to be crowned in the distance by the dazzling white
snowfield, lighted up by the fast sinking sun.

And when the sun goes down the scenery, as we steam on, changes
each moment. In the twilight the granite cliffs stand out black and
uninviting, and the country looks cold and grey. It may be that
we are tired of the long journey, for with the growing darkness
comes the feeling that something to eat and bed would be pleasant
things. Then the steamer's whistle makes us spring to our feet, and,
peering ahead, we see lights on the Vik jetty and in the hotel close
by. In a few minutes we are in Naesheim's comfortable dining-room,
enjoying our well-deserved supper after a day of days on Norway's
most glorious fjord.

CHAPTER IX

A GLIMPSE OF THE FJELDS

"Fjeld-weather" is the Norwegian term for fine, warm, bright days. It
implies that the weather is suitable for a tour on the mountains. But,
alas! it is not the weather that is always encountered there, for
even in the summer the climate of the high plateau is ever varying,
and though there may be a long spell of fine, hot weather, with
a glorious crisp air, yet at any moment a change of the wind may
bring a week of soaking rain, sleet, possibly snow, and a fall of
temperature by twenty degrees. That is no time for the fjelds, and
the traveller is better off in a fjordside hotel.

Given fine weather, there is no more splendid touring ground than the
highlands of Norway, where, at a height of anything up to 4,000 or
5,000 feet above the sea, stretch thousands of square miles of wild and
uninhabited moorland, cut up with numerous large lakes, and clothed
only with a dwarf vegetation. Such parts usually lie off the beaten
track, and to reach them means an expedition--heavy, uphill walking
for two or three days, with the baggage carried on the backs of ponies.

If you were going to undertake an expedition to these high fjelds,
you would probably make a start from the lowlands by following
some well-worn track leading to a saeter. In nine cases out of ten
the track will be running by the side of a river, at first wide and
flowing lazily through the valley, but soon narrowing, until its upper
waters become a rushing mountain torrent, swishing between mighty
boulders. After a while you find that the path gradually begins to
ascend by zigzags up the mountain-side, and the scenery, whenever
you pause to look down, is magnificent. In time you reach the upland
pastures,