“Seng,” replied Fred.
“Seng! what a remarkable name! Now, then, my good girl, ver so goot will you show me my seng? Good night, comrades, I’m off to—ha! ha! what a musical idea—to seng.”
“More probably to snore,” observed Grant.
“Oh, Grant,” said Sam, looking back and shaking his head, “give up jesting. It’s bad for your health; fie for shame! good night.”
Norwegian beds are wooden boxes of about three feet wide, and five and a half long. I have never been able to discover why it is that Norwegians love to make their beds as uncomfortable as possible. Yet so it is.
Grant had a room to himself. Temple and our artist were shown into a double-bedded room.
“Is that a bed?” said Sam, pointing to a red-painted wooden box in a corner; “why, it’s too short even for me, and you know I’m not a giant.”
“Oh! then what must it be for me?” groaned Fred Temple.
On close examination it was found that each bed was too short for any man above five feet two, and, further, that there was a feather-bed below and a feather-bed above, instead of blankets. Thus they lay that night between two feather-beds, which made them so hot that it was impossible to sleep at first. Sorrel, being short, managed to lie diagonally across his box, but Fred, being long, was compelled to double himself up like a foot-rule. However, fatigue at last caused them to slumber in spite of all difficulties. In the morning they were visited by a ghost!