"No, not at any price!" said the old man, smiling uneasily.

But the master pointed, with two fingers, at his blinking eyes,
and gazed at him, while he uttered the conjuration.

"In the name of the Blood, in the name of the Sap, in the name of
all the Humors of the Body, the good and the bad alike, and in the
name of the Ocean," he murmured, crouching like a tom-cat.

"Stop it, I tell you! Stop it! I won't have it!" Bjerregrav was
hanging helplessly between his crutches, swinging to and fro,
with an eye to the door, but he could not wrest himself away from
the enchantment. Then, desperately, he struck down the master's
conjuring hand, and profited by the interruption of the incantation
to slip away.

The master sat there blowing upon his hand. "He struck out properly,"
he said, in surprise, turning his reddened hand with the palm inward.

Little Nikas did not respond. He was not superstitious, but he did
not like to hear ridicule cast upon the reality of things.

"What shall I do?" asked Peter.

"Are mate Jensen's boots ready?" The master looked at the clock.
"Then you can nibble your shin-bones."

It was time to stop work. The master took his stick and hat and
limped over to the beer-house to play a game of billiards; the