nance of a living man.
He seldom smiled, and when he did he smiled grimly; never laughed, and
never spoke when he could avoid it. He was wonderfully slow both in
speech and in action, but he was a first-rate and fearless seaman, in
whom the owner of the schooner had perfect confidence.

As we have fallen into a descriptive vein it may be as well to describe
the rest of our friends offhand. Norman Grant was a sturdy Highlander,
about the same size as his friend Temple, but a great contrast to him;
for while Temple was fair and ruddy, Grant was dark, with hair, beard,
whiskers, and moustache bushy and black as night. Grant was a
Highlander in heart as well as in name, for he wore a Glengarry bonnet
and a kilt, and did not seem at all ashamed of exposing to view his
brown hairy knees. He was a hearty fellow, with a rich deep-toned
voice, and a pair of eyes so black and glittering that they seemed to
pierce right through you and come out at your back when he looked at
you! Temple, on the contrary, was clad in grey tweed from head to foot,
wideawake included, and looked, as he was, a thorough Englishman. Grant
was a doctor by profession; by taste a naturalist. He loved to shoot
and stuff birds of every shape and size and hue, and to collect and
squeeze flat plants of every form and name. His rooms at home were
filled with strange specimens of birds, beasts, fishes, and plants from
every part of Scotland, England, and Ireland--to the disgust of his old
nurse, whose duty it was to dust them, and to the delight of his little
brother, whose self-imposed duty it was to pull out their tails and pick
out their eyes!

Grant's trip to Norway promised a rich harvest in a new field, so he
went there with romantic anticipations.

Sam Sorrel was like neither of his companions. He was a little fellow--
a mere spider of a man, and extremely thin; so thin that it seemed as if
his skin had been drawn over the bones in a hurry and the flesh
forgotten! The Captain once said to Bob Bowie in a moment of confidence
that Mr Sorrel was a "mere spunk," whereupon Bob nodded his head, and
added that he was no better than "half a fathom of pump water."

If there was little of Sam, however, that little was good stuff. It has
been said that he was a painter by profession. Certainly there was not
a more enthusiastic artist in the kingdom. Sam was a strange mixture of
earnestness, enthusiasm, and fun. Although as thin as a walking-stick,