he first time in several years, she had not gone into the cow
house. Kjersti Hoel had said that she was to have a couple of hours in
which she could be alone. No one was to disturb her.

She sat there somewhat stiff and helpless, in a long black dress with a
strip of white in the neck. The dress seemed to her rather tight, so
tight that she held her elbows close to her side and hardly dared to
bend her back. It was the first time she had had a close-fitting dress
on,--her usual costume being a jacket and skirt. Her light hair was
drawn smoothly back and twisted into a knot at her neck. That was for
the first time, too. She was a trifle paler than usual, and her lips,
as she moved them, were dark red and dewy; but her eyes shone with
peace. All in all, she was beautiful, as she sat there in her little
room waiting for church time to come. This was the day that she was to
be confirmed.

A knock was heard at the door, and in stepped Kjersti Hoel. She also
was dressed in her very best,--an old-fashioned black dress with a
gathered waist, and a freshly ironed cap with a frill around the face
and strings hanging down. In her hand she carried the big psalm book, a
handsome one printed in large type, which she used only on the greatest
occasions. On top of the psalm book lay a neatly folded pocket
handkerchief.

Standing still for a moment and looking earnestly at Lisbeth, Kjersti
said, "Do you think you are ready now, Lisbeth?"

Lisbeth answered quietly, "Yes, I think so."

"Then it is time for us to start. Come, let me tie your kerchief, so
that your hair will not get untidy."

She tied the kerchief on Lisbeth's head and then they went slowly out
through the hall way. Outside, at the door, stood the broad wagon with
the military horse harnessed to it.

"You may come and sit up here by me, Lisbeth," said Kjersti.

So they both got into the wagon and drove off. Not a word was spoken
the whole way. As they drove down the hill from the farm and out on the
main road, they were encompassed by all the effervescence of the
spring,--its myriads of sights, sounds, and odors. The brooks and
rivers rushed tunefully along, birds by the thousands were singing and
calling, insects were buzzing, trees and plants of many sorts were
pouring their fragrance over the whole valley; and above it all stood
the sun, shedding down its glittering light. But these things failed to
arouse in Lisbeth the feelings they usually awakened. They had,