Tell us another, dear Lieutenant,\" they all shouted in chorus.\n\n\"No, no, children! you bother the Lieutenant too much,\" said Miss\nCicely. \"Aunt Mette will tell you a story now.\"\n\n\"Yes, do, auntie, do!\" was the general cry.\n\n\"I don't know exactly what I shall tell you,\" said Aunt Mette, \"but\nsince we have commenced telling about the brownies, I think I will tell\nyou something about them, too. You remember, of course, old Kari\nGausdal, who came here and baked bread, and who always had so many tales\nto tell you.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes!\" shouted the children.\n\n\"Well, old Kari told me that she was in service at the orphan asylum\nsome years ago, and at that time it was still more dreary and lonely in\nthat part of the town than it is now. That asylum is a dark and dismal\nplace, I can tell you. Well, when Kari came there she was cook, and a\nvery smart and clever girl she was. She had, one day, to get up very\nearly in the morning to brew, when the other servants said to her,--\n\n\"'You had better mind you don't get up too early, and you mustn't put\nany fire under the copper before two o'clock.'\n\n\"'Why?' she asked.\n\n\"'Don't you know there is a brownie here? And you ought to know that\nthose people don't like to be disturbed so early,' they said; 'and\nbefore two o'clock you mustn't light the fire by any means.'\n\n\"'Is that all?' said Kari. She was anything but chicken-hearted. 'I have\nnothing to do with that brownie of yours, but if he comes in my way,\nwhy, by my faith, I will send him head over heels through the door.'\n\n\"The others warned her, but she did not care a bit, and next morning,\njust as the clock struck one, she got up and lighted the fire under the\ncopper in the brewhouse; but the fire went out in a moment. Somebody\nappeared to be throwing the logs about on the hearth, but she could not\nsee who it was. She gathered the logs together, one at a time, but it\nwas of no use, and the chimney would not draw, either. She got tired of\nthis at last, took a burning log and ran around the room with it,\nswinging it high and low while she shouted, 'Be gone, be gone whence you\ncame! If you think you can frighten me you are mistaken.' 'Curse you!'\nsomebody hissed in one of the darkest corners. 'I have had seven souls\nin this house; I thought I should have got eight in all!' 'But from that\ntime nobody saw or heard the brownie in the asylum,' said Kari Gausdal.\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of Kari swinging the burning log]\n\n\"I am getting so frightened!\" said one of the children. \"No, you must\ntell us some more stories, Lieutenant; I never feel afraid when you tell\nus anything, because you tell us such jolly tales.\" Another proposed\nthat I should tell them about the brownie who danced the Halling dance\nwith the lassie. That was a tale I didn't care much about, as there was\nsome singing in it. But they would on no account let me off, and I was\ngoing to clear my throat and prepare my exceedingly inharmonious voice\nto sing the Halling dance, which belongs to the story, when the pretty\nniece, whom I have already referred to, entered the room, to the great\njoy of the children and to my rescue.\n\n\"Well, my dear children, I will tell you the story, if you can get\ncousin Lizzie to sing the Halling for you,\" said I, as she sat down,\n\"and then you'll dance to it yourselves, won't you?\"\n\nCousin Lizzie was besieged by the children, and had to promise to do the\nsinging, so I commenced my story.\n\n\"There was, once upon a time,--I almost think it was in Hallingdal,--a\nlassie who was sent up into the hay-loft with the cream porridge for the\nbrownie,--I cannot recollect if it was on a Thursday or on a Christmas\nEve, but I think it was a Christmas Eve. Well, she thought it was a\ngreat pity to give the brownie such a dainty dish, so she ate the\nporridge herself, and the melted butter in the bargain, and went up into\nthe hay-loft with the plain oatmeal porridge and sour milk, in a pig's\ntrough instead. 'There, that's good enough for you, Master Brownie,' she\nsaid. But no sooner had she spoken the words than the brownie stood\nright before her, seized her round the waist, and danced about with her,\nwhich he kept up till she lay gasping for breath, and when the people\ncame up into the hay-loft in the morning, she was more dead than alive.\nBut as long as they danced, the brownie sang,\" (and here Cousin Lizzie\nundertook his part, and sang to the tune of the Halling)--\n\n[Illustration: Picture of the girl lying in the hay-loft]\n\n    \"And you have eaten the porridge for the brownie,\n    And you shall dance with the little brownie!\n\n    \"And have you eaten the porridge for the brownie?\n    Then you shall dance with the little brownie!\"\n\nI assisted in keeping time by stamping on the floor with my feet, while\nthe children romped about the room in uproarious joy.\n\n\"I think you are turning the house upside down, children!\" said old\nMother Skau; \"if you'll be quiet, I'll give you a story.\"\n\nThe children were soon quiet, and Mother Skau commenced as follows:\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a Brownie hurling dishes on the floor]\n\n\"You hear a great deal about brownies and fairies and such like beings,\nbut I don't believe there is much in it. I have neither seen one nor the\nother. Of course I have not been so very much about in my lifetime, but\nI believe it is all nonsense. But old Stine out in the kitchen there,\nshe says she has seen the brownie. About the time when I was confirmed\nshe was in service with my parents. She came to us from a captain's, who\nhad given up the sea. It was a very quiet place. The captain only took a\nwalk as far as the quay every day. They always went to bed early. People\nsaid there was a brownie in the house. Well, it so happened that Stine\nand the cook were sitting in their room one evening, mending and darning\ntheir things; it was near bedtime, for the watchman had already sung out\n'Ten o'clock!' but somehow the darning and the sewing went on very\nslowly indeed; every moment 'Jack Nap' came and played his tricks upon\nthem. At one moment Stine was nodding and nodding, and then came the\ncook's turn,--they could not keep their eyes open; they had been up\nearly that morning to wash clothes. But just as they were sitting thus,\nthey heard a terrible crash down stairs in the kitchen, and Stine\nshouted, 'Lor' bless and preserve us! it must be the brownie.' She was\nso frightened she dared scarcely move a foot, but at last the cook\nplucked up courage and went down into the kitchen, closely followed by\nStine. When they opened the kitchen door they found all the crockery on\nthe floor, but none of it broken, while the brownie was standing on the\nbig kitchen table with his red cap on, and hurling one dish after the\nother on to the floor, and laughing in great glee. The cook had heard\nthat the brownies could sometimes be tricked into moving into another\nhouse when anybody would tell them of a very quiet place, and as she\nlong had been wishing for an opportunity to play a trick upon this\nbrownie, she took courage and spoke to him,--her voice was a little\nshaky at the time,--that he ought to remove to the tinman's over the\nway, where it was so very quiet and pleasant, because they always went\nto bed at nine o'clock every evening; which was true enough, as the cook\ntold Stine later, but then the master and all his apprentices and\njourneymen were up every morning at three o'clock and hammered away and\nmade a terrible noise all day. Since that day they have not seen the\nbrownie any more at the captain's. He seemed to feel quite at home at\nthe tinman's, although they were hammering and tapping away there all\nday; but people said that the gude-wife put a dish of porridge up in the\ngarret for him every Thursday evening, and it's no wonder that they got\non well and became rich when they had a brownie in the house. Stine\nbelieved he brought things to them. Whether it was the brownie or not\nwho really helped them, I cannot say,\" said Mother Skau, in conclusion,\nand got a fit of coughing and choking after the exertion of telling\nthis, for her, unusually long story.\n\n[Illustration: Picture of the gude-wife putting porridge in the garret]\n\nWhen she had taken a pinch of snuff she felt better, and became quite\ncheerful again, and began:--\n\n\"My mother, who, by the way, was a truthful woman, told a story which\nhappened here in the town one Christmas Eve. I know it is true, for an\nuntrue word never passed her lips.\"\n\n\"Let us hear it, Madame Skau,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes, tell, tell, Mother Skau!\" cried the children.\n\nShe coughed a little, took another pinch of snuff, and proceeded:--\n\n\"When my mother still was in her teens, she used sometimes to visit a\nwidow whom she knew, and whose name was,--dear me, what was her\nname?--Madame,--yes, Madame Evensen, of course. She was a woman who had\nseen the best part of her life, but whether she lived up in Mill Street\nor down in the corner by the Little Church Hill, I cannot say for\ncertain. Well, one Christmas Eve, just like to-night, she thought she\nwould go to the morning service on the Christmas Day, for she was a\ngreat church-goer, and so she left out some coffee with the girl before\nshe went to bed, that she might get a cup next morning,--she was sure a\ncup of warm coffee would do her a great deal of good at that early hour.\nWhen she woke, the moon was shining into the room; but when she got up\nto look at the clock she found it had stopped and that the fingers\npointed to half-past eleven. She had no idea what time it could be, so\nshe went to the window and looked across to the church. The light was\nstreaming out through all the windows. She must have overslept herself!\nShe called the girl and told her to get the coffee ready, while she\ndressed herself. So she took her hymn-book and started for church. The\nstreet was very quiet; she did not meet a single person on her way to\nchurch. When she went inside, she sat down in her customary seat in one\nof the pews, but when she looked around her she thought that the people\nwere so pale and so strange,--exactly as if they were all dead. She did\nnot know any of them, but there were several of them she seemed to\nrecollect having seen before; but when and where she had seen them she\ncould not call to mind. When the minister came into the pulpit, she saw\nthat he was not one of the ministers in the town, but a tall, pale man,\nwhose face, however, she thought she could recollect. He preached very\nnicely indeed, and there was not the usual noisy coughing and hawking\nwhich you always hear at the morning services on a Christmas Day; it was\nso quiet, you could have heard a needle drop on the floor,--in fact, it\nwas so quiet she began to feel quite uneasy and uncomfortable. When the\nsinging commenced again, a female who sat next to her leant towards her\nand whispered in her ear, 'Throw the cloak loosely around you and go,\nbecause if you wait here till the service is over they will make short\nwork of you. It is the dead who are keeping service.'\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a Church with light streaming from the windows]\n\n\"Oh, Mother Skau, I feel so frightened, I feel so frightened!\" whimpered\none of the children, and climbed up on a chair.\n\n\"Hush, hush, child!\" said Mother Skau. \"She got away from them safe\nenough; only listen! When the widow heard the voice of the person next\nto her, she turned round to look at her,--but what a start she got! She\nrecognized her; it was her neighbour who died many years ago; and when\nshe looked around the church, she remembered well that she had seen both\nthe minister and several of the congregation before, and that they had\ndied long ago. This sent quite a cold shiver through her, she became\nthat frightened. She threw the cloak loosely round her, as the female\nnext to her had said, and went out of the pew; but she thought they all\nturned round and stretched out their hands after her. Her legs shook\nunder her, till she thought she would sink down on the church floor.\nWhen she came out on the steps, she felt that they had got hold of her\ncloak; she let it go and left it in their clutches, while she hurried\nhome as quickly as she could. When she came to the door the clock struck\none, and by the time she got inside she was nearly half dead,--she was\nthat frightened. In the morning when the people went to church, they\nfound the cloak lying on the steps, but it was torn into a thousand\npieces. My mother had often seen the cloak before, and I think she saw\none of the pieces, also; but that doesn't matter,--it was a short, pink,\nwoollen cloak, with fur lining and borders, such as was still in use in\nmy childhood. They are very rarely seen nowadays, but there are some old\nladies in the town and down at the 'Home' whom I see with such cloaks in\nchurch at Christmas time.\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a girl running from the church]\n\nThe children, who had expressed considerable fear and uneasiness during\nthe latter part of the story, declared they would not hear any more such\nterrible stories. They had crept up into the sofa and on the chairs, but\nstill they thought they felt somebody plucking at them from underneath\nthe table. Suddenly the lights were brought in, and we discovered then,\nto our great amusement, that the children had put their legs on to the\ntable. The lights, the Christmas cake, the jellies, the tarts and the\nwine soon chased away the horrible ghost story and all fear from their\nminds, revived everybody's spirits, and brought the conversation on to\ntheir neighbours and the topics of the day. Finally, our thoughts took a\nflight towards something more substantial, on the appearance of the\nChristmas porridge and the roast ribs of pork. We broke up early, and\nparted with the best wishes for a Merry Christmas. I passed, however, a\nvery uneasy night. I do not know whether it was the stories, the\nsubstantial supper, my weak condition, or all these combined, which was\nthe cause of it; I tossed myself hither and thither in my bed, and got\nmixed up with brownies, fairies and ghosts the whole night. Finally, I\nsailed through the air towards the church, while some merry sledge-bells\nwere ringing in my ears. The church was lighted up, and when I came\ninside I saw it was our own church up in the valley. There were nobody\nthere but peasants in their red caps, soldiers in full uniform, country\nlasses with their white head-dresses and red cheeks. The minister was in\nthe pulpit; it was my grandfather, who died when I was a little boy. But\njust as he was in the middle of the sermon, he made a somersault--he was\nknown as one of the smartest men in the parish--right into the middle of\nthe church; the surplice flew one way and the collar another. \"There\nlies the parson, and here am I,\" he said, with one of his well-known\nairs, \"and now let us have a spring dance!\" In an instant the whole of\nthe congregation was in the midst of a wild dance. A big tall peasant\ncame towards me and took me by the shoulder and said, \"You'll have to\njoin us, my lad!\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of a young woman holding a bible]\n\nAt this moment I awoke, and felt some one pulling at my shoulder. I\ncould scarcely believe my eyes when I saw the same peasant whom I had\nseen in my dream leaning over me. There he was, with the red cap down\nover his ears, a big fur coat over his arm, and a pair of big eyes\nlooking fixedly at me.\n\n\"You must be dreaming,\" he said, \"the perspiration is standing in big\ndrops on your forehead, and you were sleeping as heavily as a bear in\nhis lair! God's peace and a merry Christmas to you, I say! and\ngreetings to you from your father and all yours up in the valley. Here's\na letter from your father, and the horse is waiting for you out in the\nyard.\"\n\n\"But, good heavens! is that you, Thor?\" I shouted in great joy. It was\nindeed my father's man, a splendid specimen of a Norwegian peasant. \"How\nin the world have you come here already?\"\n\n[Illustration: Picture of Thor leaning over the bed]\n\n\"Ah! that I can soon tell you,\" answered Thor. \"I came with your\nfavourite, the bay mare. I had to take your father down to Naes, and then\nhe says to me, 'Thor,' says he, 'it isn't very far to town from here.\nJust take the bay mare and run down and see how the Lieutenant is, and\nif he is well and can come back with you, you must bring him back along\nwith you,' says he.\"\n\nWhen we left the town it was daylight. The roads were in splendid\ncondition. The bay mare stretched out her old smart legs, and we\narrived at length in sight of the dear old house. Thor jumped off the\nsledge to undo the gate, and as we merrily drove up to the door we were\nmet by the boisterous welcome of old Rover, who, in his frantic joy at\nhearing my voice, almost broke his chains in trying to rush at me.\n\nSuch a Christmas as I spent that year I cannot recollect before or\nsince.\n\n\nTHE END.","title":"'Round the yule-log: Christmas in Norway","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":5441}