Chapter Ten.
Conclusion.
“Sam Sorrel,” said Fred Temple one day to his friend while they were seated at breakfast in the house of a farmer of the Nord Fiord, “we have been here more than a fortnight now; we have enjoyed ourselves much, have had good sport of various kinds, and have laid in a stock of health and wisdom, it is to be hoped, that will last us for some time to come.”
“That sounds very much like the beginning of a formal speech,” said Grant.
“Hold your tongue, Grant,” retorted Temple, “I have not yet done. As I have said, we have been successful in gaining the ends for which we came here. We have seen the sun rise without setting. Sam Sorrel has filled a large portfolio with beautiful sketches of, perhaps, the finest scenery in Europe. Grant has shot and stuffed I am afraid to say how many birds of all kinds, besides making a large collection of rare plants; and Fred Temple has caught about five hundred pounds’ weight of salmon—not to mention hundreds of trout—”
“Good,” said Sam, “and very correctly stated. You are fit for the House of Commons, my friend.”
“Sam, be silent!—Now this being the case, it is time that we should think of returning to our native land. I will, therefore, make arrangements for setting sail in two or three days. But before leaving I will bring to a point a little plot which I have been hatching ever since I landed in Norway. I won’t tell you what it is just yet, but I must have your help, Sam.”
“Command my services, sir,” said Sam, with a wave of his hand. “I am your servant, your Eastern slave, ready, if need be, to prostrate myself in the earth and rub my nose in the dust.”