ilk.

This sour milk is a favourite dish with the Norwegians. During summer
the cattle are sent to the pastures high up in the mountains, in order
to spare the small quantity of grass grown in the valleys, which is made
into hay and stored for winter use. These mountain pastures are called
saeters, and the milk required by each family for daily use is carried
down from the saeter by the girls. The milk is put into round flat
tubs, varying from one to two feet in diameter and four or five inches
deep. It is then allowed to stand, not only until it is sour, but until
it is thick throughout like curd, with a thick coat of cream on the top.
In this form it is eaten with a spoon, and a very pleasant sight it is
to behold three or four sturdy herdsmen, and, perchance, one or two
boys, squatting round one of these large dishes, and supping away to
their hearts' content.

Grant seized the first dish of milk he discovered, and at once sat down
on a stool and began to devour it.

"Hold on, let us start fair!" cried Sam Sorrel, catching up a spoon, and
sitting down opposite his comrade on another stool.

The hut was built of rough logs, and the only furniture in it was of the
rudest description; a couple of box-beds, two or three stools, and a
bench, a gaily-painted chest in one corner, and a misshapen table was
all that it contained. There was a very small door at one side, a
particularly small window at the other, and a raised stone fireplace at
one end.

"Well, while you two are stuffing yourselves with sour milk, I'll go and
search for better fare," said Fred, with a laugh as he left the hut.

"Good luck go with you," cried Grant; "a bird in the hand is worth two
in the bush. Now, then, old boy," he continued, turning to the owner of
the hut, "could your goodwife make us a little porridge; I say, Sam,
what's the Norse for porridge?"

"Grod, [Grod is pronounced _groot_] I believe," said Sam, who was still
busy with the sour milk.

"Ah yes! grod, that's it," said Grant, turning again to the old man;
"grod, grod, get us some grod, grod, grod,--d'ye understand?"

"Ya, ya," answered the man. It would have been very strange if he had
_not_ understood, for though Grant addressed him in English the word
_grod_ bawled so frequently into his ear was sufficiently
comprehensible.

A fire was quickly kindled by the goodwife, a pleasant-looking elderly
woman; and the black family-pot was soon smoking. The old man was
sm