and rod-case, walked off, I following, escorted by a number of my
new friends.

I had been installed in Hendrik's little house about an hour, and we had
just finished supper, when there was a murmur outside, and then the door
opened, and a young man stepping in, said something so rapidly that I
understood only that it concerned Olaf of the Mountain, and in some way
myself.

"Olaf of the Mountain is here and wants to speak to you," said my host.
"Will you go?"

"Yes," I said. "Why does he not come in?"

"He will not come in," said my host; "he never does come in."

"He is at the church-yard," said the messenger; "he always stops there."
They both spoke broken English.

I arose and went out, taking the direction indicated. A number of my
friends stood in the road or street as I passed along, and touched their
caps to me, looking very queer in the dim twilight. They gazed at me
curiously as I walked by.

I turned the corner of a house which stood half in the road, and just
in front of me, in its little yard, was the little white church with its
square, heavy, short spire. At the gate stood a tall figure, perfectly
motionless, leaning on a long staff. As I approached I saw that he was
an elderly man. He wore a long beard, once yellow but now gray, and he
looked very straight and large. There was something grand about him as
he stood there in the dusk.

I came quite up to him. He did not move.

"Good-evening," I said.

"Good-evening."

"Are you Mr. Hovedsen?" I asked, drawing out my letter.

"I am Olaf of the Mountain," he said slowly, as if his name embraced the
whole title.

I handed him the letter.

"You are----?"

"I am----" taking my cue from his own manner.

"The friend of her friend?"

"His great friend."

"Can you climb?"

"I can."

"Are you steady?"

"Yes."

"It is well; are you ready?"

I had not counted on this, and involuntarily I asked, in some surprise,
"To-night?"

"To-night. You cannot go in the day."

I thought of the speech I had heard: "No one goes over the mountain
except at night," and the ominous conclusion, "Who goes over the
mountain comes no more." My strange host, however, diverted my thoughts.

"A stranger cannot go except at night," he said, gravely; and then
added, "I must get back to watch over Elsket."

"I shall be ready in a minute," I said, turning.

In ten minutes I had bade good-by to my simple hosts, and leaving them
with a sufficient evidence of m