“Yes,” said Sigrid; “I hardly know whether to laugh or cry when I think of Frithiof, of all people in the world, doing learned translations for such a man as Herr Sivertsen. He never could endure sedentary life.”
“And yet,” said Mr. Boniface, pacing along the veranda with her, “I tried in vain to make him take up cricket. He declared that in Norway you did not go in for our English notions of exercise for the sake of exercise.”
“Perhaps not,” said Sigrid; “but he was always going in for the wildest adventures, and never had the least taste for books. Poor Frithiof, it only shows how brave and resolute he is; he is so set upon paying off these debts that he will sacrifice everything to that one idea, and will keep to work which must be hateful to him.”
“He is a fine fellow,” said Mr. Boniface. “I had hardly realized what his previous life must have been, though of course I knew that the drudgery of shop life was sorely against the grain.”
“Ever since he was old enough to hold a gun, he used to go with my father in August to the mountains in North Fjord for the reindeer hunting,” said Sigrid. “And every Sunday through the winter he used to go by himself on the wildest excursions after sea-birds. My father said it was good training for him, and as long as he took with him old Nils, his skydsmand—I think you call that boatman in English—he was never worried about him when he was away. But sometimes I was afraid for him, and old Gro, our nurse, always declared that he would end by being drowned. Come here, Frithiof, and tell Mr. Boniface about your night on the fjord by Bukken.”
His eyes lighted up at the recollection.
“Ah, it was such fun!” he cried; “though we were cheated out of our sport after all. I had left Bergen on the Saturday, going with old Nils to Bukken, and there as usual we took a boat to row across to Gjelleslad where I generally slept, getting up at four in the morning to go after the birds. Well, that night Nils and I set out to row across, but had not got far when the most fearful storm came down on us. I never saw such lightning, before or since, and the wind was terrific; we could do nothing against it, and indeed it was wonderful that we did not go to the bottom. By good luck we were driven back to land, and managed to haul up the boat, turn it up, and shelter as best we could under it, old Nils swearing like a trooper and declaring I should be the death of him some day. For four mortal hours we stayed there, and the storm still raged. At last, by good luck, I hunted up four men who were willing to run the risk of rowing us back to Bergen. Then off we set, Nils vowing that we should be drowned, and so we were very nearly. It was the wildest night I ever knew, and the rowing was fearful work, but at last we got safely home.”
“And you should have seen him,” cried Sigrid. “He roused us all up at half-past six in the morning, and there he was, soaked to the skin, but looking so bright and jolly, and making us roar with laughter with his description of it all. And I really believe it did him good; for after a few hours’ sleep he came down in the best possible of humors. And don’t you remember, Frithiof, how you played it all on your violin?”
“And was only successful in showing how well Nils growled,” said Frithiof, laughing.
The reference to the violin suggested the usual evening’s music, and they went into the drawing-room, where Sigrid played them some Norwegian airs, Roy standing near her, and watching her fair, sweet face, which was still glowing with the recollection of those old days of which they had talked.