herring fishing is over. Peter was beginning to count up his
expenses and his gains. Jan and Snorro were saying to one another, "In
two days we must go back to the store." That is, they were trying to
say it, but the air was so full of shrieks that no human voice could
be heard. For all around the boat the sea was boiling with herring
fry, and over them hung tens of thousands of gulls and terns. Marmots
and guillemots were packed in great black masses on the white foam,
and only a mad human mob of screaming women and children could have
made a noise comparable. Even that would have wanted the piercing
metallic ring of the wild birds' shriek.

Suddenly Snorro leaped to his feet. "I see a storm, Jan. Lower and
lash down the mast. We shall have bare time."

Jan saw that the birds had risen and were making for the rocks. In a
few minutes down came the wind from the north-east, and a streak of
white rain flying across the black sea was on top of "The Fair
Margaret" before the mast was well secured. As for the nets, Snorro
was cutting them loose, and in a few moments the boat was tearing down
before the wind. It was a wild squall; some of the fishing fleet went
to the bottom with all their crews. "The Fair Margaret," at much risk
of loss, saved Glumm's crew, and then had all she could manage to
raise her mizzen, and with small canvas edge away to windward for the
entrance of Lerwick bay.

Jan was greatly distressed. "Hard to bear is this thing, Snorro," he
said; "at the last to have such bad fortune."

"It is a better ending than might have been. Think only of that,
Jan."

"But Peter will count his lost nets; there is nothing else he will
think of."

"Between nets and men's lives, there is only one choice."

Peter said that also, but he was nevertheless very angry. The loss
took possession of his mind, and excluded all memory of his gains.
"It was just like Jan and Snorro," he muttered, "to be troubling
themselves with other boats. In a sudden storm, a boat's crew should
mind only its own safety." These thoughts were in his heart, though he
did not dare to form them into any clear shape. But just as a drop or
two of ink will diffuse itself through a glass of pure water and
defile the whole, so they poisoned every feeling of kindness which he
had to Jan.

"What did I tell thee?" he said to Thora, bitterly. "Jan does nothing
well but he spoils it. Here, at the end of the season, for a little
gust of wind, he loses bo