h each carriage that drove up. At
the large house where the procession was to alight and the dresses
were to be arranged a little for going into church, a hay-cart had
been drawn out of the way, into the corner formed by the porch.
Mounted on it stood a pedlar, a joking fellow, Aslak by name. Just as
the bride was lifted down he called: "Devil take me if Ole Haugen's
Bridal March is any good to-day!"

He said no more, but that was plenty. The crowd laughed, and though
many of them tried not to let it be seen that they were laughing, it
was clearly felt what all were thinking and trying to hide.

When they took off the bride's shawls they saw that she was as white
as a sheet. She began to cry, tried to laugh, cried again--and then
all at once the feeling came over her that she could not go into the
church. Amidst great excitement she was laid on a bed in a quiet room,
for such a violent fit of crying had seized her that they were much
alarmed. Her good parents stood beside the bed, and when she begged
them to let her go back, they said that she might do just as she
liked. Then her eyes fell on Endrid. Any one so utterly miserable and
helpless she had never seen before; and beside him stood his mother,
silent and motionless, with the tears running down her face and her
eyes fixed on Randi's. Then Randi raised herself on her elbow and
looked straight in front of her for a little, still sobbing after the
fit of crying. "No, no,!" she said, "I'm going to church." Once more
she lay back and cried for a little, and then she got up. She said
that she would have no more music, so the fiddlers were dismissed--and
the story did not lose in their telling when they got among the crowd.

It was a mournful bridal procession that now moved on towards the
church. The rain allowed of the bride and bridegroom hiding their
faces from the curiosity of the onlookers till they got inside; but
they felt that they were running the gauntlet, and they felt too that
their own friends were annoyed at being laughed at as part of such a
foolish procession.

The grave of the famous fiddler, Ole Haugen, lay close by the
church-door. Without saying much about it, the family had always
tended it, and a new head-board had been put up when the old one had
rotted away below. The upper part of it was in the shape of a wheel,
as Ole himself had desired. The grave was in a sunny spot, and was
thickly overgrown with wild flowers. Every churchgoer that had e