ary red now, because I don't like the principle of the thing. I
didn't employ you, and I didn't want you. I told you so, and shook my
head at you, and told you to get behind me, Satan, and all that sort
of thing; and now I'm not going to pay you for making a nuisance of
yourself. On the naked question of charity, I could do something for
you, on account of your numerous fathers and mothers. As it is, good
by, Sweden;" and Scott went on board of the steamer.

The boat started again, and soon the bell rang for breakfast. The boys
hastened to the forward saloon, where they found two tables spread. At
a sideboard was the Swedish lunch, or snack, of herring, sliced
salmon, various little fishes, sausage, and similar delicacies, with
the universal decanter of "finkel," flanked with a circle of wine
glasses. The tourists partook of the eatables, but most of them were
wise enough to avoid the drinkable. The Swedish bread, which is a
great brown cracker, about seven inches in diameter, was considered
very palatable. Ordinary white bread is served on steamers and at
hotels, and also a dark-colored bread, which looks like rye, and is
generally too sour for the taste of a foreigner. The breakfast at the
tables consisted of fried veal, and fish, with vegetables, and all the
elements of the snack. When the boys had finished, one of the women
handed Scott a long narrow blank book.

"Thank you, marm; I am much obliged to you," said he. "Will you have
the kindness to inform me what this is for?"

The woman laughed, and answered him in her native tongue.

"Precisely so," added Scott.

"What does she say?" asked Sanford.

"She wants me to write a love letter in this book to her; but as she
is rather ancient, I shall decline in your favor, Sanford."

"Don't do it, old fellow! Face the music."

"Not for Joseph!"

"What did she say, Ole?" inquired Sanford.

"She said you were to keep your account in that book," replied the
interpreter.

"Are we to keep our own reckoning?"

"Yes; every one puts down in this book what he has had."

"That means you, Burchmore. You are the cashier for the party."

"How many fellows had coffee this morning?" asked the cashier, as he
took the book.

"All of them, of course."

Burchmore made the entries for the coffee and the breakfasts of the
whole party.

"Well, that's one way to do the thing," said Scott. "Every man his own
book-keeper. I'll bet everybody doesn't charge what he has had."