stared at me, as if I were some wild animal, and shrank away from me
as far as the width of the road would permit. In the village the
same experience awaited me. The children ran from me, the people
avoided me. At last a grey-haired old man appeared to take pity on
me, and from him I learnt the explanation of the mystery. It seems
there is a strange superstition attaching to this house in which we
are living. My things were brought up here by the two men who
accompanied me from Drontheim, but the natives are afraid to go near
the place, and prefer to keep as far as possible from any one
connected with it.

"The story is that the house was built by one Hund, 'a maker of
runes' (one of the old saga writers, no doubt), who lived here with
his young wife. All went peacefully until, unfortunately for him, a
certain maiden stationed at a neighbouring saeter grew to love him.

"Forgive me if I am telling you what you know, but a 'saeter' is the
name given to the upland pastures to which, during the summer, are
sent the cattle, generally under the charge of one or more of the
maids. Here for three months these girls will live in their lonely
huts, entirely shut off from the world. Customs change little in
this land. Two or three such stations are within climbing distance
of this house, at this day, looked after by the farmers' daughters,
as in the days of Hund, 'maker of runes.'

"Every night, by devious mountain paths, the woman would come and tap
lightly at Hund's door. Hund had built himself two cabins, one
behind the other (these are now, as I think I have explained to you,
connected by a passage); the smaller one was the homestead; in the
other he carved and wrote, so that while the young wife slept the