hes at Noerre-Vosborg were in flower. He must return there
yet.

Spring was approaching, the fishing was commencing, and Joergen lent
his help. He had grown much during the last year, and was extremely
active. There was plenty of life in him; he could swim, tread the
water, and turn and roll about in it. He was much inclined to offer
himself for the mackerel shoals: they take the best swimmer, draw him
under the water, eat him up, and so there is an end of him; but this
was not Joergen's fate.

Among the neighbours in the sand-hills was a boy named Morten. He and
Joergen left the fishing, and they both hired themselves on board a
vessel bound to Norway, and went afterwards to Holland. They were
always at odds with each other, but that might easily happen when
people were rather warm-tempered; and they could not help showing
their feelings sometimes in expressive gestures. This was what Joergen
did once on board when they came up from below quarrelling about
something. They were sitting together, eating out of an earthen dish
they had between them, when Joergen, who was holding his clasp-knife in
his hand, raised it against Morten, looking at the moment as white as
chalk, and ghastly about the eyes. Morten only said,--

"So you are of that sort that will use the knife!"

Scarcely had he uttered these words before Joergen's hand was down
again; he did not say a syllable, ate his dinner, and went to his
work; but when he had finished that, he sought Morten, and said,--

"Strike me on the face if you will--I have deserved it. There is
something in me that always boils up so."

"Let bygones be bygones," said Morten; and thereupon they became much
better friends. When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, and
told all that had passed, it was remarked that Joergen might boil over,
but he was an honest pot for all that.

"But not of Jutland manufacture--he cannot be called a Jutlander," was
Morten's witty reply.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but
Joergen was the most active.

Up in Norway the country people repair to the summer pastures among
the mountains, and take their cattle there to grass. On the west coast
of Jutland, among the sand-hills, are huts built of pieces of wrecks,
and covered with peat and layers of heather. The sleeping-places
stretch round the principal room; and there sleep and live, during the
early spring time, the people employed in the fishing. Every