146 HAPPY HUNTING-GROUNDS 



Their smiling faces indicated that they were as 

 glad to see us as we were to be back in our old 

 quarters. I mentioned Ole and his skill as a boatman 

 in the last chapter, but he deserves a fuller intro- 

 duction. About fifty years of age, short, slightly 

 hump-backed and thickset, he resembled one of the 

 trolls of the mythology of his native land. He was 

 a personage in the valley, and had, I believe, repre- 

 sented the district for a short time in the Storthing, 

 but had soon tired of town life. He was the proud 

 owner of a delightful little light- coloured dun pony, 

 which used to take us very often to the top of our 

 upper water in the smart stolkjaerre with blue reins 

 which was our temporary property. He did not 

 speak much English, and some of his sayings were 

 quaint enough. In his youth he had been a famous 

 climber, and as we started up the valley from Sun- 

 dalsoren he pointed with pride to a small patch of 

 green on the side of the frowning precipice of Calcan 

 on our right, and related how he had succeeded in 

 reaching it alone out of a large search-party which 

 had attempted the ascent, to rescue a small flock of 

 sheep which had been enticed there by the fresh herb- 

 age, but could not make their way back. " How," asked 

 I, " did you get the sheep off when you got there ? " 

 He replied, "I let them down by a piece of string." 



In spite of his ungainly figure he excelled all his 

 juniors in the Spring dance, and was ready to stay out 

 all night if required, or to turn his hand to any work, 

 from chopping wood to gardening. He took possession 

 of me from the first, and was very jealous if I allowed 

 myself to be accompanied by any other attendant. 

 At first he was inclined to dictate to me where and 



