stion came upon Jacob so unexpectedly that at first he could
say nothing. After a moment's struggle he, too, was crying; but he
managed to declare with decision, "Yes; if she remembers any one, it
certainly must be mother."

CHAPTER X

SUNDAY AT THE SAETER

Five summers had passed away since Lisbeth Longfrock first went up on
the mountain; and no one who had not seen her during those years could
have guessed that she had grown into the tall girl sitting by herself
one Sunday on the stone which, so far back as any herder could
remember, had been called the Pancake Stone, and which lay hidden away
in a distant and lonely part of the mountain. She had grown so tall
that the long frock, now used as a petticoat, came above her knees, and
she no longer wore the birch-bark hat and birch-bark shoes. On this
special Sunday her Sunday kerchief was on her head, and she sat with a
book in her lap; for in the winter she was to go to the priest to be
prepared for confirmation and in the spring she was to be confirmed.
The reading did not progress very rapidly. The book had sunk down into
her lap, and her calm blue eyes, now grown so womanly and earnest, were
roving from one to another of the dear familiar places about her. Her
flock lay quietly around the stone, chewing the cud. Indian summer was
near its close. The sky was high vaulted and the air clear and cool. As
far as the eye could reach all things were sketched in sharpest
outline. Hills and marshes already glowed in autumnal tints, for these
make their triumphal entry on the mountains earlier than below. The sun
shone tranquilly and, as it were, a little coolly also. Everything was
very still. Not even the sound of a bell was heard, for the animals
were taking their afternoon rest; and no movement was discernible
except far, far away, where Lisbeth spied a falcon flapping out from
Glory Peak.

Just as it was now had Lisbeth seen the mountain at the close of each
summer all these years. It had become familiar and dear to her, and she
thought to herself how unchanging it was through all its variableness,
while so much else altered never to be the same again. For much had
changed since she first sat on this same stone and looked out over this
same landscape. Few of the animals she now took care of had belonged to
her original flock; the oldest had gone out and new ones had come in.
The unlucky Morskol (Mother's Moolley) was now a full-grown cow, with
horns of more t