sage into the sitting-room, where no one was
found except the dog. He was a great shaggy fellow, who at the first
kind word relinquished his wrath, and in a leisurely way went from one
to the other, snuffing and wagging his tail, then sauntering back to the
stove, lay down, fat and comfortable.

A creaking and a grating could now be heard overhead; the priest was
rising from the sofa. How well Magnhild knew the music of those springs!
The dog knew it too, and started up, ready to follow his master. But the
latter, who was soon heard on the groaning wooden stairs, did not go
out but came into the sitting-room, so the dog only greeted him, and
wagging his tail went back to the stove, where he rolled over with a
sigh after his excessive exertion.

The priest was unchanged in every possible particular. He had heard
about Roennaug, and was glad to see her; his plump hands closed with a
long friendly clasp about hers and with a still longer one about
Magnhild's. He greeted Miss Roland and played with the child, who was in
high glee over the unfamiliar objects in the room, especially the dog.

And when he had lighted his pipe and had seated the others and himself
on the embroidered chairs and sofas, the first thing he must tell them
(for it was just about a month since the matter had been successfully
terminated) was that the "little girls" were provided for. There had
been secured for each an annuity. It was really on the most
astonishingly favorable terms. God in his inconceivable mercy had been
so good to them. About the "Froeken" (so the former governess was usually
called), they had had greater cause for anxiety. They had, indeed,
thought of doing something for her, too, although their means would
scarcely have sufficed to make adequate provision for her, and she had
grown too unwieldy to support herself. But God in his inscrutable mercy
had not forgotten her. She no longer needed an annuity. She had gone to
make a visit at the house of a relative not many miles distant, and
while there God had called her to Himself; the journey had been too much
for her. This intelligence had reached the parsonage a few days before,
and the priest was in great uncertainty as to whether a bridal couple
would postpone their wedding for a few days.

"Thus it is, dear Magnhild, in life's vicissitudes," said he. "The one
is summoned to the grave, the other to the marriage feast. Ah, yes! But
what a pretty dress you have on, my child! Skarl