erything to
make the winter season pass as pleasantly as possible; there was
prosperity in the house, plenty of comfort for the family, and plenty
even for the lowest animals on the property; the shelves shone with
rows of bright, well-scoured pewter plates and dishes; and from the
roof hung sausages and hams, and other winter stores in abundance.
Such may be seen even now in the many rich farm-houses on the west
coast--the same evidences of plenty, the same comfortable rooms, the
same good-humour, the same, and perhaps a little more, information.
Hospitality reigns there as in an Arab's tent.

Joergen had never before spent his time so happily since the pleasant
days of his childhood at the funeral feast; and yet Miss Clara was
absent--present only in thought and conversation.

In April a vessel was going up to Norway, and Joergen was to go in it.
He was in high spirits, and, according to Mrs. Broenne, he was so
lively and good-humoured, it was quite a pleasure to see him.

"And it is quite a pleasure to see you also," said her husband.
"Joergen has enlivened all our winter evenings, and you with them; you
have become young again, and really look quite handsome. You were
formerly the prettiest girl in Viborg, and that is saying a great
deal, for I have always thought the girls prettier there than anywhere
else."

Joergen said nothing to this. Perhaps he did not believe that the
Viborg girls were prettier than any others; at any rate, he was
thinking of one from Skagen, and he was now about to join her. The
vessel had a fair, fresh breeze; therefore he arrived at Christiansand
in half a day.

Early one morning the trader, Mr. Broenne, went out to the lighthouse
that is situated at some distance from Gammel-Skagen, and near Grenen.
The signal-lights had been extinguished for some time, for the sun had
risen tolerably high before he reached the tower. Away, to some
distance beyond the most remote point of land, stretched the
sand-banks under the water. Beyond these, again, he perceived many
ships, and among them he thought he recognised, by aid of the
spy-glass, the "Karen Broenne," as his own vessel was called; and he
was right. It was approaching the coast, and Clara and Joergen were on
board. The Skagen lighthouse and the spire of its church looked to
them like a heron and a swan upon the blue water. Clara sat by the
gunwale, and saw the sand-hills becoming little by little more and
more apparent. If the wind on