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Chapter 8 FLY S TER.

Word Count: 1410    |    Released on: 06/12/2017

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at it is never roasted and ground till just when it is wanted, not only at the hotels, but at the smallest s?ters. The grinding of coffee and the frying of trout are grateful sounds

runs out of the Heimdal Lakes, threading its way with gleams of white through the dark green and grey of the forest and fjeld. To the north far below in the valley is Aakre Vand, a beautiful irregularly shaped lake dotted with fir-clad islands; while beyond, high up, there can be just distinguished Aakre S?ter, and frowning over it the dark m

elves and our numerous retinue, including the price of a sack-full of hay fo

ate under the guidance of our three charioteers. It took us till eleven o'clock to get within half a mile of the s?ter, and there we sat down and watched the track intently for two hours: then two hours more-and we began to lose patience; then another hour-and we began to lose hope also. Something must have happened;

es; the finest brand that we have yet inspected, and with more strength of character than the ordinary kind. We were so much annoyed with the world in general, and each other, that we were obliged to separate, and Esau retired for a short time to attempt a sketch. He came back very angry, because just at the critical moment a mosquito had kno

K NEAR SIKK

and the other men went into roars of laughter at whatever he said, though the Skipper said he couldn't see anything funny in most of his remarks; but possibly the Skipper w

pie' that we were saving to the last extremity. They soon arrived at Sikkildal S?ter with us, and we found that nothing had gone wrong, but the men had been very careful, and so had taken nine hours to make a journey

for the summer. He is the owner of the Sikkildal Lakes, and we wanted permission to camp on his land and fish in his lakes. He

t the greatest kindness and hospitality from all classes. Several people have gone out of their way to voluntarily offer fishing and shooting, and in no instance has the slightest incivil

assistance when the smallest pony, not being accustomed to the deceitfulness and treacherous wiles of this life, got up to its neck in a bog close to the lake, and the man with the bag followed it. However, they were extricated with no damage done, as our provisions were all securely soldered up in tins. Curious to relate, our three men did not like whisky, but just sipped for '

us on our way, so we went right to the upper end of the first lake, and found a camping-ground halfway between the two lakes, which are about a hundred yards apart. The portage took us some time, but

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