Then lift your head up, and courage take In the hope around you springing, From the blue above, to the green beneath, To the world she ever is singing." CHAPTER XI. GATHERING BERRIES. It was in the middle of the noonday's rest; the people at Heidegaard were asleep, the hay lay scattered about the field, and the rakes were all stuck in the ground. The hay sledges stood outside the granary, and the horses were grazing a little distance off. Except these, and some hens that had strayed in the corn field, there was not a living thing to be seen. The road from the farm to the rich grass fields of the Heidegaard S[oe]ters,[2] lay through a mountain pass. Up in the pass a man stood and looked down over the plain, as though expecting something. Behind him lay a tarn, from which the beck flowed down, that had made the cleft in the mountain. On both sides of the lake there were sheep walks leading to the S[oe]ters, which he could see far in the distance. The barking of dogs and the tinkling of bells resounded among the rocks; the cows were rushing madly to the water, while the poor herdsmen and the dogs sought in vain to gather them. The cows appeared in the most wonderful shapes, with their tails in the air, kicking and plunging, roaring and bellowing; making straight for the lake, where, to their delight, they stood quite still, up to their necks in water; their bells tinkling with each move of the head. The dogs drank a little, but kept back on the dry land; the herdsmen came after, and seated themselves on the warm smooth mountain side. Here they took out their provision, exchanged with each other; praised each others' dogs, oxen, and people; finally undressed and sprang in the water. The dogs wouldn't go in, but drawled lazily about, hanging their heads, with their tongues out on one side. There was no bird to be seen, no sound to be heard save the voices of the lads and the tinkling of the bells; the ling was burnt up and withered; the sun scorched the whole mountain side, and the heat was intense.