Chapter Five.

Chapter Five.Cariole Travelling—Miserable Lodging and Poor Fare—Native Peculiarities—A Night Battle.As I am now about to drag my reader through the wild interior of Norway, let me try to describe it. Don’t be alarmed, dear reader, I do not mean to be tedious on this point, but I candidly confess that I am puzzled as to how I should begin! Norway issucha jumble of Nature’s elements. Perhaps a jumbled description may answer the purpose better than any other. Here it is, then.Mountains, and crags, and gorges, and rocks, and serried ridges; towering peaks and dark ravines; lakes, and fords, and glens, and valleys; pine-woods, and glaciers, (For a full description of glaciers, see “Fast in the Ice,” page 86, volume 3 of thisMiscellany) streamlets, rivulets, rivers, cascades, waterfalls, and cataracts. Add to this—in summer—sweltering heat in the valleys and everlasting snow and ice on the mountain-tops, with sunlight all night as well as all day—and the description of Norway is complete. No arrangement of these materials is necessary. Conceive them arranged as you will, and no matter how wild your fancy, your conception will be a pretty fair idea of Norway. Toes these elements into some chamber of your brain; shake them well up,—don’t be timid about it,—then look at the result, and you will behold Norway!Having said thus much, it is unnecessary to say more. Rugged grandeur is the main feature of Norway.On a lovely summer’s evening, not long after the departure of theSnowflakefrom Bergen, our three travellers found themselves trotting through a wild glen on each side of which rose a range of rugged mountains, and down the centre of which roared a small river. The glen was so steep, and the bed of the torrent so broken, that there was not a spot of clear water in its whole course. From the end of the lake out of which it flowed, to the head of the fiord or firth into which it ran, the river was one boiling, roaring mass of milk-white foam.Fred Temple and his friends travelled in the ordinary vehicle of the country, which is called acariole. The Norwegian cariole holds only one person, and the driver or attendant sits on a narrow board above the axle-tree.Of course it follows that each traveller in Norway must have a cariole and a pony to himself. These are hired very cheaply, however. You can travel post there at the rate of about twopence a mile! Our friends had three carioles among them, three ponies, and three drivers or “shooscarles,” (This word is spelt as it should be pronounced) besides a small native cart to carry the luggage.Their drive that day, and indeed every day since starting, had been emphatically up hill and down dale. It was, therefore, impossible to cross such a country in the ordinary jog-trot manner. When not ascending a steep hill, they were necessarily descending one; for the level parts of the land are few and far between. In order, therefore, to get on at all, it was needful to descend the hills at a slapping pace, so as to make up for time lost in ascending them.There was something delightfully wild in this mode of progressing, which gladdened the hearts of our travellers, each of whom had a strong dash of recklessness in his composition. There was a little danger, too, connected with it, which made it all the more attractive. Frequently the roads were narrow, and they wound along the top of precipices over which a false step might easily have hurled them. At the foot of many of the roads, too, there were sharp turns, and it was a matter of intense delight to Sam Sorrel to try how fast he could gallop down and take the turn without upsetting.The Norwegian ponies are usually small and cream-coloured, with black manes and tails or white manes and tails; always, from some incomprehensible reason, with manes and tails different in colour from their bodies. They are hardy, active animals, and they seem to take positive pleasure in the rattling, neck-or-nothing scamper that succeeds each toilsome ascent.The shooscarle is usually the owner of the pony. He may be a man or a boy, but whether man or boy he almost invariably wears a red worsted nightcap. He also wears coarse homespun trousers, immensely too long in the body, and a waistcoat monstrously too short. He will hold the reins and drive if you choose, but most travellers prefer to drive themselves.During the journey Fred Temple usually led the way. Norman Grant, being a careless, easy-going, drowsy fellow, not to be trusted, was placed in the middle, and Sam Sorrel brought up the rear. Sam’s duty was to prevent straggling, and pick up stray articles or baggage.On the day of which I write the three friends had travelled far, and were very sleepy. It was near midnight when they came to a steep and broken part of the road, which ran alongside of the foaming river already mentioned, and, turning at a sharp angle, crossed it by means of a rude wooden bridge.Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the sky was almost as bright as at noon.“Mind yourself here,” shouted Fred, looking back at Grant, who was almost asleep.“Hallo! oh, all right!” cried Grant, gathering up the reins and attempting to drive. Fortunately for him Norwegian ponies need no driving. They are trained to look after themselves. Fred went down the hill at a canter. Grant followed at a spanking trot, and both of them reached the bridge, and made the turn in safety.Sam Sorrel was some distance behind. Both he and his shooscarle were sitting bolt-upright, more than half-asleep, with the reins hanging loose on the pony’s back. The first thing that awakened Sam was the feeling of going down hill like a locomotive engine. Rousing himself, he seized the reins, and tried to check the pony. This only confused it, and made it run the cariole so near to the edge of the river, that they were almost upset into it.When Sam became fully aware of his position, he opened his eyes, pursed his lips, and prepared for “squalls.” Not being a practised driver, he did not make sufficient allowance for a large stone which had fallen from the cliffs, and lay on the road. He saw what was coming, and gathered himself up for a smash; but the tough little cariole took it as an Irish hunter takes a stone wall. There was a tremendous crash. Sam’s teeth came together with a snap, and the shooscarle uttered a roar; no wonder, poor fellow, for his seat being over the axle, and having no spring to it, the shock which he received must have beenabsolutelyshocking! However, they got over that without damage, and the river was crossed by all three in safety.The next hill they came to was a still worse one. When they were half-way down the leader came to a sudden halt; Grant’s cariole almost ran over it; Sam and the luggage-cart pulled up just in time, and so, from front to rear, they were jammed up into the smallest space they could occupy.“Hallo! what’s wrong?” shouted Grant.“Oh! nothing, only a trace or something broken,” replied Fred. “Mend it in a minute.”It was mended in a minute, and away they went again on their reckless course over hill and dale.The mending of the trace was a simple affair. The harness of each pony consisted of nothing more than the reins, a wooden collar, and a wooden saddle. The shafts were fastened to the collar by means of an iron pin, and this pin was secured in its place by a green withe or birch-bough twisted in a peculiar manner, so as to resemble a piece of rope. This was the only part of the harness that could break, so that when an accident of the kind occurred the driver had only to step into the woods and cut a new one. It is a rough-and-ready style of thing, but well suited to the rough country and the simple people of Norway.Fred, being anxious to see as much as possible, had compelled his guide to turn out of the usual high-road, the consequence of which was that he soon got into difficulties; for although each shooscarle knew the district through which they were passing, they could not quite understand to what part of the country this peculiar Englishman was going. This is not surprising, for the peculiar Englishman was not quite sure of that point himself!On this particular night they seemed to have got quite lost among the hills. At every stage of ten or twelve English miles they changed horses and drivers. The drivers on this particular stage were more stupid than usual, or Fred Temple was not so bright. Be that as it may, about midnight they arrived at a gloomy, savage place, lying deep among the hills, with two or three wooden huts, so poor-looking and so dirty that a well-bred dog would have objected to go into them. Fred pulled up when he came to this place, and Grant’s pony pulled up when his nose touched the back of Fred’s cart. Grant himself and his man were sound asleep. In a few seconds Sam joined them.There was a brilliant, rosy light on the mountain-tops, but this came down in a subdued form to the travellers in the valley. The place scarcely deserved the name of a valley. It was more of a gorge. The mountains rose up like broken walls on each side, until they seemed to pierce the sky. If you could fancy that a thunderbolt had split the mountain from top to bottom, and scattered great masses of rock all over the gorge thus formed, you would have an idea of the soft of place in which our belated travellers found themselves. Yet even here there were little patches of cultivated ground, behind rocks and in out-of-the-way corners, where the poor inhabitants cultivated a little barley and grass for their cattle.It was a lovely calm night. Had you been there, reader, you would have said it was day, not night. There was no sound to break the deep stillness of all around except the murmur of many cataracts of melted snow-water, that poured down the mountainsides like threads of silver or streams of milk. But the rush of these was so mellowed by distance that the noise was soft and agreeable.“I say, Grant, this will never do,” said Fred gravely.“I suppose not,” returned Grant, with a yawn.“What say you, Sam,—shall we go on?”“I think so. They can have nothing to give us in such miserable huts as these except gröd (barley-meal porridge), and sour milk, and dirty beds.”“Perhaps not even so much as that,” said Fred, turning to his driver. “How far is it, my man, to the next station?”“Ten miles, sir.”“Hum; shall we go on, comrades?”“Go on; forward!” cried Grant and Sorrel.So on they went as before, over hill and dale for ten miles, which poor Sam (who was very sleepy, but could not sleep in the cariole) declared were much more like twenty miles than ten.The sun was up, and the birds were twittering, when they reached the next station. But what was their dismay when they found that it was poorer and more miserable than the last! It lay in a wilder gorge, and seemed a much more suitable residence for wolves and bears than for human beings. Indeed, it was evident that the savage creatures referred to did favour that region with their presence, for the skin of a wolf and the skull of a bear were found hanging on the walls of the first hut the travellers entered.The people in this hamlet were extremely poor and uncommonly stupid. Living as they did in an unfrequented district, they seldom or never saw travellers, and when Fred asked for something to eat, the reply he got at first was a stare of astonishment.“We must hunt up things for ourselves, I see,” cried Sam Sorrel, beginning to search through the hut for victuals. Seeing this, the people assisted him; but all that they could produce was a box of barley meat and two large flat dishes of sour milk.This sour milk is a favourite dish with the Norwegians. During summer the cattle are sent to the pastures high up in the mountains, in order to spare the small quantity of grass grown in the valleys, which is made into hay and stored for winter use. These mountain pastures are called saeters, and the milk required by each family for daily use is carried down from the saeter by the girls. The milk is put into round flat tubs, varying from one to two feet in diameter and four or five inches deep. It is then allowed to stand, not only until it is sour, but until it is thick throughout like curd, with a thick coat of cream on the top. In this form it is eaten with a spoon, and a very pleasant sight it is to behold three or four sturdy herdsmen, and, perchance, one or two boys, squatting round one of these large dishes, and supping away to their hearts’ content.Grant seized the first dish of milk he discovered, and at once sat down on a stool and began to devour it.“Hold on, let us start fair!” cried Sam Sorrel, catching up a spoon, and sitting down opposite his comrade on another stool.The hut was built of rough logs, and the only furniture in it was of the rudest description; a couple of box-beds, two or three stools, and a bench, a gaily-painted chest in one corner, and a misshapen table was all that it contained. There was a very small door at one side, a particularly small window at the other, and a raised stone fireplace at one end.“Well, while you two are stuffing yourselves with sour milk, I’ll go and search for better fare,” said Fred, with a laugh as he left the hut.“Good luck go with you,” cried Grant; “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Now, then, old boy,” he continued, turning to the owner of the hut, “could your goodwife make us a little porridge; I say, Sam, what’s the Norse for porridge?”“Gröd, (Gröd is pronouncedgroot) I believe,” said Sam, who was still busy with the sour milk.“Ah yes! gröd, that’s it,” said Grant, turning again to the old man; “gröd, gröd, get us some gröd, gröd, gröd,—d’ye understand?”“Ya, ya,” answered the man. It would have been very strange if he hadnotunderstood, for though Grant addressed him in English the wordgrödbawled so frequently into his ear was sufficiently comprehensible.A fire was quickly kindled by the goodwife, a pleasant-looking elderly woman; and the black family-pot was soon smoking. The old man was smoking too, in less than five minutes, for Grant, in the fulness of his heart, gave him a pipe and a lump of tobacco.This man was a fine specimen of a hale old Norseman. He wore a complete suit of brown homespun—excepting the jacket, which hung on a rusty nail in the wall. Knee-breeches and worsted stockings showed that even in declining years he had a good pair of legs. His grey hair hung in long straight locks over his shoulders, and on his head was the invariable red nightcap. The only weakness for finery displayed by this old hero was in the matter of buttons and braces. The buttons were polished brass of enormous size, and the braces were red. These were displayed to great advantage in consequence of a space of full four inches intervening between the bottom of his vest and the waist-band of his breeches.While the gröd was being made, Fred Temple put up his fishing-rod and rambled away in search of a stream. He had not to go far. In about five minutes he found one that looked tempting. At the very first cast a large fish rose so greedily that it leaped quite out of the water and missed the fly. The next cast the fish caught the fly and Fred caught the fish. It was a splendid yellow trout of about a pound weight. In quarter of an hour Fred had three such trout in the pockets of his shooting-coat; in half an hour more the three fish were consigned by the three friends to the region of digestion!And now the question of bed had to be considered. Grant settled it as far as he was concerned by throwing himself down on a pile of brushwood that lay in a corner, pillowing his head on a three-legged stool, and going off to sleep at once. Fred and Sam looked at the two beds. They were extremely dirty, and it was evident that straw was the bedding.“Come, travellers must not be particular,” cried Fred, as he tumbled into his box.“I couldn’t hold my eyes open five minutes longer to save my life,” muttered Sam, as he rolled over into the other.In a minute the three friends began to breathe heavily. Two minutes more and they were snoring, a trio in happy forgetfulness of all their toils.Now, it must be told that this pleasant state of things did not last long. Fred Temple and Sam Sorrel were not the only occupants of these beds. Truth, however disagreeable, must be revealed. There were living creatures which not only slept in those beds, but which dwelt there when perfectly wide awake; and these creatures waged unceasing war with every human being that lay down beside them. In a very short time the sleepers found this out. Fred began to grow restless and to groan. So did Sam. In the course of an hour or so Fred uttered a fierce exclamation, and rose on his hands and knees. So did Sam. Then Fred and Sam began to fight—not with each other, but—with the common enemy.The battle raged for more than an hour, during which the foe, although frequently routed, returned again and again to the charge. Their courage and determination were tremendous. It cannot be said that Fred and Sam were actually put to flight, but a regard for truth compels me to state that they continuedfleaingthe greater part of that morning, and it was not until the sun was high in the heavens—pouring down a flood of light into that wild glen—that they gained the victory, and lay down to repose on their laurels and straw—not to mention the bodies of the dead and dying!They hoped now to be rewarded for their exertions with a few hours’ repose. Vain hope! Scarcely had they closed their eyes when the door opened, and an old woman, with nose and chin of the nutcracker type, entered the room. This was the grandmother of the family; she had come to look at the strangers.Grant’s face, with the eyes shut and the mouth wide-open, was the first object that met her view. She bent over him and looked into his mouth, as if anxious to examine his teeth. Having looked him over, and felt the quality of his clothes with her shrivelled fingers, she turned to the beds and stared at the other strangers.Fred had gone off into a sort of doze, so he bore the inspection well, but Sam was only pretending to sleep, and when he peeped up at the old face that looked down on his with kindly interest and curiosity, he found it difficult to check a smile.Having looked at them well, and touched everything belonging to them, to see what it could be made of, the old woman moved quietly towards the door. She shut it with a bang, however, and roused them up with a start—excepting Grant, who slept through everything, and in spite of everything.They were just dropping off again when the old woman returned. She had forgotten something, and was moving across the floor, when she accidentally knocked over a bench, which upset a heavy stool. The crash was followed by a scream of alarm, and once more the sleepers were awakened—always excepting Grant. Scarcely had this happened when a strange sound was heard outside. It gradually became louder and more alarming.“Whatcanit be?” cried Fred, leaping out of bed, and rushing to the door. As he threw it open, there was a roar like the sudden discharge of artillery, and at the same moment a huge mass of rock, many tons in weight, bounded close past the door, went crashing through a wooden shed as if it had been a sheet of paper, and, carrying shrubs and small trees along with it, finally found a resting-place at the bottom of the glen. The huge mass had fallen from the cliffs above, and fortunately swept through the hamlet without doing further damage. It was followed by a shower of smaller stones, some of which struck and shook the house, and produced a commotion that caused even Grant to wake up and run out in alarm.The whole valley was covered with rocks of every shape and size, which had at various times fallen from the cliffs on either side; and one could not look at them without wondering that the little cluster of huts had not long ago been destroyed. There are many such scenes in Norway, and accidents do sometimes occur, but not so frequently as one might expect.It is needless to say that our travellers did not again court sleep in that wild spot. Before another hour had passed they were over the mountains and far away on their journey to the far north.

As I am now about to drag my reader through the wild interior of Norway, let me try to describe it. Don’t be alarmed, dear reader, I do not mean to be tedious on this point, but I candidly confess that I am puzzled as to how I should begin! Norway issucha jumble of Nature’s elements. Perhaps a jumbled description may answer the purpose better than any other. Here it is, then.

Mountains, and crags, and gorges, and rocks, and serried ridges; towering peaks and dark ravines; lakes, and fords, and glens, and valleys; pine-woods, and glaciers, (For a full description of glaciers, see “Fast in the Ice,” page 86, volume 3 of thisMiscellany) streamlets, rivulets, rivers, cascades, waterfalls, and cataracts. Add to this—in summer—sweltering heat in the valleys and everlasting snow and ice on the mountain-tops, with sunlight all night as well as all day—and the description of Norway is complete. No arrangement of these materials is necessary. Conceive them arranged as you will, and no matter how wild your fancy, your conception will be a pretty fair idea of Norway. Toes these elements into some chamber of your brain; shake them well up,—don’t be timid about it,—then look at the result, and you will behold Norway!

Having said thus much, it is unnecessary to say more. Rugged grandeur is the main feature of Norway.

On a lovely summer’s evening, not long after the departure of theSnowflakefrom Bergen, our three travellers found themselves trotting through a wild glen on each side of which rose a range of rugged mountains, and down the centre of which roared a small river. The glen was so steep, and the bed of the torrent so broken, that there was not a spot of clear water in its whole course. From the end of the lake out of which it flowed, to the head of the fiord or firth into which it ran, the river was one boiling, roaring mass of milk-white foam.

Fred Temple and his friends travelled in the ordinary vehicle of the country, which is called acariole. The Norwegian cariole holds only one person, and the driver or attendant sits on a narrow board above the axle-tree.

Of course it follows that each traveller in Norway must have a cariole and a pony to himself. These are hired very cheaply, however. You can travel post there at the rate of about twopence a mile! Our friends had three carioles among them, three ponies, and three drivers or “shooscarles,” (This word is spelt as it should be pronounced) besides a small native cart to carry the luggage.

Their drive that day, and indeed every day since starting, had been emphatically up hill and down dale. It was, therefore, impossible to cross such a country in the ordinary jog-trot manner. When not ascending a steep hill, they were necessarily descending one; for the level parts of the land are few and far between. In order, therefore, to get on at all, it was needful to descend the hills at a slapping pace, so as to make up for time lost in ascending them.

There was something delightfully wild in this mode of progressing, which gladdened the hearts of our travellers, each of whom had a strong dash of recklessness in his composition. There was a little danger, too, connected with it, which made it all the more attractive. Frequently the roads were narrow, and they wound along the top of precipices over which a false step might easily have hurled them. At the foot of many of the roads, too, there were sharp turns, and it was a matter of intense delight to Sam Sorrel to try how fast he could gallop down and take the turn without upsetting.

The Norwegian ponies are usually small and cream-coloured, with black manes and tails or white manes and tails; always, from some incomprehensible reason, with manes and tails different in colour from their bodies. They are hardy, active animals, and they seem to take positive pleasure in the rattling, neck-or-nothing scamper that succeeds each toilsome ascent.

The shooscarle is usually the owner of the pony. He may be a man or a boy, but whether man or boy he almost invariably wears a red worsted nightcap. He also wears coarse homespun trousers, immensely too long in the body, and a waistcoat monstrously too short. He will hold the reins and drive if you choose, but most travellers prefer to drive themselves.

During the journey Fred Temple usually led the way. Norman Grant, being a careless, easy-going, drowsy fellow, not to be trusted, was placed in the middle, and Sam Sorrel brought up the rear. Sam’s duty was to prevent straggling, and pick up stray articles or baggage.

On the day of which I write the three friends had travelled far, and were very sleepy. It was near midnight when they came to a steep and broken part of the road, which ran alongside of the foaming river already mentioned, and, turning at a sharp angle, crossed it by means of a rude wooden bridge.

Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the sky was almost as bright as at noon.

“Mind yourself here,” shouted Fred, looking back at Grant, who was almost asleep.

“Hallo! oh, all right!” cried Grant, gathering up the reins and attempting to drive. Fortunately for him Norwegian ponies need no driving. They are trained to look after themselves. Fred went down the hill at a canter. Grant followed at a spanking trot, and both of them reached the bridge, and made the turn in safety.

Sam Sorrel was some distance behind. Both he and his shooscarle were sitting bolt-upright, more than half-asleep, with the reins hanging loose on the pony’s back. The first thing that awakened Sam was the feeling of going down hill like a locomotive engine. Rousing himself, he seized the reins, and tried to check the pony. This only confused it, and made it run the cariole so near to the edge of the river, that they were almost upset into it.

When Sam became fully aware of his position, he opened his eyes, pursed his lips, and prepared for “squalls.” Not being a practised driver, he did not make sufficient allowance for a large stone which had fallen from the cliffs, and lay on the road. He saw what was coming, and gathered himself up for a smash; but the tough little cariole took it as an Irish hunter takes a stone wall. There was a tremendous crash. Sam’s teeth came together with a snap, and the shooscarle uttered a roar; no wonder, poor fellow, for his seat being over the axle, and having no spring to it, the shock which he received must have beenabsolutelyshocking! However, they got over that without damage, and the river was crossed by all three in safety.

The next hill they came to was a still worse one. When they were half-way down the leader came to a sudden halt; Grant’s cariole almost ran over it; Sam and the luggage-cart pulled up just in time, and so, from front to rear, they were jammed up into the smallest space they could occupy.

“Hallo! what’s wrong?” shouted Grant.

“Oh! nothing, only a trace or something broken,” replied Fred. “Mend it in a minute.”

It was mended in a minute, and away they went again on their reckless course over hill and dale.

The mending of the trace was a simple affair. The harness of each pony consisted of nothing more than the reins, a wooden collar, and a wooden saddle. The shafts were fastened to the collar by means of an iron pin, and this pin was secured in its place by a green withe or birch-bough twisted in a peculiar manner, so as to resemble a piece of rope. This was the only part of the harness that could break, so that when an accident of the kind occurred the driver had only to step into the woods and cut a new one. It is a rough-and-ready style of thing, but well suited to the rough country and the simple people of Norway.

Fred, being anxious to see as much as possible, had compelled his guide to turn out of the usual high-road, the consequence of which was that he soon got into difficulties; for although each shooscarle knew the district through which they were passing, they could not quite understand to what part of the country this peculiar Englishman was going. This is not surprising, for the peculiar Englishman was not quite sure of that point himself!

On this particular night they seemed to have got quite lost among the hills. At every stage of ten or twelve English miles they changed horses and drivers. The drivers on this particular stage were more stupid than usual, or Fred Temple was not so bright. Be that as it may, about midnight they arrived at a gloomy, savage place, lying deep among the hills, with two or three wooden huts, so poor-looking and so dirty that a well-bred dog would have objected to go into them. Fred pulled up when he came to this place, and Grant’s pony pulled up when his nose touched the back of Fred’s cart. Grant himself and his man were sound asleep. In a few seconds Sam joined them.

There was a brilliant, rosy light on the mountain-tops, but this came down in a subdued form to the travellers in the valley. The place scarcely deserved the name of a valley. It was more of a gorge. The mountains rose up like broken walls on each side, until they seemed to pierce the sky. If you could fancy that a thunderbolt had split the mountain from top to bottom, and scattered great masses of rock all over the gorge thus formed, you would have an idea of the soft of place in which our belated travellers found themselves. Yet even here there were little patches of cultivated ground, behind rocks and in out-of-the-way corners, where the poor inhabitants cultivated a little barley and grass for their cattle.

It was a lovely calm night. Had you been there, reader, you would have said it was day, not night. There was no sound to break the deep stillness of all around except the murmur of many cataracts of melted snow-water, that poured down the mountainsides like threads of silver or streams of milk. But the rush of these was so mellowed by distance that the noise was soft and agreeable.

“I say, Grant, this will never do,” said Fred gravely.

“I suppose not,” returned Grant, with a yawn.

“What say you, Sam,—shall we go on?”

“I think so. They can have nothing to give us in such miserable huts as these except gröd (barley-meal porridge), and sour milk, and dirty beds.”

“Perhaps not even so much as that,” said Fred, turning to his driver. “How far is it, my man, to the next station?”

“Ten miles, sir.”

“Hum; shall we go on, comrades?”

“Go on; forward!” cried Grant and Sorrel.

So on they went as before, over hill and dale for ten miles, which poor Sam (who was very sleepy, but could not sleep in the cariole) declared were much more like twenty miles than ten.

The sun was up, and the birds were twittering, when they reached the next station. But what was their dismay when they found that it was poorer and more miserable than the last! It lay in a wilder gorge, and seemed a much more suitable residence for wolves and bears than for human beings. Indeed, it was evident that the savage creatures referred to did favour that region with their presence, for the skin of a wolf and the skull of a bear were found hanging on the walls of the first hut the travellers entered.

The people in this hamlet were extremely poor and uncommonly stupid. Living as they did in an unfrequented district, they seldom or never saw travellers, and when Fred asked for something to eat, the reply he got at first was a stare of astonishment.

“We must hunt up things for ourselves, I see,” cried Sam Sorrel, beginning to search through the hut for victuals. Seeing this, the people assisted him; but all that they could produce was a box of barley meat and two large flat dishes of sour milk.

This sour milk is a favourite dish with the Norwegians. During summer the cattle are sent to the pastures high up in the mountains, in order to spare the small quantity of grass grown in the valleys, which is made into hay and stored for winter use. These mountain pastures are called saeters, and the milk required by each family for daily use is carried down from the saeter by the girls. The milk is put into round flat tubs, varying from one to two feet in diameter and four or five inches deep. It is then allowed to stand, not only until it is sour, but until it is thick throughout like curd, with a thick coat of cream on the top. In this form it is eaten with a spoon, and a very pleasant sight it is to behold three or four sturdy herdsmen, and, perchance, one or two boys, squatting round one of these large dishes, and supping away to their hearts’ content.

Grant seized the first dish of milk he discovered, and at once sat down on a stool and began to devour it.

“Hold on, let us start fair!” cried Sam Sorrel, catching up a spoon, and sitting down opposite his comrade on another stool.

The hut was built of rough logs, and the only furniture in it was of the rudest description; a couple of box-beds, two or three stools, and a bench, a gaily-painted chest in one corner, and a misshapen table was all that it contained. There was a very small door at one side, a particularly small window at the other, and a raised stone fireplace at one end.

“Well, while you two are stuffing yourselves with sour milk, I’ll go and search for better fare,” said Fred, with a laugh as he left the hut.

“Good luck go with you,” cried Grant; “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Now, then, old boy,” he continued, turning to the owner of the hut, “could your goodwife make us a little porridge; I say, Sam, what’s the Norse for porridge?”

“Gröd, (Gröd is pronouncedgroot) I believe,” said Sam, who was still busy with the sour milk.

“Ah yes! gröd, that’s it,” said Grant, turning again to the old man; “gröd, gröd, get us some gröd, gröd, gröd,—d’ye understand?”

“Ya, ya,” answered the man. It would have been very strange if he hadnotunderstood, for though Grant addressed him in English the wordgrödbawled so frequently into his ear was sufficiently comprehensible.

A fire was quickly kindled by the goodwife, a pleasant-looking elderly woman; and the black family-pot was soon smoking. The old man was smoking too, in less than five minutes, for Grant, in the fulness of his heart, gave him a pipe and a lump of tobacco.

This man was a fine specimen of a hale old Norseman. He wore a complete suit of brown homespun—excepting the jacket, which hung on a rusty nail in the wall. Knee-breeches and worsted stockings showed that even in declining years he had a good pair of legs. His grey hair hung in long straight locks over his shoulders, and on his head was the invariable red nightcap. The only weakness for finery displayed by this old hero was in the matter of buttons and braces. The buttons were polished brass of enormous size, and the braces were red. These were displayed to great advantage in consequence of a space of full four inches intervening between the bottom of his vest and the waist-band of his breeches.

While the gröd was being made, Fred Temple put up his fishing-rod and rambled away in search of a stream. He had not to go far. In about five minutes he found one that looked tempting. At the very first cast a large fish rose so greedily that it leaped quite out of the water and missed the fly. The next cast the fish caught the fly and Fred caught the fish. It was a splendid yellow trout of about a pound weight. In quarter of an hour Fred had three such trout in the pockets of his shooting-coat; in half an hour more the three fish were consigned by the three friends to the region of digestion!

And now the question of bed had to be considered. Grant settled it as far as he was concerned by throwing himself down on a pile of brushwood that lay in a corner, pillowing his head on a three-legged stool, and going off to sleep at once. Fred and Sam looked at the two beds. They were extremely dirty, and it was evident that straw was the bedding.

“Come, travellers must not be particular,” cried Fred, as he tumbled into his box.

“I couldn’t hold my eyes open five minutes longer to save my life,” muttered Sam, as he rolled over into the other.

In a minute the three friends began to breathe heavily. Two minutes more and they were snoring, a trio in happy forgetfulness of all their toils.

Now, it must be told that this pleasant state of things did not last long. Fred Temple and Sam Sorrel were not the only occupants of these beds. Truth, however disagreeable, must be revealed. There were living creatures which not only slept in those beds, but which dwelt there when perfectly wide awake; and these creatures waged unceasing war with every human being that lay down beside them. In a very short time the sleepers found this out. Fred began to grow restless and to groan. So did Sam. In the course of an hour or so Fred uttered a fierce exclamation, and rose on his hands and knees. So did Sam. Then Fred and Sam began to fight—not with each other, but—with the common enemy.

The battle raged for more than an hour, during which the foe, although frequently routed, returned again and again to the charge. Their courage and determination were tremendous. It cannot be said that Fred and Sam were actually put to flight, but a regard for truth compels me to state that they continuedfleaingthe greater part of that morning, and it was not until the sun was high in the heavens—pouring down a flood of light into that wild glen—that they gained the victory, and lay down to repose on their laurels and straw—not to mention the bodies of the dead and dying!

They hoped now to be rewarded for their exertions with a few hours’ repose. Vain hope! Scarcely had they closed their eyes when the door opened, and an old woman, with nose and chin of the nutcracker type, entered the room. This was the grandmother of the family; she had come to look at the strangers.

Grant’s face, with the eyes shut and the mouth wide-open, was the first object that met her view. She bent over him and looked into his mouth, as if anxious to examine his teeth. Having looked him over, and felt the quality of his clothes with her shrivelled fingers, she turned to the beds and stared at the other strangers.

Fred had gone off into a sort of doze, so he bore the inspection well, but Sam was only pretending to sleep, and when he peeped up at the old face that looked down on his with kindly interest and curiosity, he found it difficult to check a smile.

Having looked at them well, and touched everything belonging to them, to see what it could be made of, the old woman moved quietly towards the door. She shut it with a bang, however, and roused them up with a start—excepting Grant, who slept through everything, and in spite of everything.

They were just dropping off again when the old woman returned. She had forgotten something, and was moving across the floor, when she accidentally knocked over a bench, which upset a heavy stool. The crash was followed by a scream of alarm, and once more the sleepers were awakened—always excepting Grant. Scarcely had this happened when a strange sound was heard outside. It gradually became louder and more alarming.

“Whatcanit be?” cried Fred, leaping out of bed, and rushing to the door. As he threw it open, there was a roar like the sudden discharge of artillery, and at the same moment a huge mass of rock, many tons in weight, bounded close past the door, went crashing through a wooden shed as if it had been a sheet of paper, and, carrying shrubs and small trees along with it, finally found a resting-place at the bottom of the glen. The huge mass had fallen from the cliffs above, and fortunately swept through the hamlet without doing further damage. It was followed by a shower of smaller stones, some of which struck and shook the house, and produced a commotion that caused even Grant to wake up and run out in alarm.

The whole valley was covered with rocks of every shape and size, which had at various times fallen from the cliffs on either side; and one could not look at them without wondering that the little cluster of huts had not long ago been destroyed. There are many such scenes in Norway, and accidents do sometimes occur, but not so frequently as one might expect.

It is needless to say that our travellers did not again court sleep in that wild spot. Before another hour had passed they were over the mountains and far away on their journey to the far north.

Chapter Six.Deceptive Appearances—Perpetual Day—Perplexities about Bed-Time—Confusion of Mind.The scene is changed. We are on board theSnowflakeand out once more among the thousands of islands off the coast far beyond the Arctic Circle now.This is the region where the sun does not set night or day for several weeks in summer, and where he never rises night or day during several weeks in winter. But Fred Temple has not gained his point yet. He is behind time. Had he arrived at this latitude a week sooner, he would have seen the sun sweep an entire circle in the sky. But calms have delayed him, and now the sun just dips below the horizon at midnight. A good stiff, southerly breeze of a few hours would take him far enough north; but he cannot command the winds to blow, although Bob Bowie, the steward, evidently thinks he can make it blow by whistling! The sea is like a sheet of glass. Meanwhile, Fred and his friends are enjoying all the delight of daylight which is perpetual. Every thoughtful reader will at once perceive that where the sun only sets for a few minutes there can be no diminution of the light worth speaking of—nothing approaching even to twilight. The night before the arrival of the yacht at this place the sun set a little after midnight, and in twenty minutes afterwards it rose again to pursue its brilliant course through the northern sky.It is scarcely possible for a Christian to look on such a scene without recalling those striking passages in God’s Word, which, in describing heaven, tell us that “there shall be no night there,” and speaks of a “sea of glass like unto crystal,” before the throne of God. Well may the heart of man in such a scene exclaim with the Psalmist, “O Lord, how manifold are Thy works! In wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches.”The islands in this particular place were positively uncountable. They lay scattered over the calm sea in hundreds. Some were no bigger than a boat—others were towering jagged mountains of more than four thousand feet high. Most of them were barren, and over the smaller islets, as well as round the cliffs of the larger ones, myriads of gulls and other sea-birds flew with clamorous cries. But for this, the scene would have been one of deep solitude as well as intense calmness. The sea-birds, however, filled the air with life, ay, and with melody, for the plaintive cry of wild-fowl when mellowed by distance is inexpressibly sweet and agreeable.One thing that puzzled our voyagers very much was the deceptive appearance of land, so that they found it extremely difficult to judge correctly of distance. On one occasion, when sailing towards one of the large islands, Fred went up to Bob Bowie, who was leaning over the side watching the ripples caused by theSnowflake, and meditating, as he himself said, “on things in gin’ral, and nothin’ in particular.” It may be remarked in passing that this was not an uncommon state of mind with Bob Bowie.“Well, Bob,” said Temple, “we’re going along nicely with this breeze. I expect we shall pass that island before many hours go by.”“How far d’ye think it’s off, sir?” inquired the steward.“About three miles,” said Fred.“Three miles, sir, w’y, it’s not more than one mile—if it’s that.”“What say you, Captain?” asked Fred.“Ye better try,” suggested McNab, with a quiet grin.“So I will, ho! stand by to heave the log there. Now, Captain, steer straight as the crow flies for the island.”The yacht’s course was altered, the log was hove, and, observing the moment of starting, they awaited the result. Bob thought it was a smallish island with little bushes on it. The time they took in drawing near to it first led him to doubt the correctness of his own opinion. But when the bushes began to turn into trees, and the cliffs to tower into the sky above his head, and throw a dark shadow over the vessel, he was obliged to give in. The distance which he had imagined was not more than one mile turned out to befive.On another occasion a similar case of the deceptive appearance of distance occurred. They were sailing up a certain fiord, which most of the people on board supposed was only about a mile broad. One of the sailors, Bill by name, insisted that it could not be more than three-quarters of a mile; and thereupon an animated discussion, amounting almost to a dispute, began. But Bill was not to be put down. “He was an old salt.Hewasn’t to be taken in by these molehills, not he!” He had sailed round the world, according to his own account had been shipwrecked half a dozen times, and drowned once or twice, besides being murdered occasionally; so he thought himself a weighty authority, and entitled to great respect!Well, to settle this point the yacht was sailed straight across the fiord, and the breadth, measured by the log, was found, as in the former case, to be about five miles.The calms, although frequent in this latitude, did not last long. Light breezes sprang up now and then, and for several days carried our travellers to the north. But not fast enough, for the sun still kept ahead of them. During this period, they saw great variety of wonderful scenery, had several small adventures, and enjoyed themselves extremely.Fred Temple usually began each calm day by jumping out of bed, rushing upon deck and going over the side, head-foremost into the water. He was generally followed by Sam Sorrel; but Sam was inclined to be lazy, and did not always follow his friend’s lead. Grant never followed it. He was inveterately lazy in the morning, although at all other times he was as active as a mountain goat.Our Highlander was particularly successful about this time with his gun. The number of birds that he shot and stuffed was enormous. Whenever a calm prevailed, he took the light little Norse boat that had been purchased at Bergen, and went off to the nearest island with his gun. On these occasions he was usually accompanied by Sam, whose love for sketching was quite equal to that of his companion for bird-shooting and stuffing. Fred, of course went to keep them company, and was wont to carry with him a rod, as well as a gun, for he was passionately fond of fishing. On these occasions, too, they took Hans Ericsson with them, to assist in rowing, and to pilot them when they felt inclined to leave the yacht out of sight behind.One day they were out on an excursion of this kind, and had rowed towards the mainland, and up a fiord. Fred and Sam were reclining in the stern of the boat; the former smoking a meerschaum pipe, the latter making a drawing of a range of hills which were so rugged that the tops appeared like the teeth of a saw. Grant and Hans were rowing.“Do you know what o’clock it was when we left the yacht?” inquired Fred.“What o’clock?” echoed Sam; “no; well, let me see. We went to bed last night at five o’clock this morning.”“You mean that we turned in for ournight’s restat five this morning, I suppose,” said Temple.“My dear Fred,” retorted Sam, “never mind what I mean; only attend to what I say. Don’t be too particular. It’s a bad habit being too particular. I once had a friend who was too particular in his attentions to a young lady, and the result was that he was obliged to marry her.”“Then, Sam,” returned Temple, “I should say that the habit of being too particular is a good one, if it leads to such a good thing as marriage. But to return to the point, what time of day or night do you think it isnow?”“Have not the least idea,” said Sam; “I think it’s some time or other in the evening, but this perpetual daylight confuses me. You know that when you and Grant were away last week after the gulls, I went to bed on Thursday forenoon at ten o’clock by mistake, thinking it was ten at night. How I ever came to do it I can’t tell, but I suppose that I had sat so long stuffing that great eagle for Grant that my brains had got obfuscated. It was cloudy, too (not unlike what it is just now), so that I could not see the sun. Whatever was the cause, there is no doubt of the fact that I lost a day somehow, and my ideas have got such a twist that I fear they will never recover it.”“A most unfortunate state of things, truly,” said Fred, laughing. “Perhaps you’ll recover when we return to low latitudes. If not, there are plenty lunatic asylums. But we must not spend more than a few hours longer on this excursion, for I’ve a notion that we are somewhere about Saturday just now, and you know it’s against our rules to run the risk of shooting or fishing into Sunday.”“Very true,” replied Sam, as he continued his sketch. “I say, Grant, do you happen to have your watch with you?”“Not I,” cried Grant from the bow of the boat. “Since day and night took to being the same I let it run down. I have no regard for time now.”“D’ye know what day it is?”“No.”“Humph, it’s lucky that we can depend upon the Captain for keeping us right in regard to Sunday. Well, let’s go ashore and try the mouth of yonder stream. I’ll warrant me there are sea-trout there, perhaps salmon, and the ground hereabouts seems a likely place for grouse and ptarmigan. Pull hard, Hans, thou son of Eric, and shove the boat into yonder creek.”Hans Ericsson bent his strong back, and a bright smile crossed his sunburnt face as the head of the boat flew round.“Hallo, Hans! steady, my lad!” cried Grant, giving his oar a pull that sent the head of the boat spinning round in the opposite direction. Then the sturdy Norseman and the stalwart Scot gave a pull together with all their might, and sent the boat like an arrow into the creek, where, in a few seconds, her keel grated on the shore.For several hours after that the three friends were busy with their favourite pursuits. Grant soon bagged several brace of grouse. Fred caught a basket of splendid sea-trout, some of which were over three pounds’ weight, and a small salmon of about ten pounds; while Sam Sorrel sat down on a rock and painted an elaborate picture of the scenery. Of course their different occupations separated them from each other, but Hans kept close to Fred’s elbow—for he had not only conceived a strong friendship for the young Englishman, but he was immensely delighted with fly-fishing, which he had never before witnessed. The astonishment of Hans was great when he beheld heavy trout landed by means of a slender rod and an almost invisible line. But when Fred hooked the salmon the excitement of the Norseman knew no bounds. After nearly half an hour’s playing of the fish, Fred drew it close to the bank, and told Hans to strike the gaff-hook into it, and lift it out of the water. Hans in his excitement missed his aim, and the terrified fish darted away. But Fred was prepared for this, and let out line. Soon he brought his fish once more to the side, exhausted and rolling over. Hans made a second attempt and was successful in landing the silvery salmon on the bank.When they returned to the schooner after that excursion, Captain McNab was leaning over the side with a grim smile on his wooden countenance. Bob Bowie was beside him with a beaming smile on his jolly red face.“Good-day, Captain,” cried Fred, as the boat drew near. “Well, Bowie, we’re desperately hungry, I hope you’ve got supper ready for us.”“I’ve got breakfast, sir,” replied the steward.“Eh? ah! well, call it what you like, only let us have it soon.” (They clambered up the side.) “Why, Captain, what day is it, and what time of day?”“It’s Friday mornin’, sir, and eight o’clock.”Fred opened his eyes in astonishment.“Why, then, comrades, it seems that we have been shooting, sketching, and fishing all night by daylight, and the sun has set and risen again without our being aware of the fact! So much for perpetual day and a cloudy sky. Come, Bob Bowie, look alive with break—, ah! supper, I mean, for whatever it may be to you, it is supper to us. Meanwhile, I’ll have a bathe to refresh me.”So our hardy adventurers bathed that morning, over the side, then they supped, after which they turned in and slept all day, and rose again at six o’clock in the evening to breakfast!

The scene is changed. We are on board theSnowflakeand out once more among the thousands of islands off the coast far beyond the Arctic Circle now.

This is the region where the sun does not set night or day for several weeks in summer, and where he never rises night or day during several weeks in winter. But Fred Temple has not gained his point yet. He is behind time. Had he arrived at this latitude a week sooner, he would have seen the sun sweep an entire circle in the sky. But calms have delayed him, and now the sun just dips below the horizon at midnight. A good stiff, southerly breeze of a few hours would take him far enough north; but he cannot command the winds to blow, although Bob Bowie, the steward, evidently thinks he can make it blow by whistling! The sea is like a sheet of glass. Meanwhile, Fred and his friends are enjoying all the delight of daylight which is perpetual. Every thoughtful reader will at once perceive that where the sun only sets for a few minutes there can be no diminution of the light worth speaking of—nothing approaching even to twilight. The night before the arrival of the yacht at this place the sun set a little after midnight, and in twenty minutes afterwards it rose again to pursue its brilliant course through the northern sky.

It is scarcely possible for a Christian to look on such a scene without recalling those striking passages in God’s Word, which, in describing heaven, tell us that “there shall be no night there,” and speaks of a “sea of glass like unto crystal,” before the throne of God. Well may the heart of man in such a scene exclaim with the Psalmist, “O Lord, how manifold are Thy works! In wisdom hast Thou made them all: the earth is full of Thy riches.”

The islands in this particular place were positively uncountable. They lay scattered over the calm sea in hundreds. Some were no bigger than a boat—others were towering jagged mountains of more than four thousand feet high. Most of them were barren, and over the smaller islets, as well as round the cliffs of the larger ones, myriads of gulls and other sea-birds flew with clamorous cries. But for this, the scene would have been one of deep solitude as well as intense calmness. The sea-birds, however, filled the air with life, ay, and with melody, for the plaintive cry of wild-fowl when mellowed by distance is inexpressibly sweet and agreeable.

One thing that puzzled our voyagers very much was the deceptive appearance of land, so that they found it extremely difficult to judge correctly of distance. On one occasion, when sailing towards one of the large islands, Fred went up to Bob Bowie, who was leaning over the side watching the ripples caused by theSnowflake, and meditating, as he himself said, “on things in gin’ral, and nothin’ in particular.” It may be remarked in passing that this was not an uncommon state of mind with Bob Bowie.

“Well, Bob,” said Temple, “we’re going along nicely with this breeze. I expect we shall pass that island before many hours go by.”

“How far d’ye think it’s off, sir?” inquired the steward.

“About three miles,” said Fred.

“Three miles, sir, w’y, it’s not more than one mile—if it’s that.”

“What say you, Captain?” asked Fred.

“Ye better try,” suggested McNab, with a quiet grin.

“So I will, ho! stand by to heave the log there. Now, Captain, steer straight as the crow flies for the island.”

The yacht’s course was altered, the log was hove, and, observing the moment of starting, they awaited the result. Bob thought it was a smallish island with little bushes on it. The time they took in drawing near to it first led him to doubt the correctness of his own opinion. But when the bushes began to turn into trees, and the cliffs to tower into the sky above his head, and throw a dark shadow over the vessel, he was obliged to give in. The distance which he had imagined was not more than one mile turned out to befive.

On another occasion a similar case of the deceptive appearance of distance occurred. They were sailing up a certain fiord, which most of the people on board supposed was only about a mile broad. One of the sailors, Bill by name, insisted that it could not be more than three-quarters of a mile; and thereupon an animated discussion, amounting almost to a dispute, began. But Bill was not to be put down. “He was an old salt.Hewasn’t to be taken in by these molehills, not he!” He had sailed round the world, according to his own account had been shipwrecked half a dozen times, and drowned once or twice, besides being murdered occasionally; so he thought himself a weighty authority, and entitled to great respect!

Well, to settle this point the yacht was sailed straight across the fiord, and the breadth, measured by the log, was found, as in the former case, to be about five miles.

The calms, although frequent in this latitude, did not last long. Light breezes sprang up now and then, and for several days carried our travellers to the north. But not fast enough, for the sun still kept ahead of them. During this period, they saw great variety of wonderful scenery, had several small adventures, and enjoyed themselves extremely.

Fred Temple usually began each calm day by jumping out of bed, rushing upon deck and going over the side, head-foremost into the water. He was generally followed by Sam Sorrel; but Sam was inclined to be lazy, and did not always follow his friend’s lead. Grant never followed it. He was inveterately lazy in the morning, although at all other times he was as active as a mountain goat.

Our Highlander was particularly successful about this time with his gun. The number of birds that he shot and stuffed was enormous. Whenever a calm prevailed, he took the light little Norse boat that had been purchased at Bergen, and went off to the nearest island with his gun. On these occasions he was usually accompanied by Sam, whose love for sketching was quite equal to that of his companion for bird-shooting and stuffing. Fred, of course went to keep them company, and was wont to carry with him a rod, as well as a gun, for he was passionately fond of fishing. On these occasions, too, they took Hans Ericsson with them, to assist in rowing, and to pilot them when they felt inclined to leave the yacht out of sight behind.

One day they were out on an excursion of this kind, and had rowed towards the mainland, and up a fiord. Fred and Sam were reclining in the stern of the boat; the former smoking a meerschaum pipe, the latter making a drawing of a range of hills which were so rugged that the tops appeared like the teeth of a saw. Grant and Hans were rowing.

“Do you know what o’clock it was when we left the yacht?” inquired Fred.

“What o’clock?” echoed Sam; “no; well, let me see. We went to bed last night at five o’clock this morning.”

“You mean that we turned in for ournight’s restat five this morning, I suppose,” said Temple.

“My dear Fred,” retorted Sam, “never mind what I mean; only attend to what I say. Don’t be too particular. It’s a bad habit being too particular. I once had a friend who was too particular in his attentions to a young lady, and the result was that he was obliged to marry her.”

“Then, Sam,” returned Temple, “I should say that the habit of being too particular is a good one, if it leads to such a good thing as marriage. But to return to the point, what time of day or night do you think it isnow?”

“Have not the least idea,” said Sam; “I think it’s some time or other in the evening, but this perpetual daylight confuses me. You know that when you and Grant were away last week after the gulls, I went to bed on Thursday forenoon at ten o’clock by mistake, thinking it was ten at night. How I ever came to do it I can’t tell, but I suppose that I had sat so long stuffing that great eagle for Grant that my brains had got obfuscated. It was cloudy, too (not unlike what it is just now), so that I could not see the sun. Whatever was the cause, there is no doubt of the fact that I lost a day somehow, and my ideas have got such a twist that I fear they will never recover it.”

“A most unfortunate state of things, truly,” said Fred, laughing. “Perhaps you’ll recover when we return to low latitudes. If not, there are plenty lunatic asylums. But we must not spend more than a few hours longer on this excursion, for I’ve a notion that we are somewhere about Saturday just now, and you know it’s against our rules to run the risk of shooting or fishing into Sunday.”

“Very true,” replied Sam, as he continued his sketch. “I say, Grant, do you happen to have your watch with you?”

“Not I,” cried Grant from the bow of the boat. “Since day and night took to being the same I let it run down. I have no regard for time now.”

“D’ye know what day it is?”

“No.”

“Humph, it’s lucky that we can depend upon the Captain for keeping us right in regard to Sunday. Well, let’s go ashore and try the mouth of yonder stream. I’ll warrant me there are sea-trout there, perhaps salmon, and the ground hereabouts seems a likely place for grouse and ptarmigan. Pull hard, Hans, thou son of Eric, and shove the boat into yonder creek.”

Hans Ericsson bent his strong back, and a bright smile crossed his sunburnt face as the head of the boat flew round.

“Hallo, Hans! steady, my lad!” cried Grant, giving his oar a pull that sent the head of the boat spinning round in the opposite direction. Then the sturdy Norseman and the stalwart Scot gave a pull together with all their might, and sent the boat like an arrow into the creek, where, in a few seconds, her keel grated on the shore.

For several hours after that the three friends were busy with their favourite pursuits. Grant soon bagged several brace of grouse. Fred caught a basket of splendid sea-trout, some of which were over three pounds’ weight, and a small salmon of about ten pounds; while Sam Sorrel sat down on a rock and painted an elaborate picture of the scenery. Of course their different occupations separated them from each other, but Hans kept close to Fred’s elbow—for he had not only conceived a strong friendship for the young Englishman, but he was immensely delighted with fly-fishing, which he had never before witnessed. The astonishment of Hans was great when he beheld heavy trout landed by means of a slender rod and an almost invisible line. But when Fred hooked the salmon the excitement of the Norseman knew no bounds. After nearly half an hour’s playing of the fish, Fred drew it close to the bank, and told Hans to strike the gaff-hook into it, and lift it out of the water. Hans in his excitement missed his aim, and the terrified fish darted away. But Fred was prepared for this, and let out line. Soon he brought his fish once more to the side, exhausted and rolling over. Hans made a second attempt and was successful in landing the silvery salmon on the bank.

When they returned to the schooner after that excursion, Captain McNab was leaning over the side with a grim smile on his wooden countenance. Bob Bowie was beside him with a beaming smile on his jolly red face.

“Good-day, Captain,” cried Fred, as the boat drew near. “Well, Bowie, we’re desperately hungry, I hope you’ve got supper ready for us.”

“I’ve got breakfast, sir,” replied the steward.

“Eh? ah! well, call it what you like, only let us have it soon.” (They clambered up the side.) “Why, Captain, what day is it, and what time of day?”

“It’s Friday mornin’, sir, and eight o’clock.”

Fred opened his eyes in astonishment.

“Why, then, comrades, it seems that we have been shooting, sketching, and fishing all night by daylight, and the sun has set and risen again without our being aware of the fact! So much for perpetual day and a cloudy sky. Come, Bob Bowie, look alive with break—, ah! supper, I mean, for whatever it may be to you, it is supper to us. Meanwhile, I’ll have a bathe to refresh me.”

So our hardy adventurers bathed that morning, over the side, then they supped, after which they turned in and slept all day, and rose again at six o’clock in the evening to breakfast!

Chapter Seven.A Sunday on Shore.Only once during their voyage along the rugged coast of Norway did our three friends go to church! It must not be supposed, however, that therefore they were heathens. Far from it. Fred and his companions were truly Christian men. That is to say, they not only called themselves Christians, but they made it their earnest aim to walk after the example of Christ, and to exhibit their Christianity by their deeds. But only once during their trip had they the opportunity of visiting a church on a Sunday forenoon when service was going on.It happened to be on a bright calm Sunday. There was just enough of wind to urge theSnowflakethrough the water at the rate of two miles an hour. Fred’s usual custom was to get to a secure anchorage on Saturdays, so as to be able to spend the Sabbath as a day of rest. But this was not always practicable, because the water was so deep close inshore that no bottom could be found in many places, and often they were obliged to continue their voyage on Sunday. This, however, was a matter of small importance, because the working of the yacht required so little attention—especially in fine weather—that it did not interfere with the services or the rest of the day. Fred made a point of assembling the crew and reading the Church of England service every Sunday forenoon, and a chapter or two from the Bible in the evening.On the present occasion they were all assembled on the quarterdeck joining in the morning service. The breeze was steady, and the steersman was the only man on duty, but he was not thereby prevented from attending to what was being read. The vessel was gliding along close under a precipice which towered high above the mast, and, at a short distance ahead, extended out in a bold promontory or headland. Elsewhere mountainous islands hemmed them in.When they reached the promontory Fred was reading that beautiful Psalm, the 95th,—which appeared somewhat appropriate to the occasion.“O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation.“Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving, and shew ourselves glad in Him with psalms.“For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.“In His hand are all the corners of the earth: and the strength of the hills is His also.“The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands prepared the dry land.“O come, let us worship and fall down: and kneel before the Lord our Maker.”Fred happened to look up at the last words, and an exclamation of wonder broke from him as he pointed towards the shore. The schooner had just doubled the towering promontory, and a new scene had been suddenly opened up to view.Just beyond the promontory the coast-line took an abrupt bend to the right, at the end of which was a sequestered little bay, with a beach of yellow sand, and a cluster of grassy mounds behind, of the brightest emerald green. The bay and the green mounds and the strip of yellow sand were all exceedingly small, and were surrounded by a mass of rugged rocks of a cold, whitish-grey colour. Beyond these were the great purple mountains of the mainland. Ahead and in front towered the islands of the coast. The whole of the surrounding scenery was wild, rugged, and barren. This one little spot alone was soft and lovely; it shone out like a bright jewel from its dark setting. All round the bay were clustering cottages, with white walls and red roofs,—some on the sides of the mounds, others perched on rocks that projected out into the sea. On the highest of these mounds stood a church, and in the bay floated a large Norwegian vessel and numerous small boats.The promontory round which theSnowflakehad just passed completely sheltered this bay, so that the water was like a sheet of glass, in which everything—boats, rocks, mounds, cottages, and church—was clearly reflected.The church-bell was ringing. It was a small bell, and its sweet sound came floating softly over the sea to the ears of our voyagers like an old familiar hymn. The interest of this scene was further enhanced by the assembling of the people to church. Boats were seen pushing off from every island, issuing from every creek, rowing over the calm water, and all converging towards the little bay with the yellow strand. Each boat was crowded with men, women, and children; and as the men wore red caps, and the women white kerchiefs on their heads, their appearance was quite brilliant. In other respects, their clothes being all homespun and of one dark colour, their aspect was sombre enough. So numerous were the boats, and so suddenly did they make their appearance, that it seemed as if the land were being invaded by a foreign host.All this was taken in at a glance by the yacht party as they doubled the promontory, and glided slowly into the bay.“This is our anchorage,” said the Captain.“Very well, let go the anchor, and we will finish the service after it is down,” said Temple, rising and taking up the telescope to examine the groups of people on shore.As each boat discharged its load on the little stone pier, the males and females separated into two distinct bands and walked slowly and sedately towards the church, at the door of which the whole congregation assembled, still keeping in two separate bands, to await the arrival of the clergyman.In a few minutes the rattle of the chain announced that the anchor was down. The sails were dewed up, and service was continued.“Now,” said Fred, when he had concluded, “lower the boat, Captain—I will go to church. Will any one of you join me?”“What’s the use of my going?” said Sam Sorrel; “I won’t understand a word.”“You’re not sure of that,” said Grant. “Besides it is so long since we’ve been to church, that I feel as if I should enjoy it whether I understand it or not.”“If it don’t do you no good, sir, it can’t do you no harm,” urged Bob Bowie, who was evidently anxious to get ashore.“Come along,” cried Fred, jumping into the boat, and taking his seat in the stern-sheets.He was quickly followed by his companions and by honest Bob, whose delight in a ramble on shore was only equalled by his love for a voyage on the sea!“Ain’t it an xtroar’nary church, sir?” said Bob, sidling up to Temple and touching his hat, as they ascended the green mound on which the building stood.“It is, Bob, most remarkable,” replied Fred.To say truth, there could not be two opinions on this point. The church was of very peculiar and curious form. It was more like a number of dove-cots placed together than anything else; those dove-cots, I mean, which have sloping roofs, and are frequently seen nailed against the sides of houses in country places. Take four such dove-cots and place them back to back so as to form a sort of square; on the top of these place three more dove-cots, also back to back; above these set up two more dove-cots, and one on the top of all, with a short steeple above it, and a spire with an enormous weathercock on the top of that, and the building will not be a bad model of a Norwegian church, especially if you paint the sides white, and the gabled roofs blackish-red.Inside, this church was found to be exceedingly plain, but very clean. The pews and galleries and walls were of unpainted fir, and the ceiling was whitewashed. The entire building was utterly devoid of ornament, except round the altar, above which there was a large crucifix and a few candles, and other things somewhat resembling those used in Roman Catholic worship.The service had begun some time before the arrival of our friends. It was a Lutheran church, and the ceremonial resembled that of the English Church in some respects, that of the Roman Catholic in others.The entrance of so many strangers of course created some sensation, even although they entered as quietly as possible and sat down on the first seats they found vacant. The people seemed to have native politeness in them. They could not, indeed, resist the temptation to look round, but they did it modestly, and only indulged in glances, as if they felt that it was rude to stare at strangers.Unfortunately Bob Bowie had not been warned that it is the custom in Norway for the men to sit together on one side of the church and the women on the other side, and, being rather a stupid man in some matters, he did not observe that the door by which he entered led to the women’s pews. Being by nature a modest man, he cast down his eyes on entering, and did not again raise them until he found himself seated beside a Norwegian female in a black gown and a white head-dress, with a baby in her arms, which also wore a black gown and a white head-dress. Bob sat with a solemn look on his bluff visage, and wiped his bald forehead gently for some time ere he discovered that he was the only male being in the midst of a crowd of two hundred women and girls and female infants!On making this discovery honest Bob’s body became exceedingly warm and his face uncommonly red. He glanced round uneasily, blew his nose, rose suddenly, and, putting on his hat with the back to the front, went out of the church on tip-toe as quietly as possible, and was not again seen, until, an hour afterwards, he was discovered seated on the sunny side of a rock near the boat calmly smoking his pipe!Bob was somewhat ashamed of this little adventure, and did not like to have it spoken of. As a matter of course his comrades did not spare him; but, being the steward of the ship, and having supreme command over the food, he so contrived to punish his messmates that they very soon gave up joking him about his going to church with the Norse girls!It cannot be said that any of the three friends made much of the sermon that day. Fred understood only a sentence here and there, Grant understood only a word now and then, and Sam Sorrel understood nothing at all; but from the earnestness of the preacher, especially when the name of our Saviour was mentioned, they were inclined to believe that a good work was going on there.In this opinion they were further strengthened when, on afterwards visiting the pastor, they found him to be a man of singularly kind and earnest disposition, with agreeable and unaffected manners. He wore a long loose robe of black material, and a thick white frill round his neck similar to that usually seen in the portraits of the great Reformer Martin Luther.His family consisted of a wife and four children—a sturdy boy, and three flaxen-haired girls, all of whom vied with each other in paying attention to their visitors. Coffee was instantly produced, and cakes made by the fair fingers of the goodwife. The pastor could speak a little French, so that his visitors were able to converse with him, but the other members of the family could speak nothing but their native tongue. However, this did not prove a great stumbling-block, for, while Grant talked French with the pastor, Fred entertained his hostess in his best Norse, and Sam Sorrel, not to be behindhand, got the children round him, and made such wonderful use ofver so gootand his other pet phrases, that he succeeded in getting the boy on his knee, and in setting the girls off into giggles of laughter.They spent that Sunday and the following Monday at this pleasant place, and were taken by the pastor all over his house and grounds and village, after which he conducted them to the summit of a mountain, whence they obtained one of the finest views they had yet seen in Norway.Here, for the first time since leaving England, they regarded a fair wind with disfavour; they bade adieu to the pastor and his family with a little of that sad feeling which one experiences when parting, perhaps for ever, from dear friends.But time and the sun would not wait. The anchor was tripped; the sails were spread; in half an hour the place had dwindled away to a bright green spot in the far distance; then they rounded the beetling crags of an island—and it vanished from their view.

Only once during their voyage along the rugged coast of Norway did our three friends go to church! It must not be supposed, however, that therefore they were heathens. Far from it. Fred and his companions were truly Christian men. That is to say, they not only called themselves Christians, but they made it their earnest aim to walk after the example of Christ, and to exhibit their Christianity by their deeds. But only once during their trip had they the opportunity of visiting a church on a Sunday forenoon when service was going on.

It happened to be on a bright calm Sunday. There was just enough of wind to urge theSnowflakethrough the water at the rate of two miles an hour. Fred’s usual custom was to get to a secure anchorage on Saturdays, so as to be able to spend the Sabbath as a day of rest. But this was not always practicable, because the water was so deep close inshore that no bottom could be found in many places, and often they were obliged to continue their voyage on Sunday. This, however, was a matter of small importance, because the working of the yacht required so little attention—especially in fine weather—that it did not interfere with the services or the rest of the day. Fred made a point of assembling the crew and reading the Church of England service every Sunday forenoon, and a chapter or two from the Bible in the evening.

On the present occasion they were all assembled on the quarterdeck joining in the morning service. The breeze was steady, and the steersman was the only man on duty, but he was not thereby prevented from attending to what was being read. The vessel was gliding along close under a precipice which towered high above the mast, and, at a short distance ahead, extended out in a bold promontory or headland. Elsewhere mountainous islands hemmed them in.

When they reached the promontory Fred was reading that beautiful Psalm, the 95th,—which appeared somewhat appropriate to the occasion.

“O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation.

“Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving, and shew ourselves glad in Him with psalms.

“For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.

“In His hand are all the corners of the earth: and the strength of the hills is His also.

“The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands prepared the dry land.

“O come, let us worship and fall down: and kneel before the Lord our Maker.”

Fred happened to look up at the last words, and an exclamation of wonder broke from him as he pointed towards the shore. The schooner had just doubled the towering promontory, and a new scene had been suddenly opened up to view.

Just beyond the promontory the coast-line took an abrupt bend to the right, at the end of which was a sequestered little bay, with a beach of yellow sand, and a cluster of grassy mounds behind, of the brightest emerald green. The bay and the green mounds and the strip of yellow sand were all exceedingly small, and were surrounded by a mass of rugged rocks of a cold, whitish-grey colour. Beyond these were the great purple mountains of the mainland. Ahead and in front towered the islands of the coast. The whole of the surrounding scenery was wild, rugged, and barren. This one little spot alone was soft and lovely; it shone out like a bright jewel from its dark setting. All round the bay were clustering cottages, with white walls and red roofs,—some on the sides of the mounds, others perched on rocks that projected out into the sea. On the highest of these mounds stood a church, and in the bay floated a large Norwegian vessel and numerous small boats.

The promontory round which theSnowflakehad just passed completely sheltered this bay, so that the water was like a sheet of glass, in which everything—boats, rocks, mounds, cottages, and church—was clearly reflected.

The church-bell was ringing. It was a small bell, and its sweet sound came floating softly over the sea to the ears of our voyagers like an old familiar hymn. The interest of this scene was further enhanced by the assembling of the people to church. Boats were seen pushing off from every island, issuing from every creek, rowing over the calm water, and all converging towards the little bay with the yellow strand. Each boat was crowded with men, women, and children; and as the men wore red caps, and the women white kerchiefs on their heads, their appearance was quite brilliant. In other respects, their clothes being all homespun and of one dark colour, their aspect was sombre enough. So numerous were the boats, and so suddenly did they make their appearance, that it seemed as if the land were being invaded by a foreign host.

All this was taken in at a glance by the yacht party as they doubled the promontory, and glided slowly into the bay.

“This is our anchorage,” said the Captain.

“Very well, let go the anchor, and we will finish the service after it is down,” said Temple, rising and taking up the telescope to examine the groups of people on shore.

As each boat discharged its load on the little stone pier, the males and females separated into two distinct bands and walked slowly and sedately towards the church, at the door of which the whole congregation assembled, still keeping in two separate bands, to await the arrival of the clergyman.

In a few minutes the rattle of the chain announced that the anchor was down. The sails were dewed up, and service was continued.

“Now,” said Fred, when he had concluded, “lower the boat, Captain—I will go to church. Will any one of you join me?”

“What’s the use of my going?” said Sam Sorrel; “I won’t understand a word.”

“You’re not sure of that,” said Grant. “Besides it is so long since we’ve been to church, that I feel as if I should enjoy it whether I understand it or not.”

“If it don’t do you no good, sir, it can’t do you no harm,” urged Bob Bowie, who was evidently anxious to get ashore.

“Come along,” cried Fred, jumping into the boat, and taking his seat in the stern-sheets.

He was quickly followed by his companions and by honest Bob, whose delight in a ramble on shore was only equalled by his love for a voyage on the sea!

“Ain’t it an xtroar’nary church, sir?” said Bob, sidling up to Temple and touching his hat, as they ascended the green mound on which the building stood.

“It is, Bob, most remarkable,” replied Fred.

To say truth, there could not be two opinions on this point. The church was of very peculiar and curious form. It was more like a number of dove-cots placed together than anything else; those dove-cots, I mean, which have sloping roofs, and are frequently seen nailed against the sides of houses in country places. Take four such dove-cots and place them back to back so as to form a sort of square; on the top of these place three more dove-cots, also back to back; above these set up two more dove-cots, and one on the top of all, with a short steeple above it, and a spire with an enormous weathercock on the top of that, and the building will not be a bad model of a Norwegian church, especially if you paint the sides white, and the gabled roofs blackish-red.

Inside, this church was found to be exceedingly plain, but very clean. The pews and galleries and walls were of unpainted fir, and the ceiling was whitewashed. The entire building was utterly devoid of ornament, except round the altar, above which there was a large crucifix and a few candles, and other things somewhat resembling those used in Roman Catholic worship.

The service had begun some time before the arrival of our friends. It was a Lutheran church, and the ceremonial resembled that of the English Church in some respects, that of the Roman Catholic in others.

The entrance of so many strangers of course created some sensation, even although they entered as quietly as possible and sat down on the first seats they found vacant. The people seemed to have native politeness in them. They could not, indeed, resist the temptation to look round, but they did it modestly, and only indulged in glances, as if they felt that it was rude to stare at strangers.

Unfortunately Bob Bowie had not been warned that it is the custom in Norway for the men to sit together on one side of the church and the women on the other side, and, being rather a stupid man in some matters, he did not observe that the door by which he entered led to the women’s pews. Being by nature a modest man, he cast down his eyes on entering, and did not again raise them until he found himself seated beside a Norwegian female in a black gown and a white head-dress, with a baby in her arms, which also wore a black gown and a white head-dress. Bob sat with a solemn look on his bluff visage, and wiped his bald forehead gently for some time ere he discovered that he was the only male being in the midst of a crowd of two hundred women and girls and female infants!

On making this discovery honest Bob’s body became exceedingly warm and his face uncommonly red. He glanced round uneasily, blew his nose, rose suddenly, and, putting on his hat with the back to the front, went out of the church on tip-toe as quietly as possible, and was not again seen, until, an hour afterwards, he was discovered seated on the sunny side of a rock near the boat calmly smoking his pipe!

Bob was somewhat ashamed of this little adventure, and did not like to have it spoken of. As a matter of course his comrades did not spare him; but, being the steward of the ship, and having supreme command over the food, he so contrived to punish his messmates that they very soon gave up joking him about his going to church with the Norse girls!

It cannot be said that any of the three friends made much of the sermon that day. Fred understood only a sentence here and there, Grant understood only a word now and then, and Sam Sorrel understood nothing at all; but from the earnestness of the preacher, especially when the name of our Saviour was mentioned, they were inclined to believe that a good work was going on there.

In this opinion they were further strengthened when, on afterwards visiting the pastor, they found him to be a man of singularly kind and earnest disposition, with agreeable and unaffected manners. He wore a long loose robe of black material, and a thick white frill round his neck similar to that usually seen in the portraits of the great Reformer Martin Luther.

His family consisted of a wife and four children—a sturdy boy, and three flaxen-haired girls, all of whom vied with each other in paying attention to their visitors. Coffee was instantly produced, and cakes made by the fair fingers of the goodwife. The pastor could speak a little French, so that his visitors were able to converse with him, but the other members of the family could speak nothing but their native tongue. However, this did not prove a great stumbling-block, for, while Grant talked French with the pastor, Fred entertained his hostess in his best Norse, and Sam Sorrel, not to be behindhand, got the children round him, and made such wonderful use ofver so gootand his other pet phrases, that he succeeded in getting the boy on his knee, and in setting the girls off into giggles of laughter.

They spent that Sunday and the following Monday at this pleasant place, and were taken by the pastor all over his house and grounds and village, after which he conducted them to the summit of a mountain, whence they obtained one of the finest views they had yet seen in Norway.

Here, for the first time since leaving England, they regarded a fair wind with disfavour; they bade adieu to the pastor and his family with a little of that sad feeling which one experiences when parting, perhaps for ever, from dear friends.

But time and the sun would not wait. The anchor was tripped; the sails were spread; in half an hour the place had dwindled away to a bright green spot in the far distance; then they rounded the beetling crags of an island—and it vanished from their view.

Chapter Eight.Visit to a Strange People—The Midnight Sun.One day theSnowflakelay becalmed in one of those long narrow fiords by which the whole of the west coast of Norway is cut up, and some of which extend from seventy to a hundred miles inland.There was no prospect of a breeze, so another boat excursion was talked of. Hearing this, Hans Ericsson informed his master that there was a small settlement of Laplanders about thirty miles or so inland, and that he would be very glad to guide him and his friends to it if they chose.They jumped at the proposal at once, and in less than half an hour they were on their way to it. Bob Bowie also went on this expedition.No carioles could be procured in that wild region, but at a poor fishing-village on the coast they got two of the country carts. These are small rough machines, with a seat on wooden springs. They can hold only two persons, and are light and serviceable, well suited to the rough roads. Fred and Sam led the way; Grant and the steward followed. Hans acted the part of shooscarle to the former, and the owner of the carts drove the latter.The first start was up the side of a hill at least two thousand feet, and the road was so steep that it was all that the ponies could do to drag up the empty carts. Having gained the top of the first hill, they came upon a level plateau, resembling the bleak Scottish moorlands, which terminated in a range of wild snow-capped mountains. After resting the ponies a few minutes, they set off at a brisk trot, and were soon across the level ground. Ascending to another plateau, they crossed it, and finally reached the higher mountain-range of the interior. Here they crossed several patches of snow which the summer heat had not yet been able to melt away.As soon as they were fairly amongst the mountains, the roads became horrible, and it was a matter of wonder that the springs of the carts were not broken. Toiling up hills, and dashing down on the other side,—crashing over fallen rocks, and shaving the edge of yawning gulfs and precipices,—thus they advanced till evening, through a country which was the picture of barrenness and desolation.Rocks were the chief feature of the scenery. They had got to such a height above the level of the sea that there were no pines, only a few stunted birch-trees. There was little soil, but that little was well clothed with vegetation. Rocky mountains, rocky masses, and rocky glens everywhere; but as they went farther inland the scenery improved a little.Soon they found that instead of travelling inland they had been only crossing one of these broad necks of high land which separate the fords of Norway from each other, and ere long they came in sight of the sea, with precipitous mountains dipping into it.Here, on a green slope facing the fiord, were seen the conical tents of the strange people whom they had travelled so far to visit.The inhabitants of Lapland are a distinct race from their southern neighbours the Norwegians, in size, intelligence, civilisation, and manner of life. They are as near as may besavagesin appearance, and in some of their habits, insomuch that on first visiting them a stranger might be apt to set them down asrealsavages. Yet they are many degrees higher than the savage, such as the Red Indian of North America. The Lapp is as dirty as the Indian, and dwells in as poor a hut, and lives in as simple a style; but he is rich inproperty—his property being herds of reindeer, while the Indian depends entirely on the chase for wealth and subsistence. Then again, although the Lapp has nothing worthy of the name of a house, he is an educated man, to a small extent. He can read, and, above all, he possesses the Word of God in a language which he understands.In bodily size, however, the Red Indian beats him; for as a race the Lapps are particularly small, though they are well proportioned and active.They are seldom visited by strangers; and it is not improbable that when the two carts dashed into their village our friends were the first Englishmen they had ever seen.It happened to rain heavily during the last part of the journey to the Lapp village. To the surprise and amusement of the travellers, Bob Bowie drew forth from his cart a huge red cotton umbrella which he had purchased at Bergen, and which, seeing the sky cloudy, he had brought with him in the hope that he might have occasion to use (that is, to display) it.The rain, however, did not depress the spirits of the party a whit. Nothing in the shape of water could damp their enthusiasm.If any one wants to see a poor, ragged, diminutive, wizened, yet jolly race of human beings,—a race of beings who wear hairy garments, sup reindeer’s milk with wooden spoons, and dwell in big bee-hives,—he has only got to go to Lapland and see the Lapps.Quitting the carts at the outskirts of the village, the travellers advanced into the centre of it just as the natives were driving a herd of reindeer into an enclosure to be milked.There could not have been fewer than three hundred reindeer-stags, does, and numerous fawns; and these, they afterwards learned, constituted the entire wealth of three families of Lapps.As Fred and his friends strode into the enclosure, and came upon these good people rather suddenly, their amazement was unspeakable at finding they had bagged a party of giants along with their deer. Even scraggy Sam Sorrel looked quite big compared with them.After the first gaze and shout of surprise, they crowded round the strangers, and they all—men, women, and children—began to eye and paw them over, and to examine their costumes with deep interest. The diminutive size of the Lapps became very apparent as they were thus engaged. None of the men were much, if at all, above five feet, several were considerably under that height, and the women were short in proportion.If the bosoms of these Lapps were small, their hearts must certainly have been very large, for they received their visitors with great warmth and delight. Altogether they were a jovial and hearty, though uncommonly ill-dressed race of mortals.The men were clothed partly in deer-skin, partly in coarse cloth, and these garments were reduced by long service to a uniform dirty-brown colour. They showed signs of being slept in by night as well as worn by day.There was a schoolmaster amongst them. Only fancy, a Lapp schoolmaster, four feet nine or ten inches high! Sam Sorrel took a sketch of this gentleman on the spot, with his wife and child. What the schoolmaster taught, or whom he taught, or when or where he taught, are questions to which Fred could obtain no answer. To look at him, one would have imagined that eating, sleeping, and herding reindeer were the only lessons that he was able to teach. Yet it was found on inquiry that some of them could read Norse; and Sam actually discovered an old man in one of the huts poring over a New Testament in that language. There seemed something strangely incongruous in all this. They were dirty and uncouth; they had no houses, no tables or chairs, no civilised habits of any kind; yet they could read, and they had a schoolmaster! A very dirty one, to be sure, and not very deeply learned, I dare say; still a dominie, without doubt. On the strength of their acquirements, Fred presented the tribe with a Norse New Testament.Besides being four feet ten, the schoolmaster was comical and quizzical. He was evidently the wit of his tribe. His face was yellow and dirty; his nose was short and red, in addition to which it was turned up at the point; his eyes were small, and sloped downwards at the inner corners towards the nose, like those of the Chinese. His dirty leathern tunic was belted so low down, and his little legs were so short, that there was considerably more of him above the belt than below it. On his head he wore a cap, somewhat like that of a jockey in shape, and his lower limbs were encased in tight but ill-fitting leggings. Altogether, this man was the most disreputable-looking schoolmaster that was ever seen either at home or abroad.While both parties were making acquaintance with each other, the rain fell more heavily.“You’d better put up your umbrella, Bob Bowie,” said Fred.Bob, who had forgotten the umbrella, in consequence of being so much taken up with the Lapps, at once put it up. Being extremely proud of this curiosity, he was glad of the opportunity to display it. A shout of surprise and delight greeted its appearance. It was clear that the Lapps had never seen one before. The schoolmaster at once seized it out of Bob’s hand, and strutted about with it over his head, to the inexpressible joy of the children, who ran after him and crowded round him. Undoubtedly he must have been a kind schoolmaster. For some time the earnest attention of old and young was entirely given to this umbrella, while they tried to find out how many could get under it at once.The costume of the women was as rude as that of the men. The schoolmaster’s wife wore a sort of cloth helmet, and a rough yellow cloth gown, which was not by any means too long. Her little girl wore a tight-fitting skull-cap, and another youngster had on a thing much too large for it—like a huge extinguisher, which seemed to be its father’s nightcap.They were extremely ugly, all of them, but very happy-looking and good-natured.Of course Fred had taken a few trinkets with him, such as beads, thimbles, scissors, sugar-plums, knives, etcetera; and as every one in the village received something, the whole place resounded with exclamations of joy.Despite the rain, Sam Sorrel pulled out his sketch-book and began to take portraits. Here was another source of wonder to the Lapps. For some time they knew not what to make of it, but crowded round Sam with looks of inquisitive surprise, and, getting on tip-toe, peeped at his book. When one or two lines had been drawn, exclamations of interest were uttered by one and other; and when in a few minutes, the small youth with his father’s extinguisher on his head became clearly defined on the paper, there was a regular burst of laughter.Sam instantly received a far greater number of “orders” than he could execute. The stout little woman in the cloth helmet placed herself in an attitude which was no doubt meant to be irresistibly attractive. Several of the youngsters plucked the artist by the sleeve, and thrust forward their pert little faces, as if to say, “Do me!” or “Here’s a chance for you!” and the schoolmaster, promptly clearing a space in front of Sam, placed himself in an attitude, and by his commanding look ordered him to begin at once. He did begin, on the spot and finished the portrait in five minutes—rather a long sitting, considering the state of the weather, and the impatience of the schoolmaster to see himself on canvas!While this was going on in one quarter, Bob Bowie had attracted round him a circle of warm admirers, whose souls he captivated by showing and explaining to them the interior of his watch. As the lecture was delivered in English, it is not to be supposed that the audience profited much by means of their ears, but their eyes did double duty that day; at least one might reasonably suppose so, from the immense size to which they were constantly expanded!They evidently did not know whether to regard the watch as a mechanical contrivance or a living creature. In the study of this mysterious thing they were somewhat distracted by the presence of their first love the umbrella, which the lecturer had erected over his head in order to shield his timepiece from the rain. Fred and Grant went about everywhere, looking at everything, and talking, as they best could, to everybody.Meanwhile the three hundred deer, in the midst of which they had been standing all this time, kept moving about the enclosure, emitting a peculiar grunting sound, and making a strange clicking noise with their ankle-joints. This is a well-known peculiarity of the reindeer. Every time they lift or set down their feet, the ankle-joints crack as do the knuckles of a man when he pulls his fingers. As these deer were constantly getting up and lying down, the twittering rattle of their ankle-joints was unceasing.Presently the schoolmaster’s wife took a small wooden cup, milked one of the does, and handed the proceeds to Fred. He was surprised to find the milk as thick and as pleasant to the taste as the richest cream; and he was still more surprised to be told that all that could be got from a doe at any one time was about half a tea-cupful.The deer varied in colour from dark brown to almost white. The stags stood about three feet eight inches high at the shoulder, and the antlers were about three feet long, following the curve.Quitting the enclosure, the party next visited several of the huts,—which were made of moss, turf, sticks, etcetera, put together in such a confused way, that it was difficult to make out how they had been formed. A hole in the side was the only door to each hut, and a hole in the top was the window and chimney. In one of these they found an extremely old woman seated on a pile of dirty deerskins. Sam Sorrel said he was convinced she was the schoolmaster’s great-grandmother. She looked like a living mummy, so small and wrinkled and brown and dried up was the poor old body. Yet she was lively enough to show signs of pleasure when Fred patted her back gently and presented her with a pair of scissors and a pair of worsted gloves.It was a late hour before the curiosity of our friends was satisfied; the sun was dipping low on the horizon when at last they bade adieu to the Lapps, and harnessing their ponies, set out on the return journey. The way was long, and their eyes were heavy. They tried by means of conversation and song to keep themselves awake, but were unsuccessful. Despite their utmost efforts their headswouldnod, and brief little dreams kept perpetually reminding them of Laplanders, dirty little schoolmasters, and reindeer.Now, while Fred was nodding in his cart, and trying to keep awake that night, he little thought that he was so nearly attaining the great object for which he had come to Norway. Yet so it was. They came, in course of time, to the summit of a ridge from which could be had a splendid view of the fiord, and the sea with its thousands of islands beyond, and theSnowflakefloating like a white speck on the blue water far below. Here Hans pulled up and touched Fred on the shoulder.“Well, Hans, anything wrong?” said Fred starting and looking round.“Sun not set here,” replied Hans with a grin.“What!” cried Fred, jumping out of the cart, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the great luminary which was dipping close to the sea. “Impossible! we are not yet far enough north. You must be mistaken, Hans.”To this Hans replied that he wasnotmistaken. That he had been on that same spot at the same time of the year long ago, and had noticed that the sun had not descended below the horizon. Pointing to the sharp top of a hill that rose some six or eight hundred feet close beside them, he said that from that point the sun would be seen complete, while from the place where they then stood the lower part of it would be hid below the horizon.“Hallo! Grant Sam, d’ye hear that?” shouted Fred with enthusiasm. “We’ve no time to lose, quick, follow!”Away Fred Temple went up the mountain-side like a deer, followed by Sam and Grant, who having been more than half-asleep when aroused by their comrade’s shout, scarce knew what they were about. Even Bob Bowie’s spirit was stirred, and he went stumbling after his friends rubbing his eyes and yawning as he went.The highest peak was soon reached. Here they sat down to watch. The sun was close upon the horizon now, and Fred’s heart beat fast with anxiety lest it should descend below it.“There’s but a narrow line of sky between the sea and the lower edge of the sun now,” said Fred. “It looks no more than an inch broad, and it is narrowing, I think.”“No, it is growing broader,” said Grant.“No, narrower,” whispered Sam.“Broader it is!” said Fred eagerly.For a few seconds they remained uncertain and silent, gazing earnestly at the sun. At last there could be no doubt of it. The line of sky was evidently broader:the sun had begun to rise without having set.“Huzzah,” shouted Fred Temple, springing up, tossing his cap into the air, and cheering as enthusiastically as if he had just discovered a new gold-field! Infected with the same spirit, the others joined him, and then they expended their energies in building acairnof stones on the hill-top to commemorate the event!“Hans, thou son of Eric,” said Fred, grasping the hand of his pilot and guide when this was finished. “I like thee, man; thou hast done me good service this day. But for you I should have missed this chance, so I consider myself thy debtor, lad; mark me well, I will discharge this debt when we return to the south. So now, let us be gone.”How Fred discharged this debt remains to be seen. Meanwhile the party descended the hill, and returned once more to their floating home.

One day theSnowflakelay becalmed in one of those long narrow fiords by which the whole of the west coast of Norway is cut up, and some of which extend from seventy to a hundred miles inland.

There was no prospect of a breeze, so another boat excursion was talked of. Hearing this, Hans Ericsson informed his master that there was a small settlement of Laplanders about thirty miles or so inland, and that he would be very glad to guide him and his friends to it if they chose.

They jumped at the proposal at once, and in less than half an hour they were on their way to it. Bob Bowie also went on this expedition.

No carioles could be procured in that wild region, but at a poor fishing-village on the coast they got two of the country carts. These are small rough machines, with a seat on wooden springs. They can hold only two persons, and are light and serviceable, well suited to the rough roads. Fred and Sam led the way; Grant and the steward followed. Hans acted the part of shooscarle to the former, and the owner of the carts drove the latter.

The first start was up the side of a hill at least two thousand feet, and the road was so steep that it was all that the ponies could do to drag up the empty carts. Having gained the top of the first hill, they came upon a level plateau, resembling the bleak Scottish moorlands, which terminated in a range of wild snow-capped mountains. After resting the ponies a few minutes, they set off at a brisk trot, and were soon across the level ground. Ascending to another plateau, they crossed it, and finally reached the higher mountain-range of the interior. Here they crossed several patches of snow which the summer heat had not yet been able to melt away.

As soon as they were fairly amongst the mountains, the roads became horrible, and it was a matter of wonder that the springs of the carts were not broken. Toiling up hills, and dashing down on the other side,—crashing over fallen rocks, and shaving the edge of yawning gulfs and precipices,—thus they advanced till evening, through a country which was the picture of barrenness and desolation.

Rocks were the chief feature of the scenery. They had got to such a height above the level of the sea that there were no pines, only a few stunted birch-trees. There was little soil, but that little was well clothed with vegetation. Rocky mountains, rocky masses, and rocky glens everywhere; but as they went farther inland the scenery improved a little.

Soon they found that instead of travelling inland they had been only crossing one of these broad necks of high land which separate the fords of Norway from each other, and ere long they came in sight of the sea, with precipitous mountains dipping into it.

Here, on a green slope facing the fiord, were seen the conical tents of the strange people whom they had travelled so far to visit.

The inhabitants of Lapland are a distinct race from their southern neighbours the Norwegians, in size, intelligence, civilisation, and manner of life. They are as near as may besavagesin appearance, and in some of their habits, insomuch that on first visiting them a stranger might be apt to set them down asrealsavages. Yet they are many degrees higher than the savage, such as the Red Indian of North America. The Lapp is as dirty as the Indian, and dwells in as poor a hut, and lives in as simple a style; but he is rich inproperty—his property being herds of reindeer, while the Indian depends entirely on the chase for wealth and subsistence. Then again, although the Lapp has nothing worthy of the name of a house, he is an educated man, to a small extent. He can read, and, above all, he possesses the Word of God in a language which he understands.

In bodily size, however, the Red Indian beats him; for as a race the Lapps are particularly small, though they are well proportioned and active.

They are seldom visited by strangers; and it is not improbable that when the two carts dashed into their village our friends were the first Englishmen they had ever seen.

It happened to rain heavily during the last part of the journey to the Lapp village. To the surprise and amusement of the travellers, Bob Bowie drew forth from his cart a huge red cotton umbrella which he had purchased at Bergen, and which, seeing the sky cloudy, he had brought with him in the hope that he might have occasion to use (that is, to display) it.

The rain, however, did not depress the spirits of the party a whit. Nothing in the shape of water could damp their enthusiasm.

If any one wants to see a poor, ragged, diminutive, wizened, yet jolly race of human beings,—a race of beings who wear hairy garments, sup reindeer’s milk with wooden spoons, and dwell in big bee-hives,—he has only got to go to Lapland and see the Lapps.

Quitting the carts at the outskirts of the village, the travellers advanced into the centre of it just as the natives were driving a herd of reindeer into an enclosure to be milked.

There could not have been fewer than three hundred reindeer-stags, does, and numerous fawns; and these, they afterwards learned, constituted the entire wealth of three families of Lapps.

As Fred and his friends strode into the enclosure, and came upon these good people rather suddenly, their amazement was unspeakable at finding they had bagged a party of giants along with their deer. Even scraggy Sam Sorrel looked quite big compared with them.

After the first gaze and shout of surprise, they crowded round the strangers, and they all—men, women, and children—began to eye and paw them over, and to examine their costumes with deep interest. The diminutive size of the Lapps became very apparent as they were thus engaged. None of the men were much, if at all, above five feet, several were considerably under that height, and the women were short in proportion.

If the bosoms of these Lapps were small, their hearts must certainly have been very large, for they received their visitors with great warmth and delight. Altogether they were a jovial and hearty, though uncommonly ill-dressed race of mortals.

The men were clothed partly in deer-skin, partly in coarse cloth, and these garments were reduced by long service to a uniform dirty-brown colour. They showed signs of being slept in by night as well as worn by day.

There was a schoolmaster amongst them. Only fancy, a Lapp schoolmaster, four feet nine or ten inches high! Sam Sorrel took a sketch of this gentleman on the spot, with his wife and child. What the schoolmaster taught, or whom he taught, or when or where he taught, are questions to which Fred could obtain no answer. To look at him, one would have imagined that eating, sleeping, and herding reindeer were the only lessons that he was able to teach. Yet it was found on inquiry that some of them could read Norse; and Sam actually discovered an old man in one of the huts poring over a New Testament in that language. There seemed something strangely incongruous in all this. They were dirty and uncouth; they had no houses, no tables or chairs, no civilised habits of any kind; yet they could read, and they had a schoolmaster! A very dirty one, to be sure, and not very deeply learned, I dare say; still a dominie, without doubt. On the strength of their acquirements, Fred presented the tribe with a Norse New Testament.

Besides being four feet ten, the schoolmaster was comical and quizzical. He was evidently the wit of his tribe. His face was yellow and dirty; his nose was short and red, in addition to which it was turned up at the point; his eyes were small, and sloped downwards at the inner corners towards the nose, like those of the Chinese. His dirty leathern tunic was belted so low down, and his little legs were so short, that there was considerably more of him above the belt than below it. On his head he wore a cap, somewhat like that of a jockey in shape, and his lower limbs were encased in tight but ill-fitting leggings. Altogether, this man was the most disreputable-looking schoolmaster that was ever seen either at home or abroad.

While both parties were making acquaintance with each other, the rain fell more heavily.

“You’d better put up your umbrella, Bob Bowie,” said Fred.

Bob, who had forgotten the umbrella, in consequence of being so much taken up with the Lapps, at once put it up. Being extremely proud of this curiosity, he was glad of the opportunity to display it. A shout of surprise and delight greeted its appearance. It was clear that the Lapps had never seen one before. The schoolmaster at once seized it out of Bob’s hand, and strutted about with it over his head, to the inexpressible joy of the children, who ran after him and crowded round him. Undoubtedly he must have been a kind schoolmaster. For some time the earnest attention of old and young was entirely given to this umbrella, while they tried to find out how many could get under it at once.

The costume of the women was as rude as that of the men. The schoolmaster’s wife wore a sort of cloth helmet, and a rough yellow cloth gown, which was not by any means too long. Her little girl wore a tight-fitting skull-cap, and another youngster had on a thing much too large for it—like a huge extinguisher, which seemed to be its father’s nightcap.

They were extremely ugly, all of them, but very happy-looking and good-natured.

Of course Fred had taken a few trinkets with him, such as beads, thimbles, scissors, sugar-plums, knives, etcetera; and as every one in the village received something, the whole place resounded with exclamations of joy.

Despite the rain, Sam Sorrel pulled out his sketch-book and began to take portraits. Here was another source of wonder to the Lapps. For some time they knew not what to make of it, but crowded round Sam with looks of inquisitive surprise, and, getting on tip-toe, peeped at his book. When one or two lines had been drawn, exclamations of interest were uttered by one and other; and when in a few minutes, the small youth with his father’s extinguisher on his head became clearly defined on the paper, there was a regular burst of laughter.

Sam instantly received a far greater number of “orders” than he could execute. The stout little woman in the cloth helmet placed herself in an attitude which was no doubt meant to be irresistibly attractive. Several of the youngsters plucked the artist by the sleeve, and thrust forward their pert little faces, as if to say, “Do me!” or “Here’s a chance for you!” and the schoolmaster, promptly clearing a space in front of Sam, placed himself in an attitude, and by his commanding look ordered him to begin at once. He did begin, on the spot and finished the portrait in five minutes—rather a long sitting, considering the state of the weather, and the impatience of the schoolmaster to see himself on canvas!

While this was going on in one quarter, Bob Bowie had attracted round him a circle of warm admirers, whose souls he captivated by showing and explaining to them the interior of his watch. As the lecture was delivered in English, it is not to be supposed that the audience profited much by means of their ears, but their eyes did double duty that day; at least one might reasonably suppose so, from the immense size to which they were constantly expanded!

They evidently did not know whether to regard the watch as a mechanical contrivance or a living creature. In the study of this mysterious thing they were somewhat distracted by the presence of their first love the umbrella, which the lecturer had erected over his head in order to shield his timepiece from the rain. Fred and Grant went about everywhere, looking at everything, and talking, as they best could, to everybody.

Meanwhile the three hundred deer, in the midst of which they had been standing all this time, kept moving about the enclosure, emitting a peculiar grunting sound, and making a strange clicking noise with their ankle-joints. This is a well-known peculiarity of the reindeer. Every time they lift or set down their feet, the ankle-joints crack as do the knuckles of a man when he pulls his fingers. As these deer were constantly getting up and lying down, the twittering rattle of their ankle-joints was unceasing.

Presently the schoolmaster’s wife took a small wooden cup, milked one of the does, and handed the proceeds to Fred. He was surprised to find the milk as thick and as pleasant to the taste as the richest cream; and he was still more surprised to be told that all that could be got from a doe at any one time was about half a tea-cupful.

The deer varied in colour from dark brown to almost white. The stags stood about three feet eight inches high at the shoulder, and the antlers were about three feet long, following the curve.

Quitting the enclosure, the party next visited several of the huts,—which were made of moss, turf, sticks, etcetera, put together in such a confused way, that it was difficult to make out how they had been formed. A hole in the side was the only door to each hut, and a hole in the top was the window and chimney. In one of these they found an extremely old woman seated on a pile of dirty deerskins. Sam Sorrel said he was convinced she was the schoolmaster’s great-grandmother. She looked like a living mummy, so small and wrinkled and brown and dried up was the poor old body. Yet she was lively enough to show signs of pleasure when Fred patted her back gently and presented her with a pair of scissors and a pair of worsted gloves.

It was a late hour before the curiosity of our friends was satisfied; the sun was dipping low on the horizon when at last they bade adieu to the Lapps, and harnessing their ponies, set out on the return journey. The way was long, and their eyes were heavy. They tried by means of conversation and song to keep themselves awake, but were unsuccessful. Despite their utmost efforts their headswouldnod, and brief little dreams kept perpetually reminding them of Laplanders, dirty little schoolmasters, and reindeer.

Now, while Fred was nodding in his cart, and trying to keep awake that night, he little thought that he was so nearly attaining the great object for which he had come to Norway. Yet so it was. They came, in course of time, to the summit of a ridge from which could be had a splendid view of the fiord, and the sea with its thousands of islands beyond, and theSnowflakefloating like a white speck on the blue water far below. Here Hans pulled up and touched Fred on the shoulder.

“Well, Hans, anything wrong?” said Fred starting and looking round.

“Sun not set here,” replied Hans with a grin.

“What!” cried Fred, jumping out of the cart, rubbing his eyes, and staring at the great luminary which was dipping close to the sea. “Impossible! we are not yet far enough north. You must be mistaken, Hans.”

To this Hans replied that he wasnotmistaken. That he had been on that same spot at the same time of the year long ago, and had noticed that the sun had not descended below the horizon. Pointing to the sharp top of a hill that rose some six or eight hundred feet close beside them, he said that from that point the sun would be seen complete, while from the place where they then stood the lower part of it would be hid below the horizon.

“Hallo! Grant Sam, d’ye hear that?” shouted Fred with enthusiasm. “We’ve no time to lose, quick, follow!”

Away Fred Temple went up the mountain-side like a deer, followed by Sam and Grant, who having been more than half-asleep when aroused by their comrade’s shout, scarce knew what they were about. Even Bob Bowie’s spirit was stirred, and he went stumbling after his friends rubbing his eyes and yawning as he went.

The highest peak was soon reached. Here they sat down to watch. The sun was close upon the horizon now, and Fred’s heart beat fast with anxiety lest it should descend below it.

“There’s but a narrow line of sky between the sea and the lower edge of the sun now,” said Fred. “It looks no more than an inch broad, and it is narrowing, I think.”

“No, it is growing broader,” said Grant.

“No, narrower,” whispered Sam.

“Broader it is!” said Fred eagerly.

For a few seconds they remained uncertain and silent, gazing earnestly at the sun. At last there could be no doubt of it. The line of sky was evidently broader:the sun had begun to rise without having set.

“Huzzah,” shouted Fred Temple, springing up, tossing his cap into the air, and cheering as enthusiastically as if he had just discovered a new gold-field! Infected with the same spirit, the others joined him, and then they expended their energies in building acairnof stones on the hill-top to commemorate the event!

“Hans, thou son of Eric,” said Fred, grasping the hand of his pilot and guide when this was finished. “I like thee, man; thou hast done me good service this day. But for you I should have missed this chance, so I consider myself thy debtor, lad; mark me well, I will discharge this debt when we return to the south. So now, let us be gone.”

How Fred discharged this debt remains to be seen. Meanwhile the party descended the hill, and returned once more to their floating home.

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