Mountains, Norway, Dec. 8, 1832. His father was the village
pastor. Six years later the family removed to Naesset, on the
west coast of Norway. From the grammar school at Molde young
Bjoernson went to the University of Christiania, and it was
then that he began to write verses and newspaper articles. At
Upsala, in 1856, he understood that he had a definite call to
literature, and at Copenhagen the following year he wrote his
first masterpiece "Synnove Solbakken." This was followed, in
1858, by "Arne," a story which not only brought him into the
front rank of contemporary writers, but also marked a new era
in Norwegian literature. From that time there has been a
succession of novels, short stories, and plays (Bjoernson on
two occasions has been the director of a theatre) from his
pen. A drama, "The King," produced in 1877, had an after
effect of immense political importance. It was undoubtedly an
attack on the ruler of Norway and Sweden, and every Norwegian
who wished his country to become an independent nation
welcomed Bjoernson as the leader of this new movement--with
what success there is now no need to relate, since it has
become a matter of history. Bjoernson died April 25, 1910.

_I.--The Little Song-Maker_

It was up at Kampen that Arne was born. His mother was Margit, the only
child at the little farm among the crags. When she was eighteen, she
stopped too long at a dance one evening; her friends had gone off
without her, so Margit thought the way home would be just as long
whether she waited till the end of the dance or not.

Thus it came about that Margit remained sitting there till Nils
Skraedder, the fiddler, suddenly laid aside his instrument, as was his
wont when he had had more than enough to drink, left the dancers to hum
their own tune, took hold of the prettiest girl he could find, and,
letting his feet keep as good time to the dance as music to a song,
jerked off with the heel of his boot the hat of the tallest man in the
room. "Ho!" laughed he.

As Margit walked home that night, the moon was making wondrous sport
over the snow. When she got to the loft where she slept, she could not
help looking out at it again.

Next time there was a dance in the parish, Margit was present. She did
not care much to dance that evening, but sat listening to the music. But
when the playing ceased the fiddler ros