The bed was
standing there empty, anyway.
Chapter III
So Peer stays on and goes fishing. He catches little; but time goes
leisurely here, and the summer lies soft and warm over the brown and
blue hillsides. He has soon learned that a merchant named Uthoug,
from Ringeby, is living in the house on the island, with his wife and
daughter. And what of it?
Often he would lie in his boat, smoking his pipe, and giving himself
up to quiet dreams that came and passed. A young girl in a white boat,
moving over red waters in the evening--a secret meeting on an island--no
one must know just yet. . . . Would it ever happen to him? Ah, no.
The sun goes down, there come sounds of cow-bells nearing the saeters,
the musical cries and calls of the saeter-girls, the lowing of the
cattle. The mountains stand silent in the distance, their snow-clad tops
grown golden; the stream slides rippling by, murmuring on through the
luminous nights.
Then at last came the day of all days.
He had gone out for a long tramp at random over the hills, making his
way by compass, and noting landmarks to guide him back. Here was a marsh
covered with cloud-berries--the taste brought back his own childhood. He
wandered on up a pale-brown ridge flecked with red heather--and what was
that ahead? Smoke? He made towards it. Yes, it was smoke. A ptarmigan
fluttered out in front of him, with a brood of tiny youngsters at her
heels--Lord, what a shave!--he stopped short to avoid treading on them.
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