The Legend of the White Reindeer 
boy hurling stones across the brook at Bethle- 
hem? At Laersdalsoren it was as before: de- 
luded by Borgrevinck’s eloquent plausibility, 
all put their heads in the noose, their lives and 
country in his hands, seeing in this treacherous 
monster a very angel of self-sacrificing patriot- 
ism. All? No, not all. Old Sveggum was 
there. He could neither read nor write. That 
was his excuse for not signing. He could not 
read a letter in a book, but he could read 
something of the hearts of men. As the meet- 
ing broke up he whispered to Axel Tanberg: 
“Ts his own name on that paper?” And Axel, 
starting at the thought, said: “No.’? Then 
said Sveggum: “I don’t trust that man. They 
ought to know of this at Nystuen.” For there 
was to be the really important meeting. But 
how to let them know was the riddle. Borgre- 
vinck was going there at once with his fast 
Horses. 
Sveggum’s eye twinkled as he nodded toward 
the Storbuk, standing tied to the fence. Bor- 
grevinck leaped into his sleigh and went off at 
speed, for he was a man of energy. 
Sveggum took the bells from the harness, 
351 
ll 
— om - ero 
EN Nah 
Heh eee 
a) 
