The school-master commented on this, and then Ole stopped.
"It is not in my power to do more," said he, quite pathetically.
"Hired work-people without attention cost too much. But it is hard to
walk over such a field, I can assure you."
As their conversation now turned on the size of the gard, and what
portion of it most needed cultivation, they decided to go up the slope
that they might have a view of the whole. When they at length had
reached a high elevation, and could take it all in, the old man became
moved.
"Indeed, I should not like to leave it so. We have labored hard down
there, both I and those who went before me, but there is nothing to
show for it."
A song rang out directly over their heads, but with the peculiar
shrilling of a boy's voice when it is poured out with all its might.
They were not far from the tree in whose top was perched little Knut
Ostistuen, gathering leaves for his father, and they were compelled to
listen to the boy:--
"When on mountain peaks you hie,
'Mid green slopes to tarry,
In your scrip pray no more tie,
Than you well can carry.
Take no hindrances along
To the crystal fountains;
Drown them in a cheerful song,
Send them down the mountains.
"Birds there greet you from the trees,
Gossip seeks the valley;
Purer, sweeter grows the breeze,
As you upward sally.
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