people towards strangers--to say nothing of the inducements of
trade. A fortnight having passed, however, and the commissariat question
having become serious, I yesterday set out before dawn, and made my way
down to the valley; and this gives me something to tell you. Nearing the
village, I met a peasant woman. To my intense surprise, instead of
returning my salutation, she stared at me, as if I were some wild
animal, and shrank away from me as far as the width of the road would
permit. In the village the same experience awaited me. The children ran
from me, the people avoided me. At last a grey-haired old man appeared
to take pity on me, and from him I learnt the explanation of the
mystery. It seems there is a strange superstition attaching to this
house in which we are living. My things were brought up here by the two
men who accompanied me from Dronthiem, but the natives are afraid to go
near the place, and prefer to keep as far as possible from anyone
connected with it.

"The story is that the house was built by one Hund, 'a maker of runes'
(one of the old saga writers, no doubt), who lived here with his young
wife. All went peacefully until, unfortunately for him, a certain maiden
stationed at a neighbouring saeter grew to love him.--Forgive me if I am
telling you what you know, but a 'saeter' is the name given to the
upland pastures to which, during the summer, are sent the cattle,
generally under the charge of one or more of the maids. Here for three
months these girls will live in their lonely huts entirely shut off from
the world. Customs change little in this land. Two or three such
stations are within climbing distance of this house, at this day, looked
after by the farmers' daughters, as in the days of Hund, 'maker of
runes.'

"Every night, by devious mountain paths, the woman would come and tap
lightly at Hund's door. Hund had built himself two cabins, one behind
the other (these are now, as I think I have explained to you, connected
by a passage); the smaller one was the homestead, in the other he carved
and wrote, so that while the young wife slept the 'maker of runes' and
the saeter woman sat whispering.

[Illustration: "THE WOMAN WOULD TAP LIGHTLY AT HUND'S DOOR."]

"One night, however, the wife learnt all things, but said no word. Then,
as now, the ravine in front of the enclosure was crossed by a slight
bridge of planks, and over this bridge the woman of the saeter passed
and re-passed each night