iness blow double."

As it happened that year the peerie, or Indian summer, was of unusual
length and beauty. The fine weather lingered until the end of October.
These weeks were full of joy to Margaret and to Jan, and in them Jan
showed himself in many a charming light. He played well upon the
violin, and as long as love was his theme Margaret understood him. He
recited to her stirring stories from the Sagas, and she thought only
how handsome he looked with his flashing eyes, and flushing face. She
never reflected, that the soul which could put life into these old
tales was very likely to be a soul akin to the restless adventurous
men of which they told. Her home and her love were sufficient for her
happiness, and she expected that Jan would measure his desires by the
same rule.

But in a few weeks Jan began to weary a little of a life all
love-making. Many things, laid aside for a time, renewed their
influence over him. He wished to let the romance and exaggeration of
his married position sink into that better tenderness which is the
repose of passion, and which springs from the depths of a man's best
nature. But Margaret was not capable of renunciation, and Jan got to
be continually afraid of wounding her sensibilities by forgetting some
outward token of affection. He tried to talk to her of his projects,
of his desire to go to sea again, of his weariness of the store. She
could understand none of these things. Why should he want to leave
her? Had he ceased to love her? Her father was happy in the store. It
offended her to hear a word against it. Yet she thought she loved Jan
perfectly, and would have deeply resented Michael Snorro's private
verdict against her--that she was a selfish woman.

One morning, as the first snow was beginning to fall, a big Dutch
skipper in his loose tunic and high cap, and wooden clogs, came
stalking into Peter's store, and said, "Well, here at last comes 'The
North Star.' Many of us thought she would come no more."

Jan was packing eggs, but he signed to Michael to take his place, and
in a few minutes he was among the crowd watching her arrival. She came
hurrying in, with all her sails set, as if she were fleeing from the
northern winter behind her. Her stout sides were torn by berg and
floe, her decks covered with seal skins and jawbones of whales, and
amidships there was a young polar bear growling in a huge cask. Her
crew, weather-beaten and covered with snow and frost, had the