Ticket No. 9672, Jules Verne [books to read for teens .txt] 📗

it be that you are the tourist who was expected from the north?” asked Joel.

“Precisely.”

“Had I foreseen what was going to happen, I should have gone to the other side of the Rjukanfos to meet you.”

“That would have been a good idea, my brave fellow. You would have saved me from a foolhardy act unpardonable at my age.”

“Or at any age,” replied Hulda.

The three entered the hut which was occupied by a family of peasants, a father and two daughters, who received their unexpected guests with great cordiality.

Joel was able to satisfy himself that the traveler had sustained no injury beyond a severe abrasion of the skin a little below the knee; but though the wound would necessitate a week’s rest, the limb was neither broken nor dislocated.

Some excellent milk, an abundance of strawberries, and a little black bread were offered and accepted. Joel gave incontestable proofs of an excellent appetite, and though Hulda eat almost nothing, the traveler proved a match for her brother.

“My exertions have given me a famous appetite,” he remarked; “but I must admit that my attempt to traverse the Maristien was an act of the grossest folly. To play the part of the unfortunate Eystein when one is old enough to be his father⁠—and even his grandfather⁠—is absurd in the highest degree.”

“So you know the legend?” said Hulda.

“Of course. My nurse used to sing me to sleep with it in the happy days when I still had a nurse. Yes, I know the story, my brave girl, so I am all the more to blame for my imprudence. Now, my friends, Dal seems a long way off to a cripple like myself. How do you propose to get me there?”

“Don’t worry about that, sir,” replied Joel. “Our karjol is waiting for us at the end of the road, about three hundred yards from here.”

“Hum! three hundred yards!”

“But downhill all the way,” added Hulda.

“Oh, in that case, I shall do very well if you will kindly lend me an arm.”

“Why not two, as we have four at your disposal?” responded Joel.

“We will say two then. It won’t cost me any more, will it?”

“It will cost you nothing.”

“Except my thanks; and that reminds me that I have not yet thanked you.”

“For what, sir?” inquired Joel.

“Merely for saving my life at the risk of your own.”

“Are you quite ready to start?” inquired Hulda, rising to escape any further expression of gratitude.

“Certainly, certainly. I am more than willing to be guided by the wishes of the other members of the party.”

The traveler settled the modest charge made by the occupants of the cottage; then, supported by Joel and Hulda, he began the descent of the winding path leading to the river bank.

The descent was not effected without many exclamations of pain; but these exclamations invariably terminated in a hearty laugh, and at last they reached the sawmill, where Joel immediately proceeded to harness the horse into the karjol.

Five minutes later the traveler was installed in the vehicle, with Hulda beside him.

“But I must have taken your seat,” he remarked to Joel.

“A seat I relinquish to you with the utmost willingness.”

“But perhaps by a little crowding we might make room for you?”

“No, no, I have my legs, sir⁠—a guide’s legs. They are as good as any wheels.”

Joel placed himself at the horse’s head, and the little party started for Dal. The return trip was a gay one, at least on the part of the traveler, who already seemed to consider himself an old friend of the Hansen family. Before they reached their destination they found themselves calling their companion Mr. Silvius; and that gentleman unceremoniously called them Hulda and Joel, as if their acquaintance had been one of long standing.

About four o’clock the little belfry of Dal became visible through the trees, and a few minutes afterward the horse stopped in front of the inn. The traveler alighted from the karjol, though not without considerable difficulty. Dame Hansen hastened to the door to receive him, and though he did not ask for the best room in the house, it was given to him all the same.

IX

Sylvius Hogg was the name that the stranger inscribed upon the inn register, that same evening, directly underneath the name of Sandgoist, and there was as great a contrast between the two names as between the men that bore them. Between them there was nothing whatever in common, either mentally, morally, or physically. One was generous to a fault, the other was miserly and parsimonious; one was genial and kindhearted, in the arid soul of the other every noble and humane sentiment seemed to have withered and died.

Sylvius Hogg was nearly sixty years of age, though he did not appear nearly so old. Tall, erect, and well built, healthy alike in mind and in body, he pleased at first sight with his handsome genial face, upon which he wore no beard, but around which clustered curling locks of silvery hair; eyes which were as smiling as his lips, a broad forehead that bore the impress of noble thoughts, and a full chest in which the heart beat untrammeled. To all these charms were added an inexhaustible fund of good humor, a refined and liberal nature, and a generous and self-sacrificing disposition.

Sylvius Hogg, of Christiania⁠—no further recommendation was needed. That told the whole story. And he was not only known, appreciated, loved and honored in the Norwegian capital, but throughout the entire country, though the sentiments he inspired in the other half of the Scandinavian kingdom, that is to say in Sweden, were of an entirely different character.

This fact can easily be explained.

Sylvius Hogg was a professor of law at Christiania. In some lands to be a barrister, civil engineer, physician, or merchant, entitles one to a place on the upper rounds of the social ladder. It is different in Norway, however. To be a professor there is to be at the top of the