flower. He made up his mind to go there
again.

Spring came, and the fishing began. Jurgen was now an active
helper in this, for he had grown during the last year, and was quick
at work. He was full of life, and knew how to swim, to tread water,
and to turn over and tumble in the strong tide. They often warned
him to beware of the sharks, which seize the best swimmer, draw him
down, and devour him; but such was not to be Jurgen's fate.

At a neighbour's house in the dunes there was a boy named
Martin, with whom Jurgen was on very friendly terms, and they both
took service in the same ship to Norway, and also went together to
Holland. They never had a quarrel, but a person can be easily
excited to quarrel when he is naturally hot tempered, for he often
shows it in many ways; and this is just what Jurgen did one day when
they fell out about the merest trifle. They were sitting behind the
cabin door, eating from a delft plate, which they had placed between
them. Jurgen held his pocket-knife in his hand and raised it towards
Martin, and at the same time became ashy pale, and his eyes had an
ugly look. Martin only said, "Ah! ah! you are one of that sort, are
you? Fond of using the knife!"

The words were scarcely spoken, when Jurgen's hand sank down. He
did not answer a syllable, but went on eating, and afterwards returned
to his work. When they were resting again he walked up to Martin and
said:

"Hit me in the face! I deserve it. But sometimes I feel as if I
had a pot in me that boils over."

"There, let the thing rest," replied Martin.

And after that they were almost better friends than ever; when
afterwards they returned to the dunes and began telling their
adventures, this was told among the rest. Martin said that Jurgen
was certainly passionate, but a good fellow after all.

They were both young and healthy, well-grown and strong; but
Jurgen was the cleverer of the two.

In Norway the peasants go into the mountains and take the cattle
there to find pasture. On the west coast of Jutland huts have been
erected among the sand-hills; they are built of pieces of wreck, and
thatched with turf and heather; there are sleeping places round the
walls, and here the fishermen live and sleep during the early
spring. Every fisherman has a female helper, or manager as she is
called, who baits his hooks, prepares warm beer for him when he
comes ashore, and gets the dinner cooked and ready for him by the time
he comes bac