CHAPTER XII 



ALFHEIM, 1913 



ELEVEN years, to a day, intervened between my 

 two visits to Alfheim. On each occasion I started 

 on the 12th of August, a date which recalled many 

 memories of other hills and moors. The mountains 

 on each side of the road were unchanged on my 

 second journey, but I could not help thinking as I 

 stepped into an automobile at Sundalsoren how 

 impossible such a method of transport would have 

 appeared to the simple inhabitants at the time of 

 my former visit. Motors then roused almost as 

 much curiosity, even in London, as an aeroplane 

 does now. 



I started from Lilledal after an early breakfast, 

 and old Sivert rowed me over the glassy and un- 

 ruffled surface of the fjord under a cloudless sky. As 

 we crossed I could see the flounders shooting like 

 miniature kites over the sand as the shadow of our 

 boat disturbed them. There was only one other 

 passenger at the start, a Christiansund banker, who 

 spoke a little English, and sent all sorts of greetings 

 to my host, Lort Phillips, when he heard whither I 

 was bound. But we were not destined to travel light 

 all the way ; many other passengers joined the car as 

 we progressed, and we were soon packed as close as 

 herrings in a barrel. However, there was none of 



