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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of 'Round the Yule-Log, by P. Chr. Asbjörnsen.
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Round the yule-log: Christmas in Norway, by 
+Peter Christen Asbjörnsen
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: 'Round the yule-log: Christmas in Norway
+
+Author: Peter Christen Asbjörnsen
+
+Translator: H. L. Broekstad
+
+Release Date: April 15, 2010 [EBook #31993]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 'ROUND THE YULE-LOG ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bryan Ness, Anne Grieve and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<p class="center">Please read the <a href="#Transnote">Transcriber's Notes</a> at the end of the text.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><a name="cover" id="cover"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="430" height="600" alt="Green
+cloth cover with black lettering, illustrated with a picture of a woman in traditional Norwegian costume hanging washing out to dry" title="Front Cover" /></a></div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="424" height="600" alt="Picture
+of a troll pulling girl by the arm" title="Frontispiece" /></div>
+
+<p class ="above4"></p>
+
+<h1>'Round the
+Yule-Log</h1>
+
+<h2>Christmas in Norway</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><b>BY</b></p>
+<p class="center"><b>P. CHR. ASBJÖRNSEN</b></p>
+<p class="above2"></p>
+<p class="center"><b>TRANSLATED BY
+H. L. BR&OElig;KSTAD.</b></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/tpage_deco.jpg" width="250" height="419"
+alt="Picture of a laughing troll" title="Title-page decoration" /></div>
+
+<p class="center">BOSTON
+DANA ESTES AND CO.
+PUBLISHERS</p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Copyright, 1895,</i></p>
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Estes and Lauriat</span></p>
+<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p>
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+
+<p class="center">Colonial Press</p>
+<p class="center">Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds &amp; Co.</p>
+<p class="center">Boston, Mass., U. S. A.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+
+<p class="above4"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[<a href="images/004.png">Page 5</a>]</span></p>
+
+<h1>'ROUND THE YULE-LOG.</h1>
+
+<p class="above4">The wind was whistling through the old lime and maple
+trees opposite my windows, the snow was sweeping down
+the street, and the sky was black as a December sky can
+possibly be here in Christiania. I was in just as black a
+mood. It was Christmas Eve,&mdash;the first I was to spend away
+from the cosey fireside of my home. I had lately received my
+officer's commission, and had hoped that I should have gladdened
+my aged parents with my presence during the holidays,
+and had also hoped that I should be able to show myself in all
+my glory and splendour to the ladies of our parish. But a
+fever had brought me to the hospital, which I had left
+only a week before, and now I found myself in the much-extolled
+state of convalescence. I had written home for a
+horse and sledge and my father's fur coat, but my letter could
+scarcely reach our valley before the day after Christmas, and
+the horse could not be in town before New Year's Eve.</p>
+
+<p>My comrades had all left town, and I knew no family with
+whom I could make myself at home during the holidays. The
+two old maids I lodged with were certainly very kind and
+friendly people, and they had taken great care of me in the
+commencement of my illness, but the peculiar ways and habits
+of these ladies were too much of the old school to prove
+attractive to the fancies of youth. Their thoughts dwelt
+mostly on the past; and when they, as often might occur,
+related to me some stories of the town, its people and its
+customs, these stories reminded me, not only by their contents,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[<a href="images/005.png">Page 6</a>]</span>
+but also by the simple, unaffected way in which they were
+rendered, of a past age.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_001.jpg" width="350" height="232"
+alt="Picture of two old maids" title="page 6 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>The antiquated appearance of these ladies was also in the
+strictest harmony with the house in which they lived. It was
+one of those old houses in Custom House Street, with deep
+windows, long dark passages and staircases, gloomy rooms and
+garrets, where one could not help thinking of ghosts and
+brownies; in short, just such a house, and perhaps it was the
+very one, which Mauritz Hansen has described
+in his story, "The Old
+Dame with the Hood." Their
+circle of acquaintances
+was very limited; besides
+a married sister and her children,
+no other visitors came
+there but a couple of tiresome old ladies.
+The only relief to this kind of life was a pretty niece and
+some merry little cousins of hers, who always made me tell
+them fairy tales and stories.</p>
+
+<p>I tried to divert myself in my loneliness and melancholy
+mood by looking out at all the people who passed up and
+down the street in the snow and wind, with blue noses and
+half-shut eyes. It amused me to see the bustle and the life
+in the apothecary's shop across the street. The door was
+scarcely shut for a moment. Servants and peasants streamed
+in and out, and commenced to study the labels and directions
+when they came out in the street. Some appeared to be able
+to make them out, but sometimes a lengthy study and a
+dubious shake of the head showed that the solution was too
+difficult. It was growing dusk. I could not distinguish the
+countenances any longer, but gazed across at the old building.
+The apothecary's house, "The Swan," as it is still called,
+stood there, with its dark, reddish-brown walls, its pointed
+gables and towers, with weather-cocks and latticed windows,
+as a monument of the architecture of the time of King Christian
+the Fourth. The Swan looked then, as now, a most
+respectable and sedate bird, with its gold ring round its neck,
+its spur-boots, and its wings stretched out as if to fly. I was
+about to plunge myself into reflection on imprisoned birds
+when I was disturbed by noise and laughter
+proceeding from some children in the
+adjoining room, and by a gentle, old-maidish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[Page 7]</span>
+knock at my door.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_002.jpg" width="385" height="600" alt="Picture
+of an old maid knocking at the door" title="page 7 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>On my requesting the visitor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[Page 8]</span>
+to come in, the elder of my
+landladies, Miss Mette, entered
+the room with a courtesy in
+the good old style; she inquired
+after my health, and
+invited me, without further
+ceremony, to come and make
+myself at home with them for
+the evening. "It isn't good for you, dear Lieutenant, to sit
+thus alone here in the dark," she added. "Will you not
+come in to us now at once? Old Mother Skau and my
+brother's little girls have come; they will perhaps amuse you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[<a href="images/008.png">Page 9</a>]</span>
+a little. You are so fond of the dear children."</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"><img src="images/fig_003.jpg" width="250" height="268" alt="Picture
+of an old woman wearing a cap" title="page 9 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>I accepted the friendly invitation. As I entered the room,
+the fire from the large square stove, where the logs were
+burning lustily, threw a red, flickering light through the wide-open
+door over the room, which was very deep, and furnished
+in the old style, with high-back, Russia leather chairs, and one
+of those settees which were intended for farthingales and
+straight up-and-down positions. The walls were adorned with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[<a href="images/009.png">Page 10</a>]</span>
+oil paintings, portraits of stiff ladies with powdered coiffures,
+of bewigged Oldenborgians, and other redoubtable persons in
+mail and armour or red coats.</p>
+
+<p>"You must really excuse us, Lieutenant, for not having lighted the candles yet," said
+Miss Cicely, the younger
+sister, who was generally
+called "Cilly," and who
+came towards me and
+dropped a courtesy, exactly
+like her sister's;
+"but the children do so
+like to tumble about
+here before the fire in
+the dusk of the evening,
+and Madam Skau does also
+enjoy a quiet little chat in the
+chimney corner."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, chat me here and chat
+me there! there is nothing you
+like yourself better than a
+little bit of gossip in the dusk
+of the evening, Cilly, and then
+we are to get the blame of
+it," answered the old asthmatic
+lady whom they called Mother
+Skau.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_004.jpg" width="300" height="500" alt="Picture
+of the narrator looking at the paintings" title="page 10 illustration" /></div><p>"Eh! good evening, sir," she said to me, as she drew herself
+up to make the best of her own inflated, bulky appearance.
+"Come and sit down here and tell me how it fares with you;
+but, by my troth, you are nothing but skin and bones!"</p>
+
+<p>I had to tell her all about my illness, and in return I had
+to endure a very long and circumstantial account of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[<a href="images/010.png">Page 11</a>]</span>
+rheumatism and her asthmatical ailments, which, fortunately,
+was interrupted by the noisy arrival of the children from the
+kitchen, where they had paid a visit to old Stine, a fixture in
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, auntie, do you know what Stine says?" cried a little
+brown-eyed beauty. "She says I shall go with her into the
+hay-loft to-night and give the brownie his Christmas porridge.
+But I won't go; I am afraid of the
+brownies!"</p>
+
+<p>"Never mind, my dear,
+Stine says it only to get rid
+of you; she dare not go
+into the hay-loft herself&mdash;the
+foolish old thing&mdash;in the
+dark, for she knows well
+enough she was frightened
+once by the brownies herself,"
+said Miss Mette. "But are you
+not going to say good evening
+to the Lieutenant, children?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, is that you, Lieutenant? I did not know you. How
+pale you are! It is such a long time since I saw you!"
+shouted the children all at once, as they flocked round me.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you must tell us something awfully jolly! It is such
+a long time since you told us anything. Oh, tell us about
+Buttercup, dear Mr. Lieutenant, do tell us about Buttercup
+and Goldentooth!"</p>
+
+<p>I had to tell them about Buttercup and the dog Goldentooth,
+but they would not let me off until I gave them a
+couple of stories into the bargain about the brownies at Vager
+and at Bure, who stole hay from each other, and who met at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>[<a href="images/011.png">Page 12</a>]</span>
+last with a load of hay on their backs, and how they fought till
+they vanished in a cloud of hay-dust. I had also to tell
+them the story of the brownie at Hesselberg, who teased the
+house-dog till the farmer came out and threw him over the barn
+bridge. The children clapped their hands in great joy and
+laughed heartily.</p><div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"><img src="images/fig_005.jpg" width="300" height="268" alt="Picture
+of two brownies fighting" title="page 11 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>"It served him right, the naughty brownie!" they shouted,
+and asked for another story.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said I, "I will tell you the story of Peter Gynt and
+the trolls.</p>
+
+<p>"In the olden days there lived in Kvam a hunter whose
+name was Peter Gynt, and who was always roaming about
+in the mountains after bears and elks, for in those days there
+were more forests on the mountains than there are now, and
+consequently plenty of wild beasts.</p>
+
+<p>"One day, shortly before Christmas, Peter set out on an
+expedition. He had heard of a farm on Doorefell which was
+invaded by such a number of trolls every Christmas Eve that
+the people on the farm had to move out, and get shelter at
+some of their neighbours'. He was anxious to go there, for
+he had a great fancy to come across the trolls, and see if he
+could not overcome them. He dressed himself in some old
+ragged clothes, and took a tame white bear which he had with
+him, as well as an awl, some pitch and twine. When he came
+to the farm he went in and asked for lodgings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Page 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_006.jpg" width="380" height="600" alt="Picture
+of Peter Gynt and his tame white bear" title="page 13 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>"'God help us!' said the farmer; 'we can't give you any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Page 14]</a></span>
+lodgings. We have to clear out of the house ourselves soon
+and look for lodgings, for every Christmas Eve we have the
+trolls here.'</p>
+
+<p>"But Peter thought he should be able to clear the trolls out,&mdash;he
+had done such a thing before; and then he got leave to
+stay, and a pig's skin into the bargain. The bear lay down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[<a href="images/014.png">Page 15</a>]</span>
+behind the fireplace, and Peter took out his awl and pitch
+and twine, and began making a big, big shoe, which it took the
+whole pig's skin to make. He put a strong rope in for lacings,
+that he might pull the shoe tightly together, and, finally, he
+armed himself with a couple of handspikes.</p>
+
+<p>"Shortly he heard the trolls coming. They had a fiddler
+with them, and some began dancing, while others fell to eating
+the Christmas fare on the table,&mdash;some fried bacon, and some
+fried frogs and toads, and other nasty things which they had
+brought with them. During this some of the trolls found
+the shoe Peter had made. They thought it must belong
+to a very big foot. They all wanted to try it on at once,
+so they put a foot each into it; but Peter made haste and
+tightened the rope, took one of the handspikes and fastened
+the rope around it, and got them at last securely tied up in
+the shoe.</p>
+
+<p>"Just then the bear put his nose out from behind the fireplace,
+where he was lying, and smelt they were frying something.</p>
+
+<p>"'Will you have a sausage, pussy?' said one of the trolls,
+and threw a hot frog right into the bear's jaws.</p>
+
+<p>"'Scratch them, pussy!' said Peter.</p>
+
+<p>"The bear got so angry that he rushed at the trolls and
+scratched them all over, while Peter took the other handspike
+and hammered away at them as if he wanted to beat their
+brains out. The trolls had to clear out at last, but Peter
+stayed and enjoyed himself with all the Christmas fare the
+whole week. After that the trolls were not heard of there for
+many years.</p>
+
+<p>"Some years afterwards, about Christmas time, Peter was
+out in the forest cutting wood for the holidays, when a troll
+came up to him and shouted,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_007.jpg" width="500" height="429" alt="Picture
+of a troll shouting at Peter Gynt" title="page 16 illustration" /></div><p>"'Have you got that big pussy of yours, yet?'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[<a href="images/015.png">Page 16</a>]</span></p>
+
+<p>"'Oh, yes! she is at home behind the fireplace,' said he; 'and
+she has got seven kittens, all bigger and larger than herself.'</p>
+
+<p>"'We'll never come to you any more, then,' said the troll,
+and they never did."</p>
+
+<p>The children were all delighted with this story.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell us another, dear Lieutenant," they all shouted in
+chorus.</p>
+
+<p>"No, no, children! you bother the Lieutenant too much,"
+said Miss Cicely. "Aunt Mette will tell you a story now."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, do, auntie, do!" was the general cry.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know exactly what I shall tell you," said Aunt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[<a href="images/016.png">Page 17</a>]</span>
+Mette, "but since we have commenced telling about the brownies,
+I think I will tell you something about them, too. You
+remember, of course, old Kari Gausdal, who came here and
+baked bread, and who always had so many tales to tell you."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, yes!" shouted the children.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, old Kari told me that she was in service at the
+orphan asylum some years ago, and at that time it was still
+more dreary and lonely in that part of the town than it is now.
+That asylum is a dark and dismal place, I can tell you. Well,
+when Kari came there she was cook, and a very smart and
+clever girl she was. She had, one day, to get up very early
+in the morning to brew, when the other servants said to
+her,&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"><img src="images/fig_008.jpg" width="250" height="437" alt="Picture
+of Kari swinging the burning log" title="page 18 illustration" /></div><p>"'You had better mind you don't get up too early, and you
+mustn't put any fire under the copper before two o'clock.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Why?' she asked.</p>
+
+<p>"'Don't you know there is a brownie here? And you ought
+to know that those people don't like to be disturbed so early,'
+they said; 'and before two o'clock you mustn't light the fire
+by any means.'</p>
+
+<p>"'Is that all?' said Kari. She was anything but chicken-hearted.
+'I have nothing to do with that brownie of yours,
+but if he comes in my way, why, by my faith, I will send him
+head over heels through the door.'</p>
+
+<p>"The others warned her, but she did not care a bit, and next
+morning, just as the clock struck one, she got up and lighted
+the fire under the copper in the brewhouse; but the fire
+went out in a moment. Somebody appeared to be throwing
+the logs about on the hearth, but she could not see who it was.
+She gathered the logs together, one at a time, but it was of no
+use, and the chimney would not draw, either. She got tired of
+this at last, took a burning log and ran around the room with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[<a href="images/017.png">Page 18</a>]</span>
+it, swinging it high and low while she shouted, 'Be gone, be
+gone whence you came! If you think you can frighten me
+you are mistaken.' 'Curse you!' somebody hissed in one
+of the darkest corners. 'I have had seven souls in this house; I
+thought I should have got eight in all!' 'But from that time
+nobody saw or heard the brownie in the
+asylum,' said Kari Gausdal."</p>
+
+<p>"I am getting so frightened!" said
+one of the children. "No, you must
+tell us some more stories, Lieutenant;
+I never feel afraid when you
+tell us anything, because you tell us
+such jolly tales." Another proposed
+that I should tell them about the
+brownie who danced the Halling
+dance with the lassie. That was a
+tale I didn't care much about, as
+there was some singing in it. But
+they would on no account let me
+off, and I was going to clear my
+throat and prepare my exceedingly
+inharmonious voice to sing
+the Halling dance, which belongs
+to the story, when the pretty niece,
+whom I have already referred to, entered
+the room, to the great joy of the children and to my rescue.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, my dear children, I will tell you the story, if you can
+get cousin Lizzie to sing the Halling for you," said I, as she
+sat down, "and then you'll dance to it yourselves, won't
+you?"</p>
+
+<p>Cousin Lizzie was besieged by the children, and had to
+promise to do the singing, so I commenced my story.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 400px;"><img src="images/fig_009.jpg" width="350" height="243" alt="Picture
+of the girl lying in the hay-loft" title="page 19 illustration" /></div>
+<p>"There was, once upon a time,&mdash;I almost think it was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[<a href="images/018.png">Page 19</a>]</span>
+Hallingdal,&mdash;a lassie who was sent up into the hay-loft with
+the cream porridge for the brownie,&mdash;I cannot recollect if it
+was on a Thursday or on a Christmas Eve, but I think it was a
+Christmas Eve. Well, she thought it was a great pity to give
+the brownie such a dainty dish, so she ate the porridge herself,
+and the melted butter in the bargain, and went up into the
+hay-loft with the plain oatmeal porridge and sour milk, in a
+pig's trough instead. 'There, that's good enough for you,
+Master Brownie,' she said. But no sooner
+had she spoken the words than the
+brownie stood right before her, seized
+her round the waist, and danced about
+with her, which he kept up
+till she lay gasping for
+breath, and when the
+people came up into the
+hay-loft in the morning,
+she was more dead than
+alive. But as long as they danced, the brownie sang," (and
+here Cousin Lizzie undertook his part, and sang to the tune
+of the Halling)&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And you have eaten the porridge for the brownie,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you shall dance with the little brownie!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And have you eaten the porridge for the brownie?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then you shall dance with the little brownie!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I assisted in keeping time by stamping on the floor with my
+feet, while the children romped about the room in uproarious
+joy.</p>
+
+<p>"I think you are turning the house upside down, children!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>[<a href="images/019.png">Page 20</a>]</span>
+said old Mother Skau; "if you'll be quiet, I'll give you a
+story."</p>
+
+<p>The children were soon quiet, and Mother Skau commenced
+as follows:</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_010.jpg" width="384" height="600" alt="Picture
+of a Brownie hurling dishes on the floor" title="page 21 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>"You hear a great deal about brownies and fairies and
+such like beings, but I don't believe there is much in it. I
+have neither seen one nor the other. Of course I have not been
+so very much about in my lifetime, but I believe it is all
+nonsense. But old Stine out in the kitchen there, she says
+she has seen the brownie. About the time when I was
+confirmed she was in service with my parents. She came
+to us from a captain's, who had given up the sea. It was
+a very quiet place. The captain only took a walk as far as
+the quay every day. They always went to bed early. People
+said there was a brownie in the house. Well, it so happened
+that Stine and the cook were sitting in their room one evening,
+mending and darning their things; it was near bedtime, for
+the watchman had already sung out 'Ten o'clock!' but somehow
+the darning and the sewing went on very slowly indeed;
+every moment 'Jack Nap' came and played his tricks upon
+them. At one moment Stine was nodding and nodding, and
+then came the cook's turn,&mdash;they could not keep their eyes
+open; they had been up early that morning to wash clothes.
+But just as they were sitting thus, they heard a terrible crash
+down stairs in the kitchen, and Stine shouted, 'Lor' bless and
+preserve us! it must be the brownie.' She was so frightened
+she dared scarcely move a foot, but at last the cook plucked
+up courage and went down into the kitchen, closely followed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Page 21]</a></span>
+by Stine. When they opened the kitchen door they found
+all the crockery on the floor, but none of it broken, while the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Page 22]</a></span>
+brownie was standing on the big kitchen table with his red cap
+on, and hurling one dish after the other on to the floor, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[<a href="images/022.png">Page 23</a>]</span>
+laughing in great glee. The cook had heard that the brownies
+could sometimes be tricked into moving into another house
+when anybody would tell them of a very quiet place, and as
+she long had been wishing for an opportunity to play a trick
+upon this brownie, she took courage
+and spoke to him,&mdash;her voice was
+a little shaky at the time,&mdash;that
+he ought to remove to the tinman's
+over the way, where it
+was so very quiet and pleasant,
+because they always went
+to bed at nine o'clock every
+evening; which was true
+enough, as the cook told
+Stine later, but then the
+master and all his apprentices
+and journeymen
+were up every
+morning at three
+o'clock and hammered
+away and
+made a terrible
+noise all day.
+Since that
+day they
+have not
+seen the
+brownie any more at the captain's. He seemed to feel quite
+at home at the tinman's, although they were hammering and
+tapping away there all day; but people said that the gude-wife
+put a dish of porridge up in the garret for him every
+Thursday evening, and it's no wonder that they got on well<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[<a href="images/023.png">Page 24</a>]</span>
+and became rich when they had a brownie in the house.
+Stine believed he brought things to them. Whether it was
+the brownie or not who really helped them, I cannot say,"
+said Mother Skau, in conclusion, and got a fit of coughing
+and choking after the exertion of telling this, for her, unusually
+long story.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_011.jpg" width="450" height="520" alt="Picture
+of the gude-wife putting porridge in the garret" title="page 23 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>When she had taken a pinch of snuff she felt better, and
+became quite cheerful again, and began:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"My mother, who, by the way, was a truthful woman, told
+a story which happened here in the town one Christmas Eve.
+I know it is true, for an untrue word never passed her lips."</p>
+
+<p>"Let us hear it, Madame Skau," said I.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, tell, tell, Mother Skau!" cried the children.</p>
+
+<p>She coughed a little, took another pinch of snuff, and proceeded:&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_012.jpg" width="450" height="337" alt="Picture
+of a Church with light streaming from the windows" title="page 25 illustration" /></div><p>"When my mother still was in her teens, she used sometimes
+to visit a widow whom she knew, and whose name was,&mdash;dear
+me, what was her name?&mdash;Madame,&mdash;yes, Madame
+Evensen, of course. She was a woman who had seen the
+best part of her life, but whether she lived up in Mill Street or
+down in the corner by the Little Church Hill, I cannot say for
+certain. Well, one Christmas Eve, just like to-night, she
+thought she would go to the morning service on the Christmas
+Day, for she was a great church-goer, and so she left
+out some coffee with the girl before she went to bed, that
+she might get a cup next morning,&mdash;she was sure a cup
+of warm coffee would do her a great deal of good at that
+early hour. When she woke, the moon was shining into
+the room; but when she got up to look at the clock she
+found it had stopped and that the fingers pointed to half-past
+eleven. She had no idea what time it could be, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[<a href="images/024.png">Page 25</a>]</span>
+she went to the window and looked across to the church.
+The light was streaming out through all the windows. She
+must have overslept herself! She called the girl and told
+her to get the coffee ready, while she dressed herself. So
+she took her hymn-book and started for church. The street
+was very quiet; she did not meet a single person on her
+way to church. When she went inside, she sat down in
+her customary seat in one of the pews, but when she looked
+around her she thought that the people were so pale and so
+strange,&mdash;exactly as if they were all dead. She did not know
+any of them, but there were several of them she seemed to
+recollect having seen before; but when and where she had
+seen them she could not call to mind. When the minister
+came into the pulpit, she saw that he was not one of the
+ministers in the town, but a tall, pale man, whose face, however,
+she thought she could recollect. He preached very
+nicely indeed, and there was not the usual noisy coughing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[<a href="images/025.png">Page 26</a>]</span>
+and hawking which you always hear at the morning services
+on a Christmas Day; it was so quiet, you could have heard
+a needle drop on the floor,&mdash;in fact, it was so quiet she began
+to feel quite uneasy and uncomfortable. When the singing
+commenced again, a female who sat next to her leant towards
+her and whispered in her ear, 'Throw the cloak loosely
+around you and go, because if you wait here till the service
+is over they will make short work of you. It is the dead
+who are keeping service.'"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Mother Skau, I feel so frightened, I feel so frightened!"
+whimpered one of the children, and climbed up on
+a chair.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_013.jpg" width="333" height="600" alt="Picture
+of a girl running from the church" title="page 27 illustration" /></div><p>"Hush, hush, child!" said Mother Skau. "She got away
+from them safe enough; only listen! When the widow heard
+the voice of the person next to her, she turned round to
+look at her,&mdash;but what a start she got! She recognized
+her; it was her neighbour who died many years ago; and
+when she looked around the church, she remembered well
+that she had seen both the minister and several of the congregation
+before, and that they had died long ago. This sent
+quite a cold shiver through her, she became that frightened.
+She threw the cloak loosely round her, as the female next
+to her had said, and went out of the pew; but she thought
+they all turned round and stretched out their hands after her.
+Her legs shook under her, till she thought she would sink
+down on the church floor. When she came out on the
+steps, she felt that they had got hold of her cloak; she let
+it go and left it in their clutches, while she hurried home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Page 27]</a></span>
+as quickly as she could. When she came to the door the
+clock struck one, and by the time she got inside she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Page 28]</a></span>
+nearly half dead,&mdash;she was that frightened. In the morning
+when the people went to church, they found the cloak lying
+on the steps, but it was torn into a thousand pieces. My<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[<a href="images/028.png">Page 29</a>]</span>
+mother had often seen the cloak before, and I think she
+saw one of the pieces, also; but that doesn't matter,&mdash;it
+was a short, pink, woollen cloak, with fur lining and borders,
+such as was still in use in my childhood. They are very
+rarely seen nowadays, but there are some old ladies in the
+town and down at the 'Home' whom I see with such cloaks
+in church at Christmas time."</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 300px;"><img src="images/fig_014.jpg" width="250" height="436" alt="Picture
+of a young woman holding a bible" title="page 30 illustration" /></div><p>The children, who had expressed considerable fear and
+uneasiness during the latter part of the story, declared they
+would not hear any more such terrible stories. They had
+crept up into the sofa and on the chairs, but still they
+thought they felt somebody plucking at them from underneath
+the table. Suddenly the lights were brought in, and
+we discovered then, to our great amusement, that the children
+had put their legs on to the table. The lights, the Christmas
+cake, the jellies, the tarts and the wine soon chased away
+the horrible ghost story and all fear from their minds, revived
+everybody's spirits, and brought the conversation on to their
+neighbours and the topics of the day. Finally, our thoughts
+took a flight towards something more substantial, on the
+appearance of the Christmas porridge and the roast ribs of
+pork. We broke up early, and parted with the best wishes
+for a Merry Christmas. I passed, however, a very uneasy
+night. I do not know whether it was the stories, the substantial
+supper, my weak condition, or all these combined,
+which was the cause of it; I tossed myself hither and thither
+in my bed, and got mixed up with brownies, fairies and ghosts
+the whole night. Finally, I sailed through the air towards
+the church, while some merry sledge-bells were ringing in
+my ears. The church was lighted up, and when I came
+inside I saw it was our own church up in the valley. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[<a href="images/029.png">Page 30</a>]</span>
+were nobody there but peasants in their red caps, soldiers
+in full uniform, country lasses with their white head-dresses
+and red cheeks. The minister was in the pulpit; it was
+my grandfather, who died when I was a little boy. But just
+as he was in the middle of the sermon, he
+made a somersault&mdash;he was known as
+one of the smartest men in the parish&mdash;right
+into the middle of the
+church; the surplice flew one
+way and the collar another.
+"There lies the parson, and
+here am I," he said, with one
+of his well-known airs, "and
+now let us have a spring
+dance!" In an instant the
+whole of the congregation was
+in the midst of a wild dance.
+A big tall peasant came towards
+me and took me by
+the shoulder and said, "You'll
+have to join us, my lad!"</p>
+
+<p>At this moment I awoke, and
+felt some one pulling at my shoulder.
+I could scarcely believe my eyes
+when I saw the same peasant whom I
+had seen in my dream leaning over me.
+There he was, with the red cap down over his ears, a big
+fur coat over his arm, and a pair of big eyes looking fixedly
+at me.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be dreaming," he said, "the perspiration is
+standing in big drops on your forehead, and you were sleeping
+as heavily as a bear in his lair! God's peace and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[<a href="images/030.png">Page 31</a>]</span>
+merry Christmas to you, I say! and greetings to you from
+your father and all yours up in the valley. Here's a letter
+from your father, and the horse is waiting for you out in
+the yard."</p>
+
+<p>"But, good heavens! is that you, Thor?" I shouted in
+great joy. It was indeed my father's man, a splendid specimen
+of a Norwegian peasant. "How in the world have you
+come here already?"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/fig_015.jpg" width="450" height="267" alt="Picture
+of Thor leaning over the bed" title="page 31 illustration" /></div>
+
+<p>"Ah! that I can soon tell you," answered Thor. "I came
+with your favourite, the bay mare. I had to take your father
+down to N&aelig;s, and then he says to me, 'Thor,' says he, 'it
+isn't very far to town from here. Just take the bay mare
+and run down and see how the Lieutenant is, and if he is
+well and can come back with you, you must bring him back
+along with you,' says he."</p>
+
+<p>When we left the town it was daylight. The roads were
+in splendid condition. The bay mare stretched out her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[<a href="images/031.png">Page 32</a>]</span>
+old smart legs, and we arrived at length in sight of the
+dear old house. Thor jumped off the sledge to undo the
+gate, and as we merrily drove up to the door we were met
+by the boisterous welcome of old Rover, who, in his frantic
+joy at hearing my voice, almost broke his chains in trying
+to rush at me.</p>
+
+<p>Such a Christmas as I spent that year I cannot recollect
+before or since.</p>
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The End.</span></p>
+
+<p class="above4"></p>
+<hr />
+<p class="above4"></p>
+
+<h3><a name="Transnote">Transcriber's Notes</a></h3>
+
+<p class="above2">Punctuation surrounding reported speech has been regularised, all other
+punctuation and spelling has been left as in the original text.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the illustrations have been moved from their original
+placings to paragraph breaks.  Every effort has been made to place
+them as close to the scenes depicted as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Page numbers at the right side link to black and white images of
+the book's pages. The original book has blank pages
+following the full-page illustrations. To reduce the size of the
+image file, neither the blank pages nor the black and white copies
+of the full-page colour illustrations have been included.</p>
+
+<p><a href="#cover">Return to top</a>.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of 'Round the yule-log: Christmas in
+Norway, by Peter Christen Asbjörnsen
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+</body>
+</html>
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 19:56:49 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-14 19:56:49 -0700
commit	06cabbf814e11573fac239f4417e69eb08c16cf9 (patch)
tree	e3d48ece05210a6ecbb1a6475a6864c829d9e0c0 /31993-h