"No; but she will soon return, and if you wish to speak to her--"

"I do not. There is nothing I want to say to her."

"Would you like a room?"

"Yes; the best in the house."

"Shall we prepare dinner for you?"

"As soon as possible, and see to it that everything is of the very
best quality."

These remarks were exchanged between Hulda and the traveler before the
latter had alighted from the kariol, in which he had journeyed to
the heart of the Telemark across the forests, lakes, and valleys of
Central Norway.

Every one who has visited Scandinavia is familiar with the kariol,
the means of locomotion so dear to the hearts of her people. Two long
shafts, between which trots a horse wearing a square wooden collar,
painted yellow and striped with black, and guided with a simple rope
passed, not through his mouth, but around his nose, two large,
slender wheels, whose springless axle supports a small gay-colored,
shell-shaped wagon-body, scarcely large enough to hold one person--no
covering, no dash-board, no step--but behind, a board upon which the
_skydskarl_ perches himself. The whole vehicle strongly reminds one of
an enormous spider between two huge cobwebs represented by the wheels
of the vehicle.