Chapter II: Part 2

Arne was surprised when he entered school that first morning and got his first glimpse of Herr Professor Engstrand. Somehow, from Oscar’s remarks, he had expected to see an elderly gentleman. Herr Professor didn’t look much older than Gustav. But he certainly was not like Gustav in any other way. There was no laughter in those stern gray eyes, and his mouth, straight and firm, didn’t look as if it ever even smiled. He stood stiffly beside his desk, his shoulders squared.

When the school was assembled, he made a short speech. “I am new here,” he said, “but we shall soon get to know one another. If you do your work well, we shall get along without trouble. I shall put up with no laziness, no disobedience. You are old enough to know how to work, and that is exactly what I expect you to do.” His words were clipped and curt, and Arne was sure you could have heard a pin drop in that quiet room. Lessons were assigned and classes were held in the most methodical order. Any lack of attention, any slightest sign of disorder, was promptly reprimanded or punished more severely.

Arne very soon made up his mind about one thing. He would try to obey orders to the letter. He could see there would be trouble ahead if he did anything else. He didn’t know, of course, that this was Herr Professor Engstrand’s first school and that he was desperately anxious to make a good job of it.

Winter set in early, and it was always a relief to Arne to get out of school. He liked to get his skis and go flying down the steep slopes behind the town with Nels and Oscar and Torger and some of the other boys. Evart was away at school this year, and sometimes Arne took Bergel with him coasting. She knew how to steer the long sled almost as well as he did.

He would stop at home in the kitchen first, for he was sure to find Mother and Besta having a cup of afternoon coffee. Sometimes Aunt Tina would be there, too, and Signe and Margret. Sometimes one of the neighbors would come in. But whether there was company or not, there was sure to be something good to go with the coffee—slices from a big, round loaf of ryebread with _gjetost_, Besta’s special goats’ milk cheese, or coffeecake, or _bakkelse_—crisp, delicious little cakes fried in deep fat, or some other of their many specialties. Mother and Besta were as good cooks as you’d find in all Norway, Father often said; and he added that that was saying a lot, for Norway was famous for its good cooks.

Sometimes as he came in, after skiing or skating or coasting, he would hear Besta’s spinning wheel whirring comfortably away. She liked to spin the wool for her knitting and weaving. Even Margret, up-to-date as she considered herself, preferred the soft wool her grandmother spun to any other. Besta never looked as contented as when her foot was on that treadle, her practiced hand drawing out the fine strong woolen yarn.

Arne usually came from school with a rush and a bang. But one day he came into the kitchen without saying a word. Bergel was with him, and she too was quiet.

“Fresh _lefse_, Arne,” said his mother.

Arne nodded, but for once he didn’t make a move to take any.

Besta looked at him keenly. “Trouble in school, Arne?” she asked.

Arne’s face darkened, and he doubled up his fists. “That Herr Professor!” he exclaimed. “He’s just so mean and unreasonable. All I did was to ask Sigurd, just behind me, how far we were to study. And I had to stand up in front of the whole room for an hour.” He flushed as he thought of it.

“Perhaps he thought you would have known how far to study if you had been paying attention,” said Mother, shaking her head, though she felt sorry for Arne.

“Well, I was thinking of something more important than English grammar.” In spite of himself, Arne’s face lighted a little. For right in the midst of class, he had suddenly thought of a delightful plan—a surprise for everyone for Christmas. Mother was exactly right, though he didn’t like to admit it. He had been thinking out details of his project instead of paying attention.

“How do you get along with Herr Professor, Bergel?” asked Besta.

“Oh, of course she gets along fine!” exploded Arne. “She always has her lessons, and she behaves like a little lady.” The mincing tone he assumed almost made Mother and Besta smile, though they realized very well that this was no laughing matter. “Herr Professor likes Bergel, but he sure doesn’t like me. I might just as well stop trying to please him.”

“Oh, don’t do that, Arne,” urged Bergel. “You’ll get used to him. And he does know a lot.” She wished from the bottom of her heart that Herr Professor would say “well done” to Arne once in a while. He did do well in his history and arithmetic.

“Well, have some _lefse_ and some _ost_ and try harder tomorrow,” said his mother sensibly. “You’ll get along all right if you pay attention and study.”

Arne took the _lefse_, but it didn’t taste as good as usual. It didn’t seem to him he could ever learn to get along with Herr Professor Engstrand. It certainly looked as if he were headed for trouble. And with Christmas coming, too.

But he did make an effort, and school went better for some time.

Bergel mentioned it with pleasure as they walked home one afternoon. “You’re really doing fine in school, Arne,” she said. “You haven’t been in a bit of trouble lately. Herr Professor hasn’t even had to look your way. I bet you could be right up at the head of the class if you’d try.”

“There are so many things I like to do better than to have my nose in a book,” said Arne carelessly. “I like to work out in the workshop for one thing. Right now,” he added, his face brightening, “I’m working on—” Then he broke off abruptly and laughed. “Can’t tell you what—it’s a surprise.”

“Oh, go on, tell me,” coaxed Bergel, but Arne only shook his head mysteriously.

“You’ll see,” was all he would say. “I’d better be getting home to get at it. There’s a lot left to do if I’m going to have it ready in time.”

From early November, Arne had been spending every moment he could spare in the little workshop out in back. He was making a number of small ships, some with tiny sails, some with little oars, sawing and cutting and gluing and painting with great care. They would be hung all over the tree—red and green and yellow and blue.

There was to be at least one special one for each member of the family—a fishing boat for Father, the tiniest sailboat for Margret, a red rowboat for Besta, and a blue one for Mother. There should be one for each of the cousins, too, and Uncle Jens and Aunt Tina. And he wanted to make several for Gustav.

No one else in Nordheim or probably anywhere else would have a tree trimmed like that. It would be a surprise for everyone. Arne almost chuckled aloud whenever he thought of it.

His face was bright today as he ran into the kitchen. There were Mother and Besta, having their afternoon cup of coffee. The kitchen was filled with the good smell of baking. _Rosettes_ were spread out on the table—delicate, beautifully-shaped cakes fried in deep fat. There were also crisp star-shaped cinnamon cookies.

He pulled off his cap and asked eagerly, “Any broken pieces for me?” He knew all the well-shaped cakes and cookies would be put away carefully for Christmas.

“Besta broke a few for you,” said his mother, with a twinkle. “And before you go out to that workshop, get me some soap from the storeroom. I am going to take down the curtains and put them to soak.”

For weeks, now, the house had been in a bustle and flurry of Christmas cleaning. Every spot was shining—floors and furniture, brass and copper. The house fairly seemed to twinkle.

He couldn’t see why they had to take down the lace-trimmed window curtains to be washed and stiffly starched. Those curtains looked white as snow to him. But when he said that to Mother, she laughed out loud. “Not have clean curtains for Christmas!” she exclaimed. “What a boy you are, Arne! If your mother did such a thing, _Julenissen_ would be so horrified he would run right away from our house.”

Arne laughed, too. You certainly wouldn’t want to scare away _Julenissen_, the little elf with the pointed red cap and little red suit. He was supposed to live in the attic and bring special good luck at Christmas time, particularly if one always remembered to set out his bowl of milk and give him his Christmas rice porridge. Arne had never actually seen _Julenissen_, but he knew someone in the family always saw to that milk and the porridge.

“_Julenissen_ hates dirt,” said Besta.

“I guess he’ll never get scared away from our house, then,” said Arne. “And I should think he’d like the Christmas baking even better than the cleaning.”

“If he doesn’t, I know somebody else who does,” chuckled his mother.

Arne knew there would be stacks of _flatbrod_, hard and crisp and round, each piece larger than a plate. Besta baked these right on top of her well-scrubbed cookstove. There would be heart-shaped waffles, and _lefse_ and _bakkelse_ and _rosettes_ and all kinds of good coffeecakes. His mouth watered at the thought. If a boy hung around the kitchen at the right times, he was sure to come in for a good many samples, especially broken bits.

He knew there would also be a final scouring of the house just before Christmas, that the windows and the copper flowerpots on the window sills would be gleaming. The geraniums and begonias would be coaxed into bloom for Christmas.

And of course the womenfolk would be busy planning and preparing food to last through the Christmas season, for no one wanted to do much work during the two weeks of the holidays. And there would be a great deal of company.

Father would see to it that they had all the best kinds of fish—the smoked and pickled herring. And the _lutfisk_—which he had so disliked to bale in the summer—would be a favorite part of the Christmas feasting. There would be cheeses, too, of many kinds, and pickled pigs’ feet and headcheese, roasted meats and sausages. Mother always set out a good _koltbord_—a table laden with all these good things and many others; people could help themselves to suit their tastes.

Arne thought of all this as he fortified himself with a substantial snack. Then he went out to the workshop. He had almost enough little ships now, ready for sandpapering and painting. His worries about school were forgotten, and the time flew as he worked, his lips puckered in a low, contented whistle.

Suddenly he straightened with a start. It certainly couldn’t be supper time yet. But Margret was coming down the path calling him.

“Don’t come in! Don’t come in!” he shouted, throwing an old blanket over his work. Then he ran out and closed the door behind him.

“I wouldn’t come in, Arne. You know that,” she said. Her voice sounded muffled and unnatural. In the light which streamed from the kitchen window, he could see that her face looked as if she were trying not to cry.

“What is it? What is it, Margret?” he asked anxiously. “Is something wrong?”

“We heard something over the radio,” said Margret; and now, in spite of her efforts, her voice broke into a sob. “Oh, Arne, there are storms at sea—bad ones—sleet storms and ice storms right where the _Stjerne_ must be now!”

Arne’s heart seemed to turn right over. He knew very well the danger his brother was in. All his life he had heard of those winter storms at sea. He wished with all his might that Gustav’s ship was safe right here in Nordheim harbor.

5

A very quiet family gathered around the supper table that evening. Even the thought of his little ships didn’t bring Arne any cheer. Indeed, he could hardly bear even to think of ships. Mother tried to talk as usual, and so did Father, but no one’s heart was in it.

Arne could not settle down to anything. He wanted to ask questions, but knew there could be no comforting answers. At last, without being told, he wandered off to bed.

It was hard for him to keep his mind on schoolwork the next morning. He rushed home at the midday recess, bolted his meal, got his field glasses, and went up to the cliff as fast as he could get there. Gustav’s ship should be coming in soon, if it hadn’t run into trouble. You never knew for sure when a freighter would be in. Father said it was always best to allow a little extra time even in good weather. But Arne had been hoping it might come in a little ahead of time. Perhaps he’d even catch sight of it today. Then there would certainly be rejoicing!

There was no sign of the ship as he looked out over the stormy waters, but he lingered so long on the cliff that he barely got into the schoolroom in time. Herr Engstrand looked at him severely, and though he said nothing, Arne realized he had better not cut it so close again.

He couldn’t keep away from the cliff at noon. But each day he stood there, looking, only a short time and was careful to get to school before the bell rang.

At home, Mother was trying her best to keep everything normal, but she looked more and more anxious as the news of storms continued. Even Father, accustomed as he was to ships and storms at sea, looked anxious as he listened to the reports over the radio.

Christmas preparations went on, but there wasn’t much laughing or singing over them now.

“Why don’t we hear something?” Arne asked his father in desperation. “Couldn’t they let someone know if they’re in trouble? Couldn’t help go to them?”

“We hear the names of some of the ships in trouble. But no word comes of the _Stjerne_,” his father said, and paused. “I hope it is just that their radio has gone bad. Yes, that must be it.” He spoke as if he wanted to reassure himself as much as Arne.

That day the bell had rung before Arne slid into his seat at school. He got a sharp reprimand from the teacher, but for once he didn’t care. He could only think of Gustav, out there on the stormy sea.

But Bergel _did_ care. She knew Christmas plans were afoot in school, and she could not bear to have him get into trouble now. The next noon Bergel was watching for her cousin, and when she saw him start toward the cliff, she seized her sled and ran after him.

“Arne! Arne!” she called over and over as she neared the cliff, but the wind was strong, and he did not hear her. She hurried on, faster than ever, looking anxious but determined. If they didn’t look out, they’d both be late for school.

Yes, there he was, high up on the very peak of the cliff, looking out to sea through his field glasses. She called and shouted, waving her arm in a frantic signal. This time he heard, put his glasses away, and started down.

“Look here, Bergel, you didn’t need to come—” he began, slightly annoyed.

“I know,” interrupted Bergel. “But today I think Herr Professor is going to announce the trip up the mountain for Christmas greens. You don’t want to be late and maybe have to stay home from that. I think my sled will get us there on time.”

“So!” said Arne. Bergel was a pretty good kid. “Hop on, then. We’ll beat that school bell. We’ll take the short cut, shall we? That’ll get us there all right.”

“Well,” said Bergel, hesitating a little. “It’s dangerous, but—”

“Not with your cousin Arne as navigator! Come on!”

Arne was daring, Bergel knew that, but he was skillful, too. And she certainly didn’t want to be late today. Herr Professor might punish latecomers by refusing to let them go on that expedition up the mountain for the Christmas greens. She got on the sled and shut her eyes tight as they went flying down the steep hill toward the schoolgrounds. She was a little frightened, it is true, but almost too excited to realize it. If they avoided that big rock now, they’d be all right.

Arne’s face was grim as they whizzed downward. This was a dangerous hill. He had to give all his attention to steering and braking. Bergel had risked her own good record and the chance of going up the mountain in order to warn him. He just had to get her back safely and on time.

It was a triumphant moment when the breathless ride was accomplished safely, and the cousins jumped off the sled. Then they made a dash across the schoolground.

Arne’s thoughts were racing as fast as his feet. Where was that ship, anyway? It was really overdue now, several days. Maybe something had happened to Captain Olsen. Maybe Gustav had to bring in the ship. What if he had had to take command and had failed to bring it safely to port? Arne couldn’t bear to think of such a thing.

He looked so anxious that Bergel, glancing at him as they pulled off their coats, said softly, “Don’t forget—it’s the Christmas _Star_ we’re waiting for. And remember, that’s always come in safe and sure.”

Arne nodded and hurried across the schoolroom and slid into his seat just as the bell rang. His spirits, never down for very long, rose a little. He and Bergel had made port safely, anyhow, and in time, too.

But Herr Professor Engstrand looked at him gravely for a moment and said, “Tardiness is a fault I do not wish my pupils to develop. Arne Dalen, you have come in once this week just after the bell rang, and you have repeatedly got in barely on time. I shall have to take strong measures if you are tardy again.”

Arne’s face flushed, and he looked down in embarrassment. If he could only explain! But you couldn’t explain things to Herr Professor.

He was heartily glad when the teacher went on in an entirely different tone, “I have a pleasant announcement to make. On Friday afternoon, all you older pupils are to go up the mountain for greens to decorate the schoolhouse for the Christmas program. All bring flashlights and sandwiches. We shall make a campfire and have a picnic. Froken Utvig promises we shall practice some of our Christmas songs there.”

There was a stir of delight throughout the room. The trip up the mountain for Christmas greens was a favorite yearly event. Getting the greens and decorating was even more fun than the Christmas program itself. This was the first time Arne and Bergel’s class had been included in the expedition. Arne’s eyes glowed as he thought of the picnic supper, the campfire up there on the dark mountain, the singing that would float all up and down the mountainside.

But some of the girls looked a little perturbed, and the teacher almost smiled as he said, “We shall not stand out there in the snow eating our supper. Froken Utvig says we can find shelter in her father’s saeter cabin.”

The Utvig saeter! Oh, that would be something, Arne thought. Everyone said the Utvig cabin was the finest on the mountain. Arne had never been there, and he almost forgot about the _Stjerne_ in his excitement. It was wonderful fun to go up to a saeter in summer, but in winter it would be a real adventure. He resolved to be on time for the rest of the week. He certainly could not run the chance of being left out of that trip up the mountain.

Arne could hardly keep his feet from taking the familiar cliff path the next noon. If only there were just a little daylight after school. Then he’d hurry as fast as he could up the cliff, get out those field glasses, and stand looking as long as he liked. But it would be dark by that time. And tomorrow was the day of the trip up the mountain. No, he couldn’t run the risk of being late.

With a mighty effort he managed to trudge straight to school. He even got there a little early. He was too anxious and miserable to stay out playing, so he earned the pleased surprise of Herr Professor by going straight into the schoolroom, opening his book, and settling down. But his thoughts were not on his Norwegian history, though that was a subject he really liked, full as it was of stirring events. His thoughts were with the freighter _Stjerne_, in peril out there on the stormy sea.

Arne hurried home right after school, hoping better news had come in. His mother was in a perfect fury of baking. She was making _lefse_, and he usually liked to watch her doing that. But today he didn’t care much, for one look at her face told him that the news was not good.

She whisked the kettle of potatoes off the fire, mashed them violently, mixed in flour and salt and cream. Then she rolled out the dough into large, thin, round cakes, and Besta baked them on the top of the cookstove.

Both of them nodded a greeting to him, but no one seemed to feel like talking. Presently Besta buttered a piece of warm _lefse_, spread it with brown sugar, rolled it, and handed it to Arne. Even now he did not forget the polite Norwegian “_Mange tak_,” “Many thanks.”

He took his _lefse_ and wandered off to the workshop, but there was a lump in his throat as he drew the covering back and looked at his little ships. It didn’t seem to him he could work at them today, and he started to cover them again. Then he stopped and said fiercely right out loud, “Look here, Arne Dalen! Gustav wouldn’t do that. He’s a great one to stick at something until he gets it done.”

Somehow that idea comforted Arne. Wherever Gustav was, even if he was in serious difficulties, he’d be doing something to try to put things right. He remembered how quick and sure his brother had been last summer on the _Laks_ when the rocks had fallen. And Gustav had weathered bad storms before this. Captain Olsen, too. They were two good men, Father said. And they had a good crew of Norwegian sailors. Arne picked up one of the little ships and began a careful job of sandpapering. Even after supper he came out and found comfort in working. When Gustav came home, the surprise would be ready.

He lingered in the kitchen next morning for a few minutes after the others had gone about their various duties. He wanted to talk to Mother about preparations for that trip up the mountain. But more than that, he wanted very much to say something encouraging to her.

It was hard to know just what to say. The Dalens came from a long line of seafaring people, and no one talked much about it when there were storms and ships were overdue. But Arne couldn’t bear that bleak look on his mother’s face. It was not at all like her. She was a cheerful, busy person, almost as full of lively plans and ideas as Arne himself.

It didn’t take long to settle about the lunch. Mother promised to make him some extra nice _smörbröd_, or sandwiches. At a picnic like that, all the sandwiches would be spread out and shared, and hers must do both Arne and herself credit. She promised to decorate them in all kinds of fancy patterns. She would put in some of the _bakkelse_, too, and other cakes.

Arne was well pleased with this, but he didn’t quite know how to go on to the next subject. Then Bergel’s words of comfort came back to him. They had made him feel better. Maybe Mother would like them too. He cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Gustav’s ship is the Christmas _Star_, you know, Mother. It’ll come in safe, I’m just sure it will.”

Tears sprang into his mother’s eyes and brimmed over, and Arne wished earnestly that he had not spoken at all. He didn’t know whether to keep still now or to try again, so he just put his arm around her and gave her a quick, fervent hug.

She swallowed hard, shook herself, and wiped her eyes fiercely. “There now, Arne,” she said, hustling the dishes off the table. “Of course it will come in.” And somehow she managed to smile. “Run to school now, boy. Don’t be late.”

When Arne came home at noon, a lunch was ready packed for him to take up the mountain. He got out his flashlight and skis and put all the things together. His mother tried to talk cheerfully of all these preparations as they ate their lunch, but her sentences trailed off in a way not at all like her.

The boy’s heart was heavy as he left the house. He started for school, then stopped and swung swiftly around. He’d go like lightning up the cliff, and maybe he’d see Gustav’s ship. Then he’d ski down the slope and tell his mother. He’d have time. He was starting back to school earlier than usual.

He hesitated just an instant. This was no day to be late. Then he set off at full speed toward the cliff.

He caught his breath in exultation as his glasses swept the angry, heaving waves. It was beginning to snow, but in spite of that he could see there was a ship far out—a ship that could be the _Stjerne_! But it was much too far away for him to make sure. And yet he couldn’t bear to leave in uncertainty. The minutes flew by as he stood there, too intent on watching to think of anything else.

Suddenly a bell far down below brought him up with a jerk. That was the school bell. First bell, only. If he skied like mad, he might make it.

But though he felt as if he were actually flying down the slope, the last bell sounded loud and clear through the wintry air before he even reached the schoolground.

With all his heart Arne wished he didn’t have to go into that schoolroom. But he knew he did. He paused for an instant at the door. Then he braced himself and entered, his head erect but his cheeks crimson as he walked quickly and quietly to his desk.

There was an air of excitement in the room, and Herr Engstrand had evidently been talking, for no books were open. Now he paused and waited till Arne took his seat.

“I am very sorry you chose to be late this noon, Arne,” he said, and though his tone was stern, it did sound a little regretful, too. “I dislike very much to keep you in today of all days, but you have been warned and spoken to more than once. Get out your English grammar and do the exercises on pages 63 and 64. Have them on my desk before you leave the schoolroom. And now the rest of you may get your wraps and skis. As I was beginning to explain, it has been decided on account of the threatening snow that we start at once and get back before too late. The afternoon session is excused.”

Arne sent a stunned glance at Bergel. They were actually going to have a half-holiday and go up the mountain. And they were leaving him out of it. Her face, sorrowful and reproachful, didn’t make him feel any better. In the flurry of leaving, she seemed very busy with one or two papers. Then she gave him a long look and rose to go with the others.

6

As the other children trooped out, Arne pretended to be deep in his work. Let them go then, and have a good time. What did they care about his troubles? They didn’t have a brother out on the stormy sea and a worried family at home. Let them go, and see if he cared! But he did care, tremendously. There was a lump in his throat he couldn’t swallow.

Bergel passed his seat and touched his shoulder gently. He shrugged off her hand, but she slid it down toward his and left a piece of paper there. He acted as if he didn’t see it, for he was hurt and disappointed and angry. Probably just a note saying he should have been more careful. He wouldn’t even look at it.

The shouting and laughter died away at last, and Arne looked gloomily down at his books. He felt more like crying than doing exercises. But of course he was too big to do a thing like that. If only Herr Engstrand had given him anything but English grammar to do! He must know how Arne disliked that. Arithmetic, now—he could have got that done in a hurry and maybe he could have caught up with the others. But English grammar! And two long exercises! He’d never get those done.

Suddenly he remembered another trip up the mountain—the summer trip, when he had thought he would have to stay home to bale _lutfisk_. With Gustav’s help, he had got that job done in time to go with the others. No one was here to help him now, but perhaps he could get this job done himself and follow the others. His usual hopefulness began to come to his rescue. Herr Engstrand hadn’t said he couldn’t come on the trip. He had only said he must finish the exercises before he left.

Arne turned to his books in earnest, now. He knew how to do that first sentence, anyway. Maybe this wasn’t such a hard exercise, after all. He was half through it, his spirits rising as he worked, when his hopes fell again. He didn’t know the way to the Utvig saeter, and he was well enough acquainted with mountains to realize that a snowy day in December was no time to strike out on unfamiliar ways.

He gave a deep sigh and turned back to his work. No use to try to get it done fast. It didn’t matter when he finished. But he went doggedly on, and a sudden thought came to him. Bergel had certainly looked as if she wanted to tell him something. He picked up the note, his face brightening as he read: “Utvig saeter is above ours. Go up the Ahlness trail, then take the left fork where there are three saeter cabins.” She had even scrawled a little map. With fresh energy, Arne bent to his lesson.

The schoolroom clock had ticked an hour away when the boy laid his exercises on Herr Professor’s desk. He put on his skis, settled his knapsack on his back, and set off on his trip up the mountain through the falling snow.

The boy felt confident and light-hearted as he hastened up toward his uncle’s saeter. Though the familiar landmarks looked different in their winter dress, he could recognize them without difficulty. He knew he was making better time alone than the others could in a large company. As he sped along he began to hope he might overtake them, or at least get there in time to help bring in the greens.

The snow, which fell heavily at first, began to slacken a little. He managed to go along at a steady pace, but it seemed a long time before he came out where Uncle Jens’s cabin faced the fjord. The little log house looked forlorn with all its windows boarded over for winter, and Arne was anxious to hurry on. Far out at sea he could detect the faint light of a ship. He wondered if it could possibly be the _Stjerne_.

The snow had stopped now, and strong winds blew in steadily from the sea. Dusk had closed in, and Arne shivered as he stood there, not sure how to go ahead. “Take the Ahlness trail,” Bergel’s note had said. There was more than one path zigzagging about up here, he knew, but as far as he could remember, there was only one good trail that led way up the mountain. That must be the one. Those folks up there ahead must have left plenty of tracks. But he had difficulty in finding them because of the drifting snow. At last, however, with the aid of his flashlight, he did manage to find some traces.

If only Bergel had said how far it was! It seemed to Arne that the way was much longer than he had expected it to be. Though he got out his flashlight often, he didn’t see anything of three saeter cabins in a cluster, to say nothing of a fork in the trail. The way was very steep in places, and he did wish those tracks were plainer.

And now he had come to a place where the snow was so drifted he couldn’t see any tracks at all. He was uncertain what to do, which way to take, and almost wished he had never started on this difficult journey alone.

Then he looked up toward the mountain top, and just above it, where the wind had ripped the clouds apart, he saw one bright star shining. Christmas star again, thought Arne, and felt a little better. He pressed on and at last came to the three small houses. Now for the fork in the trail!

But he could not make out any tracks in the drifted snow, and there didn’t seem to be any real trail, though there was a break in the bushes here. He’d start that way. But he hadn’t gone far when he was brought up short by a great boulder in the way. This certainly could not be the trail. He went back and started again, but this time a thicket of bushes blocked the path. Perhaps, after all, he had come the wrong way. Perhaps those three cabins were not the ones Bergel had meant. His heart was thumping. What if he was lost in these mountains?

He stood there straining his eyes in the gray darkness. If only he could catch some gleam of the campfire! He could see no sign of light on the dark mountain, but as he stood, trying to think of something he could do, a familiar sound came down to him—a long-drawn blast that could only come from a saeter horn. Someone was certainly sending him a signal, and he felt sure it was Bergel.

Arne stood still, trying to determine just where that call had come from. As he waited, it came again, over and over. The star would be a good guide now, for the horn’s blast had come from exactly that direction. Now, a little to the left, he found a way through the thicket; with the help of the horn and of his bright star, he forged steadily ahead.

At last, to his great relief and delight, he caught sight of a glimmer of light above him. Soon he began to hear voices in the distance—faint at first, then louder. Now he could hear calls and shouts and laughter and bits of song, and above all, the sound of the horn.

In a few moments the full brightness of the campfire burst upon him. He saw people scurrying about; but one small, valiant figure caught his eye and warmed his heart. It was Bergel, standing in the firelight, the long saeter horn at her lips. She blew a blast that Arne felt must be heard clear down at Nordheim, and he almost felt like giving her a hug. Instead he skied silently to her side and stood there grinning. “Calling someone, Bergel?” he asked.

“Arne!” she cried, and threw both arms around him. “Oh, I was so worried! I knew you’d try to come, and then it snowed so hard for a while, and drifted so, and you didn’t know the way. How did you ever manage to find it?” Her tone showed plainly that she considered that quite a feat.

“Well, you helped,” said Arne. He slipped away from her embrace, but his voice was gentle. “And then I guess the Christmas star helped, too.” He nodded to where the bright star shone among drifting clouds.

“You see! Isn’t that a good sign?” said Bergel triumphantly. “And now you’re in time to help with the greens, Arne. The boys have gone up there just a little ways. Got your hunting knife?”

“Do you suppose I’d come up here without it?” asked Arne. But he smiled at her, and she smiled back before she turned to help with the supper.

Everyone was glad to see Arne, though nobody said much about it. He pulled his silver-handled hunting knife from the sheath at his belt and was soon in the thick of the work, helping cut branches and put them in bundles.

In spite of himself, his respect for Herr Professor Engstrand increased as he watched him directing and helping. The teacher had obtained permission to take what they needed, and seemed to know exactly how to go about getting it. When he climbed easily up a big tree, Arne could hardly believe his eyes. Was this the same dignified man who didn’t seem to be interested in anything but books and lessons and keeping order?

Eager to do his part now that he was here, Arne went right up to a treetop to get some specially fine branches with clusters of cones. When he came nimbly down, he saw, with some dismay, that the other boys had gone on and that only Herr Engstrand was at hand. He was probably in for a good scolding now, but surely Herr Professor wouldn’t send him home when he had toiled so hard to get up here alone.

Arne started to run after the other boys, but the teacher took two or three long strides, laid a hand on his shoulder, and turned him around. “Just a minute, my boy,” he said. “I have something to say to you.”

Arne’s heart seemed to go right down into his boots. “Yes, sir,” he managed to mumble. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come, but I—well, I did my exercises first, and I didn’t think you said—” His voice trailed miserably off.

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t come,” said the teacher in a matter-of-fact tone. “In fact, I hoped you would, though I didn’t feel I could encourage you to do so, in view of the weather and the distance. Of course I know it takes more than a snowstorm to keep a Norwegian boy off a mountain. In fact, people say mountains and snow are all a Norwegian needs for fun. But I didn’t think you knew the way here.”

“I didn’t really, but—” Arne began and then stopped short, uncertain and embarrassed. He certainly could not tell Herr Professor about Bergel’s note. How could he explain?

Herr Engstrand was going on, “But your cousin told me—” He stopped so long that Arne looked up and, to his great surprise, saw that his teacher was smiling a little. “She is a conscientious little girl, as well as a good pupil, and I think she felt she might not have done right. And then, too, I think she began to get worried about you. So she told me about leaving you the note. And I’ll admit we were all a little anxious when you did not arrive.”

“Those grammar exercises,” said Arne, with a gusty sigh. “They took quite a while. But who thought of the saeter horn? That was a life-saver.”

“It was Bergel who thought of that, and Froken Utvig found it for her. Bergel told me something else, Arne. She told me why you had been late those times. I should have been glad if you had told me yourself.”

“You would?” exclaimed Arne in astonishment, and added, with complete honesty, “I never thought of that.”

Herr Engstrand dropped his hand from Arne’s shoulder. “I see,” was all he said, but his voice made Arne think of the way he himself sometimes felt when he tried very hard to do something and did not succeed.

That tone made Arne want to mend matters, and he hurried on, “I didn’t know you’d be interested, but I guess you are. So I want to tell you why I was late this noon. Bergel didn’t know about that. I saw a ship way out in the storm and I thought it might be Gustav’s. And from Uncle Jens’s saeter I could still see the lights of a ship a good ways out.”

“I see,” Herr Engstrand said again. But this time his tone was quite different. “A ship would have a hard time making port in a sea like this.”

Arne looked up at him in alarm. “Oh, Herr Professor Engstrand!” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose—what if Gustav’s ship got nearly home only to be dashed to pieces on the rocks?”

“Of course the chances are it was not the _Stjerne_ at all,” said Herr Engstrand. His voice was thoughtful.

“Oh, I wish that wind would go down,” said Arne fervently. “There aren’t even any stars out, now.”

“Well, Arne, these Norwegian skippers know our coast pretty well, don’t forget that. And from what I hear, Captain Olsen is a fine navigator. Come, Bergel is blowing the horn again. That is the signal for supper.”

Arne gathered with the others around the great fire piled high in the kitchen fireplace. Froken Utvig and the girls had scrubbed a long table, laid a bright cloth over it, and spread it with gaily-decorated sandwiches and cakes. Everyone was hungry and ready for the good food and the singing.

There were Christmas songs first, and folk songs followed. Then everyone stood to sing the national anthem:

“_Yes, we love with fond devotion_
_Norway’s mountain domes,_
_Rising storm-lashed o’er the ocean_
_With their thousand homes._”

“‘Storm-lashed’ is right,” thought Arne. But he loved the fine old anthem, just as the others did, and joined in the singing with all his heart.

“I think those songs all but lifted the roof,” said Froken Utvig, smiling. “But now, as it is still snowy and drifting, and the wind is strong, we had better start home.”

Everyone hurried about—putting out the fire, getting things in order. Arne was as busy as anyone, but he couldn’t help thinking about the _Stjerne_. What if she was tossing about out there, very close to the rocky shore, driven by the wind? What if Gustav should be almost in port, only to have his ship go down tonight?

His face was troubled as he bent to fasten his skis, but he looked up quickly as Herr Professor came over to him and said, “Arne, I want you to help me with some of these greens. Can you carry a load as big as this, do you think? We’ll fasten it on your back if you can.”

Ordinarily Arne would have been proud of such a request, for the load was a large one. But tonight he had planned to rush ahead with all speed and see if it could be possible that his brother’s ship had come in. He couldn’t make much time with such a load. But he could do nothing but answer, “Yes, sir, I can.”

“Good boy,” said Herr Engstrand. “Now, Arne, I want you to stay behind with me just a little. I have one or two things to do.”

“Yes, sir,” said Arne, but his disappointment showed so plainly that Herr Professor said, “What is it, boy?”

“It’s my brother’s ship, sir,” said Arne, in a low tone. “I thought she might have come in. I wanted to—”

“Yes, yes, I see. Well, Arne, that’s why I want you to stay behind. An idea has occurred to me—a way you and I may be able to help your brother. I have told Froken Utvig to let some of the big boys guide the party.”

“Yes, sir,” said Arne again, but this time he was thoroughly puzzled. How could he and Herr Engstrand up here on the mountain possibly be of any help to Gustav out there on the stormy sea?

7

There was a good deal of laughter as the boys divided the greens and arranged the loads on their backs. Then away they went, singing and shouting, the girls insisting on carrying some of the smaller branches with especially fine cones.

How Arne wished that he could be a member of the merry group! He wanted to get down to Nordheim fast, and it seemed to him that Herr Engstrand was taking a good deal of time over things that were not necessary.

But once the others were out of sight, the teacher said, “Now, Arne, full speed ahead down to your uncle’s saeter. The wind is getting higher. It feels to me as if it’s going to snow again, and we’ve got work to do, you and I.”

Arne was more puzzled than ever. What work could they possibly have to do up here? But Herr Engstrand was skiing down the mountain with a speed that Arne found hard to follow. When he reached Uncle Jens’s saeter, Herr Engstrand was already there, playing his flashlight all around the little clearing.

From the high point near the cliff, the boy could see lights moving out on the open sea leading to the fjord. “Looks as if a ship’s in trouble out there,” he said anxiously. “Are we going on down, sir?”

“No, here’s where we stop, Arne. Let us make a big fire, you and I, and keep it going to give a signal to that ship. They can tell from the height that this is the cliff, and if I’m not mistaken, they’ll know the harbor is below here.”

“Oh, that’s the plan!” exclaimed Arne. It was such a good one, and yet so simple, he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it himself. Neither of them said much; but they worked fast, and a fire was soon started near the edge of the cliff.

“Now, Arne,” said Herr Engstrand, “we will pile our boughs on this and make a big blaze right away while we collect more.”

“So that’s why you wanted me to take such a big load!” said Arne. “And you took a lot more than I did, even.”

“I wanted to get this thing going right away. There!” He threw his bundle on the fire. “Pitch yours on, Arne.”

Arne threw his pine boughs on and watched with satisfaction as they burst into a great blaze.

“Now we must collect plenty of fuel, Arne. I have my small hatchet, of course. And you have your hunting knife. We must keep this fire burning high and bright. Then we’ll watch to see what happens out there.”

Arne did a good deal of thinking as he dragged in branches and twigs. This wasn’t a bit like the Herr Professor who had been so stern and strict and had seemed interested only in lessons. This was really smart—like something Gustav himself might have thought of. He’d like to tell Herr Professor so, but even now he could not quite get up his courage to do that. But when they had collected a large pile of wood and were standing by the fire watching those lights out at sea, he did manage to ask, “Herr Professor, how did you happen to think of doing this?”

“Well, Arne, I was a commando in the war,” Herr Engstrand said quietly.

“A commando!” gasped Arne.

“Yes. We learned to think of all sorts of ways to do things in emergencies. More than once we guided a vessel safely to port just this way.”

“A commando! That’s what Gustav wanted to be. But he wasn’t quite old enough. He says they learned everything, just about.”

“Well, we did learn a lot of things. For one thing, we learned to obey orders fast and to the letter.” He paused for a moment and went on, more as if he were thinking aloud than speaking to his companion, “But schoolboys aren’t commandos, and I don’t suppose you can expect—” He broke off and looked at Arne with a quizzical expression.

Arne was standing very straight, his eyes eager and alert as he looked back at Herr Engstrand. “Oh, sir, but I think you can expect us to—” He stopped as if he had just remembered something. “From now on,” he said emphatically, “I’m sure you can expect that.”

“I believe I can, Arne,” said Herr Professor.

His voice was serious; but it was friendly, too, and now Arne did not find it very hard to muster courage to say, “All the boys would like to know about your being a commando. The girls, too. Couldn’t you—wouldn’t you tell them about that? We’d all be interested.”

“You would?” In the firelight, Arne could see that his teacher was smiling a little. “I had an idea school was for lessons. But maybe there are several kinds of lessons. And now, Arne, up and at ’em. More wood!”

Arne rushed off, but this time he had new hope. He was working with a commando! And the commandos had got out of all sorts of dangerous situations. Herr Engstrand seemed confident that Captain Olsen and Gustav would do the same thing and bring the _Stjerne_ in safely.

Each time they returned to the fire, they stopped to watch the ship struggling out there against the wind. Then they dashed back to work harder than ever. It was not easy to collect enough fuel in the snow, but both of them worked with a will.

At last Arne said hopefully, “I think she’s making progress out there, sir.”

“Yes, looks as if she’s making for the channel. Come on, Arne. We have to keep the fire high and bright now.”

When they returned the next time, Arne gave a great shout. “She’s coming in! She’s coming in! Oh, if she can just hold her course, she’ll be safe.”

“Yes, she’s making headway all right. Looks as if it could be the _Stjerne_, Arne.”

Arne fairly flew off to get more wood, his heart beating so hard he couldn’t even talk. This time, when they came back to the fire, there was no doubt about it. “She’s past the barrier now, and moving into the channel,” said Herr Professor.

“Oh, Herr Professor!” Arne shouted, and in his exuberance he snatched off his cap and threw it so high it almost came down in the fire. “It’s Gustav’s ship! It’s Gustav’s ship, safe and sound. I know it is.”

“How would you like to start down, Arne, and be there on the dock to greet your brother? Everybody will be there, and I know you’d like to be on hand with the others.”

“Oh, boy!” cried Arne joyfully. “Oh, boy!” But then he looked quickly at the teacher. “But we couldn’t leave the fire, could we? They still need it, don’t they? This is about as important a time as any, isn’t it?”

“Yes, we have to keep it going till we’re sure they’re safe. But I could manage to tend it alone now, if you’d like to get started down.”

Arne hesitated just a moment. He wanted dreadfully to be right down there on the dock when the _Stjerne_ came in. But then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “One commando would never walk out on another. I’m going to help keep this fire going.”

“Good boy, Arne. I think your brother would like that,” said Herr Professor. There was an expression of such approval and pleasure on his face that Arne’s cheeks flamed and he looked away, feeling very happy. “We’ll both work hard, then; and we’re pretty fast on our skis. We’ll go down a lot faster than we came up. The ship won’t beat us in by much.”

In the very midst of gathering his next load of wood, Arne stopped and laughed right out loud. “I’ve thought of something, Herr Professor!” he cried. “I’ve thought of how I can get down there fast—just like a commando. We can keep the fire going as long as necessary, and I can still beat the ship to the dock.”

“And how are you going to do that, Arne?”

“I can go right down the wires Uncle Jens arranged to let the milk and stuff down the cliff. Gustav did that last summer when he saw Torger Blessom’s boat overturned.” He hesitated a moment. “I was wishing then I had the nerve to do it.”

“And now you have!” said Herr Professor with a nod. “You’ll need rope for that, Arne.”