and honest labor. Neither wife nor child, nor living relative had
Valdemar; the one passion of his heart was the sea. Sir Philip
Errington had engaged him at Christiansund, hearing of him there as
a man to whom the intricacies of the Fjords, and the dangers of
rock-bound coasts, were more familiar than a straight road on dry
lake, and since then the management of the Eulalie had been entirely
entrusted to him. Though an eminently practical sailor, he was half
a mystic, and believed in the wildest legends of his land with more
implicit faith than many so-called Christians believe in their
sacred doctrines. He doffed his red cap respectfully now as
Errington and Lorimer approached, smilingly wishing them "a fair
day." Sir Philip offered him a cigar, and, coming to the point at
once, asked abruptly--

"I say, Svensen, are there any pretty girls in Bosekop?"

The pilot drew the newly lit cigar from his mouth, and passed his
rough hand across his forehead in a sort of grave perplexity.

"It is a matter in which I am foolish," he said at last, "for my
ways have always gone far from the ways of women. Girls there are
plenty, I suppose, but--" he mused with pondering patience for
awhile. Then a broad smile broke like sunshine over his embrowned
countenance, as he continued, "Now, gentlemen, I do remember well;
it is said that at Bosekop yonder, are to be found some of the
homeliest wenches in all Norway."

Errington's face fell at this reply. Lorimer turned away to hide the
mischievous smile that came on his lips at his friend's
discomfiture.