So little is robbery to be dreaded at the seaters, that there really was no place where Hund could be fastened in--no lock upon any door--not a window from which he might not escape. The zealous neighbours, therefore, whose interest it was to detain him, offered to take it in turn to be beside him, his right arm tied to the left of another man. And thus it was settled.
When the bishop came forth in the afternoon to take his seat in the shade of the wood, those who were there assembled were singing _For Norgé_. Instead of permitting them to stop, on account of his arrival, he joined in the song; solely because his heart was in it. As he looked around him, and saw deep shades and sunny uplands, blue glaciers above, green pastures and glittering waters below, and all around, herds on every hillside, he felt his love of old Norway, and his thankfulness for being one of her sons, as warm as that of any one of the singers in the wood. Out of the fulness of his heart, the good bishop addressed his companions on the goodness of God in creating such a land, and placing them in it, with their happiness so far in their own hands as that little worthy of being called evil could befall them, except through faults of their own. M. Kollsen, who had before uttered his complaints of the superstition of his flock, hoped that his bishop was now about to attack the mischief vigorously.
The bishop only took his seat--the mossy seat prepared for him--and declared himself to be now at the service of any who wished to consult or converse with him. Instead of thrusting his own opinions and reproofs upon them, as it was M. Kollsen's wont to do, he waited for the people to open their minds to him in their own way; and by this means, whatever he found occasion to say had double influence from coming naturally. The words dropped by him that day were not forgotten through long years after; and he was quoted half a century after he had been in his grave, as old Ulla had quoted the good Bishop of Tronyem of her day.
In a few hours, many of the people were gone for the present, some being wanted at home, and others for the expected affair on the fiord. The bishop and M. Kollsen had thought themselves alone in their shady retreat, when they saw Erica lingering near among the trees. With a kind smile, the bishop beckoned to her, and bade her sit down, and tell him whether he had not been right in promising a while ago that God would soothe her sorrows with time, as is the plan of His kind providence. He remembered well the story of the death of her mother. Erica replied that not only had her grief been soothed, but that she was now so blessed that her heart was burdened with its gratitude.