The watchman smiles, and, as he is a knowing old fellow, cries out, when he reaches the corner by Skipper Worse's house, "Wind north-west! The herring is on the coast!"
More boats and smacks arrive; the rattling of anchors and chain cables is heard in all directions. Men knock at the walls of the warehouses, and people sally forth with lanterns, doors are thrown open, and the light falls on the men yonder in a boat, and on the heaps of fat, glittering spring herrings.
Up in the town the merchant's house resounds as the man with the sea-boots picks up a stone and hammers at the wall. He strikes boldly, knowing that he brings welcome news.
All arouse themselves, thinking at first that it is a fire; but the master of the house springing up, throws the window open.
"Ivar Östebö sends his compliments. He has bought four hundred barrels on your account."
"Do you know the price?"
"Three marks eighteen shillings. We are lying off the northern warehouse with eighty barrels; the rest is close behind."
"How is the wind?"
"North-westerly, with snow-storms."
"Run off to Lars up on the hill, and bid him rouse up the women; he knows what to do."