had become
too tight for the priest's wife was made over for Magnhild.

It was too short both in the waist and in the skirt; but Magnhild
scarcely noticed this. She was provided by the governess with a little
colored silk neckerchief and a silver brooch; she borrowed the every-day
shawl of the mistress of the house; a pair of gloves were loaned her by
the governess.

Her inner preparations were not much more extensive than the outer ones.

The day glided tranquilly by without any special emotion. Religious
sentiments at the parsonage, as well as elsewhere in the parish, were
matters of calm custom. Some tears were shed in church, the priest
offered wine and a toast at table, and there was a little talk about
what should now be done with Magnhild. This last topic so affected
Magnhild that after coffee she went out and sat down alone. She gazed
toward the broad rocky path of the land-slide on the verdure-clad
mountain, then toward the mighty mass of debris in the midst of the
plain, for it was there her home had stood.

Her little brothers and sisters appeared before her, one fair, bright
face after another. Her mother came too; and her melancholy eye dwelt
lingeringly on Magnhild; even the lines about the mouth were visible.
The fine psalm-singing of her mother's gentle voice floated around
Magnhild now. There had been sung in church that day one of the hymns
her mother used to sing. Once more, too, her father sat on the bench,
bowed over the silver work in which he was a master. A book or a
newspaper lay at his side; he paused in his work now and then, stole a
glance at the page before him, or turned a leaf. His long, delicately
cut face inclined occasionally toward the family sitting-room and its
inmates. The aged grandparents formed part of the home circle. The
grandmother tottered off after some little dainty for Magnhild, while
the old grandfather was telling the child a story. The dog, shaggy and
gray, lay stretching himself on the hearth. His howl had been the last
living sound Magnhild had heard behind her as she was carried downward
across the stream. The memory of that awful day once more cast over her
childhood the pall of night, thunder, and convulsions of the earth.
Covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.

The saddler's ballads came floating toward her, bringing a sense of want
with their obscure dream images. And there drifted past her a motley
throng of those half-comprehended songs a