Then, the sun rose.
But no, it did not rise in the ordinary sense of the expression; it literally jumped up at once from the sea, appearing several degrees above the horizon the same instant almost that Fritz and Eric caught sight of it and before they could realise its presence, albeit their eyes were intently fixed all the while on the point where it heralded its coming by the glowing vapours sent before.
“Ah!” exclaimed Fritz, drawing a deep breath when this transformation of nature was complete, the light touching up the projecting peaks of the cliff and making a glittering pathway right into the bay. “This sight is enough to inspire any one. It ought to make us set to our work with a good heart!”
“Right you are,” responded Eric, who was equally impressed with the magic scene—in spite of his disclaimer about having seen a better sunrise in antarctic seas. “As soon as we’ve had breakfast, for I confess I feel peckish again—it’s on account of going to bed so early, I suppose!—I’m ready to bear a hand as your assistant and help you with the garden. But, who shall be cook? One of the two of us had better take that office permanently, I think; eh, Fritz?”
“You can be, if you like,” said the other. “I fancy you have got a slight leaning that way, from what I recollect of you at home.”
“When I used to bother poor old Lorischen’s life out of her, by running into the kitchen, eh?”
“Yes, I remember it well.”
“Ah, that was when I was young,” said Eric, laughing. “I wouldn’t do it now, when I am grown up and know better!”
“Grown up, indeed! you’re a fine fellow to talk of being of age with your seventeen years, laddie!”
“Never mind that,” retorted Eric; “I mayn’t be as old as you are; but, at all events, I flatter myself I know better how to cook than a sub-lieutenant of the Hanoverian Tirailleurs!”