e first of these,
`be so good,' is the literal translation. The others are more or less
mixed up with it. You may rely on it, Sam, that when a Norwegian offers
you anything and says `ver so goot,' he means you well, and hopes that
you will make yourself comfortable."

"You don't say so, Fred; I'll adopt the phrase from this hour!"

Accordingly Sam Sorrel did adopt it, and used it on all and every
occasion, without any regard to its appropriateness.

Little was said at supper. The whole party were too tired to converse.

"Now for bed," cried Sam, rising. "I say, Fred, what's the Norse for a
bed?"

"Seng," replied Fred.

"Seng! what a remarkable name! Now, then, my good girl, _ver so goot_
will you show me my _seng_? Good night, comrades, I'm off to--ha! ha!
what a musical idea--to seng."

"More probably to snore," observed Grant.

"Oh, Grant," said Sam, looking back and shaking his head, "give up
jesting. It's bad for your health; fie for shame! good night."

Norwegian beds are wooden boxes of about three feet wide, and five and a
half long. I have never been able to discover why it is that Norwegians
love to make their beds as uncomfortable as possible. Yet so it is.

Grant had a room to himself. Temple and our artist were shown into a
double-bedded room.

"Is that a bed?" said Sam, pointing to a red-painted wooden box in a
corner; "why, it's too short even for me, and you know I'm not a giant."

"Oh! then what must it be for me?" groaned Fred Temple.

On close examination it was found that each bed was too short for any
man above five feet two, and, further, that there was a feather-bed
below and a feather-bed above, instead of blankets. Thus they lay that
night between two feather-beds, which made them so hot that it was
impossible to sleep at first. Sorrel, being short, managed to lie
diagonally across his box, but Fred, being long, was compelled to double
himself up like a foot-rule. However, fatigue at last caused them to
slumber in spite of all difficulties. In the morning they were visited
by a ghost!

CHAPTER FOUR.

A GHOST AND A CUSTOM--A FISH-MARKET AND A NORSE LOVER.

There was no night in Bergen at this time. At the midnight hour there
was light enough to see to read the smallest print, and at an early hour
in the morning this sweet twilight brightened into dawn.

This being the case, Fred Temple was not a little surprised to see a
ghost make its appearance about six o