Hr. Henrik Bogstad leaned back in his chair before the fire in great
relief. He had just shown out a young man who was distributing religious
tracts dealing with some "new-fangled religion" lately imported from
America, that land of all new-fangled things. All the day, Hr. Bogstad
had been adjusting some difficulties among his tenants, and that evening
he was somewhat ill-humored. His treatment of the missionary, was,
therefore, harsher than he was wont to treat either strangers or
friends.

His conscience smote him a little as he thought of what the young
American had said. He could find no fault with the religious doctrines
advanced, but why should he be bothered with religion anyway? He had
cares enough; for a great responsibility had come to him since he had
been put in charge of the estate left by his father's death. Just now
was the season of gaiety in Christiania, and here he was missing a good
many things by his enforced visit to his country home.

After musing for some time, he got up and went to the window. Outside,
the snow covered everything--the fields, the roads, the frozen lake and
river. The houses were half hidden, and the pines on the hill bore up
great banks of snow. From the window the view was beautiful in its
solemn whiteness. From the white level of the distant frozen lake,
broken patches of brown protruded. These were the islands on one of
which Signe Dahl had lived. Henrik wondered what had become of her, and
where in the big America she had taken up her abode. He had heard that
she was well and happy, but further than that he had not set himself to
learn. Long ago he had put behind him philosophically his affair with
Signe. He had ceased to think of her as anything more than a sweet, yet