iver, where our course was marked out by young fir-trees, planted
in the ice. The world became a blank; there was snow around, above and
below, and but for these marks a man might have driven at random until
he froze. For three miles or more, we rode over the solid gulf, and then
took the woods on the opposite shore. The way seemed almost endless. Our
feet grew painfully cold, our eyes smarted from the beating of the fine
snow, and my swollen jaw tortured me incessantly. Finally lights
appeared ahead through the darkness, but another half hour elapsed
before we saw houses on both sides of us. There was a street, at last,
then a large mansion, and to our great joy the _skjutsbonde_ turned into
the courtyard of an inn.

CHAPTER VI.

JOURNEY FROM PITEA TO HAPARANDA.

My jaw was so painful on reaching Pitea, that I tossed about in torment
the whole night, utterly unable to sleep. The long northern night seemed
as if it would never come to an end, and I arose in the morning much
more fatigued and exhausted than when I lay down. It was 6 deg. below zero,
and the storm still blowing, but the cold seemed to relieve my face a
little, and so we set out. The roads were heavy, but a little broken,
and still led over hills and through interminable forests of mingled fir
and pine, in the dark, imperfect day. I took but little note of the
scenery, but was so drowsy and overcome, that Braisted at last filled
the long baggage-sled with hay, and sat at the rear, so that I could lie
stretched out, with my head upon his lap. Here, in spite of the cold and
wind, I lay in a warm, stupid half-sleep.

It was dark when we reached Ersnas, whence we had twelve miles to Old
Lulea, with tired horses, heavy roads, and a lazy driver. I lay down
again, dozed as usual, and tried to forget my torments. So passed three
hours; the night had long set in, with a clear sky, 13 deg. below zero, and
a sharp wind blowing. All at once an exclamation from Braisted aroused
me. I opened my eyes, as I lay in his lap, looked upward, and saw a
narrow belt or scarf of silver fire stretching directly across the
zenith, with its loose, frayed ends slowly swaying to and fro down the
slopes of the sky. Presently it began to waver, bending back and forth,
sometimes slowly, sometimes with a quick, springing motion, as if
testing its elasticity. Now it took the shape of a bow, now undulated
into Hogarth's line of beauty, brightening and fading in its sinuous
motio