Many a quarrel about pastures and timber had taken place between the inhabitants of the two parishes on opposites sides of the Birkberg, and an old hatred consequently existed. The result of this state of affairs was continual brawls, when they met at market or elsewhere, and on the silent mountain many things had happened which were not fit for the ears of the magistrates. For this reason it was related as almost a miracle, that the rich Oesten Störsat came from the other side to Evjen. His business there could be easily guessed, and also that he had been refused. Everybody in the district rejoiced, but it was rumored in the other parish that Störsat had vowed that he would punish Gjermund Strömshagen, who was to blame for it, where he would feel it most. He was a man who had a great deal of money loaned in the neighborhood, but it was well known nobody in the parish owed him a shilling. So people laughed and wondered what he was going to do; where strength was concerned, he could not compare with Gjermund Strömshagen.
At midsummer the auction to raise money for taxes always took place. This did not mean much, as everyone knew, for the magistrate always waited till it was convenient for the people to pay their assessments, but on account of the law all were obliged to go before him. Usually no one came to offer any higher bids, so matters were always left at the disposal of the judge. This year, however, at the first sound of the bell several people rode into the farmyard. It was Oesten Störsat with three companions. They bowed, sat down, and listened to the proceedings. When it came the turn of the grey horse, which was pledged for the last year’s taxes, Oesten exclaimed that he would bid eighteen thalers. The magistrate looked at him gravely, and said that such was not the custom here, and besides it was a despicable price.
“He is a poor magistrate who doesn’t know the law,” replied Oesten sharply, taking out a large purse and throwing a number of banknotes on the table. “I believe that here as elsewhere the hammer falls at the best bid.”
The veins on the judge’s forehead swelled with anger, but he was forced to accept the offer.
When Gjermund heard that the Grey had been sold in such a way, and would be claimed in a few days, he was at first fairly beside himself with rage and desire for vengeance, but afterwards became so melancholy that he spent whole hours absorbed in thought, without making the slightest movement.
The day the Grey was to go, when the farewell hour had come, Gjermund went to the horse, patted it, and stood thoughtfully a long time with his arm thrown over its back, not noticing that his mother had come to the door several times and gazed anxiously at him; neither did he see that she went to Evjen in her holiday dress.
On reaching the other side she greeted the occupants of the farmhouse, and said if Sigrid wanted to see the Grey again she must go with her at once; it was already long past noon, and the horse would probably be taken away before supper.
There was something in the manner of the pale-faced woman with the black cap and white ribbon, which made this singular request seem almost natural to Sigrid’s parents; she had certainly always been kind to the children.
After a short delay, during which the elderly visitor was urged to take some biscuits and coffee, Sigrid followed her, bareheaded, but in her Sunday dress, and with white sleeves, which at church are always concealed under a dark jacket.
The shadows were already beginning to lengthen, and the sun was casting a red light upon the Birkberg and glittering on the windows of Strömshagen, when the two walked up the hillside, one figure looking bent and diminutive under her large dark headdress, the other, who was a little behind, tall and slender with braids of golden hair; but she too moved with drooping head and thoughts that oppressed her mind.
When they reached the farmyard, a third person came towards them—it was the messenger. Gjermund had put the best bridle on the horse and was already standing with the halter in his hand, ready to deliver it. When he saw Sigrid, he started, and as he spoke to her every tinge of color left his face. The mother invited the messenger into the house to get something to eat; he would need it, she said, to strengthen him for the evil work he had to do, and it was already late in the day. And now the two were standing alone with the horse. Sigrid put its head on her shoulder, patted its slender neck, and took out some bread and salt she had brought with her; but the Grey, which had neighed softly at her approach, would not eat. The animal understood that something was going to happen. Gjermund stood silently leaning on its back, gazing at her. At last he said in a smothered tone—
“It looks as if I were to lose not only the Grey, but more, far more, Sigrid.”
Then she stretched her hand across the animal’s back, clasped his firmly, and gazed into his eves as if, in spite of everything, she had the most perfect confidence in him—the two heads were of nearly equal height, her fair face was deeply flushed, his dark cheeks were pale.
“I’ll try, Sigrid,” he replied, answering her thought, “but there is little to be made here.”
“You must become a trader, Gjermund, and be prudent—many a worthy man in the parish has begun in that way.”
“How did you know I thought of it?”
“I suspected, and—your mother told me.”
As the messenger came out at that moment, they withdrew their hands, and she
