look at in this cupboard, and Eli looked at them all as joyfully as a child. Then the mother showed her a big chest where all his gear was lying. This chest they also opened and looked at. Margit patted her on her shoulder, saying, “I have not seen you before to-day, but I love you already so much, my child," and she looked kindly into her eyes. Before Eli had time to be a little abashed Margit pulled her dress, saying quite slowly, "There you see a little red-painted box; you may be sure there is something strange in it." Eli looked at it: it was a little square box, that she should like very much to have. "He does not want me to know what is in it," whispered the mother, "and he hides away the key every time." She went to some clothes that were hanging on the wall, took down a velvet waistcoat, looked in the watchpocket, and there was the key lying. "Come now, and you shall see," whispered she. They went quite slowly and placed themselves on their knees before the box. At the same time as the mother opened the lid a delightful perfume out of it, so Eli beat her hands together before she had yet seen anything. Uppermost there lay a handkerchief spread out, which the mother took aside. "Look here," whispered she, taking up a fine black silk handkerchief, not such a one as men wear. "It looks just as if it were for a girl," said the mother. Eli spread it out over her lap, looking at it, but did not say a word. "Here is one more," said the mother. Eli took it, she could not help herself; but the mother must try it on her, though Eli did not like it, and bent her head. She did not know what Ishe would give for such a handkerchief, but yet it was not this she was thinking of. They put them together again, but slowly. Here you shall see,' Isaid the mother, taking up some nice silk ribbands. "It all looks as if it were for a girl." Eli turned fiery red, but was silent.

66

"Here is something

arose

more;" the mother now took up a nice black dress. "I'm sure that's fine," said she, holding it up towards daylight. Eli's hands trembled a little, her chest was rising, she felt the blood rushing up to her head, she would like to turn away, but that would not do. "He has bought something every time he has been to town," said the mother. Eli was scarcely able to stand it any longer, her eyes ran from one thing to another in the box and turned again to the dress. She was burning hot in the face. The last thing the mother took up was lying in a paper, which they removed; it was a pair of small shoes. They had never seen anything like these shoes, any of them. The mother said she did not think they could be worked. Eli did not say a word, but when she took the shoes in her hand all her five fingers were seen marked on them. "I am in a perspiration, I see," whispered she, drying herself. The mother laid the things to rights again. “Does it not look quite as if he had bought these all little by little for one he dared not give them to?" said she, looking at Eli; "in the meantime he seems to have put them here in the box." She replaced everything carefully. "Now we shall see what there is here in this small compartment at the end of the box." She opened it very slowly, as if she should see something very nice. There was lying a buckle wide and broad as if for a waistband. This was the first think Eli saw; then she saw a couple of gold rings tied together, and then a psalm-book bound in velvet with silver clasps, but she could not see any more, for she had seen pricked in on the silver of the psalm-book with very fine letters, "Eli Boen." The mother wanted her to look again, but got no answer, and presently saw tears rolling down her cheeks. Then the mother laid down the buckle she had been keeping in her hand, shut again this little compartment, turned to Eli, and took her to her

66

bosom. Then the daughter wept, and the mother cried over her without any of them saying anything more. Some while after this Eli walked by herself in the garden; the mother was busy in the kitchen, as she had something nice to prepare, for now Arne would be coming. Afterwards she went out to look at Eli in the garden; she was sitting cowering down there writing names in the sand with a stick. She was sweeping it out when Margit came; she looked up and smiled; she had been crying. Nothing to cry for, my child," said Margit, patting her cheek. "Now supper is ready, and Arne will be coming." They saw something black between the bushes up on the road. Eli stole in, the mother following her. Here was a great laying out of the table with cream pudding, smoked bacon, and fancy bread, but Eli did not look at it; she sat down on a chair yonder near the clock, trembling if she only heard a cat move. The mother stood at the table. Quick and manly steps were heard outside on the stone-flags, a short and easy step in the passage, the door opened, and Arne entered. The first thing he saw was Eli yonder near the clock. He let go the handle of the door and stood still. This made Eli still more embarassed. She rose, repented it immediately, and Are you here?" said Arne, and became fiery red as soon as he had said these words. She lifted up one of her hands, as when the sun shines too strong in the eyes. are you come here?" said he, making a step or two. She dropped the hand, turned a little towards him, but bent her head, and burst into violent tears. "Why do you cry, Eli?" asked he, going up to her. She did not answer, but cried more. God bless you, Eli!” said he, putting his hand round her waist. She leaned upon him. He whispered something into her ear; she did not answer, but took him round his

turned towards the wall.

neck with both her hands.

66

66

"How

A long time did they remain thus; not a sound was heard save from the waterfall, that sang its eternal song, distant and quiet. Then there was somebody who cried near the table. Arne looked up; it was his mother, whom he had not seen before. "Now I am sure you will not leave me, Arne!" said she, going towards him; she cried much, but it did her good, she said.

RICHARD D. BLACKMORE

RICHARD DODDRIDGE BLACKMORE, novelist, born Longworth, England, in 1825; died 1900. He began the practice of law in 1852. He devoted himself to writing in 1862. Although he wrote many poems and translated much from the classics, it is on his novels, especially that of "Lorna Doone," on which his fame rests. This novel is one of the greatest produced in the nineteenth century, and the Exmoor country owes its fascination to thousands of visitors from the glamor of romance thrown over it by his pen. Cripps the Carrier," "Springhaven" and Perlycross perhaps rank next in importance.

66

IN THE DOONE VALLEY

WHE

(From "Lorna Doone ")

WHEN I started on my road across the hills and valleys (which now were pretty much alike), the utmost I could hope to do was to gain the crest of hills, and look into the Doone Glen. Hence I might at least descry whether Lorna still was safe, by the six nests still remaining (a signal arranged by the lovers), and the view of the Captain's house. When I was come to the open country, far beyond the sheltered homestead, and in the full brunt of the wind, the keen blast of the cold broke on me, and the mighty breadth of snow. Moor and highland, field and common, cliff and vale, and watercourse, over all the rolling folds of misty white were flung. There was nothing square or jagged left, there was nothing perpendicular; all the rugged lines were eased, and all the breaches smoothly filled.