I am weaving a very large web like the Scotch plaid, and it is very difficult. And now I must tell you that I am still at home, though there are some who would have it otherwise.
I have nothing more to say this time, and so good-bye.
Marit Knudsdatter.
You must be sure to burn this letter.
To Ovind Th.o.r.esen Pladsen.
I have said to you Ovind, that he who walks with G.o.d shall have a good inheritance. And now listen to my advice: look not to the world with too much longing and anxiety, but trust in G.o.d and let not your heart be discouraged.
Your father and mother are both well, but I suffer a good deal, for now I feel the effects of the hardships I endured in the war. That which you sow in your young days you reap in your old, both in body and soul, and this is now my experience. But the aged should not complain, for sorrow teacheth wisdom, and affliction worketh patience, and strengthens for the last journey.
There are many reasons why I take the pen to write to you to-day, but first and foremost on Marit"s account, for she has grown a good girl, though she is light of foot as a reindeer and is changeable. She would wish to keep to one, but it is not in her nature. I have often observed that with such tender hearts the Lord is merciful and lenient, and does not suffer them to be tempted above that they are able to bear.
I duly gave her the letter and she hid it from all but her own heart.
If the Lord will further this matter I have nothing against it. That she finds approbation in the eyes of the young men can easily be seen, and she has abundance of this world"s goods and also of the heavenly, but with the latter there is much unsettledness; the fear of G.o.d with her is like water in a shallow dam, it is there when it rains but away when the sun shines.
Now my eyes will not bear any more, for though I can see pretty well at a distance, they begin to water when I look closely at anything.
Finally, let me remind you, Ovind, whatsoever you aspire to, take counsel of G.o.d, as it is written:--"Better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full, with travail and vexation of spirit."--(Proverbs IV. 6.)
Your old schoolmaster, Baard Andersen Opdal.
To Marit Knudsdatter Heidegaard.
Thanks for your letter, which I have read, and burnt as you told me to do. You write a great deal, but you don"t say anything about that I want you to, and I dare not write about a certain matter until I know how you fare in every respect.
The schoolmaster says nothing to be depended upon, he praises you, but he calls you wavering. That you were before. Now I don"t know what to believe; you must write, for I shall feel uneasy until I have heard from you. Just now I often think of that last evening when you came to the ridge, and of what you then said.
I will not write more this time, so good-bye.
With all respect, Ovind Pladsen.
To Ovind Th.o.r.esen Pladsen.
The schoolmaster has given me a fresh letter from you, which I have now read, but I cannot understand it, which must be because I am not learned. You want to know how I fare in every respect. I am quite well.
I have a good appet.i.te and sleep at nights, and sometimes also in the day. I have danced a great deal this Winter, for there have been many delightful parties here. I go to church when there is not too much snow, but it has been very thick. Now you must have heard everything, but, if not, I don"t know anything better than that you should write to me again.
Marit Knudsdatter.
To Marit Knudsdatter Heidegaard.
I have received your letter, but you appear to wish me to remain as wise as before. Perhaps this is an answer after all, I don"t know. I dare not venture to write that which I wish to, because I don"t feel to know you. Perhaps you don"t know me any better. You must not think I am any longer the soft fellow that you crushed the spirit out of, as I sat and watched you dance; I have had many provings since then. Neither am I, as I used to be, like those long-haired dogs that hang their ears and shun people; but enough of this now.
Your letter was humorous enough, but the joking was just where it should not have been, for you understood me quite well, and you should have known that I did not ask in joke, but because lately I have not been able to think of anything else than that I asked you about. I waited anxiously, and then there came nothing but foolery.
Farewell, Marit Heidegaard. I shall take care not to look too much at you as I did at that dance. Grant you may both eat well and sleep well, and get your new web finished, and grant above all, that you may shovel away the snow lying before the church door.
With all respect, Ovind Th.o.r.esen Pladsen.
To Ovind Th.o.r.esen.
In spite of my age and the weakness of my eyes, together with the pain in my hip, I must yet give in to the entreaties of the young, for they are glad to make use of the old people when they stick fast themselves.
They call and cry till they are let loose, and then they run away again and will not hear us any more. This time it is Marit, who, with many coaxing words, has begged me to write a letter to send with hers, as she dare not trust herself to write alone. She had thought she had Jon Hatlen or another fool to deal with, and not one that schoolmaster Baard had brought up, but now the matter has come to a critical point.
Yet you have been a little too hard, for there are some women who joke to keep from weeping. I am glad, however, that you look at serious things seriously, otherwise you could not laugh at that which is laughable. The position in which you stand to each other, is now apparent from many things. I have often had my doubts about Marit, for she is variable as the wind, but now I know she has refused Jon Hatlen, and greatly enraged her grandfather thereby. She was pleased when she received your letter, and it was not to repulse you that she wrote jokingly. She has suffered much, and that in waiting for the one she cared for, and now you will not have her but set her aside as a foolish child.
This was what I had to say to you, and if you take my advice you ought to be at one with her, for you will find enough besides to trouble you.
I am like an old man who has seen three generations;--I know folly and its reward.
Your father and mother send their best love to you: they long to see you back. I have always avoided speaking of this before, lest it should make you home-sick. You do not know your father, and when you really learn to know him, you will marvel. He has been depressed and silent in respect of his affairs, but your mother made his mind easy, and now things look brighter.
Now my eyes grow dim, and my hand is unsteady, so I commend you to Him whose eye is ever watchful and whose hand stayeth not.
Baard Andersen Opdal.
To Ovind Pladsen.
I am grieved that you are vexed with me, for I didn"t mean it as you have taken it. I am aware I have not always acted rightly towards you, and I wish to tell you so, but you must not show this to any one. Once when I got what I liked I wasn"t good, and now no one cares for me any more, and I"m very unhappy. Jon Hatlen has written a song about me, and all the lads sing it, so that I daren"t go anywhere. Both the old people know about it, and they are very cross. I am writing this alone, and you mustn"t show it to any one.
I have often been down to see your parents. I have spoken with your mother, and we understand each other now, but I cannot tell you more for you wrote so strangely last time. The schoolmaster only makes game of me, but he knows nothing about the song, for no one dare sing such before him. I stand alone and feel to have no one to talk to. I often think of the time when we were children, when I always rode on your sledge, and you were so good to me. I could wish we were children again.
I dare not ask you to answer me any more, but if you will write just this once I shall never forget it, Ovind.
Marit Knudsdatter.
P.S.--I beg you burn this letter, I scarcely know if I dare send it.
Dear Marit,
It was a happy moment when you wrote that letter; and I thank you for it.
I feel as if I could scarcely stay here any longer Marit, I love you so much, and if you love me as truly, then Jon Hatlen"s song and others"
bitter words shall be like the chaff that the wind blows away. Since I received your letter I am like another man,--I feel so much stronger, and am not afraid of anything in the whole world. After I had sent my last letter I regretted it so, that it made me almost ill, and now you shall hear what this led to. The princ.i.p.al took me aside and asked me what was the matter; he thought I read too much. Then he said to me that when my year here was completed, he would allow me to stay a year longer free of expense; I should a.s.sist him in several ways, and he would give me a chance of learning more. Then I thought that work was the only thing for me, and I was very grateful, and even now, though I long so much to come to you, I do not regret it, for it will put me in a better position for the future. How happy I am! I do the work of three, and shall never be behind in anything. I will send you a book I am reading, for there is a great deal about love, and I read it at nights when the others are asleep; then I read your letter over too.
Have you thought of the time when we shall meet again? I think about it very often, and so must you, it is so delightful. I am glad I wrote so much before, though it was so difficult, for now I can open my whole heart to you. I shall send you several books to read, that you may see what those who truly love each other have had to go through, choosing rather to die of sorrow than to give each other up. And we should do so too. Though it will be two years before we see each other, and longer still before we really belong to each other, we must cheer our hearts by thinking that each day as it goes brings us one day nearer.
I have a great deal to write about, but I will leave it till next time, as I have not got any more paper to night, and the others are all asleep.
Now I shall go to bed and think of you till I sleep.
Your friend, Ovind Pladsen.