And you, Osa, if you were to stay with us
only a month, you could never again part from us."
With these words, Aslak, the Lapp boy, finished his story. Just then his
father, Ola Serka, took the pipe from his mouth and rose.
Old Ola understood more Swedish than he was willing to have any one
know, and he had overheard his son's remarks. While he was listening, it
had suddenly flashed on him how he should handle this delicate matter of
telling Jon Esserson that his daughter had come in search of him.
Ola Serka went down to Lake Luossajaure and had walked a short distance
along the strand, when he happened upon a man who sat on a rock fishing.
The fisherman was gray-haired and bent. His eyes blinked wearily and
there was something slack and helpless about him. He looked like a man
who had tried to carry a burden too heavy for him, or to solve a problem
too difficult for him, who had become broken and despondent over his
failure.
"You must have had luck with your fishing, Jon, since you've been at it
all night?" said the mountaineer in Lappish, as he approached.
The fisherman gave a start, then glanced up. The bait on his hook was
gone and not a fish lay on the strand beside him. He hastened to rebait
the hook and throw out the line. In the meantime the mountaineer
squatted on the grass beside him.
Pages:
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549