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where we could see nothing but forests and
mountains, a whole sea of dark, thick pine
forests, and just mountains and mountains and
mountains. There we drank toasts to Norway,
to the summer, and to each other, and sang:
“Ja, vi elsher dette landet,” our national song,
you know, and had an awfully jolly time.
But up there it was so still, so still! Nothing
but gray-brown moor and dwarf birches, and
willows and ice-cold mountain brooks. Far
over across the moor we could see the road like
a narrow grav ribbon in the monotonous
brown. Far wrest were the snow-capped peaks,
sharp, jagged and blue, and with great
snow-drifts. It was very beautiful, unspeakably
strange and still. We all grew silent.
“ Ugh! I wouldn’t be alone here for a good
deal,” said Andrine.
“ I would just as soon be here in pitch
dark-ness—if I only had my knife with me,” said
Karsten.
At that instant a ptarmigan flew up right at
the side of the road, and Karsten came near
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