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.
Fill your lungs, and onward rove,
Ever gayly singing,
Childhood's memories, heath and grove,
Rosy-hued, are bringing.