A NORWEGIAN HAY-FIELD.
"Ah," he exclaimed, "here is fish! Anything in the line of fish I can eat with a relish."
He drew a specimen from the jar, and put a portion of it in his mouth. A look of horror instantly overspread his face, and, covering his features with a napkin, he left the room in haste. I quickly followed him, and found him in the back yard gazing mournfully at some Norwegian swine.
"What is the matter?" I asked, "do you prefer pork to fish?"
"I believe I do," he rejoined. Then turning to the girl, who had followed us, he inquired, "What is the Norwegian word for pork?"
"Griss,"[A] was the reply.
"Thank you," he faltered, "I don't think I will take any to-day."
"Eh" (in an aside to me), "hadn't we better drive on?"