The old lady was talking to a man driving a cart, apparently full of school children. He had pulled up at the bridge. They were evidently discussing a variety of matters relating to us. Without looking behind, we left the poor boy and his companions in complete possession of our intended camp.
At a stream of water we overtook our three tourists, lying down. Two had their shoes and stockings off, and were bathing their feet. Telling them we should push on till two o’clock, we left them.
Following the main road in sight of the “Lesje Vœrks Vand,” a lake seven English miles long, and 2,050 feet above the sea-level, we reached a stream flowing into the lake. Descending to the bridge, we crossed the stream which flowed down a sheltered gully. There was a convenient camping-ground on the brook-side below the bridge and near to the lake. A few bushes between our camp and the lake made the spot more sheltered. We had just unloaded when our three tourists came up. Before they left we presented each with one of our gipsy songs. Zachariah in a very short time added a beautiful pink trout from the lake to our broiled ham, fladbröd and tea, for dinner. Up to this time Noah had caught thirty-seven trout, and Zachariah thirty-four. Taking Noah with us after dinner, we went through a wild tract of moorland, thinly treed, along the lake for about three English miles. After crossing some wild streams, we came in sight of the wooden church and the station of “Molmen,” which stands a short distance from the road. Noah went down to the station, while we lounged by the side of a stream near the road, and wrote up our notes.
“Molmen in the distance,” we mentally observed. Out came pencil and book. There was a charm in one’s existence as we seated ourself on the turf which formed the bank of the clear pure stream. What mingled hues of delicious colouring caught the eye as we gazed on the various grasses, wild flowers and heath which formed the nature painting of the scene about us. The mind had not long been engaged in quiet contemplation, when we observed a gentleman in a straw hat walking along the road drawing after him a light kind of truck. Underneath the framework, on a suspended netting, we noticed his knapsack, _sac de nuit_, and other articles _du voyage_ for the use of his family. The gentleman and his light truck was followed by his family. Three good-looking grown-up daughters, and their friend or _governante_; two young boys in long Alpine boots, holland trousers and check shirts, and a fine large black dog followed after. It was a case of nomad meet nomad, wanderer meet wanderer, each following his own idea, and each, I believe, thoroughly enjoying his own will and fancy. How could we be mistaken, there was a joyous expression of countenance. One rapid glance was sufficient. They were happy in their way of travel. Far happier than very many we met in their carrioles or stolkjœrrer as we journeyed up the “Gudbransdalen.” An interest quickly gathered round the travellers as they passed, which riveted our attention. They were gone, we were left, yet we seemed to regret that we had not somehow made their acquaintance. Pencil in hand we still lingered by the stream when we saw the tall form of our gipsy Noah coming along the road. One mark’s worth of fladbröd and ten eggs for 18 skillings had been purchased. Noah said the gentleman who had just passed had seen him at the station, and finding who we were, had asked about our camp and wished to see it. Noah told him we were staying in sight of the road near to the lake. As we soon after returned towards our camp, the gentleman and his family were resting near a house on the road-side. Very shortly after we had reached our tents, we heard their voices in song, as they walked along the road. We listened with pleasure to some pretty Norwegian air which came to us on the wind. Very soon they reached the bridge. We both saluted as we went towards them from the brook-side. We were two wanderers happily met. Each following his own speciality of idea. Each apparently successful in result. Our baggage was heaped on the ground as they came a short distance from the road to our camp. Our visitors conversed in Norsk, French, and English. He asked if it was not very cold and damp on the ground. They saw our donkeys, and our various things, including the guitar and tambourines. The gentleman was a Mr. B., of good position in Norway, who had landed from the steamer at Veblungsnœs, with his light truck and family, and had travelled through Romsdalen when we met. At parting we presented one of the young ladies with our gipsy song, and with mutual good wishes we watched them ascend from the bridge of our retired gully, and disappear over the top of the abrupt ascent.
