s devotions, and in the sacred rite, that
it was only when about to rise that he observed who was his immediate
neighbour, and perceived that tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Two days after this she sailed for Norway, and Joergen made himself
useful on the farm, and at the fishery, in which there was much more
done then than is now-a-days. The shoals of mackerel glittered in the
dark nights, and showed the course they were taking; the crabs gave
piteous cries when pursued, for fishes are not so mute as they are
said to be. Every Sunday when he went to church, and gazed on the
picture of the Virgin in the altar-piece, Joergen's eyes always
wandered to the spot where Clara had knelt by his side; and he thought
of her, and how kind she had been to him.

Autumn came, with its hail and sleet; the water washed up to the very
town of Skagen; the sand could not absorb all the water, so that
people had to wade through it. The tempests drove vessel after vessel
on the fatal reefs; there were snow storms and sand storms; the sand
drifted against the houses, and closed up the entrances in some
places, so that people had to creep out by the chimneys; but that was
nothing remarkable up there. While all was thus bleak and wretched
without, within there were warmth and comfort. The mingled peat and
wood fires--the wood obtained from wrecked ships--crackled and blazed
cheerfully, and Mr. Broenne read aloud old chronicles and legends;
among others, the story of Prince Hamlet of Denmark, who, coming from
England, landed near Bovbjerg, and fought a battle there. His grave
was at Ramme, only a few miles from the place where the eel-man lived.
Hundreds of tumuli, the graves of the giants and heroes of old, were
still visible all over the wide heath--a great churchyard. Mr. Broenne
had himself been there, and had seen Hamlet's grave. They talked of
the olden times--of their neighbours, the English and Scotch; and
Joergen sang the ballad about "The King of England's Son"--about the
splendid ship--how it was fitted up:--

"How on the gilded panels stood
Engraved our Lord's commandments good;

* * * * *

And clasping a sweet maiden, how
The prince stood sculptured on the prow!"

Joergen sang these lines in particular with much emphasis, whilst his
dark eyes sparkled; but his eyes had always been bright from his
earliest infancy.

There were songs, and reading, and conversation, and ev