Ticket No. 9672

By Jules Verne.

Translated by Laura E. Kendall.

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I

“What time is it?” inquired Dame Hansen, shaking the ashes from her pipe, the last curling rings from which were slowly disappearing between the stained rafters overhead.

“Eight o’clock, mother,” replied Hulda.

“It isn’t likely that any travelers will come tonight. The weather is too stormy.”

“I agree with you. At all events, the rooms are in readiness, and if anyone comes, I shall be sure to hear them.”

“Has your brother returned?”

“Not yet.”

“Didn’t he say he would be back tonight?”

“No, mother. Joel went to take a traveler to Lake Tinn, and as he didn’t start until very late, I do not think he can get back to Dal before tomorrow.”

“Then he will spend the night at Moel, probably.”

“Yes; unless he should take it into his head to go on to Bamble to see Farmer Helmboe.”

“And his daughter Siegfrid.”

“Yes. Siegfrid, my best friend, whom I love like a sister!” replied the young girl, smiling.

“All, well, Hulda, shut up the house, and let’s go to bed.”

“You are not ill, are you, mother?”

“No; but I want to be up bright and early tomorrow morning. I must go to Moel.”

“What for?”

“Why, we must be laying in our stock of provisions for the coming summer, and—”

“And I suppose the agent from Christiania has come down with his wagon of wines and provisions.”

“Yes; Lengling, the foreman at the sawmill, met him this afternoon, and informed me of the fact as he passed. We have very little left in the way of ham and smoked salmon, and I don’t want to run any risk of being caught with an empty larder. Tourists are likely to begin their excursions to the Telemark almost any day now; especially, if the weather should become settled, and our establishment must be in a condition to receive them. Do you realize that this is the fifteenth of April?”

“The fifteenth of April!” repeated the young girl, thoughtfully.