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The last census showed a population of 19,991inhabitants, but if anyone asked "Holm atthe Corner" how big the place was, he wouldsay "between twenty and thirty thousand"—a figurehe considered reasonable enough, counting the annualincrement in the families he knew.

The town had its own traditions. Natives couldspeak with pride of the days, now long passed, whenthe firms of C. B. Taline and Veuve Erik Strom hadgreat cargoes of coffee coming direct from Rio, whileDanish vessels by the dozen lay alongside the warehousesdischarging corn, and unwieldy Dutchmentook in baulks large enough to cut up into arm-chairsections—ay, there was proper timber in those days,not like the thin weedy sticks that come down theriver now!

And the place had other memories, apart from tradeand commerce. There was a whole gallery of clericswhose brilliant names cast a glow of distinction longafter they themselves were dead and gone; old menremembered them, and the town could feel itself, asit were, related to episcopal sees all over the country.Great trading houses of old standing came to ruin,fortunes were shattered, and crisis after crisis cameand went, but every such period merely added a freshchapter to the history of the town, making new storiesfor fathers to tell their sons. In course of time, awhole collection of such stories had grown up aboutthese merchant princes, for trade was, after all, thechief interest of the place and so remained. Whenthe old men got together, talk would invariably turnupon such matters as Nils Berg's grand speculations inthe Crimean War, or the disastrous failure of Balle &Co.; while the younger ones, who were in the swim,enlisted further shareholders in their factories andship-owning concerns. It was a town with plenty ofgrit in it, no lack of young stock to carry on the work.

True, there were times when it seemed to languish,to be dwindling away, when periods of crisis had sweptaway what appeared to be its chief support; but abreathing space was all that was needed, and soon theold spirit was awake once more, and life went on asbravely as before.

And so it went on for generation after generation,while the river flowed, broad and smooth as ever, downthe valley, pouring its ice-water into the fjord eachspring. Up the hillsides on either hand the roadsturned up and curved among thicket and bush, andthe higher one climbed the clearer showed the townbelow with its rows of houses and its churches.

Those who were born in the town and had spenttheir youth there, but whom fate had later moved toother parts of the country, made it a practice, whenthey came home, to climb the hillside and look outover the town, as it lay there rich in memories. Andthe longer one had been away, the stronger theyseemed to grow; for there is a strange power in suchmemories of a little, old town.

II
KNUT G. HOLM

Knut G. Holm had had his ups and downs;no one knew exactly how he stood. Failureand crisis had raged about him, and manya time public opinion had given him but a short whileto keep above water himself, but he always managedto get through somehow, though there were timeswhen he had not credit for five shillings, when thecommercial travellers gave his corner premises thestealthy go-by, in the confident belief that he wouldput his shutters up next day. But he never did. Andat last it grew to a proverb, that Knut G. Holm waslike a cat; you might throw him out of a top-floorwindow, but he would always land on his feet in theend!

In the little office behind the shop there was alwaysa little gathering before dinner-time, between one andtwo, to hear Holm holding forth; for he was a manwith an unusual gift of speech, and whatever mighthappen in the place, he was always the first to gethold of it.

Dealer Vagle was a fool to pay £1600 for that dairyfarm—Knut Holm had no hesitation in saying asmuch; nor was he afraid to make public his opinionthat Jorgensen the hatter was not such a fool as helooked in selling the property referred to. Everyoneknew Holm's "gossip-shop," as the office was generallycalled, but no one took offence at his extravaganttalk, for all knew he meant no harm, but was reallyone of the kindliest of men.

He was always terribly busy, for he had a hand ineverything, from the Silicate Products Company, ofwhich he was a director, to the machine shops, of whichhe was chairman, and which paid a steady 20 per cent.per annum.

Knut Holm was no longer a youth, he was nearingfifty-seven; but to judge from his fair-haired, rotundfigure as one met him in the street, always with hiscoat unbuttoned and his silk hat at a rakish angle,one would have set him down as ten years younger.

There was a peculiar briskness in his gait as he walkedup the street in business hours, stopping to speakwith every soul he met, and yet with such haste thatthe person last addressed would generally be left staringopen-mouthed, without having had the chance ofuttering a syllable.

Holm had long been thinking of getting in a ladyclerk, a reliable person who could look after the officeand keep the books up to date. Peder Clasen andGarner had both been with him for many years, butboth felt more at home outside in the shop, andnever troubled about bookkeeping more than strictlynecessary, and hardly that, with the result that thebooks were generally half a year behind. Nothinghad come of the lady-clerk idea, however, until oneday Dr. Blok looked in and asked if Holm could findany use for a young lady he knew, and could safelyrecommend, a Miss Betty Rantzau. Her mothertaught singing; had come to the town some six monthsbefore; and the daughter was a willing and well-educatedgirl; it would be a good action to find hersomething to do. Clasen and Garner, not to speak ofHolm himself, awaited her arrival with considerableinterest. She was tall and slender, with a wealth offair hair, and pretty teeth that showed when shesmiled. She offered her hand with frank kindlinessto Clasen as she came in. "So we are to work together,"she said. "Very kind of you, I'm sure,"stammered Clasen in confusion. "Mr. Holm is inthe office; will you please to go in?"

Soon after, she was duly installed on the high stoolin the office, with Holm himself sitting opposite, atthe other side of the desk. She managed the old daybookwith surprising ease; Holm glanced at her fromtime to time as she worked. He found it difficult toopen conversation; it was queer to have a womanabout the place like this, and at such close quarters.He felt himself obliged to be a little careful of his words,—athing he was altogether unaccustomed to in theoffice.

Next day, the usual meeting in the "gossip-shop"was of unusually brief duration, for as Vindt, thestockbroker, declared when he came out, "Damme,but it's spoiled the whole thing, having a blessed womanin there listening to every word you say." WheretoHolm replied that it was "sort of comfortable to havea pleasant young face to look at, instead of a wrinkledold pumpkin like yours, Vindt!" Vindt growled,and took his departure hastily.

And it was not many days before Holm was chattingaway easily to Betty, as she worked at her books,pretending to listen attentively the while to all hisstories.

"No, indeed, Mr. Holm. It's very nice of you,I'm sure, to talk to me." She slipped down from herchair, and stroked the back of the big ledger with herslender white hands.

"I've walked a deuce of a way to-day"—he satdown on the sofa and wiped his forehead—"wentright out to the cemetery, to lay a wreath on C. H.Pettersen and Company's grave. You've heard of C.Henrik Pettersen, I dare say? Grocery and provisionstores over the square there; had it for years andyears. First-rate man he was; my best friend."

"Why, yes, they are, mostly. And C. H. Pettersenand Co. was an uncommon firm, I must say, both forquality and weight. I know there were some mischief-makingfolk used to say he sold margarine as dairybutter, but that was just pure malice, for the qualitywas so good I'll swear they couldn't tell the difference.And when they're both alike, what does it matter whatyou call them?"

"Eleven years it is to-day since he handed in hisfinal balance-sheet; I go out every year to lay a wreathon his grave, out of sheer gratitude and affection forhis memory."

"You're right there. Ah, one needs to have friends;when you haven't, it's only too easy to get low-spirited—especiallynow, since I've had this bilious trouble."

"Horrid, yes, it's the very devil. Only fancy, aman like me, that used to eat and drink whatever Ipleased—as far as I could get it, that is—and nowthat I can get whatever I've a fancy to, I have tolive on brown bread and weak tea. You'd thinkProvidence might have managed things better thanthat, now, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, but I'm sure, if you're careful, you'll soon beall right again. And as long as you're properly lookedafter——"

"Ah, that's just the trouble, I must say. I've beenused to something very different. I dare say you knowI've been married twice——"

"Maggie—yes; oh, a charming creature, Miss Rantzau;I wish you could have seen her. The loveliest browneyes, and hair as black as a raven's wing, and a complexionof milk and roses. And the sweetest disposition;good inside and out she was. Too good, Isuppose, for this world as well as for me."

"We were only married a year: hardly enough tocount, really. It's just a beautiful memory——"

"It was in Birmingham—I was over there on business.I dare say you've noticed I put in an Englishword now and again in talking; it's all from the timeof my first marriage."

"It's all from those days with Maggie. Oh, youshould have heard her say: 'I love you, darling.'Lord save us, what a lovely creature she was! Ideclare I love England myself now, all for Maggie'ssake."

"She was a Widow Gronlund from Arendal. Ah,that was a queer story. There I was, you see, withlittle William, Maggie's boy, sorrowful and downcastas a wet umbrella. Of course you'd understand I'd nowish really to go and get married again all at once; Iwrote to Skipper Gronlund of Arendal—he was a cousinof mine—and asked if he and his wife would take theboy and look after him. They were willing enough,the more by reason they'd only one child of their ownLittle Marie, a girl of the same age."

"Yes. He was there for four years, and then Ibegan to feel the want of him and went up to Arendalto see him. But what do you think happened then?Just as I got to Arendal there came a wire sayingGronlund's ship had gone to the bottom, and thatwas the end of Gronlund!"

"Exactly. What else could I do? Amalie, Mrs.Gronlund that is, wouldn't give up the boy, and Icouldn't tear him away by force, could I? Very well,I said, what must be must, man is but dust, and sowe got married."

"Nothing much to look at, more's the pity, but anexcellent housekeeper and a good-hearted soul."

"Ay, that it did, but it didn't last long, worseluck. Amalie still kept longing for her Gronlund, andshe got kidney disease and went off to join him—andthere I was left once again all on my own, and thistime with Maggie's boy and Amalie's girl."

"Well, yes, at times. But I can't help calling tomind the words of the prophet, Children are a blessingof the Lord, but a trial and a tribulation to man. It'strue, it's true.... Well, William was going in forengineering, you see, and he was away in Germanyat his studies—studying how to spend money, as faras I could see, with a crowd of mighty intelligentartist people he'd got in with. And what do yousuppose he's doing now?"

Betty was working at her books again, writing awaywith all her might in the big ledger, while Holm wenton with his story.

"He wants to be a painter—an artist, you'd say,and daubs away great slabs of picture stuff as big asthis floor—but Lord save and help us, I wouldn't havethe messy things hung up here. I told him he'd muchbetter go into the shop and get an honest living in adecent fashion like his father before him—but no!Too common, if you please, too materialistic. Andthat's bad enough, but there's worse to it yet. Wouldyou believe it, Miss Betty, he and those artist friendsof his have turned Marie's head the same wry fashion,and make her believe she's cut out for an artistic careerherself—a born opera singer, they say; and now shecarols away up there till people think there's a dentistin the house. Oh, it's the deuce of a mess, I do assureyou!"

Betty looked up from her book. "You must havethe gift of good humour, Mr. Holm."

"A kind and hard-working man you've always been,I'm sure. A perfect model of a man."

"Perfect model—me? Lord preserve us, I wouldn'tbe that for worlds. Can't imagine anything moreuninteresting than the perfect model type. No—I'vejust tried all along to be an ordinary decent man,that finds life one of the best things going. And whenthings happened to turn particularly nasty—no money,no credit, and that sort of thing—why, I'd just say tomyself, 'Come along, my lad, only get to grips withit, and you'll pull through all right.' And then Icould always console myself with the thought thatwhen things were looking black, they couldn't getmuch blacker, so they'd have to brighten up beforelong."

"That's true. But we make them both for ourselvesmostly. If you only knew what fun I've gotout of life at times; have to hammer out a bit ofsomething lively now and then, you know! Look atus now, for instance, just sitting here talking. Isn'tthat heaps better than sitting solemnly like twomummies on their blessed pyramids?" And heswung round on his high stool till the screw creakedagain.

"Yes, indeed, it's very nice, I'm sure." Bettybegan putting her books away, Holm walking up anddown meanwhile with short, rapid steps. Upstairs,someone was singing to the piano.

"Nice sort of evening we're going to have, by thelook of things. House full of blessed amateurs withfiddles and tambourines. Serve them right if theywere packed off to a reformatory, the whole——"

"Oh, but surely, Mr. Holm, you needn't be so hardon them. Young people must have a little entertainmentnow and then—especially when they've a fatherwho can afford it," she added a little wistfully.

"Afford it—h'm. As to that ... if they keepon the way they're going now, I'm not sure I shan'thave to give them a bit of a lesson...." He crossedover to the desk, and, spreading out his elbows, lookedquizzically at Betty.

"Really, I'm sure I couldn't say," answered the girl,with a merry laugh. And, slipping past him, she tookher jacket and hat.

"Good-night, Miss Betty. I hope I haven't kept youtoo long with all my talk, but it's such a comfort tofeel that there's one place in the house where there'ssomebody sensible to talk to."

"Not bad—not bad at all. Nice figure—trifle overslender in the upper works, perhaps; looks a bitworried at times; finds it hard to make ends meet,perhaps, poor thing. H'm. But she's a good worker,and that's a fact. Yes, I think this arrangementwas a good idea."

Garner came in with the cash-box. "We've shutup outside, Mr. Holm. Was there anything more youwanted this evening?"

"No—no thanks. H'm, I say, that row and goingson upstairs, can you hear it out in the shop?"

"About the same as in here. But it's really beautifulmusic, Mr. Holm. I slipped out into the passageupstairs a little while back, and they were singing aquartette, but Miss Marie was taking the bass, andgoing so hard I'm sure they could hear her right upat the fire station."

"I've no doubt they could, Garner. But I'll givethem music of another sort, and then—we'll see!"He flung the cash-box into the safe with a clang, andGarner judged it best to disappear without delay.

Outside in the shop he confided to Clasen that theold man was in a roaring paddy about the music upstairs;and the pair of them fell to speculating as towhat would happen when he came up.

"Oh, nothing," said Clasen. "Those youngstersthey always manage to get round him in the end."

"Might get sick of the whole business and give upthe shop—or make it over to us, what?" added Garner,"as his successors," and he waxed enthusiastic overthe idea as they strolled along to Syversen's Hotel fora little extra in the way of supper.

Holm was walking up and down by himself in theoffice, while the music upstairs went on, until theglobe on the safe rattled with the sound. He was ina thoroughly bad temper for once. "There! Justas everything was going nicely—and a balance-sheetworth framing! Ha-ha! and only the other day thatmiserable worm of a bank manager, Hermansen,wouldn't take my paper for £400. Lord, but I'd liketo show that fellow one day; make him understandhe was a trifle out in his reckoning with the firm ofKnut G. Holm. Do a neat little deal to the tune ofa few thousand, cash down—something to make himscratch his silly pate. I can just imagine him sayingto himself: 'Remarkable man that Knut Holm.Never really had much faith in him before, butnow....' Yes, that's what he said a few yearsback, I remember; hadn't much faith in the business.Well, I must say, thingswere looking pretty bad atthat time. But I'd always reckoned on William'scoming into the business; new style, Holm and Son.And now there's an end of all that. No, it doesn'tpay to go building castles in the air; it's just cardhouses that come tumbling down with a crash. Herehave I been toiling and moiling all these years, morningtill night, building up the business step by step to whatit is now. Had to knuckle to that swine of a Hermansenugh—ugrh—isch! Lying awake at night trying towork out some way of getting over to-morrow, withthe bills falling due—and now there's that pack ofwastrels sitting up there. 'Poor old man'—that'stheir style—'quite a decent old chap in many ways,no doubt, but no idea of culture, no sense of loftyideals; spent his life standing behind a counter andthat's about all he's fit for.' Oh, I know the tune whenthey get on that topic! I've marked it often enoughwhen I'm with them and their precious friends. They'lleat and drink at my expense, and then slap me on theshoulder in their superior way, thinking all the timeI'm just an old drudge of a cab horse, and lucky tohave the chance of encouraging real Art! Oh, I'lltalk to them! It'll be a real treat to give them aproper lesson for once. They shall have it this evening.So on, old boy!"

When Holm walked into the big drawing-roomupstairs he was greeted with acclamation. "Hurrahfor Mæcenas! hurrah for the patron of Art! Hurrah!"

"Here, Frantz, you're a poet; get up and make aspeech in honour of my noble sire."

Frantz Pettersen, a podgy little man with a big fairmoustache, lifted his glass.

"Friends and brothers in Art, in the eternal realmof beauty! the halls wherein we live and move arebright and lofty, it is true, and our outlook iswide, unbounded. But let us not therefore forget thesimple home of our youthful days, though it be neveras poor and dry."

"My mistake. Dark, I should have said. Poorand dark.... Well, my friend, this noble fatherlysoul, who a moment ago entered upon us like a visionfrom another world—a visitor from the lower regions,so to speak (Hear!)—him we acclaim, by all the godsof ancient myth, by the deities of the upper and thenether world—steady, boys—not to speak of this.And you, my fortunate young friend, whose lot it isto claim this exalted soul by the worthy name of father,rejoice with me at his presence among us in this hour.Do not your hearts beat high with thankfulness to theprovidence that has spared him to you so long? Whatsays the poet (now what does he say, I wonder? Letme see). 'My father was a——' something or other.Anyhow, never mind. To come to the point, we, er—raiseour glasses now in honour of this revered paterfamiliaswhose toil and thingummy in this materialisticworld have crowned the work of his accomplishedchildren.Skaal!"

Holm was taken by surprise, and hardly knew whatto say. He could hardly open the campaign at sucha moment with a sermon; mechanically he took theglass offered him. But hardly had he touched it withhis lips than he asked in astonishment:

"When—where on earth did you get hold of thatMadeira? Let me look at the bottle. I thought asmuch. Tar and feather me, if they haven't gone andsnaffled my '52 Madeira! Six bottles that I'd beenkeeping for my jubilee in the business—all gone, Isuppose. Nice children, I must say!"

"These golden drops from the cellars of our reveredfriend and patron——" began Frantz sententiously.

"Oh, stop that nonsense, do," growled Holm.And, snatching up a bottle of the old Madeira, hetook it into the dining-room and hid it behind thesofa.

"Dearest, darling papa, you're not going to be bad-temperednow, are you?" whispered Marie, throwingher arms around his neck.

Holm was dumbfounded. Nothing to be angryabout indeed. He ought perhaps to say thank youto these young rascals for allowing him to stay up withthem?

"Oh, is that all? I'm sure it couldn't have beenput to better use. You ought to have heard FrantzPettersen making up things on the spur of the moment;it was simply lovely."

She had clambered up on his knee, with her armsround his neck; the others were still in the drawing-room.

"Yes, papa—oh, I don't know when I've enjoyedmyself so much as this evening. And only fancy,Hilmar Strom, the composer—there, you can see, thetall thin man in glasses—he said I had a beautifulvoice—beautiful!"

"What—when a great artist like that says so?Oh, I was so happy—and now you come and...."She stood up and put her handkerchief to her eyes.Just then William came in.

"Papa—papa says I'm not to believe what HilmarStrom said—that I'd a beautiful voice. Ugh—it'salways like that at home—it'smiserable." She leanedover in a corner of the sofa, hiding her face in herhands.

"Yes, you're right. Oh, we shall have pleasantmemories of home to go out into the world with." AndWilliam stalked off in dudgeon.

Holm sat there like a criminal, at a loss what tomake of it all. Oh, these young folk! They alwaysseemed to manage to turn the tables on him somehow.He couldn't even get properly angry now.

And Marie—he was always helpless where she wasconcerned. He was sorry now he had not brought herup differently. But he had never said an unkind wordto her—how could he, to a sweet little thing like that?Only last year she had nursed him herself for threeweeks, when he was at death's door with inflammationof the lungs; that girl, that girl! He went overto the sofa and put his arms round her.

"Hu—hu—hu—I didn't know—I didn't knowabout the old Madeira. It was me—hu—hu—thatbrought it up."

"Well, well, never mind about the Madeira, child.We can get some more; only don't cry now."

"Then you're not angry with me any more, papa?""No, no, child. There—now go in and enjoyyourself again."

Just then William came in and reported that thescene had made a painful impression on the guests;Strom, the composer, and Berg, the sculptor, were forgoing off at once, and were only with difficulty persuadedto stay.

Holm did not know what to say to this; the transitionfrom accuser to accused was too sudden.

"Couldn't you make us some punch, father; itwould sort of set things right again if you were tocome marching in yourself with a big bowl of punch."

"Oh yes, that lovely punch, papa, you know, withchampagne and hock and curaçao in—and all the restof it."

"Well, I suppose I must. Now that I have oncegot into all this—this artist business, why ..." Andoff he went for the key of the cellar.

"Oh, Marie, you are the most irresistible little devilthat ever lived." And he waltzed her round andround.

"Well, it wanted some doing to-day, William, Ican tell you. I was half afraid I shouldn't manageit after all. As it was, I had to cry before he'd comeround."

"First-rate. Woman's tears are the finest weaponever invented—and punch on top of all—bravo!Come along, we must go and prepare the rest of theband for what's coming."

Out in the kitchen, Holm was busy over a punchbowl, solemnly stirring the brew and dropping in slicesof lemon one by one.

"I am an old fool, I know, to let them get roundme as they do. H'm. And the longer I leave it,the worse it will be. We shall have to come to aproper understanding some time; it can't go on likethis...."

The entry of the host with a bowl of punch was thesignal for a general demonstration of delight. FrantzPettersen promptly sat down at the piano and startedoff, the rest of the party accompanying with anythingthey could lay hands on. One had a pair of fire tongs,one beat a brass tray, one rang a couple of glassesagainst each other, and so on. The words weresomething like this:

Holm did not know whether to laugh or cry at thisexhibition, but chose the former; after all, it mightbe worth while to see how far they would go. He madespeech after speech, and the company shouted indelight. Graarud, the literary critic of thePeople'sGuardian, declared that Knut Holm was a credit tothe merchant citizens of his country, and as fine aspecimen of the type as was to be found.

Listad, another literary man, who edited a paperhimself, was making love to Marie, but with littleapparent success. He was a cadaverous-lookingpersonage, but an idealist, and earnest in the cause ofuniversal peace.

The speeches grew more and more exalted in toneas the evening went on. Pettersen invited the companyto drink to the "coming dawn of Art in the land—adawn that would soon appear when once the daughterof the house raised her melodious voice to ring o'erhill and dale." This was too much for Holm; heslipped into the hall and, putting on an overcoat, wentout to get some fresh air.

It was a fine, starlight, frosty night, the river flowedbroad and smooth and dark between the piers, thegas lamps on either side shedding long streaks of lightacross the silent water.

He swung round the corner, but—heavens, whowas that sitting so quietly on the steps in front of theshop? He went up, and found a twelve-year-old boyleaning against the wall.

"Why, little man, what's the matter? What areyou sitting out here for in the cold?"

"No, here, wait a bit, son; there's nothing to beafraid of." Holm took the boy's hand, and lookedinto a pale childish face with deep dark eyes, andframed in a tangle of fair hair.

"Yes; I always go out in the evening, when nobodycan see, and sit outside where I know there's somebodythat plays. And Holm's up there, they've got theloveliest piano."

"I've got to help mother at home, because father'sdead. And when I'm big enough I'm going to be asailor. Please, I must go home now."

"Oh, er—that for me! I could go to heaps ofconcerts.... Thank you ever so much."

He clasped the outstretched hand in both his littlefists, and looked up with beaming eyes.

"And now look here, little Hans. At eleveno'clock to-morrow morning you come round and askfor me. Here in the shop."

"Well, and what then? That's nothing to be afraidof, is it, little Hans? But now, listen to me. I wantyou to come round here to-morrow morning, as I said.And perhaps then we'll have some real nice music foryou. And you can bring your mother too if you like."

"And now run along home, like a good boy, andget warm. You've been sitting here in the cold toolong already. Good-night."

Holm watched the little figure hurrying with swiftlittle legs across the bridge, till it disappeared into thedark on the farther side.

He stood for some time deep in thought. Thedawn of Art—what was it Pettersen had said? Whatif he, Holm, the despised materialist, were to be thefirst to discover the dawn here! It was a strangecoincidence, anyway. "And such strange, deep eyesthe little fellow had; it went to my heart when hislittle hands took hold of mine.... Ay, little lad,you're one of God's flowers, I can see. And you shan'tbe left to perish of cold in this world as long as myname's Knut Holm."

III
BRAMSEN

On the morning after the party, Holm sent downfor Paal Abrahamsen or "Bramsen" as hewas generally called. Holm and Bramsenhad known each other from childhood; they had goneto the same poor school, and had grown up together.After their confirmation, Bramsen had gone to sea,while Holm had got a place in a shop, and commencedhis mercantile career. But he never forgot his oldfriend, and when in course of time he had establisheda business of his own, he made Bramsen his warehousemanand clerk on the quay, where he now held aposition of trust as Holm's right-hand man. He wasa short, bandy-legged man, with a humorous face setin a frame of shaggy whiskers, and a remarkably mobileplay of feature. Agile as a cat, he could walk on hishands as easily as others on their feet, and, despite hisfifty-five years, he turned out regularly on ContritionDay to compete with the boys for prizes in the park;and he was a hard man to beat!

"Paal he can never be serious," complained Andrine,his wife, who was something of a melancholy characterherself, and constantly endeavouring to drag himalong to various meetings and assemblies which Paalas regularly evaded on some pretext or other.

Holm's relations with his old comrade and subordinatewere of a curious character. Down at the quay,when they were alone, they addressed each other infamiliar terms, as equals; but in public, Bramsen wasalways the respectful employee, observing all formalitiestowards his master.

When the message came down from the officethat Mr. Holm would be coming down to the watersideat 7.30 in the morning to see him, Bramsen turnedthoughtful.

They had held a similar conference once, someyears before, when the firm of Knut G. Holm lookedlike going to ruin—Heaven send it was not somethingof the same sort now!

Holm looked irritable and out of sorts. "Bramsen,"he said, "I'm sick and tired of the whole blessedbusiness."

Bramsen scratched his chin meditatively, and laidhis head on one side. "H'm," he observed after apause. "More trouble with that there guinea-pig upat the bank, fussing about bills and that sort?"

"All right, eh? But you're put out about something,that's plain to see. Liver out of order, perhaps?"

"All! As if it wasn't enough! I tell you they'regoing stark mad, the pair of them."

"Oh, it's all very well to talk like that. But really,it's getting beyond all bearing. William's taken itinto his head to go and be a painter."

"Well, and not a bad thing, either, as long as hedoes the work decently, with plenty of driers and nottoo much oil in the mixing. Look at Erlandsen upthe river, he's made a good thing out of it."

"Oh, not that sort of painting. It's an artist, Imean. Painting pictures and things."

"Pictures!" Bramsen looked dumbfounded."Painting pictures? Well, blister me if I ever heardthe like. Wait a bit, though—there was Olsen, theverger; he'd a boy, I remember, a slip of a fellowwith gold spectacles and consumption, he used to messabout with that sort of thing. But he never made aliving out of it—didn't live long, anyway."

"But that's not the worst of it, Bramsen. There'sMarie—she wants to be a singer."

"Something very much like it, anyway—only it'llbe my money that goes into the hat. What are weto do about it, eh?"

"H'm ... Couldn't you pack the boy off to sea?And the young lady—send her to a school to do needleworkand such like?"

"Oh, what's the good of talking like that? No,my dear man, young people nowadays don't let themselvesbe sent anywhere that way. There's the pairof them, they simply laugh at us."

Holm walked back to the office deep in thought.On his return, he found Hans Martinsen, and Berg, theorganist, awaiting him.

Bramsen remained seated on his sugar-box andmurmured to himself: "Well, it's a nice apple-piefor Knut Holm, that it is. Lord, but they childrencan be the very devil."

A little later, Garner came down to the quay, andfound Bramsen still meditating on his box.

"What's wrong with the old man to-day, Bramsen?He looks as if he was going in for the deaf-and-dumbschool; there's no getting a word out of him."

"It's my humble opinion, and that's none so humbleafter all, that there's a deal of what you might callcontrapasts in this here world."

"It's plain enough. Folk that's got a retipation,they does all they can to lose it, and they that hasn't,why—there's no understanding them till they've gotone."

Garner was still in the dark as to whither all thiswisdom tended, and began absently slitting up a coffee-sack.

"Look you, Garner," Bramsen went on. "It's thisway with the women: they've each their station herein life, as by the Lord appointed. Some gets married,and some goes school-teaching, or out in service, andsuch-like—and all that sort, they stick to their retipation;but the woman that goes about singing formoney in a hat, her retipation's like a broken window—it'sout and gone to bits and done with."

"Oh, so that's what you're getting at, is it? MissHolm wants to go on the stage."

"Singing, my boy; singing for money, and if sobe that was to happen to any daughter of mine, I'dgive her a dose of something to make her lose hervoice—ay, if it was rat poison, I would."

It was a regular thing for Garner and Bramsen tohave a comfortable chat down at the waterside, whenthe old sailor would generally relate some of his experiencesat sea. These yarns especially delightedGarner, who came of a peasant stock himself, andknew nothing of the sea or foreign parts until he cameto the town. He tried now to open up the subjectagain.

"Have I? Why, I should think so. I was upthat way in '76, on a whaling trip with Svend Foya."

It was a habit of Bramsen's at the beginning of astory to make some attempt at a literary style, but heinvariably dropped it as he went on.

"Why, that's as you take it or as you make it. Ifone of the brutes gets your boat with a flick of his tail,there's an end of you, of course. I remember oncewe were after a big fellow; had a shot at him and gotin just aft of the spout-holes. And then, take myword for it, he led us a dance. Off he went, full-speedahead, and us full speed astern, but blister me if hedidn't win the tug-of-war and sail off with us at nineteenknots, till we were cutting along like a torpedoboat. He wasn't winded, ye see, for his blowpipewas intact, and his gear below-decks sound and ship-shape.But at last we got him fairly run down, andsettled him with a straight one through the heart."

"Why, yes, he's what you might call a large-heartedbeast. About the size of a middling chest o' drawersor a chiffonier."

"Why, as to that, I suppose it would be in proportion,as you might say. But he's built pretty well toscale in the other parts as well, with his main arteriesabout as big round as a chimney."

"And what for, I'd like to know? Messing aboutamong a lot of nasty Eskimos; no, thankye, I'd abetter use for my time." And Bramsen went onagain with his whaling yarns for a spell, until Garnerfound it was time to get back to the shop.

Outside the store shed sat a row of urchins fishingfrom the edge of the quay. Bramsen was a popularcharacter among the waterside boys; he would chatand fish with them at off-times, or help them in themanufacture of a patent "knock-out" bait, from arecipe of his own, the chief ingredients being flour andspirits. There was always a shout of delight whenthe small fish appeared at the surface, belly upwards.But to-day the knock-out drops appeared to fail oftheir effect, whether because the fish had grown usedto French brandy, or for some other reason. Bramsensoon left the boys to their own devices, and went backinto the shed. Here, to his astonishment, he foundAmanda, his daughter and only child, weeping in acorner.

Amanda was about fifteen, a lanky slip of a girl,with her hair in a thick plait down her back, twinklingdark brown eyes, and a bright, pleasant face.

"Mother—mother wants us to go to meeting thisevening, and you promised we should go to the theatreand seeMonkey Tricks, and they say it's the funniestpiece."

Bramsen grew suddenly thoughtful. What if thechild were to go getting ideas into her head, like MissHolm, and want to go about singing with a hat—h'm,perhaps after all it might be as well to take her to themeeting with Andrine.

"You're never to think of singing for money yourself,or going on the stage, or anything like that. Youunderstand?"

The girl had no idea of what was in his mind, andanswered mechanically, "No, father—and you'll takeme to seeMonkey Tricks after all?"

Amanda was out of the door like an arrow, andhurried home at full speed. That evening she andher father sat up in the gallery, thoroughly enjoyingthemselves. Bramsen, it must be confessed, hadtaken the title literally, and waited expectantly allthrough the piece for the monkey to appear, and wasdisappointed in consequence, but seeing Amanda sodelighted with the play as it was, he said nothing aboutit. Had he been alone he would have demanded hismoney back; after all, it was rank swindling toadvertise a piece as Monkey Tricks, when there wasn'ta monkey.

Meanwhile, Andrine had gone to the meeting, andwaited patiently for the others to appear—they hadpromised to come on after. Here, however, she wasdisappointed, as usual.

When the backsliders came home, they found herdeploring the vanity of this world, the imperfectionsof our mortal life, and the weakness of human clayagainst the powers of evil.

Bramsen and Amanda let her go on, as they alwaysdid, exchanging glances the while; occasionally, whenher back was turned, Bramsen would make the mostludicrous faces, until Amanda had to go out into thekitchen and laugh.

Bramsen was fond of his wife; she was indeed sogood-hearted and unselfish that no one could help it;while Amanda, for her part, respected her mother asthe only one who could keep her in order. And indeedit was needed, "with a father that never so much asthought of punishing the child."

Bramsen himself had never been thrashed in hislife, except by his comrades as a boy, and had alwaysconscientiously paid back in full. He had had noexperience of the chastening rod, and could not conceivethat anything of the sort was needed for Amanda.Consequently, the relation between father and daughterwas of the nature of an alliance as between friends,and as the years went on, the pair of them wereconstantly combining forces to outwit Andrine.

Bramsen had no idea of the value of money, or itsproper use and application, wherefore Andrine had,in course of time, taken over charge of the familyfinances, and kept the savings-bank book,—a treasurewhich Bramsen himself was allowed to view on rareoccasions, and then only from the outside, its contentsbeing quite literally a closed book to him. Amandaand he would often put their heads together and fallto guessing how much there might be in the book,"taking it roughly like," but the riddle remainedunsolved.

Every month Bramsen brought home his pay anddelivered it dutifully into Andrine's hands; he madeno mention, however, of the ten-shilling rise that hadbeen given him, but spent the money on little extrasand outings for himself and Amanda, whom he foundit hard to refuse at any time.

A month before, it had been her great wish to havean album "to write poetry in"; all the other girlsin her class had one, and she simply couldn't be theonly one without. Bramsen could not understandwhat pleasure there was to be got out of such anarticle; much better to get a song book with printedwords and have done with it. But Amanda scorned thesuggestion, and the album was duly bought. She hadgot two entries in it already, one from VergerKlemmekenof Strandvik, an old friend of her father's, whowrote in big straggling letters:

and one from Miss Tobiesen, an old lady at the infirmary,who had been engaged seven times, and thereforejudged it appropriate to quote:

Amanda then insisted that her father should contributesomething, but Bramsen declared in the firstplace that the album was much too fine a thing forhis clumsy fist, and furthermore, that he couldn't hiton anything to write. Amanda, however, gave him nopeace till he consented, and at last, after much effort,the worthy man achieved the following gem:

This elegant composition was unfortunately not appreciatedby Amanda, who, to tell the truth, was highlydispleased. Fancy writing such a thing in her book—why,the whole class would laugh at her. Bramsenwas obliged to scratch it out, but in so doing, scratcheda hole in the paper, leaving no alternative but to takeout the page altogether, much to Amanda's disgust.

Bramsen's highest ambition in life was to be masterof a steamboat; not one of the big vessels that go asfar as China, say, or Copenhagen—that, he realised,was out of the question, in view of his large contemptfor examinations, mate's certificates and book-learninggenerally. The goal of his desire, the aim of all hisdearest dreams, was a tugboat, a smart little devilof a craft with a proper wheel-house amidships andbooms and hawsers aft.

A grand life it would be, to go fussing about up anddown the fjord, meeting old acquaintances amongthe fishermen and pilots—yo, heave ho, my lads! Hehad often suggested to Andrine that the contents ofthe savings-bank book might be devoted to the purchaseof a tug, but Andrine would cross herself piously, andurge him to combat all temptation and evil inspirationsof the sort. Bramsen could not see anythingdesperately evil in the idea himself; he found it moredepressing to think that he should spend the remainderof his days in the stuffy atmosphere of the warehouseon the quay. Was it reasonable, now, for a man likehimself to be planted, like a geranium in a flower-pot,among sugar-boxes, flour-sacks, and store-keepingtrash?

"Ay, life's a queer old tangle sometimes," murmuredBramsen to himself, "and we've got to make the bestof it, I suppose." And he cast a longing glance throughthe doorway of the shed, at Johnsen, of the tugRap,steaming down the fjord with his tow.

IV
HERMANSEN OF THE BANK

Hermansen was manager of the local bank.He and Knut Holm had never been friends,and though outwardly their relations wereto all seeming amicable enough, the attitude of eachtoward the other was really one of armed neutrality.

The banker was in all things cold, precise anddignified, with a military stiffness of bearing, anddevoid of all softer sentiment or feeling.

Entrenched behind his counter at the bank, he wouldglance frigidly at any bill presented, and if the securityappeared to him insufficient, he would hand it backwith the remark: "We have no money to-day,"though the coffers might be full to bursting.

He was an old bachelor, and Holm was wont todeclare that if Hermansen, at the Creation, had beenset in Adam's place in the Garden of Eden and foundhimself alone with Eve, he would have declined todiscount any promissory notes of hers, and our planetin consequence have been as uninhabited as themoon.

Hermansen was really quite a good-looking man;his tall, slender figure in tight-fitting coat, his iron-greyhair brushed a little forward on either side of hisclean-shaven face, the narrow, close-set lips, combinedto give him an appearance of distinction fitted for amember of the diplomatic corps.

He was a smart man of business, not only in theaffairs of the bank, but also for his own account.Whenever an opportunity occurred of making money,whether by purchase of real property, bankrupt stockor other means, he was always ready to step in at themost favourable moment. He was generally consideredone of the richest men in the town, and could affordto speculate at long sight; he was too wise, however,to give any grounds for the suspicion that he tookundue advantage of his position. But, as Holm wouldsay, "he's a devilish sharp nose, all the same; he cansmell a coming failure years before the man himselfhas ever thought of it." And it was Holm's greatambition to get the better of him and make the bankerburn his fingers in a way he should remember. Butit was no easy matter, and up to now all his attemptsin that direction had recoiled upon himself.

There was that affair of the building site behindthe Town Hall, for instance; Holm's temper wentup to boiling point even now whenever he thoughtof it.

Hermansen, he knew, had had an eye on the placefor years, and Holm was sure that by snapping it uphimself he would be able to make a few hundred poundsby selling it again to his rival. Accordingly, when thesite was put up for auction, he bought it in himselfunder the very nose of the banker, and gladly paidfive hundred for it, though he knew four hundred wouldhave been nearer the mark.

"Why, yes, I thought I'd take it. Fine bit ofground, you know, splendid situation—but I'm opento sell, at a reasonable advance, of course."

"Thanks very much—but I'm not a buyer myself.By the way, I suppose you know there's a conditionattached to the building: no windows to overlook theTown Hall. That means the frontage will have tobe in the little back street behind, on the shady side.H'm, lowers the value of the property, of course.Still, taking it all round, I should say it was quite afair deal."

Holm stood looking helplessly after him; he hadhad no idea of any such condition attached, and thethought of his oversight made him furious for monthsafter. The site lay there vacant to this day, a pieceof waste ground, with a big open ditch running throughit. Vindt, the stockbroker, had named it "Holm'sCanal," after a larger and more celebrated piece ofwater with which Knut Holm had nothing to do. Andsome ill-disposed person had written to the localpaper, complaining of the "stink" which arose fromthe water in question.

Holm found the office considerably pleasanter andmore comfortable since Miss Betty's installation. Anoutward and visible sign of the change was the vaseof fresh flowers which she placed on the desk eachmorning, showing that even a dusty office might bemade to look cheerful and nice.

Already the two of them chatted together as if theyhad known each other for years, and the relationsbetween master and employee grew more and morecordial.

Holm, of course, was always the one to open conversation;he talked, indeed, at times to such an extentthat Betty was obliged to beg him to stop, as she couldnot get on with her work. This generally led to apause of a quarter of an hour or so, during whichHolm would sit watching her over his glasses whileshe entered up from daybook to ledger with a certaincareless ease. Wonderful, thought Holm to himself,how attractive a fair-haired girl can look when she'sdark eyebrows and eyelashes, and those blue eyes.Pity she always keeps her mouth tight shut, and hidesher lovely teeth.

He sat lost in contemplation, watching her so intentlythat she flushed right up to her fair head.

"There's the telephone, Mr. Holm," she saiddesperately, at last, by way of diverting his attention.

"Thanks very much, but I never use the telephonemyself. I don't care to stand there like a fool talkingdown a tube, and likely as not with half a dozen peoplelistening all over the place. No, thank you, I don'tthink my special brand of eloquence is suited to thetelephone service."

Holm always refused to speak to people on thetelephone, possibly because he knew that he oftensaid a good deal without reflection and did not careto have witnesses to it, afterwards. Anyhow, heregarded the telephone as one of the plagues of moderntimes. "If the devil had offered a prize," he wouldsay, "for the best instrument of bother and annoyanceto mankind, that fellow Edison should havegot it."

"He says the big Spanish ship that came in the otherday with a cargo of salt for Hoeg's is to be sold byauction for bottoming, and he thinks it's to be had ata bargain."

Holm brightened up at the prospect of a deal, andforgot all about Betty, blue eyes, dark lashes, fairhair and all.

"Garner, get hold of Bramsen sharp as ever youcan, and tell him to go on board that Spaniard atHoeg's wharf, and have a thorough look round."

"I've been on board already, Mr. Holm, prettynear every evening. They've a nigger cook that playsall sorts of dance tunes on a bit of a clay warbler he'sgot; it's really worth hearing...."

"Well, not much, I take it, though it doesn't show,perhaps. I talked to the carpenter, and he said herbottom was as full of holes as a rusty sieve; it's onlythe paint that keeps her afloat. He showed me aqueer thing too, that carpenter; I've never seen anythinglike it."

"It was a magic cow, he said, got it in Pensacola.You just wind it up, and it walks along the deck, andlowers its head and says, 'Moo-oh!'"

"Well, I didn't see the works. But the upperpart's just brown hide, stuffed, I suppose."

"Oh yes—well, she's smart enough to look at,with lashings of paint and gilding and brass fittingseverywhere—the Spanish owner's no fool, I'll bebound. Bottoming, indeed; I don't believe a wordof it."

"Mean! why,"—Bramsen lowered his voice—"it'sjust a fake, if you ask me, to make folk think they'vegot an easy bargain."

"Bramsen, listen to me. Not a word to a soul ofwhat you know about the ship; you've got to bedumb as a doorpost. If anyone asks, you can tellthem in confidence that I sent you to look over her,and not a word more, you understand?"

"Right you are, Mr. Holm. But you're not thinkingof going in for the business yourself?"

"I wonder, now, if we couldn't manage to nail oldHermansen there. H'm. It's risky, but I must havea try at it all the same."

He put on his hat, and continued his sentry-go upand down, with his thumbs in the armholes of hiswaistcoat. Already he saw in his mind's eye theSpaniard hauled up to the repair shops, and plateafter plate taken out of her bottom, till only thesuperstructure remained. And finally, he himself,as representative of the concern, would go up to thebank and present a bill for the repairs—a bill runninginto three—four—five figures!

He fairly tingled at the thought of that bill. Seven-sixteenth-inchplates, re-riveting, frame-pieces and allthe various items Lloyds could hit upon as needful.

It was no easy matter to work out a plan of operationson the spur of the moment. But there was notime to be lost. It was Wednesday already, and theship was to be put up for auction on the Friday.

First of all, he must go on board himself, openly,as a prospective buyer. This, he knew, would be atonce reported to Hermansen, who would have hisintelligence department at work.

On Thursday afternoon, then, Holm boarded theSpaniard accordingly, and went over the vesselthoroughly in the hope that Hermansen would get areport that he, Holm, was keenly interested.

Early Friday morning he went down again, and wasclimbing up the ladder on the port side, but on glancingover the bulwarks he perceived the clean-shaven faceof the banker, who was just coming on board fromthe opposite side.

Holm's first impulse was to bundle off again quickly,but in stepping down, he managed to tread onBramsen's fingers, eliciting a howl which brought thewhole crew hurrying along to see what was the matter.There was nothing for it now but to go on board,which he did, nodding in the friendliest fashion toHermansen as he came up.

"I think not," said Holm seriously. "She's verybadly built, and I don't feel like going in for it myself."

"Yes? I dare say," answered the banker, with asidelong glance at Holm, who appeared to be scrutinisingthe upper rigging.

"The fore and aft bulkheads are shaky too," saidHolm, well knowing that these were as good as couldbe. Indeed, had the rest been up to the same standard,the vessel would have been worth buying.

Hermansen walked forward, and Holm went aft.On completing the round, they came face to faceonce more.

"Bottom's not up to much, from what I hear,"remarked Holm casually, as he climbed over the railon his way down.

"Very possible—very possible." There was aslight vibration in the banker's voice as he spoke,and Holm judged that things were going to be as hewished.

The auction was fixed for one o'clock, and Holm wasthere punctually to the moment. Hermansen wasnowhere to be seen. "Funny," thought Holm tohimself. "I hope to goodness he hasn't smelt a rat."

The conditions of sale were read; the bidding to beunderstood as in agreement therewith.

At last the banker appeared, and sat down unobtrusivelyin a corner. His presence always madeitself felt in any gathering, as imparting a certainsolemnity to the occasion. Holm, who had beenchatting gaily with the magistrate and AdvocateSchneider, sat down quietly.

"Well, gentlemen, to business. The frigate,DonAlmariva, is offered for sale to the highest bidder,subject to the conditions just read. What offers?"

Matters were getting critical now: Holm sat lookingsteadily in front of him, not daring to look round.The minutes were uncomfortably long, he felt as ifhe were on a switchback, or in the throes of approachingsea-sickness.

"2400—two thousand four hundred pounds offered,gentlemen. Any advance on 2400? 2400, going——"

Holm was on the verge of apoplexy now. Whatif he should have to present that bill for repairs tohimself, after all?

Skipper Heil moved over to Hermansen andwhispered in his ear. All were turned towards thepair—all save Holm, who sat as before, stiff as a statuein his place, looking rigidly before him.

The auctioneer stood with his hammer raised, hiseyes on the banker in his corner.

Holm gave a start as if something had pricked himbehind, and looked across with a curious expressionat Hermansen, who sat as impassive as ever.

The hammer fell. Holm went across to the banker,raised his hat and bowed. "Congratulations, my dearsir; the vessel's yours. A little faulty in the bottom,as I mentioned before, but still, taking it all round,I should say it was quite a fair deal!"

Holm went out into the street, and, meeting Bramsen,who had been present out of curiosity, took him bythe shoulders and shook him. "Bramsen, my boy,I've got him this time. Hermansen's let himself infor it with a vengeance!"

"Lord, Mr. Holm, but you gave me a fright beforeit was over. I don't believe I've ever been in such atremble all my sinful life—unless it was the time Ijumped across old Weismann's bull."

"Why, it was one day I was standing outside thewarehouse as innocent as a babe unborn, filling up aherring barrel, and before I knew where I was therewas a great beast of a bull rushing down on me at fullgallop. They'd been taking him down to the slaughter-house,and he'd broke away. Well, I couldn't get intothe barrel, seeing it was more than half full as it was,and there wasn't time to get across to the sheds; thebrute's horns were right on top of me, like a hugegreat pitchfork, and I reckoned Paal Abrahamsen'sdays were numbered. And then suddenly I got arevelation. I took a one—two—three, hop and ajump, and just as the beast thought he'd got me onthe nail, up I went with an elegant somersault andlanded clean astride of him, as neat as a—as anequidestrian statue."

"Why, that was as easy as winking, seeing he flungme off and down Mrs. Brekke's cellar stairs, so I feltit a fortnight after."

On his way down to the office, Holm met a numberof people who were all anxious to know who had boughtthe Spaniard. Holm was at no pains to upholdDonAlmariva's reputation. When Nilsen the broker cameup to congratulate him on his supposed purchase, heexclaimed: "Not me, my lad! Why, she's full ofholes as a rusty sieve." And he walked off, singing:

Altogether, it was a red-letter day for Knut Holm.And on entering the office he confided to Betty thathe had paid Banker Hermansen in full for that matterof the building site. He told her, also, how he and thebanker had been secretly at war for years past, confessingfrankly that up to now the honours had beenwith the other side.

It was Hermansen who had hindered his election tothe Town Council, and possibly afterwards to parliament;all along he had barred his way—until now.And to-day, at last, the wind had changed, he hadgained his first victory; now perhaps the banker'sfortunes would begin to wane, in the town and fartherafield—for he was a man of some influence in thecountry generally.

Holm stood at first bent slightly over the desk, butas he talked, and his enthusiasm increased, he drewhimself up, a figure of such power and energy thatBetty felt the banker would need to be well equippedindeed to outdo him. She grew more and moreinterested as he went on, following him with her eyes,until he came over to her and said: "I don't mindtelling you, Miss Betty, it's not only Banker Hermansen,but the whole pack of them in the town here,that shrugged their shoulders and laughed behind myback at everything I did.

"Yes, and I've felt it, too, you may be sure, thoughI didn't show it. I've been cheerful and easy-goingall along, and, thanks to that, I can say I've donetwo things at least: I've pleased my friends andvexed my enemies!

"And then the children upstairs, they've neverreally understood me; just looked on me as a sort ofautomatic machine for laying golden eggs. Lord, butI'd like to put their nose out of joint one day, thewhole lot of them—make them take off their hats andlook up to see where Knut G. Holm had got to."

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it backsharply, and with a blush retreated behind the shelterof her books.

"Not that, Mr. Holm. I was thinking you're astrong man. I've always longed to meet men thatwere not afraid to face the real hard things oflife."

"You're right in that; one doesn't often find aman who's ready to risk anything really for his ownconvictions. It's easy enough to get into one's shelland rub along comfortably in flannel and carpet slippers,to shout with the crowd and agree politely to all that'ssaid, be generally amiable and popular accordingly—butit's too cramped and stifling for me. I must haveroom to breathe, if I have to get out in the cold todo it."

He strode through into the shop, and she heardhim talking to Garner about having the whole of thepremises altered now, lighter and brighter, with bigplate-glass windows, and the floor sunk to make itloftier.

Betty sat for a long while thinking deeply overwhat Holm had said. Several times she turned toher books, but only to fall back into the same train ofthought; somehow it was impossible to work to-day.

A strange man, he was, indeed, and she did notquite like his being so confidential towards her. Butan honest heart, of that she felt sure, and a man onecould not help liking and helping as far as one could.Holm came into the office a little while after, andfound it empty. Betty had gone. He stood awhileby her desk, then picked up the glass with the yellowroses in, and smelt them.

"Women, women"—he looked at the roses—"theselittle trifles are the weapons that count. H'm. Nowwould it be so strange after all if I did marry again?There's not much comfort to be looked for upstairsas things are now—and she's a clever girl as well aspretty. The youngsters, of course, would make noend of fuss, but I'd have to put up with that."

"Well, it's like this. Marie and I, we can't go onas we have been doing lately."

"I mean, we must get away from here. Marie'sbudding talent will never thrive here, and I—I shallgrow stale if I don't get away soon. We want totravel."

"We want to go to Paris. Mrs. Rantzau, who isherself a distinguished artist, says it's the only thingfor us, to go to Paris and complete our education.There is no hope of developing one's talents in a placelike this—they simply wither and die."

"Father, you must let us go. Don't you thinkyourself, you ought to make some little sacrifice foryour only son?"

"You think I haven't done enough? Wasn't itfor your sake I married your foster-mother? Haven'tI thrown away hundreds of pounds on your miserableeducation as you call it, and your fantastic inventionsin the engineering line that never came to anything?I could ill spare the money at the time, I can assureyou."

"It won't do you any harm to hear it again. Wherewould you have been, or I and the lot of us, in1875, if Knut G. Holm hadn't got that £150 fromC. Henrik Pettersen. Down and under, and that witha vengeance."

"Pettersen it was; it couldn't have been anyoneelse. The money was sent anonymously, as youknow, the very morning I was thinking of putting upthe shutters and giving up for good. Just the money,and a slip of paper, no business heading, only 'Herewith£150, a gift from one who wishes you well.' Thatwas all, no signature, only a cross, or an 'x' or whateverit was, at the foot."

"That was absolutely all. I puzzled my brains tothink out who the good soul could be, but could neverbring it round to anyone but C. Henrik Pettersen, myold friend. Though it wasn't like him, and that's thetruth."

"He was a business man, my boy, if ever there wasone. But we knew each other better than most. Iwas in the know about his dairy butter at fifty per cent.profit—though the Lord knows I wouldn't say a wordagainst him now he's dead and gone."

"I should think I did. But he was one of thosepeople that won't say more than they want to. Icould never make him out myself. He used to justsit there and smile and never say a word, but got meon to talk instead."

"It was him sure enough. He was an old bachelor,and an eccentric sort of fellow, with nobody to leavehis money to, so it wasn't altogether strange he shouldsend me that little bit of all he'd made, in return forall the yarns I'd told to brighten him up. Anyway,things took a turn for the better after that, and Ipulled round all right, so I've nothing to worry aboutnow, in spite of all you've cost me."

"It wasn't so much, I'm sure. And if only thataerial torpedo of mine had gone right, I'd have paidyou back with interest."

"But it went wrong—and so did you, my good sir;and if you talk about sacrifice, why, I think it wassacrifice enough, after I'd thrown away £200 on thewretched thing, to come out myself to the paradeground and see the thing go awry."

"A very fortunate accident, if you ask me, thatit didn't come down where we stood, or it might havedone for a whole crowd of innocent folk that weresimple enough to come out and look."

"Because I want you to keep to earth in future.Stay at home—on the mat, if you like it that way."

"Honestly, then, I should call it throwing moneyaway to do anything of the sort."

"But if you knew that people who really knowsomething about art considered it absolutely necessaryfor our future, for the development of our talents asartists, then would you let us go?"

"If you will, we've both of us faith enough in ourcalling, and in our future as artists."

"You will not accept Mrs. Rantzau's decisionalone? She is well known, not only as a teacher ofsinging herself, but her husband had a great reputationas an author and art critic, so she's heard andseen a great deal. And she said the other day thatthe little seascape of mine up in the Art Society'splace was excellent; the sky in particular was finelydrawn, she said."

"I've no doubt she's a very clever woman. Ihaven't the honour of her acquaintance myself, butI must say I think a great deal of her daughter, inthe office here."

"That may be, my son. But if you two youngpeople are set on making artists of yourselves, why, do.And if you can give me a reasonable guarantee thatit's any good trying, why, I won't stand in yourway."

And William went up to tell Marie what had passed.Holm sat for a while occupied with his own thoughts,and came at last to the conclusion that the childrenwere "artist-mad," and got it badly. He must manageto get hold of this Mrs. Rantzau, and see if she couldnot be persuaded to use her influence to get these ideasout of their heads—especially now, since her daughterwas in the office.

There was a gentle tap at the door. It was littleHans, who stood timidly looking up at him.

"Well, Hans, lad, and how's the music getting on?I hope you've made friends with your teacher?"

He drew the boy over to a seat beside him on thesofa. Hans carefully placed his cap over one knee,for his trousers were torn, and he did not want it tobe seen.

"Yes, till the day before yesterday, but then Ihurt my hand chopping wood for mother, so I've gotto wait a few days till it's well." And he held outone thin little hand, showing two fingers badly bruisedand raw.

"And, please, I was to bring you this letter fromMr. Bess; he asked me to take it up to you myself.It's the bill for my lessons, I think," he added quickly,"and he wants the money because of the rent." Hanswas well acquainted with such things from his ownhome life, and having heard the organist and his wifetalking about the rent falling due, he at once took itfor granted that the case was as urgent then as whenhis own mother lay awake at nights wondering how tomeet a similar payment.

"Little man, we must send you to Christiania tostudy there. I'll arrange it all, and you shall havethe best teacher that's to be had."

"Yes, but I can't. I can't go away and leavemother; there'll be nobody to help her then."

"Don't worry about that, my boy; your mothershall go with you. No more washing; all she'll needto do will be just to look after you."

"We'll manage that all right. It's very simple.I'll lend your mother the money, do you see, andthen, when you've learnt enough and can play properlyyourself, you can pay it back—if you want to, that is."

"Yes, run along and tell her as quickly as you like.Only understand, not a word to anyone else about it.I'll come round this evening, anyway, and fix it allup."

Hans, in his delight, forgot all about hiding the holein his trousers; he grasped his friend's hands andlooked at him with glistening eyes.

"Noble old fellow—so you'd sacrifice your hard-earnedmoney and give your trouble for nothing?Not if I know it; you shan't be a loser there. And asfor Hans, I'll see to his education myself. He shallgo to Paris instead of those madcap youngsters withtheir parties. My '52 Madeira too! But we'll soonput a stop to that."

V
MRS. RANTZAU'S STORY

She was a teacher of singing, and had onlyrecently settled in the town. Holm had neverseen her, but now that her daughter wasworking in his office, and Marie had begun takinglessons with Mrs. Rantzau herself, he felt it his dutyto call.

Moreover, he had some secret hope that it mightbe possible here to find an ally in his plan for combatingMarie's artistic craze. In addition to which, she wasBetty's mother....

The place was four storeys up, and Holm, tired afterhis climb, sat down at the top of the stairs for amoment before ringing the bell.

Tra-la-la-la-la-la—he could hear a woman's voicesinging scales inside, the same thing over and overagain. A little after came another voice, which hetook to be Mrs. Rantzau's.

"For Heaven's sake, not a word." Then, takinghim by the arm, she thrust him gently into a roomadjoining.

He heard the young lady take her departure, and amoment later Mrs. Rantzau stood before him.

She was still a magnificently handsome woman.The dark eyes were deep and clear as ever, the blackhair waved freely over the forehead, albeit with athread of silver here and there. Her figure wasslender and well-poised, her whole appearance eloquentof energy and life.

"If you knew how I have dreaded this moment,Mr. Holm," she began, then suddenly stopped.

"H'm—yes. It's a good many years now sincelast we met, Bianca—beg pardon, Mrs. Rantzau, Imean."

"Fifteen—yes, it's fifteen years ago. And muchhas happened since then. I didn't know reallywhether to go and call on you myself, and ask you notto say anything about the way we met, and how Iwas living then. But then again, I thought you musthave forgotten me ages ago."

"And then, too, I thought it might be awkwardfor Betty if I tried to renew our old acquaintance; youmight be offended, and not care to keep her on at theoffice...."

"Oh, I know how good and kind you were when Iknew you before—but people change sometimes.And you can understand, I'm sure, Mr. Holm, thatmy position here, my connection with my pupils,would be ruined if the past were known. Not thatI've anything to be ashamed of, thank God, but youknow yourself, in a little town like this, how peoplewould look at a woman—or even a man, for thatmatter—whose life has been so—so unusual as mine."

"Dear lady, I understand, of course, but I shouldnever have thought of mentioning a word of ourrelations in the past."

"Thanks, thanks! Oh, I can see now you have notchanged. Kind and thoughtful as ever; you weregood to me, Mr. Holm—not like the others." Hervoice trembled a little, and she grasped his hand.

Mrs. Rantzau continued: "I should like you tounderstand, to realise yourself the position I wasplaced in then. Will you let me tell you the wholestory—if you've time?"

"Indeed I've time—you took up quite a considerableamount of my time before, you know," he addedkindly.

"Ah, I see you're the same as ever, Mr. Holm,always bright and cheerful over things."

"Well, let me begin. My life hasn't been a path ofroses—far from it; it's been mostly thorns. If only Icould write, I might make quite an exciting story ofit all. I'm forty-two now, started life as a parson'sdaughter up in the north, was married to a poet, andlived with him in Paris; my child was born, and Iwas left a widow then. I had to keep myself and Bettyby the work of my hands; sang at concerts, andaccompanied in Hamburg, lived as a countess inWestphalia——"

"Well, very nearly. But I'll tell you about thatlater. I taught French in Copenhagen, and paintingin Gothenburg, was housekeeper to a lawyer in alittle Norwegian town, nearly married him but notquite, and ended up here teaching singing. So yousee I've been a good many things in my time."

"Mr. Holm, you know the darkest part of all mylife; it is only fair that you should know the rest.I've nothing to be ashamed of, for after all I havemanaged to earn a livelihood for myself and Betty.I was seventeen when I left home, and they said Iwas quite good-looking——"

"Well, I came straight from the wilds of the Nordlandto Christiania, and they called me 'the Nordlandsun.' I was the most sought after at all the dances,and perhaps one of the most brilliant, for I came tothe gay life of the capital with the freshness of a novice.It was not long before I became engaged to a youngwriter—a poet, he was——"

"The devil you did! Beg pardon, I'm sure, butto tell the truth I've no faith in that sort of people,as Banker Hermansen would say."

"We were both of us young and inexperienced; hedreamed of gaining world-wide fame by his pen, andI used to weep over his passionate love poems. I waseighteen and he twenty-two, and I promised to followhim to the end of the world, for better or worse.

"Then one fine day we landed in Paris, withoutcaring a jot for our people, our friends, or our owncountry. We were married there at the SwedishChurch, and there I was, a poet's wife, with mypeople at home trying to forget the black sheep ofthe family.

"A few years passed. But every day saw thebreaking of one of the golden threads in our web ofillusion, and when Betty was born we were in desperatestraits.

"Poor old Thor, he used to sit up late at nightwriting stuff for the papers at home, all about magnificentfunctions he'd never been to at all, and warminghis frozen fingers over a few bits of coal in the stove."

"And he might have made quite a decent living inan office," put in Holm sympathetically.

"Unfortunately, he imagined he was a genius, andgradually, as things got worse and worse, the strugglefor a bare existence made him bitter, till he hated theworld, and looked upon himself as a martyr condemnedto suffering.

"Then he took to staying out late of an evening,and wrote less and less. By the time we had beenthere a year, the poet's wife was washing lace to keepthe home together. In the autumn of the second year,he went down with pneumonia, and a week after the'Nordland sun' was a widow. I couldn't go home,for I'd cut myself adrift from them completely whenI married. There was nothing for it but to strugglealong as best I could by myself, unknown and friendlessin the great city. But, thank Heaven, I've alwayshad my health and a cheerful temper, and little Bettywas such a darling."

"She and I have fought our way together, Mr.Holm, and a hard fight it has been at times, believeme.

"Well, we got along somehow in Paris, for a fewyears, doing needlework, or giving music lessons atfifty centimes an hour. It was a cheerless existencemostly, as you can imagine, and if it hadn't been forthe child I should have broken down long before.

"Then at last I got the offer of a place as accompanistat a concert hall in Hamburg, with a salary ofa hundred marks a month for three hours' work everyevening and two rehearsals a week. This was splendid,and I was in the highest spirits when I left Paris.Besides, it was a little nearer home, and I used to bedesperately home-sick at times, though I knew it washopeless to think of going back.

"Imagine my feelings, then, when I got to theplace and found it was a common music hall; thoughvery decent, really, for a place of that sort."

"Well, there I sat, night after night, accompanyingall sorts of more or less third-rate artistes. It usedto make me wild, I remember, when they sang false,or were awkward in their gestures; I used to look atthem in a way they would remember. And really,I managed to make them respect me after a time,though I was only twenty-five myself.

"Then, besides my evenings there, I graduallyworked up a little connection giving music and singinglessons outside, till I was making enough to livefairly comfortably.

"But one day the whole staff went on strike, andleft at a moment's notice, and there we were. Themanager—you remember him, I dare say, Sonnenthal;man with a black waxed moustache and a big diamondpin—he came running in to me and said I must singmyself; it would never do to close down altogetherin the height of the season. He thought he wouldget at least a couple of other turns, and if I wouldhelp it would get us over the difficulty.

"I told him I couldn't think of it—said I had notalent for that sort of thing; but he insisted, andoffered me fifty marks a night if I would.

"Fifty marks was a fabulous sum to me for onenight, then, after living on a franc and a half a dayin Paris, and it meant so much for Betty. I beganto think it over.

"And really I felt sure myself that I could dobetter than these half-civilised cabaret singers, fromLord knows where, that I'd been playing to for solong. But the parson's daughter found it hard tocome down to performing like that.

"Then Sonnenthal offered me sixty marks. Hethought, of course, it was only a question of money.It was too good to refuse, and I agreed.

"I remember how furious I was when the dressercame in to make me up, and I flung her paints andpowders across the room. Sonnenthal came roundand wanted me to go on in short skirts, but I toldhim in so many words that I was going to do it myown way or not at all; and, knowing how he wassituated, of course he had to give in.

"I think he was impressed by the way I stood upto him. A little Roumanian girl, a pale, dark-eyedcreature, who was simply terrified of Sonnenthal,like all the rest of them, came in to me afterwardsand threw her arms round my neck and thanked mefor having given him a lesson at last.

"It was with very mixed feelings that I went onthat night for my first performance. The audience,of course, was composed of all sorts, and the performerswere often interrupted by shouting, notalways of applause.

"I gave them 'A Mountain Maid' to start with,a touching little thing, and I put enough feeling intoit to move a stone, but not a hand was raised toapplaud. Then I tried 'Solveig's Song' fromPeerGynt—that too was received with chilling silence.

"When I came off after the first two, I could seethe others smiling maliciously: there's plenty ofjealousy in that line of business. But it set my bloodboiling, and I felt that irresistible impulse to go in anddo something desperate, as I always do when anythinggets in my way.

"I rushed on again, and gave the word to theorchestra for 'The Hungarian Gipsy,' a thing alltrills and yodelling and such-like trick work—a showpiece.

"I put all I knew into it this time, and yodelledaway till the audience left their beer-glasses untouchedon the tables—and that's saying a good deal with acrowd like that.

"When I finished, the hall rang with a thunder ofapplause—everyone shouting and cheering. I had tocome before the curtain again and again. But Iwouldn't give them an encore that time. I thoughtit best to have something in reserve, and not makemyself cheap like the others.

"As I came off the last time, I couldn't help sayinghalf aloud what I thought of my respected audience—clowns!

"But I'd found out how to handle them now, andI gave them the stuff they wanted, and plenty of it.I knew the sort of thing well enough. For yearsthey'd sat listening to the same type of short-skirted,rouged and powdered womenfolk, with the same moreor less risky songs, the same antiquated kick-ups andthe same cheap favour in their eyes. I took care myselfalways to appear as a lady, chose first-rate songs,and, as my salary increased—for I drew Sonnenthalgradually up the scale as I wished—I was able to dressin a style that astonished them.

"Do I not! Saints alive, but you were a wonderto see. Every evening, all the month I was there,I came just to sit and look at you."

"Well, perhaps that's what I ought to say. Anyhow,I know I strewed flowers enough at your feetthat winter, though they cost me a mark apiece."

"Yes, you were kind, I know. But do you rememberthe dress I wore for that carnival thing?The bodice all white roses, and red and yellow for theskirt—it was a success—a sensation! 'Flowers inspring' ah!"

"When I came to that part, they all wanted tojoin in, but I had only to hold out my hand, so, andall was quiet in a moment, you remember?"

"Yes, indeed, you had a wonderful power over thesterner sex; I felt it myself, I know. I swear I'venever been more completely head over ears before orsince."

"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Holm," she protested, with ahearty laugh, "we're past that sort of thing now, bothof us. But you were good to me then, and I shallnever forget it. I had enough and to spare in the wayof offers and attentions, not to speak of makingpeople furious because I always refused their invitationto champagne suppers behind the scenes."

"Yes, I think it was. I know that all the time Iwas there, yours was the only invitation I ever accepted,because you were a fellow-countryman, and so kindand considerate as well.

"I remember as if it were yesterday that dinner atthe 'Pforte.' There was a pheasant, with big tail-featherslarge as life, do you remember? And whenwe got to the coffee, you wanted to hear the story ofmy life——"

"My parents were still living then, Mr. Holm, andI wished at least to spare them the sorrow of learningthat their daughter was performing on the music-hallstage. Well, but I must go on.

"Fortunately, you were the only fellow-countrymanI ever came in contact with while I was there;and, of course, I kept my nationality a secret as faras possible.

"When the summer came, I was so sick and tiredof the life and the half-civilised surroundings, that Ithrew it up, and went to Copenhagen. I had savedenough by that time to keep me more or less comfortablefor a while at least. But there was one littleadventure I must tell about, before I left."

"This is getting quite exciting," said Holm, changinghis seat and placing himself directly opposite her."Go on. I'm curious to know."

"It's not altogether exceptional, you know, in theprofession. But my little affair there is soon told.One of my most devoted admirers was a tall middle-agedman, well built, handsome, with dark hair and abig moustache. He looked like a military man. Hewas always most elegantly dressed, in a black frock-coat,with the red ribbon of some Order in his buttonhole.

"One evening, when I'd just finished dressing forthe 'Carnival of Venice' thing, a card was broughtin, bearing the name of Count—well, never mind hisname. It was the Count that did it, I'm afraid.

"I invariably used to return cards brought in thatway, and take no notice. But this time I suppose myvanity got the better of me for once, and I let himcome in.

"He made me a most respectful bow, and handedme a magnificent bouquet tied with ribbon in theItalian colours. I was supposed to be from Milan,you know. He spoke excellent French, and seemedaltogether a gentleman of the first water—or blood,I suppose one would say.

"He told me about his home, his estates and hisfamily affairs in the most simple and natural manner.I could not help liking him a little from the first. Hewas in Hamburg on business—some lawsuit or other—anddropping into the place one evening to pass thetime, he could not help noticing me particularly.

"He was not sparing of his compliments, I mustsay; he praised me up to the skies, as an artist, ofcourse. My voice had astonished, delighted, enchantedhim, he told me so at once. And ended up by advisingme to try the opera stage—offered to help me himselfin every way possible, which, he said, might meansomething, as he had many influential friends in thatquarter. I told him, however, quite frankly, that Iwas perfectly aware myself as to the qualificationsneeded for operatic work, and had sense enough torealise that I could never succeed in that way. Hewas evidently surprised at my attitude, but I simplythanked him for his kindness, and got rid of him thenfor the time being. But he came again regularlyevery evening, bringing me flowers, and at last hemade a formal proposal in the most charming manner,laying his title, estates and all the rest of it at myfeet.

"It was tempting, of course, but thank goodness Ihad always had a pretty fair share of common sense,especially as I got older. I told him I regretted I didnot know him sufficiently well to take so serious astep, but promised to think it over."

"That was a plucky thing to do. There are notmany who would have taken it like that."

"It was just plain common sense. The Count wasa little huffy, though, and hinted that he had expectedme to say yes on the spot.

"This happened about a week before my engagementwas up, and I had already, as I told you, decidedto go to Copenhagen for a bit.

"I must confess that there were moments when Iwas weak enough to think seriously of accepting theCount, but, fortunately, chance came to my help.There was an old Catholic priest at the house whereI was staying, and I told him all about it. He undertookto make inquiries about the Count, and a fewdays after he had found out everything there was toknow. Hewas a Count right enough——"

"Well, he was—but as poor as a church mouse!He had been an officer in the army, and inherited anancient title and a castle with heavily encumberedestates from his father, but squandered all there wasleft in his youth; now he was a sort of travellinginspector for an insurance company, and lived for therest by his wits."

"Yes, and after that my story's simple enough. Istayed there some years, teaching music and painting,managed to get along comfortably enough. Bettystarted going to school, and we were as happy ascould be."

"Oh, you seem to imagine I had nothing else tothink of but getting married. No, indeed, when one'sgone through as much as I have, one thinks twicebefore venturing a second time. Well, as the yearswent on, and being in Denmark and more in touchwith my own country, I began to long for home again.I thought surely all would be forgotten by now, andI should be able to make a living there. But it wasnot so easy after all. I got a step nearer when I wasoffered a post as teacher at a school in Gothenburg;I stayed there five long years. I had already sentBetty to board with a decent family in Norway, thatshe might not grow up altogether a foreigner, and nowI was only waiting for the chance of coming homemyself.

"My parents were dead. I had no relatives orfriends to come back to, and yet for all that I waslonging to be there again.

"At last the day came; I shall never forget themoment when we sighted the first glimpse of land.It seemed as if all my years of exile had been a dream.I felt myself full of life and strength and happiness,and I vowed to make a new career for myself in myown country.

"I got a place as housekeeper to an old lawyer ina little town on the coast, and lived there very comfortablyfor a year; but it was too narrow, too confined,so I moved to here—and here I am, doing what I canto make life tolerable. I've my health and strength,plenty of energy, and I'm very happy. And there youhave it all, Mr. Holm—the life story of Emilie Rantzau.You can't say it's been an easy one altogether."

"No indeed, and I admire you for the way you havefought through so many handicaps and trials."

"Thank Heaven, I've never lost my strength of will,and now at last things seem to be getting brighter.Betty's so happy here, and delighted with her placeat the office."

"Not more than I am to have her, I assure you.It's been like constant sunshine about the place sinceshe came."

"Well, then, Mr. Holm, I hope you will keep mysecret as if it were your own. I have nothing to beashamed of in my past, but all the same I should notlike it to be known here as things are now."

"You need have no fear of that, my dear lady, Iassure you. I only hope you may be happy here, andfeel yourself in every sense at home now you havecome back—and I'm sure you deserve it after the longstruggle you have had. But I must say it has not leftits mark on you, for you're charming enough to turnthe head of more than one respectable citizen in thislittle town."

"It's very kind of you to say so, but I think there'sno fear of that. By the way, I'm your daughter'smusic-mistress, too. She seems very intelligent."

"H'm, as to that ... to tell the truth, I wantedto speak to you about her. I really don't know whatto do with the child lately, the way she goes on."

"Well, it's like this. My excellent son and heir,you must know, was a decent enough lad to beginwith. But then he somehow got in with a wholecrowd of muddle-headed youths that call themselvesartists, poets and acrobats of that sort. H'm ... yousee, I'm a plain man myself, and to my mind the wholething's nothing better than sheer downright laziness.They simply won't trouble to go in for any steadysolid work in life, but go on living on this artistichumbug, as long as they can find anyone to providefor them."

"Exactly. I've done a good deal in that line—upto now. Well, these young beauties have given thelad the idea that he's the making of a great artist,a budding Rubens at the least, whereas I'm convincedhe couldn't even turn out a presentable signboard.And as for the girl, she's the coming Patti of her day,nothing less.

"I've raged about it, been as cross and discouragingas could be, but precious little difference it makes.No, they must be off to Paris, if you please, the pairof them, on their own. And that's where I want you,if you will, to help me stop their little game. Marie,I know, looks up to you like a sort of Providence."

"Talent be hanged. I don't care if she has. Whatyou've got to do is to tell her she's got a voice likea sore-throated sheep—that's what I want. And asfor the boy, you can help me to cure him too, if youonly will. You've had some experience, you know,in getting round the men; an old hand like you couldeasily manage him, I'm sure."

"It was honestly meant, anyhow; you needn't beangry. Let's be frank with one another. We're oldfriends, you know, after all, Bianca."

"Holm, for Heaven's sake,never, never let that namepass your lips again. Promise me!" she said, witha glance of earnest entreaty.

"Forgive me, forgive me. May the devil cut outmy sinful tongue if ever I utter it again. It's themost infernal nuisance, that tongue of mine, alwaysgetting me into trouble one way or another, like analarm clock, you know, that goes off the moment youcome near it."

"I'll do my best, Mr. Holm, to make your daughtergive up her idea of making a career in that way. Asa matter of fact, I should have said the same thingeven if you had not asked me."

"We must think it over, each in our own way, andsee what can be done. There must be some way ofputting a stop to their running wild like that, especiallywith two hardened old diplomatists like you andmyself working together."

"I'm sure we can; and now I'll say good-bye. Forthe present, at any rate, all we can do is to wait thecourse of events, as the grocer said when his wife ranoff with the apprentice!"

VI
"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"

On the day after Holm had been up to Mrs.Rantzau, William and Marie came into theoffice. Each wore an air of serious importance,and Holm at once suspected something in thewind.

"It's about that picture of mine, the big one of'Rebecca and the Camels,' that's on exhibition nowin Christiania."

"Father, I don't think it's nice of you always to bemaking fun of William," put in Marie.

"Very nice, my son, very pretty indeed. AndI suppose it's your pet particular friend, Listad,who wrote it? Does credit to his imagination, I'msure."

"I dare say you would. But I think we ought tohave a little more conclusive proof of your talentfirst. Well, I will make you an offer. William, youcan send your picture to Copenhagen, and have itexhibited there anonymously: then we will abide bywhat the critics say.If it's good, why, I give in; ifit's slated, then you agree to start work in the officehere with me forthwith, and leave your paint-potstill your leisure, to amuse yourself and your friendsapart from your work with me.

"And you, Marie, you can tell your music-mistress,Mrs. Rantzau, that you are seriously thinking ofgoing to the opera, and ask her candid opinion ofyour prospects. If she advises you to do so, well andgood, you shall go to Paris; if not, then you stay athome and begin to learn house-keeping like any otheryoung woman. Isn't that fair?"

"Yes, that's fair enough," said William. "I'm notafraid of what the Copenhagen critics will say."

As soon as they had gone, Holm stole off quietlyto Mrs. Rantzau and told her all that had passed.

The young people started on their packing at once,Marie in particular was busily occupied in completingher wardrobe. A new travelling-dress was ordered,and various purchases made.

"Don't you think it would be better to wait untilwe have heard the decision of the authorities," suggestedHolm.

"Oh, but I shall hear from Mrs. Rantzau to-morrow,"said Marie. "And it doesn't really matter, does it,if you don't get the answer till after I've gone?"

A week passed, however, and every day Marie hadto try over again with Mrs. Rantzau; strange howparticular she was now!

William had sent off his picture to Copenhagen,and was all anxiety to learn what had been said aboutit. The dealer had been instructed to send him presscuttings as soon as they appeared.

On Saturday morning, when Holm went up into thedrawing-room, he found the pair very subdued.William was in the smoking-room, which was indarkness, looking out of the window, and Marie layon the sofa in tears.

"Don't cry, my child; you shall go to Paris allright, but we'll go together this time, for a holiday."

"It won't be for long." And Holm sat comfortingher as well as he could, until at last she went out ofher own accord to lay the table for supper—a thingshe had not troubled to do for a long time.

It was not a particularly cheerful meal, however,and William went off to his own room as soon as itwas over.

A few days later a bundle of newspapers arrivedby post from Copenhagen. William took the parcelwith a trembling hand, and hurried off to his room toread them.

Not a word about "Rebecca and the Camels,"beyond the dealer's advertisement of the exhibition.Ah, yes, here was something at last. And he readthrough the following, from one of the morning papers:

William turned very pale as he read. Then, takingup the bundle of papers, he thrust the whole collectioninto the stove, and began nervously walking upand down.

An hour later he went downstairs to the office, andtook his seat at the desk, opposite Miss Rantzau.

Just then Holm entered from the shop. He madeno remarks, but put on his coat and went down tothe waterside, where he found Bramsen sitting in acorner, looking troubled and unhappy.

"Well, there's Andrine gone and joined the SalvationArmy, with a hat likethat!" And he madea descriptive motion of his hands to his ears.

"Ay, you may well say that. Downhill's betterthan up, as the man said when he fell over the cliff.But," and he sighed, "it never rains but it pours.Amande's gone and got laid up too."

"Sorry to hear that, Bramsen. And I'd just comedown to tell you how splendid I was feeling myself;haven't been so happy for years. What do youthink! William's started work at the office, and Marie'sgiven up the singing business. Isn't that a surprise?"

"Ay, that it is. Never have thought it—as theold maid said when a young man kissed her on thestairs. I'm glad to hear it, though—they've beenpretty average troublesome up to now."

"I should say so. Well, let's hope Andrine willcome to her senses as well, after a bit."

"She must have got it pretty badly, I tell you,Knut. Why, only this morning if she didn't handme over the savings-bank book, said she'd givenup all thoughts of worldly mammon for good." AndBramsen drew out the book from his pocket.

"What do you say to that, £130, 16s. 2d. She musthave been a wonder to put by all that."

"And now I'm going to try a steamboat. There'sone I know of that's for sale, thePatriot, and I believeit's a bargain."

"Don't you go doing anything foolish now, Bramsen;you're comfortably off as you are, and if you wantmore wages, why, you've only got to say so."

"No, thanks, Knut. I'm earning well enough, anddoing first-rate all round. But it's the freedom Iwant, to set out on my own again."

"Well, you could take a run down the fjord onone of the coasting steamers any time you like."

"Ah, but it's not the same. Look at that fellowJohnsen now, with theRap hauling away with allsorts of craft, for all he drinks like a fish. Only lastyear he went on board so properly overloaded, he felldown the hold and smashed a couple of ribs."

"And you want to go and do likewise? You're along sight better off where you are, if you ask me,Bramsen."

"Well, I'll think it over, Knut. As long as I'vegot all this worldly mammon in my inside pocket,I feel like doing things with it. And there's noknowing but Andrine might get converted back againany day and want it back—and where'd I be then?"

"Why, as to that, I hope so too, and that's thetruth. But that's the more reason not to lose thechance now she's taken that way. I've thought oftrying a share in a vessel too. There's Olsen, skipperof theBaron Holberg. You must know Olsen, I'msure—fellow with a red beard—Baron Olsen, theycall him. He offered me a fourth share in the brigfor £65."

Bramsen livened up after a while, and the twofriends were soon chatting away in their usual cheeryfashion.

Bramsen sat without moving for a while, then tookout his clasp-knife and began whittling at a splinterof wood.

"You've had a deal of truck with the womenfolkin your time, Knut. Got a way of managing themsomehow. Seems to me you start off with being sortof friendly with them in a general way, and then theyget to running after you and want to marry youstraight away. Ay, you've a sort of way of your ownwith the women for sure. Me being a simple sort ofan individual, it's the other way round—why, I hadto ask Andrine three times before she'd have me.Would you believe it, she was as near as could be totaking John Isaksen, that's built like a telegraph post,and never a tooth in his mouth, so he was that afraidof crusts they called him Crusty John."

"Ay, that they are. Like a bit of clockwork inside,all odd bits of wheels and screws and things, little andbig, some turning this way and some that. And themainspring, as you might say, that's love, and that'swhy there's some goes too fast, by reason of themainspring being stronger than it should, and otherstaking it easy like, and going slow...."

"Why, yes, till they get a new mainspring and startgoing again. If not, why, they're done for, that'sall."

"And then they're mostly cased up smart andfine, and we wear them mostly near our hearts——"

"Well, now, begging your pardon, Knut, might Ibe so bold as to ask if it's a widow you've got youreye on this time?"

"Good for you, Knut. I've never cared much forsecond-hand goods myself, there's always somethingwrong with them somewhere, and they soon go tobits."

"But I was going to tell you, I'd a rare time ofit here the other day. You've maybe heard aboutme gammoning the youngsters down here—ay, andothers too for that matter, simple folk like Garner, forinstance—that I could talk Chinese through havingpicked up the lingo the five years I was on board theAlbatros in the China Seas?"

And, by way of illustration, Bramsen showed hiseyes round sideways, screwed up his mouth anduttered the following syllables: "Hi—ho—fang—chu—ka—me—lang—poh—poh—ku!"

Holm laughed till he had to sit down on a barrel.Bramsen was in his element now; Andrine and theSalvation Army, Amanda and her tulips, were forgotten.

"Well, the day before yesterday, while I was stackingfish up in the loft, in comes an old gentleman, sort oflearned and reverend looking he was.

"'Mr. Paal Abrahamsen?' says he, and looks atme solemn-like through a pair of blue spectacles.

"'That's me, your Highness,' says I, for I judgedhe must be something pretty high. Then he putsdown his stick, a mighty fine one with a silver top,and opens a big book.

"Aha, thinks I to myself, it'll be the census, that'sit. For you know there's been all this business abouttaking people's census ever since New Year. Well,if he wanted my census, I was agreeable, so I startedaway polite as could be:

"'Surname and Christian names, married or single,and so on, that's what you'll be wanting,' says I.

"'No, my friend,' says he, 'I only called to inquire—youspeak Chinese, I understand. Several years inthe country, were you not?'

"Well, I reckoned he couldn't be a Chinaman himself.I gave a squint up under his spectacles to seeif his eyes were slantywise, but they were all right.

"'H'm,' says I, 'I know a little, but it's nothingmuch. Not worth counting, really.'

"'Don't be afraid, my good man. It was just afew simple words and phrases in the language I'd verymuch like to ask about. My name is'—well, it wasProfessor something or other—Birk or Cork or Storkor something—'from Christiania,' he said.

"'Well,' thinks I to myself, 'it doesn't look as if heknew much more than I do myself. I may bluff himyet.' And we squatted down on a barrel apiece, withan empty sugar-box between us for a table.

"'Mr. Abrahamsen,' says he, 'if you'd kindlyrepeat a sentence, anything you like, in Chinese.' Andhe takes up a grand gold pencil-case and starts towrite in the book.

"'Aha,' thought I, 'now we're sitting to the hardestpart,' as the miller said when he got to the eighthcommandment. Anyhow, here goes. And I rattlesoff, solemn-like: 'Me—hoh—puh—fih—chu—lang—ra—ta—ta—poh—uh—ee—lee—shung—la—uh—uh—uh!'And down it all goes in his book like winking.

"'What it means——' Well, that was a nastyone, as you can imagine. Funny thing, but I'd neverthought about that. 'Mean—why—well, it means—H'm.Why, it's as much as to say—well, it's a sortof—sort of national anthem, as you might call it.Sons of China's Ancient Land. Not quite that exactly,but something like it, you understand. Chinese is—well,it's different, you know.'

"He looked at me pretty sharply under his glasses,but I stood my ground and never winked a muscle.And then, bless me if he wasn't mean enough to askme to say it all over again.

"Well, I could have stood on my head in the darkeasier than remember what it was I'd said before.So I puts on an air, superior-like, and says to him:

"'Well, my good sir, to begin with,Sons of Norway'sAncient Land is a sort of national anthem if you like,but I hardly think it's been translated into Chinese.And in the second place, the word forsons is "Yung-li,"not "Me-hoh," as you said.'

"'Beg pardon, Professor, but there's differentdialectrics out there, same as here: some talks northlandand some westland fashion, not to speak of shorthand,and it's all as different as light and dark.'

"Well, as luck would have it, that set him laughing,and he shuts up the big book and tucks away the pencilin his waistcoat pocket. And he thanks me mostpolitely for the information.

"'You're very welcome, I'm sure,' says I. 'Ah—dec—oh—oh—shung—la—la—poh!'

"But if we ever get another of that learned sortalong, why, I'm going to tell them Paal Abrahamsen'sdead and gone, poor lad, and can't talk Chinese anymore. I never was much good at these examinations."

VII
HOLM & SON

There was a marked change in the office now.Every day, when Holm came in, he wouldfind William seated at his desk, opposite MissBetty. Early and late, William was always there,working away to all appearance like a steam engine.This in itself was excellent, of course, but, on the otherhand, it destroyed all chance of a comfortable chatwith Bettytête-à-tête. And every day Holm feltmore and more convinced that Betty and he weremade for one another. Or at least that Betty wasmade for him.

"You must get the hang of the outside businesstoo, my son," he observed one day. "Down at thewaterside, for instance, there's a lot needs lookingafter there."

"Yes, father," said William respectfully, "but Iwant to get thoroughly into the bookkeeping first,and Miss Rantzau is helping me."

There was nothing to be said to this, of course, butit was annoying, to say the least. And Holm senior,thinking matters over in his leisure hours, would sayto himself:

"Knut, my boy, you've been a considerable fool.You should have sent the youngsters off to Parisas they wanted, then you could have fixed thingsup here in your own fashion while they wereaway."

The thought that William might enter the listsagainst him as a rival for Betty's favour never occurredto him, however, until one day when Broker Vindtcame round and found his friend Holm standingbehind the counter in the shop, with William in possessionof the inner office.

Vindt was the generally recognised and accreditedjester of the town; there was nothing he would notfind a way of poking fun at, and even Banker Hermansenhad smilingly to submit to his witticisms.

Vindt was an old bachelor, a dried-up, lanky figureof a man, with a broad-brimmed felt hat set on hissmooth black wig and a little florid face with a sharpnose.

"Beg pardon, Holm," he began, "would you mindasking if the senior partner's disengaged for amoment?"

"Well, I was thinking of taking a holiday somewhere—andI dare say he'd put me up. Better thannothing, as the parson said when he found a buttonin the offertory box. You might say the same, youknow; be thankful he's keeping you on at all."

"It's a good thing, if you ask me, to see youngpeople doing something nowadays."

"Ah, my boy, it all dependswhat they're doing!Apropos, the other young person in there, is she tobe taken into partnership as well? Deuced prettygirl that, Holm."

"Vindt, you're incorrigible. Come upstairs andhave a glass of wine. I've got some fine '52Madeira...."

"Started as early as that, did you? No, thanksall the same. I think I'll wait till the little Donnainside there's moved upstairs for good, then perhapswe may get a look in at the office again some day."

And Vindt strode out of the shop. Crossing thesquare, he met Hermansen, who had just come fromthe repair shops, where the Spaniard was being overhauled.The only part of her hull that could be consideredsound consisted of a few plates at the afterend. Wherefore Vindt naturally offered his congratulations,"All's well that ends well, eh, what?"

"Yes, it's an unsatisfactory business, patching upold wrecks. Apropos, Vindt, how's the gout gettingon? Going anywhere for a cure this summer?"

"Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairingwrecks, you know, are apt to be a bit heavy whenthey come in."

Hermansen gave it up after that, but he was considerablyannoyed when he returned to the bank, asPetersen, the cashier, could see from the way he flungdown his gloves and hat—it was rarely the bankershowed so much irritation.

Meantime, Holm was thinking over what Vindt hadsaid. "Wait till the little Donna's moved upstairsfor good...." Now what on earth did he mean bythat? Vindt could not possibly have any idea thathe, Knut Holm, was contemplating marriage. Williamand Betty, then? Nonsense—the idea was preposterous;it certainly could never have entered hishead, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer,the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirredout....

In days past it had been impossible to keep himat the desk for an hour on end; now, he hung overthe books as if he were nailed to the stool.

"Anyhow, we'll make an end of it some way or other.I'm not going to sit here and be made a fool of."

And Holm went into the inner office. By a rarechance, William had gone out, and he found Bettyalone.

The girl had her mother's irresistible charm. Notso handsome, true, but of a gentler type, thoughtHolm to himself as he looked at the fresh young face.

"Not the least bit, really; I like it. I've quitefallen in love with the big ledger here, it's such a nicecomfortable old-fashioned thing."

"So you like old-fashioned things? Perhaps youwould include me in the category of old?"

"Well, yes, I hope so. But what would you say,now, if a man—in the prime of life—were to say toyou, My dear Miss Betty, will you come and help tobrighten up my home? You're too good to wearyourself out with working in an office, when you mightbe filling a man's life with comfort and content."

"Oh, I know I'm much older than you, Miss Betty,but my heart's as young as ever, and I can offer you agood home and devoted affection, better, perhaps, thanyou would find elsewhere."

He placed himself opposite her and endeavouredto meet her eyes, but she took refuge behind theledger, and would not look up.

"I've seen ups and downs in my time, Miss Betty,and learned a good deal of life; you won't find mesuch a poor support to lean on."

"Oh, please, Mr. Holm, please don't say any more.I—I must go home now, mama will be waiting...."She broke off, and began hurriedly and nervouslyputting on her things.

Holm put out his hand and held hers a moment ortwo, then she ran out, and soon her light, firm stephad passed out of hearing.

"H'm, you're out of practice, that's what it is.Getting old. Shouldn't have sprung it on her suddenlylike that. Never flurry a turtle dove; slips out of theark if you do, and never comes back. But you don'tsee Knut Holm giving up the game for a little thinglike that; no, we must getour old friend Bianca tolend a hand. She's sensible enough to know a goodson-in-law when she sees one."

Next morning, when Betty arrived at the office, Holmwent along to call on Mrs. Rantzau; it was to her hemust now look for help.

Mrs. Rantzau grew very serious when Holm enlightenedher as to his feelings for Betty. She pointedout at once the great difference in their ages, and wasvery doubtful on that head. Nevertheless, she undertookto speak to Betty herself.

She could not but admit that the offer was a temptingone and that Betty's future would be assured—whichto a woman in her position was importantenough. She would in any case give the matter hermost earnest consideration.

Holm took all this to mean that Mrs. Rantzau herselfwas not disinclined to approve of the idea, butthat it would take time to get it settled.

He felt more cheerful now, and hoped for victory inthe end. Mrs. Rantzau, he was convinced, would useher utmost influence with her daughter, though ofcourse they would think it looked better not to acceptat once!

On returning to the office he fancied Betty was morethan usually friendly, and came to the conclusionthat she had perhaps begun to think more seriouslyover the matter.

In order to prepare the children in any case, hethought it best to take William into his confidence,without further delay, as to his intention of marryingagain. William was accordingly asked to come upstairs.

When they entered the drawing-room Holm lockedthe door, and motioned William to a seat on the sofabeside him.

"But what on earth are you making all this mysteryabout, old man?" said William.

"Old, did you say? You might be thankful, myboy, if you were as youthful as I am."

"I want to speak to you seriously, my son. Forseventeen years now I have been a lone, lone man...."

"That's what I said. It's seventeen years nowsince Mrs. Gronlund died. But what is time? Amere trifle. Anyhow, I'm getting tired of this lonelylife."

"Yes; don't you think so? And I have decidedto take a wife who is first of all a good-hearted anddomesticated woman, but at the same time onewho will be able to brighten up the home."

"Excellent! I quite agree. A sound and healthyman of your type should certainly marry as soon asopportunity occurs. And I don't mind saying thatthe life we two have led here all these years hasn'texactly been an ideal existence."

"Perhaps not—though you might have been worseoff. However, now that I am about to bring homea bride for the third——"

"—I cannot but feel a certain emotion in saying toyou, my son, as I do now: look up to her as a mother,love her as she deserves, for she is a woman in athousand."

"I'm sure, father, you could not have made abetter choice. Mrs. Rantzau is, I believe, an excellentwoman."

"Why, isn't it her you mean? Both Marie and Ihave noticed you've been visiting her pretty oftenof late."

Holm jumped up from the sofa, and stood facingWilliam, who sat quietly and calmly as ever.

"William—I should never have expected this of you.H'm, I've borne with a good deal, one way and another,and had a lot of low-down tricks played on me in mytime, but this...."

"Betty's the only woman I've ever cared for, father;from the first time I set eyes on her I've...."

"A passing fancy, nothing more. A few weeks'holiday in Paris, and you'll have forgotten all aboutit."

Holm turned sharply on his heel and went down tothe office. He had expected to find Betty there, butshe was out. On the desk lay a note, in her writing,asking to be excused for leaving the office; she was notfeeling well, and had gone home.

His own son as a rival! Was there ever such aridiculous state of things? If Vindt got any inklingof the situation, there would be no end to the gossiphe would make of it—it would be impossible to remainin the place.

Give way at once, and submit? No, that was notKnut Holm's way. And indeed, the very thoughtmade him feel miserable at heart, for he had grownreally fond of Betty.

Well, let her choose for herself, that was the bestway. She and her mother could work it out together,and see which looked most like business.

He went down to the waterside to hunt up Bramsen;in times of real difficulty, when he felt uncertain howto act, it was always helpful to spend an hour listeningto Bramsen's honest and genial talk.

Up in the loft he found Bramsen, lying at his easeon a couple of coffee-bags, studying a telegram.

Bramsen half rose, and sat holding one hand to hisforehead, waving the telegram in the other.

"Why, you know I told you how I'd got all thatworldly out of Andrine, when she joined the SalvationArmy?"

"Getting on that way, anyhow. It was just as Ithought. When she got up this morning she begansort of throwing out hints that I'd better let her havethe bank-book again after all."

"Well, you can guess I'd been expecting somethingof the sort, and so I started in a little speculation whilethere was time."

"No, no. But I got wind of a good thing in anotherway altogether. You know Johnsen I told youabout?"

"Bramsen, don't tell me you've got mixed up inany sort of deal with that drunken old fool?"

"Drunk? He's as right as can be now. Turnedteetotal, and made some money too. Any amount.Well, last week he came along to me and said he andBaron Olsen had gone shares and bought up a boatthat was lying at Strandvik—Erik was the name.They'd got her dirt cheap, but they'd let me come infor a third share, and be managing owner, with Johnsenas skipper. Well, I agreed. TheErik went off lastweek, and now here comes a telegram from some placecalled Havre; but it's a queer sort of message. I can'tmake head or tail of it myself. Here, see what it says:'Drink dock yesterday.—Johnsen.' Drunk in dock,if you ask me—and him a teetot'lar and all!"

Holm took the telegram and read it over, but couldmake nothing of it. "Drink dock yesterday" was allit said.

"Well, it's something to do with drink, anyway,by the look of it—whether he means he got drunk indock, or drank the dock dry to be out of temptation,he's probably got delirium tremens by this time, anddrunk the ship as well."

"Holm—you don't think he's gone off the railsagain—honestly?" Bramsen jumped up from hiscouch and stood aghast.

"Well, whatever did you want to be such a foolfor, Bramsen? Managing owner indeed—why, you'veno more idea of managing than those coffee-bags."

"Ho, haven't I? And me been round the Hornand Cape of Good Hope as well, and nearly eaten bycrocodiles in Bahia, dead of yellow fever, and all butburned in Rio, an ear with frostbite in the Arctic,been shooting monkeys in Mozambique."

"That may be; but, anyhow, you can't say I don'tknow anything about shipping. Your smart shipownerssitting all day in their offices and looking outplaces on the map, you suppose they know more aboutit than me that's been thirty years navigating on myown all over the torrential globe. I'm not good enoughto manage a bit of a ship myself, eh? I'm a plainman, I know, but I'm no fool for all that, and I don'tsee what call you've got to go throwing wet blanketson all my deals and doings anyhow."

Bramsen was thoroughly offended now, and Holmfound it difficult to bring him round.

"It's not that, Bramsen; you know I don't meanit that way. But I do think it's foolish of you toentrust your property to an irresponsible fellow likeJohnsen."

"Well, what's a man to do when everything's goingby the board all round? Ay, it's other little mattersthat's the trouble as well. I don't mind telling you,Knut, but, flay and fester me, you must swear youwon't say a word to a soul."

"Well, it's this way. Armanda's only just beenconfirmed, and, would you believe it, if the girl hasn'tgone and got engaged already, with Johnsen's son;Carljohan's his name, and a devilish smart lad too.I know he failed for his mate's certificate this year,but after all that doesn't go for much, for he can walkon his hands as easy as his feet, and he's as nimble asa squirrel up aloft."

"Consent?" Bramsen stared in astonishment."Consent? They never asked for it, and I neverasked myself—how should I? I'd never have doneanything but ask for consent all the times I was engaged,and then, what about you? Have you asked anyone'sconsent?"

"Well, there you are! Anyhow, we had a sort ofcelebration party up at home one evening when Andrinewas gone to meeting. Take my word for it, but oldJohnsen was a bit sore that night; and wishing he'dnever gone in for teetotalling! But the rest of us hada fine uproarious time of it, and I tried my hand withyoung Carljohan at one or two little wrestling tricks.Aha, he's a good one, but he'll need to learn a bit morebefore he can get over me. There's a dodge or two Ilearned from a Mulatto on the coast of Brazil manyyears ago...."

"Why, you see, Armanda says Carljohan must geta berth as skipper, so we must use the chance, whileher mother's all Salvationing, to get hold of a sharein a vessel, put in old Johnsen as skipper at first,and let the youngster take it on after.... See?"

"Ay, they do us every time, and that's the truth.But we can't get on without them all the same. Likepepper in the soup—gets you in the throat now andagain, but it gives you an appetite."

Bramsen had by now almost forgotten the telegram;he grew serious again, however, as it caught his eye.

"'Drink dock yesterday—drink dock....'" hescratched his whiskers and muttered curses at Johnsenand his telegram.

"It's come through a bit wrong, that's all, mutilatedin transit. 'Erik' it ought to be. 'Erik dock yesterday'—thatis—he's got there all right and dockedyesterday."

Bramsen turned a somersault over the coffee-bags,slapped his thighs and stood doubled up with laughter.

"Well, to be sure! A nice lot they telegraphpeople must be over there! And I was certain surehe'd gone on the drink and sold us all up this time—ha,ha, ha!"

While Holm and Bramsen were thus consoling eachother down at the quay, Mrs. Rantzau and Bettywere sitting quietly in the little parlour now that thepupils had gone.

Betty was crying, with her arms round her mother'sneck, while her mother pressed the girl closely to her,patting her hair tenderly.

"Don't cry, Betty, my child; you know we'vealways had each other, good times and bad. Ah,my dear, it's a sad childhood you had, but I could dono more. You must do as your heart tells you, mychild."

"We'll manage somehow, Betty dear; you'venever known me give up yet, have you, child?"

"No—but it's so cruel to think of you having towork and slave all the time—and we might have livedin luxury the two of us—but I can't, mother, I can't."

"Never think of it, Betty dear; I am well andstrong, and we'll get along all right. And if you don'tcare to stay on at the office there after what's happened,why, there must be other places you could get."

"Yes, I know—but it was so nice there, and I wasjust getting into things so well. And—and—Mr.William was so nice and kind."

"Yes, so kind and friendly, and he told me aboutthings—— Oh, he's a good man, I know."

"About his life, and how he'd wanted to be anartist, and was studying for it and all that—but thenhe thought it was his duty to help his old father withthe business."

Betty grew calmer after a while, and told her mothera great deal of what had passed between Holm andherself, and what William had said.

Emilie Rantzau lay awake till late that nightthinking over what Betty had said. It was difficultto get a clear idea of the situation, for the variousscenes seemed contradictory. Had William honourableintentions regarding Betty?—that was the main thing.

But she had met with so many disappointments inlife, that it almost seemed as if Fate were purposelydeluding her with visions that were never to be realised.Again and again she had seen the future openingbefore her in happiness and prosperity, only to find theprospect vanish like a mirage, leaving her alone asbefore in the desert of life.

VIII
MALLA TRAP

Forty years earlier the corner premises occupiedby the firm of Knut G. Holm had belonged toMelchior Trap, who had his business there.Melchior Trap was one of the great traders of theplace in his day, and a man looked up to by all.

He was supposed to have made a fortune in theCrimean War, but lost most of it later, though enoughremained for him to leave his daughter and only child,Malla Trap, a comfortable income after his death.

Knut Holm, as a lad of fifteen, had entered theservice of Melchior Trap, starting in the shop, andgradually working his way up, until, when the oldman died, he was able to take over the businesshimself.

Malla Trap was then a friend of old standing; some,indeed, of the older generation declared that Holmin his young days had been in love with his master'sdaughter, but that the old patrician would not hearof the match.

However this might be, Malla Trap was a regularvisitor at the Holms', and as far back as the childrencould remember, Aunt Trap had always come roundto dinner every Sunday, where a special place waslaid for her at table.

She was now about sixty, tall, thin, and with greyishhair that hung in two heavy curls on either side ofher forehead.

But Malla Trap was no ordinary old maid withblack crochet mittens and knitting-needle, sittingroasting apples over a stove in an over-heatedroom.

No; on a fine winter's day, with clean, smooth iceacross the fjord, one might see Malla Trap's slenderfigure skimming along on skates as gaily as any girlof seventeen.

She had a splendid constitution and physique—weaknesswas a thing unknown to her. And she hadcarefully hardened herself from youth up, for she hada dread of becoming old and invalid.

As an instance of her prowess of endurance it wasstated as a reliable fact that she had set out onebitterly cold morning to skate across the fjord, and,falling through a patch of thin ice a couple of milesout, had not only managed to extricate herself, butinstead of making at once for home, continued on herway to Strandvik. There, arriving at the house ofher old friend Prois, she declared she was frozen sostiff that anyone might have broken her across themiddle like a sugar-stick.

A slight cold was the sole effect of her bath, whichotherwise seemed to have been merely refreshing!

She had always had leisure and means to arrange hermode of life as she pleased, and had made the mostof her opportunities in that direction. Her wholeexistence was conducted in a casual, easy-going fashion,not tied down to habit, rule and order.

One Christmas, for instance, she had presented eachof the old derelicts at the Seamen's Home with a pairof ski, declaring that with a little practice they wouldsoon learn to use them, and that the exercise wouldgive them a new lease of life. The poor old goutyinvalids were hard put to it to hobble along on theirfeet with the aid of sticks, and had certainly neverdreamed of running about on ski.

When Pastor Arff, who was extremely stout, complainedof heartburn, she gave him a skiff, with oarscomplete, on the express condition that he should getup at six every morning and row a couple of miles upand down the river.

She would go to meetings in the afternoon, and sitamong the earnest sisterhood, taking an interestedpart in discussions as to mission work among theheathen, and then go on in the evening to see thelatest and riskiest pieces at the theatre, which shethoroughly enjoyed. It was a known fact that shehad tried to enliven the work of the local soup-kitchenby introducing raisins as an ingredient in the pea-soup,but the old ladies on the committee had puttheir foot down—that was going too far. Malla Trapurged them to try it—it was delicious, she declared—butwithout avail.

The townsfolk were so used to her eccentricities thatno one ever took much notice of them, for all knewshe was a thoroughly good soul, who in her unobtrusiveway had brought happiness to many a home indistress. It was not always by direct gifts that sheeffected this; her confident and encouraging mannergave new hope and strength to many who were sinkingunder the burden of their struggle. Her tall, erectfigure came like a breath of the fresh north-west wind,sweeping clouds from the sky.

Not many knew that it was Malla Trap who hadgiven Bertelsen the idea of starting a paper shopwhen the firm in which he was cashier failed, and hefound himself thrown out, with a wife and childrento look after, and no means of support.

"But what am I to do?—there's nowhere to turn—onlythe workhouse. That's what it'll be—the workhouse."

"Nonsense, Bertelsen! pull yourself together, do.Look here! I've an idea. There's that shop in thesquare, next to Holm; it's vacant, and you could getit cheap. Start a little business there with paper,cardboard, wall-papers and that sort of thing. It'llbe a success—itmust!"

He looked up a little—paper—business—his thoughtstook a definite direction. Hope began to dawn, andMalla Trap had accomplished a piece of the finestmissionary work a human soul ever can—she hadmade a sunny thought to grow in a tortured anddespairing mind.

Her best friend was Miss Strom, a woman of considerablewit and education, and daughter of the lategovernor of the province.

When the pair of them were together, Beate Stromwould lecture at length, pointing out to Malla Trapthe necessity of paying some regard to public opinion;it really would not do to go on acting in that independentfashion.

"It's no good, my dear," Malla Trap would say."If I can't do things my own way, which is at leasthonest and decent enough, why, I might as well giveup altogether."

And when Malla Trap gave a supper-party, withlobster mayonnaise and black pudding, Beate Stromgave her up as hopeless. There was a limit, shedeclared, to the extent to which innovations shouldbe permitted.

But Malla Trap simply pleaded that they were herfavourite dishes—and why shouldn't she? Was sheto sit and eat plain bread and cheese when she feltlike lobster mayonnaise and could get it? No, thankyou!

As already mentioned, Miss Trap was a regularvisitor at Holm's, and had her own place at table.

The children were fond of her, and she of them.Whenever anything went wrong, or they were introuble, both William and Marie would go to AuntTrap for advice.

After his last conversation with his father, Williamwas at a loss what to make of the affair. It wasnatural, therefore, he should confide in Aunt Trap.

He told her that he could not be certain himself asto the state of Betty's feelings towards him, but wasalmost sure she was favourably inclined at least.

Malla Trap asked him earnestly if it were not afterall only a passing fancy on his part; she was verysceptical as to the nature of men's tender feelings.

William, of course, declared emphatically that itwas true and enduring love, and that he would beblighted for ever if he could not make Betty hiswife.

At last Malla Trap believed him, and promised todo what she could to put matters right.

She decided first of all to go and talk to Mrs. Rantzau,with whom she had some slight acquaintance; but onthe way she encountered Mrs. Rantzau herself walkingwith Hermansen, and from the manner in which thepair appeared absorbed in each other's society, MallaTrap judged it best to postpone the call for the present.Immediately after, Vindt, her cousin, came strollingalong, and stopped to speak.

"What do you say to that, my lanky cousin—prettybit of goods the banker's got hold of there. Who isshe?"

"My dear child, think of your reputation! Whatwould the world say if I were to go visiting a love-lornfemale without a chaperon in the world?"

"And apple sauce, what? No, thank you; I wasill for a fortnight last time I sampled your new-fangledmenus. But I mustn't take up your valuable time.Addio, cara mia!"

And Vindt strode off, in time to see Hermansen andMrs. Rantzau disappear round the corner. He beganto wonder what it could mean.

Banker Hermansen running off in business hourswith a lady all dressed up—this was something altogetherunprecedented, and enough to set others besideVindt agape. Hermansen, a man devoid of all tenderfeeling, whose heart was popularly supposed to bemade of rhinoceros hide—surely he could not be goingthat way like any other mortal?

Vindt was so occupied with the phenomenon that hewalked full tilt into Listad and the schoolmaster, theformer of whom buttonholed at once and began deliveringa long harangue about the new Ministry andthe political situation.

"... Such a state of things, my dear sir, is morethan gloomy; it is desperate. And thefons et origoof the whole trouble lies in the fact that...."

"That there's too many amateurs poking theirfingers into the business as it is, and an ungodly messthey're making of it, instead of sticking to theirwork and doing something useful."

Listad thought he had never met a ruder fellow thanthis unceremonious broker; never encountered a citizenwith a more callous disregard to higher political aims,and the needs of the country.

"But what—what is to become of a nation if itsindividual units allow themselves to be swallowed upin mere material strivings, deaf to the call of loftyideals, blind to the moral welfare of the land, andof humanity at large? I ask you, how will such apeople fare?"

Meantime Malla Trap had come to the conclusionthat she might as well take up the business in handwith Holm himself at once; it would have to be donesooner or later.

She went up to the drawing-room, and told the maidto go down and ask if Mr. Holm could spare a fewminutes.

Holm was somewhat surprised at the message;Malla Trap did not often come round like this of herown accord in the middle of the week.

"Well, my dear Miss Trap, is there anything specialthe matter since we have the pleasure of seeing youto-day? Or were you feeling lonely, perhaps?"

"Why, yes, I suppose—when one is all by oneself—er—onefeels that way now and then. I know myselfI often feel the want of company, someone to confidein——"

"That's true—but even then—it's apt to be dullall the same in the long-run, with nothing butmemories."

"Oh, I had it from a reliable source. But honestly,Knut Holm, I think you will do well to reflect beforeyou do."

"I've put in quite enough reflection over it already,my dear Malla Trap, worked it out all round. I knowit means a lot of extra expense and bother, with newarrangements and all that, but seeing I can't reasonablyexpect to live more than another twenty yearsor so, I fancy there'll be enough to manage it."

"So that's what you call working it out, is it?Working out sums of money! I thought you were aman of loftier ideals than that."

"I was, in my younger days, Malla Trap. Do youremember the time when we two were fond of eachother?"

"I had your promise, Knut Holm, and I trustedyou. I waited and waited, but you never came."

"Yes, it was a pity, I know. But, you see, yourfather was so furious when he heard about it, andtreated me in such a manner, that I simply couldn'tput up with it. And then, afterwards, there werethose affairs with Maggie and Mrs. Gronlund—butI'm sure I don't know what we want to go draggingup all that for. We've got along quietly and comfortablynow together these many years; let bygonesbe bygones, say I."

"Oh, I've forgiven you everything long ago. ButI haven't forgotten, and I've my own reasons for remindingyou of it all to-day for the first and last time.So go on."

Holm walked up and down restlessly, wonderingwhat Malla Trap could have in mind. It did not occurto him for the moment that she might be acting onWilliam's behalf, or he might have been less frank.As it was, he went on with a touch of forced gaiety:

"Well, well, my dear Malla Trap, if you must havethe old story set out in detail, don't mind me. I'lltell you all about it. I had to marry Maggie, you see;as a gentleman I could do nothing else. And as forMrs. Gronlund, why, seeing she wouldn't give up theboy, I had to take her as well. Altogether, you see,it's been the boy's fault all along. If it hadn't beenfor him, you and I might have fixed things up afterall."

"Best as it was, I dare say. But I ask you now,for the sake of our old friendship, do not make anotherwoman unhappy."

"But, my dear soul, Maggie and Mrs. Gronlundwere as happy as could be. I really think I've a sortof gift for making women happy, when I love them."

"Ha, ha! Excuse my laughing, but really, KnutHolm, I can't help it. You loved me once, or so yousaid, at least."

"I assure you, Malla Trap, I've been more sorrythan you know about that business."

"Oh, I don't think you ever troubled much tothink what a forsaken woman feels, what misery itmeans to her."

"Well, honestly, I don't find it easy to put myselfin her place, as it were—no, I can't say—— It mustbe very unpleasant, of course.... H'm. But youseem to have got along pretty comfortably all thesame, as far as one can see."

"As far as one can see, yes." Her voice wasearnest now. "Has it never occurred to you to thinkwhy Malla Trap grew into the eccentric, half-foolishcreature people turn to smile at now? Do you knowwhat it means to lose one's whole objective in life?Ah, no, you wouldn't understand; no one else, perhaps,could understand how a woman's life can be madeempty, aimless, a mere chaos of existence—though,Heaven be thanked, there have been little rays of sun-lighthere and there. And when the whole poorcomedy is ended, why, I hope there may be somefew that will spare a kindly thought for Malla Trap."

"If I knew how I could help you, Malla Trap, I'ddo it gladly. But, honestly, I can't see what you'redriving at just now."

"Oh—so that's where the trouble lies, is it? Verysensible of him, I'm sure, to get you on his side, butif you'll excuse my saying so, Malla Trap, you'd betterleave things alone."

He strode up and down, and the casual, easy-goingair he had assumed gave way to a more serious expression.At last he stopped, and stood facing her.

"There are critical moments in every man's life,"he began, "and, and—I reckon I've had my share.I've been on the verge of bankruptcy...."

"There was Hermansen at the bank, he had someidea, I dare say, but nobody else."

"I knew." She drew off her gloves and smoothedthem out on the table. Holm stood still, lookingearnestly at her.

"You've guessed it at last, then? Yes, it was I.I knew you were in desperate straits, that you wouldbe ruined if you did not get help from somewhere."

"I should never have told you at all, if it hadn'tbeen for William's sake. I'm proud of the boy; he'sbeen good to me, and a homeless old woman's gratefulfor a little kindness. Well, now you know it—andnow I ask you again to give up Betty Rantzau;there'll be nothing but trouble come of it, if you goon. And they're fond of each other, I may as welltell you that at once."

"That remains to be seen. But I can't get overthat business of the hundred and fifty pounds."

"And that artful old rascal of a Pettersen; tothink I should have wasted a wreath on his graveevery blessed year since he died. Eleven wreaths atfour shillings a time—true, I left out the ribbon lasttime, that was so much saved. But he shouldn'thave had a single flower out of me, if I'd known."

"I never said anything of the sort. But thehundred and fifty—my head's all going round. Howam I to pay you back again? Really, I'm sorry—youmust excuse me...."

And he strode out of the room. Miss Trap satsmoothing out her gloves on the table. Thinkingmatters over, she came to the conclusion that Holmwould give in, but the way did not seem quite clearas yet.

"He's obstinate, my boy, but I think we shall gethim round all right. Your father only wanted to tryyou, William. He's a strange man, is Knut Holm."

"Yes, I should say so. He could hardly find abetter way of making you serious about it, than byplaying the part of a rival."

"Oh, we must have Betty up—we've settled it allbetween us, now." And before Miss Trap could saya word, he was gone. Two minutes later he cameback, leading Betty by the hand.

"This is Auntie Trap—yes, you must call herAuntie now, for it's she that's managed it all. Thoughit was really only a sort of trial father got up, soAuntie says—he's a wonder, the old man, what?"

"May I call you Auntie as well, Miss Trap? I'venever had an aunt myself, and it's nice. Motherand I have always been alone."

"I know, my child. Call me Auntie by all means,and God bless you both. It's all to be for the best.I'm sure father was only wanting to try you. I knowKnut Holm of old; he's his own queer ideas at times,but his heart's in the right place."

"Lovely it must be for you two young people on thethreshold of the promised land. But remember, asyou look towards it, that it only comes once in a lifetime—justthis one moment, when the mists havecleared away, and the future is bright before you. Iwish you happiness, children."

She walked out, erect as ever, but with her wise eyes,as it were, veiled. William and Betty watched her alittle way up the street.

They stood hand in hand by the window, lookingout over the river; Betty laid her head on hisshoulder. Never before had the river and the hillsideseemed so beautiful as to-day.

There came into Betty's mind the memories of herchildhood, like dark shadows gliding by. The high-walledcourtyard in Hamburg and the rooms in a narrowstreet in Copenhagen stood out clearest of all. Sheshivered a little, and put her arms round her lover'sneck.

IX
CLAPHAM JUNCTION

Everyone knows the great railway stationat Clapham Junction just outside London,where so many lines meet and cross, andwhere trains start for so many different parts.

Our little town, too, had its junction of ways justoutside, where the high road branches out into three,each in a different direction. It was the acceptedmeeting-place for all secretly engaged couples, beinga convenient spot that could be reached, accidentallyas it were, by two people happening to come along bydifferent routes.

It was Vindt, the humorist, who had christened itClapham Junction, and he was the first to ferret outthe fact that Banker Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzauhad been walking together along the road by the shoreseveral mornings in succession.

Vindt went round to the bank on some pretext ofbusiness, but really to see if the banker was in a softermood than usual. After all, the man was no more thanhuman!

But no; there he stood behind the counter, stiffand coldly polite as ever. Nice sort of man for a lover,thought Vindt.

It was not easy to imagine. Some said he wasfascinated by her voice, others laid the blame on herblack eyes; the fact remained that the pair were moreand more frequently together. Vindt had not beendown to Holm's for a long time now; he hated thesight of women in business, and that Holm shouldhave been one of the first to introduce a petticoat withinthe private sanctum among good cigars and vintageport—it was unpardonable. In the present stateof things, however, he felt desperately in need ofsomeone to talk to. This affair of Hermansen's wasso unparalleled a marvel that he simply must open hismind to someone about it.

He thrust his head in at the doorway, and discoveredHolm standing behind the counter.

"You've been otherwise engaged. Fair charmerinside there now?" He pointed inquiringly towardsthe office.

Vindt carefully laid down his heavy, ivory-handledcane, hung his coat and neck wrap over a chair,and stood with his hands in his pockets, facinghim.

"Well, and what's the trouble now?" said Holm,struggling with a refractory cork.

"Well, could you imagine old Hermansen on hisknees whispering tender nothings to a woman?"

"I haven't been anywhere to lunch. But I'll tellyou where I have been: I've been out to ClaphamJunction, and seen our banker friend and the SeaLady...."

"Aha, had an eye on her yourself, what? Well,you've had some experience of widows, so you're nota new hand at the business."

"Why, I'm sorry to crush the budding flower oflove within your heart, but so it is. You've alwayscome off second-best with Hermansen—and now he'ssnapped up Mrs. Rantzau under your nose. Amarriage has been arranged—etc. etc."

"Come along!" said Vindt. "What about thatlittle drink? I'm sure I want something to consoleme."

Vindt began to feel conscience-stricken. SurelyHolm had not been in earnest, then?

"Hurt, you mean? No, no, my boy—but I'vebeen had all the same.... Well, never mind.What with the Spaniard, and now the widow, Ishould say he'd soon find he'd got his 'handsfull.'"

"Oh, by all means. But can you tell me, Vindt,how he managed it? I'd give five bob to have heardhim in the act. Hermansen proposing...."

"Oh, that's easy enough. This is the style." Vindtbuttoned up his coat, put his stick under his arm andheld his hands behind his back.

"Honoured Madam, allow me to draw upon yourindulgence to the extent of craving your protection.I am not altogether a worthless document, have neverbefore been discounted for anyone's account, but havelain untouched as a sole bill of exchange in my portfolio.Having ascertained that you had establishedyourself here, I ventured, honoured Madam, to applyto you, with a view to learn how far you might bedisposed to open a joint account, free of all commission,to our mutual advantage."

"Bravo, Vindt! I'll take my oath it's the first timein his life he's ever done anything free of all commission—poordevil, I declare I'm almost sorry forhim myself."

They talked over the affair of the engagement forsome time, and Holm grew so thoroughly cheerfulafter a while that Vindt was convinced his heart wasnot involved.

"Holm, will you do me a favour?" Vindt judgedthat Holm was now in the best of tempers, and proposedto utilise the opportunity. He was anxious tolay hands on a couple of hundred pounds. It wasworth trying at any rate.

"Give me your signature on the back of a piece ofpaper, that's all. A couple of hundred."

"Why, yes. You see, I've had some experience ofbacking bills. Take a couple of instances out of many.You remember young Lieberg? Smart, well-got-upyoung fellow, with a taste for the good things of life,but a trifle thin in the wearing parts. I backed abill for him, and we were first-rate friends. At thefirst renewal I had to remind him, with all respect, ofthe paper's existence, and he was mortally offended—althoughI offered to lend him interest and payment.And in the end I had to pay up myself. Well, Ithought after that he'd look on me as his best friend.Whereas now, when I meet him in the street, he cutsme dead. That's what you get for it!

"Then there was Kautz, the shipowner. He wentbankrupt, as you know, and let me in for £800, but inspite of that I signed, and helped him to come to anarrangement. A very nice little piece of business itturned out for him, for the year after he was a richerman than he'd ever been before, and he gave a thunderingbig party, invited all the town—excepting me!"

"My dear Holm, if it ever should happen to me,I'd take care you were invited too."

"Very good of you, I'm sure. But I'll tell youanother little story. Consul Pram was a big man,with a big position, as you know, but a jovial soul,and easy to get on with. I've a liking for men of thatsort. Well, it was in 1875, when things were at theirworst all round, for shipping and trade and everythingelse we get our living by. I don't believe there was abusiness in the town that wasn't eternally worriedabout how things were to turn out.

"Then one day Pram came up to me. 'Puh,' saidhe, 'it's hot,' and sat down, puffing. It was midsummerand pretty warm.

"'You're right there,' said I, putting away mybalance-sheet. I'd just tacked £200 on to the valuationof the premises to make it come out.

"'Not for a nabob like you, surely,' said I, feelinga bit anxious all the same. There was a matter of£150 between us. And I'd no idea where to rake upany funds beyond.

"'I've lost courage altogether now. It's hopelessto keep going any longer in this place.'

"'But Lord save us, man,you mustn't go under.If you did, there'd be more than myself would haveto go too.'

"Only fancy me backing a bill for a man like Pramwhen I was barely hanging on by my eyelids myself.

"Well, it was then the wonderful thing happened.Just in the middle of the day, after Pram had gone,came a letter enclosing £150—anonymous! I'venever felt so glad in all my life, Vindt—it was like amessage from Providence telling me to keep up mypluck—and Consul Pram as well!

"That afternoon I went round to his office, andbacked a bill for £500. And next day Pram told me,laughingly, that he had got the bank to discount it,and Hermansen had said, 'Shouldn't have too muchto do with that Holm if I were you, Pram. Not first-ratepaper, really. But of course I'd take anythingwithyour name on!'

"Some time after I backed another bill for Pram,and helped him in various little ways, for the man wasalmost out of his senses with worry; I'm sure he'dhave gone smash if he'd been left to himself. I methis wife, too, about that time, with the boy. She isa woman of commanding presence, as you know, andhandsome, to look at, anyway. She gave me herhand most cordially, and said, 'My sincerest thanks,Mr. Holm, for all you have done for us.I shall never,never forget it.'

"Six months after, the trouble was over, and youngPram was getting up a sledge party, inviting all theyoung people in the town. Marie's name was on thelist. 'No, leave her out,' said his mother. 'He's quitea common person really, is that Holm.'

"And later, I understand, young Pram complainedto the bank manager that his father had had dealingssome time back with Knut G. Holm—bill transactions,but in future he would not hear of anything of the sort.

"The bank manager had good sense enough to answerthat there was hardly any danger now in having dealingswith Knut G. Holm!

"Well, my dear Vindt, you can see for yourselfthat all this doesn't incline one to further obligations.There are one or two honourable exceptions, of course,but as a general rule, I must say, gratitude is a delightfulquality, but forgetfulness is far more commonly metwith!

"Still, I've never said no to a friend. One mustrun the risk of losing both friend and money, and ifby some miracle both can be kept, why, so much thebetter. Now, where'syour bill?"

"Well, you see, he's a young man reading for theChurch, and consequently in need of cash. So I arguedit out like this: an old sinner like myself ought tokeep on good terms with the clergy; wherefore Iundertook to act as first signatory in the presentinstance, making myself responsible for the interest.Now I want you to sign as second, guaranteeing therepayments; in consideration of which, you mightreasonably demand the services of a priest, free ofcharge, at your third wedding."

When Vindt had left, Holm fell to pondering overvarious little circumstances that he had not particularlynoticed before. It occurred to him now, thatfor the last fortnight he had had a message fromMrs. Rantzau almost every day, asking him to comeand see her at nine o'clock precisely, on importantbusiness!

And, thinking over this, he called to mind that hehad on nearly every occasion encountered Hermansenat the same time. It could mean but one thing, shehad been using him to bring the banker up to thescratch. Well—much good might it do her! "She'llget a fine husband—oh, a remarkably fine husband,"muttered Holm to himself with a sly chuckle.

He walked over to the window and looked acrossat the bank. It seemed in some curious way to havegrown smaller; the great gilt letters, "BANK," abovethe entrance, were no longer impressive.

Strange, how quiet it was in the shop to-day! Nota sound but Garner counting over the cash, puttingthe ten-shilling notes in bundles of ten, and the smallsilver coins in paper rolls.

Garner laughed and showed his teeth. "He—he—no.Isn't he down at the quay, then? No, I don'tknow...."

Holm perceived that there was something in thewind, and refrained from further inquiries.

A little later the maid came in: would Mr. Holmplease come upstairs, there was a lady to see him.

It was Mrs. Rantzau. She was all in black andlooked very handsome indeed. Holm could not helpadmiring her magnificent figure, and thought tohimself that Hermansen certainly seemed to havemade a better bargain here than recently with theSpaniard.

"I dare say you are surprised to see me here now,"Mrs. Rantzau began. "But exceptional circumstances...."she flushed, and broke off in someconfusion.

"Heard the news, my dear lady. Congratulations!You've found an excellent husband, a thorough——"he checked himself, hesitating between complimentand sincerity.

"You know my past, Holm, and you will notwonder at my seeking a safe haven after my troubledlife—and I hope and believe he will never have reasonto regret."

"Indeed not, my dear lady; he's a very lucky manif you ask me. And at his age, too——"

"I don't think he's any older than yourself, Holm,"put in Mrs. Rantzau, with a smile.

"There was one thing more, Mr. Holm. Mydaughter's future is more to me even than my own,and it is chiefly on her account that I have come."

"Yes, itis a plot. First there's William turns ascontrary as a rusty lock, then they set Miss Trap onto me, and now it's you!"

"Well—I came to tell you that the two young peoplelove each other. Be good to them, Holm, and youwill make your son and my daughter happy together."

"Hermansen and I as a sort of—well, what shouldwe be? Can't be each other's half-uncles—twins-in-law.Bless my soul, it's really almost comical!"

"It's a serious matter to me, Holm. My child'sfuture...." There were tears in her eyes as she spoke.

"My dear lady, for Heaven's sake don't let's turnserious. I simply can't stand that sort of wedding-daysolemnity, weeping on one another's necks as ifit were a funeral. It simply comes to this: I'vebeen had. Well, the only thing to do is to put thebest face on it one can."

She held out her hand. "Thanks, Holm. Thanks.I can assure you I shall never forget all your kindness.You are a good man, Holm."

"Thanks for the unsolicited testimonial. Well, Idare say I might be worse. And when it comes togetting out one's final balance-sheet, it's as well tohave a little on the credit side here and there."

"Yes, he came round to see us, and walked backhere with me. I expect he's in the office now."

"Beg pardon, Mr. Holm," he began, then stoppedand stood looking from one to the other. "Er—h'm.Hopes I don't intrude?"

"The savings-bank book—she wants it back.And now there's nothing in it, for when I bought theship, d'you see...."

"Busy, eh? I see," said Bramsen, looking sidewaysat Mrs. Rantzau. And, lowering his voice, he whisperedslyly, "That's a fine one you've got there!" and retired.

"Bramsen," Holm called after him, "tell Williamto come up, will you? You'll find him in the office."

"Thank you, father," he said. "I didn't understandat first, but Miss Trap told me all about it.That you only wanted to try us——"

"Eh? Try you? Yes—yes, of course.... Yes,my son; it was—er—it was the only way I could seeto make a sensible man of you, and get that artisticnonsense out of your head. Good idea, don't youthink? Competition's a good thing all round—checksabnormal fluctuations of the market, you know."

"And now, William, you'd better go off and fetchBetty, I think," said Holm. "And we'll have a littleparty this evening. I hope you will come too!"

"Thank you so much, Mr. Holm; I hope I can.But I must just speak to Alfred first."

"Oh yes, yes, of course. I really didn't know hehad a Christian name—he's always been just BankerHermansen."

Holm came down into the shop, muttering to himself,"Alfred—Alfred...." until he had to go into hisinner office where he could laugh unobserved. Of allthe extraordinary things....

He thought of Bianca in the old days, and called tomind the "Carnival of Venice," the little supper atPfortes—and in the midst of it all loomed the stiff,upright figure and solemn, clean-shaven face of BankerHermansen.

He had never dreamed of such a marvel, still lessexpected to meet with it as a reality.

That same afternoon came a card from Hermansen:would be glad if Mr. Holm could find time to comeround some time during the day—a private matter."And if you would not mind coming in by the sidedoor, you will find me alone in the office."

Holm had once before been invited to call upon thebanker "privately"—in 1879, when he had beencalled upon to show his balance-sheet.

The mere thought of it gave him cold shivers evennow. A devilish business! And the nasty mean wayall his valuations were cut down....

He went in by the side entrance, and noticed howempty and deserted the place looked. The longcounter and all the green-covered desks stood as ifyawning wearily in the afternoon sun. It was almostuncanny to find everything so quiet.

The banker did not seem to notice his entry at first,but sat intent upon some papers at the big oak table.

He broke off, uncertain how to proceed. The twoancient antagonists exchanged glances.

For the first time in his life Holm felt himself masterof the situation towards Hermansen; this time it wasthe banker himself who had to show his balance.

But Holm ignored the opening. "No, no, myfriend," he thought to himself, "you can play yourmiserable hand alone,I'm not going to help you out."

"I have committed the indiscretion of—er—becomingengaged," said the banker, with a faint smile.

There was a pause, the banker evidently waiting forHolm, with his customary fluency, to break the ice.Here, however, he was disappointed; Holm merelyset his teeth and fell to polishing his silk hat on onesleeve. The banker tried again.

"Mrs. Rantzau, my fiancée, has informed me thatwe shall be—er—in a sort of way related." He smiledinvitingly, and thought: he must come round after that.

Holm was a little in doubt how best to proceed now;he was not averse to prolonging the other's awkwardness.

"Highly honoured, I'm sure. Yes, my son hasbeen so fortunate as to gain the hand of—er—yourfiancée's daughter. A charming young lady, charming.Takes after her mother." He checked himself; hehad said more than he wished.

The banker shifted some books on the table, thensuddenly he slipped up to Holm, laid one hand on hisshoulder and said:

"We haven't always got on as well as we mighttogether, Holm; circumstances have sometimes beenagainst our friendly co-operation; but don't youthink, now, we might forget all that and try to starton a more friendly footing? We're both old enoughnow to be glad of peace and amity, and our new relationsought to bring us closer together—what do you say?"

Holm was quite taken aback; he had never seenthe banker in this mood before; the man was positivelygetting sentimental. He had unbuttoned his coat, andhis voice was quite gentle.

"It shan't be my fault if we don't, Hermansen.I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Time cures allsorrows—patches up a doubtful balance-sheet, as youmight say——"

"Well, well, it might have been worse—as theauditor said. You're in luck's way, though, Hermansen.I've had the honour of some slight acquaintancewith your fiancée in former days."

"Oh, it was some years ago—we met at the houseof some mutual friends—abroad. A noble woman,Hermansen, a woman of splendid character."

"One might almost think you'd been my competitorthere, Holm, what?" said the banker, with a laugh.

"Why, I won't say but I might have been inclined....But the lady—er—showed better taste, worseluck," answered Holm, with a bow.

"Thanks for the compliment! You're quite a diplomatist,Holm—I haven't seen you in that rôle before."

Holm put his head on one side and looked at thebanker with a quizzical expression.

"Ah, yes—you had me there, I'm afraid. Veryneatly done, though, very neat. There'll be a nicelittle profit on the repairs, I'm sure—but it's all in thefamily now."

The conversation was becoming more genial in tone,and when the cigars were lit the two old antagonistswere chatting away like the best of friends.

Holm invited the banker to a "little family party"the same evening, to celebrate the double event. Hermansenaccepted with thanks, and the pair separatedwith a cordial shake of the hand.

Holm walked back to the office with his hat at amore than usually rakish angle, as was his way whenin high spirits. He swung his stick cheerfully, andfelt a comforting sense of superiority in all directions.There was no one to oppose him now.

"Hello, you're looking unusually perky to-day!What's it all about?" This was from Vindt, who wassure to be quick on the scent of anything new.

"I've just come from my so-called brother-in-law,Hermansen, that's all, my boy."

"Well, I'm quite satisfied with him myself. And—er—h'm—he'llbe my boy's father-in-law too, youknow, in a way."

Vindt stood a moment sniffing at the stump of hiscigar, then, thrusting one finger into the buttonhole ofHolm's coat, he said solemnly:

"Mrs. Emilie Rantzau anddaughter: Knut G. Holmand son and Banker Hermansen, Knight of the Orderof Vasa, etcetera. H'm. That's the worst of thesecheap smokes; they stick when you've got half-way.So long, old stick-in-the-mud!"

"Queer old stick," said Holm to himself as the otherwalked away. "Getting quite crabby of late. Buthe ought to have married himself long ago."

X
THE SHIP COMES HOME

It was Sunday. Bramsen and Andrine had hada settling up, the day before, of various mattersoutstanding, and the savings-bank book hadbeen handed over, with its "Cr. balance 19s. 6½d."—beingall that remained from the interregnum periodof Bramsen's term of office as Chancellor of the Exchequer.

"The money—why—the money—h'm...." Andin his embarrassment he looked appealingly at Amanda,who nudged him encouragingly in the ribs andwhispered:

"Why, you see, Andrine, it's like this. When youhanded over charge of all this worldly mammon,that's naught but vanity and vexation of spirits andso on, and a clog upon the soul...."

"Oh, leave out all that and say what you've done withthe money." Andrine was quivering with impatience.

"Heavens! Fool that I was not to have knownwhat you'd be up to. And now here we are as pennilessas Adam and Eve."

Andrine held her apron to her eyes, weeping "bucketsand hosepipes" as Bramsen later put it to Holm.

Bramsen and Amanda were alarmed at the way shetook it, and endeavoured to console her as best theycould. Neither said a word as yet about Amanda'sengagement; it was plain that to mention it nowwould bring on a seizure at least.

"Well, now, to tell the truth, Andrine, I'd neverhave thought it of you myself, to take up with thelike of that nonsense. But seeing we've got you backagain now, safe and sound, why, best say no moreabout it."

"Why, you see, it was mostly because of Carljohan...."Bramsen in his eagerness had said toomuch, and Amanda judged it best to disappear intothe kitchen for a while.

"Amanda! That child! And you let them!"Andrine drew herself up impressively, and Bramsencowered.

"Don't you forget, Andrine," he said, "we weren'tso very old, you and I, when we got spliced together;and he's a first-rate lad. There isn't a knot or a twisthe doesn't know, and you should see him up aloft—acat's not in it. And wrestling too—mark my words,he'll make his way in the world, and I'm sorry for theman that comes athwart him."

"Oh yes, you can talk! But seems to me you'vebeen doing your best to ruin us all while I've beenaway."

"We're not ruined yet, my girl, nor likely to be, Ihope. Just wait and see." And Bramsen patted hiswife on the cheek.

Andrine calmed down after a while, and whenAmanda came in with steaming coffee and hot cakes,the three sat down in peace and amity, and were soondiscussing the excellent qualities of Carljohan and theship.

"It's been pretty rough these last few days—we'llsoon see what she's good for," said Bramsen, thinkingof the ship.

And so, on Sunday morning, behold the three ofthem walking down to church; neither Bramsen norAmanda thought of playing truant to-day, so thankfulwere they to feel that Andrine had "come round"and all was well.

And Bramsen was, to tell the truth, relieved to havegot it over. With the bank-book once more in Andrine'scare, he felt the responsibility lifted from his shoulders.The reins of government were once more in Andrine'shands, and he had his ten shillings extra per monthunbeknown to her as before.

Amanda had always chosen their place in churchup in the gallery close to the pulpit. From hereone could see the parson turning the leaves of hissermon, and so calculate roughly how far he wasfrom the end. Furthermore, there was the loveliestview over the harbour and the fjord through one ofthe big windows.

There had been a number of wrecks during therecent gales, and Amanda could not keep her thoughtsfrom Carljohan and his ship. The voice of the parson,and the singing rang in her ears like the rush of waters;she sat staring blankly at her hymn-book, open atNo. 106, though there had been three since that.

Once or twice she woke, to hear her father's voicetrailing behind the rest in a hymn, sounding all throughthe church, till people turned to look. Amandaflushed with embarrassment, but Bramsen went onall unconscious, plodding through each verse in hisown time, regardless of the rest.

But always she fell back upon her own thoughts,of the ship and Carljohan; it was a wonder to herhow Mother Christiansen, whose husband was also onboard, could sit there so calmly, as if there was nothingto fear. And she with all those children to think of!

The sermon now—but Carljohan was out on theNorth Sea and terrible weather. Great seas breakingover the bows, till the fo'c'stle was almost hidden.

And up in the rigging was Carljohan shorteningsail—oh, how the vessel pitched and rolled, till theyards almost touched the water.

If he should lose his hold—if he should be sweptaway—Amanda gasped at the thought, and clutchedher father's hand.

Amanda could not sing a note; she was certainnow that something had happened to Carljohan. Hertears flowed in streams, and she was hard put to itto hide them behind handkerchief and book.

She could hear Mother Christiansen's cracked voicejust behind, and tried in vain to join in herself.

Already she glanced out of the big window beyondthe choir. On the farther side of the harbour lay avessel at anchor.

But—it had not been there before! Surely ... yes,it was a vessel just in—its flag still flying!—Heavens,it was theErik!

She stood up to make sure. Yes, it was she. Itwas she! There was the big white figure-head—therewas no mistake.

And Amanda joined in the singing with her masterfulvoice, till those near at hand looked at her in wonder.Bramsen himself stopped singing for a moment tolisten. Then he took up the verse again and sang onbravely as before.

XI
THE CONCERT

There was to be an evening concert at theAssembly Rooms. The local papers for theprevious day had leading articles about "HansMartinsen, the boy musician who has been studyingin Christiania, and is now appearing for the first timein public in his native town. Critics from all quartersare unanimously agreed as to his remarkable talent, andalready prophesy a brilliant future, though his powers,at this early stage, have naturally not yet attainedtheir full development. It is to be hoped that themusic-loving section of our community will be numerouslyrepresented, that the promising young artist mayreceive the support and encouragement he deserves."

The fine hall was splendidly illuminated. Thegreat windows fronting the street shed a glow oflight over the crowd of staring idlers outside.

Malla Trap crossed the road, making towards theentrance, but meeting a group of young girls whowere admiring the illuminations, she stopped to speakto them.

"No—o," answered one or two regretfully, curtsyingas they spoke. They knew Miss Trap as a sisterat the poor school, which most of them had attended.

Across the bridge came Hans Martinsen, with hismother. On reaching the entrance he had to stopand look round, everyone was nodding and waving tohim in kindly greeting.

"Good-day, Hans!" came in a fresh young voicebehind him. He turned, and saw a girl smiling andnodding. "I'm coming in to hear you play." Andshe waved a big yellow ticket.

"Thanks, I will. Oh, but Hans"—she came closeto him and whispered—"Dear Hans,do play 'TheLittle Fisher-Maid' to please me—will you?"

"Oh, of course you can. Why, you played ithundreds of times at old Clemmetsen's."

The great hall was filled to overflowing. All themusical element was present as a matter of course,and in addition a number of those who never wentto concerts as a rule, as for instance the Mayor andBroker Vindt, who took seats at the back. Up in thegallery were a number of Hans' old schoolfellows,all greatly excited at the event.

Suddenly the buzz of talk was hushed, and all eyeswere turned towards a group coming up the centreof the hall.

It was Banker Hermansen, still and solemn, withMrs. Rantzau, fresh and smiling, at his side. Behindthem walked William Holm and Miss Rantzau,evidently somewhat embarrassed by the generalscrutiny.

Holm senior, who was also one of the party, laggedbehind a little, stopping to exchange a word with theMayor and his friend.

Mrs. Rantzau found her place in one of the upperrows, and stood looking down for Holm, beckoningwith a smile when she caught his eye. She let hergaze wander over the assembly, and something likea murmur of applause went up. Mrs. Rantzau wasundeniably a splendid woman, and was at her bestthat evening.

"Get along up to the front with you, old fossil,"said Vindt, with a friendly nudge, and Holm walkedup, nodding genially to acquaintances all round.

"Fine figure of a woman, what?" whispered theMayor, glancing towards Mrs. Rantzau.

"H'm," said Vindt. "Handsome enough to lookat, but a bit of a handful to look after, if you ask me.Like the cakes in a cookshop window—I like 'em, butthey don't agree with me!"

There was silence in the hall as the first notes rangout. All were watching the young performer; alittle anxiously perhaps, as if in fear lest he shouldbreak down. And all felt that in some degree thehonour of the town was here at stake, for the boy wasone of their own.

But the little figure at the piano sat calm and freefrom nervousness; he was in another world, where hefelt himself at home. The watching eyes and listeningears did not trouble him; he seemed gazing inwardlyat a starry sky far above them all.

The music swelled and sank, now wild and furiousas the north-east wind raging over the rocky coast inautumn, then gentle as the evening breeze of a summer'sday.

Eyes glistened now with fervour, hearts beatproudly. All present seemed to share in his happiness,to have some part in the triumph of hisgenius.

"Bravo, Hans!" came a deep voice from thegallery. All turned to see who had spoken. Ah,there—it was Bramsen, standing up with both handsoutstretched and clapping thunderously.

Amanda flushed with embarrassment, and nudgedher father to make him stop. But he snapped outimpatiently, "You leave me alone!" and went onclapping.

Among the numerous extras was a "Ballad themewith variations," which the more exacting critics consideredsomewhat out of place. One there was, however,who thought otherwise, and that was Amanda.The soft, swaying rhythm of "The Little Fisher-Maid"filled her with delight, and she clapped as enthusiasticallyas her father had done.

"Father, I think I've learned something from thatconcert this evening," said William, as they walkedhome.

"Why, that genius is like pure gold; if Naturehasn't put it there it's no use trying to make it."

"You're right, my son. And sensible people don'ttry. It's no good setting up to do the work of yourCreator. What do you say, Banker?"

"Eh, what's that?" Hermansen was walking armin arm with Mrs. Rantzau, and the pair of them wereevidently oblivious of all but each other.

"Errors and omissions excepted," answered thebanker, and he pressed his fiancée's hand long andtenderly.

XII
OLD NICK

The speaker was an awkward-looking lad,acting as postman in Strandvik for thefirst time.

"No, you muddlehead." Old Lawyer Nickelsenheld out his hand for the letters. "This is wherePeder, comma, N. Nickelsen, full stop, lives. And anice lot of louts they've got going around, that can'tlearn to call folk by their proper names!"

Thor Smith, the magistrate's clerk, was of the sameopinion, but liked a touch of honest dialect occasionally;he was not unwilling on occasion to contradict Old Nick.

"Honest dialect, indeed! Rank impertinence, Icall it! But wait a bit, young fellow; in a few years'time you'll be wishing these understrappers at theNorth Pole, or some other cool place."

The two men filled their pipes, and took up theirposition on the veranda of Lawyer Nickelsen's house,continuing their discussion as to the merits of naturalsimplicity, concerning which they held diametricallyopposite views.

The lawyer was a bachelor of sixty-seven, and keptwhat he called a home for young men of decent behaviourand tolerable manners. In particular he had,ever since he first came to the place forty-three yearsearlier, kept open house for the magistrate's clerkssuccessively, taking them under his paternal care andprotection from their first entering on their duties inthe town.

Smith and Nickelsen sat on the veranda, but somehowthe discussion fell curiously flat. Smith wasunusually absent and uncommunicative, to such adegree that Nickelsen at last asked him point blankwhat was the matter.

"Oh, nothing. H'm. I say, Nickelsen, thatfellow Prois—he's an intolerable old curmudgeon."

Smith stepped aside, and scraped out the tobaccofrom the pipe he had just filled, but Old Nick's searchingglance perceived that he had flushed up to theroots of his hair.

"My dear Smith, I agree with you that Tulla Proisis a charming girl. A pity, though, they couldn't findanother name to give her. They were making songsabout it last winter."

"Oh, don't drag in that silly stuff, Nickelsen, forHeaven's sake. I can't see anything funny in itmyself."

Old Nick laid down his pipe and put on his glasses,and sat watching the other with an expression onlyhalf serious. He found himself hard put to it not tolaugh. At last, finding nothing more suitable to say,he ventured in a tone of unnatural innocence: "Smith,what do you say to a drink?"

Old Nick was irresistible. Smith could not helplaughing himself. "Oh, you incorrigible old joker,"he said, giving the other a dig in the ribs.

The ice once broken, and under the influence of aglass of good Madeira—Old Nick invariably had "somethingspecial" in that line—Smith opened his heart,and revealed Tulla Prois in the leading rôle of Angel,etcetera, Papa Prois being cast for the part of hard-heartedfather, or "intolerable old curmudgeon"—whichamounted to much the same thing.

"I met him yesterday, just come back fromChristiania, with a whole armful of parcels he couldhardly carry. I went up as politely as could be, andoffered to lend a hand, and what d'you think he said?"

"Shouted out at the top of his voice so all the streetcould hear him, 'No, I'm damned if you do!' Nicesort of father-in-law that, eh?"

"There's a dance on at the Seamen's Union to-morrow,Smith. You're going, I suppose?"

Smith brightened up at once. "Yes, of course, wemust go; you must come along too, Nickelsen. But—but—isn'told Prois chairman of the committee?"

"Quite so—and for that very reason all the morechance of your meeting your—young lady, I was goingto say."

"Me? Go to a dance, with my gout and all?Well, I don't know, perhaps I might. Get myself upspick and span, and have my corns cut specially forthe occasion—I might pass in a crowd, what?"

The dance took place, and on the following dayOld Nick sat pondering and trying to remember whathad happened after twelve o'clock, his memory beingsomewhat defective.

No—it was no good. He could not remember athing. He had a vague recollection of talking toTulla Prois, and saying a whole lot of extravagantlyaffectionate things, but beyond that all was confusion.

"Only hope I didn't make a scene, that's all. H'm—Puh—weaknessof mine—infernal nuisance. AndI don't seem to get any better—oh, well, what's theodds after all!"

The final note of resignation in his monologuerevived his inexhaustible natural good spirits, and witha contented smile he sat down to indite the followingletter to Smith, who was, he knew, in court that day:

Old Martha, Nickelsen's housekeeper, shuffled alongto the court-house, with strict injunctions to bring backan answer, and returned half an hour later with ascrap of paper from Smith, on which were scribbledthe following lines in pencil:

Old Nick sat quietly for a moment, then burst outlaughing, and went out into the garden to hoist theflag, by way of celebrating—well, had anyone askedhim, he would probably have answered "the morningafter the night before."

It was nothing unusual, however, for Old Nick tohoist his flag, especially of late, since SchoolmasterPedersen opposite had taken to hoisting "cleancolours."[1] The first time Old Nick saw this, he atonce ordered a huge white sheet with the Union markin one corner. And every time the "clean colours"were hoisted, up went Old Nick's as well, and his flagbeing of uncommon dimensions, hid from the seawardside not only the opposition flag, but a good deal ofthe schoolmaster's house as well.

At dinner that evening Old Nick did his utmost tomake things cheerful, but in vain; Smith was miserable,and miserable he remained.

"Yes, my boy, and seriously, too. I'll tell youwhat happened to me one time at Kongsberg thatway. I was clerk to old Lawyer Albrektsen, andlived a gay bachelor life up there. The local chemistwas a man named Walter, and had four daughters, oneprettier than the others; but the eldest but one wasa perfect picture of a girl, bright and cheery, and witha pink-and-white complexion, you never saw. Enoughto turn the head of any son of Adam, I assure you.We went for walks and danced together, and werereally fond of each other; in a word, the double barrelof our hearts was just on the point of going off—whenan event occurred which severed once and for all thetender bonds that were about to unite Petrea Walterand yours truly.

"It was my birthday, the twentieth November, asyou know, and I had a few friends coming round inthe evening, as usual, to celebrate the occasion. Thepunch was made in the old style, with Armagnac andacid. Well, we got more and more lively as theevening went on, and one bowl after another wasemptied. And then came the disaster; we ran outof acid. Punch without acid was not to be thoughtof—and there were no such things as lemons in thosedays. Well, the fellows all voted for going round tothe chemist's and ringing him up for more. I triedall I knew to keep them from it, but they couldn'thear a word, and at last off we all went to MasterWalter's.

"We lowered down all the oil lamps in the streeton our way—this incidentally, as illustrating the distressinglylow degree of civilisation in Kongsberg inthose days.

"When we got to the place, the first floor was allin darkness. There she lay asleep, up there, mybeloved Petrea! All dark and silent everywhere,only a faint gleam from the lamp in the shop belowshone out into the street. I begged my friends tokeep quiet, while I tried as softly as could be to wakeup the man in charge. But alas, fate willed it otherwise.Carl Henrik, my old friend, was by way ofbeing a poet, and never lost a chance of improvisingsomething. He stood up on the steps 'to make aspeech,' but just as he was going to begin, the dooropened, and there was old Walter himself in dressing-gownand slippers, with a candle in his hand. CarlHenrik made an elegant bow, and reeled off at once:

"I dragged Carl Henrik down from the steps, andwent myself, hat in hand, and begged his pardon; saidwe were awfully sorry, we thought it was the assistanton duty. 'Well, and what then—is anyone ill?''Why, no, sir, I'm glad to say, but it's my birthdayto-day, that's all.'—'Yesterday, you mean,' roars outCarl Henrik from below.—'It's my birthday, and Ionly wanted to ask if you'd let us have a little acidfor the punch.'

"'I'll give you punch,' said the old man, and landedout at me, sending me headlong down the steps intothe arms of the poet; Carl Henrik urging me to bearup bravely against what he called the blows of fate.

"I met Petrea out next day, but the moment shecaught sight of me she slipped across the street intothe flower shop opposite. I waited outside a fullhour, but no sight of Petrea—she must have goneout the back way so as not to meet me. Well, thatwas the end of the first Punic war, my dear Smith,and I left Kongsberg with a wounded heart—thoughI'm bound to say it healed up again all right prettysoon."

Smith had brightened up considerably by now, but,try as he would, he could not admit that Old Nick'sexperience as related was analogous to the presentsituation.

"I tell you, Nickelsen, this is a serious affair; as amatter of fact, we're—we're secretly engaged, Tullaand I."

"Uf!" said Old Nick; he had nearly broken the neckof a bottle of old Pontet Canet he was opening. OldNick drank a glass, sniffed at the wine, put on a seriousair and said solemnly:

"What do you think I ought to do? Go up andbeg old Prois's pardon?" asked Smith.

Old Nick sat for quite a while thinking deeply,holding the Pontet Canet up to the light. "H'm—h'm."Then suddenly he jumped up, and slappedSmith on the back with a serviette.

"We can save the situation. I've got an idea.We'll get up a public banquet for old Prois. Yes,that's what I say. And we'll send out the invitationsourselves—you and I."

"But, my dear man, you can't give a public banquetwithout some sort of pretext, and what are we totell people it's for? Old Prois he's warden of thePilot's Guild, but he hasn't done anything notablein the town, that I'm aware of, up to now."

"Oh, we must find something or other. Let mesee—he's on the Health Committee—no, that won't do."

"He lent a flag to the committee for the ConstitutionDay festivities," said Smith sarcastically.

"No, that's not enough. But wait a bit. Hemust have been on the Rates Committee twenty-fiveyears now—yes, of course. That's the very thing.I'll be chairman, you can be secretary. Dinner atNaes's Hotel on Saturday next—make it a Saturday,so folk can have Sunday to sleep it off after."

"A hoax!" said Old Nick. "Well, so it is in a way,but nobody'll know except you and me. All theothers will take it up as easy as winking. Only givethem a decent dinner, man, and they'll be readyenough, all the lot of them; there's always room for abit of a spread of that sort, and we've had nothingnow for quite a while. No, all we've got to do nowis to get out the invitations first of all. Hand me thepen and ink over there."

As soon as Old Nick had finished the draft, a heateddiscussion took place as to the price to be fixed perhead. Smith was of opinion that four shillings andthree courses was too little, and would appear meanto the guest of honour. To this Old Nick retortedthat they could not well go higher than four shillingsif they were to get the "rank and file" to comeat all—this category including such personages asPettersen the watch-maker, Blomberg the tailor, andother esteemed fellow-citizens, who would gladlyshare in the honour, but were forced to consider thelimitations of their purse.

Smith also objected to the word "committee"under the invitations. "We're not a committee,"he urged.

"Aren't we, though," said Old Nick. "You andI—that's committee enough for anything. Andbesides, it's the proper thing on these occasions,makes it look more official like." And so it was agreed.

Old Nick then set out on a round to gather inrecruits for the banquet. First of all the parson andthe doctor must be got hold of; these two agreed atonce without any difficulty, being comparatively newarrivals in the place, and taking Lawyer Nickelsen'srecommendation as sufficient.

Next came Halvor Berg, the biggest shipowner inthe town, and known to all as a cautious and particularman, much sought after by the natives in all mattersrequiring assistance and advice. He was thus aninfluential man, and it was important to get him tosubscribe, for the first thing people would ask wassure to be, whether Halvor Berg was coming.

Old Nick and Halvor Berg were good friends, so thereception in this case was good enough. They chattedcomfortably for a while, more especially about Berg'sboats, theSeaflower,Ceres, and so on, until Old Nicksuddenly produced his list. "Oh, by the way, Iwant your name to this, Halvor. I ought by right tohave taken it round to the old magistrate first, he'swaiting for it, but it won't matter if you sign nowwhile I'm here."

"Sign?" said Halvor Berg, and proceeded to studythe document with great earnestness. Old Nickoccupied himself meantime in surreptitiously settingthe pointer of Halvor Berg's barometer down tohurricane level.

At last, having ploughed his way conscientiouslythrough the invitation, Berg looked up, with a searchingglance at Old Nick, who faced him without movinga muscle.

"H'm. H'mmm—look here, you know, Nickelsen,don't you think we could find some one else to givea banquet for instead of Prois?"

"Well, no, I can't see that we could. I don't knowanyone else that's been on the Rates Committee fortwenty-five years."

"He'd have been more use to the place if he hadn'tbeen on it at all," grumbled the other.

"Oh, well, if you don't feel inclined to join withthe leading people in the town on such an occasion,why...." Old Nick began folding up the list, butvery slowly.

"Of course I'll come in—only I can't see what he'sdone to deserve it, hang me if I can."

"Look here, Halvor Berg, you can surely understandthat when the parson, the doctor and myself goin for a thing like this, we've some reason for it."

And he wrote with big, sprawling letters "H. Berg,"at the same time inquiring whether an after-dinnertoddy was included in the four shillings.

On leaving Halvor Berg's, Old Nick regarded thematter as settled; when this cautious old card hadput his name, the rest of them would soon followafter.

Sukkestad, the dealer, was inclined to hesitate, andcould not make out what Prois had really done either,but since Halvor Berg was in it, why, he might as wellput down his four shillings too.

Apothecary Peters, who had only been a week inthe place, was most grateful for the honour done himin inviting him to be present, and insisted on payingdown his four shillings on the spot—at which Old Nickwas incautious enough to remark that it was not wiseto skin your beast before you'd killed him—Old Proisbeing the beast.

The rest followed as one man, and by the eveningthe list counted over sixty names, from all classes ofsociety. Even old Klementsen, who had been parishclerk for fifty years, without getting so much as a silverspoon for his trouble, set down his name with a smile,albeit with an inward gnashing of teeth.

Thor Smith sat up in the magistrate's office, sweatingover a taxation case. In the inner office was the oldmagistrate himself, with his wig awry, smoking hiscoarse-cut tobacco.

"Filthy hole of a place this is," soliloquised Smith."Hang me if it isn't enough to make a man weep. Iwonder how Old Nick's getting on with that list now?Oh, it's no good, I know; things never do go right."He glanced out of the window and up along the street,in case Old Nick might be coming along.

But—what on earth—a green tartan frock, and atoque with a white feather—she herself! He placedhimself in the window, as if by accident—aha, shecatches sight of him. And such a blush—and thenshe looks down. Won't she look up again? Yes,just once.

A smile of understanding, and she hurries away, asif from some deed of guilt. Thor Smith flattened hisnose against the pane, staring after her as long as hecould still see a thread of the green skirt, and for sometime after.

He was awakened from his reverie by the magistratehimself, who came up behind and looked over hisshoulder inquisitively.

"Oh, only those two funny old women over in thewoollen shop; I never saw such queer things as theyare."

"Nothing to look at in them that I can see," saidthe magistrate, who was by no means a woman-hater.And, taking his hat and stick, he bustled out.

A moment later Old Nick entered, flushed and outof breath. "Old man in?"—"No."—"Good!" Heflung himself down in a chair and handed the listacross to Smith.

"Puh! Devil take it, but this is hard work. Andall for you and your lady-love. You don't deserveit."

Smith took the list and began counting the names."Seventy-two—why, that's splendid, Nickelsen; you'rea trump."

"Yes; don't you think I deserve a medal for it,what? Oh, by the way, though, we must hurry upand get hold of Prois himself now, or we'll have somebodyelse telling him all about it beforehand."

The esteemed fellow-citizen was busy down at thewaterside, with a big pile-driver repairing the landing-stage.The men hauled at the ropes, while he stoodby, calling the time in approved sing-song: "And oneohoy, and two ohoy, and three...." he stopped shortat sight of Smith and Nickelsen approaching. Helooked by no means pleased as he handed over commandto Pilot Iversen, and told him to carry on with thepile-driving.

Tulla Prois was in the kitchen, making fish-balls;but on seeing the three men enter in solemn procession,she ran off in a fright to the attic, hid herselfin a corner and burst out crying violently; evidentlythe matter was to be decided now once and for all."Oh, it's mean of Thor," she murmured. "Whycouldn't he wait till father was in a better temper?"

Meanwhile, Old Prois was wondering what on earththe two men could want with him.

He did not even glance at Smith, but when theygot inside, invited them both to sit down.

Old Nick settled himself on a big birchwood sofa,with soft springs, into which he sank about half a footdeep. Above the sofa hung a picture of the "Cupid"(Captain Prois), with the port of Hull in the background,and all the seamen wearing stovepipe hats.

Old Nick cleared his throat a little, and started offwith his introduction, pointing out the meritoriouswork of his host on the committee during the "considerablespan of years" which he had devoted to theservice of the community.

At last, thinking he had sufficiently stimulated theother's curiosity, Old Nick came to the point:

"Consequently, and, I should add, chiefly at theinstigation of my friend Smith, as secretary of thesaid committee, our fellow-citizens have empoweredus to request the honour of your presence, my dearWarden, at a ceremonial banquet, to take place onSaturday next at 4 p.m., where we may hope to—er—findsome suitable expression for our feelings—er, h'm—ourappreciation of the fact that you have been fortwenty-five years so closely associated with this important—thismost important of our local institutions."

Old Prois flushed slightly, tried to look unmoved,coughed, and finally requested the pair to "take aseat"—which they had already taken—and thenrushed out into the passage calling in a voice ofthunder for "Tulla, Tulla!" Then out to the kitchen,to send the maid to find her.

Meantime Old Nick sat stuffing an embroideredantimacassar into his mouth, laughing till thecushioned sofa and the picture above shook in dismay.He made faces at Smith, who, however, was not inthe mood to appreciate the humour of the situation,which fact seemed further to increase Old Nick'samusement.

At last came a voice outside—"Where the deucehave you been, child? Hurry up and bring in somecakes and wine at once." Old Nick threw the antimacassarunder the sofa, and his face resumed itsmost serious expression.

"Excuse my running off a moment, gentlemen, butI—er—you must allow me to offer you a glass of wine,with my best thanks for the invitation. I—er—really,it's too good of you, I must say. I'm sure I haven'tdone anything special for the place, but—well, sincemy esteemed fellow-citizens are good enough to thinkso, why...."

"I'm sure, Warden, your work has been mostarduous and most valuable," said Smith, "and assecretary myself, you must allow me to judge." Hespoke with some warmth, hearing Tulla approachingwith the wine—and indeed the girl was tremblingto such a degree that the glasses rang like a peal ofbells.

Smith greeted her somewhat bashfully as she entered,but Old Nick chucked her under the chin in hissuperior paternal manner, and asked how she had goton at the dance. Thor Smith nudged his friendsurreptitiouslyas a sign to him that the subject was onebetter left alone.

Old Prois poured out the wine, expressing histhanks for the honour anew, and drank a glass in thekindliest manner with Smith, the latter flushing withpleasure. Tulla stood over by the piano, intentlyoccupied in putting her music in order, and wonderingwhat on earth it all meant.

Old Nick was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing,under cover of which he managed to empty his glassof Muscatel into a flower-pot by the window. Then,catching sight of a hen crossing the courtyard, hedeveloped an enthusiastic interest in Black Minorcasand White Leghorns. Prois, it should be mentioned,was a keen fowl-fancier, and had a whole collection ofprize medals from various exhibitions, of which he wasparticularly proud.

Naturally enough, then, Old Nick had to be shownthe fowl-runs, though until that date his fondness forthe tribe had been exclusively confined to the table.He and his host accordingly went out together.

This left Thor Smith and his Tulla alone, blessingthe Black Minorcas and the White Leghorns impartially,and not forgetting Old Nick; while for the rest,they utilised the opportunity just as other sensibleyoung people in love would, to wit, by settling downin the big sofa and exchanging kisses under the"Cupid," while the men down at the landing-stagechanted their "one ahoy, and two ahoy, and three...."The pile-driver had got to sixteen when theyheard Old Nick's voice outside: "Yes, those white-cheekedLeghorns are splendid, really splendid."

The Banquet was a magnificent success; ThorSmith's speech for the guest of honour's family beingparticularly notable for the warmth and earnestnesswith which it was delivered.

Dessert and the half-bottle of sherry having beendisposed of, the general feeling, which had been somewhatdull at first, grew more jovial, and speeches werenumerous. The coffee and liqueurs brought thediners to the stage of embraces and assurances ofmutual affection. Even Rod and Hansen, the twoshipbrokers, who in the ordinary way hated oneanother cordially whenever one closed a charter morethan the other, might be seen drinking together, andassuring all concerned that never were business competitorson friendlier terms. Here's luck, Rod, andCheer-oh, Hansen!

Smith and Warden Prois became quite friendly,not to say intimate, in the course of the evening;they sat a little apart, in animated discussion of somethingor other, but apparently on the best of terms.And they finished up towards morning by drinkingeternal brotherhood and embracing eachother.

The guest of honour was escorted to his home bysuch members of the party as were still able to keeptheir feet; and Old Nick, in a farewell speech, expressedthe wish that he, the Warden, might longretain the memory of that evening in his head, whichcharitable sentiment was greeted with delightedapplause.

A week after that memorable occasion Thor Smithwent round to the Warden's, and presented himselfin due form as a suitor for the hand of Miss Tulla.

He had previously arranged with Old Nick, whomhe had visited on the way down, that if all went ashe wished, and the matter was settled at once, he wouldwave a handkerchief from the garden steps, so thatNickelsen, on the look-out at his corner window, wouldsee, with a glass, the result of the suit.

Scarcely had Old Nick arrived at his post, glass inhand, when lo, not one, but two handkerchiefs wavedfrom the Warden's garden.

He walked up and down the room, rubbing his handsin keen gratification, but turned suddenly serious, andmurmured to himself: "Ay, they're the lucky ones,that don't have to go through life alone. Well, thankHeaven, I've never been given to grieving over thingsmyself, and that's a blessing, anyhow." He lit acigar, and the passing cloud was wafted away as usualby his inherent good humour.

"Oh, I can't wait any longer; I must go round andbe the first to offer congratulations." And off wentOld Nick, hurrying down the street to the Warden's.

XIII
CILIA

"The one who eats most porridge, gets mostmeat," said Cilia Braaten, ladling out alarge second helping for Abrahamsen, themate, who innocently accepted.

"No more for me, thanks," said Soren Braaten.He knew his wife's economical trick of getting herguests to eat so much of the first course that they hadlittle cargo space left for the second.

Cilia Braaten was a woman who could hold her own,and was regarded as one of the cleverest shipownerson the fjord, closing charters herself, with or withouta broker.

Soren Braaten, her husband, was hardly ever referredto at all, his wife having charge of everything thatmattered, including the chartering of the two vesselsBirkebeineren andApollo—and Heaven help Soren ifhe failed to obey orders and sail as instructed byMadam Cilia.

Soren was a kindly and genial soul, who would nothurt a fly as long as he was left to sail hisBirkebeinerenin peace. True, he would grumble once in a while,when his wife seemed more than usually unreasonable,and throw out hints that he knew what he was about,and could manage things by himself.

"Manage, indeed. A nice sort of managing it wouldbe! What about that time when you fixedBirkebeinerenfor a cargo of coals to the Limfjord, where there'sonly ten foot of water, and she draws nineteen? If Ihadn't come and got you out of it, you'd have beenstranded there now." And Cilia threw a glance ofindignant superiority at Soren. The story of thatLimfjord charter was her trump card, and never failedto quell Soren's faint attempts at retort.

Altogether, Cilia was unquestionably ruler of theroost, and managed things as she pleased, not only asregards Soren and the two ships, but also Malvina, theonly daughter, who, like the rest, obeyed her withoutdemur.

Soren had no reason to regret having given theadministration of the household and the business intoher care; for their fortunes throve steadily, and Ciliawas, as mentioned, one of the smartest shipownersin the fjord. She invariably managed to get hold ofthe best freights going; the shipbrokers at Drammenseemed by tacit consent to give her the first refusalof anything good.

All, then, seemed well as could be wished with thefamily as a whole, and one would have thought Ciliaherself must be content with things as they were.This, however, was by no means the case; Cilia hadtroubles enough, though, as so often happens, theywere largely of her own making.

Soren's complete lack of tender feeling was one ofthe things that often worried her. It was particularlynoticeable in his letters. He would write, for instance,in this style:

Cilia flung the letter in a drawer and raged. Wasthis love? The simpleton—he should have been leftto manage things for himself—and where would hehave been then? This was all the thanks one got forall the toil and trouble. Why couldn't he write letterslike Mrs. Pedersen got from her husband, who wasskipper of theVestalinde, commencing "My darlingwife," and ending up with "Ever your loving—"That was something like affection! A very differentthing from Soren's "Yours very truly." Mrs. Cilia wasbursting with indignation.

She pondered the matter for some time, seeking tofind a way of making Soren a little more demonstrative.And next time she wrote, she put it to him delicately,as follows:

The result of this appeal to Soren's tender feelingswas not long delayed. It happened that Gudmunsen,skipper of theApollo, while in Christiania with a cargoof coal, went on the spree there to such an all-obliteratingextent that Mrs. Cilia received no accounts, andno freight money. She therefore wrote to Soren, whowas in London, asking him to cable by return whatwas to be done with Gudmunsen. The reply cameback as follows:

And thenceforward his letters and telegrams wereinvariably signed "Ever your loving."

When Soren came home late that autumn, Ciliathought he might fairly have a year ashore, as theyhad laid by a good deal, and could afford a rest. Sorengrumbled a little, and suggested that it would be desperatelydull hanging about on shore all the summer,but Cilia undertook to find him entertainment enough."We've all that bit of ground down there to plantpotatoes, then the house wants painting, and a newgarden fence—oh yes, and we ought really to haveanother well dug round at the back, and——"

Soren had visions of Cilia standing over him andordering him about at these various tasks, while hetoiled in the sweat of his brow. Oh, a nice sort ofrest it would be! No, give him his old place on board,where he could do as he pleased.

There was no help for it, however. Abrahamsen,the mate, was put in charge ofBirkebeineren thatsummer, and Soren had to stay at home.

Soren Braaten had never had any social positionto speak of in Strandvik, and indeed he had no wishfor anything of the sort. His comrades at the Seamen'sUnion were good enough company for him. It wasdifferent with Cilia, however; as their means increased,she began to feel more and more aggrievedat never being asked to parties at Holm Berg's or Prois's,and as for the Magistrate's folk, they never so muchas gave her a glance when she passed them in thestreet. And only the other day she had met thatimpertinent upstart, Lawyer Nickelsen; if he hadn'tdared to address her simply as "Celia!" Oh, butshe would show them! And she went over her plan—itwas to be carried out this summer, while Sorenwas at home. Soren was to be renamed, and appearhenceforward as Soren Braathen—with an "h,"Shipowner. Malvina was to be a lady, and, if possible,married off to some young man of standing. Then,surely, the family would be able to take the rankand position in society to which their comfortablemeans entitled them.

While Cilia was occupied with these reflections inthe kitchen—it was the dayBirkebeineren was to sail—Abrahamsenand Malvina were sitting in the summer-housein an attitude eloquent of itself. To be precise,they were holding each other's hands.

"It's none so easy for me, Malvina," the mate wassaying, "as a common man, to ask your father andmother straight out—and there's no such desperatehurry as I can see till after this voyage."

With him Malvina agreed, and the loving coupleseparated, not without mutual assurances of undyingfaith and affection for better or worse, whateverobstacles might be placed in their way.

Meantime, Soren Braaten had stolen down to thecellar, where he had a carefully hoarded stock ofEnglish bottled stout, with which he was wont torefresh himself at odd moments. Seated on a barrel,he was enjoying the blessing of life and liquor in deepdraughts, without a care in the world. True, he hadseen through the skylight Malvina and the mate inwhat might be construed as a compromising position,but trusting in this as in all else to Cilia's management,he took it for granted that she was a party tothe affair.

Birkebeineren sailed, and Abrahamsen with her,leaving Soren at home to his fate. The potato-plantingwas shelved for the time being, as were thevarious other little jobs Cilia had mentioned; herone idea now was that he should appear as a gentlemanof leisure, which Soren was unfeignedly content to do.In order, however, that he should not find the lifetoo monotonous, she found him an occupation whichto her idea was not incompatible with the dignity ofa shipowner he was to look after Fagerlin. Fagerlinwas the big brindled cow, and at present, being summertime,was allowed to take the air in the garden.Soren was accordingly charged to see that Fagerlinbehaved herself, and did not eat up the carrots orthe tiger lilies. Soren found the work comparableto that of the local customs officer, consisting as itdid for the most part in sitting on a bench and smoking,with back numbers of theShipping Gazette to whileaway the time.

Cilia, however, was still constantly occupied infinding further means whereby the family mightattain that position of importance and considerationin local society which, she was forced to admit, waslacking at present.

In this she found an unexpected ally in the personof Lieutenant Heidt, the magistrate's son, an oldacquaintance from the days when Cilia had beenparlourmaid at the house. True, he had been but alittle boy at the time, but they had never quite lostsight of each other, and had grown most intimate,especially of late, since Cilia had taken to lending himmoney, in secret.

Lt. Heidt was of opinion that Soren oughtto go off to some health resort; it was customaryamong people of the better class, he declared, to sufferfrom gout, or insomnia, or some such fashionableailment, necessitating a few weeks' cure at one of therecognised establishments every summer. "And theyput it in the papers, you know, who's there; it wouldlook quite nice, say, in theMorning News, to seeShipowner Braathen, of Strandvik, was recuperatingat So-and-so."

Cilia found the suggestion excellent, and beganhinting to Soren that he was suffering from sleeplessnessand gout. Soren was astounded, and indeedwas disposed to regard the insinuation of sleeplessnessas a piece of sarcasm, in view of the fact that heregularly took a couple of hours' nap each day irrespectiveof his customary ten hours at night. Hisprotests, however, were in vain; he must go to Sandefjord,whether he liked it or not.

A brand new trunk with a brass plate, inscribedwith the name and title of "Shipowner S. Braathen,Strandvik," was procured for the occasion, and Sorenwas escorted in full procession down to the boat, andpacked off to Sandefjord. Before leaving, he hadbeen given careful instructions by his better half asto behaving in a manner suited to his station, andalso furnished with a well-lined pocket-book. Thislast was so unlike Cilia that Soren wondered what onearth had come to her: open-handedness in moneymatters had never been a failing of hers—far from it.

Lt. Heidt and Cilia had further discussed the questionas to whether Malvina ought not to be sent tosomepension abroad, or at least to stay with aclergyman's family, for instance, somewhere in thecountry. This plan, however, was upset by Malvina'sopposition. She flatly refused to do anything of thesort; and as the girl had inherited a good half atleast of her mother's obstinacy, Cilia realised that itwas hopeless to persist.

During Soren's absence, Lt. Heidt suggested thatit would be well to use the opportunity and refurnishthe house completely, for, as he said, it would neverdo for people in such a position as the Braathens tohave a "parlour" suite consisting of four birchwoodchairs without springs and that horrible plaster-of-Parisangel that had knelt for the past twenty yearson the embroidery-fringed bracket—it was enoughto frighten decent people out of the house! Ciliaentirely agreed, and only wondered how it was sheherself had never perceived it before; this, of course,was the reason they had had no suitable society.But she would change all that. Malvina was highlyindignant when she heard of the proposed resolution.The parlour was quite nice as it was, to her mind,and as for the angel, her father had given it to herwhen she was a child, and it did not harm anyone;on the contrary, she loved her angel, and would takecare it came to no hurt.

Lt. Heidt very kindly offered to go in to Christianiawith Mrs. Cilia and help her choose the furniture;would indeed be delighted to assist in any way withthe general rearrangement of the Braathen'sménage.Cilia gratefully accepted, and the pair went off accordinglyto the capital, duly furnished with the requisitefunds, which Cilia had drawn from the bank for theoccasion. On the way, she begged her companion totake charge of the money and act as treasurer; shehad heard that pickpockets devoted their attentionmore especially to ladies.

On arrival, Heidt suggested dining at a first-classrestaurant which he himself frequented, and meetingon the way there two young gentlemen of his acquaintance,he introduced them to Mrs. Braathen, andinvited them without further ceremony to join theparty. They were frank, easy-mannered youngfellows, and Cilia took a fancy to them, at once recognisingthem as belonging to "the quality."

And such a dinner they had! Oysters and champagneto start with, game of some sort, and claret—itwas a banquet to eclipse even the betrothal feast atProis's; to which last, it is true, she had not beeninvited—but he should repent it, the supercilious oldsweep!

Heidt's friends, too, proved most entertainingcompany, especially the one who, it appeared, was apoet; he had a store of anecdotes to make one splitone's sides with laughing, and Heidt himself was inhigh spirits. He drank with her, and said, "Yourhealth, mother-in-law," and the others joined in withcongratulations. Cilia could not help laughing, thoughshe was inclined to consider it rather too much of ajoke. Still, it was all done in such a jovial, irresistiblefashion that she let it pass.

After the coffee, the whole party set out to makepurchases. First, glassware. Heidt thought it was agood idea to begin with glasses after dinner; one wasmore in the mood for it, he declared. An elegantservice of cut-glass, with the monogram "S. & C. B."was ordered. Cilia hesitated a little at the delicate,slender-stemmed wine-glasses, which she declaredwould "go to smithereens" in a "twinkling" at the firstwashing-up, but was assured that this was the essenceof good taste in such matters, and finally gave in.

Then came the furniture for the "salon" as Heidtcalled it. But when Cilia found herself tentativelyseated on a sofa with a hard, straight back reachinghalf-way up the wall, she could not help thinking thatthe old one at home was really more comfortable; athing like this seemed made to sit upright in, and asfor lying down——! The others, however, declaredit elegant and "stylish," with which she felt she mustagree, and the sofa was accordingly noted. Variousso-called "easy-chairs," which to Cilia's mind werefar from easy, were then added. A round settee witha pillar rising from the centre was to crown the whole.Cilia had never seen such an arrangement before, andwas rather inclined to leave it out. But the dealerexplained, "You place the article in the centre of theapartment, under a chandelier. A palm is set on thecentral pillar—and there you are!"

"Then there are works of art," said Heidt. "Notruly cultured home can be without them." And heinvited Cilia to contemplate a life-size terra-cottaCupid. It was terribly expensive, and she did notreally approve of "stark-naked boys" as a decorativemotif, but Heidt and his friends agreed that it was a"triumph of plastic beauty," and a work of art suchas no one in Strandvik had ever seen, far less possessed.And Cilia took the Cupid with the rest.

"Now we're all complete," said Heidt, "and I'llanswer for it, a more recherché little interior thanShipowner Braathen's it will be hard to find." AndCilia saw in her mind's eye Lawyer Nickelsen and theMagistrate himself abashed and humbled before allthis magnificence.

As for Prois and Holm Berg—poor things, they hadnever dreamt of anything like it.

When they got home, Cilia could not help feelingthat it had been rather a costly outing—but whatmatter? The vessels were earning good money.

Cilia had a desperately busy time unpacking all thethings from Christiania, but, thanks to Lt. Heidt, whowas always at hand ready to help, the work was soongot over.

The house was changed beyond all recognition.Now let the Prois's and Lawyer Nickelsen come, andsee what they'd say! Lt. Heidt came round everyday now, and was so attentive to Malvina that Ciliafelt all but sure of him already for a son-in-law, andreproved her daughter severely for being so "stand-offish"with him. But Malvina, remembering whowas primarily responsible for the deposition of herplaster angel, and the substitution of a stark-nakedboy, found it impossible to regard the culprit withanything but marked disfavour.

Never was Cupid looked upon so sourly by thefairer sex. Cilia, it is true, had gradually broughtherself to look him straight in the face when sheentered the room, instead of turning aside, but Malvinastill flushed and averted her eyes. The angel at leastwas decent; no one need be ashamed of that!

At last everything was in order, and Cilia was ableto look round proudly on an establishment fitted forpersons of "quality." Hitherto it had always beenher custom to go bareheaded within doors; now,however, she adopted a dainty white cap with acluster of dark red auriculas on top, as befitted a ladyof means and position.

When Soren came home, the first thing she did wasto usher him into the drawing-room with a triumphantgesture. There! what did he think of that?

Soren stood for a moment dumbfounded, and whenat last Cilia invited him to sit down, he took out hishandkerchief, spread it out carefully on the settee,and seated himself gingerly, glancing up now andagain at the geranium, as if fearing it might fall onhis head.

At the first opportunity he went off with Malvinato the wash-house, where the two had a long confabulation,the end of which was a solemn declaration on thepart of Soren to the effect that his spouse must be "atrifle wrong in the upper works." And he swore thatshe had far more need of the Sandefjord waters thanhe had ever had.

Cilia, of course, must give a party to show off theestablishment in its new finery. Invitations were sentout on printed cards a week beforehand, the listincluding Heidts, Prois's and Lawyer Nickelsen.Cilia had really half a mind to "leave out all thathaughty lot," but if she did, where would the leadersof society be at all?

Soren was ordered to get himself a tail coat for theoccasion. It was his duty as host, Cilia said. Butfor the first time in his life Soren refused to obey,and that so emphatically that his wife was startled."If you and all the rest of them can't have me in mySunday coat as it is, why, well and good—I'll go outfishing that day and you can have it all to yourselves."With which mutinous declaration Soren went outinto the kitchen and confided to Malvina that he'd"had about enough of all this nonsense." Malvinacordially agreed, and did her best to keep him in thatframe of mind.

Cilia pondered over the matter for some time; shehad never before known Soren to disregard her injunctionsin that fashion. But let him wait; she'dgive him "Sunday coat" with a vengeance once theparty was well over.

The first thing Abrahamsen learned when he returnedwas news of the wonderful changes Cilia had made inthe house. "Fitted up like a palace," said old HolmBerg. Then, too, of course, there were plenty of peopleto tell him of Malvina's engagement to Lt. Heidt, andhow the latter had been round at the house "everyblessed day all through the summer." Consequently,it was with heavy heart and ill-forebodings that themate set out to call. Fortunately, however, he foundMalvina alone in the front room, cleaning windows,and was able to arrange a meeting with her in thewash-house as soon as he had been in to deliver hisreport to Cilia. This was soon effected, Cilia beingso occupied with preparations for the party that sheeven forgot to ask how much of the freight moneywas left.

Abrahamsen went down then to the wash-house,where doubts and fears were soon disposed of, despitethe fact that the lovers' affectionatetête-à-tête wasinterrupted by a violent rattling in the tub, whereSoren kept his bottled beer—the stout, alas, was gonelong since.

The wash-house cellar was, as Soren put it, his "freeport and patent breakwater" where he could anchorin safety whenever the waves of domestic strife ranover high.

A regular triple-alliance was now concluded betweenSoren, Abrahamsen and Malvina to meet the treacherousplottings of the two remaining powers: Cilia and Lt.Heidt. The Congress of the wash-house agreed toadopt and maintain an attitude of armed and watchfulneutrality for the present, only proceeding to openhostilities in case of need, when concerted action wouldbe taken according as circumstances might require.

While this conference was taking place, Lt. Heidt,who had arrived meantime, was closeted with Ciliain long and earnest conversation, in the course ofwhich he declared that his intentions towards Malvinawere entirely honourable, and that it was his dearestwish to become a son-in-law of the house.

The Lieutenant was all for an immediate decision,the engagement then to be publicly declared on thefollowing day at the party. Cilia, however, foresawdifficulties in effecting this: it would be necessary toprepare Malvina gradually for the honour and happinessin store for her. Finally, it was agreed that Ciliashould use her utmost efforts, and tackle Malvinathat same evening, get a satisfactory answer out ofher if possible, and then fire off the news at dinnernext day. The Lieutenant on his part was to holdhimself in readiness for immediate action at theopportune moment. The pair then separated, withassurances of mutual esteem and affection.

Cilia was so overwhelmed that she was obliged toremain a full half-hour alone in the splendours of thenewly furnished salon, meditating upon the wonderfulgood fortune that was about to fall upon the house.A real lieutenant, and the magistrate's son to boot—analliance with the leading family in the town! Thuswas the name of Braathen to be lifted from the potato-patchof vulgar insignificance to the gardens of rankand "quality."

Abrahamsen, stealing out by by the back way, wasjust in time to perceive Lt. Heidt taking leave of Cilia,and noting the cordiality between the two, he realisedthat there was rough weather ahead before he couldhope to lay alongside his dainty prize. He confidedas much to his intimate friend, Thor Smith, the magistrate'sclerk. The latter had an ancient grudgeagainst young Heidt, who had at one time made someattempt at cutting him out with Tulla Prois, and that inthe basest manner, which Smith had never forgiven him.

When Abrahamsen had set forth the position indetail, Smith pressed his hand, and swore to aid himby all means in his power. Here at last was a chanceof getting even with his rival.

That same evening Smith went round for a chatwith Old Nick, as he often did. On reaching thehouse, however, the housekeeper informed him thatNickelsen was engaged in the office—Skipper Braatenwas in there with him.

Smith pricked up his ears at this, and at once concludedthat the consultation must have something todo with the matrimonial plans afoot in the skipper'shousehold.

He waited, therefore, and a little while later Nickelsenentered, looking very thoughtful. His air, however,changed to one of cautious reserve when Smithgreeted him with:

"My dear old Nick, don't try that on with me. I'vejust heard about it from my particular friend Abrahamsen.And I don't mind telling you I'm out to put thebrave Lieutenant's nose out of joint if I can."

"H'm—well, it's right enough. And as for theLieutenant, why, 'twould be easy enough. But Cilia'sa different matter, now she's got her head puffed upwith all this 'fashionable' nonsense. Old Sorenhas fairly got his blood up this time though; hewanted her declared unfit to act, and a legal guardianappointed—what do you say to that?"

"Look here, Nickelsen, what if you and I put ourheads together and fixed it up ourselves for Malvinaand Abrahamsen?"

"Good Lord above us, what are you thinking of?Do you want me to playpostillon d'amour for all theloving couples in the town?"

"Well, it's a noble mission, you know, really. Justthink how Tulla and I look up to you with—er—withaffection and esteem—since that banquet affair."

"Oh—this'll come off all right too, you'll see. Comealong, let's set to work and draw up a plan of campaign.We're getting quite old hands at the game."

Old Nick was not without some scruples, but afterfurther pressure he at last consented to give his supportas far as he could.

As a result of mature deliberation the followingscheme was drawn up, to be submitted to SorenBraaten and Abrahamsen for consideration:

1. Soren to arrange that Thor Smith and Abrahamsenbe among the guests invited to the party.

2. Soren to say a few words of welcome to the guestsat table, whereupon Lawyer Nickelsen would make a"flowing and eloquent" speech proposing the hostand hostess.

3. Immediately after this the grand scene, whereinSoren Braaten, rising again, delivers a speech, preparedbeforehand by Nickelsen and Smith, announcingMalvina's engagement to Abrahamsen.

This surprise attack, the conspirators reckoned,could not fail to throw the enemy's forces into confusion.

Both, however, knowing Cilia's temper, her energyand force of character, were agreed that the plan hadits weak points. She might, for instance, prefer tomake a scene rather than surrender unconditionally.Nevertheless, both Smith and Old Nick thought shewould probably give way; and having regard to thesound strategic principle that a purely defensive positionis generally untenable, they thought best tourge the Triple Alliance to take the offensive at theearliest opportunity.

No sooner said than done. Soren and Abrahamsenwere sent for, and lost no time in making their appearance;both had a feeling that great events were inthe air.

Meantime, the enemy was not inactive. TheLieutenant, certain of victory, now that he hadsecured so powerful an ally as Cilia, had already confidedhis intentions to his father. The magistrate, in hisown mind, could not help thinking that a daughter ofhis former parlourmaid was hardly a match for his son,but on the other hand it might make a man of him.And the Braatens were said to be quite wealthy people.Malvina was the only child, so that from that point ofview, no objection could be raised. Finally, he declaredhimself willing to give his consent, but, learningthat the engagement was to be formally announcedat dinner on the following day, he became serious, andwent down quietly to his office to prepare a speechsuited to the occasion. His consent to the marriagewas one thing, but he was resolved that it should notlead to overmuch intimacy between the two families.And this he was anxious to point out, with all possibledelicacy, of course, but definitely enough to permit ofno misunderstanding.

The party assembled at Old Nick's, includingThor Smith, Abrahamsen and Soren Braaten, wereunanimous in declaring the proposed scheme admirable.The only hesitation was on the part of Soren,who, being himself cast for the leading part, naturallyfelt the risk. The others, however, insisted that noone else could do it, and he therefore agreed to sacrificehimself in a forlorn hope for the general good.

On being handed the speech, carefully written outby Old Nick himself, Soren scratched his head andlooked thoroughly miserable. He had never made aspeech in his life, and had no sort of confidence in hisdeclamatory powers. There was no help for it, however,and with a sigh he thrust the paper into hiswaistcoat pocket.

Before leaving he was instructed to make knownthe details of the plan to Malvina, and charge her tobe as amiable as possible to Heidt, in order to avoidany suspicion in the minds of the others as to theconspiracy afoot.

On reaching home, he sought out Malvina andexplained the situation, whereafter the two in concertmanaged to get Cilia to invite Thor Smith andAbrahamsen at the eleventh hour; Cilia herself, asfar as could be seen, had no suspicion of any covertmotive underlying the request.

Nearly all that night Soren sat up in his bedroombrooding over the speech. "Gentlemen and—er—h'm—Ishould say ladies and gentlemen—er—I riseto this—I rise on this occasion ..." etc. Sorentoiled at the speech, sweating properly, and cursingat intervals, till nearly morning. And when at lasthe fell asleep, it was only to dream that Old Nickstood over him, tweaking his nose with the fire-tongs,while he strove in vain to get beyond the openingsentence of his oration.

He awoke, however, in excellent spirits, and ceasedto worry about the speech at all, arguing to himselfthat it would come off all right once he got going.He ran up the flag with his own hands, and meetingCilia in the kitchen as he came in, he chucked herunder the chin with a cheerful: "Well, old lady,feeling fit?" Whereat Cilia was considerably takenaback, being all unused to such attentions.

There was great excitement in the town as to howthe much-talked-of party would go off, and, long beforethe appointed hour, the garden fence was lined outsideby the youth of the neighbourhood, awaitingthe arrival of the guests.

"There's Holm Berg, boys, stovepipe and all—andhere's the Lieutenant with his pig-sticker—andlook at Old Nick in his white gloves, and walking likehe was on stilts—hurraa—a—a!"

The house was brilliantly illuminated and lookedvery festive indeed; so overwhelming was the displaythat most of the natives stole away into odd cornerswhere they could see as much as possible withoutbeing seen. Lt. Heidt was thoroughly at home, andhelped to look after the guests, though this, indeed,was superfluous, Soren himself exhibiting so muchsangfroid and confidence of manner that he mighthave been on board his own vessel and in sole command.He shook hands with each as they arrived, and badethem welcome with smiling self-possession. Ciliahardly knew him in this new guise as master of thehouse, and a shiver of excitement thrilled her asshe thought of the developments in store. She had,indeed, sufficient reason for anxiety, inasmuch as shehad had a serious talk with Malvina just before theguests arrived, endeavouring to extract from her apromise to give a favourable answer to Lt. Heidt.But there was no getting anything definite out ofMalvina; she demanded time to think it over.

The first slight stiffness among the guests soondisappeared, and, by the time dinner was served,most of them felt quite sufficiently at home to do fulljustice to an excellent repast.

Malvina was in a corner with Lt. Heidt, the latterso tender and smiling that old Mrs. Berg nudged theparson's wife and whispered, "Look, I'm sure he'sproposing now!" The lady addressed, however, wassomewhat deaf, and looked up with an inquiring"Eh?" Mrs. Berg did not venture to repeat theobservation out loud, and substituted a remark about"the jelly delicious, don't you think?"

Malvina turned pale and red alternately withemotion; there was no getting out of the corner, forHeidt barred the way. Now and again she cast adespairing glance at the Cupid, as if asking aid; butno, the figure only stared back with a silly smile—ridiculouscreature!

Abrahamsen, in the passage adjoining, was watchingthe pair with ill-repressed impatience. The sight ofthe young lieutenant bending close and whisperingconfidentially to Malvina made him tingle, and heclenched his fists. Abrahamsen was an ill man tojest with, and, as Soren was wont to say, he had apair of fists as heavy as the flippers of a full-grownseal.

Coolest of all the conspirators was Old Nick, whowalked about, smiling and content, enjoying his ownobservation of the entire menagerie, as he calledit. Towards Cilia he was deference itself, and wonher heart completely by addressing her as "Mrs.Braathen."

At last Soren tapped his glass; all eyes were atonce turned towards him. He started off simply andeasily; he had just one thing to say and that was,he thanked them all for their presence there thisevening, and was very glad to see them under hishumble roof. Your health! Cilia was quite proudof her husband for once, and not a little surprised;it was not a bit like Soren. Where on earth had hepicked it up? She herself had previously askedLt. Heidt, as a friend of the family, to say a few wordsof welcome, but Soren had managed it excellentlyalready. Well, so much the better; it would showLt. Heidt that even he was not indispensable.

Old Nick then rose, and proposed "our host andhostess" in a speech so fluent and cordial that eventhe parson's wife, who had scarcely heard a word ofit, declared it was "perfectly charming."

All drank with Cilia, who curtsyed and nodded andsmiled, and nodded again, until her head almost felloff; never in her dreams had she imagined such anexalted moment.

The regulation speeches were now over, and nothingmore was expected beyond a few words from theparson, when, to Cilia's astonishment and the surpriseof the guests, Soren again stepped forward and raisedhis glass.

Cilia's first thought was that her husband hadtaken a drop too much, but his calm, easy mannerdisposed of that idea in a moment. She wonderedwhat on earth was going to happen, and for the firsttime in her life the foundations of her despotic powerseemed shaken.

There was a tense silence among the guests; whatcould he have to say? Old Nick stood beside him,chatting easily with Malvina as if nothing were amiss.Thor Smith was out in the passage with Abrahamsen.Justice Heidt, who had been waiting all the eveningfor the "declaration," drew a little nearer, in thebelief that it was coming.

Soren drank off his own glass of sherry, and havingreinforced it with Old Nick's and the parson's, whichstood nearest on the table, he gave vent to a longsigh, or grunt, and commenced as follows:

"Ladies and Gentlemen: as mentioned, there's athing we call a union, which means, well—a sort ofunion, you know" (loud applause from some of theyounger men, who thought Soren was referring tothe Union of Norway and Sweden), "and you can'thave any sort of union without—h'm—respect and—h'm—affectionon both sides." (Here the speakerdirected a lowering glance at Lt. Heidt, who wasmoving towards the table.)

"There was a whole lot more I was supposed to sayabout this, but I've forgotten the rest. And, anyhow,it's a bit of a large order to expect an old skipper likeme to rattle out all that stuff about garlands of rosesand bonds of something—or—other." Old Nick gavea despairing glance at Thor Smith, who shook hishead sadly. "Well, anyhow, it's as well to take thebull by the horns, so here you are. Abrahamsen,you've had charge of the oldBirkebeineren two voyagesthis year, and I hereby make no bones about givingyou my girl Malvina, to sail her without deviation orany delay, as the apple of my heart, across the oceanof life, with all due care and seamanship, as set forthin the bills of lading. And seeing as that same ocean'sgiven to foul weather and suchlike perils, dangers andaccidents of the sea or other waters, you'll need tokeep a sharp look-out and navigate according. And,well, the Lord be with you. Amen."

Cilia, who was nervous and unsettled enough beforehand,now lost her head completely, and as the guestscrowded round to offer their congratulations, she sankinto a chair holding a handkerchief to her eyes. Andwhen Malvina came up to embrace her, she brokedown completely.

Lt. Heidt turned sharply about in military fashion,and strode magnificently out into the hall. On theway he encountered Old Nick, who was rude enoughto smile at him, and say, "Rather neat that, don't youthink?"

Justice Heidt retired quietly, inwardly congratulatinghimself with the thought that it was just as wellhe had escaped closer connection with so plebeian afamily!

When the guests had left, Soren sat down beside hiswife and took her hand, endeavouring to comfort heras well as he could. Cilia still wept, however; as ifall the tears she might have shed in her life, but neverhad, were bursting forth at once. So copious indeedwas the flow, that Soren privately reckoned out itwould have sufficed to water half the carrot patch atleast.

It was with strange thoughts that Cilia retired torest. She was beginning to realise that she had beendethroned; her power within-doors and abroad wasgone for ever; she had made a fool of herself with avengeance. It was a bitter thing to feel. She wentover in her mind the events of the summer: Soren'sjourney to Sandefjord, her own expedition toChristiania with Lt. Heidt, the party, and the newfurniture—how could she ever have been so foolish,so insane!

Towards morning she grew calmer; she had decidedwhat to do, and was herself again.

She rose before the others were stirring, and lit abig fire in the kitchen. Her sharp features showedfirm and decided as she stood before the stove, stifflyupright, one hand fiercely clenching a crumpled roll ofsomething white. This she presently threw into theflames with a deep sigh—but a sigh of relief, as if incasting off a burden. It was her dainty indoor cap,with the auriculas, that was sacrificed; the thinghissed and spluttered, vanishing at last in sooty fragmentsup the chimney.

When Soren and Malvina came down, they foundher on all fours in the parlour, hard at work packingup carpets and curtains, knick-knacks and chandeliers.They stood watching her for a while, but Cilia sharplyordered them to help—and willingly they did! Nota word was exchanged between the three; theysimply went on packing and packing, closing up thecases and packing more, till they were ready to becarried out into the yard.

In the course of the morning Abrahamsen turnedup, and lent a hand with the packing-cases. It wasalmost as if it were a question of getting some evilinfluence out of the house as quickly as possible. Allfour worked together with perfect understanding, andnot a word was said either of the engagement or of theparty.

"What are we to do with that fellow there?" saidAbrahamsen, pointing to the Cupid.

Soren scratched his chin thoughtfully for a while,and, as a result of his cogitations, suggested "makinga fountain." He had seen dozens of suchlike figuresin the course of his travels. You set them up ingardens, with a hole bored through and a tube let in.Why not stick it up on the pump outside; it wouldlook fine then! But Malvina insisted on getting ridof the thing altogether; it had caused mischief enoughas it was. Thus Abrahamsen had an inspiration."Let's make Lawyer Nickelsen a present of it; he'sgot a couple of things much the same to look at. Idare say he'd be glad to have one more." The proposalwas received with acclamation, Cilia herselfoffering no objection, but declaring they might dowhat they pleased with the thing.

Abrahamsen accordingly took the unfortunate Cupid,stuffed it into a sack, and marched off with it. Nickelsenwas not a little surprised to receive a visit from themischievous god, but on learning what was takingplace in its former home, he consented to shelter thepoor outcast. He also shook hands with Abrahamsen,and said:

"My dear Abrahamsen, I congratulate you—and Imust say Cilia is wiser than I thought. It's not manypeople would have the sense and character to repairan error so resolutely as she has done."

There was general astonishment in Strandvik whenCilia's elegant new furniture was seen being loaded onboard a coasting-vessel down at the quay; still furtherwonder when it transpired that the entire consignmentwas destined for Christiania, to be sold by auctionthere.

Cilia went aboard calmly and quietly, paying noheed to gossip or impertinent questions. And indeedthere were few who ventured to question her at all,for her manner was severe enough to keep even themost inquisitive at arm's length. As soon as thevessel had left, she had all the old furniture put backin its place. Malvina brought out her plaster angel,wiped it carefully, and set it up on the same old bracketagain.

It was surprising how comfortable everythingseemed at home now. Soren was so delighted he wentabout rubbing his hands, and even Cilia herself seemedgentler and more tractable than before. So muchso, indeed, that Soren decided to give up his quartersin the wash-house, and drank his bottled beer on asettle in the kitchen, as if it were the most naturalthing in the world; and Cilia made no protest, butset out glass and tray for him herself! Soren felt hewas the happiest man in the world, and it was notmany weeks before all was back in the old routine,Cilia devoting herself in earnest to the business ofshipowning and chartering. Abrahamsen was transferredto theApollo, and Soren went on board his oldfriendBirkebeineren, a skipper once more.

One thing Cilia found more astonishing than allelse, and that was that both Lawyer Nickelsen andold Prois himself took to calling at the house now andthen; nay, more—she and Malvina were actuallyasked to tea at the Prois's. Cilia was finding outthat there were more things in heaven and earth thanwere dreamt of in her philosophy.

Passing by Cilia's well-kept garden in the spring,one might see a number of wine-glasses, minus thestems, but engraved with the monogram "S. & C. B.,"placed protectingly over tender seedling or cuttingsplanted out in the round or oblong borders—"allthat's left of the days when mother went wrong in theupper works," said Soren Braaten.

XIV
A ROYAL VISIT

"It's true, honour bright. The Council's all headover heels already, fixing up a committee for thearrangement."

"No, really? Why, that'll be first-rate. Justwanted something to brighten things up a bit; it'sbeen very dull lately." Old Nick rubbed his handsgleefully. "Come along, let's walk down that way abit and see if we can get hold of somebody in theknow."

"No, thank goodness, I managed to get out of it.Not but that there were plenty anxious to get in!"

"Well, there's Heidt, of course, as Justice, but hewas quite put out about it himself, and wished HisMajesty I won't say where. You see, it means gettingnew uniform, for the gold braid's all worn off hisold one."

"Oh, let's see; the parson, Governor Hansen,Watchmaker Rordam and Dr. Knap—oh yes, andProis, of course, as Warden."

"Yes, and he was quite cut up about it too. Saidhe was too old for such tomfoolery."

It was a busy time all round for the loyal citizensof Strandvik; and the worst of it was, they had onlythree days to make all arrangements. The royalparty would arrive on Thursday at four o'clock anddine in the town. And to-day was Monday.

The committee held meetings morning and afternoon.A band was asked for by telegram from thenaval station at Horten, and a special cook fromDrammen; both, fortunately, promised to come.

A triumphal arch was set up at the Custom House,and Nachmann, the German wine merchant, sent upfour cart-loads of bottles to the Town Hall, wherethe banquet was to be held. Nachmann was in highfeather, and declared loyally that a Royal Housewas an excellent institution and an encouragementto trade and commerce.

But what was the King to drive in? ConsulJansen had a very respectable pair-horse carriage ofhis own, lined with grey silk, and suitable for most"special occasions," but unfortunately one of thehorses was lame, and the other a confirmed runaway.What was to be done?

Lt. Heidt had just got a new mount, but so miserablyemaciated a beast that one could almost see daylightthrough its ribs. There was no possibility ofusing such a bag of bones for such a purpose.

Finally, the choice fell upon Baker Ottosen's blackmare, a famous beauty. But one mare's not a pair;there was nothing for it but to take Governor Hansen'sold "Swift," so called from the fact of its never onany occasion exceeding the easiest amble. It washoped that the close proximity of the mare wouldliven it up a little.

For three whole days Aslaksen of the livery stablespractised the pair up and down through the streets,to the great edification of the urchins, who ran afterthe carriage shouting and cheering.

Tar barrels and rockets were set ready in placeout in the fjord, and all the candles in the storeswere bought up for the purpose of illumination.

From early morning the committeewas abroad,in full evening-dress, and desperately busy.

Old Justice Heidt stood in his shirt-sleeves andnew gold-braided breeches making his most deferentialbow to an old American clock: "May it pleaseYour Majesty, in the person of the town's ..." hehad to look up the paper and read through his speechonce again.

Excitement increased as the day wore on. Stoutpeasant girls with red roses in their hats, and lankyyouths with blue and green ties, and a bottle of spiritsin their hinder pockets, began pouring into the town.

The committee was working feverishly. Everythingwas now practically ready, flags and buntingeverywhere, and as many green wreaths as seven oldwomen had been able to prepare in three days.All that remained was the great centre-piece, withthe arms of the town, to be hung above the royalseat in the banqueting hall.

Watchmaker Rordam, who, in addition to havingcharge of all the time-pieces in the town, furtheracted as instrument maker, turner and decorator, hadundertaken to paint the aforesaid piece. But at oneo'clock he suddenly retired in dudgeon, and the armsof the town were nowhere. The cause of this disasterwas Old Nick, who had come up during the morningto the hall to see how the decorations were getting on.Rordam was there just putting the finishing touchesto his masterpiece.

"Ah, Rordam, painting a picture, are you? Tellme, what it's supposed to be, exactly?"

"Eh?" said Rordam, with a frown. "Can't yousee? Why, the town arms, of course—a bear holdinga pine tree on a blue ground, and a goddess with thescales of justice in red in the other corner."

"No, really?" said Old Nick. "Devil take me, ifI didn't think it was Adam and Eve stealing applesin the Garden of Eden."

Rordam was furious, and swore he would not putup with such impertinence, he had not come thereto be insulted. He had undertaken the work as aloyal citizen's contribution to the general good,without fee or remuneration of any sort, and if LawyerNickelsen thought he could paint a better coat-of-arms,why, let him take over the business, and welcome.And, tearing down his painting, the indignant watchmakertook himself off.

Old Nick likewise found it advisable to disappear,after a vain attempt to bring the injured painter toreason, assuring him that it was only a joke, no harmintended, etc. etc.

The committee was summoned in haste, and stoodstaring blankly at the empty space where the bearand the goddess of justice should have appeared.

"Really, I think he might have kept his remarksto himself," said Dr. Knap. "Old muddler thathe is."

It was now past one o'clock: the King was toarrive at four, and there was no painting a new designin three hours. Hang up a big Norwegian flag?That, of course, could be done; but it would seem avery poor sort of decoration without the arms of thetown. Then Governor Hansen had a bright idea:"Let's get up an impromptu lunch at once, and askRordam along, as if nothing was the matter."

"Sure enough—if we just let him know it's aspecial lunch for a small select party. Send themessage in your own name, Justice, and I'll wagera bottle of Montebello he'll come."

Half an hour after, Rordam arrived, and was receivedby Justice Heidt, who clapped him on the shoulderand thanked him heartily for his splendid decorationof the hall.

"And I must say we are fortunate in having in sosmall a town an artist of taste like yourself. I am sureHis Majesty will wish to thank you personally. Bythe way, that coat of arms, it will be ready in time, Ihope? Dr. Knap was just saying it was a magnificentpiece of work."

"Why—er—that is—I wasn't altogether pleasedwith it myself, so I took it down."

"Oh, nonsense, my dear fellow! I am sure it's excellent.Hang it up again and don't worry aboutthat."

The shield was set in place again accordingly, andthe committee unanimously expressed their admiration.The figure of the bear in particular was highlypraised. "As lifelike as anything you'd see in a menagerie,"said Warden Prois cautiously. "And theyoung lady too, I'm sure," said Dr. Knap, with a slynudge to Heidt. Rordam was pacified, completelywon over, and so gratified at the amiable condescensionof the notables at lunch that he felt he could afford todespise a mere lawyer like that fellow Nickelsen.

At half-past three precisely the committee membersof Council and other leading personages went downto the quay where the Royal party was to land. Theappearance of Warden Prois, with his gold-laced cap,ditto tunic, belt and dirk (all newly ordered for theoccasion) was the signal for cheering from the assembledurchins. The demonstration, however, so annoyedthe old man that he angrily ordered them to "keepquiet, you little devils," at which undignified utteranceon the part of a person in authority, Justice Heidtfrowned severely.

The four town constables were likewise dressed forthe occasion with new trousers and white cottongloves, and made a brave show.

"Boom—boom—boom!" came the salute from thefire-station, and Ottosen's black mare reared soviolently that Aslaksen's silver-braided silk hat fell off.Worse was to come, however. As the band fromHorten struck up, "Swift" became troublesome. Atlast the Warden himself had to spring to the heads ofthe frantic pair and hold them, or the whole equipagewould have gone over the side into the water. HisMajesty, no doubt from previous experience of provincialturn-outs, preferred to walk, and the partymoved off, accompanied by a burst of cheering, towardsthe Town Hall; Aslaksen, with his carriage and illassorted pair, following shamefacedly in the rear.

At the upper end of the Royal table sat the Justiceand other notables; the King's suite were distributedbetween the members of the committee. For theconvenience of the latter, Heidt had had cards setround at each place, with the names of the guestseated next. Warden Prois, who had been introducedto his particular charge, but had not managed to catchthe name, slipped away stealthily outside, put on hisspectacles and endeavoured to read his card. "HisExcellency ... M.—M.—Megesen—no, Pegestik—deviltake me if I can make head or tail of it." Atlast he decided for "Negesuk" as the Excellency'sname—Swedish names were always queer.

It was a very festive affair, and full justice was doneto the fourteen courses and Nachmann's good wine.The official speeches were all delivered with laudableprecision, excepting Governor Hansen's. That worthycame to a standstill, and had to fumble in his waistcoatpocket for the written copy, consisting of twolines scrawled on a bit of paper, the crumpled appearanceof which suggested that it had been liberallyconsulted already.

The talk flowed easily and without embarrassingrestraint. Old Klementsen quietly pocketed a copyof the menu, to take home to his wife; it was onlyfair that she should have her share of the feast.

"Mr. Chamberlain Negesuk, may I have the honour?"Prois raised his glass courteously towards his neighbour,who drank with him and bowed in return, albeitwith some stiffness of manner. This, however, theWarden attributed to their proximity to the Royalperson.

"The deuce it is," said Prois; "it doesn't look like iton the card." And he put on his glasses and turnedthe card about.

"Oh, but that's not my birth certificate, you know,"answered Von Vegesak, with a smile.

At one end of the Royal table sat Governor Hansenand Captain Palander, deep in conversation about—horses!Horses were the one theme in which Hansenwas really interested, devoting especial attention totrotters, and once he got on to his favourite subjectthere was no stopping him.

"Curious thing," he observed, "I had a trottinghorse a few years ago called Palander—ha, ha, ha!Yes, that was really its name. But I could neverget any pace out of it on ordinary going; ice underfootwas the only thing to make it go."

"Yes, Your Majesty; we have it from our worthydealer here, Mr. Nachmann, a citizen of the town."

"Quite right, Your Majesty; a genuine brand andpremier one." Nachmann rose to his feet and turnedhis moonlike countenance towards the King.

"Proudest moment in my life, Your Majesty. I'lltake the liberty of laying down a few bottles in memoryof the occasion—until Your Majesty honours us again.Most humble servant, Your Majesty."

And Nachmann bowed deeply, but with evidentpride. How they would envy him now, P. A. Larsen,Lundgren, Carl Fleischer, and all the rest of them,who fancied nobody sold good wine but themselves!He would get the editor of theStrandvik Gazette toquote the Royal compliment to the firm of Nachmann& Co.—it was a credit to the town to have such abusiness in its midst.

When Nachmann rose, there was a sudden silence;one could have heard a pin drop. But since HisMajesty took the occurrence in such good part, theothers could do so too. Nevertheless, Justice Heidtconsidered Nachmann's behaviour unjustifiable and abreach of etiquette. He cast a glance of stern reproofat the wine merchant, but the latter was so elated thathe misunderstood its meaning, and, raising his glass,nodded pleasantly in return: "Your health, Justice!"

Old Klementsen, the parish clerk, who had hardlyeaten at all for two days in order to get full value outof the banquet for his twelve shillings, had beenshovelling away as hard as he could stuff, and drinkingin proportion. He was now in high feather as a result,and his one idea now was to get up and make aspeech in honour of Carl Johan, whom he had seen in1840.

His neighbours with difficulty restrained him,tearing the tails of his coat in their efforts to keep himin his seat. Finally, they got him down into thepolice cells on the ground floor, when he delivered hisloyal oration to the warder.

Up in the gallery sat the ladies of the town, perspiringin their Sunday best; it was almost hot enough upthere to boil a lobster. All were thirsty too, andmatters were not improved by the sight of theirrespective husbands and fathers in the hall beloweating and drinkingad libitum of the best, while theythemselves had neither bite nor sup.

Miss Svane, headmistress of the girls' school, couldnot restrain her emotions, and declared warmly that"it was easy enough to be a loyal subject of HisMajesty if that was how they did it!"

Cilia Braaten had never seen a King at meals before;she was gratified with the new experience, and had nothought for anything else until Miss Svane deliveredher envious dictum. Then, however, she resolutelysent off a boy for six bottles of lemonade, in whichthe ladies drank to His Majesty's health—and, literallyspeaking, drank it warmly.

At last the time came for the Royal party to leave,and the departure took place amid an endless thunderof cheering. Rockets whizzed, the gun at the fire-stationboomed in salute. But in the banqueting-hallthe fun grew fast and furious.

Bowls of punch were brought in, and SchoolmasterIversen made thirteen speeches, to which nobodylistened at all. Skipper Abrahamsen jumped up onthe table and made another for the Norwegian play,in the course of which he managed to empty his glassof punch over Warden Prois's new uniform, at whichthat worthy, very naturally incensed, cursed thepatriot emphatically for behaving like a monkey ona tightrope.

Even aged Klementsen had come to life again,and found his way upstairs from the cells, somewhatpale but resolute still. His appearance was greetedwith a burst of cheering, and a party of enthusiastschaired him round the hall, singing patriotic songs thewhile. The singing and shouting continued well ontowards morning, and a street sweeper declared hehad heard them howling out "God save our graciousKing" at half-past six—but his watch, no doubt, musthave been fast!

Next day theStrandvik Gazette contained a poementitled "A Royal Visit," from which the followingverses concerning the banquet may be quoted:

XV
PETER OILAND

Peter Oiland, the new master at the girls'school in Strandvik, was a tall, thin man ofabout thirty. He had taken a theologicaldegree, and his solemn, clean face gave him a somewhatclerical air; his manner, too, appeared calm andreserved.

"Not much fun to be got out of him, by his looks,"said Old Nick, the first time he encountered PeterOiland's lanky figure and serious countenance on hisway up through the town.

It was not from any predilection of his own, however,that Peter Oiland had come to study theology,but a result of circumstances which left him no choicein the matter. His studies had been carried throughat the expense of an old uncle, who was parish clerkat Sandefjord, and whose dearest wish it was to seethe boy in Holy Orders. Only fancy; to be handingthe cassock to a nephew of his own.

Peter, then, had taken his degree accordingly, andendeavoured conscientiously to suit himself as far aspossible to the clerical rôle for which he was cast inlife; how he succeeded we shall presently see.

His quiet and sober dignity of manner gained himthe entry to the Sukkestads' house, where he was soona frequent guest; not that he found himself particularlyattracted by Sukkestad and his wife, or their severelyearnest circle of friends. The attraction, in fact, wasAndrea, the daughter of the house and only child, forwhom he entertained the tenderest feeling. Andreawas a buxom, pink-and-white beauty of eighteensummers. Her light blue eyes and little stumpy nosewere quite charming in their way, while the plait oflong, fair hair over the shoulders gave her an air ofchildish innocence.

In a word, Peter Oiland was desperately in love,while Andrea, who had never before been the objectof such attentions, began to lie awake at nights wonderingwhether he "really meant it." The solution,however, came quite naturally.

Andrea played the piano, and sang touching littlesongs of the sentimental type, such as "When myeyes are closing," "The Last Rose of Summer," or"The Deserted Cottage"—which transported PeterOiland to the eighth heaven at least. One evening,when she had finished one of her usual turns, he tookher hand and thanked her warmly, pressing it alsoquite perceptibly—and Andrea, well, she somehowmanaged to press his quite perceptibly in return—byaccident, of course. And then these hand-clasps wererepeated, nay, became a regular thing, to such an extentthat the pair would press each other's hands whenseated on the sofa with Mamma Sukkestad betweenthem. That good lady, however, did not notice, oraffected not to notice, these evidences of tender passiontaking place behind her back.

Thanks to his intimacy with Sukkestad, and alsoto his own reputation as a sober and earnest man, PeterOiland was chosen, after only a couple of months' residencein the place, as one of the two representativesof the town to attend the mission meeting at Stavanger.Sukkestad himself was the other.

On the evening before their departure, he was invitedto a party at the Sukkestads', together with themembers of the Women's Union.

Peter Oiland had already succeeded in makinghimself a special favourite with Mrs. Sukkestad, andwas on very confidential terms with her; relations,indeed, became quite intimate, when Andrea confidedthe secret of their mutual feelings to her mother.

After supper, preserved fruit and pastry werehanded round, which Peter Oiland inwardly considereda somewhat insipid form of entertainment.He had often felt the lack of a glass of grog on hisvisits to the house, and this evening he deftly turnedthe conversation with Mrs. Sukkestad to the subjectof "colds," from which he declared himself to besuffering considerably just lately. Mrs. Sukkestadrecommended hot turpentine bandages on the chestand barley water internally. Oiland, however, hintedthat the only thing he had ever known to do him anygood was egg punch. Mrs. Sukkestad, who was oneof those stout little homely persons always anxiousto help, and with a fine store of household recipes everavailable, set to work at once to find some means ofgetting him his favourite medicine, while Peter cougheddistressingly, and screwed up his eyes behind hisglasses.

"I tell you what," whispered Mrs. Sukkestad atlast. "Sukkestad is an abstainer, you know, so we'venever anything in the way of spirits in the house asa rule. But I've half a bottle of brandy out in thepantry that I got last spring when I was troubled withthe toothache; I was going to use it for cleaning thewindows, really, but if you think it would do your coldany good, I'd be only too pleased."

"Well, then, be sure you don't let anyone knowwhat it is. I'll put it in one of the decanters, and sayit's gooseberry wine."

And, shortly after, Peter Oiland was comfortablyseated in a corner with a lovely big glass of grog,enjoying himself thoroughly, and, to complete hissatisfaction, Andrea sang:

Peter drank deep of the joy of life, and eke of grog,and Andrea seemed more charming than ever.

Later in the evening he held forth to the ladies—amongwhom, as above mentioned, were all themembers of the Women's Union—about the blacks ofthe South Sea Islands, and gave so lurid a descriptionof the state of things there prevailing as to make hisaudience fairly shudder.

"And would you believe it, on one of the islandsin the Pacific, a place called Kolamukka, belongingto Queen Rabagadale, they eat roast baby just as wedo sucking pig, the only difference being that theydon't serve them up with lemons in their mouths."

Sukkestad thought this was going rather too far,and broke in, "Oh, come now, Oiland; you're exaggerating,I'm sure. Thank goodness, all the poorheathens are not cannibals."

"Have to quote the worst examples, to make itproperly interesting," said Oiland, which dictum wassupported by Mrs. Writher, who declared that onecould not paint these things too darkly; it was hardenough as it was to make people realise the dreadfulstate of those benighted creatures.

When the guests had left, Mrs. Sukkestad felt somequalms of conscience at the thought of having "servedintoxicating liquors" in her house. She lay awakefor hours, debating with herself whether she ought toconfess at once to her husband. The excuse abouthaving a cold was—well, rather poor after all. SupposeOiland had a weakness, a leaning towards drink, andshe had led him astray! His cough, too, had vanishedso quickly, it was suspicious. However, she decidedto say nothing for the present.

It was a fine, bright, sunny day when Sukkestadand Peter Oiland, as delegates from Strandvik to themeeting at Stavanger, stepped on board the coastingsteamer, which was already half full of delegates withwhite neckerchiefs and broad-brimmed felt hats.

The smoke-room was thick with the fumes of cheaptobacco and a hum of quiet talk from decent folk inblack Sunday coats and well-polished leg boots. Aswarthy little commercial traveller, with a bright redtie and waxed moustache, sat squeezed up in a cornerpuffing at a "special" cigar with a coloured waistband.

Peter Oiland gave a formal greeting to the companyassembled as he entered; those nearest politely madeway for him.

"It's a hard life, teaching," observed a stout littleman with a florid, clean-shaven face and glisteningblack hair brushed forward over his ears. "Tells onthe nerves."

"You find it so?" put in Peter Oiland. "Well,now, it all depends on how you take it—as the youngman said when he took a kiss in the dark."

There was a somewhat awkward silence; thecompany seemed rather in doubt as to the speaker'ssympathy with their ideas.

Presently the sea began to make itself felt, andPeter Oiland found occasion to relate the anecdote ofthe old lady who had been in to Christiania for a newset of false teeth, and, being sea-sick on the way back,dropped them overboard; next day the local papershad an account of a big cod just caught, with falseteeth in its mouth!

A smile—a very faint one—greeted the story, andthe passengers relapsed into their customary seriousness,not without occasional glances between one andanother: what sort of a fellow was this they had goton board?

"H'm!" thought Peter Oiland. "Have anothertry; wake them up a bit. Must be a queer sort ofparty if I can't."

"This way, this way, if you please," shouted Petergaily. "Gentlemen, my friend and colleague, Bukkestad—begpardon, Sukkestad; slip of the tongue,you understand. Come along in, old man! Jollyevening we had at your place last night—first-rate fun."

Sukkestad did not know whether to laugh or cry,or take himself off and have done with it. The fellowmust be mad!

The commercial, who had been hiding his facebehind an old newspaper, burst out laughing, andhurried out on deck.

"Smart lot of ladies you'd got hold of, too, Sukkestad;quite the up-to-date sort—eh, what? Ah,you're the man for the girls, no doubt about that."

"Really, Mr. Oiland, I don't know what you mean.Party—girls—I never heard of such a thing."

Peter then fell to telling stories, in the course ofwhich one after another of the delegates disappeared.When he came to the story of the clerk who handedthe parson his cassock with the words: "Tch! steady,old hoss, till I get your harness on," the last one leftthe room; no one was left now but the little commercial,who had found his way back again, and wasthoroughly enjoying it all. The sea was calm now,and the moon was up, so the pair seated themselveson deck. And in the course of the evening thedelegates below, endeavouring to get to sleep in theirrespective berths, were entertained by a series ofdrinking-songs much favoured by the wilder youthof the universities, Peter Oiland singing one partand the commercial traveller the other.

The pair were so pleased with each other's companythat the commercial, whose name was Klingenstein—"Goloshesand rubber goods," decided not to land atArendal as he had intended, but to go on to Stavangerinstead. Peter Oiland recommended this course, asoffering, perhaps—who could say—an opportunity forgetting into touch with the South Sea Islands, andselling goloshes to the heathen.

"As a matter of fact," Peter added, "I know aman in Stavanger who lived some years on one of theSouth Sea Islands, personal friend of Queen Nabagadale;useful man to know." There was then everyreason to believe that Klingenstein might open up anew market in elastic stockings and such like.

The moon went down about midnight, and PeterOiland thought he might as well do likewise. Thoroughlypleased with himself and all the world,he went below and found his way to his cabin. Theupper berth was occupied by a man in a big woollennightcap. "Evening!" said Peter in the friendliesttone, as he sat down to take off his boot.

"Sir," said the gentleman in the nightcap, "permitme to observe that you might have a little considerationfor people who wish to rest."

"Delighted, I'm sure," said Peter. "But what'sthe matter? Can't you get to sleep? Awful nuisance,insomnia, I know."

"Well, when people are so tactless as to sit up ondeck just over one's head, stamping and shouting outribald songs...."

But before his indignant fellow-passenger couldfinish his sentence, Peter Oiland was in his berthand snoring—snoring so emphatically, indeed, thathe of the nightcap, after having listened to this newmelody for three solid hours, got up in despair andwent off to lie down on a sofa in the saloon.

Peter Oiland slept like a mummy till ten o'clocknext morning, not even waking when the steamertouched at her two ports of call.

Coming on deck, he could not fail to perceive thatthe other delegates were somewhat cold and reservedin their manner towards him, while as for Sukkestad,he had retired to an obscure corner of the second-classquarters.

"Poor fellow, he's not used to travelling," thoughtPeter Oiland. "I must go and cheer him up a bit."And he went across to Sukkestad and asked if hedidn't feel like something to eat.

Sukkestad was not inclined to be friendly at first,but Oiland took no heed; on the contrary, he tookhis reluctant colleague by the arm and dragged himoff, willy nilly, to the dining-saloon. There was anexcellent spread, hot and cold meats, and PeterOiland's heart warmed at the sight.

Klingenstein was already seated and hard at workon the viands, with serviette tucked under his chin;he rose, however, and bowed in fine style as Oilandmade the introduction: "Mr. Krickke—beg pardon,Sukkestad—Mr. Vingentein—er, I should say,Klingenstein." The two new acquaintances looked atone another rather blankly for a moment, then bothstared at Oiland, who, however, appeared entirelyunconcerned, and fell to with excellent appetite upona generous helping of steak and onions.

Oiland ordered a bottle of beer and a schnapps,whereat Sukkestad shook his head mournfully, andinquired whether he really thought that was goodfor his health. Oiland, however, declared it wasgood for sea-sickness, and he never felt easy onboard ship without it.

Sukkestad grew thoughtful. What would happenwhen they got to Stavanger? He wished he couldget out of it somehow, and go back home again.

At last the voyage was over, the two delegateswent ashore and put up at the Hotel Norge.

The first thing Sukkestad noticed, on coming downinto the hall, was the name "Plukkestad" writtenon the board against the number of his room. Thiswas too much; he rubbed out the offending letterswith his own hand, and wrote instead, with emphaticdistinction, "C. A. Sukkestad." He strongly suspectedOiland of being the culprit; he had gonedownstairs a few minutes before, but having no proofhe preferred to say nothing about it.

Sukkestad was now thoroughly ill at ease; his oneconstant thought was to find himself safely home againwithout any scandal. He saw little of Oiland thefirst day; the schoolmaster had hired a carriage andset off round the town to see the sights. In theevening, Oiland asked how the meeting had gone offthat day, and if anyone had noticed his absence.Sukkestad answered emphatically, "No," inwardlyhoping that Peter would not appear at the meetingsstill to come.

"Well, I think I've seen about all there is to seein this old place—Harbour, Cathedral, Town Hall,Mirror House, and statues of famous men—done itpretty thoroughly, I should say."

At the meeting on the following day Peter turnedup, and astonished the assembly by delivering a longharangue on "The Civilising Influence of MissionaryWork." Sukkestad nearly fainted.

Peter's speech produced a great effect, the listenersgrowing more and more interested as he went on."Who is he—what's his name? You've got a regularspeaker there, Sukkestad." Sukkestad was utterly ata loss, but vowed never again to expose himself tosuch surprises, either of one sort or the other.

At last the conference was ended, and the twodelegates from Strandvik set out for home.

It was with great relief that Sukkestad foundhimself on board the steamer; Peter might do whathe pleased now, for all he cared. As it turned out,however, Peter was amiability itself towards histravelling companion, though the latter did not seemto appreciate his attention, but endeavoured to keepto himself—a matter of some difficulty on board a smallsteamboat. An hour before they got in to Strandvik,Oiland came up to him and begged the favour of a"serious word" with him. Sukkestad wondered whaton earth was coming, as the other took him by thearm and dragged him off to the forepart of the ship.

"I have had the pleasure of being a frequent guestin your house," Peter began, buttonholing Sukkestadas if to make sure he did not escape.

"I shouldn't have thought it could be any pleasureto you," put in Sukkestad dryly.

"It has indeed, my dear fellow; and I have themore reason to say so, since your daughter Andrea——"

"Forgive my saying so, Mr. Sukkestad, but yourdaughter has made a deep impression on me."

"A deep impression on me. And I think I mayventure to say that she herself——"

"Pardon me, Mr. Oiland. My daughter has nofeelings in any matter before consulting her father'swishes."

"Father-in-law Mr. Oiland, this is most unseemlyjesting." Sukkestad tried to break away, but Peterheld him fast.

"But, my dear sir, what objection can you haveto the match? We've always got on splendidlytogether, and I'm sure this present voyage, and ourlittle adventures on the way, will always be amongour most cherished memories—won't they, now?"

"Most kind of you. I was sure you would. AndI'm quite an eligible suitor, really, you know. Got mydegree—rather low on the list, I confess, but, anyhow....I ought to tell you, though, that I don't proposeto enter the Church."

"So glad you agree with me. Delighted, really.Well, my dear fellow, I can understand you're a littleoverwhelmed just at the moment, but we can settlethe details when we're at home and at leisure. We'reagreed on the essential point, so that's all right."

Oiland let go his hold, and Sukkestad hurried off tohis cabin and began getting his things together infeverish haste. What, give his daughter, his onlychild, to a fellow like that? Never!

They got in without further event, and parted onthe quay, Oiland shaking hands fervently with a hearty"Thanks for your pleasant company," while Sukkestadmurmured absently: "Not at all, not at all."

Sukkestad had hardly got inside the house whenAndrea came rushing up to him. "Oh, wasn't it alovely speech of Oiland's? The parson's just been inand told us; simply splendid, he says it was."

"Oh, father, you're always so severe," said Andrea,turning away with tears in her eyes.

A quarter of an hour later Sukkestad and his wifewere unpacking in the bedroom, and a serious conferencetook place between the two. He recountedOiland's behaviour on the voyage. "And I do hopethings haven't gone so far between them as he says,"observed Sukkestad sternly, with a meaning glance athis wife. The latter turned away, wiping her eyes ona corner of her apron, and sniffing the while. "Marie,you don't mean to say you've been a party to it yourself?"

"I—yes—no, that is—— Oh, don't be angry withme. I did think he was such a nice man, really I did."

That evening it was decided that Andrea should besent as a Warder to the Moravian Mission at Kristiansfeldt.

Andrea wept bitterly, but to no purpose; she hadto go, whether she liked it or not.

Peter Oiland came several times to the house, butgot no farther than the doorstep; the maid invariablygreeted him with the words: "Mr. Sukkestad's compliments,sir, but he's not at home."

On the occasion of his last attempt before Andrea'sdeparture, he had just got out of the gate when heheard the drawing-room window open, and Andrea'swell-known voice singing:

He stopped and looked up, but saw only the sterncountenance of Papa Sukkestad hastily closing thewindow, and the music ceased abruptly.

It was quite enough for Peter, however, and hewalked home gaily, confident now that all would gowell.

Andrea went off without having spoken to Oiland,but the post was busy between Strandvik and Kristiansfeldt,for letters passed daily either way—while Mrs.Sukkestad went about complaining that Andrea neverwrote home.

XVI
EMILIE RANTZAU

Old Marthe Pettersen, who had been housekeeperto Old Nick for nearly thirty years,had taken pneumonia and died a fortnightafter Christmas; she had at least chosen a convenienttime, having made all culinary preparations for thefestival beforehand.

Old Nick was inconsolable, for Selma Rordam,whom he had got in as a temporary help, was hopelesslyincapable; either the cod would be unsalted andinsipid or she would serve it up in a liquor approachingbrine, not to speak of throwing away the best parts,and boiling the roe to nothing. And last Sunday'sjoint of beef had been so tough that he had seriouslyconsidered sending it in to the Society for Preservationof Ancient Relics. His breakfast eggs were constantlyhard boiled, despite his ironic inquiries as to whethershe thought he wanted them for billiard balls. Andas for sewing on buttons—for the past fourteen dayshe had been reduced to boring holes in the waist ofhis trousers and fastening them with bits of wood.Everything was going wrong all round.

"Very inconvenient, yes," said Nachmann, calledin to discuss the situation. "But you'll see it'll comeall right in time. Now you take my advice andadvertise in the papers for someone; she's sure tocome along: 'Wanted, an ideal woman, to restoredomestic bliss.'" The pair sat down accordinglyto draft out an advertisement, each to write one outof his own head.

During the week that followed Old Nick was positivelyinundated with applications. There werecook-maids, hot and cold, with years of experienceat first-class hotels; reliable women from outlyingcountry districts; widows from small townships up anddown the coast; while a "clergyman's daughter, agedtwenty-three," who already considered herself middle-aged,gave Old Nick some food for thought.

Among all these various documents, some large, andsmall, and bold, others timidly small, was a little pinkenvelope addressed in a delicate hand. The lettercontained, ran as follows:

"Widow, thirty-seven, long experience of keepinghouse, bright and cheerful temper.... I tell youwhat, Nachmann, this looks like what we want."

"Heavens, man, but she's musical—what do youwant with that sort of thing in the house? No, no,my friend; the devil take that widow for his housekeeper—notyou. She'd play you out of house andhome in no time, my boy."

"Well, you know, really, I was getting a bit sickof old Marthe. Felt the lack of refined womanly influencenow and again. And I must say this—what'sher name—Emilie Rantzau rather appeals to me.There's something, I don't know what to call it, abouther letter. Sort of ladylike, you know."

"Yes, and perfumed too, lovely, m-m-m. Patchouli!"said Nachmann, holding the envelope toNickelsen's nose.

After some further deliberation Old Nick wrote toMrs. Emilie Rantzau, and learned that she was thewidow of a Danish artist, had spent many yearsabroad, and wished now to find a position in somesmall town where she could live a quiet, retired life,occupied solely with her duties.

Her letters were so frank and sincere, that theymade quite an impression on Old Nick, and he decidedto engage her. She was to come on Saturday, and onthe Friday before, Nickelsen did not go to his officeat all, but stayed at home, going about dusting therooms with an old handkerchief.

Thinking the place looked rather bare, he obtaineda big palm and an indiarubber plant to brightenthings up a little.

He was queerly nervous and ill at ease every day,with a feeling as if some misfortune were on the way.What would she be like, he wondered? If the experimentturned out a failure, there would be an endof his domestic peace. Perhaps after all he wouldhave done better to stick to the Marthe type....

"No, you must let me make the salad. I promiseyou it shall be good." And she took the bowl, hersoft, delicate hand just touching his as she did so.

Old Nick murmured something politely, and was consciousthat he flushed up to the roots of his white mane.

"Queer sort of woman this." It was on the tip ofhis tongue to say it aloud, but he checked himself intime. The joint was served, and for the first timein his life he forgot to pick out the marrow. Fancyforgetting that! In old Marthe's time he invariablysent for toast, and a spoon to get it out with; now hesat attentively listening to Mrs. Rantzau's stories ofthe theatre in Copenhagen.

"Very nice claret this of yours, Mr. Nickelsen. Iknow '78 is supposed to be the best—good body theysay. Funny, isn't it, to talk of wine having a body."

She looked across at him with a smile, showing tworows of fine white teeth. Then, rising, she went overto the sideboard to show him that she too knew how tocarve a joint. Old Nick took advantage of the opportunityto observe her more closely.

Dark, glistening hair, tied in what is called aGordian knot at the back, with a tiny curl or solower down, and a beautiful white neck. She wasnot tall, but her figure was well rounded, and theclose-fitting dark dress showed it off to perfection.

Old Nick was so intent in studying her that he hadnot time to look away before she turned round andlaughingly exclaimed:

In his confusion he upset the sauce tureen. ButMrs. Rantzau laughed heartily, holding his arm as shedeclared she must evidently have brought misfortunein her train.

Old Nick had been rather uneasy at the thought ofwhat to say to her, but she made conversation soeasily herself that he had only to put in an odd remarkhere and there: "Yes, of course, yes." "No, indeed.""Exactly."

In the evening Thor Smith, Nachmann and WardenProis came round for their weekly game of cards.They were all remarkably punctual to-day: the clockhad not struck seven before all three were in the hall,and all with unfeigned curiosity plainly on their faces.

"I'm dying to see how the old man gets on with thisgay widow," said Thor Smith, touching up his hairand tie before the glass—a nicety he had never troubledabout on previous visits to Old Nick.

Red paper shades had been put on the lamps, andthe table was fully laid with tea-urn, cups and saucers,cakes and little fringed serviettes.

Old Nick, in a black frock-coat, advanced ceremoniouslytowards them; he said very little, however,and seemed generally rather ill at ease.

"Rather a change this," thought Warden Prois.He was more accustomed to finding Old Nick on suchoccasions in dressing-gown and slippers, with his oldrocking-chair drawn up, and his feet on the table.Then, when he heard his visitors arrive, he would senda gruff hail to the kitchen: "Marthe, you old slow-coach,hurry up with that hot water, or I'll...."But to-day he was as polished and precise as an oldmarquis.

Prois glanced over towards Nachmann, and ThorSmith in despair picked up an ancient album thathe had seen at least a hundred times before; theonly pictures in it were portraits of the former parson,and of Pepita, a dancer, who had adorned the stagesome forty years earlier, when Old Nick was young.

Then Mrs. Rantzau came in. She wore a blackvelvet dress, with a little red silk handkerchiefcoquettishly stuck in the breast.

Old Nick introduced them. She was certainlyhandsome, as she greeted each of the guests with akindly word and a smile.

Tea was served, and she handed a cup to Smith andone to Prois. Nachmann had retired to the farthestcorner of the sofa, as if on his guard.

"Excuse me, I can drink most things made withwater, including soda, potash and Apollinaris, buttea—no. It affects my nerves. Mr. Prois, now, is aconfirmed tea-drinker; he'll have two cups at least,I'm sure."

Prois gave a furious glance at Nachmann, andstruggled desperately with some sort of cake withcurrants in, and these he managed to spit out on thesly, hiding them in his waistcoat pocket.

At last the toddy and the cards appeared. Mrs.Rantzau sat close at hand, working at her embroidery,a large piece of canvas with a design representing Dianain the act of throwing a big spear at a retreating lion.

Nachmann, the only one who had retained his self-possession,was master of the situation.

"Well, now, honestly, my dear lady, I should saythat Diana there is the very image of your charmingself, and the terrified animal in the corner looks remarkablylike our host. I do hope you'll be careful withthat spear!"

Mrs. Rantzau was plainly offended, and gave him asharp glance of reproof from her dark eyes.

Mrs. Rantzau rose and left the room hastily. Therewas an awkward pause, until Thor Smith took up thecards and began to shuffle.

"Only wait a little, old boy, and you'll find it hotenough, or I'm much mistaken. Ah, well, such is lifewithout a wife.... Here, I say, where's your headto-night, Nickelsen. Bless my soul, if you haven'tgiven them the game!"

Old Nick complained of headache that evening,and the party broke up earlier than usual. So early,indeed, that Thor Smith had scarcely finished his firstglass, or the first cataract, as he called it, whereasordinarily the third would be reached and passed inthe course of the evening's play.

The three friends walked home together, all veryserious, and greatly troubled in mind as to Old Nick'sfuture.

Prois in particular took a most gloomy view. "It'sa dangerous age for that sort of thing; comes onsuddenly, before you know where you are." He wasthinking of his own experiences in that direction; itwas only four years since he had been wild to marrythat young governess at the Abrahamsens', the disaster,however, being fortunately averted by the interventionof Pedersen, the telegraphist, who cut in and won herbefore he, Prois, had screwed himself up to the question.

Old Nick hardly knew the place again when hecame down to breakfast next morning, to find Mrs.Rantzau presiding at table in a pink morning-gownand dainty shoes. The walls were decorated withChinese paper fans in flowery designs, and Japaneseparasols; the sofas had been moved out at all anglesabout the room. A big palm waved above his writing-table,and all the papers on it were neatly arranged intwo piles of equal size, one on either hand.

At sight of this his blood began to boil; his writing-tablewas sacred; no human hand but his own hadtouched it for the past forty years. Old Martheherself, when dusting the room, had been as shy ofcoming near it as if it had been a red-hot stove. Nevertheless,Old Nick found himself unable to say a word;Mrs. Rantzau's smile and her dark eyes threw him intoutter confusion.

One day, happening to come in for some papers, hefound her in the act of taking the documents of a casepending—"Strandvik Postal Authoritiesv. HolmestrandTown Council"—to clean the lamps with. Buthere he was obliged to put his foot down and protest.If he could not trust his papers to be left in safety onhis table, why, he might as well move out of the house.

Mrs. Rantzau looked at him with great imploringeyes, and was so contrite; he must forgive her, shewas so dreadfully stupid; she had no idea that paperscould be so important.

Old Nick could not help smiling, and peace wasrestored, on condition that for the future only newspapersshould be used for cleaning purposes. Thisnaturally led to Old Nick's finding the one particularjournal he wanted to read after dinner had beensacrificed.

She was undeniably handsome, however, especiallyin that pink morning-gown as she sat at the breakfast-table,while Old Nick revived his early memories andendeavoured to play the youthful cavalier.

Friends of the house were soon thoroughly convincedthat Old Nick was done for; the widow had captivatedhim beyond recall. Thor Smith, thinking a warningmight yet be in time, sent him anonymously thefollowing lines:

A grand ball was to be held at the Town Hall, inaid of the Fund for National Defence. Old Nick hadno intention of going himself, but Mrs. Rantzaupointed out that it was his duty, as a loyal andpatriotic citizen, to attend. Accordingly, albeit notwithout considerable hesitation, he decided to go.She tied his dress-bow for him, and put a red rosebudwith a tip of fern in his buttonhole. She herself, withOld Nick in attendance, sailed into the ballroom likea queen, with pearls in her hair, and her dark bluesilk dress fitting like the corslet of a Valkyrie.

The company made way for her involuntarily, andshe was placed at the upper end of the hall, betweenMrs. Jansen and Mrs. Heidt. The last named lady,who was ceremonious and reserved by nature, besidesbeing conscious of representing the aristocracy of thetown, was chilliness itself towards this newly risenstar. Mrs. Jansen, on the other hand, a kindly soul,felt obliged to show her some little attention, andintroduced her to a number of those present.

Dr. Stromberg, a middle-aged bachelor, had thereputation of falling in love with every new specimenof the fair sex he encountered. True to his character,he at once attached himself to Mrs. Rantzau, whoseconquest of Strandvik was thus begun.

Old Nick sat in a corner talking to Winter, theCustoms Officer, his eyes incessantly following theblue silk gown as it passed. His old heart was sorestless and unruly, he began to wonder seriously ifsomething had gone wrong with the internal mechanism.Cards, drinks, old friends, all were forgotten thatevening he had no thought but for that figure in theblue silk dress that was ever before his eyes. He hadexperienced hallucinations before, when things seemedto dance round and round, but to-night, with nothingstronger than soda water—neat—it was past allcomprehension.

In a circle of men, old and young, stood EmilieRantzau, smiling and alert. She was sought after atevery dance, until Mrs. Thor Smith, née Tulla Prois,observed indignantly that one might think the menhad never seen a woman from another town before—andHeaven only knew what sort of a creature thisone was. Mrs. Jansen herself began to be ratheruneasy, when she saw her husband lead out the widowas his partner for the lancers—or "lunchers" asCilia Braaten called it. And matters were notimproved when the Consul started talking Frenchwith Mrs. Rantzau at supper, of which his wife didnot understand a word.

"She's charming, my dear, a most interestingwoman, and speaks French like an educatedParisienne," said Jansen to his wife.

Poor Mrs. Jansen was beginning to experience thepangs of jealousy, and determined to purchase aFrench made Easy the very next day.

"Bless my soul, if there isn't Justice Heidt askingthe angelic widow for a dance," exclaimed ThorSmith, pulling Nachmann by the sleeve.

"Angelic widow's good," said Nachmann. "Butthere's angels and angels, you know. And they'dhave to be a bit on the dusky side to pair off withOld Nick, what?"

Mrs. Heidt got up and went into an adjoining room,sending her husband a glance as she passed whichsobered him considerably for the moment. It wasnot long, however, before the brilliant dark eyes hadmade him forget both his dignity and his domesticobligations.

Old Nick was very taciturn that evening as hewalked home with Mrs. Rantzau. She, however,laughed and joked, and told stories of "all those sillyold men" with such wit and good humour that hewas forced to admit it would have been a pity not tohave gone to the ball. "Yes, a very jolly evening;very nice indeed, yes."

On the following day the "angelic widow" andher conquests at the ball were the general topic ofconversation. The ladies, old and young, marriedand the reverse, agreed that she was detestable, andwere sure there must be something "queer" abouther. Mrs. Heidt and Mrs. Knap had a two hours'consultation together, at the end of which it wasdecided that no effort should be spared to check"that woman's" further encroachment upon localsociety.

All the men, with exception of Thor Smith and Nachmann,were enthusiastic in praise of the new arrival,and her popularity on that side was assured.

One day she astonished Mrs. Jansen by calling onher with a proposal that the ladies of the town shouldget up a bazaar in aid of the Seamen's Families ReliefFund. On another occasion she went to Mrs. Heidt,and begged her to support the National Women'sMovement; she also invited Governor Abrahamsento help start a society for helping ex-convicts toturn over a new leaf. Even Klementsen was urgedto help her in getting up a subscription for a newaltar-piece.

In addition to these more or less philanthropicmovements, she arranged excursions to the countryround, the beauties of which, she declared, were notappreciated as they should be, and further, obtainedthe assistance of Consul Jansen in forming a Societyfor the Furtherance of the Tourist Traffic in Strandvikand Neighbourhood.

The Consul was delighted with the idea, and vowedhe must have been blind not to have discovered earlierthe natural beauties of the neighbourhood. He gavea grand champagne supper and proposed Mrs.Rantzau's health in a speech, concluding by comparingthat lady to "a breath of ocean fresh andfree." The toast was received with acclamation.

Altogether, the upper circles of Strandvik societywere thrown into a state of unprecedented excitementand activity.

Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen viedwith one another in their efforts to outdo Mrs. Rantzau;they would show her at least that they were as goodas she.

Societies were started, with "evenings" after,where Emilie Rantzau's plans were discussed.

Mrs. Heidt thought and thought till she grew giddyand had to have hot fomentations of an evening;the unusual mental effort had brought on insomnia.Sukkerstad hoped to find in Mrs. Rantzau an ally tothe cause of temperance, and paid her a ceremonialcall, in company with Watchmaker Rordam, who, ashort while back, had suddenly joined the TemperanceAssociation, "Strandvik's Pride." And the pair ofthem explained to her, with all the eloquence at theircommand, how greatly her patronage would be appreciatedby all.

Emilie Rantzau, however, hardly thought her owninterests in the town would be greatly furthered bycloser association with Sukkerstad and his circle; onthe other hand, it was just as well to keep on goodterms with all sections of local society. She thereforeinformed the deputation that she would think overthe matter, and assured them meanwhile of herearnest sympathy with the good cause.

The same day she hurried up to Consul Jansen,switched on her eloquent dark eyes, and suggestedthat the Temperance Movement was one they oughtto support, but that the best way of doing so wouldbe to get up a little subscription, and raise enough foran excursion—a steamer trip for the afternoon, withtea and lemonade. "It would look well, you know,and all that—and get them off our hands for a bit,"she added meaningly.

No one could refuse her, and in the course of oneafternoon she managed to collect eight pounds, whichshe dispatched to Sukkerstad and Rordam for thepurpose indicated. Sukkerstad was so enthusiastic inhis appreciation that he determined to convene ameeting of the committee and propose a vote of thanksand an address.

All the members turned up, with the exception ofRordam, who, in his joy at the eight pounds, had givenway to a sudden relapse, which rendered him incapableof further temperance work for the time being.

After some discussion, the committee decided topurchase a portrait of Mrs. Rantzau from the photographer,and hang it up in their hall; this was votedpreferable to the address.

Mrs. Heidt was beginning to lag behind; it wasimpossible to keep pace with a woman of such untiringenergy and initiative as Mrs. Rantzau.

Four ladies were gathered one day in her drawing-room,to talk over what was to be done; they couldnot suffer themselves to be set aside like this. Whatthey wanted was some grand idea, something tovanquish the enemy at a single blow, and show therest of the town that Emilie Rantzau was not wanted.

It was Mrs. Knap who had the happy thought—thePeace Movement. The cause of universal peace wassurely one which nobody in Strandvik could refuseto aid.

Mrs. Abrahamsen was more inclined to concentrateon a bazaar and lottery in aid of the proposed crematorium,which institution she regarded as most desirablefrom the humane, the sanitary and various otherpoints of view.

Mrs. Knap protested energetically against the idea;she had recently had an accident with a box of matches,which had gone off suddenly and burnt her hand. Shefor her part would have nothing more to do withburning—for the present, at any rate.

Finally, after some heated argument, it was agreedthat a grand harvest festival should be held, theproceeds to be devoted to the cause of universalpeace.

Emilie Rantzau was to be kept out of it altogether;they would not have her help in the arrangements,not a contribution—not so much as a bunch of flowerswas to come from her; it was to be a festival "forourselves and by ourselves." The old ladies werealready triumphant; this intriguing minx, this personfrom nowhere, who had tried to force herself intosociety, should be made to feel their power and herown insignificance. The festival was to be held in thepark on Sunday, from five to nine; there would beilluminations, coloured lanterns, fireworks and soon. Singing,—male and female choir,—lecture by aProfessor from Christiania, recitation by a famousactor, solos by an amateur and an "amatrice"—itwas a programme so magnificent that the whole townwas amazed.

Meantime, Mrs. Rantzau sat quietly at home, in herpink morning-gown, pouring out coffee for Nickelsen.She was very quiet and gentle in manner—there wasa curious atmosphere about the situation generally.

There lay the morning papers, white, uncrumpled,untouched. The coffee now seethed gently in littleregular gasps, like a school-mistress out on a mountaineeringexpedition; the sun peeped in through thewindows, casting gay gleams over Old Nick's whitemop of hair and Emilie's raven locks.

"Why shouldn't I be happy the few years I've stillto live? And who is to have my money when I'mgone?" Old Nick sat staring absently before him.

She bent over towards him, handing his cup; hefelt her soft, curling tresses close to his cheek, and herhand just touched his own.

"Why, how serious you are all of a sudden! Youquite frightened me," she said, with a laugh, lookingup at him innocently.

"Mrs. Rantzau," he began again, "do you knowthat poem of Byronson, that—that begins:

"Lord bless me, old boy, spouting poetry so earlyin the morning! Did you think it was ConstitutionDay—or the day after?"

Old Nick looked round anything but amiably atNachmann's unbeautiful face smiling in the doorway;Mrs. Rantzau left the room without a word.

A long and earnest conference ensued between thetwo men, after which they went out for a long walktogether.

Emilie Rantzau felt now that her position wassecure; it was only a question of time before she couldappear as Mrs. Nickelsen. And inwardly she vowedvengeance on the women who had systematicallyexcluded her from the Peace Festival; she ponderedhow best to get even with Mrs. Heidt and the rest.

It took a deal of thinking out, but at last she hitupon a way. Quickly she put on her things, andhurried round to her faithful supporter, Consul Jansen.

On Saturday evening, theStrandvik News appeared,and created an indescribable sensation throughout thetown by printing immediately under the big announcementof the festival in the park, the following lines:

Mrs. Heidt started up in a fury, and declared it wasa disgraceful piece of trickery on the part of thatEmilie Rantzau. She could forgive Mrs. Jansen,perhaps, as being too much of a simpleton herself tosee through the artful meanness of the whole thing.

On Sunday evening, after the festival, all the youngpeople and a number of the older ones flocked to theTown Hall, where Mrs. Rantzau received them withher most winning smile.

Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen wenteach to their several homes, boiling with indignation;they had not even been invited to look on.

Some few there were, perhaps, who failed to see anyimmediate connection between a Peace Festival andthe Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field,but all enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and that, afterall, was the main thing.

Emilie Rantzau was the queen of the ball, and wellaware of it. She felt she had vanquished her rivalsnow, and was left in victorious possession of the field.One thing, however, caused her some slight anxiety,and that was that Nickelsen did not put in an appearance,though he had promised to come on later—whatcould it mean?

Old Nick was sitting at home, deep in thought,and with him were Thor Smith, Nachmann andWarden Prois.

"You must see and get clear of this, Nickelsen,"said Prois warmly, laying one hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, I suppose I must. But the worst of it is,I've got fond of her, you see, and I've been hopingshe'd brighten up the few years I've got left."

"I know, I know," said Prois. "I've been throughexactly the same thing myself, a few years back, but,thanks to Providence, I got out of it all right."

"Don't blame it on Providence, Warden," putin Nachmann. "It was that telegraph fellow youhad to thank for cutting you out."

"It's not a matter for joking," said Prois sharply;and Nachmann withdrew to a corner of the sofa,quite depressed by the seriousness of the situation.

Thor Smith could stand it no longer; this unwontedsolemnity was too much for him. He slippedout into the hall, and, sitting down on an old leathertrunk, laughed till he cried.

There was a long conference at Old Nick's thatevening, and it was one o'clock before he faithfullypromised to follow his friends' advice, and thrust outEmilie Rantzau from his house and heart.

How this was to be accomplished must be decidedlater; meantime the conspirators would take it inturn to dine with Old Nick and spend the rest of theday with him, to guard against any backsliding.

How could they get her to go? The question wasargued and discussed, but no one could hit upon anyreasonable plan. At last they decided to call inPeter Oiland, who had lately been on terms of intimacywith Old Nick, and see what he could do.

Peter Oiland put on a serious face, and lookeddoubtfully over at Prois, whose mind was becomingalmost unhinged by these everlasting conferences andendless discussions, while the seriousness of the situationforbade any over-hasty steps.

"Well, we can't very well turn her out by force,"said Peter Oiland. "The only thing to do is to tryand get at the soft side of her: an appeal to theheart, you understand."

"H'm; her heart's like the drawers in my store,"said Nachmann. "In and out according to what'swanted."

Peter Oiland determined nevertheless to make anattempt. He would say nothing for the present asto the details of his plan; he had an idea, and hopedit might succeed.

Meantime, Emilie Rantzau continued her triumphantprogress; she was leading society in Strandvik. Herdresses, her manner, were a standing topic amongthe ladies of the town, who hated and admired herat once. She on her part was happy enough, but at aloss to understand why Nickelsen was so unpardonablytardy in making his declaration; still, it couldonly be a question of time; she felt safe enough.

One day there came a letter from Christiania, whichin a flash threw Strandvik and its entire society intothe background. It ran as follows:

She read the letter through a dozen times at least,and sat puzzling her brains to try and recollect a"fair young man," who had been one of her admirersat Mrs. Moller's. She could make nothing of it. Shehad been only seventeen at the time, and had hadsuch a host of admirers before and since; it was toomuch to expect that she should recollect them all.

This lawyer of hers was but a poor creature afterall; red-nosed, almost a dotard—ugh! To think ofgetting away from it all and go to Christiania, perhapsParis, Vienna, Rome—away! And then to be rich—rich!Poverty was a dreadful thing to face, dreadfuleven to think of. Was she to grow old, and ugly,and poor?

Emilie had never handled a £50 note before in herlife. She spread it out on the table, smoothing it withher fingers so tenderly that Old Nick, had he seenher, would have been frantic with jealousy. She evenkissed the portrait of His Majesty in the corners beforehiding the note away in her breast.

Old Nick was utterly astonished when Mrs. Rantzauinformed him that she found herself compelled toleave Strandvik, the air, unfortunately, did not agreewith her. She seemed, too, remarkably cool in hermanner towards him; her customary smile had fadedsomewhat, and her ardent eyes, that had been wontto focus themselves upon his own, seemed now toflicker vaguely in no particular direction.

Mrs. Rantzau's sudden departure occasioned muchcomment. Her most faithful admirer, Consul Jansen,turned up with a big bunch of flowers, and hoisted theflag in his garden at half-mast.

Old Nick, of course, went down to the quay to seeher off. As a matter of fact, however, he was nowbeginning to find the situation rather humorous—asymptom which Thor Smith diagnosed as indicatingthat his old friend was well on the way at least toconvalescence, if not to complete recovery.

Mrs. Rantzau stood on the upper deck in her darkblue dress, with the little toque coquettishly aslant onher head. She waved her handkerchief, and ConsulJansen cried: "Adieu, au revoir!"

"Merci, Monsieur le Consul; je regrette que voussoyez obligé de rester ici parmi ces dromadaires-ci."That was Emilie Rantzau's farewell to Strandvik.As for Old Nick, she did not even grant him so muchas a nod.

On the way home he encountered a procession ofurchins, ragged, bare-legged and boisterous, wavingJapanese fans and Chinese parasols—properties whichhe seemed to recognise.

"Mr. Nachmann gave us them. He threw them outof Nickelsen's window," cried the youngsters inchorus.

Nachmann and Prois were busy moving the sofasback against the wall, and restoring the card-table toits former place.

That evening Old Nick's little circle of friendsassembled at his house. Cards and the tray of glasseswere laid out as in the old days. The host, in hisold brown dressing-gown, sat with his slippered feetup on the table, and puffed at his long-stemmed pipe.

"Well, you may think yourself lucky to have gotout of that as you did," said Nachmann, touching OldNick's glass with his own.

"I can't think what made her go off like that, allof a sudden," said Old Nick, almost wistfully.

"Yes, it was he that got her away. What aboutthose letters you sent her, Oiland? What did yousay in them?"

"H'm," said Oiland, with a serious air. "My dearfriends, it is ill jesting with affairs of the heart. EmilieRantzau's secret is locked for ever in my breast."And he gazed reflectively into his glass as he stirredhis grog.

"Posted them myself when I was in with Sukkestad,my respected father-in-law to be, buying furniture."

"Well, the photo was one Maria Sukkestad gave melast year of her beloved spouse—taken years ago, whenthey were engaged."

"She told Mrs. Jansen she'd stayed there, and Iheard about it after. But all that was easy enough.The worst thing was, it came so expensive—£50 is alot of money," and he sighed.

"Our efforts in the cause of freedom having metwith the success they deserve, we naturally look toyou, as the intended victim, for reimbursement of allcosts incurred in effecting your deliverance. And wehope after this you'll have the sense to know whenyou're well off, and not go running your head into anoose again, old man. Three cheers for Old Nick—hurrah!"

It was a festive evening, culminating in a songwritten specially for the occasion:

XVII
THEEVA MARIA

"Close on seven-and-thirty years now since Icame aboard as skipper of theEva Maria,and you can understand, Nils Petter, it's abit queer like for me to be handing her over now toanyone else," said old Bernt Jorgensen solemnly. Hisbrother, Nils Petter, listened respectfully.

"Never a thing gone wrong. I've always been ableto reckon out exactly what the four trips to Scotlandand Holland each summer brought in; but then, as youknow, Nils Petter, I didn't go dangling about on shorewith the other skippers, throwing money away onwhisky and such-like trash."

"Ay, steady it is, and steady it's got to be, andkeep a proper account of everything. In winter, whenI was at home with the mother, I'd always go throughall expenses I'd had the summer past; that way Icould keep an eye on every little thing."

"Ay, you've been careful enough about little things,that's true. I remember that tar bucket we threwoverboard once. We never heard the last of it allthat winter."

"It's just that very thing, Nils Petter, that I've gotto thank for having a bit laid by, or anyhow, theEvaMaria's free of debt, and that's all I ask." Old Berntwas not anxious to go into details as to the nice littlesum he had laid up with Van Hegel in Amsterdam,not to speak of the little private banking account thathad been growing so steadily for years.

"Not but that I've need enough to earn a littlemore," he went on; "but I've made up my mindnow to give up the sea, though it's hard to leave theoldEva Maria that's served me so well."

Bernt Jorgensen had been very doubtful abouthanding over the vessel to Nils Petter's command.Nils was a good seaman enough, but with one seriousfailing: he invariably ran riot when he got ashore,and there was no holding him.

Still, Nils Petter was his only brother, and perhapswhen he found himself skipper he would come to feelthe responsibility of his position, and improve accordingly.Anyhow, one could but try it.

Nils Petter stood watching his brother attentively,as the latter solemnly concluded: "Well, you'reskipper of theEva Maria from now on, Nils Petter, andI hope and trust you'll bear in mind the duty you oweto God and your owners."

Nils Petter grasped his brother's hand and shookit so heartily that Bernt could feel it for days—it wasat any rate a reminder that Nils Petter had seriousintentions of reforming.

But Nils Petter was the happy man! First of all,he had to go ashore and tell the good news to his oldfriend, Trina Thoresen, who, it may be noted, hadbeen one of his former sweethearts. She had marriedThoresen as the only means of avoiding a scandal,and murmured resignedly as she did so: "Ah, well,it can't be helped. Nils Petter can't marry us all,poor fellow!"

Nils Petter's large, round face was one comprehensivesmile, and his huge fists all but crushed the life outof Schoolmaster Pedersen, who was impudent enoughto offer his hand in congratulation. "Skipper!"said Nils Petter. "Captain, you mean—he—he!"and he laughed till the houses echoed half-way up thestreet, and Mrs. Pedersen looked out of the windowto see what all the noise was about.

Nils Petter was undoubtedly the most popularcharacter in the town; he was intimate with everyone, regardless of sex or social standing.

"A cheery, good-natured soul," was the generalestimate of Nils Petter—somewhat too cheery, perhaps,at times; but never so much so that he abused hisgigantic strength, of which wonderful stories weretold. At any rate it took a great deal to move himto anger.

He was in constant difficulties about money, foras often as he had any to spare, he would give it awayor lend it. Now and again, when especially hard up,he would apply to his "rich brother" as he calledhim, and never failed to receive assistance, togetherwith a long sermon on the evils of extravagance,which he listened to most penitently, but the meaningof which he had never to this day been able to realisehimself.

Well, now we shall see how he got on as officer incommand of theEva Maria,vice that careful oldmodel of a skipper, Bernt Jorgensen. The vesselwas fixed for Dundee, with a cargo of battens fromDrammen, and Bernt had himself seen to everythingin the matter of stores and provisions, etc., accordingto the old régime. Nils Petter certainly found thesupplies of meat and drink on board a trifle scanty—drink,especially so. Six bottles of fruit syrup—h'm.Nils Petter thought he might at least make acautious suggestion. "Say, Brother Bernt, you'resure you haven't forgotten anything. Fresh meat,for instance, and a bottle or so of spirits?"

"Never has been spirits on board theEva Maria,"answered Bernt shortly. And Nils Petter was obligedto sail with fruit syrup instead.

Just outside Horten, however, they were becalmed,and theEva Maria anchored up accordingly.

"D'you know this place at all, Ola?" said NilsPetter to his old friend Ola Simonsen, the boatswain,as they got the anchor down.

"Surely, Captain—know it? Why, I was here withthe oldDesideria serving my time."

"Right you are, then. We'll get out the boat andgo on shore first for a look round."

It was late that night when they returned, NilsPetter at the oars, and Ola sleeping the sleep of thejust in the bottom of the boat. Nils Petter wassinging and laughing so he could be heard half a mileoff. After considerable effort he managed to hoistthe boatswain over the vessel's side, the whole crewlaughing uproariously, including Nils Petter himself,who was quite pleased with the whole adventure, andcared not a jot for discipline and his dignity as skipper.

Ola Simonsen having been safely deposited on board,Nils Petter handed up a number of items in addition.One large joint of beef, six pork sausages, one ham,one case of tinned provisions, and one marked significantly,"Glass: with care."

Towards morning a light, northerly breeze sprangup, and they weighed anchor again. Nils Petter,instead of pacing the after-part with his hands behindhis back, as became the dignity of a captain, cameforward and took up his post beside the windlass,sent the rest of the crew briskly about their business,and fell to singing with the full force of his lungs, tillthe agent on the quay went in for his glasses to seewhat was happening.

Nils Petter was the very opposite of his brother,who would make a whole voyage without saying aword to his crew except to give the necessary orders.Nils Petter, on the other hand, chatted with the menand lent a hand with the work like any ordinaryseaman. Altogether, the relations between captainand crew were such as would have been thoroughlypleasant and cordial ashore.

There were beefsteaks for dinner as long as the beeflasted out, and Nils Petter shared in brotherly fashionwith the rest—there was no distinction of rank onboard in that respect; it was an ideal socialisticUtopia!

The case marked "Glass: with care" was opened,and each helped himself at will, till only the strawpacking remained. It was a cheery, comfortable lifeon board, as all agreed, not least Nils Petter, wholaughed and sang the whole day long. No one hadever dreamed of such a state of things on board theEva Maria, least of all Bernt Jorgensen, who wasfortunately in ignorance of the idyllic conditions nowprevailing in his beloved ship.

The only occasion throughout the voyage when anyreal dissension arose between Nils Petter and his crewwas when opening one of the tins brought on boardat Horten. The contents defied identification despitethe most careful scrutiny. The label certainly said"Russian Caviare," but Nils Petter and the rest werenone the wiser for that. A general council was accordinglyheld, with as much solemnity as if the lives of allwere in peril on the sea.

"Itsch—hitch—huh!" said Thoresen, the mate."Better trying cooking it, I think." (This Thoresen,by the way, was the husband of Trina Thoresen, beforementioned, and a good friend of Nils Petter, who, inmoments of exaltation would call him brother-in-law,which Thoresen never seemed to mind in the least.)

While the tin of caviare was under discussion, all onboard, from the ship's boy to the captain, wereassembled in the forecastle, intent on the matter inhand. So much so, indeed, that theEva Maria, thenleft to her own devices, sailed slap into a schoonerladen with coal, that was rude enough to get in herway.

Fortunately, no great damage was done beyondcarrying away the schooner's jib-boom, and matterswere settled amicably with the schooner's captain,whom Nils Petter presented with an odd spar hehappened to have on deck and the six bottles of fruitsyrup, which he was only too pleased to get rid of.And theEva Maria continued her course in the samecheerful spirit as heretofore.

Nils Petter's first exploit on arriving at Dundee wasto send the harbour-master headlong into the dock,whence he was with difficulty dragged out. He gotoff with a fine of £20, which was entered in the ship'saccounts as "unforeseen expenses."

Those on board found themselves comfortableenough, the skipper being for the most part ashore.This, however, was hardly fortunate for the owner,as Nils Petter's shore-going disbursements were byno means inconsiderable, including, as they did, littleoccasional extras, such as £2, 10s. for a plate-glasswindow in the bar of the "Duck and Acid-drop,"through which aforesaid window Nils had propelleda young gentleman whom he accused of throwingorange-peel.

At last theEva Maria was clear of Dundee, andafter Nils Petter had provisioned her according to hislights—which ranged from fresh meat to ginger-beerand double stout—there remained of the freight moneyjust on £7. This he considered was not worth sendinghome, and invested it therefore in a cask of goodScotch whisky, thinking to gladden his brother therewithon his return.

Nils Petter and theEva Maria then proceededwithout further adventure on their homeward way,arriving in the best of trim eight days after.

The first thing to do was to go up to the ownersand report. Nils Petter was already in the boat, withthe whisky, and Ola Simonsen at the oars.

"What the devil am I to say about the money?"muttered Nils Petter to himself, as he sat in the stern.For the first time since the voyage began he felttroubled and out of spirits.

Ola lifted his cap and scratched his head. "Why,you haven't left it behind, then, Captain, or what?"

"Why, it's like this, Ola; there's expenses, youknow, on a voyage—oh, but it's no good trying thaton; he knows all about it himself. H'm ... I wishto goodness I could think of something."

Nils Petter frowned, and looked across at the caskof whisky. Ola, noticing the direction of his glance,observed consolingly that it ought to be a welcomepresent. "Ay, if that was all," said Nils Petter,"but the beggar's a teetotaller."

They landed at the quay. Nils Petter and Ola gotthe cask ashore, and rolled it together over to BerntJorgensen's house. The owner was out in the garden,eating cherries with the parson, who had come to call.

At sight of the latter, Nils Petter gave Ola a nudge,and ordered him to take the cask round the back way,while he himself walked solemnly up to his brotherand saluted.

"You've made a quick voyage," said Bernt Jorgensen,his voice trembling a little. "I'd been expectingto hear from you by letter before now, though." Andhe looked up sternly.

"Yes—yes, I suppose ... you're thinking of thefreight," said Nils Petter, inwardly deciding that itmight be just as well to get it over at once, especiallynow the parson was here.

"It was always my way to send home the freightmoney as soon as I'd drawn it," said Bernt Jorgensenquietly.

"Expenses come terribly heavy in Dundee justnow," said Nils Petter. "And—and—well, it's hardto make ends meet anyhow these times."

Here an unexpected reinforcement came to his aid.The parson nodded, and observed that he heard thesame thing on all sides; hard times for shipping tradejust now. The parson, indeed, never heard anythingelse, as his parishioners invariably told him the samestory, as a sort of delicate excuse for the smallness oftheir contribution.

When the brothers were alone, Nils Petter had tocome out with the truth, that all he had to show forthe trip was one cask of whisky. "That I broughthome, meaning all for the best, Bernt, and thinking£7 wasn't worth sending."

Bernt, however, was of a different opinion, anddelivered a lengthy reprimand, ending up with thewords, "TheEva Maria's never made a voyage likethat before. Ah, Nils Petter, I'm afraid you're theprodigal son."

Nils Petter bowed his head humbly, but reflectedinwardly that if all the prodigal sons had been ascomfortably off on their travels as he had on thatvoyage, they wouldn't have been so badly off after all.

As for the cask of whisky, Nils Petter was orderedto drive in with it to Drammen and sell it there, whichhe did, after first privately drawing off six bottles andsupplying the deficiency with water.

If Bernt Jorgensen had had his doubts the first timeNils Petter went on board theEva Maria as skipper,his misgivings now were naturally increased a thousand-fold.Nils Petter, however, promised faithfully toreform, and send home a thumping remittance, if onlyhe might be allowed to make one more voyage. Andin the end, Bernt, with brotherly affection, let himhave his way.

This time the charter was for Niewendiep, or"Nyndyp," as it was generally called, which portBernt knew inside and out, as he said, so that NilsPetter could not palm off any fairy-tales about it.

The voyage was as quick as the preceding one, and,less than four weeks from sailing, Nils Petter appearedonce more rowing in to the quay. This time, however,he brought with him, not a cask of whisky, but "somethingaltogether different"—in honour of which theEva Maria was decked out with all the bunting onboard.

Bernt Jorgensen had come down himself to thewaterside on seeing the vessel so beflagged, as it hadnot been since the day of his own wedding, thirtyyears before. He stood shading his eyes with onehand, as he watched Nils Petter in the boat comingin. "What on earth was that he had got in thestern? Something all tied about with fluttering redribbons."

"Hey, brother!" hailed Nils Petter joyfully, standingup in the boat. "Here's a remittance, if youlike!" And he pointed to a buxom young womanwho sat nodding and smiling at his side. Withoutundue ceremony he hoisted the lady by one arm upon to the quay, and the pair stood facing Bernt, whostared speechlessly from one to the other.

"Here's your brother-in-law, my dear," said NilsPetter in a dialect presumably meant for Dutch,nudging the fair one with his knee in a part whereHollanders are generally supposed to be well upholstered.The impetus sent her flying into the armsof Bernt, who extricated himself humidly.

"Her name's Jantjedina van Groot, my good andfaithful wife," Nils Petter explained. Bernt Jorgensen,who had not yet recovered from his astonishment,only grunted again and again: "H'm—h'm——" andmade haste towards home, followed by Nils Petterand his bride.

This time nothing was said about the freight money,which was just as well for all concerned, seeing it hadall been spent in the purchase of various householdgoods and extra provisions with which to celebratethe occasion. Nils Petter's new relations in Holland,too, had had to be treated in hospitable fashion—whichwas just as well for them, since he never calledthere again!

Bernt Jorgensen decided that it would be moreeconomical to pension off Nils Petter, and get askipper of the old school to take over theEva Maria;after which there was rarely any trouble about thefreight money.

XVIII
THEHENRIK IBSEN

"Well, and what are you doing with that bratof yours,Birkebeineren," asked Hansenthe shipbroker, one day, meeting SorenBraaten in the street. "Got any freight yet?"

"No, worse luck. These wretched steamers takeall there is. I can't see what's the good of steam anyway.We got along all right without it before, butit's all different now. Doesn't give a poor man timeto breathe."

"Going to rack and ruin, as far as I can see. Andwhat's the sense of all this hurry and skurry, whenall's said and done. It's against nature, that's whatI say. When I think how we used to get along in theold days. Why, I never heard but that the merchantsover in England and Holland were pleased enoughwith the cargoes when they got there, whether we'dbeen a fortnight or a month on the way, and we madea decent living out of it and so did they. But now?As soon as a steamer comes along, it's all fussand excitement and bother and complaint allround."

"You ought to see and get hold of a steamboatyourself, Soren; we mustn't be behindhand with everything,you know. Why, up in Drammen now, they'veseven or eight of them already."

"Thank you for nothing. Let them buy steamersthat cares to; it won't be Soren Braaten, though."

And Soren walked homeward, inwardly anathematisingthe inventor of steam, who might have found abetter use for his time than causing all that troubleto his fellow-men.

Cilia was in the kitchen when he came in; thefirst thing she asked was whether he had got a charterforBirkebeineren.

The vessel had been lying in Christiania now fornearly a month; such a thing had never happenedbefore.

Remittances? Alas, these had so dwindled of lateas to be almost microscopic. Things were lookinggloomy all round.

Cilia sat by the fire looking thoughtfully into theblaze. She dropped her knitting, and stuck the oddneedle into her hair, that was fastened in a coil at theback of her head. The wool rolled to the floor, butwhen Soren stooped to pick it up, she ordered himsharply to leave it alone. There was something inher voice that startled Soren. Ever since the battleroyal of a few years back, she had been quiet andsensible, and things had gone on between them assmoothly as could be wished.

Suddenly she rose to her feet, and stood with onehand on her hip, the other holding the bench.

"What's that you say, mother? We two oldfolks to go fussing about with steam? Nay, I'drather stick to the old planks till they rot!"

But Cilia went on firmly, altogether unmoved."We've a decent bit of money in the bank, and sharesin other things besides, but the interest's not what itmight be, and I don't see the sense of letting otherpeople take all the profits that's to be made out ofshipping, while we that's nearest at hand are leftbehind."

"I don't suppose they're overdone with profits,these here steamboats, when it comes to the point,"grumbled Soren. And no more was said about thematter for that day.

But Cilia pondered and speculated still; she readthe shipping papers and the shipbrokers' circularsas earnestly as she studied lesson and collect onSundays.

She found a valuable ally, too, in her son-in-law,Skipper Abrahamsen, who was tired of the "oldhulk," as he calledBirkebeineren, and longed to becaptain of a steamer himself. Fortunately, Sorennever heard a word of this, or it would have beenill both for Cilia and Abrahamsen, for he could notbear to hear a word in dispraise of his beloved ship.

Malvina, of course, sided with her husband and hermother, and their united efforts were daily brought tobear upon Soren, till at last he grew so tired of hearingabout "that steamboat of ours," that he fled outof the house, and went round to call on Warden Proiswhenever the talk turned that way.

There was a little attic in the Braaten's housethat had never been used for anything but a box-room;this was now cleared in secret by Cilia andMalvina, and then the three conspirators held meetingsand discussions. Abrahamsen and Cilia had quietlymade inquiries of various shipbuilding concerns, andreceived a mass of estimates and plans.

Cilia studied the question of engines till her brainwas going twelve knots easy. Compound and tripleexpansion, boiler plate, and cylinder stroke—her mindwas busy with every detail; for Cilia was not one todo things by halves when once she started.

Abrahamsen was examined and cross-examined tillthe sweat poured off him; he, of course, had to appearmore or less familiar with all these things, since heaspired to command a steamer.

Malvina sat silent, looking on with wide eyes andtaking it all in; she was looking forward to a freepassage on a real steamboat for herself.

Soren wondered a little what they could be up toin the attic, but, being comfortable enough below witha glass of grog and theShipping Gazette, he let themstay there as long as they pleased. One evening,however, it struck him they were at it a good longtime; it was past eleven, and no sign of their comingdown yet. Accordingly, he stole up quietly in hisstocking feet, and looked through the keyhole. Whathe saw did not improve his temper. On a table inthe middle of the room was the smartest little steamerone could imagine. Red bottom, sides black above,with a gold streak, the rudder and two masts slopinga little aft, flag at fore and maintop—a sight to see.Cilia, Malvina and Abrahamsen stood round examiningthe model with glee.

Soren was about to retire, but stumbled over an oldtrunk left outside, and fell head over heels into theroom among the others. There was an awkwardpause, until Cilia broke the silence by asking Soren:"What do you think of that—isn't she a beauty?"pointing to the model as she spoke.

"Oh, father, wemust have a steamer of our own,"said Malvina, coming up and clinging to his shoulder.

"Why, child, what are you doing here? I thoughtyou'd have had enough to do at home with the boy,"he said softly.

"It's the steamer we wanted to see. Mother thinkswe could manage all right with compound, butAbrahamsen says it'll have to be triplets."

"Have it whatever way you please, for all I care,"said Soren. And he stumped off downstairs.

But the pressure from all sides was too much.Soren had to give way at last, and sign a formal documentinviting subscriptions for shares in "a modern,up-to-date steamship."

S. Braaten having entered his name for fifty sharesat £50, it was hoped that the remainder wouldbe subscribed by tradesfolk in the town. Cilia hadlaid stress on the importance of appealing to localpatriotism, and the circular accordingly pointed outthat "in neighbouring towns it has already beenwisely recognised that the shipping of the future willbe steam, and that the day of the sailing vessel is past;our town alone, though it has always occupied a leadingposition in the shipping world, is sadly behindhand inthis respect, counting asyet not a single steamer. Itis in order to meet this long-felt want"—etc.

The appeal to the citizens of Strandvik was not invain. A few days later the necessary share capitalwas subscribed.

Soren Braaten, however, was ill at ease; it had goneagainst the grain to sign a document declaring thatthe day of the sailing vessel was past, and he wouldhave liked to add an explanatory note to the effectthat he had signed under protest. There was no helpfor it, however; for peace and quietness' sake he hadto give way.

At the preliminary general meeting, Soren waselected Managing Director of the Company, despite hismost energetic protests.

It was a fine sunny day when theHenrik Ibsen wasdue to appear. The name had been chosen at thesuggestion of Lawyer Nickelsen, who explained it asfitting for a trading vessel, from the fact that thepoet in question was expert at moving in dark watersand foggy regions, and made a very good living outof it; he hoped that the steamer would do likewise.

Flags were in evidence all over the town, and thequay was crowded. Never had there been such excitementin Strandvik since the day of the Royalvisit.

Almost every other man was a shareholder; evenKlementsen the parish clerk and Pedersen theschoolmaster had, despite their widely differingpolitical views, gone halves together in a share.

"From what I see in the papers about oil freightsfrom New York and corn freights from the Black Sea,the vessel ought to pay at least twenty per cent," saidPedersen, with an air of superior wisdom. And hebrought out a big sheet of paper covered with calculationsin English pounds, shillings and pence, whichhad taken him all the afternoon to work out.

Klementsen had to put on his spectacles and studythe figures earnestly; which done, the two newlypledged shipowners solemnly declared "it looks likevery good business."

Nachmann was also a shareholder, but had onlytaken up his holding on condition that he should bepurveyor of wines to the ship, "a smart, round vessellike that must get things from a decent firm." Hehad been busy to-day with a whole cart-load of variouswines for the dinner, which the shareholders were tohave on board during the trial trip.

Away in the harbour lay theApollo,Eva Maria,andBirkebeineren; they had had no charters thisyear. The old craft looked heavy and stout as theylay in the sweltering sun, with pitch oozing from theirseams like black tears. It almost looked as if theywere weeping at having to lie idle, instead of ploughingthrough the good salt waters off Lindemor or theDogger.

Soren Braaten, rowing out over the fjord to meetthe steamer, passed close by his old shipBirkebeineren.He cast a loving glance at the dear old piece of timber,and wished he had accepted any freight, howeverpoor, so he had kept out of all this new-fangledbusiness with engine-power and steam. He felt likea traitor to his class, and to all the old things he loved.

He passed theEva Maria, and there was BerntJorgensen standing aft. Bernt had declined to takeup shares in the steamer; on the contrary, he hadargued earnestly against the project, declaring thatStrandvik owed too much to the old sailing ships notto hold by them to the last.

"No, thankye, I've no mind for it. I'm betterwhere I am," answered Bernt, and, crossing over, satdown on the half-deck.

He hoisted his flag with the rest, though he feltlittle inclined to; but it would look strange if theEva Maria were the only one to refrain. But thebunting was only half-way up when the halliardsbroke, and the flag remained at half-mast.

Bernt felt it was something of an ill-omen. He wentinto his cabin, but through the porthole he could seetheHenrik Ibsen come gliding into the harbour amidgeneral salutation.

The steamer was bright with brass work and newpaint; the great gilt letters of her name at the sternshone over the water. On the bridge stood SkipperAbrahamsen, with three gold bands on his cap, andall the crew were in uniform—blue jerseys, with thename worked in red.

Bernt Jorgensen looked round his own cabin; theworn, yellow-painted walls, the square of raggedcanvas that did duty as a tablecloth, the sofa with itsold cracked covering of American cloth—it was allpoor enough, but would he change with the dandifiednewcomer over yonder?

He struck his fist on the table. "Let's see if he'sas smart at earning money as you've been,Eva Maria.It'll take him all his time, I fancy."

The cheering sounded across the water, as he satbowed over the table with his head in his arms, thinkingof old times, from the day he first went to seawith Uncle Gjermundsen, on board theStjerna. Threeshirts, a pair of canvas breeches, a straw-stuffed mattressand a rug were all his kit. But what a clipper she wasin those days, with her twelve knots close hauled. AndUncle Gjermundsen was the man to get the best outof her too. No gold-braided cap for him, and notmuch of a man to look at, little, dry and crooked-backedas he was; but when he went overboard with a linethat black November night to save the crew of anEnglish brig on the reef and sinking, there was manyan upstanding man might have been proud to knowhim. But he and his ship were gone now, and boththe same way. He stood by his ship too long, lastman on his own deck he would be, and so the rest weresaved and he went down. But it was all in the papersabout it, the speech that was made in his honour atthe Seamen's Union, and the verse:

And what lads they were on board theStjerna, tarryand weather-stained, but the harder it blew the smarterthey went about it. There was Nils Sturika, thatChristmas Eve off Jomfruland, when the pilot was tocome aboard. The whole ship was like a lump of ice,and the fore-rigging ready to go by the board, withthe lee shrouds and backstays torn away. They hadto make the signal, but the foretop halliards weregone. And then it was Nils Sturika went up the topgallantshrouds by his hands, with the flag in his teeth,and lashed it fast to the pole.

Nobody shouted hurrah for Nils, and a stiff nip ofgrog was what he got when he came down; instead ofa medal with ribbon and all that he'd maybe getnowadays.

Bernt Jorgensen was roused from his meditationby the sound of the salute on board theHenrik Ibsen.He rose and went up on deck to see what was goingon. The shareholders, with wives and children,nephews and nieces and relatives generally, weremaking a tour of the vessel.

Cilia was down in the saloon, seated in state on a redplush sofa. She did not feel altogether comfortable,to tell the truth, having acquired a horror of showyfurniture since her own escapade in that direction.But she was proud to feel that "we" had achievedthe distinction of giving Strandvik its first steamer.

TheHenrik Ibsen steamed along the fjord, beflaggedfrom deck to top, and greeted with cheers from allalong the waterside; not a citizen of Strandvik butfelt a thrill of pride in his citizenship that day.

The dinner was a most festive affair. The conversationran gaily on the topic of freights and steamshiptraffic. Old Klementsen already saw in his mind'seye a whole fleet of Strandvik steamers putting outto sea with flags flying, and coming home laden deepwith gold to the beloved little town.

Justice Heidt, guest of honour in his capacity asprincipal representative of local authority, made aspeech, in which he referred to "Strandvik's first steamship,a tangible witness to the high degree of initiativeamong our business men. The vessel has been namedafter a great poet, and it is our hope that it will, likeits famous namesake, add to our country's credit andrenown in distant lands. Good luck and prosperityto theHenrik Ibsen." The toast was received withhearty cheers from all.

Someone proposed the health of Soren Braaten, asleader in the enterprise, and Cilia's too, as the guidingspirit of the undertaking; then the captain's healthwas drunk, and many more.

All were excited to a high pitch of enthusiasm.Old Klementsen, delighted to feel himself a shipowner,sat in a corner with a magnum of champagne beforehim, delivered an oration on the subject of time-charteron the China coast; he had read an articleon the subject in a paper, and was greatly impressedby the same.

"Beautifully steady, isn't she?" said Cilia to herhusband. Hardly had she spoken, however, when, "Brrr—drrrrum—drrrum—drrrum"—thepassengers werethrown headlong in all directions, and Cilia herself wasflung into the arms of Justice Heidt, the two strikingtheir heads together with a force that made both dizzyfor the moment.

Bottles, glasses and plates were scattered about,adding to the general confusion.

So violent was the shock that many thought theboiler had burst, and something approaching panicprevailed.

Schoolmaster Pedersen was screaming like a maniac.In his anxiety to see what was happening, he had thrusthis head through one of the portholes, and could notget it back despite his utmost efforts. Everyone elsewas too much occupied to help him, and there he stood,unable to move.

The rest of the party hurried up on deck, all saveKlementsen, who, having emptied his magnum, felthimself unable to get up the companion, and wiselyrefrained from making the attempt.

TheHenrik Ibsen had struck on a sunken reef. Theexcitement of the occasion, together with the generousgood cheer, had had their effect on the crew, who hadnot paid much heed to their course, with the resultthat the vessel had taken her own, until brought upall standing by the unexpected obstacle.

The bow had run right on the shelf of rock, andthings looked distinctly unpleasant, until Soren Braatenexplained that "unfortunately" there was shallowwater on all sides, when the company began to feelsomewhat easier in their minds.

Cilia's head was treated with vinegar bandages,and Justice Heidt's nose bound up as if in sympathywith the damage inside. But the festive spirit amongthe shareholders generally was at a low ebb, and anyonetaking advantage of the moment might havebought shares then at well below par.

Aha, there is a tug already, theStoregut; thingslooked brighter in a moment, perhaps they mightget off at once. But then came the question, had shesprung a leak? No; sound as a bell. A proper sortof steamer this.

A hawser was passed from the tug, then full speedastern—Hurrah—she's moving! The Henrik Ibsendrew slowly off the reef and was soon clear once more.The passengers brightened up, and soon the steamerwas on her way back to Strandvik, the tug standingby in case of need.

Nachmann's supply of champagne was inexhaustible,and Thor Smith got on his feet with anotherspeech for "the splendid vessel which has stood thetest so manfully to-day. TheHenrik Ibsen was notbuilt for picnic voyages over sunny seas; no, she hadshown what she could do and borne it magnificently."Cheers for theHenrik Ibsen and general acclamation.

At last theHenrik Ibsen set out on a real voyage inearnest, and Soren Braaten was glad enough; he feltin need of rest after all he had been through.

He told Cilia, indeed, that he would rather go sailingin the Arctic than have it all to do over again. No,this steamship business was a trial.

Hardly had Soren settled down to his well-earnedrest, when, only four days after the vessel had sailed,came a telegram from Hull announcing her arrivaland awaiting orders. That meant wiring off at onceto the brokers in Drammen and Christiania askingfor freights. The telegraph, indeed, was kept sobusy, that old Anders the messenger declared thewretched steamboat gave more work than anyonehad a right to expect. Now and again, at weddingsand suchlike, it was only natural to have a few extratelegrams going and coming; but, then, he wouldtake them round in bundles at a time, and be handsomelytreated into the bargain. Whereas this—why,he'd hardly as much as got back from deliveringone wire to Soren Braaten, when a new one came in,and off he'd have to go again. And a man couldn'teven stroll round with them at his ordinary pace; itwas always "urgent" or "express," or somethingof the sort, that sent him hurrying off as if the windwere at his heels.

And as for being handsomely treated! It was athankless task if ever there was one. When Andersappeared with his seventh wire in one day, Soren almostflew at him. "What, you there again with more ofthose infernal telegram things!"

Soren Braaten had had more telegrams the last fortnightthan in all his life before; and, worst of all, theywere so briefly worded, it took him all his time tomake out the sense. If things went on at this ratehe would very soon be wanting another cure at Sandefjord,and this time in earnest.

There was never any rest, this steamer of his flewabout at such a rate; just when you thought she wasin England she'd be somewhere down the Mediterraneanor the Black Sea. Soren said as much to hisold friend Skipper Sorensen, who answered: "Betterbe careful, lad, or she'll run so fast one day she'll runaway with all your money." And Soren was anxiousabout that very thing, for the remittance seemed tohim rather small in comparison with the length ofvoyage involved.

Soren found himself at last hopelessly at sea both asto charters and accounts, and confided to Cilia oneday that he was going to throw up the whole thing;as far as he was concerned, "the wretched boat canmanage itself."

Cilia thought over the matter seriously. Her firstidea was to take over the chartering herself, but whenSoren began talking about freight from Wolgast toSalonica, and Rouen to Montechristi, her geographyfailed her.

Fixing the oldApollo orBirkebeineren for voyagesin the Baltic or the North Sea was easy enough.Cilia knew the name of every port from Pitea toVlaardingen, from London to Kirkwall, but outsidethe English Channel she was lost.

The end of it was that Soren went in to Christiania andgot a broker he knew there to take over the business,and glad he was to get rid of it. The week after, hewent on boardBirkebeineren, rigged her up, and sailedwith a cargo of planks to Amsterdam. Even thoughhe made little out of it beyond his keep, it was nicerthan sitting at home in a state of eternal worry aboutthe steamer.

"Maybe; but it's a wearisome business all thesame, this steam chartering. And we've other thingsto think about but what pays best."

XIX
NILS PETTER'S LEGACY

The news ran like wildfire through the town:Nils Petter Jorgensen had been left a milliongylden by his wife's uncle in Holland. Itwas true as could be; Justice Heidt had had a letterfrom the Queen to say so.

"Jantje!" roared Nils Petter out into the wash-house,where his wife stood in a cloud of steam andsoapsuds.

"What is it, husband?" Jantje appeared in thedoorway, little, stout and smiling, with her sleevesrolled up and the perspiration thick on her forehead.

"Oh, bother the washing! We've done with allthat now," said Nils Petter loftily. And, thrusting histhumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, he strodestiffly in, followed by Jantje.

"Have they made you captain, husband; youhave got a ship? We can go to Holland together, isit not?" Jantje clapped her hands together, andlooked at him expectantly. Poor Jantje had neverseen her native land since the day she sailed away onboard theEva Maria, and still felt strange in Norway,speaking the language with difficulty as she did.

Jantje turned serious at once; her first thought wasthat Nils Petter must have taken a drop too much—athing that rarely happened now since he had beenmarried.

"Don't you think you'd better lie down a little,husband?" she said quietly, pointing to the bedroom.

"Oho, you think I've been drinking? Well, here'sthe letter from the Justice; you can see for yourself."

Jantje took the letter and studied it intently, butcould not make out a word of what it said.

"Your Uncle Peter van Groot died in Java lastyear, and left millions of gylden, and no children——"

"And all those millions are ours now, seeing we'rethe nearest heirs since your mother and father died."

"Poor Uncle Pit—kind old Uncle Pit," sighed Jantje,wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then,rising to her feet, she went on: "If that's all, husband,then I'll go and finish the washing."

"Washing, now? No, you don't, Jantje. Offwith you at once and put on the finest you've got:your green dress and the coral brooch."

Jantje went off to dress, but not before she had slippedout into the wash-house, wrung out the wet things andhung them up to dry.

Nils Petter put on his best blue suit, a starchedshirt with collar and cuffs, a black tie and stiffhat.

Then Jantje appeared, wearing her green dress, herface all flushed and aglow with hurrying.

Such a question from Nils Petter was too much forJantje all at once. She looked helplessly round theroom as if seeking for somewhere to put it.

"It's a question what to do with any amount ofcapital these days. Shipowning's a risky business...."Nils Petter paced up and down thoughtfully.

Then Jantje had an inspiration. "Husband, there'sthe big clothes-chest, room for lots of money in that."And she hurried out into the passage and began draggingout the chest.

"No, no, Jantje; leave it alone. The money'llhave to be put in the bank, of course. We can't keepit in the house."

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" Itwas Watchmaker Rordam. "Congratulations, myboy. Grand piece of luck, what? Must be strange-like,to get all that heap of money at once."

"Well, ye-es," said Nils Petter; "it's a trouble toknow what to do with one's capital, though; thesesavings banks pay such a miserable rate of interest."Jantje looked at him in surprise. Why, only a fortnightago, when he had had to renew a bill at the bank,he had declared loudly against the "pack of Jews"for charging too high a rate.

"You won't forget your old friends, Nils Petter, Ihope, now that you've come into a fortune," saidRordam.

"Trust me for that, lad," said Nils Petter. "Ihaven't forgotten how you helped me out when I wasnear being sold up; I owe you something for that.Being thankless towards friends that lent a hand whentimes were hard is a bad mark in the register and thesign of an unseaworthy character, and it shan't besaid of Nils Petter Jorgensen." And he grippedRordam's hand emphatically.

"Not for me, thanks," answered Rordam. "I've—I'vegiven it up," he added, not without some reluctance.

"Jantje, give me a drop of Hollands. It's a plaguybusiness thinking out how to invest big sums of money."

Rordam had never had any experience of that sortof business, but thought he would not mind a littletrouble, given the occasion.

Nils Petter drank off his glass. Rordam stuck tohis refusal bravely, which so won Nils Petter's admirationthat he bought of the watchmaker a splendidclock, costing five pounds, an elegant piece of workwith a marble face and gilt lions above. Furthermore,on leaving, Rordam was given a piece of paper withthe following words:

This last was a gratuity, which Nils Petter felt heought to give for old friendship's sake.

Rordam was delighted; at last he would be ableto pay off the many little odd debts that had beenworrying him for years past.

Hardly had Rordam gone when SchoolmasterPedersen came in, bringing a large oleander as a presentfor Jantje.

Nils Petter and the schoolmaster had never beenvery friendly, holding different political opinions;Nils Petter especially waxed furious whenever he sawPedersen's anti-Swedish flag hoisted in the garden.A couple of years ago he had gone in and cut it down,but the matter was, fortunately, smoothed over,Pedersen being an easy-going man, while his wife andJantje were very good friends.

"I just looked in, my dear Jorgensen, to see if you'dany use for a secretary. A man in your position, ofcourse, will have any amount of writing and bookkeepingwork, and you know I'd be glad to make alittle extra myself."

Nils Petter was not much of a scholar. The fewoccasions when he had to use a pen caused him nolittle difficulty; his big, unaccustomed fingers grippedthe pen-holder as if it were a crowbar.

Pedersen jumped up in delight and almost embracedNils Petter. "It's too much, Jorgensen, really."

"It won't be too much; there'll be a deal of workto do. But I forgot, one thing you'll have to do: getrid of that beastly flag of yours."

Pedersen turned serious. "The Norwegian flag isour national emblem, and that alone. As a truepatriot, I must stand by my convictions. Norway...."

Nils Petter broke in angrily. "Norway, Norway!There's a sight too much of that if you ask me. I'vesailed with the good old Union flag round the Hornand the Cape of Good Hope as well, and it's beenlooked up to everywhere. You can take and sew inthe Swedish colours again, if you want the place—notbut what the old flag's handsome enough," he addedin a somewhat gentler tone.

Pedersen thought this rather hard; but £200 ayear was not to be sneezed at, and, after all, therewere limits to what could be reasonably demandedof a patriot. He was accordingly appointed privatesecretary, on condition that the Union colours beincluded in his flag forthwith, and set off home rejoicing.And feeling that he could now afford a little jollification,he bought a joint of beef, a bottle of wine, anda bag of oranges for the children.

Later in the day Bernt Jorgensen came round; he,too, had heard of the wonderful legacy.

"You'll need to be careful now, with all that money,Nils Petter; a fortune's not a thing to be fritteredaway."

"Trust me for that, brother. And you shall havea share of it too, for you've been a good sort. I willsay, though, a trifle on the saving side at times, butnever mind that now. Look here, Bernt, would youcare to sell theEva Maria?"

Bernt Jorgensen was so astonished at this suddenchanging front that he hardly knew what to say.Hitherto Nils Petter had always been deferential andrespectful towards him; now, however, he seemed tobe adopting an air of lordly condescension.

During the next few days Nils Petter was inundatedwith visitors, and Jantje was kept busy all the timemaking fresh coffee in her best green dress, whichcaused her not a little anxiety, lest it should be soiled.Nils Petter told her not to worry; she would get anew one. But it was not Jantje's way to be carelesswith things.

Various speculators came offering properties for salein various parts of the country, producing such massesof documents that Pedersen, as secretary, had his workcut out to find room for them in the parlour.

By way of finding a ship for his friend Thoresen,Trina's husband, Nils Petter had purchased the brigCupid from Governor Abrahamsen for £500, also theSorgenfri estate, situated a little way out of the town.This latter property, with a fine two-storeyed houselooking out on the fjord, ran him into something like£1200. In each case it was stipulated that "thepurchase money shall be paid in cash as soon as myinheritance from Holland is made over."

N. P. Jorgensen and his secretary had both beenup to view the Sorgenfri estate, and were very pleasedwith it on the whole. They agreed, however, thatsome alterations would have to be made, such as layingout a park, with fish-pond, and building a skittle-alley,which last Nils Petter was especially keen on, havingbeen greatly devoted to that form of sport in hisyouth.

Then came a number of letters addressed to "N. P.Jorgensen, Esquire," during this time.

His old friend, Shipbroker Rothe of Arendal, wasforming a company to acquire a big steamer for theChina trade, which was to give at least 30 to 40 percent. He wanted only £3000 to complete, and invitedNils Petter, for old acquaintance's sake, to take upshares to that amount.

"Good fellow, is old Rothe," said Nils Petter to hissecretary. "I used to have a drink with him everyevening when I was up there with the oldSpesfidesfor repairs. We went in for our mates' certificatetogether, too. Write and say I'll take shares for the£3000; that'll put him right."

It was late in the evening most days before NilsPetter and his secretary had got through the day'scorrespondence, and Nils Petter, who was accustomedto turn in about eight or nine o'clock, was so tired andsleepy that he wanted to leave everything as it was;but Pedersen was zealous in his work, and declaredit was the first essential of a business man to answerletters promptly.

There was no help for it; Nils Petter was obligedto sit up, wading through all sorts of documents,company prospectuses, particulars of house property,mines, steamships, etc. etc. Secretary Pedersen leftnothing unconsidered. Nils Petter all but fell asleepin his chair. And when at last he got to bed he wouldlie tossing and talking in his sleep, till Jantje had toget up and put cold water bandages on his head.Every morning he shuddered at the thought of thatday's burdens, especially when the postman cametramping up with bundles of letters and circulars, onebigger than another.

Jantje and Nils Petter sat drinking their coffee inthe kitchen, one each side of the table in front of thehearth. This was the best time of the day, Nils Petterthought; he could take it easy as in the old days, sittingin his shirt sleeves, and caring nothing for letters andinvestments.

Jantje, too, liked this way best; she was alwaysuncomfortable when she had to put on her greendress.

The coffee-pot was puffing like a little steam-engineon the hob, and Jantje was cutting the new bread intogood thick slices.

"And I don't somehow feel like moving up toSorgenfri—it's nice and comfortable here."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, husband. I'm so glad.I'd never feel happy away from here."

Nils Petter and Jantje had one great regret—theyhad no children. They had often talked of adoptingone. The question cropped up again now. Jantjehad heard that Skipper Olsen's widow had just died,leaving a four-year-old boy with no one to look afterhim but the parish; they decided, therefore, to takehim and bring him up as their own. Jantje busiedherself making preparations, and Nils Petter, disregardingPedersen's insistence, flatly refused to bebothered with letters just now; he too had things todo about the house, getting ready for the boy.

The news soon spread that little Rasper Olsen wasto be adopted by Nils Petter. Had ever a poororphan such a stroke of luck! They called him themillionaire boy.

When at last Jantje came in, leading the littlefellow by the hand, Nils Petter's delight knew nobounds; he laughed and sang, and lifted the pretty,chubby lad and held him out at arm's length.

The boy took to Jantje at once, and when he beganto call her "Mama," she wept with joy, and had torun and find Nils Petter that he might hear it too.He tried to get the child to call him "Papa," buthere he was disappointed; Rasper would not callhim anything but "Nils Petter," as he had heardeverybody else do.

The first night, one of the richest heirs in the countryslept in a washing-basket, to the great delight of NilsPetter, who amused himself swinging basket and boytogether over his head till the child fell asleep.

Nils Petter was getting altogether unreasonable,so at least his secretary thought. He declined altogetherto go to the office now, and went outfishing in his boat instead. And Jantje put on herold house frock again and stood over wash-tub justas before.

"Extraordinary people," said Pedersen. "Really,it's a pity to see all this money thrown away on folkwith no idea of how to use it."

And indeed Nils Petter and Jantje gradually werefast slipping back to their old way of life. All Pedersen'sarguments and entreaties could not persuadethem to move out to Sorgenfri and take up a positionsuited to their means. In vain the schoolmasterurged "the duties involved by possession of worldlywealth, responsibilities towards society in general,"and so on; Nils Petter cared not a jot for anythingof the sort; he was going to live his own way, and therest could go hang.

"There we are again," grumbled Nils Petter;"more about that wretched money, I'll be bound."

"I am sorry to say," began the Justice, "I havebad news for you about this legacy business—verybad news indeed."

"Well, I've had nothing but trouble about it fromthe start," said Nils Petter, "so a little more won'tmake much difference."

"The legacy in question proves to be considerablyless than was at first understood—in fact, I may saythe amount is altogether insignificant."

"Well, it'll be something anyway, I suppose?"Nils Petter felt he ought to have a little at least forall his trouble.

"I have a cheque here for 760 gylden, and that,I am sorry to say, is all there is."

"Well, to tell the truth, Justice, I'm not sorry tohear it. I've been that pestered and worried withthis legacy business, I'll be glad to see the lastof it."

Nils Petter went round to the bank and changedhis cheque; it came to 1140 crowns. Of this Pedersenreceived 200 for his secretarial work, Rordam another200, the remainder was put in the bank as a separateaccount for little Rasper. Nils Petter and Jantjewere glad to be rid of Sorgenfri, the brig, and thepostman. The last named, it is true, still brought anoccasional letter for "N. P. Jorgensen, Esquire," butNils Petter never bothered to look at them.

And when Nils Petter set little Rasper on hisshoulders and asked: "Which would you ratherhave, a million or a thrashing?" the boy invariablyanswered, "Thrashing," at which Nils Petter wouldlaugh till it could be heard half-way down thestreet.

XX
THE ADMIRAL

Some people seem to have the privilege ofbeing as rude and ill-mannered as they please.They are generally to be found among thosewhose superior share of this world's goods enablesthem to lord it over the little circle in which theymove.

They may be compared to bumble-bees that rarelysting, and only upon provocation. Ordinarily, theyare very harmless, and for my part I much prefer abumble-bee to the dainty and delicate mosquitoesthat look so innocent, as they smilingly perforate theepidermis of a fellow-creature with a thousand littlestabs.

"The Admiral" was a big bumble-bee. As ayoung officer in the navy he had been a recklessblade, and, having gained the rank of lieutenant,was obliged to leave the service for some piece ofinsubordination. He then entered the navy of aminor eastern power, where his dominant qualities ofimpudence and unscrupulousness were appreciated tosuch a degree that he rose to the rank of Admiral.Hence the title. It was stated that he "floggedniggers and shot down cannibals," without theformality of trial by jury—or indeed any formalityat all.

Thanks to the Admiral's zeal, the two gunboatswhich constituted the navy in question were kept inexcellent order, but as the four guns of the combinedfleet enabled him to command the capital, includingthe government, he became a trifle over-bearing.

One day, when the King came on board to pay avisit of inspection, with his two wives, the Admiraldeclared that he would keep the younger lady forhimself, a wife being one of the items lacking in theinventory on board. The King, as a good husband,naturally declined to entertain the idea. Had it beenthe elder of the two, the matter might perhaps havebeen discussed, but as the Admiral stubbornly insistedon taking the younger, the parties exchanged words,and, ultimately, blows. This stage having been reached,the Admiral took his sovereign by the scruff of theneck, and his queen by the stern, and heaved thepair of them overboard. Fortunately the gunboatwas not far off shore, and their majesties, who couldswim like fishes, made straight for land. But the watersthereabouts are infested with sharks, and they wereforced to put on full speed to escape with their lives.

The Admiral and the younger consort stood on thedeck of the gunboat, watching the august swimmerswith interest through a glass.

The King, having scrambled ashore, stalked solemnlyup to his palm-shack palace, clenched his fist and shookit violently at the Admiral, vociferating "schandalous."This was a word he had learned from a German Jew,who traded in glass beads, and adorned his notepaperand visiting-cards with the inscription:

Now the King knew nothing of revolution, not eventhe name, and there was not a bolshevik to be foundin all his dominions. Nevertheless, he felt instinctivelythat the Admiral's behaviour was an outrage againstthe supreme authority vested in himself by rightdivine.

But what could he do against the Admiral and hisfour guns? Of the four hundred warriors that composedhis army, only about half were armed withmuskets of an ancient type, procured by the Admiralhimself in days gone by. And the ammunitionamounted to practically nil, the Admiral having beenfar-sighted enough to store most of the cartridges onboard the gunboats, serving out a small allowancenow and then to the King and his army, wherewithto keep lions and tigers at a respectful distance fromthe huts of the capital.

The King thought over the matter for quite a while,and at last sent for one of his numerous brothers-in-law.Here, as in other kingdoms, the family relationshipwas a most useful factor, providing a kind ofmutual insurance in support of the throne.

His Majesty's kinsman, then, was appointed EnvoyExtraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, and instructedto proceed, in that capacity, to the neighbouringterritory of Hampa-Denga, and inform theBritish Resident there that His Majesty the King ofZumba-Lumba wished to place himself under Britishprotectorate at once.

One morning, a few days later, the Admiral lay inhis hammock on deck, H.M.'s late consort in anotherhammock at his side, fanning him with a palm-branch.He was in the best of spirits, refreshed alike by hismorning bath and an excellent breakfast. Theparrots were chattering noisily in the great fragrantagaves on shore, birds of paradise rocked on thetopmost crests of the palms, with impertinent youngmonkeys vainly trying to tweak their tails. Theex-queen chewed betel and smiled at him, and he, inreturn, tickled the soles of her feet till she screamed.It was a perfect little idyll; a very paradise.

Neither of the pair noticed anything unusual untilsuddenly a young English officer appeared on deck.

He had come, it appeared, to deliver a dispatch tothe Officer Commanding the Fleet. And this is howit ran:

The Admiral's first impulse was to take this youngspark by the collar and throw him overboard, as hehad done a day or so before with His Majesty and hiswife. But on glancing over the side, he perceived,under shelter of a small island, the white painted hullof H.M.S.Cyclope, and thought better of it; instead,he turned to the bearer of the letter, and, with kindlycondescension, invited him to come below and have adrink.

Whereupon they descended to the cabin, where theAdmiral initiated his young colleague into the maritimeaffairs of the Zumba-Lumba.

He regretted that he had not a visiting-card, noteven a photograph to give his successor, but handedover instead the younger wife of his late master as atrifling souvenir.

On reaching the deck, to his indescribable annoyancehe perceived the King, with his brother-in-law,his four hundred warriors, and the elder wife, standingon the shore, slapping their stomachs, the superlativeexpression of mischievous delight in those parts.

The foregoing brief narrative is to be taken as atruthful and dispassionate account of the manner inwhich the Admiral attained his title and dignity.

The remainder of his doings during his sojournabroad, before he returned to settle down in his nativetown on the coast, is soon told.

The Admiral was not a man to be long idle, and, asa sailor, he could always find a way. He captainedvessels for Chinese and Japanese owners, both sailand steam. He started a fleet of tugs at Tientsin,and obtained a concession for dredging the harbourof Shanghai, with a host of other things, making avery considerable fortune out of the whole.

Then he turned his steps towards home, and purchasedthe house of his fathers on the hill just abovethe Custom House.

He dismantled the old place almost entirely of itsfurniture, and had it fitted up according to his ownideas, as a sort of bungalow.

There were weapons all over the place; spears,bows and arrows, pistols and guns of all sorts. Pot-belliedidols smirked in every corner; lion and tigerskins were spread on the floor. But the drawing-roomon the ground floor and the office in the sidewing, that had been his father's in the old days, heleft untouched. He even went so far as to have thesuccessive layers of wallpaper, that in course of yearshad been hung one over another, carefully removedone by one until he came to the identical one that hadadorned the place when he was a little lad and hismother and father were still alive. Then he wentabout all over the town, trying to buy up the old piecesof furniture that had been sold and scattered aboutthirty or forty years before. He went far up into oneof the outlying villages to get hold of one particularbirchwood cabinet which he had learned was to befound there. He also managed to unearth his father'sold writing-desk, and had it set up in its old place inthe "office." And at last he really succeeded inrestoring the two rooms almost completely to theirformer state. Then and not till then was he satisfied,and began, as it were, to live his life over again.

The Admiral was now a man about sixty. A giantof a man to look at, with hands and arms of an athleteand well proportioned.

He had a big, curved nose, a trifle over large, perhaps.And the eyes that shone out from beneath thegreat bushy brows were not of the sort that give way.His whole face bore the stamp of unscrupulous firmness,softened a little, however, by the heavy whiskersgenerally affected by naval officers in those days, andwhich in his case were now perfectly white.

When the Admiral came home he brought with hima little girl twelve years old. A queer little creatureshe was, with somewhat darker skin than we areaccustomed to see, and brilliant black eyes.

"My daughter," said the Admiral, and that was allthe information to be obtained from that quarter.

It was generally surmised that she must be the offspringof his alliance with the young Queen of Zumba-Lumba,who had, as we know, been on board the gunboat;ergo, she was of royal blood. And the wholetown accordingly styled her simply "The Princess."

As to whether he had contracted other allianceselsewhere none could say, for the old servant, or ladycompanion, whom he had brought with him fromabroad, was dumb as a door-post when the talkturned in that direction.

She was English and somewhat over fifty. MissJenkins was her name, but the Admiral invariablycalled her "Missa." Missa was the only person whoever ventured to oppose him. Now and then the pair ofthem might be heard arguing hotly, always in English,till at last he would shout at her: "Mind your ownbusiness, please!" This was his stock phrase forterminating an argument when he did not care todiscuss the matter further.

The Princess was to be confirmed. And there wasa great to-do in view of the event.

The parson, naturally enough, requested the usualparticulars—parents' names, place of birth, date,certificate of vaccination, etc. The whole town wascurious now, and great excitement prevailed; at lastthe mystery would be solved. The parson had to godown to the Admiral himself, and inform him, aspolitely as possible, that the law required compliancewith certain formalities; an especially importantpoint was that the names of both father and mothershould be correctly stated.

"But, my dear Admiral, she must have had amother. In the ordinary course of nature...."

"Yes," said the parson, lowering his voice a little;he was beginning to feel a trifle uncomfortable.

The parson plucked up courage and said quietly:"But you yourself were a Christian, Admiral, wereyou not?"

"Mind your own business, please," answered theAdmiral, at the same time opening the door politely,that the parson might slip out. The latter alsoavailed himself of the chance; he was not without acertain uneasy feeling that if he failed to do so now,his exit might take a less peaceable form.

How the question was finally settled the writercannot say; the fact remains that the town was nowiser than before.

The Princess was confirmed, and received intothe best society of the town, as one of themselves.She was slender and finely built, with a pretty faceand charming eyes. The only thing that markedher as different from the other girls was the yellowish-brownof her skin, and even this seemed to be growingfainter as the years went by.

As to her antecedents, she herself never referred tothe subject, and no one was ever indelicate enoughto ask her.

Altogether, then, matters were going very well indeed,both for the Admiral and the Princess. Hebegan to feel at home in his old town, and did notregret having settled down there.

And the townsfolk, for the most part, gradually gotused to the rough old fellow and his ways, though therewere still a few who declared they could not "abide"him.

Consul Endresen, for instance, and Henry B.Karsten the ship-chandler were not accustomed tobe treated with such utter disregard by a so-called"Admiral."

Admiral indeed! Ha, ha! The whole thing wasa farce. The old humbug; he was no more anadmiral than Ferryman Arne. They turned up theirnoses at him, but kept their distance all the same, withan instinctive feeling that he might literally go so faras to take them by the scruff of the neck if he felt like it.

The two firms were old-established and respectedin the place, having occupied a leading position in thecommercial life of the town for generations, by reasonof their wealth, superior education and incontestableability. And in consequence neither felt at home elsewherethan in their native place, where they were usedto play first fiddle generally. There was no competitionbetween the two; they were wise enough torealise that any such conflicting element might easilydestroy the lead their fathers had established.

But they would not suffer any outsider to intrudeon their domains, whether in business or in social life;here they shared in common an undisputed supremacy.

The young Karstens and Endresens were broughtup according to the principles of their respectivedynasties, and were sent abroad for their commercialeducation, that they might be properly fitted for thedistinguished position they would be called to fill.

Skipper Hansen and Blacksmith Olsen's offspringfound it was no easy matter to compete with them.

Wealth, however, was the only thing they reallyrespected at heart, the old as well as the youngergeneration.

They would devote themselves several times a weekto calculating how much the other notables might beworth, and were ill pleased that anyone should bebetter off than themselves.

It was even said that old Karsten took to his bedout of sheer envy on hearing that someone else hadmade a heap of money.

Endresen was wilier and rarely showed his feelings,but it was a well-known fact that he would be irritableand unreasonable when he heard of others making asuccessful deal. The clerks in his office said so.

Then came the sudden appearance of the Admiralin their midst. At first they did not understand thisbrutal and domineering force. The old Karstensthemselves had been accounted proud and haughtyenough—though perhaps not exactly brutal; butthey were, as we have said, of a privileged caste.But this so-called Admiral, what was he? A scionof the town, it is true, inasmuch as he was a son of theold shipbroker who had formerly occupied the housenow purchased by the newcomer. But he, the father,that is, had been no more than a "measly broker,"who had just managed to scrape some sort of a livelihoodtogether by fixing contracts for the vessels ownedby Endresens and selling coal to the Karstens' factories.

The Admiral himself, however, was evidently rich,a man of unbounded wealth, indeed, and enough tobuy up Endresen's and Karsten's together. HisIncome Tax Return spoke plainly in plain figures;no farce about that! The fact was there, and couldnot be ignored; an abominable thing, but none theless true. There was nothing for it but to give himhis title of Admiral, and with a serious face. Had itbeen some poor devil without means, they would havejeered him out of the place.

When the Admiral came striding up the mainstreet, a stout, imposing figure, even Henry B. Karstenhimself had to make way. He would wave one handin salutation and say "Morning!" in English, usingthe same form of greeting to all, with the sole exceptionof Arne the Ferryman, who was alwayshonoured with a shake of the hand.

But the Princess fluttered about the place like adainty little butterfly. Old Missa looked after her aswell as she could, and never lost sight of her if shecould help it. But the Princess seemed to have wings!She would manage somehow or other to vanish in amoment:presto! gone! And there was Missa leftbehind in despair.

She would soon come fluttering back again, however,smiling and irresistible as ever, and throw her armsround Missa's neck and beg to be forgiven.

The Admiral grumbled and swore he would "putthe youngster in irons" if she did not keep to thehouse; but the youngster only laughed, perched herselfon the Admiral's knee, and pulled his long whitewhiskers; and then he might fall to dreaming ...dreaming of distant lands, of moonlight nights beneaththe palms and agaves, long and long ago.

He fussed and grumbled and stamped about thehouse, calling Missa a lumbering old mud-barge thatcouldn't keep a proper look-out; but the Princessfluttered on as before, entirely undismayed.

There was to be a grand festival in the town,a charity entertainment in aid of the Children's Home.

All the young people of the town were to assist.There was to be a theatrical performance, and anexhibition of dancing on the stage. Young Endresenand Karsten junior, of course, took a leading part inthe arrangements; "for a charitable object," theycould do no less. It was generally understood, however,that the real object of both young gentlemenwas to see something of the Princess.

The two heirs-apparent waged a violent strugglefor the Princess's favour. True, they had been dulyinstructed by their respective fathers, as these bytheir respective fathers before them, in the principlethat "the house of Endresen" or "the house ofKarsten" expected every son to do his duty—i.e. notto marry beneath his rank, and also, to "consolidatethe standing of the firm," as it was conveniently put.As regards the question of rank, this was, in the presentinstance, a somewhat debatable one, but the questionof consolidation was plain as could be wished. Herewas a considerable fortune to be gained for the town,and thus for one of the two firms. It was certainlyworth a struggle.

The Admiral had grumbled and stormed for awhole week before consenting to the Princess participatingin the affair.

There was great excitement; the local theatrewas crammed. The leading notabilities of the placehad booked up all the stalls at more than twice theusual prices. Everyone who could get about at allwas present. Even old Endresen, who generallyaffected to despise all such theatrical tomfoolery, hadfound a seat in the front row, and confided to hisnext-door neighbour that he had seen "Pepita" dancein Paris—had even thrown her a bouquet—"but Iwas very young, then, I must say," he added, with asmile.

Old folk in the town still told the story of howEndresen, as a young man, had led a gay life in Paris;a life so gay, and so expensive, that the Endresensenior of the period had promptly ordered him tocome back home at once. "And he's turned out areal good man for all that," they would hasten toadd.

The theatrical performance went off quite successfully,but without arousing any great amount ofenthusiasm. There was applause, of course, and theprincipal actors had to appear before the curtain;the leading lady was duly praised for her interpretation.But it was the Princess all were waiting for.

At last the curtain rose. The scenery was ordinaryenough: a "woodland scene," with the usual treesand a pale moon painted on the background. It wasthe standard setting, as used for classical tragedy,vaudeville and, in fact, almost anything.

Enter the Princess, daintily as if on wings. Shewore a long white robe, that moved in graceful wavesabout her slender figure; diamonds shone andglittered in her hair. No one present had ever seensuch stones, and young Endresen swore they weregenuine. She wore a row of pearls too round herneck, and heavy gold rings about her bareankles.

The spectators seemed literally to hold their breathwith every nerve on the strain. The little figure upthere was like a vision; her feet hardly touched thefloor.

First, she glided softly across the stage, her whiterobe rising and falling like the gentle swell of the seaon a summer's day, then faster and faster. Shewhirled round, bent right down to the ground, andfell in a heap, only to spring up again in a momentand whirl round again at a furious pace.

The public was simply spell-bound. No one hadever seen, ever dreamed of such a sight.

Her great black eyes shone towards them, whilethat queer smile played about her mouth; she seemedto move in a world of her own. The dusty oldscenery faded into nothingness; they saw but thegirl herself, and sat staring, enchanted, hypnotised.

Gone! It was over. The curtain fell, and a silenceas in church reigned for some seconds after; thespectators were getting their breath again, so tospeak. Then something unusual happened. OldEndresen rose to his feet, clapped his hands andcried: "Encore, encore!"

Forgotten were his seventy years, his dignity,everything; he was young again, young and infatuatedas he had been in Paris half a century before,when he joined in the cry of the thousands shouting,"Vive Pepita, vive l'Espagne!"

At last the general enthusiasm found vent in shoutsof applause like the roar of a bursting dam. Handkerchiefswere waved; all rose to their feet.

One young man in particular seemed intent onoutdoing all the rest—a fair-haired little fellow witha snub nose and pince-nez.

He sat in the stage box, and his shrill voice couldbe heard all over the theatre as he cried in unmistakablewest coast dialect: "Bravo, bravissimo!Bravo, bravissimo!"

All looked at him and laughed. It was DoffenEriksen, or Doffen, simply, as he was generally called.He came from Mandal originally, but had been severalyears in the town, first as head clerk at Eriksen's,and later with other local firms. His natural tendencyto continual opposition, and lack of respect for hissuperiors, indeed for all recognised authority, preventedhim from ever keeping a situation long.

He had recently gone over to the Socialist party,but at the very first meeting had abused his newcomrades with emphasis: thieves, scoundrels andpolitical mugwumps were among the expressions heused. The last in particular aroused their indignation,and after a few weeks he was excluded from theparty. He was now a free-lance, with no regularemployment.

Then it happened that the Admiral advertised foran assistant to help in the office. The Admiral usedhis office chiefly as a place where he could give wayto bad language as often as he pleased; he felt heought to keep himself in training, and arguing withMissa was too milk and watery for his taste.

The work in the office consisted for the most partof keeping the accounts of a couple of small vesselswhich he owned, together with the cutting out ofcoupons and cashier work. The Admiral himselfnever condescended to take up a pen; one had cooliesto do that sort of thing, he would say.

His two skippers were rated and bullied every timethey came home from a voyage, but they were soused to the treatment that they never noticed it.

It was worse, however, for the clerk, who had toendure the same thing day after day.

During the last year or so, the Admiral had hadfour or five different specimens in the office, but theyalways made haste to better themselves at the earliestopportunity, or simply "got the sack." They wereall either "a pack of fools that couldn't think forthemselves," or "a lot of impertinent donkeys thatfancied they knew everything."

And when, after one of his usual outbursts, theunfortunate in question found it too much, and gavenotice to leave, the Admiral's standard answer was"All right! then I'll have to get another idiot fromsomewhere."

Doffen applied for the post, referring to his previousexperience, and stated that he had been "simplythrown out of various situations, not through anylack of ability, but because the principals were somany blockheads, who could not bear to hear a freeand independent man express his frank opinion."He was at present disengaged, on the market, andperfectly willing to undertake any kind of work whatever,"even to playing croquet." The Admiral readthe application through; it was the only one he hadreceived in answer to his advertisement.

He grunted once or twice as he read. Missa laiddown her needlework and prepared for a direct attack.

The opening seemed to take his fancy, but whenhe came to the part about playing croquet, he exclaimed:

Next day Doffen, as the sole applicant, wasaccorded the post. He sat down at the high desk, onone of those scaffold-like office stools with a bigwooden screw in the middle. It was a matter of somedifficulty to climb up, Doffen being small of stature,but with the aid of some acrobatic backwork, he soonlearned to manage it.

Opposite his place was the Admiral's seat. Heloved to sit there, in the very spot where his fatherhad sat, year after year, as far back as he couldremember.

It was not often the Admiral showed any evidenceof gentler feeling, but it happened at times, whenvery old folk chanced to come into the office. Theywould stand still for a long time, looking round inwonder, and finally exclaim:

"Why, if it's not exactly as it used to be in yourfather's time!" and then the Admiral would jumpdown from his stool and slap the speaker on theshoulder.

During the first few days Doffen had not seen muchof the Admiral, who had hardly looked in at the officeat all. He wanted to get some idea of the "newslave's" manner and behaviour before he sat down.

On the day after the performance, the Admiralwalked in and took his seat. Silence for a fewminutes.

At last Doffen thought he ought to say something,and observed with the utmost coolness:

"H'm." The Admiral only grunted, and lookedout of the window. Doffen imagined he had notheard.

"I was saying, Admiral, your daughter gave adeuced fine performance last night." Doffen raisedhis voice a little, thinking the Admiral must be hardof hearing.

"And what the devil's that got to do with you?"Doffen slammed down the lid of his desk with abang.

"I didn't ask her to dance for you, my lad, anddevil take me but it shall be the last time."

The Admiral began to feel in his element; here atlast was a man who could stand up to him.

"Can't you see she's like a young palm? Haven'tyou got a spice of feeling in you, man?"

The Admiral stopped short. He was on the pointof bringing out his own favourite retort: "Mind yourown business," and here was this fellow taking thevery words out of his mouth. He went out of theroom without a word.

Several times after that the Admiral launched hisattacks at the new clerk, but invariably got as goodas he gave. More than that, Doffen would even takethe offensive himself.

"Yes, these two old wooden arks. The skippersgo floundering about like hunted cockroaches at sea,and the ships themselves go pottering from pillar topost; it's high time you got some system into thebusiness."

"You mind your own business, please," said theAdmiral, rapping on the desk. But at that the otherlet himself go in his barbarous dialect, like a gramophone:

"It is my business, and as long as I'm stuck here onthis spindle-shanked contrivance of a stool I'll saywhat I think. Take me for a dumb beast, do you?Not me! It'll take more than you know to stop metalking. We're used to rough weather where I comefrom."

And Doffen went on in the same strain long afterthe Admiral had got out of the room. The Admiralhimself, however, listened with delight from the otherside of the door, as Doffen thumped his desk again andagain, still in the full torrent of speech. It was worthwhile going to the office now. No more sitting gloweringat a servile, stooping-shouldered little scrap of aman, who scribbled away for dear life and shrank interror every time he entered. Now he would generallyfind the room in a thick haze of tobacco smoke so thathe himself could scarcely breathe. Doffen's pipe wasrarely out of his mouth. Several times the Admiralhad invited him, in well-chosen words, to take hisbeastly pipe to a hotter place, but only to be metwith the retort that it might be as well, seeing therewas never a box of matches here when a man wanteda light. The Admiral came more and more often tothe office now. Here at least he could be sure ofgetting a fair go at any time, for Doffen was alwaysopen for a game.

After a while a tone of jovial roughness grew upbetween the two of them, and authority was relegatedto the background, exactly as Doffen wished.

Altogether there was every prospect of an idyllicunderstanding between the two parties, until one dayDoffen fell in love, over head and ears in love beyondrecall.

The Princess had captivated him completely. Ifshe chanced to come into the office for a stamp, or todeliver a letter, his heart would start hammering likea riveting machine.

His brain was so confused he hardly knew what hewas doing. He would lie awake at nights in a tormentof hatred against the Endresen and Karsten boys,who were rivals for her favour. And, after all, whowas better fitted than he? Had he not got theAdmiral's papers into proper order? Had he notmanaged to knock the old porpoise himself into shape,till he was grown docile and tractable as a tamerabbit?

The Princess smiled on Doffen as she smiled oneveryone, and each of course fancied himself speciallyfavoured. Even old Consul Endresen brightened upat the sight of her, and was always ready to stop for achat; he would draw himself up and endeavour toplay the gallant cavalier. He had been a widowernow for many years, and it was commonly believedthat he was not unwilling to enter once more into thebonds of holy matrimony, should a favourable opportunityoccur.

The Admiral growled fiercely whenever Baby wasout, and Missa wept and wrung her hands over theyoung ladies of the present day—particularly in thisbarbarous country.

Paying attentions? It was one continual payingof attentions all day long. The young men of theplace were sick with longing when she was not to beseen, and Doffen suffered most, having occasion tosee her every day. To make matters worse, she hadtaken to coming into the office more frequently oflate, and would perch herself up on her father's highstool. There she would sit and gossip with him forhalf an hour at a time. Six times a week at leastDoffen was in the seventh heaven of delight. Sheasked him questions about everything under the sun,consulting him on every imaginable subject. Andthen she would thank him with one of those wonderfulsmiles, and a look from those dark eyes of hers—oh,it was beyond all bearing.

He must not let the others get there before him, andhe decided on acoup de main, which, as he had readin the life of Napoleon, was the proper way to win abattle. He would go directly to the Admiral himself.

One morning, then, the Admiral came into theoffice, looked long and attentively at Doffen, andfinally said:

"What's the matter with you, man? You'regetting to look like a plucked goose, for all the signof life in you!" And he jumped up on his stool.

"Well, anyway, I'd be a sort of relative of yours,"said Doffen. "And it's as well to be on good termswith the devil, they say."

Ugh! So Doffen was going to be funny, and makejokes. That sort of polite conversation was a thingthe Admiral detested; it was blank tomfoolery; soupwithout salt.

No; what he enjoyed was proper high temper onboth sides like a couple of flints striking sparks. Anythingshort of that made life a washy, milk-and-waterydreariness. And most people, according to hisopinion, were just a set of slack-kneed molly-coddlesthat sheered off at the first encounter. Devil taketheir measly souls! When he did happen to meetwith a fellow-citizen who could get into a propertowering passion, he felt like falling on his neck outof sheer gratitude and admiration. Here, at last, wasaman! Women he placed in a separate category:they were "fellow-creatures," just as rabbits, forinstance, whose chief business in life was to haveyoung ones.

Doffen, then, ought to have realised that themoment was not opportune for acoup de main. Hehad, however, only the day before, seen the Princessout for a long walk with young Endresen, and he felthe must act promptly, so he went on:

"Your daughter," repeated Doffen. "I'd be agood husband to her, and a proper son-in-law toyou."

"I'll give you son-in-law!" roared the Admiral,and, picking up the big Directory, he sent it full atDoffen's chest; the latter, taken by surprise, cametumbling down from his stool, and fell against the wood-boxin the corner.

Doffen lay in the corner by the wood-box, groaningpitifully. The noise had been heard all over thehouse, and the Princess came rushing in to see whatwas the matter.

"Stop? How can I stop when I love you as deeplyas ... as ..." he paused, unable to find a sufficientlypowerful expression, then suddenly the inspirationcame, and, raising himself on his elbow, he wenton—"as deeply as is possiblein this line of business!"

"Oh no, really; you can talk about this anothertime, you know. Come along now, Eriksen, pullyourself together and be a man."

"Then it's not a final refusal—not a harsh and cruel'no' such as your father flung at me just now—withthat heavy book? Say it's not that!"

Doffen lay back on the sofa once more, closed hiseyes, and thought of her. At last he fell asleep, andlay there, never noticing when the Admiral peeped inthrough the door, "to see if the carcass was stillalive." The sound of Doffen's snoring, however,reassured him, and he went away again, contentedand relieved.

The Princess sat in her room, highly amused withthe thought of her latest admirer. What a funnycreature he was! She rather liked him really, for allthat; he was always so willing and kind, and if one'sardent worshippers themselves agree to be reduced tothe status of "just friends," why, it may be veryhandy at times to have them in reserve. No, shewould not quarrel with Eriksen, because of this, notat all.

But, to tell the truth, it was getting quite a nuisancewith all these admirers. Everyone of them was alwayswanting to meet her and go for a walk with her, andtalk of love! Oh, she was so utterly weary of themall. These simpletons who imagined she was goingto settle down and stay in this little place all her life!

It was annoying, in this frame of mind, to recollectthat she promised Endresen junior to meet him attwelve o'clock by the big pond in the park. Still, apromise was a promise; she would have to go.

And lo, he came up with a huge bouquet of paleyellow roses, her favourite flower, as he knew, tiedround with a piece of thin red ribbon.

"When the roses are faded, you can take the ribbonand bind me with it," he said.

"When the roses have faded? Oh, but that won'tbe for a long time yet—thank goodness." And shelaughed.

"Well, now, let me see what sort of a man you are,Endresen. Walk round the edge of the pond herefive times——"

"—My sincere admiration, let us say. That'll do togo on with." And she smiled mischievously.

He jumped up on to the narrow stone edging of thepond and began balancing his way carefully along,the Princess walking by his side, counting the rounds.One—two—three—four times round. "One more,and you've done it," she said encouragingly.

He stepped cautiously along, and was nearing theend of the fifth round, when all of a sudden she jumpedup and gave him a push that sent him into the waterup to his waist.

"Adieu, Endresen! my sincere admiration. It wassplendid! But I don't think I'll walk home with younow, or people might think you'd been drowningyourself for my sake." And she ran off. Comingthrough the town she encountered old Consul Endresen,who stopped, as usual, to talk to her.

"Am I, though? Oh, you know how to get at anold man's heart, little sunbeam that you are! Lookingyounger than ever, eh—and I'm sixty-seven to-day,"which, by the way, was three years less than thetruth.

"To-day? Oh, then I must wish you many happyreturns—and here, let me give you these flowers."

"But, my dearest child, you don't mean it, surely?These flowers, these charming roses, they were forsomebody else now, I'm sure."

"Why, then, since you are pleased to command, Ibow—and many thanks." And, bowing deeply, hetook her hand and kissed it.

The Princess hurried homeward, laughing at theface of young Endresen when his father appeared withthe flowers.

While all this was going on, Karsten junior wassitting deep in thought as to whether he ought not topropose to the Princess himself. He had soundedhis father on the subject, and the latter had made nopositive objection to the match. True, it was notaltogethercomme il faut, but still, it might be passedover—though he certainly considered the old manintolerable.

Karsten junior was not much of a speaker, anddetermined, therefore, to write instead. But he foundthis, too, a ticklish business. He had never "operatedin that market" before, and was altogether unacquaintedwith the article known as love. The openingphrase of the contemplated letter was a stumbling-blockto begin with. Should he write "Miss," or"Miss Baby," or "Dear Miss Baby"—or even straightout, "Dear Baby"—but no, he must do the thingcorrectly in due form. The house of Karsten was anold-established firm, and he must make this evident.

"Referring to our conversation of 7th inst., Ihereby beg to inform you ..." etc.

He wrote on his sister's ivory paper, put the letterneatly in an envelope, and sent it off.

The Princess laughed when she got the letter. Sheread it aloud to herself, and exclaimed with conviction:"What a fool!"

Altogether it had been a day of amusing experiencesfor the Princess, but there was more to come. Yetanother letter arrived, that filled her with unboundedastonishment. It ran as follows:

This time she did not laugh, but took a match andburned the letter in the stove.

"This must be the end," she murmured to herself."I won't stay here any longer with all these ridiculousmen." She thought and pondered for several daysuntil the Admiral came in one day and said he wasgoing away for a week or so on business. In a momenther plan was made. She said nothing to him of whatwas in her mind; he would never have understood, andit would have made no end of trouble all round.

But she would take Missa into her confidence. Missahad been a mother to her from the moment she realisedshe was living in this world; she would tell her all.

"Missa," she said, throwing her arms round herneck, "I can't stand this any longer."

"Yes, there you are. And we'll go away, Missa,you and I, out into the beautiful wide world."

"Father mustn't know about it. We'll just go offby ourselves—run away, Missa dear."

The Princess begged and prayed, using all her powersof persuasion and caresses, until Missa was graduallystripped of all arguments to the contrary, and finallyrose to her feet.

"Missa, I'll dance—dance for all the world; makethem wild with delight, till they throw themselves atmy feet. Missa, don't you understand, can't youimagine ... oh, Missa, if you only knew.... Butyou shall see, you shall see for yourself...."

Doffen was now completely himself again after theAdmiral's very effective "refusal."

He beamed like the sun when the Princess came in,made her a deep bow and said: "At your service,Miss—at your service, he, he!"

"A thousand—pounds! Heaven preserve us!A thousand! I haven't more than seven-and-six onme.

"The Admiral! Yes, of course, he has; and more.But that's not mine. Da—" he checked himself,recollecting it was not the Admiral to whom he wasspeaking—"dear me, you wouldn't have me steal hismoney?"

"But it's only drawing a little in advance—on myinheritance, Eriksen, you know. That's all it is."

"But, heavens alive—that makes it worse thanever! The Admiral, he surely isn't going off dancingas well?"

"No; Missa's coming with me. We leave to-morrow,for Paris, Eriksen—London—New York—oh, ever sofar!"

"Indeed you shall, Eriksen; I'll send you tickets,a whole box all to yourself, for my performance inParis. Just fancy, a box at the theatre all to yourself.And you must pay me a thousand pounds for itnow."

"But the Admiral—the Admiral! I might just aswell give myself up and go to jail."

She promised to write and let him know how shegot on, and gave him a photo of herself at parting,with the inscription: "To my true friend Doffen,from Baby."

Next morning he went down to the quay to seethem off. The Princess stood at the stern of theship, and waved to him. He was proud to thinkthat he was the only one she waved to, he was theone to receive her farewell smile. And so the Princessset out into the wide world.

The Admiral grunted, got up and walked twice upand down the room; then, muttering to himself,"All right," he put the letter in the stove.

When the Admiral came down to the office, Doffenwas inclined to be somewhat shaky about the knees.He pulled himself together, however, and, bearing inmind the example of Napoleon, took the offensive atonce.

"You've no idea what it costs to go travellingabout. A miserable stay-at-home like you."

At this Doffen grew angry in earnest, and slammeddown the lid of his desk, making the ink-stands fairlydance.

"Well, of all the.... First of all I do my veryutmost to save you from being ruined by your illegitimateoffspring, then I manage to get her away in adecent, respectable manner—you ought to be thoroughlyashamed of yourself, if you ask me."

"Not a bit of it. But there's a reward for exterminationof rats and other mischievous beasts."

Here the discussion was interrupted by the entranceof Ferryman Arne, who just looked in to ask if theAdmiral hadn't an old pair of breeches to give away,as the seat was all out of the ones he was wearing.The Admiral never refused. He went to a wardrobe,routed out an old pair and gave them to Arne. Thelatter examined them carefully, front and back, butinstead of saying thank you, he rudely declared that ifthe Admiral wanted to give a poor man something towear, he might at least give him something thatwasn't falling to bits already.

This led to a most satisfactory battle-royal betweenArne and the Admiral, each trying to outdo theother in lurid pigeon-English—a tongue which both ofthem spoke fluently, Arne having been twelve yearsin the China Seas.

And in the end the Admiral presented Arne withtwo brand-new pairs of trousers and a pound in cash.

The years passed by. Doffen stayed on in the office,and became indispensable as time went on. He andthe Admiral made a pair. And whenever the conversationlanguished towards the milk-and-watery, FerrymanArne would come and lend a hand.

The Princess roamed far and wide about the world.She sent home newspapers, wherein they read thatshe was performing at this or that great city, withthousands of admirers at her tiny feet.

The Admiral read it all without the slightest tokenof surprise, his only comment being: "All right,that's her business." But when one day he receiveda card bearing the inscription, "Countess Montfalca,"surmounted by a coronet, he spat, and remarked toDoffen:

"Well, after all, there's nothing surprising in that,seeing her mother was a queen."

XXI
DIRRIK

The first time I met him was in 1867, on boardthe schoonerJenny of Svelvik. The skipperwas an uncle of mine, and had taken mealong as odd boy for a summer cruise. And OleDidriksen, or Dirrik, as we called him, was first handon board.

We had taken in a cargo of pit props at Drammen,and came down the fjord with a light northerly breeze.A little way out the wind dropped altogether and theJenny lay drifting idly under a blazing sun.

Dirrik sounded the well, and declared that "theold swine was leaking like a sieve."—"Nonsense!"said the skipper. "Why, it's not more than threeyears since her last overhaul."—"Maybe," said Dirrik,"but she's powerful old."—"Old she may be—builtin '32—and I won't say but she's a trifle groggy aboutthe ribs; still, she's good for this bit of a run. Andsummer weather and all."

Dirrik tried again. "Twenty-two inches," he said,and looked inquiringly at the skipper. "Well, then,you two men get the boat and go ashore for a few sacksof caulking. There's plenty of ant-heaps up in thewood there."

I was ready to burst with pride at finding myselfthus bracketed with Dirrik as a "man." I feltmyself a sailor already, and would not have barteredthe title for that of a Consul-General or Secretary ofState.

But the ant-heaps puzzled me. I could see no connectionbetween ant-heaps in a wood on shore and thecaulking of a leaky schooner. However, the firstduty of man at sea is to obey the orders of the supremepower on board,i.e. the skipper; I curbed my curiosity,then, for the time, and waited till we were a fewlengths away from the ship.

"Ant-heaps?" said Dirrik. "Why, 'tis the onlyway to do with a leaky old tub like that. We dig 'emup, d'ye see, pine needles and all, and drag a casefulround her sides and down towards her keel, and shesucks it all up in her seams, ants and needles and bitsof twigs, and the whole boiling, and that's the finestcaulking you can get!"

"There's queerer things than that, lad, when avessel gets that old. It's the same like with humanbeings. Some of them keeps sound and fit, and othersgo rotten and mouldy and drink like hogs—but theyoften live the longest for all that!"

"Get her across? Why, what are you thinkingof? She's never had so much as a copper nail putin these last thirty years, but she'll sail for all that.Run all heeled over on one side, she will, and squirmingand screeching like a sea-serpent."

We reached the shore, and Dirrik ordered me upinto the wood to fill the sacks, while he just ran up toold Iversen, the pilot, for a moment.

I managed, not without some difficulty, to get theboat loaded up, but it was a full half-hour before Dirrikappeared.

At last he came strolling down, in company with apretty, buxom girl. "This is my young lady, an' hername's Margine," said Dirrik, and pointing to me:"Our new hand on board."—"Well, see you make anice trip," said Margine, "and come back again soon."

We caulked theJenny as per instructions, and gother taut as a bottle. "Ants, they trundles off sharp,all they know, into the holes for safety," Dirrik explained,"and take along the pine needles with 'em."

A fresh northerly wind took us well out into theNorth Sea; then, a few days later, we lay becalmedon the Dogger. An English fishing vessel sent a boataboard of us, trading fresh cod for a couple of bottlesof gin. Looking through the skylight I saw the oldman quietly making up the two bottles from one, bythe simple process of adding water to fill up. Rankswindling it seemed to me, but he explained afterwardsthat it was "our way of keeping down drunkenness,my boy."

Eight days out from Drammen we put in to SeahamHarbour. Half our cargo under deck was soddenthrough, for we'd three feet of water in the hold allthe voyage, despite the patent caulking.

A few hours later we were getting in our cargo,and soon theJenny was loaded almost to the waterlinewith smalls. We were just about to batten downthe hatches, when the skipper came along and toldus to wait, there was some Government stuff still tocome.

Down the quay trundled a heavy railway waggonwith two pieces of cannon, and before we had properlytime to wonder at the sight, the crane had taken hold,the guns swung high in the air above the quay, and—one,two, three—down they came into the mainhatchway all among the coals.

The schooner gave a sort of gasp as the crane let go,and I thought for a moment we had broken her back.She went several inches lower in the water, till thechain bolts were awash, and the scuppers clear by nomore than a hair's breadth.

"This looks dangerous," I said to the skippercautiously, as he stood by the side.

"And a lot to be afraid of in that!" said he, spittingseveral yards out into the dock. "The guns are forthe fort at Oskarsborg, and it isn't every voyage I canmake fifteen pounds over a couple of fellows likethat."

We set off on our homeward voyage. Fortunately,our protecting ants still kept to their places in theleaks, or there would have been an end of us, and theguns as well. The skipper was ill, and stuck to hisberth the whole way home. The night before we leftSeaham Harbour he had been to a crab-supper ashoreat the ship-chandler's, and what with stewed crabsand ginger beer, the feast had "upset all his innards,"as he put it.

We got into trouble rounding the Ness. Dirrik wasat the helm, and hailed the skipper to ask if we hadn'tbetter shorten sail.

"Nonsense!" said the old man. "It's summerweather—keep all standing till she's clear." Therigging sang, and the water was flung in showers overthe deck.

Dirrik ran her up into the wind as well as he could,but was afraid of going about. Then: Crack! fromaloft, and crack! went the jibboom, and the flyingjib was off and away to leeward like a bat. Theskipper thrust up his head to take in the situation.

"Got her clear?" he asked. "Ay," says Dirrikcalmly, "clear enough, and all we've got to do now ispull in the rags that's left, and paddle home as bestwe can."

We were not a pretty sight when we made Drobak,but the guns were landed safely, and that was the mainthing.

After that, I saw no more of Dirrik till I met him atthe Seaman's School in Piperviken in 1872.

There were three of us chums there: Rudolf, agreat big giant of eighteen, with fair curly hair andsmiling blue eyes. A good fellow was Rudolf, butuncommonly powerful and always ready to get tohand grips with anyone if they contradicted him.

Dirrik was fifteen years our senior at least. He hadbeen twenty years at sea already, and reckoned thepair of us as "boys."

Dirrik had never got beyond the rank of "first-hand"on board; it was always this miserable examthat stood in his way. It was his highest ambitionto pass for mate, and then perhaps some day, with luck,get a skipper's berth on some antiquated hulk alongthe coast. But Dirrik was unfortunate. It countedfor nothing here that he had been several times roundthe Horn, and received a silver knife from the DutchGovernment for going overboard in a gale, with a lineround his waist, to rescue three Dutchmen whose boatwas capsizing on the Dogger.

It was as much as he could do to write. I can stillsee his rugged fingers, misshapen after years of roughwork at sea, gripping the penholder convulsively, asif it had been a marlin-spike, and screwing his mouthup, now to one side, now to the other, as he painfullyscrawled some entry in the "log."

"I'd rather be lying out on Jan Mayen, shootingseal in forty degrees of frost," said Dirrik, wiping hisbrow.

"Devil take me, but I've half a mind to ship forthe Arctic myself next spring," said Rudolf.

"Ay, that's true," said Dirrik. "I've been upfour times now, and if I don't pass this time, my girlwon't wait any longer."

"Margine Iversen's her name. We've been promisednow eleven years, and wemust get marriedthis spring."

"No more of that, lads," said Dirrik. "Womenfolk,they've their own art of navigation, and I knowmore about it than you've any call to do at yourage."

"Nicely, thank ye, Captain," answered Dirrik."But this 'ere blamed azimuth's a hard nut to crack."Dirrik wiped the sweat from his brow with a blue-checkedhandkerchief, and blew his nose with startlingviolence. "You won't need a foghorn next time youget on board," said Wille slyly.

"I say, though, Captain," said Rudolf, "we mustget old Dirrik through somehow. If he doesn't passthis time, he'll be all adrift."

"Ay, but I do, though, Captain," said Dirrikearnestly. "For look you, navigation's badly neededin these waters, and I'll sure come to grief without."

"Why, then, we must do what we can to get youthrough," said Wille. And, seating himself besideDirrik, he began to explain the mysteries of sine, cosineand tangent.

Dirrik sat with all his mental nerves strained tautas the topmast shrouds in a storm. But the morehe listened to Wille's explanations the more incomprehensiblehe seemed to find the noble art and science of navigation.

Presently Lt. Knap, the second master, came up,and relieved Captain Wille at his task. Knap wasquite young in those days, an excitable fellow with asharp nose that gave him an air of self-importance.But a splendid teacher, that he was. I can still hearhis voice, after vain attempts to ram something intoDirrik's thick head: "But, damnation take it, man,I don't believe you understand a word!"

No, Dirrik didn't understand a word, or, at any rate,very little. One thing he did know, however, and thatwas, if a man can take his meridian and mark out hiscourse on the chart, he can find his way anywhere onthe high seas.

"All this rigmarole about azimuths and amplitudesand zeniths and moons and influence and tides, it'sjust invented to plague the life out of honest, seafaringfolk." This heartfelt plaint of Dirrik's wasreceived with loud applause by the rest of the school.Knap himself was as delighted as the rest, and sangout over our heads: "Well, you can be sure I'd beonly too glad to leave out half of it, for it is all a mancan do to knock the rest of it into your heads."

Skipper Sartz, the third master, was a very old andvery slow, but a thorough-going old salt, who wouldrather spin us a yarn at any time than bother aboutnavigation. We learned very little of that from him,and he was generally regarded more as a comrade thanas a master. Rudolf supplied him with tobacco, freeof charge, to smoke in lesson-time, so there was no verystrict discipline during those hours. It was a trickof Rudolf's, I remember, when Sartz was going throughlessons with him, to get hold of a ruler in his left handand draw it gently up and down the tutor's back.Sartz would think it was me, and swing round suddenlyto let off a volley, ending up as a rule with arecommendation to us generally to "give over theseetcetera etcetera tricks, and try and behave as younggentlemen should."

At last the great day came when Dirrik was to go upfor his exam. K. G. Smith—he's an admiral now—wasthe examiner. All of us, teachers included, werefond of Dirrik, and would have been sorry to see himfail again.

"Well, if I do get through this time," said Dirrik,smiling all over his cheery face, "I'll stand treat allround so the mess won't forget it for a week."

And really I think he would rather have faced afour week's gale of the winter-north-Atlantic type, orundertaken to assassinate the Emperor of China, thanmarch up to that examination table.

When the time came for the viva voce, Rudolfand I could stand it no longer, we had to go in andlisten.

Never before or since have I seen such depths ofdespair on any human face. Poor Dirrik mopped hisbrow, and blew his nose, and we sat there, with seriousfaces, feeling as if we were watching some dear departedabout to be lowered into the grave. I can safely sayI have never experienced a more solemn or tryingceremony, not even when I, myself, was launched intothe state of holy matrimony before the altar.

The examiner sat bending over his work, enteringsomething or other—of particular importance, tojudge by the gravity of his looks.

"Fssst—fssst!" and then, a moment later, fromthe direction of the stove: "Sssss!"

It was Rudolf, who had squirted out a jet of tobaccojuice between his teeth over on to the stove in thecorner. Both the censors looked up, and the examinerlaid down his pen, flashing a fiery glance at Rudolffrom under his bushy brows.

"Pig!" said I, loud enough for the examiner tohear, and was rewarded with a nod of approval.

This saved the situation, for if the old man had losthis temper, it would have been all up with Dirrik'sexam.

At last they began. I can still see the examiner'sclose-cropped hair and bushy eyebrows.

"Well, sir, can you tell me why a compass needleinvariably points towards the north?"

Dirrik had not understood a syllable, but felt heought in common decency to make pretence of thinkingit out for a bit, then he said:

A faint, almost imperceptible smile passed over theCaptain's face. The two old skippers, Olsen andWleugel, sat solemn as owls. Dirrik looked at theexaminer, then at the censor, and finally his glancerested on us, with an expression of helpless resignation.Rudolf nodded, and whispered "Cheer up," but Dirrikneither saw nor heard.

This time the examiner could not help laughing, andthe censors themselves seemed to thaw a little.

"H'm," said the examiner. "Yes ... well, andsuppose your compass needle happened to forget thatlittle habit it's got, as may happen, for instance, whena vessel's loaded with iron—what would you do?"Evidently he was in a good humour now.

"Sail by the sun and the watch," answered Dirrikpromptly. He was wide awake now, and drew out ashe spoke a big silver watch with a double case.

"I've sailed by this fellow here from the NewfoundlandBank to Barrow in twelve days—it was with thebarqueHimalaya, of Holmestrand."

Dirrik felt himself now master of the situation, andran on gaily, as one thoroughly at ease.

"It was blinding snow on the Banks that time.The skipper was down with inflammation of the lungs,and lay in his bunk delirious; we'd shipped someheavy seas, and got four stanchions broken, and themate with four of his ribs bashed in, so he couldn'tmove. And as for the crew, the less said about themthe better. We'd three niggers aboard and an Irishman,and a couple of drunken gentlemen that'd neverbeen to sea before.

"Well, I had to sail and navigate and all. It wasa gale that went on day after day, till you'd think thedevil himself was hard at it with a bellows. But,luckily, I'd this old watch of mine, and she's betterthan any of your chronometers, for it's a sixteen-rubywatch——"

Dirrik was proud as a peacock at the question;fancy the examiner having to askhim!

"Why, it's this way. If you look inside an ordinarywatch, you'll find it's either five rubies or ten, but it'svery rarely you come across one with sixteen, and themore rubies you've got in a watch, the better she goes.Well, anyway, when the watch came round to noonmidday, I'd take the run and check off our course,and that way I got to windward of her deviations andmagnetic variations and all the tricks there are to acompass mostly. Then, of course, I'd to look to thelog, and mark off each day's run on the chart."

"No, we did none so badly, and that's the truth.For we got into Barrow at high water twelve days'sail from the Banks. The Insurance Company wantedto give me a gold watch, but I said, 'No, thank you,if t'was all the same, I'd rather have it in cash,' sothey sent me what they call a testimonial, and £15.And that was doing the handsome thing, for it was nomore than my duty after all. As for the crowd ofrapscallions we'd aboard, I gave them a pound a-piecefor themselves—the poor devils had done what theycould, though it was little enough."

"Well ..." the examiner turned to the censors."I think that ought to be enough...?" And thepair of them nodded approval.

"Right! That will do." Dirrik was dismissed witha gesture, and, making his bow to each in turn, hehurried out as fast as he could.

Next day one of the censors, Skipper Wleugel, camedown to the school and informed us that Dirrik hadpassed, albeit with lowest possible marks.

Followed cheers for Dirrik, and cheers for the examiner,and cheers for Knap—the last-named happeningto come out just at that moment, to see what all thenoise was about. That evening Dirrik invited Rudolfand myself to the feast he had promised—great slabs ofsteak and heaps of onions, with beer and snapsad lib.,and toddy and black cigars to top off with.

And going home that night we knocked the stuffingout of five young students from the Academy, on thegrounds that they lacked the higher education Dirriknow possessed. Altogether, it was a most successfulevening.

Dirrik went back home after that and married hisMargine. Three months later he was the father ofa bouncing boy, who was christened Sinus KnapDidriksen, in pious memory of his father's studiesin the art of navigation and his teacher in the same.

MODERN TROUBADOURS

The sub-title, "Concerts at the Front," is known toalmost every soldier who fought in the Great War.

The book is a record of the experiences of the actorsand musicians who during the years from 1915 to theend of 1919 went to the War Zones. The record iswritten by Lena Ashwell, known as an actress, who wasthe Honorary Organiser of this effort through whichplays and music were taken to the armies by over sixhundred artists.

It is the first time since the very early days of civilisationthat Drama and Music have received official recognition,with the result that the teaching and use ofplays and music was placed in Army Orders. In theFinal Report of the Adult Education Committee theimportance of the Drama is for the first time insistedupon as a means of education.

The book is of interest, therefore, not only in givinga somewhat new impression of the Great War, but as arecord of a new departure which in time may lead tothe position of the great arts in relation to the Nationallife being greatly changed.

The human interest of the book is great and the evidenceof the power of well-directed emotion is remarkable.

THE GARLAND

Kristin, the heroine, is the daughter of a lord of themanor in Gudbrandsdal, she is singled out as a childfor a dangerous and romantic destiny. The story ofher early betrothal and of the wild love romance thatbreaks it is told in "The Garland" in scenes of intensedramatic effect, and the characters of the heroine, herlovers, and her parents are developed with extraordinarypower. The mediæval setting is marked by a picturesquerealism, and the atmosphere of the time, with its strongpassions and superstitious terrors, is reproduced in a mostconvincing way.

THE LONG JOURNEY
FIRE AND ICE

Johannes V. Jensen, whose work is new to Englishreaders, was born in 1873 in Himmerland, the district ofNorth Jutland which is richest in memories of the past.He has been recognised for the last thirty years as anindependent force in Danish literature, where his productionmarks a revolt against the French influencesprevalent at the close of the nineteenth century and areturn to old Scandinavian motives, with a strong leaningtowards the English school of imaginative writing. Hiswork is full of a primitive force, which is combined witha power of lyrical description probably unsurpassed atthe present day.

In "The Long Journey" Johannes V. Jensen tells thestory of the white man, in a series of romances or "myths,"of which the first are now presented in English.

"Fire and Ice" is a story of adventure—the greatestadventure in the history of mankind—telling with vividrealism and much underlying humour how the white manbecame white and acquired the powers of self-reliancewhich made him master of the world.

The story opens in the lost Paradise, where man stealsfire from Heaven. Armed with it he challenges Natureand goes through the Ice Age, which sets the boundarybetween the white man and the savage. When the thawcomes there are two races on earth, and their first encounterbrings the clash of drama.

DOWNSTREAM

This is the story of a family of brothers and sisters,the Selambs, neglected in childhood and left to growup under chance influences. "Selambshof," the decayedfamily home, is in the neighbourhood of Stockholm, andthe growth of the capital gives it an enhanced valuewhich is not without its influence on the destinies ofthe family. The author has traced the adventures anddevelopment of these highly individualised Selambs ina way that makes this one of the most absorbing novelsproduced in recent years.

Sigfrid Siwertz has rapidly come to the front amongSwedish novelists, and this, his most important work todate, has firmly established him in the first rank.

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Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofDry fish and wet

Transcriber's note

Dry Fish and Wet

Contents

I
THE TOWN

II
KNUT G. HOLM

III
BRAMSEN

IV
HERMANSEN OF THE BANK

V
MRS. RANTZAU'S STORY

VI
"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"

VII
HOLM & SON

VIII
MALLA TRAP

IX
CLAPHAM JUNCTION

X
THE SHIP COMES HOME

XI
THE CONCERT

XII
OLD NICK

XIII
CILIA

XIV
A ROYAL VISIT

XV
PETER OILAND

XVI
EMILIE RANTZAU

XVII
THEEVA MARIA

XVIII
THEHENRIK IBSEN

XIX
NILS PETTER'S LEGACY

XX
THE ADMIRAL

XXI
DIRRIK

MODERN TROUBADOURS

THE GARLAND

THE LONG JOURNEY
FIRE AND ICE

DOWNSTREAM

Transcriber's corrections

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

Movatterモバイル変換

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofDry fish and wet

Transcriber's note

Dry Fish and Wet

Contents

ITHE TOWN

IIKNUT G. HOLM

IIIBRAMSEN

IVHERMANSEN OF THE BANK

VMRS. RANTZAU'S STORY

VI"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"

VIIHOLM & SON

VIIIMALLA TRAP

IXCLAPHAM JUNCTION

XTHE SHIP COMES HOME

XITHE CONCERT

XIIOLD NICK

XIIICILIA

XIVA ROYAL VISIT

XVPETER OILAND

XVIEMILIE RANTZAU

XVIITHEEVA MARIA

XVIIITHEHENRIK IBSEN

XIXNILS PETTER'S LEGACY

XXTHE ADMIRAL

XXIDIRRIK

MODERN TROUBADOURS

THE GARLAND

THE LONG JOURNEYFIRE AND ICE

DOWNSTREAM

Transcriber's corrections

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

I
THE TOWN

II
KNUT G. HOLM

III
BRAMSEN

IV
HERMANSEN OF THE BANK

V
MRS. RANTZAU'S STORY

VI
"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"

VII
HOLM & SON

VIII
MALLA TRAP

IX
CLAPHAM JUNCTION

X
THE SHIP COMES HOME

XI
THE CONCERT

XII
OLD NICK

XIII
CILIA

XIV
A ROYAL VISIT

XV
PETER OILAND

XVI
EMILIE RANTZAU

XVII
THEEVA MARIA

XVIII
THEHENRIK IBSEN

XIX
NILS PETTER'S LEGACY

XX
THE ADMIRAL

XXI
DIRRIK

THE LONG JOURNEY
FIRE AND ICE