The next morning, in the grey dawn, Gjermund drove a cow and heifer down to the fjord. He sold them to a merchant, filled a knapsack with various wares, and went out into the world as a trader.
One afternoon about seven years after, a man was sitting in a Skydo-Bauern’s3 guestroom. He had arrived late the day before from a fair farther in the interior of the country, and spent the night here. The roads were bad for the Skydo-horses. The windows, into which the sun shone brightly, were wide open, and the man, who was clothed like a well-to-do trader, with silver buttons on his vest, seemed very thoughtful. On the table before him stood bread, butter, and cheese, with a bowl of milk, from which he drank, while a mug of beer was still untouched. Now and then he rested his head on his hand and looked out of the window.
The man, who sat so absorbed in thought, was Gjermund. His face now wore quite a different expression of manly vigor, and one might search a long time before recognizing the good, though quick-tempered lad, who had once lived at Strömshagen, and thought only of his betrothed.
During the first two years he had made but slow progress, especially as he was kindhearted and credulous, and trusted people who cheated him. But afterwards he relied only on himself and trusted no one, and then fared admirably. From peddling he had risen to horse-trading, and of late carried it on on a large scale. He had now sold the last of his stock of horses, and was about to make a bargain for a piece of woodland.
Gjermund had long since sent home money enough to clear Strömshagen of debt. Then he thought it might be well for him to wait till he could buy the two large meadows adjoining his farm. And when he was able to do that, he thought, what would Jon Evjen say if there were a new house and outbuildings at Strömshagen? These buildings gradually grew in his imagination, till they were as high as the magistrate’s, and had two stories. He now had a round sum of eighteen thousand thalers, besides Strömshagen, but thought he would buy the neighboring farm of Birkstrand, with the mountain pastures, an estate twice as large as his own. After a few years he would doubtless be able to do so, if successful in the speculation in woodland, in which he now intended to invest his money.
After the love of money had once taken root in his soul, he constantly thought more and more of what Jon Evjen would say, and less of the daughter. Only during the first few years, when he made little progress, was she always in his thoughts, the sole object of his labors. Since that time he had seen and experienced many things, and now his mind was fixed entirely upon seeing Jon Evjen, who had won the lawsuit, bow low before him, when he returned home, and of course asked for his daughter.
He was now considering whether to proceed along the highroad to bid for the woodland, or continue in his old trade—dealing in timber was hazardous, people said. Resting his head on his hand, he sat thinking of Birkstrand and Strömshagen, when a horse thrust its head through the window, snuffed at his arm, and touched him. He pushed the animal gently away, but, when the head was put in again with a low whinny, gave it half absently a piece of bread. It was a small, very thin grey horse, with a clipped mane, and as dirty as if it had been rolling in the mire, which covered it like a crust. Its back and sides were bruised by the saddle and harness. Tears fell from the poor creature’s eyes, which it is said often happens when a horse is going to be sold, and it acted in a strangely familiar way, as it moved its short tail restlessly and pressed close to the wall.
Gjermund did not know how it happened—he was probably in an excited mood—but he could not help thinking of the Grey, and the day it was taken away from Strömshagen. The Birkberg, with the grey houses and the red Evjen-Hof on the opposite side of the mountain stream, suddenly appeared before his memory as distinctly as if reflected in a mirror. The leaves must now be unfolding on the hillside—he saw his mother sitting at the window with her knitting, and the people moving about their work; he saw old Jon at the Evjen-Hof, and the tall, fair girl, moving quietly about, saying little, but from time to time going to Strömshagen in her Sunday dress with its white sleeves, to see his mother and linger a while in the farmyard, as on the day when she had looked after the Grey. It was a long time now since he had thought of the Grey—he had owned many horses, and, as has already been said, experienced many things.
As he sat dreamily at the sunny window, giving the animal one bit of bread after another, everything grew strangely real. It seemed as if he ought to know the horse’s head, with the delicate ears and bright eyes, that was constantly pushed into the window. It seemed as if he could see in bodily form, beside the animal, the tall, fair maiden, who with tears in her eyes, had clasped his hand over the horse’s back, and begged him so faithfully to try—she would wait.
But he now read a different expression in her eyes-he was at first inclined to contradict it with the proofs he had in his money-belt; but her face said so proudly that she had waited for him, not his money.
As he sat absorbed in thought, he looked more and more troubled; he must have seen something that confirmed his suspicion,
