At last a light appeared on the fjord, then another, then many lights. The old man seized the woman’s hand and pressed it, and in silence, under the stars, they thanked God for having safely brought home their son whom they had mourned as dead for a whole year.
It is true, he had not been the leader of the expedition, but he had been one of the crew. And now he was to dine with the long, receive an order, and, in addition to a sum of money from the nation, which Parliament had voted for the purpose, an appointment which would mean bread and butter for the rest of his life.
The lights grew in size as they approached; a small steamer was towing a big dark craft, which, seen close by, looked as plain and simple as most great things do.
And now the man on the bridge, who had been very busy about the dark object, struck a match.
“Whatever is it?” said the old man, much puzzled. “It looks like huge wax candles.”
They went nearer to examine it more closely.
“It looks like a frame for drying fishes,” said the old woman, who had been born on the coast.
Ratsh! It-sh! Si-si-si-si! it said, and the old people were instantly surrounded by fire and flames.
Great fiery globes rose up to the skies and, bursting, lit up the night with a shower of stars; an astronomer, observing the heavens with a telescope, might have come to the conclusion that new stars had been born. And he would not have been altogether wrong, for in the year 1880 new thoughts were kindled in new hearts, and new light and new discoveries vouchsafed to mankind. Doubtless, there were weeds, too, growing up together with the splendid wheat; but weeds have their uses, also; shade and moisture depend on their presence, and they will be separated from the wheat at harvest time. But there must be weeds, they are as inseparable from wheat as chaff is from corn.
What had puzzled the old couple, however, was a rocket frame, and when all the smoke had cleared away—for there is no fire without smoke—not a trace of all the magnificence was left.