“To Dal?  Why, that is the very place I was going to!”

“Can it be that you are the tourist who was expected from the north?” asked Joel.

“Precisely.”

“Had I foreseen what was going to happen, I should have gone to the other side of the Rjukanfos to meet you.”

“That would have been a good idea, my brave fellow.  You would have saved me from a foolhardy act unpardonable at my age.”

“Or at any age,” replied Hulda.

The three entered the hut which was occupied by a family of peasants, a father and two daughters, who received their unexpected guests with great cordiality.

Joel was able to satisfy himself that the traveler had sustained no injury beyond a severe abrasion of the skin a little below the knee; but though the wound would necessitate a week’s rest, the limb was neither broken nor dislocated.

Some excellent milk, an abundance of strawberries, and a little black bread were offered and accepted.  Joel gave incontestable proofs of an excellent appetite, and though Hulda eat almost nothing, the traveler proved a match for her brother.

“My exertions have given me a famous appetite,” he remarked; “but I must admit that my attempt to traverse the Maristien was an act of the grossest folly.  To play the part of the unfortunate Eystein when one is old enough to be his father—­and even his grandfather—­is absurd in the highest degree.”

“So you know the legend?” said Hulda.

“Of course.  My nurse used to sing me to sleep with it in the happy days when I still had a nurse.  Yes, I know the story, my brave girl, so I am all the more to blame for my imprudence.  Now, my friends, Dal seems a long way off to a cripple like myself.  How do you propose to get me there?”

“Don’t worry about that, sir,” replied Joel.  “Our kariol is waiting for us at the end of the road, about three hundred yards from here.”

“Hum! three hundred yards!”

“But downhill all the way,” added Hulda.

“Oh, in that case, I shall do very well if you will kindly lend me an arm.”

“Why not two, as we have four at your disposal?” responded Joel.

“We will say two then.  It won’t cost me any more, will it?”

“It will cost you nothing.”

“Except my thanks; and that reminds me that I have not yet thanked you.”

“For what, sir?” inquired Joel.

“Merely for saving my life at the risk of your own.”

“Are you quite ready to start?” inquired Hulda, rising to escape any further expression of gratitude.

“Certainly, certainly.  I am more than willing to be guided by the wishes of the other members of the party.”

The traveler settled the modest charge made by the occupants of the cottage; then, supported by Joel and Hulda, he began the descent of the winding path leading to the river bank.

The descent was not effected without many exclamations of pain; but these exclamations invariably terminated in a hearty laugh, and at last they reached the saw-mill, where Joel immediately proceeded to harness the horse into the kariol.