Ticket No. 9672 by Jules Verne (the best e book reader txt) 📕

the end of Lake Tinn. Here they were obliged to leave the karjol and take a small boat, for at this point a chain of small lakes begins. The karjol paused near the little church, at the foot of a waterfall at least five hundred feet in height. This waterfall, which is visible for only about one fifth of its descent, loses itself in a deep crevasse before being swallowed up by the lake.

Two boatmen were standing on the shore beside a birch-bark canoe, so fragile and unstable that the slightest imprudence on the part of its occupants would inevitably overturn it.

The lake was at its very best this beautiful morning. The sun had absorbed all the mist of the previous night, and no one could not have asked for a more superb summer day.

“You are not tired, my good Joel?” inquired the professor, as he alighted from the karjol.

“No, Monsieur Sylvius. You forget that I am accustomed to long tramps through the Telemark.”

“That is true. Tell me, do you know the most direct route from Moel to Christiania?”

“Perfectly, sir. But I fear when we reach Tinoset, at the further end of the lake, we shall have some difficulty in procuring a karjol, as we have not warned them of our intended arrival, as is customary in this country.”

“Have no fears, my boy,” replied the professor: “I attended to that. You needn’t be afraid that I have any intention of making you foot it from Dal to Christiania.”

“I could easily do it if necessary,” remarked Joel.

“But it will not be necessary, fortunately. Now suppose we go over our route again.”

“Well, once at Tinoset, Monsieur Sylvius, we for a time follow the shores of Lake Fol, passing through Vik and Bolkesko, so as to reach Mose, and afterward Kongsberg, Hangsund, and Drammen. If we travel both night and day it will be possible for us to reach Christiania tomorrow afternoon.”

“Very well, Joel. I see that you are familiar with the country, and the route you propose is certainly a very pleasant one.”

“It is also the shortest.”

“But I am not at all particular about taking the shortest route,” replied Sylvius Hogg, laughing. “I know another and even more agreeable route that prolongs the journey only a few hours, and you, too, are familiar with it, my boy, though you failed to mention it.”

“What route do you refer to?”

“To the one that passes through Bamble.”

“Through Bamble?”

“Yes, through Bamble. Don’t feign ignorance. Yes, through Bamble, where Farmer Helmboe and his daughter Siegfrid reside.”

“Monsieur Sylvius!”

“Yes, and that is the route we are going to take, following the northern shore of Lake Fol instead of the southern, but finally reaching Kongsberg all the same.”

“Yes, quite as well, and even better,” answered Joel smiling.

“I must thank you in behalf of my brother, Monsieur Sylvius,” said Hulda, archly.

“And for yourself as well, for I am sure that you too will be glad to see your friend Siegfrid.”

The boat being ready, all three seated themselves upon a pile of leaves in the stern, and the vigorous strokes of the boatsmen soon carried the frail bark a long way from the shore.

After passing Hackenoes, a tiny hamlet of two or three houses, built upon a rocky promontory laved by the narrow fjord into which the Maan empties, the lake begins to widen rapidly. At first it is walled in by tall cliffs whose real height one can estimate accurately only when a boat passes their base, appearing no larger than some aquatic bird in comparison; but gradually the mountains retire into the background.

The lake is dotted here and there with small islands, some absolutely devoid of vegetation, others covered with verdure through which peep a few fishermen’s huts. Upon the lake, too, may be seen floating countless logs not yet sold to the sawmills in the neighborhood.

This sight led Sylvius Hogg to jestingly remark⁠—and he certainly must have been in a mood for jesting:

“If our lakes are the eyes of Norway, as our poets pretend, it must be admitted that poor Norway has more than one beam in her eye, as the Bible says.”

About four o’clock the boat reached Tinoset, one of the most primitive of hamlets. Still that mattered little, as Sylvius Hogg had no intention of remaining there even for an hour. As he had prophesied to Joel, a vehicle was awaiting them on the shore, for having decided upon this journey several weeks before, he had written to Mr. Benett, of Christiania, requesting him to provide the means of making it with the least possible fatigue and delay, which explains the fact that a comfortable carriage was in attendance, with its box well stocked with eatables, thus enabling the party to dispense with the stale eggs and sour milk with which travelers are usually regaled in the hamlets of the Telemark.

Tinoset is situated near the end of Lake Tinn, and here the Maan plunges majestically into the valley below, where it resumes its former course.

The horses being already harnessed to the carriage, our friends immediately started in the direction of Bamble. In those days this was the only mode of travel in vogue throughout Central Norway, and through the Telemark in particular, and perhaps modern railroads have already caused the tourist to think with regret of the national karjol and Mr. Benett’s comfortable carriages.

It is needless to say that Joel was well acquainted with this region, having traversed it repeatedly on his way from Dal to Bamble.

It was eight o’clock in the evening when Sylvius Hogg and his protégés reached the latter village. They were not expected, but Farmer Helmboe received them nonetheless cordially on that account. Siegfrid tenderly embraced her friend, and the two young girls being left alone together for a few moments, they had an opportunity to discuss the subject that engrossed their every thought.

“Pray do not despair, my dearest Hulda,” said Siegfrid; “I have not ceased to hope, by any means. Why should you abandon