And thus equipped we hied away to 

 Norway, Nimrod and I, the hunter 

 passion keen for our quarry, the 

 reindeer, the Norway caribou. To 

 wrest from it, if possible, not its life 

 but its manner of life; not its head 

 with its bony processes without, 

 but proofs of the mental processes 

 within. 



Norway is a land of bare rocks, 

 bleak wastes, and silent waters. Its 

 charm gains slowly but, like the 

 people, is of enduring quality. 



The uninviting uplands of dwarf 

 half-frozen vegetation seem to stretch 

 on to the world's end, and yet the 

 houses are built small-footed and 

 broad-shouldered, as though land 

 were valuable, and of wood where 

 wood is scarce and stone is aggres- 

 sively abundant. The farm 

 buildings, their thatched roofs well 

 weighted with stones, huddle close 

 to form a bulwark against the winter 

 drifts, and often an extra barrier 

 against the Snow King is carefully 

 up-thrown. The saeter that shelters 

 solitary herdsmen of the rensdyr, 

 is a habitation merely, the next 

 remove from a cave dwelling, and 



