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by Andre Laurie and Jules Verne

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Title: The Waif of the "Cynthia"

Author: Andre Laurie and Jules Verne

Release Date: July 22, 2005 [EBook #16344]

Language: English

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THE WAIF OF THE "CYNTHIA."


By

Jules Verne and Andre Laurie



NO. 659 DOUBLE NUMBER
PRICE 20 CENTS

The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition,
Issued Tri-weekly.
By subscription
$50 per annum.

Copyrighted 1885 by George Munro--
Entered at the Post Office at New York
at second class rates--
Jan. 6, 1886

Rand McNally edition, published Feb. 1888
325 pages printed on fine paper beautifully illustrated
with handsome illuminated and embossed covers.




THE WAIF OF THE "CYNTHIA."




CHAPTER I.

MR. MALARIUS' FRIEND.


There is probably neither in Europe nor anywhere else a scholar whose
face is more universally known than that of Dr. Schwaryencrona, of
Stockholm. His portrait appears on the millions of bottles with green
seals, which are sent to the confines of the globe.

Truth compels us to state that these bottles only contain cod liver oil,
a good and useful medicine; which is sold to the inhabitants of Norway
for a "couronnes," which is worth one franc and thirty-nine centimes.

Formerly this oil was made by the fishermen, but now the process is a
more scientific one, and the prince of this special industry is the
celebrated Dr. Schwaryencrona.

There is no one who has not seen his pointed beard, his spectacles, his
hooked nose, and his cap of otter skin. The engraving, perhaps, is not
very fine, but it is certainly a striking likeness. A proof of this is
what happened one day in a primary school in Noroe, on the western coast
of Norway, a few leagues from Bergen.

Two o'clock had struck. The pupils were in their classes in the large,
sanded hall--the girls on the left and the boys on the right--occupied
in following the demonstration which their teacher, Mr. Malarius, was
making on the black-board. Suddenly the door opened, and a fur coat, fur
boots, fur gloves, and a cap of otter, made their appearance on the
threshold.

The pupils immediately rose respectfully, as is usual when a stranger
visits the class-room. None of them had ever seen the new arrival
before, but they all whispered when they saw him, "Doctor
Schwaryencrona," so much did the picture engraved on the bottles
resemble the doctor.

We must say that the pupils of Mr. Malarius had the bottles continually
before their eyes, for one of the principal manufactories of the doctor
was at Noroe. But for many years the learned man had not visited that
place, and none of the children consequently could have beheld him in
the flesh. In imagination it was another matter, for they often spoke of
him in Noroe, and his ears must have often tingled, if the popular
belief has any foundation. Be this as it may, his recognition was
unanimous, and a triumph for the unknown artist who had drawn his
portrait--a triumph of which this modest artist might justly be proud,
and of which more than one photographer in the world might well be
jealous.

But what astonished and disappointed the pupils a little was to discover
that the doctor was a man below the ordinary height, and not the giant
which they had imagined him to be. How could such an illustrious man be
satisfied with a height of only five feet three inches? His gray head
hardly reached the shoulder of Mr. Malarius, and he was already stooping
with age. He was also much thinner than the doctor, which made him
appear twice as tall. His large brown overcoat, to which long use had
given a greenish tint, hung loosely around him; he wore short breeches
and shoes with buckles, and from beneath his black silk cap a few gray
locks had made their escape. His rosy cheeks and smiling countenance
gave an expression of great sweetness to his face. He also wore
spectacles, through which he did not cast piercing glances like the
doctor, but through them his blue eyes shone with inexhaustible
benevolence.

In the memory of his pupils Mr. Malarius had never punished a scholar.
But, nevertheless, they all respected him, and loved him. He had a brave
soul, and all the world knew it very well. They were not ignorant of the
fact that in his youth he had passed brilliant examinations, and that he
had been offered a professorship in a great university, where he might
have attained to honor and wealth. But he had a sister, poor Kristina,
who was always ill and suffering. She would not have left her native
village for the world, for she felt sure that she would die if they
removed to the city. So Mr. Malarius had submitted gently to her wishes,
and sacrificed his own prospects. He had accepted the humble duty of the
village school-master, and when twenty years afterward Kristina had
died, blessing him, he had become accustomed to his obscure and retired
life, and did not care to change it. He was absorbed in his work, and
forgot the world. He found a supreme pleasure in becoming a model
instructor, and in having the best-conducted school in his country.
Above all, he liked to instruct his best pupils in the higher branches,
to initiate them into scientific studies, and in ancient and modern
literature, and give them the information which is usually the portion
of the higher classes, and not bestowed upon the children of fishermen
and peasants.

"What is good for one class, is good for the other," he argued. "If the
poor have not as many comforts, that is no reason why they should be
denied an acquaintance with Homer and Shakespeare; the names of the
stars which guide them across the ocean, or of the plants which grow on
the earth. They will soon see them laid low by their ploughs, but in
their infancy at least they will have drunk from pure sources, and
participated in the common patrimony of mankind." In more than one
country this system would have been thought imprudent, and calculated to
disgust the lowly with their humble lot in life, and lead them to wander
away in search of adventures. But in Norway nobody thinks of these
things. The patriarchal sweetness of their dispositions, the distance
between the villages, and the laborious habits of the people, seem to
remove all danger of this kind. This higher instruction is more frequent
than a stranger would believe to be possible. Nowhere is education more
generally diffused, and nowhere is it carried so high; as well in the
poorest rural schools, as in the colleges.

Therefore the Scandinavian Peninsula may flatter herself, that she has
produced more learned and distinguished men in proportion to her
population, than any other region of Europe. The traveler is constantly
astonished by the contrast between the wild and savage aspect of nature,
and the manufactures, and works of art, which represent the most refined
civilization.

But perhaps it is time for us to return to Noroe, and Dr.
Schwaryencrona, whom we have left on the threshold of the school. If the
pupils had been quick to recognize him, although they had never seen him
before, it had been different with the instructor, whose acquaintance
with him dated further back.

"Ah! good-day, my dear Malarius!" said the visitor cordially, advancing
with outstretched hands toward the school-master.

"Sir! you are very welcome," answered the latter, a little surprised,
and somewhat timidly, as is customary with all men who have lived
secluded lives; and are interrupted in the midst of their duties. "But
excuse me if I ask whom I have the honor of--"

"What! Have I changed so much since we ran together over the snow, and
smoked our long pipes at Christiania; have you forgotten our Krauss
boarding-house, and must I name your comrade and friend?"

"Schwaryencrona!" cried Mr. Malarius. "Is it possible.--Is it really
you.--Is it the doctor?"

"Oh! I beg of you, omit all ceremony. I am your old friend Roff, and you
are my brave Olaf, the best, the dearest friend of my youth. Yes, I know
you well. We have both changed a little in thirty years; but our hearts
are still young, and we have always kept a little corner in them for
those whom we learned to love, when we were students, and eat our dry
bread side by side."

The doctor laughed, and squeezed the hands of Mr. Malarius, whose eyes
were moist.

"My dear friend, my good excellent doctor, you must not stay here," said
he; "I will give all these youngsters a holiday, for which they will not
be sorry, I assure you, and then you must go home with me."

"Not at all!" declared the doctor, turning toward the pupils who were
watching this scene with lively interest. "I must neither interfere with
your work, nor the studies of these youths. If you wish to give me great
pleasure, you will permit me to sit here near you, while you resume your
teaching."

"I would willingly do so," answered Mr. Malarius, "but to tell you the
truth, I have no longer any heart for geometry; besides, having
mentioned a holiday, I do not like to disappoint the children. There is
one way of arranging the matter however. If Doctor Schwaryencrona would
deign to do my pupils the honor of questioning them about their studies,
and then I will dismiss them for the rest of the day."

"An excellent idea. I shall be only too happy to do so. I will become
their examiner."

Then taking the master's seat, he addressed the school:

"Tell me," asked the doctor, "who is the best pupil?"

"Erik Hersebom!" answered fifty youthful voices unhesitatingly.

"Ah! Erik Hersebom. Well, Erik, will you come here?"

A young boy, about twelve years of age, who was seated on the front row
of benches, approached his chair. He was a grave, serious-looking child,
whose pensive cast of countenance, and large deep set eyes, would have
attracted attention anywhere, and he was the more remarkable, because of
the blonde heads by which he was surrounded. While all his companions of
both sexes had hair the color of flax, rosy complexions, and blue eyes,
his hair was of deep chestnut color, like his eyes, and his skin was
brown. He had not the prominent cheek bones, the short nose, and the
stout frame of these Scandinavian children. In a word, by his physical
characteristics so plainly marked, it was evident that he did not belong
to the race by whom he was surrounded.

He was clothed like them in the coarse cloth of the country, made in the
style common among the peasantry of Bergen; but the delicacy of his
limbs, the smallness of his head, the easy elegance of his poise, and
the natural gracefulness of his movements and attitudes, all seemed to
denote a foreign origin.

No physiologist could have helped being struck at once by these
peculiarities, and such was the case with Dr. Schwaryencrona.

However, he had no motive for calling attention to these facts, and he
simply proceeded to fulfill the duty which he had undertaken.

"Where shall we begin--with grammar?" he asked the young lad.

"I am at the command of the doctor," answered Erik, modestly.

The doctor then gave him two or three simple questions, but was
astonished to hear him answer them, not only in the Swedish language,
but also in French and English. It was the usual custom of Mr. Malarius,
who contended that it was as easy to learn three languages at once as it
was to learn only one.

"You teach them French and English then?" said the doctor, turning
toward his friend.

"Why not? also the elements of Greek and Latin. I do not see what harm
it can do them."

"Nor I," said the doctor, laughing, and Erik Hersebom translated several
sentences very correctly.

In one of the sentences, reference was made to the hemlock drunk by
Socrates, and Mr. Malarius asked the doctor to question him as to the
family which this plant belonged to.

Erik answered without hesitation "that it was one of the family of
umbelliferous plants," and described them in detail.

From botany they passed to geometry, and Erik demonstrated clearly a
theorem relative to the sum of the angles of a triangle.

The doctor became every moment more and more surprised.

"Let us have a little talk about geography," he said. "What sea is it
which bounds Scandinavia, Russia and Siberia on the north?"

"It is the Arctic Ocean."

"And what waters does this ocean communicate with?"

"The Atlantic on the west, and the Pacific on the east."

"Can you name two or three of the most important seaports on the
Pacific?"

"I can mention Yokohama, in Japan; Melbourne, in Australia; San
Francisco, in the State of California."

"Well, since the Arctic Ocean communicates on one side with the
Atlantic, and on the other with the Pacific, do you not think that the
shortest route to Yokohama or San Francisco would be through this Arctic
Ocean?"

"Assuredly," answered Erik, "it would be the shortest way, if it were
practicable, but all navigators who have attempted to follow it have
been prevented by ice, and been compelled to renounce the enterprise,
when they have escaped death."

"Have they often attempted to discover the north-east passage?"

"At least fifty times during the last three centuries, but without
success."

"Could you mention a few of the expeditions?"

"The first was organized in 1523, under the direction of Franois
Sebastian Cabot. It consisted of three vessels under the command of the
unfortunate Sir Hugh Willoughby, who perished in Lapland, with all his
crew. One of his lieutenants, Chancellor, was at first successful, and
opened a direct route through the Polar Sea. But he also, while making a
second attempt, was shipwrecked, and perished. A captain, Stephen
Borough, who was sent in search of him, succeeded in making his way
through the strait which separates Nova Zembla from the Island of
Waigate and in penetrating into the Sea of Kara. But the fog and ice
prevented him from going any further.

"Two expeditions which were sent out in 1580 were equally unsuccessful.
The project was nevertheless revived by the Hollanders about fifteen
years later, and they fitted out, successively, three expeditions, under
the command of Barentz.

"In 1596, Barentz also perished, in the ice of Nova Zembla.

"Ten years later Henry Hudson was sent out, but also failed.

"The Danes were not more successful in 1653.

"In 1676, Captain John Wood was also shipwrecked. Since that period the
north-east passage has been considered impracticable, and abandoned by
the maritime powers."

"Has it never been attempted since that epoch?"

"It has been by Russia, to whom it would be of immense advantage, as
well as to all the northern nations, to find a direct route between her
shores and Siberia. She has sent out during a century no less than
eighteen expeditions to explore the coasts of Nova Zembla, the Sea of
Kara, and the eastern and western coasts of Siberia. But, although these
expeditions have made these places better known, they have also
demonstrated the impossibility of forcing a passage through the Arctic
Ocean. The academician Van Baer, who made the last attempt in 1837,
after Admiral Lutke and Pachtusow, declared emphatically that this ocean
is simply a glacier, as impracticable for vessels as it would be if it
were a continent."

"Must we, then, renounce all hopes of discovering a north-east passage?"

"That seems to be the conclusion which we must arrive at, from the
failure of these numerous attempts. It is said, however, that a great
navigator, named Nordenskiold, wishes to make another attempt, after he
has prepared himself by first exploring portions of this polar sea. If
he then considers it practicable, he may get up another expedition."

Dr. Schwaryencrona was a warm admirer of Nordenskiold, and this is why
he had asked these questions about the north-east passage. He was
charmed with the clearness of these answers.

He fixed his eyes on Erik Hersebom, with an expression of the deepest
interest.

"Where did you learn all this, my dear child?" he demanded, after a
short silence.

"Here, sir," answered Erik, surprised at the question.

"You have never studied in any other school?"

"Certainly not."

"Mr. Malarius may be proud of you, then," said the doctor, turning
toward the master.

"I am very well satisfied with Erik," said the latter.

"He has been my pupil for eight years. When I first took him he was very
young, and he has always been at the head of his section."

The doctor became silent. His piercing eyes were fixed upon Erik, with a
singular intensity. He seemed to be considering some problem, which it
would not be wise to mention.

"He could not have answered my question better and I think it useless to
continue the examination," he said at last. "I will no longer delay your
holiday, my children, and since Mr. Malarius desires it, we will stop
for to-day."

At these words, the master clapped his hands. All the pupils rose at
once, collected their books, and arranged themselves in four lines, in
the empty spaces between the benches.

Mr. Malarias clapped his hands a second time. The column started, and
marched out, keeping step with military precision.

At a third signal they broke their ranks, and took to flight with joyous
cries.

In a few seconds they were scattered around the blue waters of the
fiord, where might be seen also the turf roofs of the village of Noroe.




CHAPTER II.

THE HOME OF A FISHERMAN IN NOROE.


The house of Mr. Hersebom was, like all others in Noroe, covered by a
turf roof, and built of enormous timbers of fir-trees, in the
Scandinavian fashion. The two large rooms were separated by a hall in
the center, which led to the boat-house where the canoes were kept. Here
were also to be seen the fishing-tackle and the codfish, which they dry
and sell. These two rooms were used both as living-rooms and bedrooms.
They had a sort of wooden drawer let into the wall, with its mattress
and skins, which serve for beds, and are only to be seen at night. This
arrangement for sleeping, with the bright panels, and the large open
fire-place, where a blazing fire of wood was always kept burning, gave
to the interior of the most humble homes an appearance of neatness and
domestic luxury unknown to the peasantry of Southern Europe.

This evening all the family were gathered round the fire-place, where a
huge kettle was boiling, containing "sillsallat," or smoked herring,
salmon and potatoes.

Mr. Hersebom, seated in a high wooden chair, was making a net, which was
his usual occupation when he was not on the sea, or drying his fish. He
was a hardy fisherman, whose skin had been bronzed by exposure to the
arctic breezes, and his hair was gray, although he was still in the
prime of life. His son Otto, a great boy, fourteen years old, who bore a
strong resemblance to him, and who was destined to also become famous as
a fisherman, sat near him. At present he was occupied in solving the
mysteries of the rule of three, covering a little slate with figures,
although his large hands looked as if they would be much more at home
handling the oars.

Erik, seated before the dining-table, was absorbed in a Volume of
history that Mr. Malarius had lent him. Katrina, Hersebom, the goodwife,
was occupied peacefully with her spinning-wheel, while little Vanda, a
blonde of ten years, was seated on a stool, knitting a large stocking
with red wool.

At their feet a large dog of a yellowish-white color, with wool as thick
as that of a sheep, lay curled up sound asleep.

For more than one hour the silence had been unbroken, and the copper
lamp suspended over their heads, and filled with fish oil, lighted
softly this tranquil interior.

To tell the truth, the silence became oppressive to Dame Katrina, who
for some moments had betrayed the desire of unloosing her tongue.

At last she could keep quiet no longer.

"You have worked long enough for to-night," she said, "it is time to lay
the cloth for supper."

Without a word of expostulation. Erik lifted his large book, and seated
himself nearer the fire-place, whilst Vanda laid aside her knitting, and
going to the buffet brought out the plates and spoons.

"Did you say, Otto," asked the little girl, "that our Erik answered the
doctor very well?"

"Very well, indeed," said Otto enthusiastically, "he talked like a book
in fact. I do not know where he learned it all. The more questions the
doctor asked the more he had to answer. The words came and came. Mr.
Malarius was well satisfied with him."

"I am also," said Vanda, gravely.

"Oh, we were all well pleased. If you could have seen, mother, how the
children all listened, with their mouths open. We were only afraid that
our turn would come. But Erik was not afraid, and answered the doctor as
he would have answered the master."

"Stop. Mr. Malarius is as good as the doctor, and quite as learned,"
cried Erik, whom their praises seemed to annoy.

The old fisherman gave him an approving smile.

"You are right, little boy," he said; "Mr. Malarius, if he chose, could
be the superior of all the doctors in the town, and besides he does not
make use of his scientific knowledge to ruin poor people."

"Has Doctor Schwaryencrona ruined any one?" asked Erik with curiosity.

"Well--if he has not done so, it has not been his fault. Do you think
that I have taken any pleasure in the erection of his factory, which is
sending forth its smoke on the borders of our fiord? Your mother can
tell you that formerly we manufactured our own oil, and that we sold it
easily in Bergen for a hundred and fifty to two hundred kroners a year.
But that is all ended now--nobody will buy the brown oil, or, if they
do, they pay so little for it, that it is not worth while to take the
journey. We must be satisfied with selling the livers to the factory,
and God only knows how this tiresome doctor has managed to get them for
such a low price. I hardly realize forty-five kroners now, and I have to
take twice as much trouble as formerly. Ah, well. I say it is not just,
and the doctor would do better to look after his patients in Stockholm,
instead of coming here to take away our trade by which we earn our
bread."

After these bitter words they were all silent. They heard nothing for
some minutes except the clicking of the plates, as Vanda arranged them,
whilst her mother emptied the contents of the pot into a large dish.

Erik reflected deeply upon what Mr. Hersebom had said. Numerous
objections presented themselves to his mind, and as he was candor
itself--he could not help speaking.

"It seems to me that you have a right to regret your former profits,
father," he said, "but is it just to accuse Doctor Schwaryencrona of
having diminished them? Is not his oil worth more than the home-made
article?"

"Ah! it is clearer, that is all. It does not taste as strong as ours,
they say; and that is the reason why all the fine ladies in the town
prefer it, no doubt; but it does not do any more good to the lungs of
sick people than our oil."

"But for some reason or other they buy it in preference; and since it is
a very useful medicine it is essential that the public should experience
as little disgust as possible in taking it. Therefore, if a doctor finds
out a method of making it more palatable, is it not his duty to make use
of his discovery?"

Master Hersebom scratched his ear.

"Doubtless," he said, reluctantly, "it is his duty as a doctor, but that
is no reason why he should prevent poor fishermen from getting their
living."

"I believe the doctor's factory gives employment to three hundred,
whilst there were only twenty in Noroe at the time of which you speak,"
objected Erik, timidly.

"You are right, and that is why the business is no longer worth
anything," said Hersebom.

"Come, supper is ready. Seat yourselves at the table," said Dame
Katrina, who saw that the discussion was in danger of becoming
unpleasantly warm.

Erik understood that further opposition on his part would be out of
place, and he did not answer the last argument of his father, but took
his habitual seat beside Vanda.

"Were the doctor and Mr. Malarius friends in childhood?" he asked, in
order to give a turn to the conversation.

"Yes," answered the fisherman, as he seated himself at the table. "They
were both born in Noroe, and I can remember when they played around the
school-house, although they are both ten years older than I am. Mr.
Malarius was the son of the physician, and Doctor Schwaryencrona only
the son of a simple fisherman. But he has risen in the world, and they
say that he is now worth millions, and that his residence in Stockholm
is a perfect palace. Oh, learning is a fine thing."

After uttering this aphorism the brave man took a spoon to help the
smoking fish and potatoes, when a knock at the door made him pause.

"May I come in, Master Hersebom?" said a deep-toned voice. And without
waiting for permission the person who had spoken entered, bringing with
him a great blast of icy air.

"Doctor Schwaryencrona!" cried the three children, while the father and
mother rose quickly.

"My dear Hersebom," said the doctor, taking the fisherman's hand, "we
have not seen each other for many years, but I have not forgotten your
excellent father, and thought I might call and see a friend of my
childhood!"

The worthy man felt a little ashamed of the accusations which he had so
recently made against his visitor, and he did not know what to say. He
contented himself, therefore, with returning the doctor's shake of the
hand cordially, and smiling a welcome, whilst his good wife was more
demonstrative.

"Quick, Otto, Erik, help the doctor to take off his overcoat, and you,
Vanda, prepare another place at the table," she said, for, like all
Norwegian housekeepers, she was very hospitable.

"Will you do us the honor, doctor, of eating a morsel with us?"

"Indeed I would not refuse, you may be sure, if I had the least
appetite; for I see you have a very tempting dish before you. But it is
not an hour since I took supper with Mr. Malarius, and I certainly would
not have called so early if I had thought you would be at the table. It
would give me great pleasure if you would resume your seats and eat your
supper."

"Oh, doctor!" implored the good wife, "at least you will not refuse some
'snorgas' and a cup of tea?"

"I will gladly take a cup of tea, but on condition that, you eat your
supper first," answered the doctor, seating himself in the large
arm-chair.

Vanda immediately placed the tea-kettle on the fire, and disappeared in
the neighboring room. The rest of the family understanding with native
courtesy that it would annoy their guest if they did not do as he
wished, began to eat their supper.

In two minutes the doctor was quite at his ease. He stirred the fire,
and warmed his legs in the blaze of the dry wood that Katrina had thrown
on before going to supper. He talked about old times, and old friends;
those who had disappeared, and those who remained, about the changes
that had taken place even in Bergen.

He made himself quite at home, and, what was more remarkable, he
succeeded in making Mr. Hersebom eat his supper.

Vanda now entered carrying a large wooden dish, upon which was a saucer,
which she offered so graciously to the doctor that he could not refuse
it. It was the famous "snorgas" of Norway, slices of smoked reindeer,
and shreds of herring, and red pepper, minced up and laid between slices
of black bread, spiced cheese, and other condiments; which they eat at
any hour to produce an appetite.

It succeeded so well in the doctor's case, that although he only took it
out of politeness, he was soon able to do honor to some preserved
mulberries which were Dame Katrina's special pride, and so thirsty that
he drank seven or eight cups of tea.

Mr. Hersebom brought out a bottle of "schiedam," which he had bought of
a Hollander.

Then supper being ended, the doctor accepted an enormous pipe which his
host offered him, and smoked away to their general satisfaction.

By this time all feeling of constraint had passed away, and it seemed as
if the doctor had always been a member of the family. They joked and
laughed, and were the best of friends in the world, until the old clock
of varnished wood struck ten.

"My good friends, it is growing late," said the doctor.

"If you will send the children to bed, we will talk about more serious
matters."

Upon a sign from Dame Katrina, Otto, Erik, and Vanda bade them
good-night and left the room.

"You wonder why I have come," said the doctor, after a moments' silence,
fixing his penetrating glance upon the fisherman.

"My guests are always welcome," answered the fisherman, sententiously.

"Yes! I know that Noroe is famous for hospitality. But you must
certainly have asked yourself what motive could have induced me to leave
the society of my old friend Malarius and come to you. I am sure that
Dame Hersebom has some suspicion of my motive."

"We shall know when you tell us," replied the good woman,
diplomatically.

"Well," said the doctor, with a sigh, "since you will not help me, I
must face it alone. Your son, Erik, Master Hersebom, is a most
remarkable child."

"I do not complain of him," answered the fisherman.

"He is singularly intelligent, and well informed for his age," continued
the doctor. "I questioned him to-day, in school, and I was very much
surprised by the extraordinary ability which his answers displayed. I
was also astonished, when I learned his name, to see that he bore no
resemblance to you, nor indeed to any of the natives of this country."

The fisherman and his wife remained silent and motionless.

"To be brief," continued the doctor, with visible impatience, "this
child not only interests me--he puzzles me. I have talked with Malarius,
who told me that he was not your son, but that he had been cast on your
shore by a shipwreck, and that you took him in and adopted him, bringing
him up as your own, and bestowing your name upon him. This is true, is
it not?"

"Yes, doctor," answered Hersebom, gravely.

"If he is not our son by birth, he is in love and affection," said
Katrina, with moist eyes and trembling hands. "Between him, and Otto,
and Vanda, we have made no difference--we have never thought of him only
as our own child."

"These sentiments do you both honor," said the doctor, moved by the
emotion of the brave woman. "But I beg of you, my friends, relate to me
the history of this child. I have come to hear it, and I assure you that
I wish him well."

The fisherman appeared to hesitate a moment. Then seeing that the doctor
was waiting impatiently for him to speak, he concluded to gratify him.

"You have been told the truth," he said, regretfully; "the child is not
our son. Twelve years ago I was fishing near the island at the entrance
of the fiord, near the open sea. You know it is surrounded by a sand
bank, and that cod-fish are plentiful there. After a good day's work, I
drew in my lines, and was going to hoist my sail, when something white
moving upon the water, about a mile off, attracted my attention. The sea
was calm, and there was nothing pressing to hurry me home, so I had the
curiosity to go and see what this white object was. In ten minutes I had
reached it. It was a little wicker cradle, enveloped in a woolen cloth,
and strongly tied to a buoy. I drew it toward me; an emotion which I
could not understand seized me; I beheld a sleeping infant, about seven
or eight months old, whose little fists were tightly clinched. He looked
a little pale and cold, but did not appear to have suffered much from
his adventurous voyage, if one might judge by his lusty screams when he
awoke, as he did immediately, when he no longer felt himself rocked by
the waves. Our little Otto was over two years old, and I knew how to
manage such little rogues. I rolled up a bit of rag, dipped it in some
_eau de vie_ and water that I had with me, and gave it to him to suck.
This quieted him at once, and he seemed to enjoy the cordial. But I knew
that he would not be quiet long, therefore I made all haste to return to
Noroe. I had untied the cradle and placed it in the boat at my feet; and
while I attended to my sail, I watched the poor little one, and asked
myself where it could possibly have come from. Doubtless from some
shipwrecked vessel. A fierce tempest had been raging during the night,
and there had been many disasters. But by what means had this infant
escaped the fate of those who had had the charge of him? How had they
thought of tying him to the buoy? How many hours had he been floating on
the waves? Where were his father and mother, those who loved him? But
all these questions had to remain unanswered, the poor baby was unable
to give us any information. In half an hour I was at home, and gave my
new possession to Katrina. We had a cow then, and she was immediately
pressed into service as a nurse for the infant. He was so pretty, so
smiling, so rosy, when he had been fed and warmed before the fire, that
we fell in love with him at once; just the same as if he had been our
own. And then, you see, we took care of him; we brought him up, and we
have never made any difference between him and our own two children. Is
it not true, wife?" added Mr. Hersebom, turning toward Katrina.

"Very true, the poor little one," answered the good dame, drying her
eyes, which this recital had filled with tears. "And he is our child
now, for we have adopted him. I do not know why Mr. Malarius should say
anything to the contrary."

"It is true," said Hersebom, and I do not see that it concerns any one
but ourselves."

"That is so," said the doctor, in a conciliatory tone, "but you must
not accuse Mr. Malarius of being indiscreet. I was struck with the
physiognomy of the child, and I begged my friend confidentially to
relate his history. He told me that Erik believed himself to be your
son, and that every one in Noroe had forgotten how he had become
yours. Therefore, you see, I took care not to speak until the children
had been sent to bed. You say that he was about seven or eight months
old when you found him?"

"About that; he had already four teeth, the little brigand, and I assure
you that it was not long before he began to use them," said Hersebom,
laughing.

"Oh, he was a superb child," said Katrinn, eagerly. "He was so white,
and strong, and plump; and such arms and legs. You should have seen
them!"

"How was he dressed?" asked Dr. Schwaryencrona.

Hersebom did not answer, but his wife was less discreet.

"Like a little prince," she answered. "Imagine a robe of pique, trimmed
all over with lace, a pelisse of quilted satin, a cloak of white velvet,
and a little cap; the son of a king could not have more. Everything he
had was beautiful. But you can see for yourself, for I have kept them
all just as they were. You may be sure that we did not dress the baby in
them. Oh, no; I put Otto's little garments on him, which I had laid
away, and which also served, later on, for Vanda. But his outfit is
here, and I will show it to you."

While she was speaking, the worthy woman knelt down before a large oaken
chest, with an antique lock, and after lifting the lid, began searching
the compartments.

She drew out, one by one, all the garments of which she had spoken, and
displayed them with pride before the eyes of the doctor. She also showed
the linen, which was exquisitely fine, a little quilt of silk, and a
pair of white merino boots. All the articles were marked with the
initials "E.D.," elegantly embroidered, as the doctor saw at a glance.

"'E.D.;' is that why you named the child Erik?" he asked.

"Precisely," answered Katrina, who it was evident enjoyed this
exhibition, while her husband's face grew more gloomy. "See," she said,
"this is the most beautiful of all. He wore it around his neck."

And she drew from its box a rattle of coral and gold, suspended from a
little chain.

The initials "E.D." were here surrounded by a Latin motto, "Semper
idem."

"We thought at first it was the baby's name, but Mr. Malarius told us it
meant 'always the same,'" she continued, seeing that the doctor was
trying to decipher the motto.

"Mr. Malarius told you the truth," said the doctor. "It is evident the
child belonged to a rich and distinguished family," he added, while
Katrina replaced the babe's outfit in the oaken chest.

"Have you any idea what country he came from?"

"How could we know anything about it, since I found him on the sea?"
replied Hersebom.

"Yes, but the cradle was attached to a buoy, you said, and it is
customary on all vessels to write on the buoy the name of the ship to
which it belongs," answered the doctor, fixing his penetrating eyes upon
those of the fisherman.

"Doubtless," said the latter, hanging his head.

"Well, this buoy, what name did it bear?"

"Doctor, I am not a _savant_. I can read my own language a little, but
as for foreign tongues--and then it was so long ago."

"However, you ought to be able to remember something about it--and
doubtless you showed it to Mr. Malarius, with the rest of the
articles--make a little effort, Mr. Hersebom. Was not this name
inscribed on the buoy, 'Cynthia'?"

"I believe it was something like that," answered the fisherman vaguely.

"It is a strange name. To what country does it belong in your judgment,
Mr. Hersebom?"

"How should I know? Have I ever been beyond the shores of Noroe and
Bergen, except once or twice to fish off the coast of Greenland and
Iceland?" answered the good man, in a tone which grew more and more
morose.

"I think it is either an English or a German name," said the doctor,
taking no notice of his crossness. "It would be easy to decide on
account of the shape of the letters, if I could see the buoy. Have you
preserved it?"

"By my faith no. It was burnt up ages ago," answered Hersebom,
triumphantly.

"As near as Mr. Malarius could remember, the letters were Roman," said
the doctor, as if he were talking to himself--"and the letters on the
linen certainly are. It is therefore probable that the 'Cynthia' was not
a German vessel. I think it was an English one. Is not this your
opinion, Mr. Hersebom?"

"Well, I have thought little about it," replied the fisherman. "Whether
it was English, German, or Russian, makes no difference to me. For many
years according to all appearances, they have lain beneath the sea,
which alone could tell the secret."

"But you have doubtless made some effort to discover the family to whom
the child belonged?" said the doctor, whose glasses seemed to shine with
irony. "You doubtless wrote to the Governor of Bergen, and had him
insert an advertisement in the journals?"

"I!" cried the fisherman, "I did nothing of the kind. God knows where
the baby came from; why should I trouble myself about it? Can I afford
to spend money to find his people, who perhaps care little for him? Put
yourself in my place, doctor. I am not a millionaire, and you may be
sure if we had spent all we had, we should have discovered nothing. I
have done the best I could; we have raised the little one as our own
son, we have loved him and taken care of him."

"Even more than the two others, if it were possible," interrupted
Katrina, drying her eyes on the corner of her apron. "If we have
anything to reproach ourselves for, it is for bestowing upon him too
large a share of our tenderness."

"Dame Hersebom, you must not do me the injustice to suppose that your
kindness to the little shipwrecked child inspires me with any other
feeling than the greatest admiration," said the doctor.

"No, you must not think such a thing. But if you wish me to speak
frankly--I must say that this tenderness has blinded you to your duty.
You should have endeavored to discover the family of the infant, as far
as your means permitted."

There was perfect silence for a few minutes.

"It is possible that we have done wrong," said Mr. Hersebom, who had
hung his head under this reproach. "But what is done can not be altered.
Erik belongs to us now, and I do not wish any one to speak to him about
these old reminiscences."

"You need have no fear, I will not betray your confidence," answered the
doctor, rising.

"I must leave you, my good friends, and I wish you good-night--a night
free from remorse," he added, gravely.

Then he put on his fur cloak, and shook hands cordially with his hosts,
and being conducted to the door by Hersebom, he took the road toward his
factory.

The fisherman stood for a moment on the threshold, watching his
retreating figure in the moonlight.

"What a devil of a man!" he murmured, as at last he closed his door.




CHAPTER III.

MR. HERSEBOM'S REFLECTIONS.


The next morning Dr. Schwaryencrona had just finished breakfast with his
overseer, after having made a thorough inspection of his factory when he
saw a person enter whom he did not at first recognize as Mr. Hersebom.

He was clothed in his holiday suit: his embroidered waistcoat, his
furred riding coat, and his high hat, and the fisherman looked very
different to what he did in his working clothes. But what made the
change more apparent, was the deep sadness and humility portrayed in his
countenance. His eyes were red, and looked as if he had had no sleep all
the night.

This was in fact the case. Mr. Hersebom who up to this time had never
felt his conscience trouble him, had passed hours of sad remorse, on his
mattress of skins.

Toward morning he had exchanged confidences with Dame Katrina, who had
also been unable to close her eyes.

"Wife, I have been thinking of what the doctor said to us," he said,
after several hours of wakefulness.

"I have been thinking of it also, ever since he left us," answered his
worthy helpmate.

"It is my opinion that there is some truth in what he said, and that we
have perhaps acted more egotistically than we should have done. Who
knows but that the child may have a right to some great fortune, of
which he is deprived by our negligence? Who knows if his family have not
mourned for him these twelve years, and they could justly accuse us of
having made no attempt to restore him to them?"

"This is precisely what I have been saying to myself," answered Katrina,
sighing. "If his mother is living what frightful anguish the poor woman
must have endured, in believing that her infant was drowned. I put
myself in her place, and imagine that we had lost Otto in this manner.
We would never have been consoled."

"It is not thoughts of his mother that trouble me, for according to all
appearances, she is dead," said Hersebom, after a silence broken only by
their sighs.

"How can we suppose that an infant of that age would travel without her,
or that it would have been tied to a buoy and left to take its chances
on the ocean, if she had been living?"

"That is true; but what do we know about it, after all. Perhaps she also
has had a miraculous escape."

"Perhaps some one has taken her infant from her--this idea has often
occurred to me," answered Hersebom. "Some one might be interested in his
disappearance. To expose so young a child to such a hazardous proceeding
is so extraordinary that such conjectures are possible, and in this case
we have become accomplices of a crime--we have contributed to its
success. Is it not horrible to think of?"

"And we thought we were doing such a good and charitable work in
adopting the poor little one."

"Oh, it is evident that we had no malicious intentions. We nourished it,
and brought it up as well as we were able, but that does not prevent me
from seeing that we have acted rashly, and the little one will have a
right to reproach us some of these days."

"We need not be afraid of that, I am sure. But it is too bad that we
should feel at this late day that we have done anything for which we
must reproach ourselves."

"How strange it is that the same action regarded from a different point
of view, can be judged so differently. I never would have thought of
such a thing. And yet a few words from the doctor seems to have turned
my brain."

Thus these good people talked during the night.

The result of their nocturnal conversation was that Mr. Hersebom
resolved to call upon the doctor, and ask him what they could do to make
amends for the error of which they had been guilty.

Dr. Schwaryencrona did not revert to the conversation which had taken
place the previous evening. He appeared to regard the visit of the
fisherman as simply an act of politeness, and received him cordially,
and began talking about the weather and the price of fish.

Mr. Hersebom tried to lead the conversation toward the subject which
occupied his mind. He spoke of Mr. Malarius' school, and at last said
plainly: "Doctor, my wife and I have been thinking all night about what
you said to us last evening about the boy. We never thought that we were
doing him a wrong in educating him as our son. But you have changed our
opinion, and we want to know what you would advise us to do, in order to
repair our fault. Do you think that we still ought to seek to find
Erik's family?"

"It is never too late to do our duty," said the doctor, "although the
task is certainly much more difficult now than it would have been at
first."

"Will you interest yourself in the matter?"

"I will, with pleasure," answered the doctor; "and I promise you to use
every exertion to fulfill it, upon one condition: that is, that you let
me take the boy to Stockholm."

If Mr. Hersebom had been struck on the head with a club, he would not
have been more astonished than he was by this proposal.

"Intrust Erik to you! Send him to Stockholm! Why should I do this,
doctor?" he asked, in an altered voice.

"I will tell you. My attention was drawn to the child, not only on
account of his physical appearance, which was so different to that of
his companions, but by his great intelligence and his evident taste
for study. Before knowing the circumstances which had brought him to
Noroe, I said to myself that it was a shame to leave a boy so gifted
in a village school--even under such a master as Malarius; for here
there is nothing to assist in the development of his exceptionally
great faculties. There are no museums, nor scientific collections, nor
libraries, nor competitors who are worthy of him. I felt a strong
desire to give him the advantages of a complete education. You can
understand that, after the confidence which you have bestowed upon me,
I am more anxious to do so than before. You can see, Mr. Hersebom,
that your adopted son belongs to some rich and distinguished family.
If I succeed in finding them, would you wish to restore to them a
child educated in a village, and deprived of this education, without
which he will feel out of place among his kindred? It is not
reasonable; and you are too sensible not to understand it."

Mr. Hersebom hung his head: without his being aware of it, two large
tears rolled down his cheeks.

"But then," he said, "this would be an entire separation. Before we
ever know whether the child will find his relations, he must be taken
from his home. It is asking too much, doctor--asking too much of my
wife. The child is happy with us. Why can he not be left alone, at
least until he is sure of a better one?"

"Happy. How do you know that he will be so when he grows older? How
can you tell whether he may not regret having been saved? Intelligent
and superior as he will be, perhaps he would be stifled with the life
which you would offer him in Noroe."

"But, doctor, this life which you disdain, is good enough for us. Why is
it not good enough for him?"

"I do not disdain it," said the doctor. "Nobody admires and honors those
who work more than I do. Do you believe, Mr. Hersebom, that I forget my
birth? My father and grandfather were fishermen like yourself, and it is
just because they were so far-seeing as to educate me, that I appreciate
the value of it, and I would assure it to a child who merits it. It is
his interest alone which guides me, I beg of you to believe."

"Ah--what do I know about it? Erik will be almost grown up when you have
made a gentleman of him, and he will not know how to use his arms. Then
if you do not find his family, which is more than possible, since twelve
years have passed since I found him, what a beautiful future we are
preparing for him! Do you not see, doctor, that a fisherman's life is a
brave one--better than any other: with a good boat under his feet and
four or five dozen of cod-fish at the end of his lines, a Norwegian
fisherman need have no fear, nor be indebted to any one. You say that
Erik would not be happy leading such a life. Permit me to believe the
contrary. I know the child well, he loves his books, but, above all, he
loves the sea. It also almost seems as if he felt that he had been
rocked upon it, and all the museums in the world would not console him
for the loss of it."

"But we have the sea around us also at Stockholm," said the doctor,
smiling--touched in spite of himself by this affectionate resistance.

"Well," said the fisherman, crossing his arms, "what do you wish to do?
what do you propose, doctor?"

"There, you see, after all, the necessity of doing something. Well this
is my proposition--Erik is twelve years old, nearly thirteen, and he
appears to be highly gifted. We will say nothing about his origin--he is
worthy of being supplied with the means of developing and utilizing his
faculties; that is all we need trouble ourselves about at present. I am
rich, and I have no children. I will undertake to furnish the means, and
give him the best masters, and all possible facilities for profiting by
their instructions. I will do this for two years. During this time I
will make inquiries, insert advertisements in the newspapers; make every
possible exertion, move heaven and earth to discover his parents. If I
do not find them in two years, we shall never do it. If his relatives
are found, they will naturally decide his future career in life. If we
do not find them, I will send Erik back to you. He will then be fifteen
years old--he will have seen something of the world. The hour will have
arrived to tell him the truth about his birth. Then aided by our advice,
and the opinions of his teachers, he can choose what path he would
prefer to follow. If he wishes to become a fisherman, I will not oppose
it. If he wishes to continue his studies, I engage to furnish the means
for him to follow any profession that he may choose. Does this seem a
reasonable proposition to you?"

"More than reasonable. It is wisdom itself issuing from your lips,
doctor," said Mr. Hersebom, overcome in spite of himself. "See what it
is to have an education!" he continued, shaking his head. "The
difficulty will be to repeat all you have said to my wife. When will you
take the child away?"

"To-morrow. I can not delay my return to Stockholm any longer."

Mr. Hersebom heaved a deep sigh, which was almost a sob.

"To-morrow! So soon!" he said. "Well, what must be, must be. I will go
and talk to my wife about it."

"Yes, do so, and consult Mr. Malarius also; you will find that he is of
my opinion."

"I do not doubt it," answered the fisherman, with a sad smile.

He shook the hand which Dr. Schwaryencrona held out to him, and went
away looking very thoughtful.

That evening before dinner the doctor again directed his steps toward
the dwelling of Mr. Hersebom. He found the family assembled round the
hearth, as they were the evening before, but not wearing the same
appearance of peaceful happiness. The father was seated the furthest
from the fire, silent, and with idle hands. Katrina, with tears in her
eyes, held Erik's hands between her own, whose cheeks were reddened by
the hope of the new destiny which seemed opening before him, but who
looked sad at leaving all whom he loved, and who did not know what
feeling he ought to yield to.

Little Vanda's face was hidden in her father's knees, and nothing could
be seen except her long braids of golden hair. Otto, also greatly
troubled at this proposed separation, sat motionless beside his brother.

"How sad and disconsolate you look!" said the doctor, stopping on the
threshold. "If Erik were about to set out on a distant and most perilous
expedition you could not show more grief. He is not going to do anything
of the kind, I assure you, my good friends. Stockholm is not at the
antipodes, and the child is not going away forever. He can write to you,
and I do not doubt that he will do so often. He is only going away to
school, like so many other boys. In two years he will return tall, and
well-informed, and accomplished, I hope. Is this anything to feel sad
about? Seriously, it is not reasonable."

Katrina arose with the natural dignity of the peasant of the North.

"Doctor," she said, "God is my witness that I am profoundly grateful to
you for what you propose to do for Erik--but we can not help feeling sad
because of his departure. Mr. Hersebom has explained to me that it is
necessary, and I submit. Do not think that I shall feel no regret."

"Mother," said Erik, "I will not go, if it causes you such pain."

"No, child," answered the worthy woman, taking him in her arms.
"Education is a benefit which we have no right to refuse you. Go, my
son, and thank the doctor who has provided it for you, and prove to him
by constant application to your studies that you appreciate his
kindness."

"There, there," said the doctor, whose glasses were dimmed by a singular
cloudiness, "let us rather speak of practical matters, that will be
better. You know, do you not, that we must set out to-morrow very early,
and that you must have everything ready. We will go by sleigh to Bergen,
and thence by railroad. Erik only needs a change of linen, I will
procure everything else that is necessary at Stockholm."

"Everything shall be ready," answered Dame Hersebom.

"Vanda," she added, with Norwegian hospitality, "the doctor is still
standing."

The little girl hurriedly pushed a large arm-chair toward him.

"I can not stay," said the doctor. "I promised my friend Malarius to
dine with him, and he is waiting for me. Little girl," he said, laying
his hand gently upon Vanda's blonde head, "I hope you do not wish me any
harm because I am taking your brother away from you?"

"No, doctor," she answered gravely. "Erik will be happier with you--he
was not intended to live in a village."

"And you, little one, will you be very unhappy without him?"

"The shore will seem deserted," she answered; "the seagulls will look
for him without finding him, the little waves will be astonished because
they no longer see him, and the house will seem empty, but Erik will be
contented, because he will have plenty of books, and he will become a
learned man."

"And his little sister will rejoice in his happiness--is it not so, my
child?" said the doctor, kissing the forehead of the little girl. "And
she will be proud of him when he returns--see we have arranged the whole
matter--but I must hurry away. Good-bye until to-morrow."

"Doctor," murmured Vanda, timidly, "I wish to ask a favor of you!"

"Speak, child."

"You are going in a sleigh, you said. I wish with my papa's and mamma's
permission to drive you to the first relay."

"Ah, ah! but I have already arranged that. Reguild, the daughter of my
overseer, should do this."

"Yes, I know it, but she is willing that I should take her place, if you
will authorize me to do so."

"Well, in that case you have only to obtain the permission of your
father and mother."

"I have done so."

"Then you have mine also, dear child," said the doctor, and he took his
departure.

The next morning when the sleigh stopped before the door of Mr. Hersebom
little Vanda held the reins according to her desire, seated upon the
front seat.

She was going to drive them to the next village, where the doctor would
procure another horse and sleigh, and thus procure relays until he
reached Bergen. This new kind of coachman always astonishes a stranger,
but it is the custom in Norway and Sweden. The men would think it a loss
of time to pursue such a calling, and it is not rare to see children of
ten or twelve years of age managing heavy equipages with perfect ease.

The doctor was already installed in the back of the sleigh, nearly
hidden by his furs. Erik took his seat beside Vanda, after having
tenderly embraced his father and brother, who contented themselves by
showing by their mute sadness the sorrow which his departure caused
them; but the good Katrina was more open in the expression of her
feelings.

"Adieu, my son!" she said, in the midst of her tears. "Never forget what
you have learned from your poor parents--be honest, and brave, and never
tell a lie. Work as hard as you can--always protect those who are weaker
than yourself--and if you do not find the happiness you merit come back
and seek it with us."

Vanda touched the horse which set out at a trot, and made the bells
ring. The air was cold, and the road as hard as glass. Just above the
horizon a pale sun began to throw his golden beams upon the snowy
landscape. In a few minutes Noroe was out of sight behind them.




CHAPTER IV.

AT STOCKHOLM.


Doctor Schwaryencrona lived in a magnificent house in Stockholm. It was
in the oldest and most aristocratic quarter of the charming capital,
which is one of the most pleasant and agreeable in Europe. Strangers
would visit it much more frequently if it were better known and more
fashionable. But tourists, unfortunately for themselves, plan their
journeys much upon the same principle as they purchase their hats.
Situated between Lake Melar and the Baltic, it is built upon eight small
islands, connected by innumerable bridges, and bordered by splendid
quays, enlivened by numerous steam-boats, which fulfill the duties of
omnibuses. The population are hardworking, gay, and contented. They are
the most hospitable, the most polite, and the best educated of any
nation in Europe. Stockholm, with its libraries, its museums, its
scientific establishments, is in fact the Athens of the North, as well
as a very important commercial center.

Erik, however, had not recovered from the sadness incident upon parting
from Vanda, who had left them at the first relay. Their parting had been
more sorrowful than would have been expected at their age, but they had
not been able to conceal their emotion.

When the carriage stopped before a large brick house, whose double
windows shone resplendently with gaslight, Erik was fairly dazzled. The
copper knocker of the door appeared to him to be of fine gold. The
vestibule, paved with marble and ornamented with statues, bronze
torches, and large Chinese-vases, completed his amazement.

A footman in livery removed his master's furs, and inquired after his
health with the affectionate cordiality which is habitual with Swedish
servants. Erik looked around him with amazement.

The sound of voices attracted his attention toward the broad oaken
staircase, covered with heavy carpet. He turned, and saw two persons
whose costumes appeared to him the height of elegance.

One was a lady with gray hair, and of medium height, who wore a dress of
black cloth, short enough to show her red stockings with yellow
clock-work, and her buckled shoes. An enormous bunch of keys attached to
a steel chain hung at her side. She carried her head high, and looked
about her with piercing eyes. This was "Fru," or Madame Greta--Maria,
the lady in charge of the doctor's house, and who was the undisputed
autocrat of the mansion in everything that pertained to the culinary or
domestic affairs. Behind her came a little girl, eleven or twelve years
old, who appeared to Erik like a fairy princess. Instead of the national
costume, the only one which he had ever seen worn by a child of that
age, she had on a dress of deep blue velvet, over which her yellow hair
was allowed to fall loosely. She wore black stockings and satin shoes; a
knot of cherry-colored ribbon was poised in her hair like a butterfly,
and gave a little color to her pale cheeks, while her large eyes shone
with a phosphorescent light.

"How delightful, uncle, to have you back again! Have you had a pleasant
journey?" she cried, clasping the doctor around the neck. She hardly
deigned to cast a glance at Erik, who stood modestly aside.

The doctor returned her caresses, and shook hands with his housekeeper,
then he made a sign for Erik to advance.

"Kajsa, and Dame Greta, I ask your friendship for Erik Hersebom, whom I
have brought from Norway with me!" he said, "and you, my boy, do not be
afraid," he said kindly. "Dame Greta is not as severe as she looks, and
you and my niece Kajsa, will soon be the best of friends, is it not so,
little girl?" he added, pinching gently the cheek of the little fairy.

Kajsa only responded by making a disdainful face.

As for the housekeeper, she did not appear very enthusiastic over the
new recruit thus presented to her notice.

"If you please, doctor," she said, with a severe air, as they ascended
the staircase, "may I ask who this child is?"

"Certainly, Dame Greta; I will tell you all about it before long. Do not
be afraid; but now, if you please, give us something to eat."

In the "matsal," or dining-room, the table was beautifully laid with
damask and crystal, and the "snorgas" was ready.

Poor Erik had never seen a table covered with a white cloth, for they
are unknown to the peasants of Norway, who hardly use plates, as they
have only recently been introduced, and many of them still eat their
fish on rounds of black bread, and find it very good. Therefore the
doctor had to repeat his invitation several times before the boy took
his seat at the table, and the awkwardness of his movements caused
"Froken," or Miss Kajsa, to cast upon him more than one ironical glance
during the repast. However, his journey had sharpened his appetite, and
this was of great assistance to him.

The "snorgas" was followed by a dinner that would have frightened a
Frenchman by its massive solidity, and would have sufficed to appease
the appetites of a battalion of infantry after a long march. Soup, fish,
home-made bread, goose stuffed with chestnuts, boiled beef, flanked with
a mountain of vegetables, a pyramid of potatoes, hard-boiled eggs by the
dozen, and a raisin pudding; all these were gallantly attacked and
dismantled.

This plentiful repast being ended, almost without a word having been
spoken, they passed into the parlor, a large wainscoted room, with six
windows draped with heavy curtains, large enough to have sufficed a
Parisian artist with hangings for the whole apartment. The doctor seated
himself in a corner by the fire, in a large leather arm-chair, Kajsa
took her place at his feet upon a footstool, whilst Erik, intimidated
and ill at ease, approached one of the windows, and would have gladly
hidden himself in its deep embrasure.

But the doctor did not leave him alone long.

"Come and warm yourself, my boy!" he said, in his sonorous voice; "and
tell us what you think of Stockholm."

"The streets are very black and very narrow, and the houses are very
high," said Erik.

"Yes, a little higher than they are in Norway," answered the doctor,
laughing.

"They prevent one from seeing the stars!" said the young boy.

"Because we are in the quarter where the nobility live," said Kajsa,
piqued by his criticisms. "When you pass the bridges the streets are
broader."

"I saw that as we rode along; but the best of them are not as wide as
that which borders the fiord of Noroe," answered Erik.

"Ah, ah!" said the doctor, "are you home-sick already?"

"No," answered Erik, resolutely. "I am too much obliged to you, dear
doctor, for having brought me. But you asked me what I thought of
Stockholm, and I had to answer."

"Noroe must be a frightful little hole," said Kajsa.

"A frightful little hole!" repeated Erik, indignantly. "Those who say
that must be without eyes. If you could only see our rocks of granite,
our mountains, our glaciers, and our forests of pine, looking so black
against the pale sky! And besides all this, the great sea; sometimes
tumultuous and terrible, and sometimes so calm as scarcely to rock one;
and then the flight of the sea-gulls, which are lost in infinitude, and
then return, to fan you with their wings. Oh, it is beautiful! Yes, far
more beautiful than a town."

"I was not speaking of the country but of the houses," said Kajsa, "they
are only peasants' cabins--are they not, uncle?"

"In these peasants' cabins, your father and grandfather as well as
myself were born, my child," answered the doctor, gravely.

Kajsa blushed and remained silent.

"They are only wooden houses, but they answer as well as any," said
Erik.

"Often in the evening while my father mends his nets, and my mother is
busy with her spinning-wheel, we three sit on a little bench, Otto,
Vanda, and I, and we repeat together the old sagas, while we watch the
shadows that play upon the ceiling; and when the wind blows outside, and
all the fishermen are safe at home, it does one good to gather around
the blazing fire. We are just as happy as if we were in a beautiful room
like this."

"This is not the best room," said Kajsa proudly. "I must show you the
grand drawing-room, it is worth seeing!"

"But there are so many books in this one," said Erik, "are there as many
in the drawing-room?"

"Books--who cares for them? There are velvet armchairs, and sofas, lace
curtains, a splendid French clock, and carpets from Turkey!"

Erik did not appear to be fascinated by this description, but cast
envious glances toward the large oaken bookcase, which filled one side
of the parlor!

"You can go and examine the books, and take any you like," said the
doctor. Erik did not wait for him to repeat this permission. He chose a
volume at once, and seating himself in a corner where there was a good
light, he was soon completely absorbed in his reading. He hardly noticed
the successive entrance of two old gentlemen, who were intimate friends
of Dr. Schwaryencrona, and who came almost every evening to play a game
of whist with him.

The first who arrived was Professor Hochstedt, a large man with cold and
stately manners, who expressed in polished terms the pleasure which he
felt at the doctor's safe return. He was scarcely seated in the
arm-chair which had long borne the name of the "professor's seat," when
a sharp ring was heard.

"It is Bredejord," exclaimed the two friends simultaneously.

The door soon opened to admit a thin sprightly little man, who entered
like a gust of wind, seized both the doctor's hands, kissed Kajsa on the
forehead affectionately, greeted the professor, and cast a glance as
keen as that of a mouse around the room.

It was the Advocate Bredejord, one of the most illustrious lawyers of
Stockholm.

"Ha! Who is this?" said he, suddenly, as he beheld Erik.

The doctor tried to explain in as few words as possible.

"What--a young fisherman, or rather a boy from Bergen--and who reads
Gibbon in English?" he asked. For he saw at a glance what the book was
which so absorbed the little peasant.

"Does that interest you, my boy?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, it is a work that I have wanted to read for a long time, the
first volume of the 'Fall of the Roman Empire,'" answered Erik, simply.

"Upon my word," exclaimed the lawyer, "it appears that the peasants of
Bergen are fond of serious reading. But are you from Bergen?" he asked.

"I am from Noroe, which is not far from there," answered Erik.

"Ah, have they usually eyes and hair as brown as yours at Noroe?"

"No, sir; my brother and sister, and all the others, are blondes like
Miss Kajsa. But they are not dressed like her," he added, laughing;
"therefore they do not look much like her."

"No; I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Bredejord. "Miss Kajsa is a
product of civilization. And what are you going to do at Stockholm, my
boy, if I am not too curious?"

"The doctor has been kind enough to offer to send me to school," said
Erik.

"Ah, ah!" said Mr. Bredejord, tapping his snuff-box with the ends of his
fingers.

His glance seemed to question the doctor about this living problem; but
the latter made a sign to him, which was almost imperceptible, not to
pursue his investigations, and he changed the conversation. They then
talked about court affairs, the city news, and all that had taken place
since the departure of the doctor. Then Dame Greta came, and opened the
card-table, and laid out the cards. Soon silence reigned, while the
three friends were absorbed in the mysteries of whist.

The doctor made pretension to being a great player, and had no mercy for
the mistakes of his partners. He exulted loudly when their errors caused
him to win, and scolded when they made him lose. After every rubber he
took pleasure in showing the delinquent where he had erred; what card he
should have led, and which he should have held back. It is generally the
habit of whist-players, but it is not always conducive to amiability,
particularly when the victims are the same every evening.

Happily for him, the doctor's two friends never lost their temper. The
professor was habitually cool, and the lawyer severely skeptical.

"You are right," the first would say gravely, in answer to the most
severe reproaches.

"My dear Schwaryencrona, you know very well you are only losing your
time lecturing me," Mr. Bredejord would say, laughing. "All my life I
have made the greatest blunders whenever I play whist, and the worst of
it is, I do not improve." What could any one do with two such hardened
sinners?

The doctor was compelled to discontinue his criticisms, but it was only
to renew them a quarter of an hour later, for he was incorrigible.

It happened, however, that this evening he lost every game, and his
consequent ill-humor made his criticisms very severe upon his two
companions, and even upon the "dummy."

But the professor coolly acknowledged his faults, and the lawyer
answered his most bitter reproaches by jokes.

"Why should I alter my play, when I win by playing badly, and you lose
by following your correct rules?" he said to the doctor.

They played until ten o'clock. Then Kajsa made the tea in a magnificent
"samovar," and served it with pretty gracefulness; then she discreetly
disappeared. Soon Dame Greta appeared, and, calling Erik, she conducted
him to the apartment which had been prepared for him. It was a pretty
little room, clean and well furnished, on the second floor.

The three friends were now left alone.

"Now, at last, you can tell us who this young fisherman from Noroe is,
who reads Gibbon in the original text?" said Mr. Bredejord, as he put
some sugar into his second cup of tea. "Or is it a forbidden subject,
which it is indiscreet for me to mention?"

"There is nothing mysterious about the matter, and I will willingly tell
you Erik's history, for I know that I can rely upon your discretion,"
answered Dr. Schwaryencrona.

"Ah! I knew that he had a history," said the lawyer, seating himself
comfortably in his arm-chair. "We will listen, dear doctor. I assure you
that your confidence will not be misplaced. I confess this youth arouses
my curiosity like a problem."

"He is, indeed, a living problem," answered the doctor, flattered by the
curiosity of his friend. "A problem which I hope to be able to solve.
But I must tell you all about it, and see if you think as I do."

The doctor settled himself comfortably, and began by telling them that
he had been struck by Erik's appearance in the school at Noroe, and by
his unusual intelligence. He had made inquiries about him, and he
related all that Mr. Malarius and Mr. Hersebom had told. He omitted none
of the details. He spoke of the buoy, of the name of "Cynthia," of the
little garments which Dame Katrina had shown him, of the coral ornament,
of the device upon it, and of the character of the letters.

"You are now in possession of all the facts as far as I have been able
to learn them," he said. "And you must bear in mind that the
extraordinary ability of the child is only a secondary phenomenon, and
largely due to the interest with which Mr. Malarius has always regarded
him, and of which he has made the best use. It was his unusual
acquirements which first drew my attention to him and led me to make
inquiries about him. But in reality this has little connection with the
questions which now occupy me, which are: where did this child come
from, and what course would it be best for me to take in order to
discover his family? We have only two facts to guide us in this search.
First: The physical indications of the race to which the child belongs.
Second: The name 'Cynthia,' which was engraved on the buoy.

"As to the first fact, there can be no doubt; the child belongs to the
Celtic race. He presents the type of a Celt in all its beauty and
purity.

"Let us pass to the second fact:

"'Cynthia' is certainly the name of the vessel to which the buoy
belonged. This name might have belonged to a German vessel, as well as
to an English one; but it was written in the Roman characters.
Therefore, the vessel was an English one--or we will say Anglo-Saxon to
be more precise. Besides, everything confirms the hypothesis, for more
than one English vessel going and coming from Inverness, or the Orkneys,
have been driven on the coast of Norway by a tempest; and you must not
forget that the little living waif could not have been floating for a
long while, since he had resisted hunger, and all the dangers of his
perilous journey. Well, now you know all, and what is your conclusion my
dear friends?"

Neither the professor nor the lawyer thought it prudent to utter a word.

"You have not been able to arrive at any conclusion," said the doctor,
in a tone which betrayed a secret triumph. "Perhaps you even think there
is a contradiction between the two facts--a child of the Celtic race--an
English Vessel. But this is simply because you have failed to bear in
mind the existence on the coast of Great Britain of a people of the
Celtic race, on her sister island, Ireland. I did not think of it at
first myself, and it prevented me from solving the problem. But when it
occurred to me, I said to myself: the child is Irish. Is this your
opinion, Hochstedt?"

If there was anything in the world the professor disliked, it was to
give a positive opinion upon any subject. It must also be confessed that
to give such an opinion in this case would have been premature. He
therefore contented himself with nodding his head, and saying:

"It is an incontestable fact that the Irish belong to the Celtic branch
of the Arian race."

This was a sufficiently safe aphorism, but Doctor Schwaryencrona asked
nothing more, and only saw in it the entire confirmation of his theory.

"You think so, yourself," he said eagerly. "The Irish were Celts, and
the child has all the characteristics of the race. The 'Cynthia' having
been an English vessel, it appears to me that we are in possession of
the necessary links, in order to find the family of the poor child. It
is in Great Britain that we must look for them. Some advertisements in
the 'Times' will probably be sufficient to put us on their tracks."

The doctor continued to enlarge upon his plan of proceeding, when he
remarked the obstinate silence of the lawyer and the slightly ironical
expression with which he listened to his conclusions.

"If you are not of my opinion, Bredejord, I wish you would say so. You
know that I do not fear to discuss the matter," he said, stopping short.

"I have nothing to say," answered Mr. Bredejord. "Hochstedt can bear
witness that I have said nothing."

"No. But I see very well that you do not share my opinion; and I am
curious to know why," said the doctor.

"Is Cynthia an English name?" he asked, with vehemence. "Yes! it was
written in Roman characters--it could not have been German. You have
heard our eminent friend, Hochstedt, affirm that the Irish are Celts.
Has the child all the characteristics of the Celtic race? You can judge
for yourself. You were struck by his appearance before I opened my mouth
about the subject. I conclude, therefore, that it is a want of
friendship for you to refuse to agree with me, and recognize the fact
that the boy belongs to an Irish family."

"Want of friendship is a strong charge," answered Mr. Bredejord, "if you
apply it to me. I can only say that I have not, as yet, expressed the
slightest opinion."

"No; but I see that you do not spare mine."

"Have I not a right?"

"But give some facts to support your theory."

"I have not said that I have formed any."

"Then it is a systematic opposition, just for the sake of contradicting
me, as you do in whist."

"Nothing is further from my thoughts, I assure you. Your reasoning
appeared to me to be too peremptory, that is all."

"In what way, if you please, I am curious to know?"

"It would take too long to tell you. Eleven o'clock is striking. I will
content myself with offering you a bet. Your copy of Pliny against my
Quintilian, that you have not judged rightly, and that the child is not
Irish."

"You know that I do not like to bet," said the doctor, softened by his
unconquerable good humor. "But I shall take so much pleasure in your
discomfiture that I accept your offer."

"Well, then it is a settled affair. How much time do you expect to take
for your researches?"

"A few months will suffice, I hope, but I have said two years to
Hersebom, in order to be sure that no efforts were wanting."

"Ah! well--I give you two years. Hochstedt shall be our witness; and
there is no ill-feeling, I hope?"

"Assuredly not, but I see your Quintilian in great danger of coming to
keep company with my Pliny," answered the doctor.

Then, after shaking hands with his two friends, he accompanied them to
the door.




CHAPTER V.

THE THIRTEEN DAYS OF CHRISTMAS.


The next day Erik began his new life at school.

Dr. Schwaryencrona first took him to his tailors, and fitted him out
with some new suits of clothes; then he introduced him to the principal
of one of the best schools in town. It was called in Swedish "Hogre
elementar larovek."

In this school were taught the ancient and modern languages, the
elementary sciences, and all that it was necessary to learn before
entering college. As in Germany and Italy, the students did not board in
the college. They lived with their families in the town, with the
professors, or wherever they could obtain comfortable accommodations.
The charges are very moderate; in fact, they have been reduced almost to
nothing. Large gymnasiums are attached to each of the higher classes,
and physical culture is as carefully attended to as the intellectual.

Erik at once gained the head of his division. He learned everything with
such extreme facility that he had a great deal of time to himself. The
doctor therefore thought that it would be better for him to utilize his
evenings by taking a course at the "Slodjskolan," the great industrial
school of Stockholm. It was an establishment especially devoted to the
practice of the sciences, particularly to making experiments in physics
and chemistry, and to geometrical constructions which are only taught
theoretically in the schools.

Doctor Schwaryencrona judged rightly that the teachings of this school,
which was one of the wonders of Stockholm, would give a new impetus to
the rapid progress which Erik was making, and he hoped for great results
from this double training.

His young _protege_, proved worthy of the advantages which he procured
for him. He penetrated the depths of the fundamental sciences, and
instead of vague and superficial ideas, the ordinary lot of so many
pupils, he stored up a provision of just, precise, and definite facts.
The future development of these excellent principles could only be a
question of time.

Hereafter he would be able to learn without difficulty the more elevated
branches of these studies which would be required in college; in fact it
would be only play to him.

The same service which Mr. Malarius had rendered him, in teaching him
languages, history, and botany, the "Slodjskolan" now did for him by
inculcating the A, B, C, of the industrial arts; without which the best
teaching so often remains a dead letter.

Far from fatiguing Erik's brain, the multiplicity and variety of his
studies strengthened it much more than a special course of instruction
could have done.

Besides, the gymnasium was always open to him to recruit his body when
his studies were over; and here as well as in the school Erik stood
first. On holidays he never failed to pay a visit to the sea which he
loved with filial tenderness. He talked with the sailors and fishermen,
and often brought home a fine fish, which was well received by Dame
Greta.

This good woman had conceived a great affection for this new member of
the household. Erik was so gentle, and naturally so courteous and
obliging, so studious and so brave, that it was impossible to know him
and not to like him. In eight days he had become a favorite with Mr.
Bredejord and Mr. Hochstedt, as he was already with Doctor
Schwaryencrona.

The only person who treated him with coldness was Kajsa. Whether the
little fairy thought that her hitherto undisputed sovereignty in the
house was in danger, or whether she bore Erik a grudge, because of the
sarcasms which her aristocratic air toward him inspired in the doctor,
nobody knew. However, she persisted in treating him with a disdainful
coldness, which no courtesy or politeness on his part could overcome.
Her opportunities of displaying her disdain were fortunately rare, for
Erik was always either out-of-doors, or else busy in his own little
room.

Time passed in the most peaceful manner, and without any notable
incidents.

We will pass with our reader without further comment over the two years
which Erik spent at school and return to Noroe.

Christmas had returned for the second time since Erik's departure. It is
in all Central and Northern Europe the great annual festival; because it
is coincident with the dull season in nearly all industries. In Norway
especially, they prolong the festival for thirteen days.--"Tretten yule
dage" (the thirteen days of Christmas), and they make it a season of
great rejoicings. It is a time for family reunions, for dinners, and
even for weddings.

Provisions are abundant, even in the poorest dwellings. Everywhere the
greatest hospitality is the order of the day.

The "Yule ol," or Christmas beer, is drunk freely. Every visitor is
offered a bumper in a wooden cup, mounted in gold, silver, or copper,
which the poorest families possess, and which cups have been transmitted
to them from time immemorial. The visitor must empty this cup, and
exchange with his hosts the joyful wishes of the season, and for a happy
New Year.

It is also at Christmas that the servants receive their new clothes;
which are often the best part of their wages--that the cows, and sheep,
and even the birds of the air, receive a double ration, which is
exceptionally large. They say in Norway of a "poor man," that he is so
poor that he can not even give the sparrows their dinner at Christmas.

Of these thirteen traditional days, Christmas-eve is the gayest. It is
the custom for the young girls and boys to go around in bands on their
"schnee-schuhe," or snow-shoes, and stop before the houses, and sing in
chorus the old national melodies. The clear voices suddenly sounding
through the fresh night air, in the lonely valleys, with their wintery
surroundings, have an odd and charming effect. The doors are immediately
opened, the singers are invited to enter, and they offer them cake,
dried apples, and ale; and often make them dance. After this frugal
supper the joyous band depart, like a flock of gulls, to perform the
same ceremony further away. Distances are regarded as nothing, for on
their "schnee-schuhe," which are attached to their feet by leather
straps, they glide over several miles with marvelous rapidity. The
peasants of Norway also use, with these show-shoes, a strong stick, to
balance themselves, and help them along. This year the festival would be
a joyous one for the Herseboms. They were expecting Erik.

A letter from Stockholm had announced that he would arrive that evening.
Therefore Otto and Vanda could not sit still. Every moment they ran to
the door, to see if he was coming. Dame Katrina, although she reproved
them for their impatience, felt in the same way herself. Mr. Hersebom
smoked his pipe silently, and was divided in his mind between a longing
to see his adopted son, and the fear that he would not be able to keep
him with them very long.

For the fiftieth time, perhaps, Otto had gone to the door, when he gave
a shout and cried out:

"Mother! Vanda! I believe it is he!"

They all rushed to the door. In the distance, on the road which led from
Bergen, they saw a black object. It grew larger rapidly, and soon took
the shape of a young man, clothed in gray cloth, wearing a fur cap, and
carrying merrily over his shoulders a knapsack of green leather. He had
on snow-shoes, and would soon be near enough to recognize.

The traveler perceived those who were watching before the door, and
taking off his cap, he waved it around his head.

Two minutes later Erick was in the arms of Katrina, Otto, Vanda, and
even Mr. Hersebom, who had left his arm-chair and advanced to the door.

They hugged him, and almost stifled him with caresses. They went into
ecstasies over his improved appearance. Dame Katrina among them all
could not get accustomed to it.

"What--is this the dear babe that I nursed on my knees?" she cried.
"This great boy, with such a frank and resolute air, with these strong
shoulders, this elegant form, and on whose lip I can already see signs
of a mustache. Is it possible?"

The brave woman was conscious of feeling a sort of respect for her
former nursling. She was proud of him, above all for the tears of joy
which she saw in his eyes. For he also was deeply affected.

"Mother, is it really you," he exclaimed. "I can hardly believe that I
am with you all again. The two years have seemed so long to me. I have
missed you all, as I know you have missed me."

"Yes," said Mr. Hersebom, gravely. "Not a day has passed without our
having spoken of you. Morning and evening, and at meal times, it was
your name that was constantly on our lips. But you, my boy, you have not
forgotten us in the grand city? You are contented to return and see the
old country and the old house?"

"I am sure that you do not doubt it," said Erik, as he embraced them
all. "You were always in my thoughts. But above all when the wind blew a
gale. I thought of you, father. I said to myself, Where is he? Has he
returned home in safety? And in the evening I used to read the
meteorological bulletin in the doctor's newspaper, to see what kind of
weather you had had on the coast of Norway; if it was the same as on the
coast of Sweden?--and I found that you have severe storms more often
than we have in Stockholm, which come from America, and beat on our
mountains. Ah! how often I have wished that I could be with you in your
little boat to help you with the sail, and overcome all difficulties.
And on the other hand when the weather was fine it seemed to me as if I
was in prison in that great city, between the tall three-story houses.
Yes! I would have given all the world to be on the sea for one hour, and
to feel as formerly free, and joyfully exhilarated by the fresh air!"

A smile brightened the weather-beaten face of the fisherman.

"His books have not spoiled him," he said. "A joyful season and a happy
New-Year to you, my child!" he added. "Come, let us go to the table.
Dinner is only waiting for you."

When he was once more seated in his old place on the right hand of
Katrina, Erik was able to look around him, and mark the changes that two
years had made in the family. Otto was now a large, robust boy of
sixteen years of age, and who looked twenty. As for Vanda, two years had
added wonderfully to her size and beauty. Her countenance had become
more refined. Her magnificent blonde hair, which lay in heavy braids
upon her shoulders, formed around her forehead a light silvery cloud.
Modest and sweet as usual, she busied herself, almost unconsciously,
with seeing that no one wanted for anything.

"Vanda has grown to be a great girl!" said her mother, proudly. "And if
you knew, Erik, how learned she has become, how hard she has worked and
studied since you left us! She is the best scholar in the school now,
and Mr. Malarius says she is his only consolation for no longer having
you among his pupils."

"Dear Mr. Malarius! how glad I shall be to see him again," said Erik.
"So our Vanda has become so learned, has she?" he replied with interest,
while the young girl blushed up to the roots of her hair at these
maternal praises.

"She has learned to play the organ also, and Mr. Malarius says that she
has the sweetest voice of all the choir?"

"Oh, decidedly, it is a very accomplished young person whom I find on my
return," Erik said, laughing, to relieve the embarrassment of his
sister. "We must make her display all her talents to-morrow."

And without affectation he began to talk about all the good people of
Noroe, asking questions about each one; inquiring for his old
school-mates, and about all that had happened since he went away. He
asked about their fishing adventures, and all the details of their daily
life. Then on his part, he satisfied the curiosity of his family, by
giving an account of his mode of life in Stockholm; he told them about
Dame Greta, about Kajsa, and the doctor.

"That reminds me that I have a letter for you, father," he said, drawing
it out of the inside pocket of his vest. "I do not know what it
contains, but the doctor told me to take good care of it, for it was
about me."

Mr. Hersebom took the letter, and laid it on the table by his side.

"Well!" said Erik, "are you not going to read it?"

"No," answered the fisherman, laconically.

"But, since it concerns me?" persisted the young man.

"It is addressed to me," said Mr. Hersebom, holding the letter before
his eyes. "Yes, I will read it at my leisure." Filial obedience is the
basis of family government in Norway.

Erik bowed his head in acquiescence.

When they rose from the table, the three children seated themselves on
their little bench in the chimney-corner, as they had so often done
before, and began one of those confidential conversations, where each
one relates what the other is curious to know, and where they tell the
same things a hundred times.

Katrina busied herself about the room, putting everything in order;
insisting that Vanda should for once "play the lady," as she said, and
not trouble herself about household matters.

As for Mr. Hersebom, he had seated himself in his favorite arm-chair,
and was smoking his pipe in silence. It was only after he had finished
this important operation that he decided to open the doctor's letter.

He read it through without saying a single word; then he folded it up,
put it in his pocket, and smoked a second pipe, like the first, without
uttering a sound. He seemed to be absorbed in his own reflections.

Although he was never a talkative man, his silence appeared singular to
Dame Katrina. After she had finished her work, she went and seated
herself beside him, and made two or three attempts to draw him into
conversation, but she only received the most brief replies. Being thus
repulsed, she became melancholy, and the children themselves, after
talking breathlessly for some time, began to be affected by the evident
sadness of their parents.

Twenty youthful voices singing in chorus before the door suddenly
greeted their ears, and made a happy diversion. It was a merry band of
Erik's old classmates, who had conceived the pleasant idea of coming to
give him a cordial welcome home.

They hastened to invite them into the house, and offered them the
customary feast, whilst they eagerly pressed around their old friend to
express the great pleasure which they felt in seeing him again. Erik was
touched by the unexpected visit of the friends of his childhood, and was
anxious to go with them on their Christmas journey, and Vanda and Otto
also were, naturally, eager to be of the party. Dame Katrina charged
them not to go too far, but to bring their brother back early, as he
needed rest after his journey.

The door was hardly closed upon them, when she resumed her seat beside
her husband.

"Well, has the doctor discovered anything?" she asked, anxiously.

Instead of answering, Mr. Hersebom took the letter from his pocket, and
read it aloud, but not without hesitating over some words which were
strange to him:

     "MY DEAR HERSEBOM," wrote the doctor, "it is now two years since
     you intrusted your dear child to my care, and every day I have had
     renewed pleasure in watching his progress in all the studies that
     he has undertaken. His intelligence is as remarkable as his heart
     is generous. Erik is truly one of nature's nobleman, and the
     parents who have lost such a son, if they knew the extent of their
     misfortune, would be objects of pity. But it is very doubtful
     whether his parents are still living. As we agreed, I have spared
     no efforts to discover them. I have written to several persons in
     England who have an agency for making special researches. I have
     had advertisements inserted in twenty different newspapers,
     English, Irish, and Scotch. Not the least ray of light has been
     thrown upon this mystery, and I have to confess that all the
     information which I have succeeded in procuring has rather tended
     to deepen the mystery.

     "The name 'Cynthia,' I find in very common use in the English navy.
     From Lloyd's office, they inform me, that there are seventeen
     ships, of different tonnage, bearing this name. Some of these ships
     belong to English ports, and some to Scotland and Ireland. My
     supposition concerning the nationality of the child is therefore
     confirmed, and it becomes more and more evident to me that Erik is
     of Irish parentage. I do not know whether you agree with me on this
     point, but I have already mentioned it to two of my most intimate
     friends in Stockholm, and everything seems to confirm it.

     "Whether this Irish family are all dead, or whether they have some
     interest in remaining unknown, I have not been able to discover any
     trace of them.

     "Another singular circumstance, and which I also think looks still
     more suspicious, is the fact that no shipwreck registered at
     Lloyd's, or at any of the marine insurance companies, corresponds
     with the date of the infant's arrival on your coast. Two vessels
     named 'Cynthia' have been lost, it is true, during this century;
     but one was in the Indian Ocean, thirty-two years ago, and the
     other was in sight of Portsmouth eighteen years ago.

     "We are therefore obliged to conclude that the infant was not the
     victim of a shipwreck.

     "Doubtless he was intentionally exposed to the mercy of the waves.
     This would explain why all my inquiries have been fruitless.

     "Be this as it may, after having questioned successively all the
     proprietors of the vessels bearing the name of 'Cynthia,' without
     obtaining any information, and after exhausting all known means of
     pursuing my investigations, I have been compelled to conclude that
     there is no hope of discovering Erik's family.

     "The question that arises for us to decide, my dear Hersebom, and
     particularly for you, is what we ought to say to the boy, and what
     we ought to do for him.

     "If I were in your place, I should now tell him all the facts about
     himself which affect him so nearly, and leave him free to choose
     his own path in life. You know we agreed to adopt this course if my
     efforts should prove unsuccessful. The time has come for you to
     keep your word. I have wished to leave it to you to relate all this
     to Erik. He is returning to Noroe still ignorant that he is not
     your son, and he does not know whether he is to return to Stockholm
     or remain with you. It is for you to tell him.

     "Remember, if you refuse to fulfill this duty, Erik would have the
     right some day, perhaps, to be astonished at you. Recall to mind
     also that he is a boy of too remarkable abilities to be condemned
     to an obscure and illiterate life. Such a sentence would have been
     unmerited two years ago, and now, after his brilliant career at
     Stockholm, it would be positively unjustifiable.

     "I therefore renew my offer: let him return to me and finish his
     studies, and take at Upsal the degree of Doctor of Medicine. I will
     continue to provide for him as if he were my own son, and he has
     only to go on and win honors and a fortune.

     "I know that, in addressing you and the excellent adopted mother of
     Erik, I leave his future in good hands. No personal consideration,
     I am sure, will prevent you from accepting my offer. Take Mr.
     Malarius' advice in this matter.

     "While awaiting your reply, Mr. Hersebom, I greet you
     affectionately, and I beg you to remember me most kindly to your
     worthy wife and children.

     "R.W. SCHWARYENCRONA, M.D."

When the fisherman had finished reading this letter, Dame Katrina, who
had been silently weeping while she listened to it, asked him what he
intended to do.

"My duty is very clear," he said. "I shall tell the boy everything."

"That is my opinion also; it must be done, or we should never have
another peaceful moment," she murmured, as she dried her eyes.

Then they both relapsed into silence.

It was past midnight when the three children returned from their
expedition. Their cheeks were rosy, and their eyes shone with pleasure
from their walk in the fresh air. They seated themselves around the fire
to finish gayly their Christmas-eve by eating a last cake before the
enormous log which looked like a burning cavern.




CHAPTER VI.

ERIK'S DECISION.


The next day the fisherman called Erik to him, and in the presence of
Katrina, Otto, and Vanda, spoke to him as follows:

"Erik, the letter of Doctor Schwaryencrona was about you. He writes that
you have given entire satisfaction to your teachers, and the doctor
offers to pay all the expenses of your education, if you wish to
continue your studies. But this letter also requires you to decide for
yourself, whether you will accept this offer, or remain with us at
Noroe, which we would like so much to have you do, as you no doubt know.
But before you make up your mind, I must tell you a great secret, a
secret that my wife and I would have preferred to keep to ourselves."

At this moment Dame Katrina could not restrain her tears, and, sobbing,
she took the hand of Erik and pressed it to her heart, as if protesting
against the information which the young man was now to hear.

"This secret," continued Mr. Hersebom, in a strangely altered voice, "is
that you are our son only by adoption. I found you on the sea, my child,
and brought you home when you were only eight or nine months old. God is
my witness that we never intended to tell you this, and neither my wife
nor myself have ever made the least difference between you, and Otto,
and Vanda. But Doctor Schwaryencrona requires us to do so. Therefore, I
wish you to read what he has written to me."

Erik had suddenly become deadly pale. Otto and Vanda, surprised at what
they had heard, both uttered a cry of astonishment. Then they put their
arms around Erik, and clung closely to him, one on the right, and the
other on the left.

Then Erik took the doctor's letter, and without trying to conceal his
emotion, he read what he had written to Mr. Hersebom.

The fisherman then told him all the facts about himself. He explained
how Dr. Schwaryencrona had undertaken to try and discover the family to
which he belonged; and, also, that he had been unsuccessful. How, that
but for his advice and suggestions, they would never have thought of
doing so. Then Dame Katrina arose, and going to the oaken chest, brought
out the garments that the baby had worn, and showed him also the coral
which had been fastened around his neck. The story was naturally so full
of dramatic interest to the children, that they forgot for a time, at
least, how sad it was. They looked with wonder at the lace, and velvet,
the golden setting of the coral, and the inscription. It almost seemed
to them as if they were taking part in some fairy tale. The
impossibility of obtaining any information, as reported by the doctor,
only made them regard these articles as almost sacred.

Erik looked at them as if he were in a dream, and his thoughts flew to
the unknown mother, who, without doubt, had herself dressed him in these
little garments, and more than once shook the coral before the eyes of
the baby to make him smile. It seemed to him when he touched them as if
he held direct communion with her through time and space.

But where was this mother? Was she still living, or had she perished?
Was she weeping for her lost son, or must the son, on the contrary,
think of her as forever lost to him?

He remained for some minutes absorbed in these reflections, with his
head bent, but a word from Dame Katrina recalled him to himself.

"Erik, you are always our child," she cried, disturbed by his silence.

The eyes of the young man as he looked around him fell on all their
loving countenances--the maternal look of the loving wife, the honest
face of Mr. Hersebom, that of Otto even more affectionate than usual,
and that of Vanda, serious and troubled. As he read the tenderness and
disquietude displayed on all their faces, Erik felt as if his heart was
melting within him. In a moment he realized his situation, and saw
vividly the scene which his father had described. The cradle abandoned
to the mercy of the waves, rescued by the hardy fisherman, and carried
to his wife; and these people, humble and poor as they were, had not
hesitated to take care of the little stranger, to adopt and cherish him
as their own son. They had not spoken of the matter for fourteen years,
and now they were hanging on his words as if they were a matter of life
and death to them.

All this touched him so deeply that suddenly his tears came. An
irresistible feeling of love and gratitude overwhelmed him. He felt
eager on his part to repay by some devotion the tenderness which they
had shown to him. He resolved to stay with them at Noroe forever, and
content himself with their humble lot, while he endeavored to do
everything in his power to repay them.

"Mother," said he, throwing himself into Katrina's arms, "do you think
that I can hesitate, now that I know all? We will write to the doctor,
and thank him for his kind offer, and tell him that I have chosen to
remain with you. I will be a fisherman, like you, father, and like Otto.
Since you have given me a place at your fireside, I would prefer to
retain it. Since you have nourished me by the labor of your hands, I ask
to be allowed to repay you in your old age for your generosity toward me
when I was a helpless infant."

"God be praised!" cried Dame Katrina, pressing Erik to her heart in a
transport of joy and tenderness.

"I knew that the child would prefer the sea to all their books," said
Mr. Hersebom, not understanding the sacrifice that Erik's decision would
be to him.

"Come, the matter is settled. We will not talk about it any more, but
only try to enjoy this good festival of Christmas!"

They all embraced each other, with eyes humid with happiness, and vowed
they would never be separated.

When Erik was alone he could not help a stifled sigh, as he thought
about all his former dreams of work, and of the career which he had
renounced. But still he experienced at the same time a joy which he
believed would repay him for the sacrifice.

"Since it is the wish of my adopted parents," he said to himself, "the
rest does not signify. I ought to be willing to work for them in the
sphere and condition where their devotion has placed me. If I have
sometimes felt ambitious to take a higher position in the world, was it
not that I might be able to assist them? Since it makes them happy to
have me with them, and as they desire nothing better than their present
life, I must try to be contented, and endeavor by good conduct and hard
work to give them satisfaction. Adieu, then, to my books."

Thus he mused, and soon his thoughts returned to the time when the
fisherman had found him floating in his little cradle on the waves. What
country did he belong to? Who were his parents? Were they still alive?
Had he in some foreign country brothers and sisters whom he would never
know?

Christmas had also been in Dr. Schwaryencrona's house in Stockholm a
season of great festivity. It was at this time, as the reader doubtless
remembers, that they had agreed to decide the bet between him and Mr.
Bredejord, and that Professor Hochstedt was to be the umpire.

For two years not a word had been said by either of them about this bet.
The doctor had been patiently pursuing his researches in England,
writing to the maritime agencies, and multiplying his advertisements in
the newspapers; but he had taken care not to confess that his efforts
had been fruitless.

As for Mr. Bredejord, he had had the good taste to avoid all allusion to
the subject, and contented himself with occasionally admiring the
beautiful binding of the Pliny which was displayed in the doctor's
book-case.

But when he struck his snuff-box sharply with the ends
of his fingers, while he looked at the book, the doctor correctly
interpreted the pantomime, which was a shock to his nerves, and said to
himself:

"Oh, yes; he is thinking how well the Pliny will look beside his elegant
editions of Quintilian and Horace."

On these evenings he was more merciless than ever, if his unfortunate
partner made any mistakes at whist.

But time had taken its flight, and he was now obliged to submit the
question to the impartial arbitration of Professor Hochstedt.

Dr. Schwaryencrona approached the subject frankly. Kajsa had hardly left
him alone with his two friends when he confessed to them, as he had
confessed in his letter to Mr. Hersebom, that his investigations had
been without result. Nothing had occurred to throw any light on the
mystery which surrounded Erik's origin, and the doctor in all sincerity
declared that the problem was thought by him to be insolvable.

"But," he continued, "I should be doing myself an injustice if I did not
declare with equal sincerity that I do not believe that I have lost my
bet. I have not discovered Erik's family, it is true, but all the
information that I have been able to obtain corroborates the conclusion
which I had arrived at. The 'Cynthia' was, no doubt, an English vessel,
for there are at least seventeen ships bearing this name registered at
Lloyd's. As for ethnographical characteristics, they are clearly Celtic.
My hypothesis, therefore, as to the nationality of Erik is victoriously
confirmed. I am more than ever certain that he is of Irish extraction as
I at first surmised. But I can not compel his family to come forward and
acknowledge him, if they have any reasons of their own for wishing him
to continue lost to them. This is all I have to say, my dear Hochstedt;
and now you must be the judge as to whether the Quintilian of our friend
Bredejord should not legitimately be transferred to my book-case!"

At these words, which seemed to occasion a strong inclination to laugh,
the lawyer fell back in his arm-chair, raised his hands as if in
protestation, then he fixed his brilliant eyes upon Professor Hochstedt
to see how he would regard the matter. The professor did not betray the
embarrassment which might have been expected. He would have certainly
felt miserable if the doctor had urged any incontrovertible argument,
which would have compelled him to decide in favor of one or the other.
His prudent character led him to speak in indefinite terms. He excelled
in presenting, one after the other, both sides of a question, and he
reveled in his vagaries, like a fish in water. Therefore, this evening
he felt quite equal to the situation.

"The fact is incontestable," he said, shaking his head, "that there are
seventeen English vessels bearing the name of 'Cynthia,' and this seems
to favor the conclusion arrived at by our eminent friend. The
characteristic traits also have assuredly great weight, and I do not
hesitate to say that they appear to me to be quite conclusive. I do not
hesitate to confess that if I were called upon to give an opinion as to
Erik's nationality, I should say that he was Irish. But to decide the
bet in question we require something more than probabilities; we must
have facts to guide us. The chances so far greatly favor the opinion of
Dr. Schwaryencrona, but Bredejord can allege that nothing has actually
been proved. I see, therefore, no sufficient reason for declaring that
the Quintilian has been won by the doctor; neither can I say that the
professor has lost his Pliny. In my opinion, as the question remains
undecided, it ought to be annulled, which is the best thing to do in
such a case."

The doctor's face clearly betrayed his dissatisfaction. As for Mr.
Bredejord he leaped to his feet, saying:

"Your argument is a beautiful one, my dear Hochstedt, but I think you
are hasty in your conclusions. Schwaryencrona, you say, has not verified
his opinions sufficiently for you to say positively that he has won the
bet, although you think that all the probabilities are in his favor.
What will you say then, if I prove to you immediately that the 'Cynthia'
was not an English vessel at all?"

"What would I say?" said the professor, somewhat troubled by this sudden
attack. "Upon my word I do not know. I would have to consider the
question in a different aspect."

"Examine it then at your leisure," answered the advocate, thrusting his
hand into the inner pocket of his coat, and taking out a case from which
he selected a letter inclosed in one of those yellow envelopes, which
betray at the first glance their American origin.

"This is a document which you can not controvert," he added, placing the
letter before the doctor's eyes, who read aloud:

     "_To Mr. Bredejord, Stockholm._

     "NEW YORK, October 27th.

     "SIR,--In reply to your letter of the 5th instant, I hasten to
     write you the following facts:--

     "1st.--A vessel named 'Cynthia,' commanded by Captain Barton, and
     the property of the Canadian General Transportation Company, was
     lost, with her cargo and all on board, just fourteen years ago, in
     the neighborhood of the Faroe Islands.

     "2d.--This vessel was insured in the General Steam Navigation
     Company of New York for the sum of eight hundred thousand dollars.

     "3d.--The disappearance of the 'Cynthia' having remained
     unexplained, and the causes of the sad accident never having been
     clearly proved to the satisfaction of the insurance company, a
     lawsuit ensued, which was lost by the proprietors of the said
     vessel.

     "4th.--The loss of this lawsuit occasioned the dissolution of the
     Canadian General Transportation Company, which has ceased to exist
     for the last eleven years, having gone into liquidation. While
     waiting to hear from you again, I beg of you, sir, to accept our
     sincere salutations.

     "JEREMIAH SMITH, WALKER & CO.,
     "Maritime Agents."

"Well, what do you say to that?" asked Mr. Bredejord, when the doctor
had finished reading the letter. "It is a document of some value, I
think. Do you agree with me?"

"I quite agree with you," answered the doctor. "How did you procure it?"

"In the simplest way in the world. That evening when you spoke to me
about the 'Cynthia' being necessarily an English vessel, I thought that
you were taking too limited a field for your researches, and that the
vessel might be an American one. When time passed, and you received no
intelligence, for you would have told us if you had, the idea occurred
to me of writing to New York. The third letter brought the result which
you have before you. The affair is no longer a complicated one. Do you
not think that it assures to me beyond contest the possession of your
Pliny?"

"It appears to me to be rather a forced conclusion," replied the doctor,
taking the letter and reading it over again, to see if he could find any
new arguments to support his theory.

"How forced?" cried the advocate.

"I have proved to you that the vessel was an American one, and that she
was lost off the Faroe Islands, that is to say, near the coast of
Norway, precisely at the time which corresponds to the arrival of the
infant, and still you are not convinced of your error."

"Not in the least, my dear friend. I do not dispute the value or your
document. You have discovered what I have found it impossible to do--the
true 'Cynthia,' which was lost at a little distance from our coast, and
at a specified epoch; but permit me to say, that this only confirms
precisely my theory, for the vessel was a Canadian one, or in other
words, English, and the Irish element is very strong in some parts of
Canada, and I have therefore more reason than ever for being sure that
the child is of Irish origin."

"Ah, is that what you find in my letter?" said Mr. Bredejord, more vexed
than he was willing to appear to be. "Then without doubt you persist in
believing that you have not lost your Pliny?"

"Assuredly!"

"Perhaps you think you have a right to my Quintilian?"

"I hope in any case to be able to prove my right, thanks to your
discovery, if you will only give me time by renewing the bet."

"I am willing. I ask nothing better. How much time do you want?"

"Let us take two more years, and wait until the second Christmas after
this one."

"It is agreed," answered Mr. Bredejord. "But be assured, doctor, that
you will finally see me in possession of your Pliny!"

"By my faith no. It will make a fine appearance in my book-case beside
your Quintilian."




CHAPTER VII.

VANDA'S OPINION.


In the beginning, Erik burning with zeal at the sacrifice which he had
made, devoted all his energies to a fisherman's life, and tried to
forget that he had ever known any other. He was always the first to rise
and prepare the boat for his adopted father, who found every morning all
the arrangements completed, and he had only to step on board. If the
wind failed, then Erik took the heavy oars, and rowed with all his
strength, seeming to choose the hardest and most fatiguing duties.
Nothing discouraged him, neither the long waiting for the fish to seize
the bait, nor the various preparations to which the captive was
subjected--first, the removal of the tongue, which is a most delicate
morsel; then the head, then the bones, before placing them in the
reservoir, where they receive their first salting. Whatever their work
was, Erik did his part not only conscientiously, but eagerly. He
astonished the placid Otto by his extreme application to the smallest
details of their business.

"How you must have suffered, when you were shut up in the town," said
the lad to him, naively. "You only seem to be in your element when you
are on the borders of the fiord or on the open sea."

When their conversation took this turn, Erik always remained silent.
Sometimes, however, he would revert to the subject himself, and try to
prove to Otto, or rather to himself, that there was no better state of
existence than their own.

"It is what I have always heard," the other would answer with his calm
smile.

And poor Erik would turn away and stifle a sigh.

The truth is that he suffered cruelly after renouncing his studies and
seeing himself condemned to a life of manual labor. When these thoughts
came to him he fought against them with all his might. He did not wish
any one to suspect that he felt in this way, and in hiding them within
his own breast he suffered all the more.

A catastrophe which occurred at the beginning of the spring, only served
to increase his discouragement.

One day, as there was a great deal of work to do at home in piling
together the salted fish, Mr. Hersebom had intrusted it to Erik and to
Otto, and had gone out to fish alone. The weather was stormy, and the
sky very cloudy for the time of the year. The two young men, although
they worked actively, could not help noticing that it was exceptionally
dull, and they felt the atmosphere very heavy.

"It is singular!" said Erik, "but I feel a roaring in my ears as if I
were some distance above the earth in a balloon."

Almost immediately his nose began to bleed. Otto had a similar
sensation, although not quite so severe.

"I think the barometer must be very low," said Erik. "If I had time I
would run to Mr. Malarius' and see."

"You have plenty of time," said Otto. "Our work is nearly done, and even
if you were delayed I could easily finish it alone."

"Then I will go," replied Erik. "I do not know why the state of the
atmosphere should trouble me so much. I wish father was home."

As he walked toward the school, he met Mr. Malarius on the road.

"Is it you, Erik?" said the teacher. "I am glad to see you, and make
sure that you are not on the sea. I was just going to inquire. The
barometer has fallen with such rapidity during the last half hour. I
have never seen anything like it. We are surely going to have a change
of weather."

Mr. Malarius had hardly finished speaking, when a distant grumbling,
followed by a lugubrious roaring, fell upon their ears. The sky became
covered with a cloud as black as ink, which spread rapidly in all
directions, and obscured every object with great swiftness. Then
suddenly, after an interval of complete silence, the leaves of the
trees, the bits of straw, the sand, and even the stones, were swept away
by a sudden gust of wind.

The hurricane had begun.

It raged with unheard-of violence. The chimneys, the window shutters,
and in some places even the roofs of the houses were blown down; and the
boat-houses without exception were carried away and destroyed by the
wind. In the fiord, which was usually as calm as a well in a court-yard,
the most terrible tempest raged; the waves were enormous and came and
went, breaking against the shore with a deafening noise.

The cyclone raged for an hour, then arrested in its course by the
heights of Norway, it moved toward the south, and swept over continental
Europe. It is noted in meteorological annals as one of the most
extraordinary and disastrous that ever was known upon the Atlantic
coast. These great changes of the atmosphere are now generally announced
beforehand by the telegraph. Most of the European sea-ports forewarned
of the danger have time to warn vessels and seamen of the threatened
tempest, and they seek a safe anchorage. By this means many disasters
are averted.

But on the distant and less frequented coasts, in the fishing-hamlets,
the number of shipwrecks was beyond computation.

In one office, that of "Veritas" in France, there were registered not
less than 730.

The first thought of all the members of the Hersebom family, as well as
of all the other families of fishermen, was naturally for those who were
on the sea on this disastrous day. Mr. Hersebom went most often to the
western coast of a large island which was about two miles distant,
beyond the entrance to the fiord. It was the spot where he had first
seen Erik. They hoped that during the tempest he had been able to find
shelter by running his boat upon the low and sandy shore. But Erik and
Otto felt so anxious that they could not wait until evening to see if
this hope was well founded.

The fiord had hardly resumed its ordinary placidity, after the passage
of the hurricane, when they borrowed a boat of one of their neighbors,
in order to go in search of him. Mr. Malarius insisted upon accompanying
the young men upon their expedition, and they all three set out,
anxiously watched by Katrina and her daughter.

On the fiord the wind had nearly gone down, but it blew from the west,
and to reach the entrance to the harbor they were obliged to use their
oars. This took them more than an hour.

When they reached the entrance an unexpected obstacle presented itself.
The tempest was still raging on the ocean, and the waves dashed against
the island which, formed the entrance to the fiord of Noroe, forming two
currents, which came and went with such violence in the narrow pass that
it was impossible to gain the open sea. A steamboat could not have
ventured through it, and a weak boat could not have resisted it for a
moment.

The only thing they could do, therefore, was to return to Noroe, and
wait as patiently as they could.

The hour when he habitually came home passed without bringing Mr.
Hersebom, but none of the other fishermen returned; so they hoped that
they were all detained by the impassable state of the entrance to the
fiord, and would not believe that he had personally met with any
disaster. That evening was a very sad one at all the firesides where a
member was missing. As the night passed without any of the absent men
making their appearance, the anxieties of their families increased. In
Mr. Hersebom's house nobody went to bed. They passed the long hours of
waiting seated in a circle around the fire, silent and anxious.

Dawn is late in these high latitudes in March, but when at last it grew
light it was bright and clear. The wind was calm, and they hoped they
would be able to get through the pass. A regular fleet of boats,
composed of every one who could get away from Noroe, was ready to go in
search of the absent men. Just at this moment several vessels hove in
sight, and soon reached the village. They were the fishermen who had
gone out the day before, not expecting such a cyclone; but Mr. Hersebom
was not among them.

Nobody could give any account of him, and the fact of his not returning
with the others increased their anxiety as all the men had been in great
peril. Some had been surprised by the cyclone and dashed upon the shore,
others had time to shelter themselves in a secure place of anchorage. A
few had reached the land just in time to save themselves.

It was decided that the flotilla should go in search of those who were
missing. Mr. Malarius who still wished to take part in the expedition
accompanied Erik and Otto. A large yellow dog begged so earnestly to go
with them, that at length they yielded. It was Kaas, the Greenland dog
that Mr. Hersebom had brought back with him, after a voyage to Cape
Farewell.

After issuing from the pass the boats separated, some going to the
right, and others to the left, to explore the shores of the innumerable
islands which lie scattered near the entrance to the fiord of Noroe, as
well as all along the coast of Norway.

When they met at midday at a given point, which had been agreed upon
before separating, no trace of Mr. Hersebom had been discovered. As the
search had apparently been well conducted, everyone was of the opinion
that they had nothing more to do but to go home.

But Erik was not willing to own himself defeated, and give up all hope
so easily. He declared that having visited all the islands which lay
toward the south, he now wished to explore those which were in the
north. Mr. Malarius and Otto supported him; and seeing this they granted
his desire.

This persistence deserved some recompense. Toward two o'clock as they
approached a large island, Kaas began suddenly to bark furiously; then
before they could prevent him he threw himself into the water, and swam
to the shore.

Erik and Otto rowed with all their strength in the same direction. Soon
they saw the dog reach the island, and bound, while he uttered loud
howls, toward what appeared to be a human form lying extended upon the
sand. They made all possible haste, and soon saw beyond a doubt that it
was a man who was lying there, and this man was Mr. Hersebom; bloody,
pale, cold, inanimate--dead, perhaps. Kaas was licking his hands, and
uttering mournful cries.

Erik's first action was to drop on his knees beside the cold body, and
apply his ear to his heart.

"He is alive, I feel it beat," he cried.

Mr. Malarias had taken one of Mr. Hersebom's hand's, and was feeling his
pulse and he shook his head, sadly and doubtfully; but he would not
neglect any of the means which are usually tried in such cases. After
taking off a large woolen girdle which he wore around his waist, he tore
it in three pieces, and giving one to each of the young men, they rubbed
vigorously the body, the arms, and the legs of the fisherman.

It was soon manifest that this simple treatment had produced the effect
of restoring the circulation. The beating of the heart grew stronger,
the chest rose, and a feeble respiration escaped through the lips. In a
little while Mr. Hersebom was partially restored to consciousness, for
he distinctly moaned.

Mr. Malarias, and the two young men lifted him from the ground, and
carried him to the boat, where they hastily arranged a bed for him of
sails. As they laid him in the bottom of the boat he opened his eyes.

"A drink!" he said in a weak voice.

Erik held a flask of brandy to his lips. He swallowed a mouthful and
appeared to be conscious of their arrival, for he tried to give them an
affectionate and grateful smile. But fatigue overcame him almost
immediately, and he fell into a heavy sleep which resembled a complete
lethargy. Thinking justly that the best thing they could do was to get
him home as speedily as possible, they took their oars and rowed
vigorously; and in a very short time they reached Noroe.

Mr. Hersebom was carried to his bed, and his wounds were dressed with
arnica. He was fed with broth, and given a glass of beer, and in a short
time he recovered consciousness. His injuries were not of a very grave
nature. One of his arms was fractured, and his body was covered with
wound and bruises. But Mr. Malarius insisted that he should remain quiet
and rest, and not fatigue himself by attempting to talk. He was soon
sleeping peacefully.

It was not until the next day that they permitted him to speak and
explain in a few words what had happened to him.

He had been overtaken by the cyclone just as he had hoisted his sail to
return to Noroe. He had been dashed against the rocks of the island and
his boat had been broken into a thousand pieces and carried away by the
waves. He had thrown himself into the sea to escape the frightful shock,
when she struck, but in spite of all his efforts, he had been dashed by
the waves upon the rocks and terribly wounded; he had only been able to
drag himself beyond the reach of the waves.

Exhausted by fatigue, one arm broken, and his whole body covered with
wounds, he had lain in an unconscious state, unable to move. He could
give no account of the manner in which he had passed the twenty hours;
doubtless he had either been delirious or unconscious.

Now that he was saved, he began to lament for the loss of his boat, and
because of his broken arm, which was now in splints. What would become
of him, even admitting that he might be able to use his arm again after
eight or ten weeks? The boat was the only capital possessed by the
family, and the boat had been broken to pieces by the wind.

It would be very hard for a man of his age to be compelled to work for
others. Besides, could he find work? It was very doubtful, for nobody in
Noroe employed any assistant, and the factory even had lately reduced
its hands.

Such were the bitter reflections of Mr. Hersebom, while he lay upon his
bed of pain; and he felt still worse when he was able to get up, and
occupy his accustomed seat in his arm-cha