appearances. Their herd consisted of fifteen cows, and they expected
to remain in that desolate country two or three months, making cheese
and butter. Our little _saeterjenta_ had the heart of a poet, although
her brother seemed stupid, and even liberal presents of money did not
wake him up or make him interesting. I do not suppose that this child
had ever been twenty miles from the humble cabin in which she was
born, but the wide, wide world had been opened to her through the
books she had studied at school. She could talk a little English,
and knew a good deal about the United States. She had a brother in
Minnesota, and many of the boys and girls in the neighborhood had gone
across the Atlantic and found homes on the saeterless prairies of our
Northwest. She would like to go herself, she said, but her mother
was old and feeble and the work of the farm fell upon her little
shoulders. Yet she was brave and contented. Her mind was clear, her
imagination active, and among her homely surroundings she had found
food for thought and an opportunity to give expression to the poetic
sentiments that inspired her. Each of her fifteen cows had a name. One
she called Moon Lady, because she often wanders away at night; another
the Crown Wearer, because of a peculiar tuft upon her head. She
addressed them all in terms of affection and talked to them, seeking
their sympathy, for, poor child, they and that stupid, tow-headed
_broder_ were her only companions.

In the little _saeterjenta_ we have a type of the laboring peasant
women of Norway and Sweden; all willingly industrious and all
philosophically extracting some sweets out of the burdensome life they
must live, and that is why I say they deserve a tribute, whether in
the field or factory, the _saeter_, the common home, or the palace.[s]