, interrupted now and then by fits of violent
attachment, Arnfinn had early selected this dimpled and yellow-haired
young girl, with her piquant little nose, for his favorite cousin.
It was the prospect of seeing her which, above all else, had lent,
in anticipation, an altogether new radiance to the day when he should
present himself in his home with the long-tasseled student cap on
his head, the unnecessary "pinchers" on his nose, and with the other
traditional paraphernalia of the Norwegian student. That great day had
now come; Arnfinn sat at Inga's side playing with her white fingers,
which lay resting on his knee, and covering the depth of his feeling
with harmless banter about her "amusingly unclassical little nose."
He had once detected her, when a child, standing before a mirror, and
pinching this unhappy feature in the middle, in the hope of making
it "like Augusta's;" and since then he had no longer felt so utterly
defenseless whenever his own foibles were attacked.

"But what of your friend, Arnfinn?" exclaimed Inga, as she ran up the
stairs of the pier. "He of whom you have written so much. I have been
busy all the morning making the blue guest-chamber ready for him."

"Please, cousin," answered the student, in a tone of mock entreaty,
"only an hour's respite! If we are to talk about Strand we must make a
day of it, you know. And just now it seems so grand to be at home, and
with you, that I would rather not admit even so genial a subject as
Strand to share my selfish happiness."

"Ah, yes, you are right. Happiness is too often selfish. But tell me
only why he didn't come and I'll release you."

"He IS coming."

"Ah! And when?"

"That I don't know. He preferred to take the journey on foot, and he
may be here at almost any time. But, as I have told you, he is very
uncertain. If he should happen to make the acquaintance of some
interesting snipe, or crane, or plover, he may prefer its company to
ours, and then there is no counting on him any longer. He may be as
likely to turn up at the North Pole as at the Gran Parsonage."

"How very singular. You don't know how curious I am to see him."

And Inga walked on in silence under the sunny birches which grew along
the road, trying vainly to picture to herself this strange phenomenon of
a man.

"I brought his book," remarked Arnfinn, making a gigantic effort to be
generous, for he felt dim stirrings of jealousy within him. "If you care
to read it, I think