ve under like circumstances
when I was a boy. I could cut or carry on my back loads of hay all day,
and feel at night as if I had been playing. Such is the singular effect
of the spirit on labor.

To make up for this, Elsket would sometimes, when I went fishing, take
her knitting and keep me company, sitting at a little distance. With her
pale, calm face and shining hair outlined against the background of her
sad-colored kerchief, she looked like a mourning angel. I never saw her
smile except when her father came into her presence, and when she smiled
it was as if the sun had suddenly come out. I began to understand the
devotion of these two strange people, so like and yet so different.

One rainy day she had a strange turn; she began to be restless. Her
large, sad eyes, usually so calm, became bright; the two spots in her
cheeks burned yet deeper; her face grew anxious. Then she laid her
knitting aside and took out of a great chest something on which she
began to sew busily. I was looking at her, when she caught my eye and
smiled. It was the first time she ever smiled for me. "Did you know I
was going to be married?" she asked, just as an American girl might have
done. And before I could answer, she brought me the work. It was her
wedding dress. "I have nearly finished it," she said. Then she brought
me a box of old silver ornaments, such as the Norsk brides wear, and put
them on. When I had admired them she put them away. After a little,
she arose and began to wander about the house and out into the rain. I
watched her with interest. Her father came in, and I saw a distressed
look come into his eyes. He went up to her, and laying his hand on her
drew her toward a seat. Then taking down an old Bible, he turned to a
certain place and began to read. He read first the Psalm: "Lord,
thou hast been our refuge, from one generation to another. Before the
mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made,
thou art God from everlasting, and world without end." Then he turned
to the chapter of Corinthians, "Now is Christ risen from the dead, and
become the first-fruits of them that slept," etc. His voice was clear,
rich, and devout, and he read it with singular earnestness and beauty.
It gave me a strange feeling; it is a part of our burial service. Then
he opened his hymn-book and began to sing a low, dirge-like hymn. I sat
silent, watching the strange service and noting its effect on Elsket.
She sat at f