her companions. But Signe's slim, graceful form, large blue eyes, clear, dimpled face, light silken hair, combined with a native grace and beauty, attracted not only the fisher boys but the "fine" Hr. Bogstad also. She was now spending a few days with her cousin Hansine in the mountains. Her limited knowledge of _saeter_ life was fast being augmented under her cousin's supervision, notwithstanding Hansine's remarks about her inabilities. The cabin wherein the three were seated was of the rudest kind, but everything was scrupulously clean. The blazing pine log cast a red light over them as they sat at the table. "So you see nothing grand in your surroundings?" asked Hr. Bogstad of Hansine. "How can I? I have never been far from home. Mountains and forests and lakes are all I know." "True," said he, "and we can see grandeur and beauty by contrast only." "But here is Signe," remarked Hansine; "she has never seen much of the world, yet you should hear her. I can never get her interested in my cows. Her mind must have been far away when she dished up the mush, for she has forgotten something." "Oh, I beg pardon," exclaimed the forgetful girl. "Let me attend to it." She went to the cupboard and brought out the sugar and a paper of ground cinnamon, and sprinkled a layer of each over the plates of mush. Then she pressed into the middle of each a lump of butter which soon melted into a tiny yellow pond. "I should like to hear some of these ideas of yours," remarked the visitor to Signe, who had so far forgotten her manners as to be blowing her spoonful of mush before dipping it into the butter. "I wish I were an artist," said she, without seeming to notice his remarks. "Ah, what pictures I would paint! I would make them so natural that you could see the pine tops wave, and smell the breath of the woods as you looked at them." "You would put me in, standing on The Look-out blowing my _lur_, wouldn't you?" "Certainly." "And I have no doubt that we could hear the echoes ringing over the hills," continued Hansine, soberly. "Never mind, you needn't make fun. Yes, Hr. Bogstad, I think we have some grand natural scenes. I often climb up on the hills, and sit and