ood he had been in the south, in Spain. He
thought of the plenteousness of the southern fruit, of the red
pomegranate flowers, of the humming, buzzing, and toiling in the great
beehive of a city he had seen; but home is the best place after all,
and Jurgen's home was Denmark.

At last they arrived at "Vendilskaga," as Skjagen is called in old
Norwegian and Icelandic writings. At that time Old Skjagen, with the
eastern and western town, extended for miles, with sand hills and
arable land as far as the lighthouse near "Grenen." Then, as now,
the houses were strewn among the wind-raised sand-hills--a
wilderness in which the wind sports with the sand, and where the voice
of the sea-gull and wild swan strikes harshly on the ear.

In the south-west, a mile from "Grenen," lies Old Skjagen;
merchant Bronne dwelt here, and this was also to be Jurgen's home
for the future. The dwelling-house was tarred, and all the small
out-buildings had been put together from pieces of wreck. There was no
fence, for indeed there was nothing to fence in except the long rows
of fishes which were hung upon lines, one above the other, to dry in
the wind. The entire coast was strewn with spoiled herrings, for there
were so many of these fish that a net was scarcely thrown into the sea
before it was filled. They were caught by carloads, and many of them
were either thrown back into the sea or left to lie on the beach.

The old man's wife and daughter and his servants also came to meet
him with great rejoicing. There was a great squeezing of hands, and
talking and questioning. And the daughter, what a sweet face and
bright eyes she had!

The inside of the house was comfortable and roomy. Fritters,
that a king would have looked upon as a dainty dish, were placed on
the table, and there was wine from the Skjagen vineyard--that is,
the sea; for there the grapes come ashore ready pressed and prepared
in barrels and in bottles.

When the mother and daughter heard who Jurgen was, and how
innocently he had suffered, they looked at him in a still more
friendly way; and pretty Clara's eyes had a look of especial
interest as she listened to his story. Jurgen found a happy home in
Old Skjagen. It did his heart good, for it had been sorely tried. He
had drunk the bitter goblet of love which softens or hardens the
heart, according to circumstances. Jurgen's heart was still soft--it
was young, and therefore it was a good thing that Miss Clara was going
in th