"I just hate that horrid, miserable quarrel, which uncle speaks about as The Feud; it seems such a stupid, cruel sort of thing. Poor Aunt Osla cries about it, and my little sister and I are sometimes so unhappy over it that we vow we shall make an end of it when we are grown up. It is so awfully hard to think that there are so many boys and girls like us growing up in Lunda, and we can't know them because of the Feud. The truth is, I have not patience to wait till I am grown up. It will be too late then, for I shall have lost my boy-friends while I was a boy. Now, I hope you will understand that my Viking exploits have got a really good kind of idea at the bottom of them; so if you hear of fights, and forays, and the like, you will know that I am trying in that way to 'settle' this hideous old vampire of a fend. It's the only way I could think of while Uncle Brüs feels as he does.
"I know you are a right good fellow, as your father was, and you will help me. I do need a good fellow's help, and you can't think how my heart seems sometimes like to burst with longing to be with other boys and like other boys. People talk of your minister, how good he is; and of Mrs. Mitchell, and that splendid boy Frank who died. And I hear of all you do for the poor people, and about the Lady. Aunt Osla has a heap to tell about her. I think I would not be so selfish and so foolish as I am if I could talk to some of you Lunda folk, and see how you live. But I must obey Uncle Brüs, and I must not annoy him; so it's hard to see how I can clear up matters unless I go on the 'war-path,' and you help me to manage our 'sham' so that it does not harm anybody. Trusting you, I am your honest admirer and hereditary foe,
"YASPARD ADIESEN.
"P.S.—Please, dear Mr. Garson, forgive Uncle Brüs, and pray, as I do, that somebody may persuade him how silly and really sinful a feud can be."
"Yes, it's a prime letter," remarked Fred; "and nothing but that letter (particularly the postscript) would have made me pass over—— Bah! what is the use of thinking more about it."
But even then his face flushed, and his naturally imperious temper rose, as he recalled the rude, angry words which Mr. Adiesen had written. There was a short silence, which Yaspard was the first to break, "You have made a lot of people happy to-day, Mr. Garson," he said very gratefully.
"I hope this is only the beginning of good times for us all," was the answer. "But now, I wonder what is going to be your next adventure?"
"I expect they'll grow one out of another. By the way, what shall we do about Gloy?"
"He isn't your prisoner now, but your guest, so you must let him return when he pleases. No doubt the Mitchells will have some plan in head for making capital out of Gloy's presence in Boden."
They chatted in the most friendly manner till they reached Lunda, when they parted with mutual regret and many assurances that they should meet again at no very distant time.
The wind was even more favourable for the voyage back, and Yaspard's little boat went swiftly and easily along. He leaned back and let her go, while giving himself up to ecstatic dreams of adventure in which his new acquaintance played the important part. He had adopted Fred Garson for his hero, and was already setting him in the chief place in every airy castle of his imagination; but fancy's flight was interrupted by flight of another kind. As he lay back, gazing more into the air than on the course before him, his attention was drawn to a party of shooies (Arctic skuas) badgering a raven, who was greatly annoyed, and seemed at a sore disadvantage—a position which the lordly bird seldom allows himself to be in.