Margit waited a long while till at last the string was tied. "He has such queer ways," she began again; "he got cowed while he was a child, and so he has got into the way of thinking over everything by himself, and those sort of folks haven't courage to come forward." Now Eli must indeed go back, but Margit said that Kampen was only half a mile off; indeed, not so far, and that Eli must see it, as too she was so near. But Eli thought it would be late that day. "There'll be sure to be somebody to bring you home." "No, no," Eli answered quickly, and would go back. "Arne's not at home, it's true," said Margit; "but there's sure to be somebody else about;" and Eli had now less objection to it. "If only I shall not be too late," she said. "Yes, if we stand here much longer talking about it, it may be too late, I dare say." And they went on. "Being brought up at the Clergyman's, you've read a great deal, I dare say?" Yes, she had. "It'll be of good use when you have a husband who knows less." No; that, Eli thought she would never have. "Well, no; p'r'aps, after all, it isn't the best thing; but still folks about here haven't much learning." Eli asked if it was Kampen, she could see straight before her. "No; that's Gransetren, the next place to the wood; when we come farther up you'll see Kampen. It's a pleasant place to live at, is Kampen, you may be sure; it seems a little out of the way, it's true; but that doesn't matter much, after all." Eli asked what made the smoke that rose from the wood. "It comes from a houseman's cottage, belonging to Kampen: a man named Opplands-Knut lives there. He went about lonely till Arne gave him that piece of land to clear. Poor Arne! he knows what it is to be lonely." Soon they came far enough to see Kampen. "Is that Kampen?" asked Eli, standing still and pointing. "Yes, it is," said the mother; and she, too, stood still. The sun shone full in their faces, and they shaded their eyes as they looked down over the plain. In the middle of it stood the red-painted house with its white window-frames; rich green cornfields lay between the pale new-mown meadows, where some of the hay was already set in stacks; near the cow-house, all was life and stir; the cows, sheep and goats were coming home; their bells tinkled, the dogs barked, and the milkmaids called; while high above all, rose the grand tune of the waterfall from the ravine. The farther Eli went, the more this filled her ears, till at last it seemed quite awful to her; it whizzed and roared through her head, her heart throbbed violently, and she became bewildered and dizzy, and then felt so subdued that she unconsciously began to walk with such small timid steps that Margit begged her to come on a little faster. She started. "I never heard anything like that fall," she said; "I'm quite frightened." "You'll soon get used to it; and at last you'll even miss it." "Do you think so?" "Well, you'll see." And Margit smiled.