ered
my meaning when I told him of the wonders of California, were really
surprising. This boy was a natural genius. He will leave his mountain
home some day or other and make a leading citizen of the United
States. Already he was eager to dash out upon the world and see some
of its novelties and wonders.

[Illustration: STATION-BOY.]

At Laurgaard I was favored with a small urchin who must have been
modeled upon one of Hogarth's pictures. He was a fixed laugh all over.
His mouth, nose, ears, eyes, hair, and chin were all turned up in a
broad grin. Even the elbows of his coat and the knees of his trowsers
were wide open with ill-concealed laughter. He laughed when he saw me,
and laughed more than ever when he heard me "_tale Norsk_." There was
something uncommonly amusing to this little shaver in the cut of a
man's jib who could not speak good Norwegian. All the way up the hill
he whistled, sang lively snatches of song, joked with the horse, and
when the horse nickered laughed a young horse-laugh to keep him
company. It did me good to see the rascal so cheery. I gave him an
extra shilling at Braendhagen for his lively spirit, at which he
grinned all over wider than ever, put the small change in his pocket,
and with his red night-cap in one hand made a dodge of his head at me,
as if snapping at a fly, and then held out his spare hand to give me
a shake. Of course I shook hands with him.

[Illustration: GOOD-BY--MANY THANKS!]

Shaking hands with small boys, however, is nothing uncommon in Norway.
Every boy on the entire route shook hands with me. Whenever I settled
the fare the skydskaarl invariably pulled off his cap, or, if he had
none, gave a pull at the most prominent bunch of hair, and holding
forth a flipper, more or less like a lump of raw beef, required me, by
all the laws of politeness, to give it a shake. The simplicity with
which they did this, and the awkward kindliness of their manner, as
they wished me a pleasant trip, always formed an agreeable episode in
the day's travel. I have shaken a greater variety of boys' hands in
Norway--of every size, kind, and quality, fat, lean, clean, and dirty,
dry and wet--than ever I shook all over the world before.
Notwithstanding the amount of water in the country, I must have
carried away from Trondhjem about a quarter of a pound of the native
soil. Between the contortions of body and limb acquired by a brief
residence in Paris, the battering out of several hats