shelter under
every bush, with a piece of sacking over his shoulders to shield him
from the wet. But it is far more likely that he will be obliged to run
about, with the water squeezing in and out of his shoes, trying to keep
track of his animals; for in weather like this the mushrooms spring up
plentifully and the animals scatter eagerly in all directions to find
them, scorning other food when these may be obtained. Sometimes when
the herder is speeding along the edge of the marsh, a pair of large,
powerful cranes, who are on their journey south, will loom suddenly
before him out of the fog. This startles him greatly, for the cranes
seem to the herder much larger than they really are. They look like a
couple of great sheep with wings on.

Later in the season comes a morning when all is glistening white. A
little snow has fallen during the night,--not enough to last, however;
it melts away as the day goes on. But after this the animals no longer
like to go up on the higher parts of the mountain. The cows stand
lowing at the gate of the saeter inclosure; they know that sooner or
later they will be allowed to slip in there to enjoy the last of the
mountain's good grazing. The goats look inquiringly backward as they
are let out of the fold. Summer is over. Every one longs to go down
again to the home farm.

At last a day comes when the gate is opened and the cows rush into the
saeter inclosure. They know now that they will not have to go up on the
bare mountain again this year. Then the farm hands come up with pack
horses, and other horses that have been running wild on the mountain
all summer are found and taken home. The packs are tied up; there is a
great washing, a clearing away of rubbish and putting things in order
for the next summer, and at last _Bufar_ day, the long-expected day of
returning to the home farm, arrives.

* * * * *

On Bufar day Lisbeth Longfrock stood up on the ridge of the
turf-covered cow-house roof, taking a final look at the surrounding
scene. She was all ready for the journey. Her lunch bag was on her
back, her birch-bark hat on her head, and the goat horn which Peter had
given her hung on a string around her neck. In her hand she carried a
stout stick. Within the saeter inclosure the cows and smaller animals
were roving back and forth from fence to fence impatiently. They knew
that Bufar day had come, for along the wall of the saeter hut, in a row,