Out Vestland way it is
the postpacket. Living in Vestland, it's hard to keep away from the quay
when the little vessel comes in. Here, in this inland town, with a dozen
miles or more to the sea, and nothing but rocks and hills all about, here
we have the river. Has the water risen or fallen in the night? Will they
be clearing logs from the booms today? Oh, we are all so interested! True,
we have a little railway as well, but that doesn't count for much. The
line ends here; it runs as far as it can go, and then stops, like a cork
in a bottle. And there's something cosy and pleasant about the tiny
carriages on the trains; but folk seem ashamed of them, they are so
ridiculously old and worse for wear, and there's not even room to sit
upright with a hat on!
Not but what we've other things besides--a market, and a church, and
schools, and post office, and all. And then there's the sawmills and works
by the riverside. But as for grocery shops and stores, there's more than
you'd believe.
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