It was nearly noon when Signe Dahl sprang from the cart, and with her
bundle under her arm, ran down the hillside into the woods, following a
well-beaten trail. That was the short cut home. Hans had found her poor
company during the ride, and even now, alone in the woods, the serious
countenance was loth to relax. A ten minutes' walk brought her to the
brow of a hill, and she sauntered down its sloping side. Signe had
nearly reached home, and being doubtful of her reception there, she
lingered. Then, too, she could usually amuse herself alone, for she
always found some new wonder in the exhaustless beauty of her
surroundings.

She threw herself on a green bank, and this is the picture which she
saw: Just before her, the greensward extended down to a lake, whose
waters lost themselves behind cliffs and islands and pine-clad hills.
Here and there in the distance towards the north, there could be seen
shining spots of water; but towards the south the hills closed in
precipitously, and left room only for the outlet of the lake to pour
over its rocky bed into another valley below. On the farther shore, five
miles distant, a few red farm houses stood out from the plats of
green--all the rest was forest and rock. The sky was filled with soft,
fleecy clouds, and not a breath stirred the surface of the lake. Signe
gazed towards a rocky island before her. Only the roof of the house
upon it could be seen, but from its chimney arose no smoke. That was
where Signe had been born, and had lived most of the eighteen years of
her life. The girl walked down the hillside to the lake and again seated
herself, this time on a rock near the edge of the water. She took a book
from her bundle and began to read; but the text was soon embellished
with marginal sketches of rocks and bits of scenery, and then both
reading and drawing had to give place to the consideration of the