There was another knock before Erica could reach the door, and Frolich burst in.
“Such news!” she cried; “you never heard such news.”
“I wish there never was any news,” exclaimed Erica, almost pettishly.
“Good or bad?” inquired Ulla.
“O, bad,—very bad,” declared Frolich, who yet looked as if she would rather have it than none. “Here is company. Olaf, the drug-merchant, is come. Father did not expect him these three weeks.”
“This is not bad news, but good,” said Ulla. “Who knows but he may bring me a cure?”
“We will all beg him to cure you, dear Ulla,” said Frolich, stroking the old woman’s white hair smooth upon her forehead. “But he tells us shocking things. There is a pirate-vessel among the islands. She was seen off Soroe, some time ago; but she is much nearer to us now. There was a farm-house seen burning on Alten fiord, last week; and as the family are all gone, and nothing but ruins left, there is little doubt the pirates lit the torch that did it. And the cod has been carried off from the beach, in the few places where any has been caught yet.”
“They have not found out our fiord yet?” inquired Ulla.
“O, dear! I hope not. But they may, any day. And father says, the coast must be raised, from Hammerfest to Tronyem, and a watch set till this wicked vessel can be taken or driven away. He was going to send a running message both ways; but here is something else to be done first.”
“Another misfortune?” asked Erica, faintly.