The pilot started; a look of astonishment and fear came into his
eyes; his hand went instinctively to his red cap, as though in
deference to the name.

"The Froken Thelma!" he exclaimed, in low tones. "Is it possible
that you have seen her?"

"Ah, George, what do you say now?" cried Errington delightedly.
"Yes, yes, Valdemar; the Froken Thelma, as you call her. Who is she?
. . . What is she?--and how can there be no pretty girls in Bosekop
if such a beautiful creature as she lives there?"

Valdemar looked troubled and vexed.

"Truly, I thought not of the maiden," he said gravely. "'Tis not for
me to speak of the daughter of Olaf," here his voice sank a little,
and his face grew more and more sombre. "Pardon me, sir, but how did
you meet her?"

"By accident," replied Errington promptly, not caring to relate his
morning's adventure for the pilot's benefit. "Is she some great
personage here?"

Svensen sighed, and smiled somewhat dubiously.

"Great? Oh, no; not what you would call great. Her father, Olaf
Guldmar, is a bonde,--that is, a farmer in his own right. He has a
goodly house, and a few fair acres well planted and tilled,--also he
pays his men freely,--but those that work for him are all he sees,--