said the master, and went on reading.
Bjerregrav sat there sunk in his own thoughts. Suddenly he looked up.
“Can you, who are so well read, tell me what keeps the moon from falling? I lay overnight puzzling over it, so as I couldn’t sleep. She wanders and wanders through the sky, and you can see plainly there’s nothing but air under her.”
“The devil may know,” said Master Andres thoughtfully. “She must have strength of her own, so that she holds herself up.”
“I’ve thought that myself—for obligation isn’t enough. Now we can do that—we walk and walk where we are put down, but then we’ve the earth under us to support us. And you are always studying, aren’t you? I suppose you have read nearly all the books in the world?” Bjerregrav took the master’s book and felt it thoroughly. “That’s a good book,” he said, striking his knuckles against the cover and holding the book to his ear; “good material, that. Is it a lying story or a history book?”
“It’s a travel book. They go up to the North Pole, and they get frozen in, and they don’t know if they’ll ever get home alive again.”
“But that’s terrible—that people should risk their lives so. I’ve often thought about that—what it’s like at the end of the world—but to go and find out—no, I should never have had the courage. Never to get home again!” Bjerregrav, with an afflicted expression, looked first at one, then at another.
“And they get frost-bite in their feet—and their toes have to be amputated—in some cases, the whole foot.”
“No, be quiet! So they lose their health, poor fellows!—I don’t want to hear any more!” The old man sat rocking himself to and fro, as though he felt unwell. But a few moments later he asked inquisitively: “Did the king send them up there to make war?”
“No; they went to look for the Garden of Eden. One of the people who investigate writings has discovered that it is said to lie behind the ice,” declared the master solemnly.