She threw herself on a green bank, and this is the picture which she saw:  Just before her, the greensward extended down to a lake, whose waters lost themselves behind cliffs and islands and pine-clad hills.  Here and there in the distance towards the north, there could be seen shining spots of water; but towards the south the hills closed in precipitously, and left room only for the outlet of the lake to pour over its rocky bed into another valley below.  On the farther shore, five miles distant, a few red farm houses stood out from the plats of green—­all the rest was forest and rock.  The sky was filled with soft, fleecy clouds, and not a breath stirred the surface of the lake.  Signe gazed towards a rocky island before her.  Only the roof of the house upon it could be seen, but from its chimney arose no smoke.  That was where Signe had been born, and had lived most of the eighteen years of her life.  The girl walked down the hillside to the lake and again seated herself, this time on a rock near the edge of the water.  She took a book from her bundle and began to read; but the text was soon embellished with marginal sketches of rocks and bits of scenery, and then both reading and drawing had to give place to the consideration of the pictures that came thronging into her mind.

Hr.  Bogstad had actually proposed to her—­the rich and handsome Hr.  Bogstad; and she, the insignificant farmer girl, had refused him, had run away from him.  Signe Dahl, she ruminated, aren’t you the most foolish child in the world?  He is the owner of miles and miles of the land about here.  The hills with their rich harvest of timber, the rivers with their fish, and even the island in the lake, are his.  To be mistress over it all—­ah, what a temptation.  If she had only loved Hr.  Bogstad, if she had only liked him; but she did neither.  She could not explain the reason, but she knew that she could not be his wife.

How could such a man love her, anyway?  Was she really so very good looking?  Signe looked down into the still, deep water and saw her own reflection asking the question over again.  There! her face, at least, was but a little, ordinary pink and white one.  Her eyes were of the common blue color.  Her hair—­well, it was a trifle wavy and more glossy than that of other girls, but—­gluck! a stone broke her mirror into a hundred circling waves.  Signe looked up with a start.  There was Hagbert standing half concealed behind a bush.

“Oh, I see you,” she shouted.

He came down to the water, grinning good-naturedly.

“Well,” said he, “I didn’t think you were so vain as all that.”

“Can’t a person look at the pebbles and fish at at the bottom of the lake without being vain?” and she laughed her confusion away.  “Say, Hagbert, is your boat close by?”

“Yes, just down by the north landing.”

“Oh, that’s good.  I thought I would have to wait until father came this evening to get home.  You’ll row me across, won’t you?”